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THE FAR WHS? 


< 


BY 


GEORGE FREDERIC RUXTON, 


AUTHOR OF ‘‘ ADVENTURES IN MEXICO AND THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS,” ETC, 


PEW V.OR-K:. FE 
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
82 CLIFF STREET. 


1849. 


vee ve 
oe > 


, 


THE LATE 


GEORGE FREDERICK RUXTON. 


Tue London newspapers of October, 1848, contained the 
mournful tidings of the death, at St. Louis on the Mississippi, 
and at the early age of twenty-eight, of Lieutenant George 
Frederick Ruxton, formerly of her Majesty’s 89th regiment, the 
author of the following sketches. 


Many men, even at the most enterprising periods of our 
history, have been made the subjects of elaborate biography, 
with far less title to the honor than this lamented young officer? 
Time was not granted him to embody in.a permanent shape a 
tithe of his personal experiences and strange adventures in 
three quarters of the globe. Considering, indeed, the amount 
of physical labor he underwent, and the extent of the fields over 
which his wanderings spread, it is almost surprising he found 
leisure to write so much. At the early age of seventeen, Mr. 
Ruxton quitted Sandhurst, to learn the practical part of a 
soldier’s profession in the civil wars of: Spain. He obtained a 
commission in a squadron of lancers then attached to the 
division of General Diego Leon, and was actively engaged in 


iv THE LATE GEORGE FREDERICK RUXTON. 


several of the most important combats of the campaign. For 
his marked gallantry on these occasions, he received from Queen 
Isabella II., the cross of the first class of the order of St. 
Fernando, an honor which has seldom been awarded to one so 
young. On his return from Spain he found himself gazetted to 
a commision in the 89th regiment; and it was while serving 
with that distinguished corps in Canada that he first became 
acquainted with the stirring scenes of Indian life, which he has 
since so graphically portrayed. His eager and enthusiastic 
spirit soon became wearied with the monotony of the barrack- 
room; and yielding to that impulse which in him was irresis- 
tibly developed, he resigned his commission, and directed his 
steps toward the stupendous wilds, tenanted only by the red 
Indian, or by the solitary American trapper. 


Those familiar with Mr. Ruxton’s writings can not fail to 
have remarked the singular delight with which he dwells upon 
the recollections of this portion of his career, and the longing 
which he carried with him, to the hour of his death, for a 
return to those scenes of primitive freedom. « Although liable 
to an accusation of barbarism,” he writes, «I must confess that 
the very happiest moments of my life have been spent in~the 
wilderness of the Far West ; and I never recall, but with pleas- 
ure, the remembrance of my solitary camp in the Bayou Salade, 
‘with no friend near me more faithful than my rifle, and no com- 
panions more sociable than my good horse and mules, or the 
attendant cayeute which nightly serenaded us. With a plentiful 
supply of dry pine-logs on the fire, and its cheerful blaze stream- 
ing far up into the sky, illuminating the valley far and near, and 
exhibiting the animals, with well-filled bellies, standing content- 


THE LATE GEORGE FREDERICK RUXTON. Vv 


edly at rest over their picket-fire, I would sit cross-legged, enjoy- 
ing the genial warmth, and, pipe in mouth, watch the blue 
smoke as it curled upward, building castles in its vapory 
wreaths, and in the fantastic shapes it assumed, peopling the 
solitude with figures of those far away. Scarcely, however, did 
I ever wish to change such hours of freedom for all the luxuries 
of civilized life; and, unnatural and extraordinary as it may 
appear, yet such is the fascination of the life of the mountain 
hunter, that I believe not one instance could be adduced of even 
the most polished and civilized of men, who had once tasted the 
sweets of its attendant liberty, and freedom from every worldly 
care, not regretting the moment when he exchanged it for the 
monotonous life of the settlements, nor sighing and sighing again 


once more to partake of its pleasures and allurements.” 


On his return to Europe from the Far West, Mr. Ruxton, 
animated with a spirit as enterprising and fearless as that of 
Raleigh, planned a scheme for the exploration of Central Africa, 
which was thus characterized by the president of the Royal 
Geographical Society, in his anniversary address for 1845 :— 
«To my great surprise, I recently conversed with an ardent and 
accomplished youth, Lieutenant Ruxton, late of the 89th regi- 
ment, who had formed the daring project of traversing Africa in 
the parallel of the southern tropic, and has actually started for 
this purpose. Preparing himself by previous excursions on foot, 
in North Africa and Algeria, he sailed from Liverpool early in 
December last, in the Royalist, for Ichaboe. From that spot he 
was to repair to Walvish Bay, where we have already mercan- 
tile establishments. The intrepid traveler had received from 
the agents of these establishments such favorable accounts of the 


vi THE LATE GEORGE FREDERICK RUXTON. 


nations toward the interior, as also of the nature of the climate, 
that he has the most sanguine hopes of being able to penetrate to 
the central region, if not of traversing it to the Portuguese colo- 
nies of Mozambique. If this be accomplished, then indeed will 
Lieutenant Ruxton have acquired for himself a permanent name 
among British travelers, by making us acquainted with the 
nature of the axis of the great continent of which we possess the 


southern extremity.” 


In pursuance of this hazardous scheme, Ruxton, with a single 
companion, landed on the coast of Africa, a little to the south 
of Ichaboe, and commenced his journey of exploration. But it 
seemed as if both nature and man had combined to baffle the 
execution of his design. The course of their travel lay along a 
desert of moving sand, where no water was to be found, and 
little herbage, save a coarse tufted grass, and twigs of the resin- 
ous myrrh. ~The immediate place of their destination was 
Angra Peguena, on the coast, described as a frequented station, 
but which in reality was deserted.. One ship only was in offing 
when the travelers arrived, and, to their inexpressible mortifica- 
tion, they discovered that she was outward bound. No trace 
was visible of the river or streams laid down in the maps as 
falling into the sea at this point, and no resource was left to 
the travelers save that of retracmg their steps—a labor for which 
their strength was hardly adequate. But for the opportune 
assistance of a body of natives, who encountered them at the 
very moment when they were sinking from fatigue and thirst, 
Ruxton and his companion would have been added to the long 
catalogue of those whose lives have been sacrificed in the attempt 
to explore the interior of that fatal country. s 


THE LATE GEORGE FREDERICK RUXTON. Vii 


The jealousy of the traders, and of the missionaries settled on the 
African coast, who constantly withheld or perverted that inform- 
ation which was absolutely necessary for the successful prosecu- 
tion of the journey, induced Ruxton to abandon the attempt for 
the present. He made, however, several interesting excursions 
toward the interior, and more. especially in the country of the 
Bosjesmans. 


Finding his own resources inadequate for the accomplishment 
of his favorite project, Mr. Ruxton, on his return to England, 
made application for Government assistance. But though this 
demand was not altogether refused, it having been referred to 
the Council of the Royal Geographical Society, and favorably 
reported upon by that body, so many delays interposed that 
Ruxton, in disgust, resolved to withdraw from the scheme, anid. 
to abandon that field of African research which he had already 
contemplated from its borders. He next bent his steps to 
Mexico; and, fortunately, has presented to the world his 
reminiscences of that country, in one of the most fascinating 
volumes which, of late years, has issued from the press. It 
would, however, appear that the African scheme, the darling 
project of his life, had again recurred to him at a later period ; 
for, in the course of the present spring, before setting out on that 
journey which was destined to be his last, the following expres- 
sions occur in one of his letters :— 


“My movements are uncertain, for I am trying to get 
up a yacht voyage to Borneo and the Indian Archipelago ; 
have volunteered to Government to explore Central Africa ; 
and the Aborigenes Protection Society wish me to go out to 


viii THE LATE GEORGE FREDERICK RUXTON. 


Canada to organize the Indian tribes; while, for my own 
part and inclination, I wish to go to all parts of the world at 
once.”’ 


As regards the volume to which this notice serves as Preface, 
the editor does not hesitate to express a very high opinion of its 
merits. Written by a man untrained to literature, and whose 
life, from boyhood upward, was passed in the field and on the 
road, in military adventure and travel, its style is yet often 
as remarkable for graphic terseness and vigor, as its substance 
every where is for great novelty and originality. The narrative 
of «Life in the Far West’ was first offered for insertion in 
Blackwood’s Magazine, in the spring of 1848, when the greater 
portion of the manuscript was sent, and the remainder shortly 
followed. During its publication in that periodical, the wildness 
of the adventures related excited suspicions in certain quarters as 
to their actual truth and fidelity. It may interest the reader to 
know that the scenes described are pictures from life, the results 
of the author’s personal experience. The following are extracts 
from letters addressed by him, in the course of last summer, to 
the conductors of the Magazine above named :— 


«T have brought out a few more softening traits in the char- 
acters of the mountaineers—but not at the sacrifice of truth— 
for some of them have their good points; which, as they are 
rarely allowed to rise to the surface, must be laid hold of at once 
before they sink again. Killbuck—that ‘old hos,’ par exemple, 
was really pretty much of a gentleman, as was La Bonté. -Bill 
‘Williams, another ‘hard case,’ and Rube Herring, were ‘some’ 
too. 


THE LATE GEORGE FREDERICK RUXTON. 1X 
—_SsSsSsSsSSSSSSSSS 


«The scene where La Bonté joins the Chase family is so far 
true, that he did make a sudden appearance ; but, in reality, a 
day before the Indian attack. The Chases (and I wish I had 
not given the proper name *) did start for the Platte alone, and 
were stampedoed upon the waters of the Platte. . 


~ 
ad 


«The Mexican fandango zs true to the letter. It does seem 
difficult to understand how they contrived to keep their knives 
out of the hump-ribs of the mountaineers; but how can you 
account for the fact, that, the other day, 4000 Mexicans, with 
13 pieces of artillery, behind strong intrenchments and two lines 
of parapets, were routed by 900 raw Missourians; 300 killed, 
as many more wounded, all their artillery captured, as well as 
several hundred prisoners ; and that not one American was killed 
in the aflair? This is positive fact. 


«JT myself, with three trappers, cleared a fandango at Taos, 
armed only with bowie-knives—some score Mexicans, at least, 
being in the room. 

- 

«With regard to the incidents of Indian attacks, starvation, 
cannibalism, &c., I have invented not one out of my own head. 
They are all matters of history in the mountains; but I have, 
no doubt, jumbled the dramatis persone one with another, and 
may have committed anachronisms in the order of their occur- 
rence.” 

* In accordance with this suggestion, the name was changed to Brand. The 
mountaineers, it seems, are more sensitive to type than totomahawks; and poor 
Ruxton, who always contemplated another expedition among them, would some- . 
’ times jestingly speculate upon his reception, should they learn that he had shown 


them up in print. 


A* 


x THE LATE GEORGE FREDERICK RUXTON. 


Again he wrote as follows :-— 


«7 think it would be as well to correct a misapprehension as 
to the truth or fiction of the paper. It is no fictzon. 'There is 
no incident in it which has not actually occurred, nor one charac- 
ter who is not well known in the Rocky Mountains, with the 
exception of two whose names are changed—the originals of 
these being however, equally well known with the others.”’ 


His last letter, written just before his departure from England, 
a few weeks previously to his death, will hardly be read by any 
one who ever knew the writer, without a tear of sympathy for the 
sad fate of this fine young man, dying miserably in a strange 
land, before he had well commenced the hazardous journey whose 
excitement and dangers he so joyously anticipated :— 


« As you say, human nature can’t go on feeding on civilized 
fixings in this ‘big village ;’ and this child has felt lke going 
West for many a month, being half froze for buffler meat and 
mountain doins. My route takes me va New York, the Lakes, 
and St. Louis, to Fort Leavenworth, or Independence on the 
Jndian frontier. Thence packing my ‘< possibles’ on a mule, and 
mounting a buffalo horse (Panchito, if he is alive), I strike the 
Santa Fé trail to the Arkansas, away up that river to the moun- 
tains, winter in the Bayou Salade, where Killbuck and La 
Bonté Joined the Yutes, cross the mountains next spring to 
Great Salt Iake—and that’s far enough to look forward 
to—always supposing my hair is not lifted by Comanche or 
Pawnee on the scalping route of the Coon Creeks and Pawnee 


Fork.” 


THE LATE GEORGE FREDERICK RUXTON. xi 


Poor fellow! he spoke lightly in the buoyancy of youth and 
a confident spirit, of the fate he little thought to meet, but 
which too surely overtook him—not indeed by Indian blade, but 
by the no less deadly stroke of disease. Another motive, besides 
that love ef rambling and adventure, which, once conceived and 
indulged, is so difficult to eradicate, impelled him across the 
Atlantic. He had for sore time been out of health at intervals, 
and he thought the air of his beloved prairies would be effica- 
cious to work a cure. In a letter to a friend, in the month of 
May last, he thus referred to the probable origin of the evil :— 


«JT have been confined to my room for many days, from the 
effects of an accident I met with in the Rocky Mountains, 
having been spilt from the bare back of a mule, and falling on 
the sharp picket of an Indian lodge on the small of my back. I 
fear I injured my spine, for I have never felt altogether the 
thing since, and shortly after I saw you, the symptoms became 
rather ugly. However, I am now getting round again.” 


His medical advisers shared his opinion that he had sustairied 
internal injury from this ugly fall; and itis not improbable that 
it was the remote, but real cause of his dissolution. From what- 
soever this ensued, it will be a source of deep and lasting regret 
to all that ever enjoyed opportunities of appreciating the high and 
sterling qualities of George Frederick Ruxton. Few men, so 
prepossessing on first acquaintance, gained so much by being 
better known. With great natural abilities and the most daunt- 
less bravery, he united a modesty and gentleness peculiarly 
pleasing. Had he lived, and resisted his friends’ repeated solici- 
tations to abandon a roving life, and settle down in England, 


xli THE LATE GEORGE FREDERICK RUXTON. 


there can be little doubt that he would have made his name 
eminent on the list of those daring and persevering men, whose 
travels in distant and dangerous lands have accumulated for 
England, and for the world, so rich a store of scientific and 
general information. And, although the few words it has been 
thought right and becoming here to devote to his memory, will 
doubtless be more particularly welcome to his personal friends, 
we are persuaded that none will peruse without interest this 
brief tribute to the merits of a gallant soldier, and accomplished 
English gentleman. 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


CHAPTER I. 


Away to the head waters of the Platte, where several small 
streams run into the south fork of that river, and head in the 
broken ridges of the “ Divide” which separates the valleys of the 
Platte and Arkansas, were camped a band of trappers on a creek 
called Bijou. It was the month of October, when the early frosts 
of the coming winter had crisped and dyed with sober brown the 
leaves of the cherry and quaking ash belting the brooks; and the 
ridges and peaks of the Rocky Mountains were already covered 
with a glittering mantle of snow, sparkling i in the still powerful 
rays of the autumn sun. 

The camp had all the appearance of permanency ; for not only 
did it comprise one or two unusually comfortable shanties, but the 
numerous stages on which huge stripes of buffalo meat were hang- 
ing in process of cure, showed that the party had settled themselves 
here in order to lay in a store of provisions, or, as is termed in 
the language of the mountains, “to make meat.’ Round the 
camp fed twelve or fifteen mules and horses, their forelegs confined 
by hobbles of raw hide; and, guarding these animals, two men 
paced backward and forward, driving in the stragglers, ascending 
ever and anon the bluffs which overhung the river, and leaning on 
their long rifles, while they swept with their eyes the surrounding 
prairie. Three or four fires burned in the encampment, at some of 
- which Indian women carefully tended sundry steaming pots ; 


14 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


while round one, which was in the center of it, four or five stal- 
wart hunters, clad in buckskin, sat cross-legged, pipe in mouth. 
They were a trapping party from the north fork of Platte, on 
their way to wintering-ground in the more southern valley of the 
Arkansas ; some, indeed, meditating a more extended trip, even to 
the distant settlements of New Mexico, the paradise of mount- 
aineers. ‘The elder of the company was a tall, gaunt man, with 
a face browned by twenty years’ exposure to the extreme climate 
of the mountains ; his long black hair, as yet scarcely tinged with 
gray, hanging almost to his shoulders, but his cheeks and chin 
clean shaven, after the fashion of the mountain men. His dress 
was the usual hunting-frock of buckskin, with long fringes down 
the seams, with pantaloons similarly ornamented, and moccasins 
of Indian make. While his companions puffed their pipes in 
silence, he narrated a few of his former experiences of western life ; 
and while the buffalo “‘ hump-ribs’’ and “ tender-loin’” are singing 
away in the pot, preparing for the hunters’ supper, we will note 
down the yarn as it spins from his lips, giving it in the language 
spoken in the “far west :’— 

“Twas about ‘calf-time,’ maybe a little later, and not a hun- 
dred year ago, by a long chalk, that the biggest kind of rendezvous 
was held ‘to’ Independence, a mighty handsome little location 
away up on old Missoura. A pretty smart lot of boys was camp’d 
thar, about a quarter from the town, and the way the whisky 
flowed that time was ‘some’ now, J can tell you._)Thar was old 
Sam Owins—him as got ‘rubbed out’ * by the Spaniards at Sac- 
ramenty, or Chihuahuy, this hos doesn’t know which, but he ‘ went 
under + any how. Well, Sam had his train along, ready to hitch 
up for the Mexican country—twenty thunder big Pittsburg 
wagons; and the way /zs Santa Fé boys took in the liquor beat 
all—eh, Bill ?” 


* Killed, 


t Died t both terms adapted from the Indian figurative language. 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 15 


sash acis ne daamarcapaceemeer eee a NES Dae een re 


“ Well, it did.” 

“ Bill Bent—his boys camped the other side the trail, and they 
was all mountain men, wagh !—and Bill Williams and Bill Tharpe 
(the Pawnees took his hair on Pawnee Fork last spring) : three Bills, 
and them three’s all ‘gone under.’ Surely Hatcher went out that 
time ; and wasn’t Bill Garey along, too? Didn’t him and Chabonard 
sit in camp for twenty hours at a deck of Euker? Them was 
Bent’s Indian traders up on Arkansa. Poor Bill Bent! them 
Spaniards made meat of him. He lost his topknot at Taos. A 
‘clever’ man was Bill Bent as I ever know’d trade a robe or 
‘throw’ a bufler in his tracks. Old St. Vrain could knock the 
hind-sight off him though, when it came to shootin, and old silver 
heels spoke true, she did: ‘ plum-center’ she was, eh ?” 

“ Well, she wasn’t nothin else.” 

“The Greasers* paid for Bent’s scalp, they tell me. Old St. 
Vrain went out of Santa Fé with a company of mountain men, 
and the way they made ’em sing out was ‘slick as shootin’. -He 
‘counted a coup,’ did St. Vrain. He throwed a Pueblo as had on 
poor Bent’s shirt. I guess he tickled that niggur’s hump-ribs. Fort 
William +} aint the lodge it was, an’ never will be agin, now he’s 
gone under ; but St. Vrain’s ‘pretty much of a gentleman,’ .too ; 
if he aint, I’ll be dog-gone, eh, Bill ?” 

“He is so-o.” 

“Chavez had his wagons along. He was only a Spaniard 
any how, and some of his teamsters put a ball into him his next 
trip, and made a raise of his dollars, wagh! Uncle Sam hung 
‘em for it, I heard, but can’t b’lieve it, nohow. If them Spaniards 
wasn’t born for shootin’, why was beaver made? You was with 
us that spree, Jemmy ?” 

“No strre-e ; I went out when Spiers lost his animals on Cim-— 

* The Mexicans are called « Spaniards” or “Greasers” (from their greasy ap- 


pearance) by the Western people. 
t Bent’s Indian trading fort on the Arkansas. 


16 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


maron: a hundred and forty mules and oxen was froze that night, 
wagh!” m 

“Surely Black Harris was thar ; and the darndest Jiar was 
Black Harris—for lies tumbled out of his month like boudins out 
of a bufler’s stomach. He was the child as saw the putrefied 
forest in the Black Hills. Black Harris come in from Laramie ; 
he’d been trapping three year an’ more on Platte and the ‘ other 
side ;’ and, when he got into Liberty, he fixed himself right off 
life a Saint Louiy dandy. Well, he sat to dinner one day in the 
tavern, and a lady says to him :— 

*« Well, Mister Harris, I hear you’re a great travler.’ 

“*'Travler, marm,’ says Black Harris, ‘ this niggur’s no travler ; 
I ar a trapper, marm, a mountain-man, wagh!’ 

«Well, Mister Harris, trappers are great travlers, and you 
goes over a sight of ground in your perishinations, I'll be bound 
to say.’ 

“« A sioht, marm, this coon’s gone over, if that’s the way your 
‘stick floats..* Dve trapped beaver on Platte and Arkansa, and 
away up on Missoura and Yaller Stone; I’ve trapped on Co- 
lumbia, on Lewis Fork, and Green River; I’ve trapped, marm, 
on Grand River and the Heely (Gila). I’ve fout the ‘ Blackfoot’ 
(and d—d bad Injuns they ar); I’ve raised the hair’} of more 
than one Apach, and made a Rapaho ‘come’ afore now; I’ve 
trapped in heav’n in airth, and h—; and scalp my old head, 
marm, but I’ve seen a putrified forest.’ 

“¢T,a, Mister Harris, a what ?’ 

«¢ A putrefied forest, marm, as sure as my rifle’s got hind-sights, 
and she shoots center. JI was out on the Black Hills, Bill Sub- 
lette knows the time—the year it raimed fire—and every body 
knows when that was. If thar wasn’t cold doins about that time, 

* Meaning—if that’s what you mean. The “stick” is tied to the beaver trap 


by a string; and, floating on the water, points out its position, should a beaver 
have carried it away. t Scalped. 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 17 


this child wouldn’t say so. The snow was about fifty foot deep, 
and the bufler lay dead on the ground like bees after a beein’ ; 
not whar we was tho’, for thar was no bufler, and no meat, and 
me and my band had been livin’ on our moccasins (leastwise the 
parflesh *), for six weeks ; and poor doins that feedin’ is, marm, as 
you'll never know. One day we crossed a ‘canon’ and over a 
‘divide,’ and got into peraira, whar was green grass, and green 
trees, and green leaves on the trees, and birds singing in the green 
leaves, and this in Febrary, wagh! Our animals was like to die 
when they see the green grass, and we all sung out, ‘ hurraw for 
summer doins.’ 

“* Hyar goes for meat,’ says I, and I jest ups old Ginger at one 
of them singing birds, and down come the crittur elegant; its 
darned head spinning away from the body, but never stops singing, 
and when I takes up the meat, I finds it stone, wagh! | ‘Hyar’s 
damp powder and no fire to dry it,’ I says, quite skeared. 

“« Fire be dogged,’ says old Rube. ‘Hyar’s a hos as ‘ll make 
fire come ; and with that he takes his ax and lets it drive at a 
cotton wood. Schr-u-k—goes the ax agin the tree, and out comes 
a bit of the blade as big as my hand. We looks at the animals, 
and thar they stood shaking over the grass, which I’m dog-gone 
if it wasn’t stone, too. Young Sublette comes up, and he’d been 
clerking down to the fort on Platte, so he know’d something. He 
looks and looks, and scrapes the trees with his butcher knife, and 
snaps the grass like pipe sterns, and breaks the leaves a-snappin’ 
like Californy shells. 

““¢ What’s all this, boy ?’ I asks. 

““* Putrefactions,’ says he, looking smart, ‘ putrefactions, or I’m 
a nigeur.’ 

“«Ta, Mister Harris,’ says the lady, ‘ putrefactions! why, did 
the leaves, and the trees, and the grass smell badly ?” 


* Soles made of buffalo hide. 


18 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


“¢Smell badly, marm! says Black Harris, ‘would a skunk 
stink if he was froze to stone? No, marm, this child didn’t know 
what putrefaction was, and young Sublette’s varsion wouldn’t 
‘shine’ no how, so I chips a piece out of a tree and puts it in my 
trap-sack, and carries it in safe to Laramie. Well, old Captain 
Stewart, (a clever man was that, though he was an Englishman), 
he comes along next spring, and a Dutch doctor chap was along 
too. ‘I shows him the piece I chipped out of the tree, and he 
ealled it a putrefaction too; and so, marm, if that wasn’t a putre- 
fied peraira, what was it? For this hos doesn’t know, and he 
knows ‘fat cow’ from ‘ poor bull,’ anyhow.’ > 

‘Well, old Black Harris is gone under too, I believe. He went 
to the ‘ Parks’ trapping with a Vide Poche Frenchman, who shot 
him for his bacca and traps. Darn them Frenchmen, they’re no 
account any way you lays your sight. (Any bacca in your bag, 
Bill? this beaver feels like chawing.) 

« Well, any how, thar was the camp, and they was going to 
put out the next morning ; and the last as come out of Indepen- 
dence was that ar Englishman. He'd a nor-west * capote on, and 
a two-shoot gun rifled. Well, them English are darned fools ; 
they can’t fix a rifle any ways; but that one did shoot ‘some ;’ 
leastwise he made it throw plum-center. He made the bufler 
‘come,’ he did, and fout well at Pawnee Fork too. What was 
hisname? All the boys called him Cap’en, and he got his fixings 
from old Choteau ; but what he wanted out thar in the mountains, 
I never jest rightly know’d. He was no trader, nor a trapper, 
and flung about his dollars right smart. ‘Thar was old grit in 
him, too, and a hair of the black b’ar at that.t They say he 
took-the bark off the Shians when he cleared out of the village with 


* The Hudson Bay Company having amalgamated with the American North 
West Company, is known by the name ‘North West’ to the southern trappers. 
Their employés usually wear Canadian capotes. 

t A spice of the devil 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 19 


old Beaver Tail’s squaw. THe’d been on Yaller Stone afore that : 
Leclere know’d him in the Blackfoot, and up in the Chippeway 
country ; and he had the best powder as ever I flashed through life, 
and his gun was handsome, that’s a fact. Them thar locks was 
grand; and old Jake Hawken’s nephey (him as trapped on Heely 
that time), told me, the other day, as he saw an English gun on 
Arkansa last winter as beat all off hand. 

“Nigh upon two hundred dollars I had in my possibles, when I 
went to that camp to see the boys afore they put out; and you 
know, Bill, as I sat to ‘Euker’ and ‘ Seven up’* till every cent was 
gone. 

«Take back twenty, old coon,’ says Big John. 
«« Hs full of such takes back,’ says 1; and I puts back to 
town and fetches the rifle and the old mule, puts my traps into the 
sack, gets credit for a couple of pounds of powder at Owin’s store, 
and hyar I ar on Bijou, with half a pack of beaver, and running 

meat yet, old hos: so put a log on, and let’s have a smoke. 

‘“ Hurraw, Jake, old coon, bear a hand, and let the squaw put 
them tails in the pot; for sun’s down, and we'll have to put out 


pretty early to reach ‘ Black Tail’ by this time to-morrow. Who's 1 


fust guard, boys? them cussed ‘ Rapahos’ will be after the animals 
to-night, or ’m no judge of Injun sign. How many did yougee, 
Maurice ?” 

“Enfant de Garce, me see bout honderd, when I pass Squirrel 
Creek, one dam war-party, parceque, they no hosses, and have 
de lariats for steal des animaux. May be de Yutas in Bayou 
Salade.”’ 

‘We'll be having trouble to-night, I’m thinking, if the devils 
are about. Whose band was it, Maurice 2” 

“ Shm-Face—I see him ver close—is out; mais I think it 
White Wolf’s.” 


*« Huker,” “ Poker,” and ‘Seven up,” are the fashionable games of cards. 


20 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


«White Wolf, maybe, will lose his hair if he and his band 
knock round here too often. That Injun put me afoot when we 
was out on ‘Sandy’ that fall. ‘This niggur owes him one, any 
how. 

« F—’s full of White Wolves: go ahead, and roll out some of 
your doins across the plains that time.” 

“ You seed sights that spree, eh, boy ?” 

“Well, we did. Some of em got their flints fixed this side of 
Pawnee Fork, and a heap of mule-meat went wolfing. Just by 
Little Arkansa we saw the first Injun. Me and young Somes 
was ahead for meat, and I had hobbled the old mule and was 
‘approaching’ some goats,* when I see the critturs turn back their 


> 


heads and jump right away for me. ‘Hurraw, Dick! I shouts, 
‘hyars brown-skin a-comin,’ and off I makes for the mule. ‘The 
young. greenhorn sees the goats runnin up to him, and not being 
up to Injun ways, blazes at the first and knocks him over. Jest 
then seven darned red heads top the bluff, and seven Pawnees 
come a-screechin upon us. I cuts the hobbles and jumps on the 
mule, and, when I looks back, there was Dick Somes ramming a 
ball down his gun like mad, and the Injuns flinging their arrows 
at him pretty smart, I tell you. ‘Hurraw, Dick, mind your hair,’ 
and I ups old Greaser and let one Injun ‘have it,’ as was going 
plum into the boy with his lance. He tumed on his back hand- 
some, and Dick gets the ball down at last, blazes away, and drops 
another. Then we charged on em, and they clears off like runnin 
cows; and I takes the hair off the heads of the two we made 
meat of ; and I do b’lieve thar’s some of them scalps on my old 
leggings yet. 

“Well, Dick was as full of arrows as a porkypine: one was 
sticking right through his cheek, one in his meat-bag, and two 
more, bout his hump-ribs. I tuk ’em all out slick, and away we 


* Antelope are frequently called “ goats” by the mountaineers. 


i 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 21 


go to camp, (for they was jest a-campin’ when we went ahead) 
and carryin’ the goat too. ‘Thar’ was a hurroo when we rode in 
with the scalps at the end of our guns. ‘Injuns! Injuns!’ was 
the cry from the greenhorns; ‘we'll be ’tacked to-night, that’s 
certain.’ 

“«°Tacked be —’ says old Bill; ‘aint we men too, and white 
at that? Look to your guns, boys; send out a strong hos’-guard 
with the animals, and keep your eyes skinned.’ 

‘Well, as soon as the animals were unhitched from the wagons, 
the guvner sends out a strong guard, seven boys, and old hands at 
that. It was pretty nigh upon sundown, and Bill had just sung 
out to ‘corral.’ The boys were drivin’ in the animals, and we 
were all standin’ round to get ’em in slick, when, ‘ howgh-owgh- 
owgh-owgh,’ we hears right behind the bluff, and ’bout a minute 
and.a perfect crowd of Injuns gallops down upon the animals. 
Wagh! war’nt thar hoopin’! We jump for the guns, but before 
we get to the fires, the Injuns were among the cavayard. I saw 
Ned Collyer and his brother, who were in the hos’-guard, let drive 
at em; but twenty Pawnees were round ’em before the smoke 
cleared from their rifles, and when the crowd broke the two boys 
were on the ground, and their hair gone. Well, that ar English- 
man just saved the cavayard. He had his horse, a regular buffalo- 
runner, picketed round the fire quite handy, and as soon as he sees 
the fix, he jumps upon her and rides right into the thick of the 
mules, and passes through ’em, firing his two-shoot gun at the 
Injuns, and, by Gor, he made two come. The mules, which was 
a snortin’ with funk and running before the Injuns, as soon as they 
see the Englishman’s mare (mules ‘ill go to h— after a horse, you 
all know), followed her right into the corral, and thar they was 
safe. Fifty Pawnees come screechin’ after em, but we was ready 
that time, and the way we throw’d ’em was something handsome, 
I tell you. But three of the hos’-guard got skeared—leastwise 

their mules did, and carried ’em off into the peraira, and the 


22° LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


Injuns having enough of ws, dashed after’em right away. Them 
poor devils looked back miserable now, with about a hundred red 
varmints tearin’ after their hair, and whooping like mad. Young 
Jem Bulcher was the last ; and when he seed it was no use, and 
his time was nigh, he throw’d himself off the mule, and standing 
as upright as a hickory wiping stick, he waves his hand to us, and 
blazes away at the first Injun as come up, and dropped him slick ; 
but the moment after, you may guess, he died. 

“We could do nothin’, for, before our guns were loaded, all 
three were dead and their scalps gone. Five of our boys got rub- 
bed out that time, and seven Injuns lay wolf’s meat, while a 
many more went away gut-shot, [ll lay. How’sever, five of us 
went under, and the Pawnees made a raise of a dozen mules, wagh !” 

Thus far, in his own words, we have accompanied the old 
hunter in his tale; and probably he would have taken us, by the 
time the Squaw Chilipat had pronounced the beaver tails cooked, 
safely across the grand prairies—fording Cotton Wood, Turkey 
Creek, Little Arkansas, Walnut Creek, and Pawnee Fork—pass- 
ed the fireless route of the Coon Crecks, through a sea of fat buf- 
falo meat without fuel to cook it; have struck the big river, and, 
leaving at the ‘ Crossing” the wagons destined for Santa Fé, have 
trailed us up the Arkansas to Bent’s Fort; thence up Boiling 
Spring across the divide over to the southern fork of the Platte, 
away up to the Black Hills, and finally camped us, with hair still 
preserved, in the beaver-abounding valleys of the Sweet Water, 
and Cache la Poudre, under the rugged shadow of the Wind 
River Mountains ; if it had not so happened at this juncture—as 
all our mountaineers sat cross-legged round the fire, pipe in mouth, 
and with Indian gravity listened to the yarn of the old trapper, 
interrupting him only with an occasional wagh! or with the ex- 
clamation of some participator in the events then under narration, 
who would every now and then put in a corroborative—‘ 'This 
child remembers that fix,” or, “ hyars a niggur lifted hair on that 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 23 


spree,” &c.—that a whizzing noise was heard in the air, followed 
by a sharp but suppressed cry from one of the hunters. 


In an instant the mountaineers had sprung from their seats, 


and, seizing the ever-ready rifle, each one had thrown himself on 
the ground a few paces beyond the light of the fire (for it was 
now nightfall); but not a word escaped them, as, lying close, 
with their keen eyes directed toward the gloom of the thicket, 
near which the camp was placed, with rifles cocked, they waited 
a renewal of the attack. Presently the leader of the band, no 
other than Killbuck, who had so lately been recounting some of 
his experiences across the plains, and than whom no more crafty 
woodsman or more expert trapper ever tracked a deer or grained 
a beaverskin, raised his tall, leather-clad form, and, placing his 
hand over his mouth, made the prairie ring with the wild, pro- 
tracted note of an Indian war-whoop. This was instantly repeat- 
ed from the direction where the animals belonging to the camp 
were grazing, under the charge of the horse-cuard. Three shrill 
whoops answered the warning of the leader, and showed that the 
guard was on the alert, and understood the signal. However, 
with the manifestation of their presence the Indians appeared to 
be satisfied ; or, what is more probable, the act of aggression had 
been committed by some daring young warrior, who, being out of 
his first expedition, desired to strike the first cowp, and thus signal- 
ize himself at the outset of the campaign. After waiting some 
few minutes, expecting a renewal of the attack, the mountaineers 
in a body rose from the ground and made toward the animals, 
with which they presently returned to the camp; and, after care- 
fully hobbling and securing them to pickets firmly driven into the 
ground, mounting an additional guard, and examining the neigh- 
boring thicket, they once more assembled round the fire, relit 
their pipes, and puffed away the cheering weed as composedly as 
if no such being as a Redskin, thirsting for their lives, was within 
a thousand miles of their perilous encampment. 


—_— - 


FPF 


24 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


“Tf ever thar was bad Injuns on these plains,’’ at last growled 
Killbuck, biting hard the pipe-stem between his teeth, “it’s these 
Rapahos, and the meanest kind at that.” 

“Can’t beat the Blackfeet, any how,” chimed in one La Bonté, 
from the Yellow Stone country, a fine handsome specimen of a 
mountaineer. ‘‘ However, one of you quit this arrow out of my 
hump,” he continued, bending forward to the fire, and exhibiting 
an arrow sticking out under his right shoulder-blade, and a stream 
of blood trickling down his buckskin coat from the wound. 

This his nearest neighbor essayed to do; but finding, after a 
tug, that it ‘“‘ would not come,” expressed his opinion that the 
offending weapon would have to be “butchered” ont. This was 
accordingly effected with the ready blade of a scalp-knife; and a 
handful of beaver-fur being placed on the wound, and secured by 
a strap of buckskin round the body, the wounded man donned his 
hunting-shirt once more, and coolly set about lighting his pipe, his 
rifle lying across his lap, cocked and ready for use. 

It was now near midnight—dark and misty; and the clouds, 
rolling away to the eastward from the lofty ridges of the Rocky 
Mountains, were gradually obscuring the dim starlight. As the 
lighter vapors faded from the mountains, a thick black cloud suc- 
ceeded them, and settled over the loftier peaks of the chain, faintly 
visible through the gloom of night, while a mass of fleecy scud 
soon overspread the whole sky. A hollow moaning sound crept 
through the valley, and the upper branches of the cotton woods, 
with their withered leaves, began to rustle with the first breath 
of the coming storm. Huge drops of rain fell at intervals, hissing 
as they dropped into the blazing fires, and pattering on the skins 
with which the hunters hurriedly covered the exposed baggage. 
The mules near the camp cropped the grass with quick and greedy 
bites round the circuit of their pickets, as if conscious that the 
storm would soon prevent their feeding, and already humped their 
backs as the chilling rain fell upon their flanks. The prairic 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 25 


wolves crept closer to the camp, and in the confusion that ensued 
from the hurry of the trappers to cover the perishable portions of 
- their equipment, contrived more than once to dart off with a piece 
of meat, when their peculiar and mournful chiding would be 
heard as they fought for the possession of the ravished morsel. 
‘When every thing was duly protected, the men set to work to 
spread their beds, those who had not troubled themselves to erect 
a shelter getting under the lee of the piles of packs and saddles ; 
while Killbuck, disdaining even such care of his carcass, threw 
his buffalo robe on the bare ground, declaring his intention to 
“take” what was coming at all hazards, and “any how.” Se- 
lecting a high spot, he drew his knife and proceeded to cut drains 
round it to prevent the water running into him as he lay; then 
taking a single robe he carefully spread it, placing under the end 
farthest from the fire a large. stone brought from the creek. 
Having satisfactorily adjusted this pillow, he added another robe 
to the one already laid, and placed over all a Navajo blanket, 
supposed to be impervious to rain. Then he divested himself 
of his pouch and powder-horn, ec with his rifle, he placed in- 
side his bed, and quickly covered up, lest the wet should reach 
them. Having performed these operations to his satisfaction, he 
lighted his pipe by the hissing ee of the halfextinguished firé 
(for by this time the rain poured in torrents), and went the rounds 
of the picketed animals, cautioning the guard round the camp to 
keep their “ a skinned, for there would be ‘ powder burned’ 
before morning.” Then returning to the fire, and licking with 
his moccasined foot the slumbering ashes, he squatted down. before 
it, and thus soliloquized :— 
« Thirty year have I been knocking about these mountains from 
Missoura’s head as far sothe as the starving Gila. I’ve trapped a 
‘heap,’ * and many a hundred pack of beaver I’ve traded in my 


* An Indian is always a “heap” hingry or thirsty—loves a “heap’—is a 
“heap” brave—in fact, “heap” is tantamount to very much. 
B ext 


. 
¥ 


5 . 


26 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


time, wagh! What has come of it, and whar’s the dollars as 
ought to be in my possibles? Whar’s the ind of this, I say? 
Is a man to be hunted by Injuns all his days? Many’s the 
time I’ve said I’d strike for Taos and trap a squaw, for this 
child’s getting old, and feels like wanting a woman’s face about 
his lodge for the balance of lis days; but when it comes to cach- 
ing of the old traps, I’ve the smallest kind of heart, I have. Cer- 
tain, the old state come across my mind now and again, but who's 
thar to remember my old body? But them diggings get too over 
crowded nowadays, and it is hard to fetch breath amongst them 
big bands of corncrackers to Missoura. Beside, it goes against. 
natur to leave bufler meat and feed on hog; and them white gals 
are too much like picturs, and a deal too ‘fofaraw’ (fanfaron). 
No; darn the settlements, I say. It won’t shine, and whar’s the 
dollars? Howsever, beaver’s ‘ bound to rise ;) human natur ean’t 
go on selling beaver a dollar a pound; no, no, that arn’t a-going 
to shine much longer, I know. Them was the times when this 
child first went to the mountains: six dollars the plew—old ’un 
or kitten. Wagh! but it’s bound to rise, I says agin ; and hyar’s 
a coon knows whar to lay his hand on a dozen pack right handy, 
and then he’ll take the Taos trail, wagh !” 

Thus soliloquizing, Killbuck knocked the ashes from his pipe, 
_ and placed it in the gayly ornamented case that hung round his 
neck, drew his knife-belt a couple of holes tighter, resumed his 
pouch and powder-horn, took his rifle, which he carefully covered 
with the folds of his Navajo blanket, and striding into the dark- 
ness, cautiously reconnoitered the vicinity of the camp. When he 
returned to the fire he sat himself down as before, but this time 
with his rifle across his lap; and at intervals his keen gray eye 
glanced piercingly around, particularly toward an old, weather- . 
beaten, and grizzled mule, who now, old stager as she was, having 
filled her belly, stood lazily over her picket pin, with her head bent 


down and her long ears flapping over her face, her limbs gathered 
1 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 27 


under her, and her back arched to throw off the rain, tottering from 
side to side as she rested and slept. 

“Yep, old gal!’ cried Killbuck to the animal, at the same time 
picking a piece of burnt wood from the fire and throwing it at her, 
at which the mule gathered itself up and cocked her ears as she 
recognized her master’s voice. ‘‘ Yep, old gal! and keep your nose 
open ; thar’s brown skin about, I’m thinkin,’ and maybe you'll get 
‘roped’ (lasso’d) by a Rapaho, afore mornin’.”” Again the old trap- 
per settled himself before the fire; and soon his head began to nod, 
as drowsiness stole over him. Already he was in the land of 
dreams ; reveling among bands of “ fat cow,” or hunting along a 
stream well peopled with beaver; with no Indian “sign” to dis- 
turb him, and the merry rendezvous in close perspective, and his 
peltry selling briskly at six dollars the plew, and galore of alcohol 
to ratify the trade. Or, perhaps, threading the back trail of his 
memory, he passed rapidly through the perilous vicissitudes of his 
hard, hard life—starving one day, reveling in abundance the next ; 
now beset by whooping savages thirsting for his blood, baying his 
enemies like the hunted deer, but with the unflinching courage of 
a man; now, all care thrown aside, secure and forgetful of the past, 
a welcome guest in the hospitable trading fort ; or back, as the trail 
gets fainter, to his childhood’s home in the brown forests of old 
Kentuck, tended and cared for—his only thought to enjoy the 
hornminy and johnny cakes of his thrifty mother. Once more, in 
warm and well remembered homespun, he sits on the snake fence 
round the old clearing, and munching his hoe-cake at set of sun, 
listens to the mournful note of the whip-poor-will, or the harsh cry 
of the noisy cat-bird, or watches the agile gambols of the squirrels 
as they chase each other, chattering the while, from branch to 
branch of the lofty tamarisks, wondering how long it will be before 
he will be able to lift his father’s heavy rifle, and use it against 
the tempting game. Sleep, however, sat lightly on the eyes of the 
wary mountaineer, and a snort from the old mule in an instant 


28 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


stretched his every nerve. Without a movement of his body, his 
keen eye fixed itself upon the mule, which now stood with head 
bent round, and eyes and ears pointed in one direction, snuffing the 
night air, and snorting with apparent fear. A low sound from the 
wakeful hunter roused the others from their sleep; and raising 
their bodies from their well-soaked beds, a single word apprized 
them of their danger. 

* Tnjuns !” 

Scarcely was the word out of Killbuck’s lips when, above the 
howling of the furious wind, and the pattering of the rain, a hun- 
dred savage yells broke suddenly upon their ears from all directions 
round.the camp; a score of rifle-shots rattled from the thicket, and 
a cloud of arrows whistled through the air, while a crowd of Indians 
charged upon the picketed animals, ‘“Owgh, owgh—owgh— 
owgh—g-h-h.’” “ Afoot, by gor!’ shouted Killbuck, “and the old 
mule gone at that. On ’em, boys, for old Kentuck !’ And he 
rushed toward his mule, which jumped and snorted, mad with 
fright, as a naked Indian strove to fasten a lariat round her nose, 
having already cut the rope which fastened her to the picket pin. 

“Quit that, you cussed devil!” roared the trapper, as he jumped 
upon the savage, and without raising his rifle to his shoulder, made 
a deliberate thrust with the muzzle at his naked breast, striking 
him full, and at the same time pulling the trigger, actually driving 
the Indian two paces backward with the shock, when he fell in a 
heap, and dead. But at the same moment, an Indian, sweeping 
his club round his head, brought it with fatal force down upon 
Killbuck ; for a moment the hunter staggered, threw out his arms 
wildly into the air, and fell headlong to the ground. 

“Owgh! owgh, owgh-h-h!” cried the Rapaho, and, striding 
over the prostrate body, he seized with his left hand the middle 
lock of the trapper’s long hair, and drew his knife round the head 
to separate the scalp from the skull. As he bent over to his work, 
the trapper named La Bonté saw his companion’s peril, rushed 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 29 


quick as thought at the Indian, and buried his knife to the hilt 
between his shoulders. With a gasping shudder the Rapaho fell 
dead upon the prostrate body of his foe. 

The attack, however, lasted but a few seconds. The dash at 
the animals had been entirely successful, and, driving them before 
them, with loud cries, the Indians disappeared quickly in the 
darkness. Without waiting for daylight, two of the three trappers 
who alone were to be seen, and who had been within the shanties 
at the time of attack, without a moment’s delay commenced pack- 
ing two horses, which having been fastened to the shanties had 
escaped the Indians, and placing their squaws upon them, shower- 
ing curses and imprecations on their enemies, left the camp, fearful 
of another onset, and resolved to retreat and cache themselves until 
the danger was over. Not so La Bonté, who, stout and true, had 
done his best in the fight, and now sought the body of his old 
comrade, from which, before he could examine the wounds, he had 
first to remove the corpse of the Indian he had slain. Killbuck 
still breathed. He had been stunned ; but, revived by the cold 
rain beating upon his face, he soon opened his eyes, and recognized. 
his trusty friend, who, sitting down, lifted his head into his lap, 
and wiped away the blood that streamed from the wounded 
scalp. ’ 

“Ts the top-knot gone, boy?” asked Killbuck ; ‘for my head 
feels queersome, I tell you.” 

“'Thar’s the Injun as felt like lifting it,” answered the other, 
kicking the dead body with his foot. 

“Wagh! boy, you’ve struck a coup; so scalp the nigger right 
off, and then fetch me a drink.”’ 

The morning broke clear and cold. With the exception of a 
light cloud which hung over Pike’s Peak, the sky was spotless ; 
and a perfect calm had succeeded the boisterous storm of the 
previous night. The creek was swollen and turbid with the 
rains ; and as La Bonté proceeded a little distance down the bank 


30 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


to find a passage to the water, he suddenly stopped short, and an 
involuntary cry escaped him. Within a few feet of the bank lay 
the body of one of his companions, who had formed the guard at 
the time of the Indians’ attack. It was lying on the face, pierced 
through the chest with an arrow which was buried to the very 
feathers, and the scalp torn from the bloody skull. Beyond, but 
all within a hundred yards, lay the three others, dead, and similarly 
mutilated. So certain had been the aim, and so close the enemy, 
that each had died without a struggle, and consequently had been 
unable to alarm the camp. La Bonté, with a glance at the bank, 
saw at once that the wily Indians had crept along the creek, the 
noise of the storm facilitating their approach undiscovered, and 
crawling up the bank, had watched their opportunity to shoot 
simultaneously the four hunters on guard. 

Returning to Killbuck, he apprized him of the melancholy fate 
of their companions, and held a council of war as to their proceed- 
ings. The old hunter's mind was soon made up. ‘“ First,” said 
he, “I get back my old mule; she’s carried me and my traps 
these twelve years, and I aint a goin’ to lose her yet. Second, I 
feel like taking hair, and some Rapahos has to ‘ go under’ for this 
night’s work. 'Third, We have got to cache the beaver. Fourth, 
We take the Injun trail, wharever it leads.” 

No more daring mountaineer than La Bonté ever trapped a 
beaver, and no counsel could have more exactly tallied with his 
own inclination than the law laid down by old Killbuck. 

‘‘ Agreed,” was his answer, and forthwith he set about forming 
a cache. In this instance they had not sufficient time to construct 
a regular one, so they contented themselves with securing their 
packs of beaver in buffalo robes, and tying them in the forks of 
several cotton-woods, under which the camp had been made. 
This done, they lit a fire, and cooked some buffalo meat: and, 
while smoking a pipe, carefully cleaned their rifles and filled their 
horns and pouches with good store of ammunition. 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 31 


A prominent feature in the character of the hunters of the far 
west is their quick determination and resolve in cases of extreme 
difficulty and peril, and their fixedness of purpose, when any plan 
of operations has been laid, requiring bold and instant action in 
carrying out. It is here that they so infinitely surpass the savage 
Indian, in bringing to a successful issue their numerous hostile ex- 
peditions against the natural foe of the white man in the wild and 
barbarous regions of the west. Ready to resolve as they are 
prompt to execute, and combining far greater dash and daring 
with equal subtlety and caution, they possess great advantage 
over the vacillating Indian, whose superstitious mind in a great 
degree paralyzes the physical energy of his active body; and who, 
by waiting for propitious signs and seasons before he undertakes 
an enterprise, often loses the opportunity by which his white and 
more civilized enemy knows so well how to profit. 

Killbuck and La Bonté were no exceptions to this characteristic 
rule ; and before the sun was a hand’s-breadth above the eastern 
horizon, the two hunters were running on the trail of the victori- 
_ ous Indians. Striking from the creek where the night attack was 
made, they crossed to another, known as Kioway, running parallel 
to Bijou, a few hours’ journey westward, and likewise heading in 
the “divide.” Following this to its forks, they struck ito the 
upland prairies lying at the foot of the mountains; and crossing 
to the numerous water-courses which feed the creek called “ Ver- 
milion” or “ Cherry,” they pursued the trail over the mountain- 
spurs until it reached a fork of the Boiling Spring. Here the 
war-party had halted and held a consultation, for from this point 
the trail turned at a tangent to the westward, and entered the 
rugged gorges of the mountains. It was now evident to the two 
trappers that their destination was the Bayou Salade—a mount- 
ain valley which is a favorite resort of the buffalo in the winter 
season, and which, and for this reason, is often frequented by the 
Yuta Indians as their wintering ground. That the Rapahos were 


32 LIFE IN THE FAR. WEST. 


on a war expedition against the Yutas, there was little doubt ; 
and Killbuck, who knew every inch of the ground, saw at once, 
by the direction the trail had taken, that they were making for 
the Bayou in order to surprise their enemies, and, therefore, were 
not following the usual Indian trail up the canon of the Boiling 
Spring River. Having made up his mind to this, he at once 
struck across the broken ground lying at the foot of the mountains, 
steering a course a little to the eastward of north, or almost in the 
direction whence he had come: and then, pointing westward, 
about noon he crossed a mountain chain, and descending into a 
ravine through which a little rivulet tumbled over its rocky bed, 
he at once proved the correctness of his judgment by striking the 
Indian trail, now quite fresh, as it wound through the canon along 
the bank of thestream. The route he had followed, impracticable 
to pack-animals, had saved at least half a day’s journey, and brought 
them within a short distance of the object of their pursuit ; for, 
at the head of the gorge, a lofty bluff presenting itself, the hunters 
ascended to the summit, and, looking down, descried at their very 
feet the Indian camp, with their own stolen cavallada feeding 
quietly round. 

‘““Wagh!” exclaimed both the hunters in a breath. “ And 
thar’s the old gal at that,” chuckled Killbuck, as he recognized 
his old grizzled mule making good play at the rich buffalo grass 
with which these mountain valleys abound. 

“Tf we don’t make ‘a raise’ afore long, I wouldn’t say so. 
Thar plans is plain to this child as beaver sign. They’re after 
Yuta hair, as certain as this gun has got hind-sights; but they _ 
arn’t a-goin’ to pack them animals after ’°em, and have crawled 
like ‘rattlers’ along this bottom to cache ’em till they come back 
trom the Bayou—and maybe they’ll leave half a dozen ‘ soldiers’* 
with ’em.” 


* The young untried warriors of the Indians are thus called. 


Ee SE 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. . 33 


How right the wily trapper was in his conjectures will be 
shortly proved. Meanwhile, with his companion, he descended 
the bluff, and pushing his way into a thicket of dwarf pine and 
cedar, sat down on a log, and drew from an end of the blanket, 
strapped on his shoulder, a portion of a buffalo’s liver, which they 
both discussed, yaw, with infinite relish ; eating in lieu of bread 
(an unknown luxury in these parts) sundry strips of dried fat. To 
have kindled a fire would have been dangerous, since it was not 
impossible that some of the Indians might leave their camp to 
hunt, when the smoke would at once have betrayed the presence 
of enemies. A light was struck, however for their pipes, and after 
enjoying this true consolation for some time, they laid a blanket on 
the ground, and, side by side, soon fell asleep. 

If Killbuck had been a prophet, or the most prescient of “ medi- 
cine men,’ he could not have more exactly predicted the move- 
ments inthe Indian camp. About three hours before “‘ sun-down,” 
he rose and shook himself, which movement was sufficient to 
awaken his companion. ‘Telling La Bonté to lie down again and 
rest, he gave him to understand that he was about to reconnoiter 
the enemy’s camp; and after carefully examining his rifle, and 
drawing his knife-belt a hole or two tighter, he proceeded on his 
dangerous errand. Ascending the same bluff whence he had first 
discovered the Indian camp, he glanced rapidly around, and made 
himself master of the features of the ground—choosing a ravine 
by which he might approach the camp more closely, and without 
danger of being discovered. ‘This was soon effected ; and in half 
an hour the trapper was lying on his belly on the summit of a 
pine-covered bluff, which overlooked the Indians within easy rifle- 
shot, and so perfectly concealed by the low spreading branches of 
the cedar and arbor-vite, that not a particle of his person could be 
detected; unless, indeed, his sharp twinkling gray eye contrasted 
too strongly with the green boughs that covered the rest of his face. 
Moreover, there was no danger of their hitting upon his trail, for 

B® 


34 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


he had been careful to pick his steps on the rock-covered ground, 
so that not a track of his moccasin was visible. Here he lay, 
still as a carcagien in wait for a deer, only now and then shak- 
ing the boughs as his body quivered with a suppressed chuckle, 
when any movement in the Indian camp caused him to laugh 
inwardly at his (af they had known it) unwelcome propinquity. 
He was not a little surprised, however, to discover that the 
party was much smaller than he had imagined, counting only 
‘forty warriors ; and this assured him that the band had divided, 
one half taking the Yuta trail by the Boiling Spring, the other 
(the one before him) taking a longer circuit in order to reach the 
Bayou, and make the attack on the Yutas in a different direc- 
tion. 

At this moment the Indians were in deliberation. Seated in a 
large circle round a very small fire,* the smoke from which as- 
cended in a thin straight column, they each in turn puffed a huge 
cloud of smoke from three or four long cherry-stemmed pipes, which 
went the round of the party; each warrior touching the ground 
with the heel of the pipe-bowl, and turning the stem upward and 
away from him as “medicine” to the Great Spirit, before he him- 
self inhaled the fragrant kinnik-kinnik. The council, however, 
was not general, for only fifteerf“of the older warriors took part in 
it, the others sitting outside and at some little distance from the 
circle. Behind each were his arms—bow and quiver, and shield 
hanging from a spear stuck in the ground, and a few guns in 
ornamented covers of buckskin were added to some of the equip- 
ments. 

Near the fire, and in the center of the inner circle, a spear was 
fixed upright in the ground, and on this dangled the four scalps of 


* There is a great difference between an Indian's fire and a white’s. The 
former places the ends of logs to burn gradually ; the latter, the center, besides 
making such a bonfire that the Indians truly say, ‘‘ The white makes a fire so hot 
that he can not approach to warm himself by it.” 


————E 


LIFE iN THE FAR WEST. 35 


the trappers killed the preceding night ; and underneath them, 
affixed to the same spear, was the mystic “medicine bag,” by 
which Killbuck knew that the band before him was under the 
command of the chief of the tribe. 

Toward the grim trophies on the spear, the warriors, who in 
turn addressed the council, frequently pointed—more, than one, as 
he did so, making the gyratory motion of the right hand and arm, 
which the Indians use in describing that they have gained an 
advantage by skill or cunning. Then pointing westward, the 
speaker would thrust out his arm, extending his fingers at the 
same time, and closing and reopening them repeatedly, meaning, 
that although four scalps already ornamented the “ medicine’”’ pole, 
they were as nothing compared to the numerous trophies they 
would bring from the Salt Valley, where they expected to find. 


their hereditary enemies the Yutas. “That now was not the 


time to count their coups,” (for at this moment one of the warriors 
rose from his seat, and, swelling with pride, advanced toward the 
spear, pointing to one of the scalps, and then striking his open 
hand on his naked breast, jumped into the air, as if about to go 
through the ceremony.) ‘That before many suns all their spears 
together would not hold the scalps they had taken, and that they 
would return to their village and spend a moon relating their 
achievements, and-eounting coups.” 

All this Killbuck learned; thanks to his knowledge of the 
language of signs—a master of which, if even he have no ears or 
tongue, never fails to understand, and be understood by, any of the 
hundred tribes whose languages are perfectly distinct and different. 
He learned, moreover, that at sundown the greater part of the 
band would resume the trail, in order to reach the Bayou by the 
earliest dawn; and also, that no more than four or five of the 
younger warriors would remain with the captured animals. Still 
the hunter remained in his position until the sun had disappeared 
behind the ridge ; when, taking up their arms, and throwing their — 


36 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST: 


buffalo robes on their shoulders, the war party of Rapahos, one 
behind the other, with noiseless step, and silent as the dumb, 
moved away from the camp. When the last dusky form had 
disappeared behind a point of rocks which shut in the northern 
end of the little valley or ravine, Killbuck withdrew his head from 
its screen, crawled backwards on his stomach from the edge of the 
bluff, and, rismg from the ground, shook and stretched himself; 
then gave one cautious look around, and immediately proceeded to 
rejoin his companion. 

“ Lave (get up), boy,” said Killbuck, as soon as he reached 
him. ‘“Hyar’s grainin’ to do afore long—and sun’s about down, 
Pm thinking.” 

“Ready, old hos,” answered La Bonté, giving himself a shake. 
* What’s the sien like, and how many’s the lodge ?” 

“Fresh, and five, boy. How do you feel?” 

“ Half froze for hair. Wagh!” 

‘We'll have moon to-night, and as soon as she gets up, we'll 
make ’em ‘come.’”’ 

Killbuck then described to his companion what he had seen, 
and detailed his plan. ‘This was simply to wait until the moon 
afforded sufficient light, then to approach the Indian camp and 
charge into it, “lift” as much “hair” as they could, recover their 
animals, and start at once to the Bayou and join the friendly 
Yutas, warning them of the coming danger. The risk of falling 
in with either of the Rapaho bands was hardly considered ; to 
avoid this, they trusted to their own foresight, and the legs of 
their mules, should they encounter them. 

Between sundown and the rising of the moon, they had leisure 
to eat their supper, which, as before, consisted of raw buflalo- 
liver; after discussing which, Killbuck pronounced himself “a 
‘heap’ better,” and ready for “ huggin.” 

In the short interval of almost perfect darkness which preceded 
the moonlight, and taking advantage of one of the frequent squalls 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 37 


of wind which howl down the narrow gorges of the mountains, 
these two determined men, with footsteps noiseless as the panther’s, 
crawled to the edge of the little plateau of some hundred yards’ 
square, where the five Indians in charge of the animals were 
seated round the fire, perfectly unconscious of the vicinity of danger. 
Several clumps of cedar bushes dotted the small prairie, and 
among these the well-hobbled mules and horses were feeding. 
These animals, accustomed to the presence of whites, would not 
notice the two hunters as they crept from clump to clump nearer 
to the fire, and also served, even if the Indians should be on the 
watch, to conceal their movements from them. 

This the two men at once perceived; but old Killbuck knew 
that if he passed within sight or smell of his mule, he would be 
received with a hinny of recognition, which would at once alarm 
the enemy. He therefore first ascertained where his own animal 
was feeding, which luckily was at the farther side of the prairie, 
and would not interfere with his proceedings. 

Threading their way among the feeding mules, they approached 
a clump of bushes about forty yards from the spot where the un- 
conscious savages were seated smoking round the fire; and here 
they awaited, scarcely drawing breath the while, the moment 
when the moon rose above the mountain into the clear cold sky, 
and gave them light sufficient to make sure their work of bloody 
retribution. Not a pulsation in the hearts of these stern, deter- 
mined men beat higher than its wont; not the tremor of a nerve 
disturbed their frame. They stood with lips compressed and rifles 
ready, their pistols loosened in their belts, their scalp-knives handy 
to their gripe. The lurid glow of the coming moon already shot 
into the sky above the ridge, which stood out in bold relief 
against the light; and the luminary herself just peered over the 
mountain, illuminating its pine-clad summit, and throwing her 
beams on an opposite peak, when Killbuck touched his compan- 
ion’s arm, and whispered, ‘“‘ Wait for the full light, boy.” 


38 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


At this moment, however, unseen by the trapper, the old grizzled 
mule had gradually approached, as she fed along the plateau; and, 
when within a few paces of their retreat, a gleam of moonshine 
revealed to the animal the erect forms of the two whites. Sud- 
denly she stood still and pricked her ears, and stretching out her 
neck and nose, snuffed the air. Well she knew her old master. 

Kallbuck, with eyes fixed upon the Indians, was on the point 
of giving the signal of attack to his comrade, when the shrill hinny 
of his mule reverberated through the gorge. The Indians jumped 
to their feet and seized their arms, when Killbuck, with a loud 
shout of ‘ At "em, boy ; give the niggurs h—!” rushed from his 
concealment, and with La Bonté by his side, yelling a fierce war- 
whoop, sprung upon the startled savages. 

Panic-struck with the suddenness of the attack, the Indians 
scarcely knew where to run, and for a moment stood huddled to- 
gether like sheep. Down dropped Killbuck on his knee, and 
stretching out his wiping-stick, planted it on the ground at the 
extreme length of his arm. As methodically and as coolly as if 
about to aim at a deer, he raised his rifle to this rest and pulled 
the trigger. At the report an Indian fell forward on his face, at 
the same moment that La Bonté, with equal certainty of aim and 
like effect, discharged his own rifle. 

The three surviving Indians, seeing that their assailants were 
but two, and knowing that their guns were empty, came on with 
loud yells. With the left hand grasping a bunch of arrows, and 
holding the bow already bent and arrow fixed, they steadily ad- 
vanced, bending low to the ground to get their objects between 
them and the light, and thus render their aim more certain. The 
trappers, however, did not care to wait for them. Drawing their 
pistols, they charged at once ; and although the bows twanged, and. 
the three arrows struck their mark, on they rushed, discharging 
their pistols at close quarters. La Bonté threw his empty one at the 
head of an Indian who was pulling his second arrow to its head at a 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 39 


yard’s distance, drew his knife at the same moment, and made at 
him. 

But the Indian broke and ran, followed by his surviving compan- 
ion; and assoon as Killbuck could ram home another ball, he sent a 
shot flying after them as they scrambled up the mountain side, leav- 
ing in their fright and hurry their bows and shields on the ground. 

The fight was over, and the two trappers confronted each other : 
—‘‘ We've given ’em h—!”’ laughed Killbuck. 

‘Well, we have,” answered the other, pulling an arrow out of 
his arm.—‘‘ Wagh!” 

“ We'll lift the hair, any how,” continued the first, ‘‘ afore the 
scalp’s cold.” 

Taking his whetstone from the little sheath on his knife-belt, 
the trapper proceeded to ‘edge’ his knife, and then stepping to the 
first prostrate body, he turned it over to examine if any symptom of 
vitality remained. “ Thrown cold !’’ he exclaimed, as he dropped the 
lifeless arm he had lifted. ‘“ I sighted him about the long ribs, but 
the light was bad, and I couldn’t get a ‘bead’ ‘off hand’ any how.” 

Seizing with his left hand the long and braided lock on the 
center of the Indian’s head, he passed the point edge of his keen 
butcher-knife round the parting, turning it at the same time under, 
the skin to separate the scalp from the skull; then, with a quick and 
sudden jerk of his hand, he removed it entirely from the head, and 
giving the reeking trophy a wring upon the grass to free it from 
the blood, he coolly hitched it under his belt, and proceeded to the 
next; but seeing La Bonté operating upon this, he sought the 
third, who lay some little distance from the others. This one was 
still alive, a pistol-ball having passed through his body, without 
touching a vital spot. 

“Gut-shot is this niggur,” exclaimed the trapper; ‘“ them pis- 
tols never throws ’em in their tracks ;” and thrusting his knife, for 
mercy’s sake, into the bosom of the Indian, he likewise tore the 
scalp-lock from his head, and placed it with the other. 


40 : LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


- 


La Bonte had received two trivial wounds, and Killbuck till 
now had been walking about with. an arrow sticking through the 
fleshy part of his thigh, the point bemg perceptible near the surface 
of the other side. ‘To free his leg from the painful encumbrance, 
he thrust the weapon completely through, and then, cutting off the 
arrow-head below the barb, he drew it out, the blood flowing freely 
from the wound. A tourniquet of buckskin soon stopped this, and, 
heedless of the pain, the hardy mountaineer sought for his old 
mule, and quickly brought it to the fire (which La Bonté had re- 
kindled), lavishing many a caress, and most comical terms of en- 
dearment, upon the faithful companion of his wanderings. They 
found all the animals safe and well; and after eating heartily of 
some venison which the Indians had been cooking at the moment 
of the attack, made instant preparations to quit the scene of their 
exploit, not wishing to trust to the chance of the Rapahos being 
too frightened to again molest them. 

Having no saddles, they secured buffalo robes on the backs of 
two mules—Killbuck, of course, riding his own—and lost no time 
in proceeding on their way. They followed the course of the In- 
dians up the stream, and found that it kept the canons and gorges 
of the mountains, where the road was better; but it was with no 
little difficulty that they made their way, the ground being much 
broken, and covered with rocks. Killbuck’s wound became very 
painful, and his leg stiffened and swelled distressingly, but he still 
pushed on all night, and at daybreak, recognizing their position, he 
left the Indian trail, and followed a little creek which rose in a 
mountain chain of moderate elevation, and above which, and to the 
south, Pike’s Peak towered high into the clouds. With great dif- 
ficulty they crossed this ridge, and ascending and descending sev- 
eral smaller ones, which gradually smoothed away as they met the 
valley, about three hours after sunrise they found themselves in the 
southeast corner of the Bayou Salade. 

The Bayou Salade, or Salt Valley, is the most southern of three 


2 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 41 


very extensive valleys, forming a series of table-lands in the very 
center of the main chain of the Rocky Mountains, known to the 
trappers by the name of the “ Parks.’’ The numerous streams by 
which they are watered abound in the valuable fur-bearing beaver, 
while every species of game common to the west is found here in 
great abundance. The Bayou Salade especially, owing to the 
salitrose nature of the soil and springs, is the favorite resort of all 
the larger animals common to the mountains; and, in the sheltered 
prairies of the Bayou, the buffalo, forsaking the barren and inclem- 
ent regions of the exposed plains, frequent these upland valleys, 
in the winter months; and feeding upon the rich and nutritious 
buffalo grass which, on the bare prairies, at that season, is either 
dry and rotten, or entirely exhausted, not only sustain life, but re- 
tain a great portion of the “condition” that the abundant fall and 
summer pasture of the lowlands has laid upon their bones. ‘There- 
fore is this valley sought by the Indians as a wintering ground. Its 
occupancy has been disputed by most of the mountain tribes, and 
long and bloody wars have been waged to make good the claims 
set forth by Yuta, Rapaho, Sioux, and Shians. However, to the 
first of these it may be said now to belong, since their “ big vil- 
lage” has wintered there for many successive years; while the 
Rapahos seldom visit it, unless on war expeditions against the 
Yutas. 

Judging, from the direction the Rapahos were taking, that the 
friendly tribe of Yutas were there already, the trappers had re- 
solved to joi them as soon as possible; and, therefore, without 
resting, pushed on through the uplands, and, toward the middle 
of the day, had the satisfaction of descrying the conical lodges of 
the village, situated on a large level plateau, through which ran 
a mountain stream. A numerous band of mules and horses were 
scattered over the pasture, and round them several mounted In- 
dians kept guard. As the trappers descended the bluffs into the 
plain, some straggling Indians caught sight of them; and in- 


42 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


stantly one of them, lassoing a horse from the herd, mounted it, 
barebacked, and flew like wind to the village to spread the news. 
Soon the lodges disgorged their inmates; first the women and 
children rushed to the side of the strangers’ approach; then the 
younger Indians, unable to restrain their curiosity, mounted their 
horses, and galloped forth to meet them. ‘The old chiefs, envel- 
oped in buffalo robes (softly and delicately dressed as the Yutas 
alone know how), and with tomahawk held in one hand and rest- 
ing in the hollow of the other arm, sallied last of all from their 
lodges, and squatting in a row on a sunny bank outside the village, 
awaited with dignified composure, the arrival of the whites. 
Killbuck was well known to most of them, having trapped in their 
country and traded with them years before at Roubideau’s fort at 
the head waters of the Rio Grande. After shaking hands with 
all who presented themselves, he at onee gave them to understand 
that their enemies, the Rapahos, were at hand, with a hundred 
warriors at least, elated by the coup they had just struck against 
the whites, bringing, moreover, four white scalps to incite them to 
brave deeds. 

At this news the whole village was speedily in commotion : the 
war-shout was taken up from lodge to lodge; the squaws began to 
lament and tear their hair; the warriors to paint and arm them- 
selves. The elder chiefs immediately met in council, and, over 
the medicine-pipe, debated as to the best course to pursue—whether 
to wait the attack, or sally out and meet the enemy, In the mean 
time, the braves were collected together by the chiefs of their re- 
spective bands, and scouts, mounted on the fastest horses, dis- 
patched in every direction to procure intelligence of the enemy. 

The two whites, after watering their mules and picketing them 
in some good grass near the village, drew near the council fire, 
without, however, joining in the “ talk,’ until they were invited to 
take their seats by the eldest chief. Then Killbuck was called 
upon to give his opinion as to the direction in which he judged the 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 43 


Rapahos to be approaching, which he delivered in their own lan- 
guage, with which he was well acquainted. In a short time the 
council broke up, and, without noise or confusion, a band of one 
handred chosen warriors left the village, immediately after one of 
the scouts had galloped in and communicated some intelligence to 
the chiefs. Killbuck and La Bonté volunteered to accompany 
the war-party, weak and exhausted as they were; but this was 
negatived by the chiefs, who left their white brothers to the care 
of the women, who tended their wounds; now stiff and painful : 
and spreading their buffalo robes in a warm and roomy lodge, left 
them to the repose they so much needed. 


CHAPTER II. 


Tue next morning, Killbuck’s leg was greatly inflamed, and he 
was unable to leave the lodge; but he made his companion bring 
the old mule to the door, that he might give her a couple of ears 
of Indian corn, the last remains of the slender store brought by 
the Indians from the Navajo country. The day passed, and sun- 
down brought no tidings of the war-party. This caused no little 
wailing on the part of the squaws, but was interpreted by the 
whites as a favorable augury. A little after sunrise, on the second 
morning, the long line of the returning warriors was discerned 
winding over the prairie, and a scout having galloped in to bring 
the news of a great victory, the whole village was soon in a fer- 
ment of paint and drumming. A short distance from the lodges, 
the warriors halted to await the approach of the people. Old 
men, children, and squaws sitting astride their horses, sallied out 
to escort the victorious party in triumph to the village. With 
loud shouts and songs, and drums beating the monotonous Indian 
time, they advanced and encircled the returning braves, one of 
whom, his face covered with black paint, carried a pole on which 
dangled thirteen scalps, the trophies of the expedition. As he 
lifted these on high, they were saluted with deafening whoops and 
cries of exultation and savage joy. In this manner they entered 
the village, almost before the friends of those fallen in the fight 
had ascertained their losses. Then the shouts of delight were 
converted into yells of grief; the mothers and wives of those 
braves who had been killed (and seven had ‘“ gone under’) pres- 
ently returned with their faces, necks, and harids blackened, and 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. . 45 


danced and howled round the scalp-pole, which had been deposited 


a 
in the center of the village, in front of the lodge of the great chief. 


Killbuck now learned that a scout having brought intelligence 
that the two bands of Rapahos were hastening to form a junction, 
as soon as they learned that their approach was discovered, the 
Yutas had successfully prevented it ; and attacking one party, had 
entirely defeated it, killing thirteen of the Rapaho braves. The 
other party had fled on seeing the issue of the fight, and a few of 
the Yuta warriors were now pursuing them. 

To celebrate so signal a victory, great preparations sounded 
their notes through the village. Paints—vermilion and ochers— 
red and yellow—were in great request; while the scrapings of 
charred wood, mixed with gunpowder, were used as substitute for 
black, the medicine color. 

The lodges of the village, numbering some two hundred or 
more, were erected in parallel lines, and covered a large space of 
the level prairie in shape of a parallelogram. In the center, how- 
ever, the space which half a dozen lodges in length would have 
taken up was left unoccupied, save by one large one, of red-painted 
buffalo skins, tatooed with the mystic totems of the “ medicine” 
peculiar to the nation. In front of this stood the grim scalp-pole. 
like a decayed tree trunk, its bloody fruit tossing in the wind ; 
and on another pole, at a few feet distance, was hung the “ bag”’ 
with its mysterious contents. Before each lodge a tripod of spears 
supported the arms and shields of the Yuta chivalry, and on many 
of them, smoke-dried scalps rattled in the wind, former trophies of 
the dusky knights who were arming themselves within. Heraldic 
devices were not wanting—not, however, graved upon the shield, 
but hanging from the spear-head, the actual “totem” of the 
warrior it distinguished. The rattlesnake, the otter, the carcagien, 
the mountain badger, the war-eagle, the kon-qua-kish, the por- 
cupine, the fox, &c., dangled their well-stuffed skins, displaying 
the guardian “medicine” of the warriors they pertained to, and 


46. LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


representing the mental and corporeal qualities which were sup- 
posed to characterize the braves to whom they belonged. 

From the center lodge, two or three ‘‘ medicine men,” fantas- 
tically attired in the skins of wolves and bears, and bearing long 
peeled wands of cherry in their hands, occasionally emerged to 
tend a very small fire which they had kindled in the center of 
the open space ; and, when a thin column of smoke arose, one of 
them planted the scalp-pole obliquely across the fire. Squaws in 
robes of white dressed buckskin, garnished with beads and por- 
cupines’ quills, and their faces painted bright red and black, then 
appeared. ‘These ranged themselves round the outside of the 
square, the boys and children of all ages, mounted on bare-backed 
horses, galloping round and round, and screaming with eagerness, 
excitement and curiosity. 

Presently the braves and warriors made their appearance, and 
squatted round the fire in two circles, those who had been engaged 
on the expedition being in the first or smaller one. One medicine 
man sat under the scalp-pole, having a drum between his knees, 
which he tapped at intervals with his hand, eliciting from the in- 
strument a hollow, monotonous sound. A bevy of women, shoul- 
der to shoulder, then advanced from the four sides of the square, 
and some, shaking a rattle-drum in time with their steps, com- 
menced a jumping, jerking dance, now lifting one foot from the 
ground, and now rising with both, accompanying the dance with 
a chant, which swelled from a low whisper to the utmost extent 
of their voices—now dying away, and again bursting into vocifer- 
ous measure. Thus they advanced to the center and retreated 
to their former positions ; when six squaws, with their faces paint- 
ed a dead black made their appearance from the crowd, chanting, 
in soft and sweet measure, a lament for the braves the nation had 
lost in the late battle: but soon as they drew near the scalp-pole, 
their melancholy note changed to the music (to them) of gratified 
revenge. In a succession of jumps, raising the feet alternately 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 47° 


but a little distance from the ground, they made their way, 
through an interval left in the cirele of warriors, to the grim pole, 
and encircling it, danced in perfect silence round it for a few mo- 
ments. Then they burst forth with an extempore song, laudatory 
of the achievements of their victorious braves. They addressed 
the scalps as “sisters” (to be called a squaw is the greatest insult 
that can be offered to an Indian), and, spitting at them, upbraided 
them with rashness in leaving their lodges to seek for Yuta hus- 
bands; “that the Yuta warriors and young men despised them, 
and chastised them for their forwardness and presumption, bring: 
ing back their scalps to their own women.” 

After sufficiently proving that they had any thing but lost the 
use of their tongues, but possessed, on the contrary, as fair a 
length of that formidable weapon as any of their sex, they with- 
drew, and left the field in undisputed possession of the men: who, 
accompanied by tap of drum, and by the noise of many rattles, 
broke out into a war-song in which their own valor was by no 
means hidden in a bushel, or modestly refused the light of day. 
After this came the more interesting ceremony of a warrior 
“‘eounting his coups.” ; 

A young brave, with his face painted black, mounted on a 
white horse mysteriously marked with red clay, and naked to the 
breech-clout, holding in his hand a long, taper lance, rode into the 
circle, and paced slowly round it; then, flourishing his spear on 
high, he darted to the sealp-pole, round which the warriors were 
now seated in a semicircle ; and in a loud voice, and with furious 
gesticulations, related his exploits, the drums tapping at the con- 
elusion of each. On his spear hung seven scalps, and holding it 
vertically above his head, and commencing with the top one, he 
told the feats in which he had raised the trophy hair. When he 
had run through these, the drums tapped loudly, and several of 
the old chiefs shook their rattles, in corroboration of the truth of 
his achievements. The brave, swelling with pride, then pointea 


48 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


to the fresh and bloody scalps hanging on the pole. 'T'wo of these 
had been torn from the heads of Rapahos struck by his own hand, 
and this feat, the exploit of the day, had entitled him to the honor 
of counting his coups. Then, sticking his spear into the ground 
by the side of the pole, he struck his hand twice on his brawny 
and naked chest, turned short round, and, swift as the antelope, 
galloped into the plain : as if overcome by the shock his modesty 
had received in being obliged to recount his own high-sounding 
deeds. 4 

‘“Wagh !” exclaimed old Killbuck, as he left the circle, point- 
ing his pipe-stem toward the fast-fading figure of the brave, “ that 
Injun’s heart’s about as big as ever it will be, I’m thinking.” 

With the Yutas, Killbuck and La Bonté remained during the 
winter ; and when the spring sun had opened the ice-bound crecks, 
and melted the snow on the mountains, and its genial warmth 
had expanded the earth and permitted the roots of the grass to 
“live” once more, and throw out green and tender shoots, the two 
trappers bade adieu to the hospitable Indians, who broke up their 
village in order to start for the valleys of the Del Norte. As 
they followed the trail from the bayou at sundown, just as they 
thought of camping, they observed ahead of them a solitary horse- 
man riding along, followed by three mules. His huntine-frock of 
(riged buckskin, and the rifle resting across the horn of his sad- 
dle, at once proclaimed him white; but as A saw the mountain- 
eers winding through the canon, driving before them half a_ 
dozen horses, he judged they might possibly be Indians and ene- 
mies, the more so, as their dress was not the usual costume of the 
whites. ‘The trappers, therefore, saw the stranger raise the rifle 
in the hollow of his arm, and, gathering up his horse, ride stead- 
uly to meet them, as soon as he observed they were but two; two 
to one in mountain calculation being scarcely considered odds, if 
red skin to white. 


However, on nearing them, the stranger discovered his mis- 
7 a. 
. » 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 49 


take ;. and, throwing his rifle across the saddle once more, reined 
in his horse and waited their approach; for the spot where he 
_ then stood, presented an excellent camping-ground, with abun- 
“edance of dry wood and convenient water. 

fay Where from, stranger ?” a . 
. “The divide, and to the bayou for meat; and you are from 
there, I see. Any buffalo come in yet ?” | 

_“ Heap, and ‘seal-fat at that. What's the sign out on the 
plains ?” 

War-party of pahos passed Squirrel at sun-down yesterday, 
and nearly raised my animals. Sign, too, of more on left fork of 
Boiling Spring. No buffalo between this and Bijou. Do you 
feel like camping ?” 

“Well, we do. But whar’s your companyeros ?” 

“Tm alone.” 

“Alone! Wagh! how do you get your animals along ?” 

“IT go ahead, and they follow the horse.” 

“Well, that beats all! That’s a smart-looking hos now; and 
runs some, I’m thinking.” 

* Well, it does.” a 

“Whar’s them mules from? They look like Californy.” 

‘“‘ Mexican country—away down south.” 

« F{i—! Whar’s yourself from ?” 

“There away, too.” 

“ What's beaver worth in Taos ?” 

Dollar.” 

“Tn Saint Louy ?” 

“ Same.” 

“H—! Any call for buckskin ?” 

“A heap! The soldiers in Santa Fé are half-froze for leather ; 
and moccasins fetch two dollars, easy.” 

Wah! How’s trade on Arkansa, and what's doin to the 


emeort t Fay ae 


a. 


50 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


“Shians at Big Timber, and Bent’s people trading smart. 
On North Fork, Jim Waters got a hundred pack right off, and 
Sioux making more.”’ 

“ Whar’s Bill Williams ?” 

‘Gone under, they say: the. Diggers took his hair.” 

‘“ How’s powder goin ?” 

‘“‘'T'wo dollars a pint.” 

“ Bacee 2" 

“ A plew a plug.” 

“ Got any about you ?” 

“« Have so.” 

‘Give us a chaw; and now let’s camp.” 

While unpacking their own animals, the two trappers could 
aot refrain from glancing, every now and then, with no little as- 
tonishment, at the solitary stranger they had so unexpectedly en- 
countered. If truth be told his appearance not a little perplexed 
them. His hunting-frock of buckskin, shming with grease, and 
fringed pantaloons, over which the well-greased butcher-knife had 
evidently been often wiped after cutting his food, or butchering 
the carcass of deer and buffalo, were of genuine mountain make. 
His face, clean shaved, exhibited in its well-tanned and weather- 
seaten complexion, the effects of such natural cosmetics as sun 
and wind ; and under the mountain hat of felt which covered his 
head, long uncut hair hung in Indian fashion on his shouiders. 
All this would have passed muster, had it not been for the most 
extraordinary equipment of a double-barreled rifle ; which, when it 


- 


had attracted the eyes of the mountaineers, elicited no little aston- 
ishment, not to say derision. But, perhaps, nothing excited their 
admiration so much as the perfect docility of the stranger’s ani- 
mals; which, almost lke dogs, obeyed his voice and call; and 
albeit that one, in a small sharp head and pointed ears, expanded 
nostrils, and eye twinkling and malicious, exhibited the personi- 
fication of a “ lurking devil,” yet they could not but admire the 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 51 


perfect ease with which even this one, in common with the rest, 
permitted herself to be handled. 

Dismounting, and unhitching from the horn of his saddle the 
coil of skin rope, one end of which was secured round the neck of 
the horse, he proceeded to unsaddle; and while so engaged, the 
three mules, two of which were packed, one with the unbutchered 
carcass of a deer, the other with a pack of skins, &c., followed 
leisurely into the space chosen for the camp, and, cropping the 
grass at their ease, waited until a whistle called them to be un- 
packed. 

The horse was a strong square-built bay ; and, although the se- 
verities of a prolonged winter, with scanty pasture and long and 
trying travel, had robbed his bones of fat and flesh, tucked up his 
flank, and ‘““ewed’’ his neck ; still his clean and well-set legs, ob- 
lique shoulder, and withers fine as a deer’s, in spite of his gaunt 
half-starved appearance, bore ample testimony as to what he had 
been ; while his clear cheerful eye, and the hearty appetite with 
which he fell to work on the coarse grass of the bottom, proved 
that he had something in him still, and was game as ever. His 
tail, gnawed by the mules in days of strait, attracted the observant 
mountaineers. 

‘Hard doins when it come to that,” remarked La Bonté. ' 

Between the horse and two of the mules a mutual and great af- 
fection appeared to subsist, which was no more than natural, when 
their master observed to his companions that they had traveled to- 
gether upwards of two thousand miles. ' 

One of these mules was a short thick-set, stumpy animal, with 
an enormous head surmounted by proportionable ears, and a pair 
of unusually large eyes, beaming the most perfect good temper and 
docility (most uncommon qualities in a mule). Her neck was 
thick, and rendered more so in appearance by reason of her mare 
not being roached (or, in English, hogged), which privilege she 
alone enjoyed of the trio; and her short, strong legs, ending in 


52 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


small, round, cat-like hoofs, were feathered with a profusion of 
dark brown hair. 

As she stood-stock-still, while the stranger removed the awk- 
wardly packed deer from her back, she flapped her huge ears back- 
ward and forward, occasionally turning her head, and laying her 
cold nose against her master’s cheek. When the pack was re- 
moved, he advanced to her head, and resting it on his shoulder, 
rubbed her broad and grizzled cheeks with both his hands for sev- 
eral minutes, the old mule laying her ears, like a rabbit, back 
upon her neck, and with half-closed eyes enjoyed mightily the ma- 
nipulation. Then, giving her a smack upon the haunch, and a 
“hep-a” well known to the mule kind, the old favorite threw up 
her heels and cantered off to the horse, who was busily cropping 
the buffalo grass on the bluff above the stream. 

Great was the contrast between the one just described and the 
next which came up to be divested of her pack. She, a tall beau- 
tifully shaped Mexican mule, of a light mouse color, with a head 
like a deer’s, and long springy legs, trotted up obedient to the call, 
but with ears bent back and curled up nose, and tail compressed 
between her legs. As her pack was being removed, she groaned 
and whined like a dog, as a thong or loosened strap touched her 
ticklish body, lifting her hind-quarters in a succession of jumps or 
preparatory kicks, and looking wicked as a panther. When nothing 
but the fore pack-saddle remained she had worked herself into the 
last stage; and as the stranger cast loose the girth of buffalo hide, 
and was about to lift the saddle and draw the crupper from the 
tail she drew her hind legs under her, more tightly compressed her 
tail, and almost shrieked with rage. 

“Stand clear,’ he roared (knowing what was coming), and 
raised the saddle, when out went her hind legs, up went the pack 
into the air, and, with it dangling at her heels, away she tore, 
kicking the offending saddle as she ran. Her master, however, 
took this as matter of course, followed her and brought back the 


. 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 53 


saddle, which he piled on the others to windward of the fire one of 
the trappers was kindling. Fire-making is a simple process with 
the mountaineers. ‘Their bullet-pouches always contain a flint, 
and steel, and sundry pieces of “ punk’* or tinder; and pulling a 
handful of dry grass, which they screw into a nest, they place the 
lighted punk in this, and, closing the grass over it, wave it in the 
air, when it soon ignites, and readily kindles the dry sticks forming 
the foundation of the fire. 

The tit-bits of the deer the stranger had brought in, were soon 
roasting over the fire ; while, as soon as the burning logs had de- 
posited a sufficiency of ashes, a hole was raked in them, and the 
head of the deer, skin, hair, and all, placed in this primitive oven, 
and carefully covered with the hot ashes. 

A “heap” of “fat meat” in perspective, our mountaineers en- 
joyed their ante-prandial pipes, recounting the news of the respect- 
ive regions whence they came; and so well did they like each 
other’s company, so sweet was the “ honey-dew” tobacco of which 
the strange hunter had good store, so plentiful the game about the 
creek, and so abundant the pasture for their winter-starved ani- 
mals, that before the carcass of the ‘two-year’ buck had been 
more than four-fifths consumed ; and, although rib after rib had 
been picked and chucked over their shoulders to the wolves, and 
one fore leg and the “bit” of all, the head, were still cooked before 
them,—the three had come to the resolution to join company, and 
hunt in their present locality for a few days at least—the owner 
of the ‘‘two-shoot” gun volunteering to fill their horns with pow: 
der, and find tobacco for their pipes. 

Here, on plenty of meat, of venison, bear, and antelope, they 
merrily luxuriated ; returning after their daily hunts to the bright- 
ly burning camp-fire, where one always remained to guard the an- 
imals, and unloading their packs of meat, (all choicest portions), 


* A pithy substance found ‘in dead pine-trees. 


o4 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


ate late into the night, and, smoking, wiled away the time in nar- 
rating scenes in their hard-spent lives, and fighting their battles 
oer again, 

The younger of the trappers he who has figured under the name 
of La Bonté, had excited, by scraps and patches from his history, 
no little curiosity in the stranger’s mind to learn the ups and 
downs of his career; and one night, when they assembled earlier 
than usual at the fire, he prevailed upon the modest trapper to 
“unpack”? some passages in his wild, adventurous life. 

‘‘ Maybe,” commenced the mountaineer, ‘‘ you both.remember 
when old Ashley went out with the biggest kind of band to trap the 
Columbia, and head-waters of Missoura and Yellow Stone. Well, 
that was the time this nigeur first felt ike taking to the mountains.” 

This brings us back to the year of our Lord 1825; and perhaps 
it will be as well, in order to render La Bonté’s mountain language 
intelligible, to translate it at once into tolerable English, and to 
tell in the third person, but from his own lips, the scrapes which 
befell him in a sojourn of more than twenty years in the Far West, 
and the causes that impelled him to quit the comfort and civiliza- 
tion of his home, to seek the perilous but engaging life of a trapper 
of the Rocky Mountains. 

La Bonté was raised in the state of Mississippi, not far from 
Memphis, on the left bank of that huge and snag-filled river. 
His father was a Saint Louis Frenchman, his mother a native of 
Tennessee. When a boy, our trapper was “some,” he said, with 
the rifle, and always had a hankering for the west; particularly 
when, on accompanying his father to Saint Louis every spring, he 
saw the different bands of traders and hunters start upon their an- 
nual expeditions to the mountains. Greatly did he envy the inde- 
pendent, zsowciant trappers, as, in all the glory of beads and 
buckskin, they shouldered their rifles at Jake Hawkin’s door (the 
rifle maker of St. Louis), and bade adieu to the cares and tram- 
mels of civilized life. 


LIFE IN THE.FAR WEST. 55 


However, like a thoughtless beaver-kitten, he put his foot into 
a trap one fine day, set by Mary Brand, a neighbor’s daughter, 
and esteemed “some punkins,” or in other words, toasted as the 
beauty of Memphis County, by the susceptible Mississippians. 
From that moment he was “ gone beaver ;” “he felt queer,” he 
said, “all over, like a buffalo shot in the lights; he had no relish 
for mush and molasses ; homminy and johnny cakes failed to excite 
his appetite. Deer and turkeys ran by him unscathed ; he didn’t 
know, he said, whether his rifle had hind-sights or not. He felt 
bad, that was a fact; but what ailed him he didn’t know.” 

Mary Brand—Mary Brand—Mary Brand! the old Dutch clock 
ticked it. Mary Brand! his head throbbed it when he lay down 
to sleep. Mary Brand! his mfle-lock spoke it plainly when he 
cocked it, to raise a shaking sight at a deer. Mary Brand, Mary 
Brand! the whip-poor-will sung it, instead of her own well-known 
note; the bull-frogs croaked it in the swamp, and musquitoes 
droned it in his ear as he tossed about his bed at night, wakeful, 
and striving to think what ailed him. 

Who could that strapping young fellow, who passed the door 
just now, be going to see? Mary Brand: Mary Brand. And 
who can Big Pete Herring be dressing that silver fox-skin so care- 
fully for? For whom but Mary Brand? And who is it that 
jokes, and laughs, and dances, with all the “ boys’ but him ; and 
why ? 

Who but Mary Brand: and because the love-sick booby care- 
fully avoids her. 

‘And Mary Brand herself—what is she like ?” 

“She’s ‘some’ now; that zs a fact, and the biggest kind of 
punkin at that,” would have been the answer from any man, 
woman, or child in Memphis County, and truly spoken too; always 
understanding that the pumpkin is the fruit by which the me-plus- 
ultra of female perfection is expressed amu. the figuratively- 
speaking westerns. a 


a 
56 LIFE. IN. THE: FAR WEST. 


Being an American woman, of course she was tall, and straight 
and slim as a hickory sapling, well formed withal, with rounded 
bust, and neck white and slender as the swan’s. Her features 
were small, but finely chiseled ; and in this, it may be remarked, 
the lower orders of the American women differ from, and far sur- 
pass the same class in England, or elsewhere, where the features, 
although far prettier, are more vulgar and common-place. Mary 
Brand had the bright blue eye, thin nose, and small but sweetly- 
formed mouth, the too fair complexion, and dark brown hair, 
which characterize the beauty of the Anglo-American, the heavy 
masses (hardly curls), that fell over her face and neck, contrasting 
with their polished whiteness. Such was Mary Brand: and 
_ when to her good looks are added a sweet disposition, and all the 
best qualities of a thrifty housewife, it must be allowed that she 
fully justified the eulogiums of the good people of Memphis. 

Well, to cut a love-story short, in domg which not a little 
moral courage is shown, young La Bonté fell desperately in love 
with the pretty Mary, and she with him; and small blame to 
her, for he was a proper lad of twenty—-six feet in his moccasins— 
the best hunter and rifle-shot in the country, with many other ad- 
vantages too numerous to mention. But when did the course, 
&c. e’er run smoooth? When the affair had become a recognized 
‘courting’ (and Americans alone know the horrors of such pro- 
longed purgatory), they became, to use La Bonté’s words, “awful 
fond,” and consequently about once a week had their tiffs and 
makes-up. 

However, on one occasion, at a “ husking,” and during one of 
these tiffs, Mary, every inch a woman, to gratify some indescrib- 
able feeling, brought to her aid jealousy—that old serpent who 
has caused such mischief in this world; and by a flirtation over 
the corn-cobs with Big Pete, La Bonté’s former and only rival, 
struck so hard a Blow at the latter’s heart, that on the moment 
his brain caught fire, blood danced before his eyes, and he became 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 57 


like one possessed. Pete observed and enjoyed his struggling 
emotion—-better for him had he minded his corn shelling alone ;— 
and the more to annoy his rival, paid the most sedulous attention 
to pretty Mary. 

Young La Bonté stood it as long as human nature, at boiling 
heat, could endure; but when Pete, in the exultation of his ap- 
parent triumph, crowned his success by encircling the slender waist 
of the girl with his arm, and snatching a sudden kiss, he jumped 
upright from his seat, and seizing a small whisky-keg which stood 
in the center of the corn-shellers, he hurled it at his rival, and 
crying to him, hoarse with passion, ‘“‘ to follow if he was a man,” 
he left the house. 

At that time, and even now, in the remoter states of the west- 
ern country, rifles settled even the most trivial differences between 
the hot-blooded youths ; and of such frequent occurrence and in- 
variably bloody termination did these encounters become, that they 
scarcely produced sufficient excitement to draw together half-a- 
dozen spectators. 

In the present case, however, so public was the quarrel, and so 
well known the parties concerned, that not only the people who 
had witnessed the affair, but all the neighborhood, thronged to the 
scene of action, in a large field in front of the house, where the - 
preliminaries of a duel between Pete and La Bonté were bein& 
arranged by their respective friends. 

Mary, when she discovered the mischief her thoughtlessness 
was likely to occasion, was almost beside herself with grief, but 
she knew how vain it would be to attempt to interfere. The 
poor girl, who was most ardently attached to La Bonté, was 
carried, swooning, into the house, where all the women congregat- 
ed, and were locked in by old Brand, who, himself an old pioneer, 
thought but. little of bloodshed, but refused to let the ‘“ women 
folk” witness the affray. 

Preliminaries arranged, the combatants took up their respective 

ot 


58 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


positions at either end of a space marked for the purpose, at forty 
paces from each other. They were both armed with heavy rifles, 
and had the usual hunting-pouches, containing ammunition, hang- 
ing over the shoulder. Standing with the butts of their rifles on 
the ground, they confronted each other, and the crowd drawing 
away a few paces only on each side, left one man to give the 
word. ‘This was the single word “fire ;”’ and, after this signal 
was given, the combatants were at liberty to fire away until one 
or the other dropped. 

At the word, both the men quickly raised their rifles to the 
shoulder, and, while the sharp cracks instantaneously rang, they 
were seen to flinch, as either felt the pinging sensation of a bullet 
entering his flesh. Regarding each other steadily for a few mo- 
ments, the blood running down La Bonté’s neck from a wound 
under the left jaw, while his opponent was seen to place his hand 
once to his right breast, as if to feel the position of his wound, 
they commenced reloading their rifles. But, as Pete was in the 
act of forcing down the ball with his long hickory wiping-stick, 
he suddenly dropped his right arm—the rifle slipped from his 
grasp—and, reeling for a moment like a drunken man—he fell 
dead to the ground. 

Even here, however, there was law of some kind or another, 
and the consequences of the duel were, that the constables were 
soon on the trail of a Bonté to arrest him. He easily avoided 
them, and taking to the woods, lived for several days in as wild a 
state as the beasts he hunted and killed for his support. 

Tired of this, he at last resolved to quit the country, and betake 
himself to the mountains, for which life he had ever felt an in- 
clination. 

When, therefore, he thought the officers of justice had grown 
slack in their search of him, and that the coast was comparatively 
clear, he determined to start on his distant expedition to the Far 
West. 


~LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. . 59 


Once more, before he carried his project into execution, he 
sought and obtained a last interview with Mary Brand. 

“Mary,” said he, “I’m about to break. They’re hunting me 
like a fall buck, and I’m bound to quit. Don’t think any more 
about me, for I shall never come back.” 

Poor Mary burst into tears, and bent her head on the table near 
which she sat. When she again raised it, she saw La Bonté, his 
long rifle upon his shoulder, striding with rapid steps from the 
house. Year after year rolled on, and he did not return. 


CHAPTER III. 


A Few days after his departure, La Bonté found himself at St. 
Louis, the emporium of the fur trade, and the fast-rising metrop- 
olis of the precocious settlements of the west. Here, a prey to 
the agony of mind which jealousy, remorse, and blighted love mix 
into a very puchero of misery, he got into the company of certain 
‘“‘rowdies,’ a class that every western city particularly abounds 
in ; and, anxious to drown his sorrows in any way, and quite un- 
scrupulous as to the means, he plunged into all the vicious ex- 
citements of drinking, gambling, and fighting, which form the 
every-day amusements of the rising generation of St. Louis. 

Perhaps in no other part of the United States, where indeed 
humanity is frequently to be seen in many curious and unusual 
phases, is there a population so marked in its general character, 
and at the same time divided into such distinct classes, as in the 
above-named city. Dating, as it does, its foundation from yester- 
day—for what are thirty years in the growth of a metropolis ?— 
its founders are now scarcely passed middle life, regarding with 
astonishment the growing works of their hands; and while gazing 
upon its busy quays, piled with grain and other produce of the 
west, its fleets of huge steamboats lying tier upon tier alongside 
the wharves, its well-stored warehouses, and all the bustling con- 
comitants of a great commercial depot, they can scarcely realize 
the memory of a few short years, when on the same spot nothing 
was to be seen but the miserable hovels of a French village—the 
only sign of commerce being the unwieldy bateaux of the Indian 
traders, laden with peltries from the distant regions of the Platte 


al 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 61 


and Upper Missouri. Where now intelligent and wealthy mer- 
chants walk erect, in conscious substantiality of purse and credit, 
and direct the commerce of a vast and well-peopled region, there 
stalked but the other day, in dress of buckskin, the Indian trader 
of the west ; and all the evidences of life, mayhap, consisted of 
the eccentric vagaries of the different bands of trappers and hardy 
mountaineers, who accompanied, some for pleasure and some ‘as 
escort, the periodically arriving bateaux, laden with the beaver 
skins and buffalo robes collected during the season at the different 
trading posts in the Far West. 

These, nevertheless, were the men whose hardy enterprise opened 
to commerce and the plow the vast and fertile regions of the West. 
Rough and savage though they were, they were the true pioneers 
of that extraordinary tide of civilization which has poured its re- 
sistless current through tracts large enough for kings to govern, 
over a country now teeming with cultivation, where, a few short 
years ago, countless herds of buffalo reamed unmolested, where the 
bear and deer abounded, and the savage Indian skulked through 
the woods and prairies, lord of the unappreciated soil that now 
yields its prolific treasures to the spade and plow of civilized 
man. To the wild and half-savage trapper, who may be said to 
exemplify the energy, enterprise, and hardihood characteristic of 
the American people, divested of all the false and vicious glare 
with which a high state of civilization, too rapidly attained, has 
obscured their real and genuine character, in which the above 
traits are eminently prominent—to these men alone is due the em- 
pire of the West, destined in a few short years to become the most 
important of those confederate states composing the mighty union 
of North America. 

Sprung, then, out of the wild and adventurous fur trade, St. 
Louis, still the emporium of that species of commerce, preserves 
even now, in the character of its population, many of the marked 
peculiarities distinguishing its early founders, who were identified 


7 


62 LIFE IN THE .FAR.WEST. 


f 


with the primitive Indian in hardihood and instinctive wisdom 
While the French portion of the population retain the thoughtless 
levity and frivolous disposition of their original source, the Ameri- 
cans of St. Louis, who may lay claim to be native, as it were, are 
as strongly distinguished for determination and energy of character 
as they are for physical strength and animal courage ; and are re- 
markable, at the same time, for a singular aptitude in carrying out 
commercial enterprises to successful terminations, apparently in- 
compatible with the thirst of adventure and excitement which 
forms so prominent a feature in their character. In St. Louis and 
with her merchants have originated many commercial enterprises 
of gigantic speculation, not confined to the immediate locality or 
to the distant Indian fur trade, but embracing all parts of the 
continent, and even a portion of the Old World. And here it 
must be remembered that St. Louis is situated inland, at a dis- 
tance of upward of one thousand miles from the sea, and three 
thousand from the capital of the United States. 

Besides her merchants and upper class, who form a little aris- 
tocracy even here, a large portion of her population, still connected 
with the Indian and fur trade, preserve all their original charac- 
teristics, unacted upon by the influence of advancing civilization. 
There is, moreover, a large floating population of foreigners of all 
nations, who must possess no little amount of enterprise to be 
tempted to this spot, whence they spread over the remote western 
tracts, still infested by the savage ; so that, if any of their blood 
is infused into the native population, the characteristic energy and 
enterprise is increased, and not tempered down by the foreign cross. 

But, perhaps, the most singular of the casual population are 
the mountaineers, who, after several seasons spent in trapping, 
and with good store of dollars, arrive from the scene of their ad- 
ventures, wild as savages, determined to enjoy themselves for a 
time, in all the gayety and dissipation of the western city. In 
one of the back streets of the town is a tavern well known as the 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 63 


> 


and hither the trappers resort, drink- 
ing and fighting as long as their money lasts, which, as they are 
generous and lavish as Jack Tars, is for a few days only. Such 
scenes, both tragic and comic, as are enacted in the Rocky-Mount- 
ain House, are beyond the powers of pen to describe ; and when 
a fandango is in progress, to which congregate the coquettish 
belles from ‘‘ Vide Poche,” as the French portion of the suburb 
is nicknamed, the grotesque endeavors of the bear-like mount- 
aineers to sport a figare on the light fantastic toe, and their in- 
sertions into the dance of the mvstic jumps of Terpsichorean In- 


* Rocky-Mountain House,’ 


dians when engaged in the “ medicine” dances in honor of bear, 
of buffalo, or ravished scalp, are such startling innovations on the 
choreographic art as would make the shade of Gallini quake and 
gibber in his pumps. 

Passing the open doors and windows of the Mountain House, 
the stranger stops short as the sounds of violin and bango twang 
upon his ears, accompanied by extraordinary noises—sounding un- 
earthly to the greenhorn listener, but recognized by the initiated 
as an Indian song roared out of the stentorian lungs of a mount- 
aineer, who, patting his stomach with open hands to improve the 
necessary shake, choruses the well-known Indian chant— 

Hi—Hi—Hi—Hi, 
Hi-i—Hi-i—Hi-i—Hi-i 
Hi-ya—hi-ya—hi-ya—hi-ya 
Hi-ya—hi-ya—hi-ya—hi-ya 
Hi-ya—hi-ya—hi—hi, 
acG., OCC),..00C. 


and polishes off the high notes with a whoop which makes the 
old wooden houses shake again, as it rattles and echoes down the 
street. 

Here, over fiery “‘monaghahela,” Jean Batiste, the sallow half- 
breed voyageur from the north—and who, deserting the service 


of the ‘“ North West” (the Hudson’s Bay Company), has come 


64 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


down the Mississippi, from the “ Falls,” to try the sweets and 
liberty of “free” trapping—hobnobs with a stalwart leather-clad 
“boy,” just returning from trapping on the waters of Grand River, 
on the western side the mountains, who interlards his mountain 
jargon with Spanish words picked up in Taos and California. 
In one corner a trapper, lean and gaunt from the starving regions 
of the Yellow Stone, has just recognized an old companyero, with 
whom he hunted years before in the perilous country of the Black- 
feet. 

“Why, John, old hos, how do you come on ?” 

“What! Meek, old ’coon! I thought you were under !” 

One from Arkansas stalks into the center of the room, with a 
pack of cards in his hand, and a handful of dollars in his hat. 
Squatting cross-legzed on a buflalo robe, he smacks down the 
money, and cries out—‘ Ho, boys, hyar’s a deck, and hyar’s the 
beaver (rattling the coin), who dar set his hos? Wagh!” 

Tough are the yarns of wondrous hunts and Indian perils, of 
hairbreadth ’scapes and curious “ fixes.” Transcendent are the 
qualities of sundry rifles, which call these hunters masters ; “ plum”’ 
is the ‘“‘centre’ each vaunted barrel shoots; suflicing for a hun- 
dred wigs is the “ hair’ each hunter has lifted from Indians’ 
scalps ; multitudinous the ‘coups’ he has “struck.” As they 
drink so do they brag, first of their guns, their horses, and their 
squaws, and lastly of themselves: and when it comes to that, 
“ware steel.” 

La Bonté, on his arrival at St. Louis, found himself one day 
in no less a place than this; and here he made acquaintance with 
an old trapper about to start for the mountains in a few days, to 
hunt on the head waters of Platte and Green River. With this 
man he resolved to start, and, having still some hundred dollars 
in cash, he immediately set about equipping himself for the ex 
pedition. To effect this, he first of all visited the gun-store of 
Hawken, whose rifles are renowned in the mountains, and ex- 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 65 


changed his own piece, which was of very small bore, for a regu- 
lar mountain rifle. This was of very heavy metal, carrying about 
thirty-two balls to the pound, stocked to the muzzle, and mounted 
with brass, its only ornament being a buffalo bull, looking exceed- 
ingly ferocious, which was not very artistically engraved upon the 
trap in the stock. Here, too, he laid in a few pounds of powder 
and lead, and all the necessaries for a long hunt. 

His next visit was to a smith’s store, which smith was black 
by trade and black by nature, for he was a nigger, and, moreover; 
celebrated as being the best maker of beaver-traps in St. Louis, 
and of him he purchased six new traps, paying for the same 
twenty dollars; procuring, at the same time, an old trap-sack, 
made of stout buffalo skin, in which to carry them. 

We next find La Bonté and his companion—one Luke, better 
known as Gray-Eye, one of his eyes having been “ gouged” in a 
mountain fray—at Independence, a little town situated on the 
Missouri, several hundred miles above St. Louis, and within a 
short distance of the Indian frontier. 

Independence may be termed the “ prairie port” of the western 
country. Here the caravans destined for Santa Fé, and the in- 
terior of Mexico, assemble to complete their necessary equipment. 
Mules and oxen are purchased, teamsters hired, and all stores and* 
outfit laid in here for the long journey over the wide expanse of 
prairie ocean. Here, too, the Indian traders and the Rocky 
Mountain trappers rendezvous, collecting in sufficient force to 
insure their safe passage through the Indian country. At the 
seasons of departure and arrival of these bands, the little town 
presents a lively scene of bustle and confusion. The wild and 
dissipated mountaineers get rid of their last dollars’ in furious 
orgies, treating all comers to galore of drink, and pledging each 
other, in horns of potent whisky, to successful hunts, and “ heaps 
of beaver.’’ When every cent has disappeared from their pouches, 
the free trapper often makes away with rifle, traps, and animals, 


66 \ . LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


to gratify his “dry” (for your mountaineer is never “ thirsty’’) ; 
and then, “hos and beaver” gone, is necessitated to hire himself 
to one of the leaders of big bands, and hypothecate his services 
for an equipment of traps and animals. Thus La Bonté picked 
up three excellent mules for a mere song, with their accompany- 
ing pack-saddles, apishamores,* and lariats, and the next day, 
with Luke, ‘“ put out’’ for Platte. 

As they passed through the rendezvous, which was encamped 
on a little stream beyond the town, even our young Mississippian 
was struck with the novelty of the scene. Upward of forty huge 
wagons, of Conostoga and Pittsburg build, and covered with snow- 
white tilts, were ranged in a semicircle, or rather a horse-shoe 
form, on the flat, open prairie, their long ‘“ tongues’’ (poles) point- 
ing outward ; with the necessary harness for four pairs of mules, 
or eight yoke of oxen, lying on the ground beside them, spread in 
ready order for “hitching up.” Round the wagons groups of 
teamsters, tall, stalwart young Missourians, were engaged in busy 
preparation for the start ; greasing the wheels, fitting or repairing 
harness, smoothing ox-bows, or overhauling their own moderate 
kits or ‘ possibles.”” They were all dressed in the same fashion : 
a pair of “‘ homespun” pantaloons, tucked into thick boots reach- 
ing nearly to the knee, and confined round the waist by a broad 
leathern belt, which supported a strong butcher-knife in a sheath. 
A coarse, checked shirt was their only other covering, with a fur 
cap on the head. 

Numerous camp-fires surrounded the wagons, and near them 
lounged wild-looking mountaineers, easily distinguished from the 
“oreenhorn’” teamsters by their dresses of buckskin, and their 
weather-beaten faces. Without an exception, these were under 
the influence of the rosy god; and one, who sat, the picture of 
misery, at a fire by himself—staring into the blaze with vacant 


* Saddle-blanket made of buffalo-calf skin. 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 67 


countenance, his long matted hair hanging in unkempt masses 
over his face, begrimed with the dirt of a week, and pallid with 
the effects of ardent drink—was suffering from the usual conse- 
quences of having “kept it up” beyond the usual point, paying the 
penalty in a fit of “horrors” —as delirvwm tremens is most aptly 
termed by sailors and the unprofessional. 

In another part, the merchants of the caravan and the Indian 
traders superintended the lading of the wagons, or mule packs. 
They were dressed in civilized attire, and some were even be- 
dizened in St. Louis or Eastern City dandyism, to the infinite dis- 
gust of the mountain men, who look upon a burge-way (bourgeois) 
with most undisguised contempt, despising the very simplest forms 
of civilization. ‘The picturesque appearance of the encampment 
was not a little heightened by the addition of several Indians from 
the neighboring Shawnee settlement, who, mounted on their small 
active horses, on which they reclined, rather than sat, in negligent 
attitudes, quietly looked on at the novel scene, indifferent to the 
“chaff” in which the thoughtless teamsters indulged at their ex- 
pense. Numbers of mules and horses were picketed at hand, 
while a large herd of noble oxen were being driven toward the 
camp—the wo-ha of the teamsters sounding far and near, as they 
collected the scattered beasts in order to yoke up. 

As most of the mountain men were utterly unable to move from 
camp, Luke and La Bonté, with three or four of the most sober, 


> 


started in company, intending to wait on “ Blue,” a stream which 
runs into the Caw or Kanzas River, until the ‘“ balance” of the 
band came up. Mounting their mules, and leading the loose 
animals, they struck at once into the park-like prairie, and were 
speedily out of sight of civilization. 

It was the latter end of May, toward the close of the season of 
heavy rains, which in early spring render the climate of this coun- 
try almost intolerable, at the same time that they fertilize and 


thaw the soil, so long bound up by the winter’s frosts. The grass 


68 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 
Cal dee ES ee ee eS EE i a a SL ee 


was every where luxuriantly green, and gaudy flowers dotted the 
surface of the prairie. This term, however, should hardly be ap- 
plied to the beautiful undulating scenery of this park-like country. 
Unlike the flat monotony of the Grand Plains, here well-wooded 
uplands, clothed with forest trees of every species, and picturesque 
dells, through which run clear bubbling streams belted with gay- 
blossomed shrubs, every where present themselves ; while on the 
level meadow-land, topes of trees with spreading foliage afford a 
shelter to the game and cattle, and well-timbered knolls rise at in- 
tervals from the plain. 

Many clear streams, dashing over their pebbly beds, intersect 
the country, from which, in the noonday’s heat, the red-deer jump, 
shaking their wet sides, as the noise of approaching man disturbs 
them; and booming grouse rise from the tall luxuriant herbage at 
every step. Where the deep escarpments of the river banks ex- 
hibit the section of the earth, a rich alluvial soil of surpassing 
depth courts the cultivation of civilized man ; and in every feature 
it is evident that here nature has worked with kindliest and most 
bountiful hand. 

For hundreds of miles along the western or right bank of the 
Missouri does a country extend, with which, for fertility and 
natural resources, no part of Europe can stand comparison. 
Sufficiently large to containean enormous population, it has, be- 
sides, every advantage of position, and all the natural capabilities 
which should make it the happy abode of civilized man. Through 
this unpeopled country the United States pours her greedy thou- 
sands, to seize upon the barren territories of her feeble neighbor. 

Camping the first night on “ Black Jack,” our mountaineers 
here cut each man a spare hickory wiping-stick for his rifle ; and 
La Bonté, who was the only greenhorn of the party, witnessed a 
savage ebullition of rage on the part of one of his companions, 
exhibiting the perfect unrestraint which these men impose upon 
their passions, and the barbarous anger which the slightest opposi- 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 69 


tion to their will excites. One of the trappers, on arriving at the 
camping-place, dismounted from his horse, and, after divesting it 
of the saddle, endeavored to lead his mule by the rope up to the 
spot where he wished to deposit his pack. Mule-like, however, 
the more he pulled the more stubbornly she remained in her tracks, 
planting her fore-legs firmly, and stretching out her neck with 
provoking obstinacy. Truth to tell, it does require the temper of 
a thousand Jobs to manage a mule; and in no case does the willful 
mulishness of the animal stir up one’s choler more than in the very 
trick this one played, and which is a daily occurrence. After 
tugging ineffectually for several minutes, winding the rope round 
his badly, and throwing himself suddenly forward with all his 
strength, the trapper actually foamed with passion; and although 
he might have subdued the animal at once by fastening the rope 
with a half-hitch round its nose, this, with an obstinacy equal to 
that of the mule itself, he refused to attempt, preferring to vanquish. 
her by main strength. Failing so to do, the mountaineer, with a 
volly of blasphemous imprecations, suddenly seized his rifle, and 
leveling it at the mule’s head, shot her dead. 


Passing the Wa-ka-rdsha, a well-timbered stream, they met a #7 


band of Osages going “to buffalo.” These Indians, in common 
with some tribes of the Pawnees, shave the head, with the ex- 
ception of a ridge from the forehead to the center of the scalp, 
which is ‘“‘ roached” or hogged like the mane of a mule, and stands 
erect; plastered with unguents, and ornamented with feathers of 
the hawk and turkey. The naked scalp is often painted in mosaic 
with black and red, the face with shining vermilion. This band 
were all naked to the breech-clout, the warmth of the sun having 
made them throw their dirty blankets from their shoulders. These 
Indians not unfrequently levy contributions on the strangers they 
accidentally meet; but they easily distinguish the determined 
mountaineer from the incautious greenhorn, and think it better to 
let the former alone. 


70 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


Crossing Vermilion, the trappers arrived on the fifth day at 
“Blue,” where they encamped in the broad timber belting the 
creek, and there awaited the arrival of the remainder of the party. 

It was two days before they came up; but the following day 
they started for the mountains, fourteen in number, striking a trail 
which follows the “ Big Blue” in its course through the prairies, 
which, as they advanced to the westward, gradually smoothed 
away into a vast unbroken expanse of rolling plain. Herds of 
antelope began to show themselves, and some of the hunters, leav- 
ing the trail, soon returned with plenty of their tender meat. 
The luxuriant but coarse grass they had hitherto seen now 
changed into the nutritious and curly buffalo grass, and their 
animals soon improved in appearance on the excellent pasture. 
In a few days, without any adventure, they struck the Platte 
River, its shallow waters (from which it derives its name) spread 
ing over a wide and sandy bed, numerous sand bars obstructing the 
sluggish current, nowhere sufficiently deep to wet the forder’s knee. 

By this time, but few antelope having been seen, the party ran 
entirely out of meat; and, one whole day and part of another 
having passed without so much as a stray rabbit presenting itself, 
not a few objurgations on the buffalo grumbled from the lips of 
the hunters, who expected ere this to have reached the land of 
plenty. La Bonté killed a fine deer, however, in the river bottom, 
after they had encamped, not one particle of which remained after 
supper that night, but which hardly took the rough edge off their 
keen appetites. Although already in the buffalo range, no traces 
of these animals had yet been seen; and as the country afforded 
but little game, and the party did not care to halt and lose time 
in hunting for it, they moved alone hungry and sulky, the theme 
of conversation being the well remembered merits of good buffalo 
meat—of “fat fleece,” ‘“hump-rib,” and “ tender-loin ;” of deli- 
cious ‘‘ boudins,” and marrow bones too good to think of La 
Bonté had never seen the lordly animal, and consequently but half 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 71 


believed the accounts of the mountaineers, who described their 
countless bands as covering the prairie far as the eye could reach, 
and requiring days of travel to pass through; but the visions of 
such dainty and abundant feeding as they descanted on set his 
mouth watering, and danced before his eyes as he slept supperless, 
night after night, on the banks of the hungry Platte. 

One morning he had packed his animals before the rest, and 
was riding a mile in advance of the party, when he saw on one 
side the trail, looming in the refracted glare which mirages the 
plains, three large dark objects without shape or form, which rose 
and fell in the exaggerated light like ships at sea. Doubting what 
it could be, he approached the strange objects; and as the refrac- 
tion disappeared before him, the dark masses assumed a more dis- 
tinct form, and clearly moved with life. A little nearer, and he 
made them out—they were buffalo. Thinking to distinguish him- 
self, the greenhorn dismounted from his mule, and quickly hobbled 
her, throwing his lasso on the ground to trail behind when he 
wished to catch her. Then, rifle in hand, he approached the 
huge animals, and, being a good hunter, knew well to take advant- 
age of the inequalities of the ground and face the wind ; by which 
means he crawled at length to within forty yards of the buflalo, 
which quietly cropped the grass, unconscious of danger. Now, 
for the first time, he gazed upon the noble beast he had so often 
heard of, and longed to see. With coal-black beard sweeping the 
ground as he fed, an enormous bull was in advance of the others, 
his wild brilliant eyes peering from an immense mass of shaggy 
hair, which covered his neck and shoulder. From this point his 
skin was smooth as one’s hand, a sleek and shining dun, and his 
ribs were well covered with shaking flesh. While leisurely crop- 
ping the short curly grass he occasionally lifted his tail into the 
air, and stamped his foot as a fly or musquito annoyed him—flap- 
ping the intruder with his tail, or snatching at the itching part 
with his ponderous head. 


72 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


When La Bonté had sufficiently admired the buffalo, he lified 
his rifle, and, taking steady aim, and certain of his mark, pulled 
the trigger, expecting to see the huge beast fall over at the report. 
What was his surprise and consternation, however, to see the. 
animal only flinch when the ball struck him, and then gallop 
off followed by the others, apparently unhurt. As is generally 
the case with greenhorns, he had fired too high, ignorant that 
the only certain spot to strike a buffalo is but a few inches 
above the brisket, and that a higher shot is rarely fatal. When 
he rose from the ground, he saw all the party halting in full 
view of his discomfiture; and when he joined them, loud 
were the laughs, and deep the regrets of the hungry at his first 
attempt. 

However, they now knew that they were in the country of 
meat; and a few miles farther, another band of stragglers pre- 
senting themselves, three of the hunters went in pursuit, La Bonté 
taking a mule to pack in the meat. He soon saw them crawling 
toward the band, and shortly two pufis of smoke, and the sharp 
cracks of their rifles, showed that they had got within shot ; and 
when he rode up, two fine buffaloes were stretched upon the ground. 
Now, for the first time, he was initiated in the mysteries of ‘‘ butch- 
ering.” He watched the hunters as they turned the carcass on 
the belly, stretching out the legs to support it on each side. A 
transverse cut was then made at the nape of the neck, and, gath- 
ering the long hair of the boss in one hand, the skin was separated 
from the shoulder. It was then laid open from this point to the 
tail, along the spine, and then, freed from the sides and pulled 
down to the brisket, but still attached to it, was stretched upon 
the ground to receive the dissected portions. Then the shoulder 
was severed, the fleece removed from along the back-bone, and the 
hump-ribs cut off with a tomahawk. All this was placed upon 
the skin; and after the “ boudins” had been withdrawn from the 
stomach, and the tongue—a great dainty—taken from the head, 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 73 


the meat was packed upon the mule, and the whole party hurried 
to camp rejoicing. 

There was merry-making in the camp that night, and the way 
they indulged their appetites—or, in their own language, ‘“throw’d” 
the meat “ cold’”’—would have made the heart of a dyspeptic leap 
for joy or burst with envy. Far into the “still watches of the 


tranquil night” the fat-clad ‘‘ depouille”’ saw its fleshy mass grow 
small by degrees and beautifully less, before the trenchant blades 
of the hungry mountaineers; appetizing yards of well-browned 
“ boudin” slipped glibly down their throats ; rib after rib of tender 
hump was picked and flung to the wolves; and when human 
nature, with helpless gratitude, and confident that nothing of 
super-excellent comestibility remained, was lazily wiping the greasy 
knife that had done such good service—a skillful hunter was seen 
to chuckle to himself as he raked the deep ashes of the fire, and 
drew therefrom a pair of tongues so admirably baked, so soft, so 
sweet, and of such exquisite flavor, that a vail is considerately 
drawn over the effects their discussion produced in the mind of 
our greenhorn La Bonté, and the raptures they excited in the 
bosom of that, as yet, most ignorant mountaineer. -Still, as he ate 
he wondered, and wondering admired, that nature, in giving him 
such profound gastronomic powers, and such transcendent capa- 
bilities of digestion, had yet bountifully provided an edible so pe- 
culiarly adapted to his ostrich-like appetite, that after consuming 
nearly his own weight in rich and fat buffalo meat, he felt as easy 
and as little incommoded as if he had lightly supped on straw- 
berries and cream. 

Sweet was the digestive pipe after such a feast; soft was the 
sleep and deep, which sealed the eyes of the contented trappers 
that night. It feit lke the old thing, they said, to be once more 


7 


among the “meat ;’’ and, as they were drawing near the danger- 
ous portion of the trail, they felt at home ; although they now 
could never be confident, when they lay down at night upon their 


D 


74 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


buffalo robes, of awaking again in this life, knowing as they did, 
full well, that savage men lurked near, thirsting for their blood. 
However, no enemies showed themselves as yet, and they pro- 
ceeded quietly up the river, vast herds of buffaloes darkening the 
plains around them, affording them more than abundance of the 
choicest meat; but, to their credit be it spoken, no more was 
killed than was absolutely required—unlike the cruel slaughter 
made by most of the white travelers across the plains, who wan- 
tonly destroy these noble animals, not even for the excitement of 
sport, but in cold-blooded and insane butchery. La Bonté had 
practiced enough to perfect him in the art, and, before the buffalo 
range was passed, he was ranked as a first-rate hunter. One 
evening he had left the camp for meat, and was approaching a 
band of cows for that purpose, crawling toward them along the 
bed of a dry hollow in the prairie, when he observed them sud- 
denly jump toward him, and unmediately afterward a score of 
mounted Indians appeared, whom, by their dress, he at once knew 
to be Pawnees and enemies. Thinking they might not discover 
him, he crouched down in the ravine; but a noise behind caused 
him to turn his head, and he saw some five or six advancing up 
the bed of the dry creek, while several more were riding on the 
blufls. The cunning savages had cut of his retreat to his mule, 
which he saw in the possession of one of them. His presence of mind, 
however, did not desert him; and seeing at once that to remain 
where he was would be like being caucht in a trap (as the Indians 
could advance to the edge of the bluff and shoot him from above), 
he made for the open prairie, determined at least to sell his scalp 
dearly, and make “a good fight.” With a yell the Indians 
charged, but halted when they saw the sturdy trapper deliberately 
kneel, and, resting his rifle on the wiping-stick, take a steady aim 
as they advanced. Full well the Pawnees know to their cost, 
that a mountaineer seldom pulls his trigger without sending a 
bullet to the mark; and, certain that one at least must fall, they 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 75 


hesitated to make the onslaught. Steadily the white retreated 
with his face to the foe, bringing the rifle to his shoulder the 
instant that one advanced within shot, the Indians galloping 
round, firing the few guns they had among them at long distances, 
but without effect. One young “brave,” more daring than the 
rest, rode out of the crowd, and dashed at the hunter, throwing 
himself, as he passed within a few yards, from the saddle, and 
hanging over the opposite side of his horse, thus presenting no 
other mark than his left foot. As he crossed La Bonté, he dis- 
charged his bow from under his horse’s neck, and with such good 
aim, that the arrow, whizzing through the air, struck the stock of 
the hunter’s rifle, which was at his shoulder, and, glancing off, 
pierced his arm, inflicting, luckily, but a slight wound. Again 
the Indian turned in his course, the others encouraging him with 
loud war-whoops, and, once more passing at still less distance, he 
drew his arrow to the head. This time, however, the eagle eye 
of the white detected the action, and suddenly rising from his knee 
as the Indian approached (hanging by his foot alone over the 
opposite side of the horse), he jumped toward the animal with out- 
stretched arms and a loud yell, causing it to start suddenly, and 
swerve from its course. The Indian lost his foot-hold, and, after 
a fruitless struggle to regain his position, fell to the ground; but 
instantly rose upon his feet and gallantly confronted the mouut- 
aineer, striking his hand upon his brawny chest and shouting a 
loud whoop of defiance. In another instant the rifle of La Bonté 
had poured forth its contents; and the brave savage, springing 
into the air, fell dead to the ground, just as the other trappers, 
who had heard the firing, galloped up to the spot. At sight of 
them the Pawnees, with yells of disappointed vengeance, hastily 
retreated. 

That night La Bonté first lifted hair! 

A few days later the mountaineers reached the pomt where the 
Platte divides into two great forks: the northern one, stretchinz 


76 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


to the northwest, skirts the eastern base of the Black Hills, and 
sweeping round to the south rises in the vicinity of the mountain 
valley called the New Park, receiving the Laramie, Medicine 
Bow, and Sweet Water creeks. The other, or “ South Fork,” 
strikes toward the mountains in a southwesterly direction, hug- 
ging the base of the main chain of the Rocky Mountains; and, 
fed by several small creeks, rises in the uplands of the Bayou Sa- 
lade, near which is also the source of the Arkansas. To the forks 
of the Platte the.valley of that river extends from three to five 
miles on each side, inclosed by steep sandy bluffs, from the summits 
of which the prairies stretch away in broad undulating expanse to 
the north and south. The “ bottom,” as it is termed, is but thinly 
covered with timber, the cotton-woods being scattered only here 
and there ; but some of the islands in the broad bed of the stream 
are well wooded, leading to the inference that the trees on the 
banks have been felled by Indians who formerly frequented the 
neighborhood of this river as a chosen hunting-ground. As, dur- 
ing the long winters, the pasture in the vicinity is scarce and 
withered, the Indians feed their horses on the bark of the sweet 
cotton-wood, upon which they subsist and even fatten. Thus, 
wherever a village has encamped, the trunks of these trees strew 
the ground, their upper limbs and smaller branches peeled of their 
bark, and looking as white and smooth as if scraped with a 
knife. 

On the forks, however, the timber is heavier and of greater va- 
riety, some of the creeks being well wooded with ash and cherry, 
which break the monotony of the everlasting cotton-wood. 

Dense masses of buffalo still continued to darken the plains, 
and numerous bands of wolves hovered round the outskirts of the 
vast herds, singling out the sick and wounded animals, and prey- 
ing upon such calves as the_rifles and arrows of the hunters had 
bereaved of their mothers. The white wolf is the invariable at- 
tendant upon the buffalo; and when one of these persevering ani- 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. T 


“mals is seen, it is certain sign that buffalo are not far distant. 
Besides the buffalo wolf, there are four distinct varieties common 
to the plains, and all more or less attendant upon the buffalo. 
These are, the black, the gray, the brown, and last and least, the 
coyote, or cayeute of the mountaimeers, the “ wach-unkamanet,” 
or ‘‘ medicine wolf’’ of the Indians, who hold the latter animal in 
reverential awe. This little wolf, whose fur is of great thickness 
and beauty, is of diminutive size, but wonderfully sagacious, mak- 
ing up by cunning what it wants in physical strength. In bands 
of from three to thirty they not unfrequently station themselves 
along the “runs” of the deer and the antelope, extending their 
line for many miles—and the quarry being started, each wolf fol- 
lows in pursuit until tired, when it relinquishes the chase to another 
relay, following slowly after until the animal is fairly run down, when 
all hurry to the spot and speedily consume the carcass. The cayeute, 
however, is often made a tool of by his larger brethren, unless, in- 
deed, he acts from motives of spontaneous charity. When a hunt- 
er has slaughtered game, and is in the act of butchering it, these 
little wolves sit patiently at a short distance from the scene of op- 
erations, while at a more respectful one the larger wolves (the 
white or gray) lope hungrily around, licking their chops in hungry 
expectation. Not unfrequently the hunter throws a piece of meat 
toward the smaller one, who seizes it immediately, and runs off 
with the morsel in his mouth. Before he gets many yards with 
his prize, the large wolf pounces with a growl upon him, and the 
cayeute, dropping the meat, returns to his former position, and will 
continue his charitable act as long as the hunter pleases to supply 
him. ‘ : 

Wolves are so common on the plains and in the mountains, 
that the hunter never cares to throw away a charge of ammuni- 
tion upon them, although the ravenous animals are a constant 
source of annoyance to him, creeping to the camp-fire at night, 
and gnawing his saddles and apishamores, eating the skin ropes 


78 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST: 


which secure the horses and mules to their pickets, and even their 
very hobbles, and not unfrequently killing or entirely disabling the 
animals themselves. 

Round the camp, during the night, the cayeute keeps unremit- 
ting watch, and the traveler not unfrequently starts from his bed 
with afiright, as the mournful and unearthly chiding of the wolf 
breaks suddenly upon his ear; the long-drawn howl being taken 
up by others of the band, until it dies away in the distance, or 
some straggler passing within hearing answers to the note, and 
howls as he lopes away. 

Our party crossed the south fork about ten miles from its junc- 
ture with the main stream, and then, passing the prairie, struck 
the north fork a day’s travel from the other. At the mouth of an 
ash-timbered creek they came upon Indian “sign,” and, as now 
they were in the vicinity of the treacherous Sioux, they moved 
along with additional caution, Frapp and Gonneville, two expe- 
rienced mountaineers, always heading the advance. 

About noon they had crossed over to the left bank of the fork, 
intending to camp on a large creek where some fresh beaver 
“sign” had attracted the attention of some of the trappers; and 
as, on further examination, it appeared that two or three lodges 
of that animal were not far distant, it was determined to remain 
here a day or two and set their traps. 

Gonneville, old Luke, and La Bonté had started up the creek, 
and were carefully examining the banks for “ sign,” when the for- 
mer, who was in front, suddenly paused, and looking intently up 
the stream, held up his hand to his companions to signal them to 
stop. 

Luke and La-Bonté both followed the direction of the trapper’s 
intent and fixed gaze. The former uttered in a suppressed tone 
the expressive exclamation, Wagh !—the latter saw nothing but 
a wood-duck swimming swiftly down the stream, followed by her 
downy progeny. 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 79 


Gonnevile turned his head, and extending his arm twice with 
a forward motion up the creek, whispered—‘ Les sauvages ” » 

‘‘Injuns, sure, and Sioux at that,” answered Luke. _ 

Still La Bonté looked, but nothing met his view but the duck 
with her brood, now rapidly approaching; and as he gazed, the 
bird suddenly took wing, and flapping on the water, flew a short 
distance down the stream, and once more settled on it. 

‘Tnjuns ?” he asked ; “‘ where are they ?” 

‘“ Whar ?” repeated old Luke, striking the flint of his rifle, and 
opening the pan to examine the priming. ‘ What brings a duck 
a-streaking it down stream if humans ain’t behint her? and who’s 
thar in these diggins but Injuns, and the worst kind? and we'd 
better push to camp, I’m thinking, if we mean to save our hair.” 

“Sign” sufficient indeed, it was to all the trappers, who, on 
being apprized of it, instantly drove in their animals, and picketed 
them ; and hardly had they done so when a band of Indians made 
their appearance on the banks of the creek, from whence they gal- 
loped to the bluff which overlooked the camp at the distance of 
about six hundred yards ; and crowning this, in number some for- 
ty or more, commenced brandishing their spears and guns, and 
whooping loud yells of defiance. The trappers had formed a little 
breastwork of their packs, forming a semicircle, the chord of which 
was made by the animals standing in a line, side by side, closely 
picketed and hobbled. Behind this defense stood the mountain= 
eers, rifle in hand, and silent and determined. The Indians pres- 
ently descended the bluff on foot, leaving their animals in charge of 
a few of the party, and, scattering, advanced under cover of the sage 
bushes which dotted the bottom, to about two hundred yards of. 
the whites. Then a chief advanced before the rest, and made 
the sign for a talk with the Long-knives, which led to a consulta- 
tion among the latter as to the policy of acceding to it. They 
were in doubt as to the nation these Indians belonged to, some bands 
of the Sioux being friendly, and others bitterly hostile to the whites. 


80 LIFE IN THE FAR: WEST. 


Gonneville, who spoke the Sioux language, and was well ac- 
quainted with the nation, affirmed that they belonged to a band 
called the Yanka-taus, well known to be the most evil-disposed of 
that treacherous nation; another of the party maintained they 
were Brulés, and that the chief advancing toward them was the 
well-known Tah-sha-tunga or Bull Tail, a most friendly chief of 
that tribe. The majority, however, trusted to Gonneville, and 
he volunteered to go out to meet the Indian, and hear what he 
had to say. Divesting himself of all arms save his butcher-knife, 
he advanced toward the savage, who awaited his approach envel- 
oped in the folds of his blanket. At a glance he knew him to be 
a Yanka-tau, from the peculiar make of his moccasins, and the 
way in which his face was daubed with paint. 

‘ Howeh !” exclaimed both as they met; and, after a silence 
of a few moments, the Indian spoke, asking—‘ Why the Long- 
knives hid behind their packs, when his band approached? Were 
they afraid, or were they preparing a dog-feast to entertain their 
friends? ‘The whites were passing through his country, burning 
his wood, drinking his water, and killing his game; but he knew 
they had now come to pay for the mischief they had done, and 
that the mules and horses they had brought with them were in- 
tended as a present to their red friends. 

“He was Mah-to-ga-shane,”’ he said, “the Brave Bear : his 
tongue was short, but his arm long; and he loved rather to speak 
with his bow and his lance than with the weapon of asquaw. He 
had said it: the Long-knives had horses with them and mules ; 
and these were for him, he knew, and for his ‘ braves.’ Let the 
White-face go back to his people and return with the animals, or 
he, the ‘ Brave Bear,’ would have to come and take them; and 
his young men would get mad, and would feel blood in their eyes ; 
and then he would have no power over them; and the whites would 
have to ‘go under.’ ” 

The trapper answered shortly.—‘‘ The Long-knives,”’ he said, 


ee 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 81 


“had brought the horses for themselves—their hearts were big, 
but not toward the Yanka-taus: and if they had to give up their 
animals, it would be to men and not sguaws. 'They were not 
‘wah-keitcha,’* (French engagés), but Long-knives; and, however | 
short were the tongues of the Yanka-taus, theirs were still shorter, 
and their rifles longer. The Yanka-taus, were dogs and squaws, 
and the Long-knives spat upon them.” 

Saying this, the trapper turned his back and rejoined his com- 
panions; while the Indian slowly proceeded to his people, who, on 
learning the contemptuous way in which their threats had been 
treated, testified their anger with loud yells; and, seeking whatever 
cover was afforded, commenced a scattering volley upon the camp 
of the mountaineers. The latter reserved their fire, treating with 
cool indifference the balls which began to rattle about them ; but 
as the Indians, emboldened by this apparent inaction, rushed for a 
closer position, and exposed their bodies within a long range, half- 
a-dozen rifles rang from the assailed, and two Indians fell dead, 
one or two more being wounded. As yet, not one of the whites 
had been touched, but several of the animals had received wounds 
from the enemies’ fire of balls and arrows. Indeed, the Indians re- 
mained at too great a distance to render the volleys from their crazy 
fusees any thing like effectual, and had to raise their pieces cort 
siderably to make their bullets reach as faras the camp. After three 
of their band had been killed outright, and many more wounded, 
their fire began to slacken, and they drew off to a greater distance, 
evidently resolved to beat a retreat. Retiring to the bluff, they dis- 
charged their pieces in a last volley, mounted their horses and gal- 
loped off, carrying their wounded with them. This last volley, 
however, although intended as amere bravado, unfortunately proved. 
fatal to one of the whites. Gonneville, at the moment, was stand- 


* The French Canadians are called wah-keitcha—“ bad medicine’’—by the In- 
dians, who account them treacherous and vindictive, and at the same time less 
daring than the American hunters. 


p* 


82 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


ing on a pack to get an uninterrupted sight for a last shot, when 
one of the random bullets struck him in the breast. La Bonté 
caught him in his arms as he was about to fall, and laying the 
wounded trapper gently on the ground, stripped him of his buck- 
skin hunting-frock, to examine the wound. A glance was sufli- 
cient to convince his companions that the blow was mortal. The 
ball had passed through the lungs : and in a few moments the throat 
of the wounded man swelled and turned to a livid blue color, as 
the choking blood descended. Only a few drops of purple blood 
trickled from the wound—a fatal sign—and the eyes of the moun- 
taineer were already glazing with death’s icy touch. His hand 
still grasped the barrel of his rifle, which had done good service in 
the fray. Anon he essayed to speak, but, choked with blood, only 
a few inarticulate words reached the ears of his companions, as 
they bent over him. 

“ Rubbed—out—at—last,” they heard him say, the words 
gurgling in his blood-filled throat; and opening his eyes once 
more, and turning them upward for a last look at the bright sun, 
the trapper turned gently on his side and. breathed his last sigh. 

With no other tools than their scalp-knives, the hunters dug a 
grave on the banks of the creek; and while some were engaged in 
this work, others sought the bodies of the Indians they had slain 
in the attack, and presently returned with three reeking scalps, the 
trophies of the fight. The body of the mountaineer was wrapped 
in a buffalo robe, the scalps being placed on his breast, and the dead . 
man was then laid in the shallow grave, and quickly covered— 
without a word of prayer, or sigh of grief; for, however much his 
companions may have felt, not a word escaped them. ‘The bitten 
lip and frowning brow told of anger rather than of sorrow, as they 
vowed—what they thought would better please the spirit of the 
dead man than vain regrets—bloody and lasting revenge. 

Trampling down the earth which filled the grave, they raised 
upon it a pile of heavy stones; and packing their mules once more 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 83. 


and taking a last look at their comrade’s lonely resting-place, they 
turned their backs upon the stream, which has ever since been 
known as ‘ Gonneville’s Creek.” 

If the reader casts his eye over any of the recent maps of the 
western country, which detail the features of the regions embrac- 
ing the Rocky Mountains, and the vast prairies at their bases, he 
will not fail to observe that many of the creeks or smaller streams 
which feed the larger rivers—as the Missouri, Platte, and Arkansas 
—are called by familiar proper names, both English and French, 
These are invariably christened after some unfortunate trapper, 
killed there in Indian fight; or treacherously slaughtered by the 
lurking savages, while engaged in trapping beaver on the stream. 
Thus alone is the memory of these hardy men perpetuated, at least 
of those whose fate is ascertained : for many, in every season, never 
return from their hunting expeditions, but meet a sudden death 
from Indians, or a more lingering fate from accident or disease in 
some lonely gorge of the mountains, where no footfall save their 
own, or the heavy tread of grizzly bear, disturbs the unbroken 
silence of the awful solitude. Then, as many winters pass without 
some old familiar faces making their appearance at the merry ren- 
dezvous, their long protracted absence may perhaps elicit a remark, 
as to where such and such a mountain worthy can have betaken 
himself, to which the casual rejoinder of, “ Gone under, maybe,” 
too often gives a short but certain answer. 

In all the philosophy of hardened hearts, our hunters turned 
from the spot where the unmourned trapper met his death. La 
Bonté, however, not yet entirely steeled by mountain life to a perfect 
indifference to human feeling, drew his hard hand across his eye, 
as the unbidden tear rose from his rough but kindly heart. He 
could not forget so soon the comrade he had lost, the companion in 
the hunt or over the cheerful camp-fire, the narrator of many a 
tale of dangers past, of sufferings from hunger, cold, thirst, and un- 
tended wounds, of Indian perils, and other vicissitudes. One tear 


84 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


dropped from the young hunter’s eye, and rolled down his cheek— 
the last for many a long year. 

In the forks of the northern branch of the Platte, formed by the 
junction of the Laramie, they found a big village of the Sioux 
encamped near the station of one of the fur companies. Here 
the party broke up; many, finding the alcohol of the traders an 
impediment to their further progress, remained some time in the | 
vicinity, while La Bonté, Luke, and a trapper named Marcelline, 
started in a few days to the mountains, to trap on Sweet Water 
and Medicine Bow. They had leisure, however, to observe all 
the rascalities connected with the Indian trade, although at this 
season (August) hardly commenced. However, a band of Indians 
having come in with several packs of last year’s robes, and being 
anxious to start speedily on their return, a trader from one of the 
forts had erected his lodge in the village. 

Here he set to work immediately, to induce the Indians to trade. ; 
First, a chief appoints three “soldiers” to guard the trader’s lodge 
from intrusion ; and these sentries among the thieving fraternity 
can be invariably trusted. Then the Indians are invited to have 
a drink—a taste of the fire-water being given to all to incite them 
to trade. As the crowd presses upon the entrance to the lodge, 
and those in rear become impatient, some large-mouthed savage 
who has received a portion of the spirit, makes his way, with his 
mouth full of the liquor and cheeks distended, through the throng, 
and is instantly surrounded by his particular friends. Drawing 
the face of each, by turns, near his own, he squirts a small quan- 
tity into his open mouth, until the supply is exhausted, when he 
returns for more, and repeats the generous distribution. 

When paying for the robes, the traders, in measuring out the 
liquor in a tin half-pint cup, thrust the thumb or the four fingers of 
the hand into the measure, in order that it may contain the less, 
or not unfrequently fill the bottom with melted buffalo fat, with 
the same object. So greedy are the Indians, that they never dis- 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 85 


cover the cheat, and, once under the influence of the liquor, can 
not distinguish between the first cup of comparatively strong spirit, 
and the following ones diluted five hundred per cent., and poison- 
ously drugged to boot. 

Scenes of drunkenness, riot, and bloodshed last until the trade is 
over. In the winter it occupies several weeks, during which period 
the Indians present the appearance, under the demoralizing influ- 
ence of the liquor, of demons rather than of men. 


CHAPTER IV. 


La Bonté and his companions proceeded up the river, the 
- Black Hills on their left hand, from which several small creeks or 
feeders swell the waters of the North Fork. Along these they 
hunted unsuccessfully for beaver “sign,” and it was evident the 
spring hunt had almost exterminated the animal in this vicinity. 
Following Deer Creek to the ridge of the Black Hills, they crossed 
the mountain on to the waters of the Medicine Bow, and here 
they discovered a few lodges, and La Bonté set his first trap. He 
and old Luke finding “cuttings” near the camp, followed the 


~ “sign” along the bank until the practiced eye of the latter discoy- 


ered a ‘slide,’ where the beaver had ascended the bank to chop 
the trunk of a cotton wood, and convey the bark to its lodge. 
Taking a trap from “sack,” the old hunter, after setting the trig- 
ger, placed it carefully under the water, where the “slide’’ entered 
the stream, securing the chain to the stem of a sapling on the 
bank; while a stick, also attached to the trap by a thong, floated 
down the stream, to mark the position of the trap, should the ani- 
mal carry it away. A little farther on, and near another “ run,” 
three traps were set; and over these Luke placed a little stick, 
which he first dipped into a mysterious-looking phial containing 
his ‘‘ medicine.”’ * 

The next morning they visited the traps, and had the satisfac- 
tion of finding three fine beaver secured in the first three they 
visited, and the fourth, which had been carried away, they dis- 


* A substance obtained from a gland in the scrotum of the beaver, and used to 
attract that animal to the trap. 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 87 


covered by the float-stick, a little distance down the stream, with 
a large drowned beaver between its teeth. 

The animals being carefully skinned, they returned to camp 
with the choicest portions of the meat, and the tails, on which 
they most luxuriously supped ; and La Bonté was fain to confess 
that all his ideas of the super-excellence of buflalo were thrown in 
the shade by the delicious beaver tail, the rich meat of which he 


») 


was compelled to allow was “great eating,” unsurpassed by 
“‘tender-loin” or “ boudin,”’ or other meat of whatever kind he had 
eaten of before. 

The country where La Bonté and his companions were trapping, 
is very curiously situated in the extensive bend of the Platte which 
incloses the Black Hill range on the north, and which bounds the 
large expanse of broken tract known as the Laramie Plains, their 
southern limit being the base of the Medicine Bow Mountains. 
From the northwestern corner of the bend, an inconsiderable 
range extends to the westward, gradually decreasing in height 
until it reaches an elevated plain, which forms a break in the 
stupendous chain of the Rocky Mountains, and affords the easy 
passage now known as the Great, or South Pass. So gradual is 
the ascent of this portion of the mountain, that the traveler can 
scarcely believe he is crossing the dividing ridge between the 
waters which flow into the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, and that 
in a few minutes he can fling two sticks into two neighboring 
streams, one to be carried thousands of miles, traversed by the 
eastern waters in their course to the Gulf of Mexico, the other to 
be borne a lesser distance to the Gulf of California. 

The country is frequented by the Crows and Snakes, who are 
at perpetual war with the Shians and Sioux, following them ofien 
far down the Platte, where many bloody battles have taken place. 
The Crows are esteemed friendly to the whites; but when on 
war expeditions, and “ hair’’ their object, it is always dangerous 
to fall in with Indian war-parties, and particularly in the remote 


88 LIFE IN THE’ FAR WEST. 


regions of the mountains, where they do not anticipate retalia- 
tion. 

Trapping with tolerable: success in this vicinity, the hunters 
crossed over, as soon as the premonitory storms of approaching 
Winter warned them to leave the mountains, to the waters of 
Green River, one of the affluents of the Colorado, intending to 
winter at a rendezvous to be held in ‘“‘ Brown’s Hole’—an in- 
closed valley so called—which, abounding in game, and sheltered 
on every side by lofty mountains, is a favorite wintering-ground of 
the mountaineers. Here they found several trapping bands already 
arrived ; and a trader from the Uintah country, with store of 
powder, lead, and tobacco, prepared to ease them of their hardly- 
earned peltries. 

Singly, and in bands numbering from two to ten, the trappers 
dropped into the rendezvous; some with many pack-loads of 
beaver, others with greater or less quantity, and more than one on 
foot, having lost his animals and peltry by Indian thieving. Here 
were soon congregated many mountaineers, whose names are 
famous in the history of the Far West. Fitzpatrick and Hatcher, 
and old Bill Williams, well known leaders of trapping parties, 
_soon arrived with their bands. Sublette came in with his men 
from Yellow Stone, and many of Wyeth’s New Englanders were 
there. Chabonard with his half-breeds, Wah-keitchas all, brought 
his peltries from the lower country; and half-a-dozen Shawnee 
and Delaware Indians, with a Mexican from Taos, one Marcelline, 
a fine strapping fellow, the best trapper and hunter in the mount: 
ains, and ever first in the fight. Here, too, arrived the ‘ Bour- 
geois” traders of the “ North West’ * Company, with their supe- 
rior equipments, ready to meet their trappers, and purchase the 
beaver at an equitable value ; and soon the trade opened, and the 
encampment assumed a busy appearance. _ 

A curious assemblage did the rendezvous present, and represent- 


“ The Hudson’s Bay Company is so called by the American trappers. 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 89 


atives of many a land met there. A son of La belle France here 
lit his pipe from one proffered by a native of New Mexico. An 
Englishman and a Sandwich Islander cut a quid from the same 
plug of tobacco. A Swede and an “old Virginian” puffed to- 
gether. A Shawnee blew a peaceful cloud with a scion of the 
“Six Nations.” One from the Land of Cakes—a canny chiel— 
sought to ‘“‘get round” (in trade) a right “smart” Yankee, but 
couldn’t “shine.” 

The beaver went briskly, six dollars being the price paid per Ib. 
in goods—for money is seldom given in the mountain market, 
where ‘beaver’ is cash, for which the articles supplied by the 
traders are bartered. In a very short time peltries of every de- 
scription had changed hands, either by trade, or by gambling with 
cards and betting. With the mountain men bets decide every 
question that is raised, even the most trivial; and if the Editor 
of Bell's Life were to pay one of these rendezvous a winter visit, 
he would find the broad sheet of his paper hardly capacious enough 
to answer all the questions which would be referred to his decision. 

Before the winter was over, La Bonté had lost all traces of 
civilized humanity, and might justly claim to be considered as 
“hard a case” as any of the mountaineers then present. Long 
before the spring opened, he had lost all the produce of his hunt . 
and both his animals, which, however, by a stroke of luck, he re- | 
covered, and wisely “‘ held on to” for the future. Right glad when 
spring appeared, he started from Brown’s Hole, with four compan- 
ions, to hunt the Uintah or Snake country, and the affluents of 
the larger streams which rise in that region and fall into the Gulf 
of California. 

In the valley of the Bear River they found beaver abundant, 
and trapped their way westward until they came upon the famed 
locality of the Beer and Soda Springs—natural fountains of mine- 
ral water, renowned among the trappers as being “ medicine” of 
the first order. 


90 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST: 


Arriving one evening, about sun-down, at the Bear Spring, they 
found a solitary trapper sitting over the rocky basin, intently re- 
garding, with no httle awe, the curious phenomenon of the bub- 
bling gas. Behind him were piled his saddles and a pack of skins, 
and at a little distance a hobbled Indian pony fed among the 
cedars which formed a grove round the spring. As the three 
hunters dismounted from their animals, the lone trapper scarcely 
noticed their arrival, his eyes being still intently fixed upon the 
water. Looking round at last, he was instantly recognized by one 
of La Bonté’s companions, and saluted as ‘Old Rube.” Dressed 
‘from head to foot in buckskin, his face, neck, and hands appeared 
to be of the same leathery texture, so nearly did they assimilate 
in color to the materials of his dress. He was at least six feet 
two or three in his moccasins, straight-limbed and wiry, with long 
arms ending in hands of tremendous grasp, and a quantity of 
straight black hair hanging on his shoulders. His features, which 
were undeniably good, wore an expression of comical gravity, never 
relaxing ‘into a smile, which a broad good-humored mouth could 
have grinned from ear to ear. 

‘What, boys,” he said, ‘ will you * sumple enough to camp 
here, alongside these springs ? Nothing good ever came of sleep- 
ing here, I tell you, and the worst kind of devils are in those 
dancing waters.” 

“ Why, old hos,” cried La Bonté, ‘“‘ what brings you hyar then, 
and camp at that ?” 
answered Rube, solemnly, “has been down’d 
upon a sight too often to be skeared by what can come out from 
them waters; and thar arn’t a devil as hisses thar, as can ‘ shine’ 
with this child, I tell you. Ive tried him onest, an’ fout him to 
clawin’ away to Eustis,* and if I draws my knife again on such 
varmint, I'll raise his hair,.as sure as shootin.’ ”’ 


ee) 


“This niggur, 


* A small lake near the head waters of the Yellow Stone, near which are some 
curious thermal springs of ink-black water. 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 91 


Spite of the reputed dangers of the locality, the trappers carnped 
on the spot, and many a draught of the delicious, sparkling water 
they quaffed in honor of the “medicine” of the fount. Rube, 
however, sat sulky and silent, his huge form bending over his legs, 
which were crossed, Indian fashion, under him, and his long bony 
fingers spread over the fire, which had been made handy to the 
spring. At last they elicited from him that he had sought this 
spot for the purpose of “making medicine,’ having been perse- 
cuted by extraordinary ill luck, even at this early period of his 
hunt—the Indians having stolen two out of his three animals, and 
three of his half-dozen traps. He had, therefore, sought the 
springs for the purpose of invoking the fountain spirits, which, a 
perfect Indian in his simple heart, he implicitly believed to inhabit 
their mysterious waters. When the others had, as he thought, 
fallen asleep, La Bonté observed the ill-starred trapper take from 
his pouch a curiously carved red stone pipe, which he carefully 
charged with tobacco and kinnik-kinnik. Then approachife the 
spring, he walked three times round it, and gravely sat himself 
down. Striking fire with his flint and steel, he lit his pipe, and, 
bending the stem three several times toward the water, he inhaled 
a vast quantity of smoke, and bending back his neck and looking 
upward, puffed it into the air. He then blew another puff toward 
the four points of the compass, and emptying the pipe into his 
hand, cast the consecrated contents into the spring, saying a few 
Indian “ medicine” words of cabalistic import. Having performed 
the ceremony to his satisfaction, he returned to the fire, smoked a 
pipe on his own hook, and turned into his buffalo robe, conscious 
of having done a most important duty. ; 

In the course of their trapping expedition, and accompanied by 
Rube, who knew the country well, they passed near the Great 
Salt Lake, a vast inland sea, whose salitrose waters cover an ex- 
tent of upward of one hundred and forty miles in length, by eighty 
in breadth. Fed by several streams, of which the Big Bear 


92 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


River is the most considerable, this lake presents the curious pheno- 
_menon of a vast body of water without any known outlet. Accord- 
ing to the trappers, an island, from which rises a chain of lofty 
mountains, nearly divides the northwestern portion of the lake, 
while a smaller one, within twelve miles of the northern shore, 
rises six hundred feet from the level of the water. Rube declared 
to his companions that the larger island was known by the Indians 
to be inhabited by a race of giants, with whom no communica 
tion had ever been held by mortal man; and but for the casual 
wafting to the shores of the lake of logs of gigantic trees, cut by 
axes of extraordinary size, the world would never have known that 
such a people existed. They were, moreover, white as themselves, 
and lived upon corn and fruits, and rode on elephants, &c. 

While following a small creek at the southwest extremity of 
the lake, they came upon a band of miserable Indians, who, from 
the fact of their subsisting chiefly on roots, are called the Diggers. 
At first sight of the whites they immediately fled from their wretch- 
ed huts, and made toward the mountain; but one of the trappers, 
galloping up on his horse, cut off their retreat, and drove them like 
sheep before him back to their village. A few of these wretched 
creatures came into camp at sundown, and were regaled with such 
meat as the larder afforded. They appeared to have no other food 
in their village but bags of dried ants and their larve, and a few 
roots of the yampah. ‘Their huts were constructed of a few bushes” 
of grease-wood, piled up as a sort of bre¢kwind, in which they 
huddled in their filthy skins. During the night, they crawled up 
to the camp and stole two of the horses, and the next morning not 
a sign of them was visible. Now La Bonté witnessed a case of 
mountain law, and the practical effects of the “lex talionis’” of the 
Far West. 

The trail of the runaway Diggers bore to the northwest, or 
along the skirt of a barren waterless desert, which stretches far 
away from the southern shores of the Salt Lake to the borders of 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 93 


Upper California. La Bonté, with three others, determined to 
follow the thieves, recover their animals, and then rejoin the other 
two (Luke and Rube) on a creek two days’ journey from their 
present camp. Starting at sunrise, they rode on at a rapid pace all 
day, closely following the trail, which led directly to the northwest, 
through a wretched sandy country, without game or water. From 
the appearance of the track, the Indians must still have been sev- 
eral hours ahead of them, when the fatigue of their horses, suffering 
from want of grass and water, compelled them’ to camp near the 
head of a small water-course, where they luckily found a hole con- 
taining a little water, whence a broad Indian trail passed, appa- 
rently frequently used. Long before daylight they were again in 
the saddle, and, after proceeding a few miles, saw the lights of 
several fires a short distance ahead of them. Halting here, one of 
the party advanced on foot to reconnoiter, and presently returned 
with the intelligence that the party that they were in pursuit of 
had joined a village numbering thirty or forty huts. 

Loosening their girths, they permitted their tired animals to feed 
m the scanty herbage which presented itself, while they refreshed 
themselves with a pipe of tobacco—for they had no meat of any 
description with them, and the country afforded no game. As the 
first streak of dawn appeared in the east, they mounted their 
horses, after first examining their rifles, and moved cautiously 
toward the Indian village. As it was scarcely light enough for 
their operations, they waited behind a sandhill in the vicinity, 
until objects became more distinct, and then, emerging from their 
cover with loud war-whoops, they charged abreast into the midst 
of the village. 

As the frightened Indians were scarcely risen from their beds, no 
opposition was given to the daring mountaineers, who, rushing upon 
the flying crowd, discharged their rifles at close quarters, and then, 
springing from their horses, attacked them knife in hand, and only 
ceased the work of butchery when nine Indians lay dead upon the 


94 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


ground. All this time the women, half dead with fright, were 
huddled together on the ground, howling piteously ; and the moun- 
taineers advancing to them, whirled their lassos round their heads, 
and throwing the open nooses into the midst, hauled out three of 
them, and securing their arms in the rope, bound them to a tree, and 
then proceeded to scalp the dead bodies. While they were en- 
gaged in this work, an old Indian, withered and grisly, and hardly 
bigger than an ape, suddenly emerged from a rock, holding in his 
left hand a bow and a handful of arrows, while one was already 
drawn to the head. Running toward them, and almost before the 
hunters were aware of his presence, he discharged an arrow at a 
few yards’ distance, which buried itself in the ground not a foot 
from La Bonté’s head as he bent over the body of the Indian he 
was scalping ; and hardly had the whiz ceased, when whirr flew 
another, striking him in his right shoulder. Before the Indian 
could fit a third arrow to his bow, La Bonté sprang upon him, 
seized him by the middle, and spinning his pigmy form round his 
head, as easily as he would have twirled a tomahawk, he threw 
him with tremendous force upon the ground at the feet of one of 
his companions, who, stooping down, coolly thrust the knife into the 
Indian’s breast, and quickly tore off his scalp. | 
The slaughter over, without casting an eye to the captive 
squaws, the trappers proceeded to search the village for food, of 
which they stood much in need. Nothing, however, was found 
but a few bags of dried ants, which, after eating voraciously of, 
but with wry mouths, they threw aside, saying the food was 
worse than ‘poor bull.’”’ They found, however, the animals they 
had been robbed of, and two more besides—wretched, half-starved 
creatures ; and on these mounting their captives, they hurried 
away on their journey back to their companions, the distance 
being computed at three days’ travel from their present position. 
However, they thought, by taking a more direct course, they might 
find better pasture for their animals, and water, besides saving at 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 95 


least half a day by the short cut. To their cost they proved the 
old saying, that ‘a short cut is always a long road,” as will be 
presently shown. 

It has been said that from the southwestern extremity of the 
Great Salt Lake, a vast desert extends for hundreds of miles, un- 
broken by the slightest vegetation, destitute of game and water, 
and presenting a cheerless expanse of sandy plain, or rugged 
mountain, thinly covered with dwarf pine or cedar, the only evi- 
dence of vegetable life. Into this desert, ignorant of the country, 
the trappers struck, intending to make their short cut; and, trav- 
eling on all day, were compelled to camp at night, without water 
or pasture for their exhausted animals, and themselves ravenous 
with hunger and parched with thirst. The next day three of 
their animals “gave out,’ and they were fain to leave them be- 
hind ; but imagining that they must soon strike a creek, they 
pushed on until noon, but still no water presented itself, nor a sign 
of game of any description. The animals were nearly exhausted, 
and a horse which could scarcely keep up with the slow pace of 
the others was killed, and its blood greedily drunk ; a portion of 
the flesh being eaten raw, and a supply carried with them for 
future emergencies. 

The next morning two of the horses lay dead at their pickets, » 
and one only remained, and this in such a miserable state that it 
could not possibly have traveled six miles further. It was, there- 
fore, killed, and its blood drunk, of which, however, the captive 
squaws refused to partake. ‘The men began to feel the effects of 
their consuming thirst, which the hot horse’s blood only served 
to increase ; their lips became parched and swollen, their eyes 
bloodshot, and a giddy sickness seized them at intervals. About 
mid-day they came in sight of a mountain on their right hand, 
which appeared to be more thickly clothed with vegetation ; and 
arguing from this that water would be found there, they left 
their course and made toward it, although some eight or ten 


96 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


miles distant. On arriving at the base, the most minute search 
failed to discover the slightest traces of water, and the vegetation 
merely consisted of dwarf pifion and cedar. ‘With their sufferings 
increased by the exertions they had used in reaching the mountain, 
they once more sought the trail, but every step told on their ex- 
hausted frames. The sun was very powerful, the sand over which 
they floundered was deep and heavy, and, to complete their suffer- 
ings, a high wind blew it in their faces, filling their mouths and 
noses with its searching particles. — 

Still they struggled onward manfully, and not a murmur was. 
heard until their hunger had entered the second stage upon the 
road to starvation. ‘They had now been three days without food 
or water; under which privation nature can hardly: sustain her- 
self for a much longer period. On the fourth morning the men 
looked wolfish, their captives following behind in sullen and per- 
fect indifference, occasionally stooping down to catch a beetle if 
one presented itself, and greedily devouring it. A man named 
‘ Forey, a Canadian half-breed, was the first to complain. “If 
this lasted another sundown,” he said, “ some of them would “be 
rubbed out ;? that meat had to be raised anyhow; and for his 
part, he knew where to look for a feed, if no game was seen be-- 
fore they put out of peep on the morrow; and meat was meat, 
anyhow they fixed it.” 

No answer was made to this, though his companions well un- 
derstood him: their natures as yet revolted against the last expe- 
dient. As for the three squaws, all of them young girls, they 
followed behind their captors without a word of complaint, and 
with the stoical indifference to pain and suffermg which alike 
characterizes the haughty Delaware of the north, and the misera- 
ble, stunted Digger of the deserts of the Far West. On the morn- 
ing of the fifth day, the party were seated round a small fire of 
pition, hardly able to rise and commence their journey, the squaws 
squatting over another at a little distance, when Forey commenced 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 97 


again to suggest that, if nothing offered, they must either take the 
alternative of starving to death, for they could not hope to last 
another day, or have recourse to the revolting extremity of sacri- 
ficing one of the party to save the lives of all. To this, however, 
there was a murmur of dissent, and it was finally resolved that 
all should sally out and hunt; for a deer track had been dis- 
covered near the camp, which, although it was not a fresh one, 
proved that there must be game in the vicinity. Weak and ex- 
hausted as they were, they took their rifles and started for the 
neighboring uplands, each taking a diflerent direction. 

It was nearly sunset when La Bonté returned to the camp, 
where he already espied one of his companions engaged in cooking 
something over the fire. Hurrying to the spot, overjoyed with 
the anticipations of a feast, he observed that the squaws were 
gone ; but, at the same iene thought it was not improbable they 
had escaped during their absence. Approaching the fire, he ob- 
served Forey broiling some meat on the embers, while at a little 
distance lay what he fancied was the carcass of a deer. 

“Hurrah, boy!’ he exclaimed, as he drew near the fire. 
ee You ve ‘made’ a ‘raise,’ I see.” 

“yt Well, I have,” rejoined the other, turning his meat with the 
point of his butcher knife. ‘‘'There’s the meat, hos—help yourself.’ 

La Bonté drew the knife from his scabbard, and approached 
the spot his companion was pointing to ; but what was his horror 
to see the yet quivering bbdy of one of the Indian squaws, with a 
large portion of the flesh butchered from it, part of which Forey 
was already greedily devouring. The knife dropped from his 
hand, and his heart rose to his throat. 

The next day he and his companion elle the creek where 
Rube and the other trapper had agreed to await them, and found 
them in camp with plenty of meat, and about to start again on 
their hunt, having given up the others for lost. From the day 
they parted, nothing was ever heard of La Bonté’s other two 


E 


98 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


companions, who doubtless fell a prey to utter exhaustion, and 
were unable to return to the camp. And thus ended the Digger 
expedition. 

It may appear almost incredible that. men having civilized 
plood in their veins could perpetrate such wanton and cold- 
blooded acts of aggression on the wretched Indians, as that de- 
tailed above ; but it is a fact that the mountaineers never lose an 
opportunity of slaughtering these miserable Diggers, and attack- 
ing their villages, often for the purpose of capturing women, whom 
they carry off, and not unfrequently sell to other tribes, or to each 
other. In these attacks neither sex nor age is spared ; and your 
mountaineer has as little compunction in taking the life of an 
Indian woman, as he would have m sending his rifle-ball through 
the brain of a Crow or Blackfoot warrior. _ 

La Bonté now found himself without animals, and fairly 
“afoot ;” consequently nothing remained for him but to seek some 
of the trapping bands, and hire himself for the hunt. Luckily for 
him, he soon fell in with Roubideau, on his way to Uintah, and 
was supplied by him with a couple of animals; and thus equipped, 
he started again with a large band of trappers, who were going to 
hunt on the waters of Grand River and the Gila. Here they fell 
in with another nation of Indians, from which branch out the 
innumerable tribes inhabiting Northern Mexico and part of 
California. They were in general friendly, but lost no opportunity 
of stealing horses or any articles left lying about the camp. On 
one occasion, the trappers bemg camped on a northern affluent of 
the Gila, a volley of arrows was discharged among them, severely 
wounding one or two of the party, as they sat round the camp 
fires. The attack, however, was not renewed, and the next day 
the camp was moved further down the stream; where beaver was 
tolerably abundant. Before sundown a number of Indians made 
their appearance, and making signs of peace, were admitted into 
the camp. 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 99 


The trappers were all sitting at their suppers over the fires, the 
Indians looking gravely on, when it was remarked that now would 
be a good opportunity to retaliate upon them for the trouble their 
incessant attacks had entailed upon the camp. The suggestion 
was highly approved of, and instantly acted upon. Springing to 
their feet, the trappers seized their rifles, and commenced the 
slaughter. ‘The Indians, panic-struck, fled without resistance, and 
numbers fell before the death-dealing rifles of the mountaineers. 
A chief, who had been sitting on a rock near the fire where the 
leader of the trappers sat, had been singled out by the latter as 
the first mark for his rifle. 

Placing the muzzle to his heart, he pulled the trigger, but the 
Indian, with extraordinary tenacity of life; rose and grappled with 
his assailant. 'The white was a tall, powerful man, but, notwith- 
standing the deadly wound the Indian had received, he had his 
equal in strength to contend against. The naked form of the 
Indian twisted and writhed in his grasp, as he sought to avoid the 
trapper’s uplifted knife. Many of the latter’s companions advanced 
to administer the cowp-de-grice to the savage, but the trapper 
cried to them to keep off; ‘If he couldn’t whip the Injun,” he 
said, “ he’d go under.” 

At length he succeeded in throwing him, and, plunging his knifé 
no less than seven times into his body, he tore off his scalp, and 
went in pursuit of the flying savages. In the course of an hour or 
two, all the party returned, and sitting by the fires, resumed their 
suppers, which had been interrupted in the manner just described. 
Walker, the captain of the band, sat down by the fire where he 
had been engaged in the struggle with the Indian chief, whose 
body was lying within a few paces of it. He was in the act of 
fighting the battle over again to one of his companions, and was 
saying that the Indian had as much life in him as a buflalo bull, 
when, to the horror of all present, the savage, who had received 
wounds sufficient for twenty deaths, suddenly rose to a sitting 


100 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


posture, the fire shedding a glowing light upon the horrid spectacle. 
The face was a mass of clotted blood, which flowed from the 
lacerated scalp, while gouts of blood streamed from eight gaping 
wounds in the naked breast. 

Slowly this frightful figure rose to a sitting posture, and, bending 
slowly forward to the fire, the mouth was seen to open wide, and a 
hollow gurgling—owg-h-h—broke from it. 

“ H—!” exclaimed the trapper—and jumping up, he placed a 
pistol to the ghastly head, the eyes of which sternly fixed them- 
selves on his, and pulling the trigger, blew the poor wretch’s skull 
to atoms. ; 

The Gila passes through a barren, sandy country, with but little 
game, and sparsely inhabited by several different tribes of the 
great nation of the Apache. Unlike the rivers of this western 
region, this stream is, in most parts of its course, particularly 
toward its upper waters, entirely bare of timber, and the bottom, 
through which it runs, aflords but little of the coarsest grass. 
While on this stream, the trapping party lost several animals for 
want of pasture, and many more from the predatory attacks of the 
cunning Indians. These losses, however, they invariably made 
good whenever they encountered a native village—taking care, 
moreover, to repay themselves with interest whenever occasion 
offered. 

Notwithstanding the sterile nature of the country, the trappers, 
during their passage up the Gila, saw with astonishment that the 
arid and barren valley had once been peopled by a race of men far 
superior to the present nomade tribes who roam over it. With no 
little awe they gazed upon the ruined walls of Jarge cities, and the 
remains of houses, with their ponderous beams and joists, still 
testifying to the skill and industry with which they were con- 
structed; huge ditches and irrigating canals, now filled with rank 
vegetation, furrowed the plains in the vicinity, marking the spot 
where once green waving maize and smiling gardens covered what 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 101 


now is a bare and sandy desert. Pieces of broken pottery, of 
domestic utensils, stained with bright colors, every where strewed 
the ground; and spear and arrow-heads of stone, and quaintly 
carved idols, and women’s ornaments of agate and obsidian, were 
picked up often by the wondering trappers, examined with child- 
like curiosity, and thrown carelessly aside.* 

A Taos Indian, who was among the band, was evidently im- 
pressed with a melancholy awe, as he regarded these ancient mon- 
uments of his fallen people. At midnight he arose from his blan- 
ket and left the camp, which was in the vicinity of the ruined 
city, stealthily picking his way through the line of slumbering 
forms which lay around; and the watchful sentinel observed him 
approach the ruins with a slow and reverential gait. Entering 
the moldering walls, he gazed silently around, where in ages past 
his ancestors trod proudly, a civilized race, the tradition of which, 
well known to his people, served but to make their present de- 
graded position more galling and apparent. Cowering under the 
shadow of a crumbling wall, the Indian drew his blanket over his 
head, and conjured to his mind’s eye the former power and gran- 
deur of his race—that warlike people who, forsaking their own 
country for causes of which no tradition, however dim, now exists, 
sought in the fruitful and teeming valleys of the south a soil and 
climate which their own lands did not afford ; and, displacing the 
wild and barbarous hordes inhabiting the land, raised there a 
mighty empire, great in riches and civilization. 

The Indian bowed his head, and mourned the fallen greatness 
of his tribe. Rising, he slowly, drew his tattered blanket round 
his body, and prepared to leave the spot, when the shadow of a 
moving figure, creeping past a gap in the ruined wall, through 


* The Aztecs are supposed to have built this city during their migration to the 
- south; there is little doubt, however, but that the region extending from the Gila 
to the Great Salt Lake, and embracing the province of New Mexico, was the 
locality from which they emigrated. 


102 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


> 


> 

which the mooubeams played, suddenly arrested his attention. 
Rigid as a statue, he stood transfixed to the spot, thinking a for- 
mer inhabitant of the city was visiting, in a ghostly form, the 
scenes his body once knew so well. The bow in his right hand 
shook with fear as he saw the shadow approach, but was as tightly 
and steadily grasped when, on the figure emerging from the shade 
of the wall, he distinguished the form of a naked Apache, armed 
with bow and arrow, crawling stealthily through the gloomy 
ruins. 

Standing undiscovered within the shadow of the wall, the T'aos 
raised his bow, and drew an arrow to the head, until the other, 
who was bending low to keep under cover of the wall, and thus 
approach the sentinel standing at a short distance, seeing suddenly 
the well-defined shadow on the ground, rose upright on his legs, 
and, knowing escape was impossible, threw his arms down his 
sides, and, drawing himself erect, exclaimed, in a suppressed tone, 
“ Wa-e-h !” 

“ Wagh!” exclaimed the Taos likewise, but quickly dropped 
his arrow point, and eased the bow. 

‘What does my brother want ?” he asked, “that he lopes like 
a wolf round the fires of the white hunters ?” 

“Ts my brother’s skin not red?” returned the Apache, “and 
yet he asks a question that needs no answer. Why does the 
‘medicine wolf’ follow the buffalo and deer? For blood—and 
for blood the Indian follows the treacherous white from camp to 
camp, to strike blow for blow, until the deaths of those so basely 
killed are fully avenged.” 

“My brother speaks with a big heart, and his words are true ; 
aud though the Taos and Pimo (Apache) black their faces toward 
each other (are at war), here, on the graves of their common 
fathers, there is peace between them. Let my brother go.” 

The Apache moved quickly away, and the Taos once more 
sought the camp-fires of his white companions. 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 103 


Following the course of the Gila to the eastward, they crossed. 
a range of the Sierra Madre, which is a continuation of the Rocky 
Mountains, and struck the waters of the Rio Del Norte, below 
the settlements of New Mexico. On this stream they fared well, 
besides trapping a great quantity of beaver; gare of all kinds 
abounded, and the bluffs near the well-timbered banks of the river 
were covered with rich grarmma grass, on which their half-starved 
animals speedily improved in condition. 

They remained for some weeks encamped on the right bank of 
the stream, during which period they lost one of their number, 
shot with an arrow while lying asleep within a few feet of the 
camp-fire. 

The Navajos continually prowl along that portion of the 
river which runs through the settlements of New Mexico, preying 
upon the cowardly inhabitants, and running off with their cattle 
whenever they are exposed in sufficient numbers to tempt them. 
While ascending the river, the trappers met a party of these In- 
dians returning to their mountain homes with a large band of mules 
and horses which they had taken from one of the Mexican towns, 
besides several women and children, whom they had captured, as 
slaves. ‘The main body of the trappers halting, ten of the band 
followed and charged upon the Indians, who numbered at least 
sixty, killed seven of them, and retook the prisoners and the whole 
cavallada of horses and mules. Great were the rejoicings when 
they entered Socorro, the town whence the women and children 
had been taken, and as loud the remonstrances, when, handing 
them over to their families, the trappers rode on, driving fifty of 
the best of the rescued animals before them, which they retained 
as payment for their services. Messengers were sent on to Albu- 
querque with intelligence of the proceeding ; and as troops were 
stationed there, the commandant was applied to, to chastise the 
insolent whites. 

That warrior, on learning that the trappers numbered less than 


104 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


fifteen, became alarmingly brave, and ordering out the whole of his 
disposable force, some two hundred dragoons, sallied out to inter- 
cept the audacious mountaineers. About noon one day, just as 
the latter had emerged from a little town between Socorro and 
Albuquerque, they descried the imposing force of the dragoons 
winding along a plain ahead. As the trappers advanced, the 
officer in command halted his men, and sent out a trumpeter to 
order the former to await his coming. ‘Treating the herald to a 
roar of laughter, on they went, and, as they approached the sol- 
diers, broke into a tret, ten of the number forming a line in front 
of the packed and loose animals, and, rifle in hand, charging with 
loud whoops. This was enough for the New Mexicans. Before 
the enemy were within shooting distance, the gallant fellows 
turned tail, and splashed into the river, dragging themselves up 
the opposite bank like half-drowned rats, and saluted with loud 
peals of laughter by the victorious mountaineers, who, firing a vol- 
ley into the air, in token of supreme contempt, quietly continued 
“their route up the stream. 

Before reaching the capital of the province, they struck again 
to the westward, and following a small creek to its junction with 
the Green River, ascended that stream, trapping ex route to the 

« Uintah or Snake Fork, and arrived at Roubideau’s rendezvous 
early in the fall, where they quickly disposed of their peltries, and 
were once more on “ the loose.”’ 

Here La Bonté married a Snake squaw, with whom he crossed 
the mountains and proceeded to the Platte through the Bayou 
Salade, where he purchased of the Yutas a commodious lodge, 
with the necessary poles, &c.; and being now “rich” in mules 
and horses, and in all things necessary for otiwm cum dignitate, 
he took unto himself another wife, as by mountain law allowed ; 
and thus equipped, with both his better halves attired in all the 
glory of fofarraw he went his way rejoicing. 

In a snug little valley lying under the shadow of the mountains, 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. | 105 


watered by Vermilion Creek, and in which abundance of bufialo, 
elk, deer, and antelope fed and fattened on the rich grass, La 
Bonté raised his lodge, employing himself in hunting, and fully oc- 
cupying his wives’ time in dressing the skins of the many animals 
he killed. Here he enjoyed himself amazingly until the com- 
mencement of winter, when he determined to cross to the North 
Fork and trade his skins, of which he had now as many packs as 
his animals could carry. It happened that he one day left his 
camp to spend a couple of days hunting buffalo in the mountains, 
whither the bulls were now resorting, intending to ‘“ put out” for 
Platte on his return. His hunt, however, led him farther into the 
mountains than he anticipated, and it was only on the third day 
that sundown saw him enter the little valley where his camp was 
situated. 

Crossing the creek, he was not a little disturbed at seeing fresh 
Indian sign on the opposite side, which led in the direction of his 
lodge ; and his worst fears were realized when, on coming within 
sight of the little plateau where the conical top of his white lodge 
had always before met his view, he saw nothing but a blackened 
mass strewing the ground, and the burnt ends of the poles which 
had once supported it. 

Squaws, animals, and peltry, all were gone—an Arapaho moe- 
easin lying on the ground told him where. He neither fumed nor 
fretted, but, throwing the meat off his pack animal, and the sad- 
dle from his horse, he collected the blackened ends of the lodge poles 
and made a fire—led his beasts to water and hobbled them, threw 
a piece of buffalo meat upon the coals, squatted down before the 
fire, and lit his pipe. La Bonté was a true philosopher. Not- 
withstanding that his house, his squaws, his peltries, were gone 
‘at one fell swoop,” the loss scarcely disturbed his equanimity ; 
and before the tobacco in his pipe was half smoked out he had 
ceased to think of his misfortune. Certes, as he turned his apolla 


of tender-loin, he sighed as he thought of the delicate manipula- 
E* 


106 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


tions with which his Shoshone squaw, Sah-qua-manish, was wont 
to beat to tenderness the toughest bull meat—and missed the tend- 
ing care of Yute Chil-co-the, or the “‘ reed that bends,’ in patch- 
ing the holes worn in his neatly fitting moccasins, the work of 
her nimble fingers. However, he ate and smoked, and smoked 
and ate, and slept none the worse for his mishap; thought, before 
he closed his eyes, a little of his lost wives, and more perhaps of 
the “Bending Reed” than of Sah-qua-manish, or ‘she who runs 
with the stream,” drew his blanket tightly round him, felt his rifle 
handy to his grasp, and was speedily asleep. 

While the tired mountaineer breathes heavily in his dream, 
careless and unconscious that a living soul is near, his mule on a 
sudden pricks her ears and stares into the gloom, whence a figure 
soon emerges, and with noiseless steps draws near the sleeping 
hunter. Taking one look at the slumbering form, the same figure 
approaches the fire and adds a log to the pile; which done, it quiet- 
ly seats itself at the feet of the sleeper, and remains motionless as 
a statue. Toward morning the hunter awoke, and, rubbing his 
eyes was astonished to feel the glowing warmth of the fire striking 
on his naked feet, which, in Indian fashion, were stretched toward 
it ; as by this time he knew, the fire he left burning must long 
since have expired. Lazily raising himself on his elbow, he saw a 
figure sitting near it with the back turned to him, which, although 
his exclamatory wagh was loud enough in all conscience, remain- 
ed perfectly motionless, until the trapper, rising, placed his hand 
upon the shoulder: then turning up its face, the features displayed 
to his wondering eye were those of Chil-co-the, his Yuta wife. 
Yes, indeed, ‘‘ the reed that bends” had escaped from her Arapa- 
ho captors, and made her way back to her white husband, fasting 
and alone. 

The Indian women who follow the fortunes of the white hunt- 
ers are remarkable for their affection and fidelity to their hus- 
bands, the which virtues, it must be remarked, are all on their 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 107 


~ 


own side; for, with very few exceptions, the mountaineers seldom 
scruple to abandon their Indian wives, whenever the fancy takes 
them to change their harems ; and on such occasions the squaws, 
thus cast aside, wild with jealousy and despair, have been not un- 
frequently known to take signal vengeance both on their faithless 
husbands and on the successful beauties who have supplanted 
them in their affections. There are some honorable’ exceptions, 
however, to such cruelty, and many of the mountaineers stick to 
their red-skinned wives for better and for worse, often suffering 
them to gain the upper hand in the domestic economy of the lodges, 
and being ruled by their better halves in all things pertaining to 
family affairs; and it may be.remarked, that, when once the lady 
dons the unmentionables, she becomes the veriest termagant that 
ever henpecked an unfortunate husband. 

Your refined trappers, however, who, after many years of bach- 
elor life, incline to take to themselves a better half, often under- 
take an expedition into the settlements of New Mexico, where not 
unfrequently they adopt a very “ Young Lochinvar” system in 
procuring the required rib; and have been known to carry off, vz 
et armis, from the midst of a fandango in Fernandez, or El Rancho 
of Taos, some dark-skinned beauty—with or without her own con- 
sent 1s a matter of unconcern—and bear the ravished fair one 
across the mountains, where she soon becomes inured to the free 
and roving life fate has assigned her. 

American women are valued at a low figure in the mountains. 
They are too fine and “ fofarraw.” Neither can they make moc- 
casins, or dress skins; nor are they so schooled to perfect obedience 
to their lords and masters as to stand a “lodge-poling,”’ which 
the western lords of the creation not unfrequently deem it their 
bounden duty to inflict upon their squaws for some dereliction of 
domestic duty. 

To return, however, to La Bonté. That worthy thought him- 
self a lucky man to have lost but one of his wives, and she the 


108 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


worst of the two. ‘‘Here’s the beauty,” he philosophized “of 
having two ‘ wiping-sticks’ to your rifle ; if one breaks while ram- 
ming down a ball, there’s still hickory left to supply its place.” 
Although, with animals and peltry, he had lost several hundred 
dollars’ worth of “ possibles,’ he never groaned or grumbled. 
“ There’s redskin will pay for this,” he once muttered, and was 
done. . 

Packing all that was left on the mule, and mounting Chil-co- 
the on his buffalo horse, he shouldered his rifle and struck the 
Indian trail for Platte. On Horse Creek they came upon a party 
of French * trappers and hunters, who were encamped with their 
lodges and Indian squaws, and formed quite a village. Several 
old companions were among them; and, to celebrate the arrival 
of a “camarade,” a splendid dog-feast was prepared in honor of 
the event. To effect this, the squaws sallied out of their lodges to 
seize upon sundry of the younger and plumper of the pack, to fill 
the kettles for the approaching feast. With a presentiment of 
the fate in store for them, the curs slunk away with tails between 
their legs, and declined the pressing invitations of the anxious 
squaws. These shouldered their tomahawks and gave chase ; but 
the cunning pups outstripped them, and would have fairly beaten 
the kettles, if some of the mountaineers had not stepped out with 
their rifles and quickly laid half-a-dozen ready to the knife. A 
cayeute, attracted by the scent of blood, drew near, unwitting of 
the canine feast in progress, and was likewise soon made dog of, 
and thrust into the boiling kettle with the rest. 

The feast that night was long protracted; and so savory was 
the stew, and so agreeable to the palates of the hungry hunters, 
that at the moment the last morsel was drawn from the pot, when 
all were regretting that a few more dogs had not been slaughtered, 
a wolfish-looking cur, who incautiously poked his long nose and 


* Creoles of 5 ak and French Canadians. 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST: 109 


head. under the lodge skin, was pounced upon by the nearest 
hunter, who in a moment drew his knife across the animal's 
throat, and threw it to a squaw to skin and prepare for the pot. 
The wolf had long since been vigorously discussed, and voted by 
all hands to be “ good as dog.” 

“ Meat’s meat,” 1s a common saying in the mountains, and from 
the buffalo down to the rattlesnake, including every quadruped 
‘that runs, every fowl: that flies, and every reptile that creeps, 
nothing comes amiss to the mountaineer. Throwing aside all the 
qualms and conscientious scruples of a fastidious stomach, it must 
be confessed that dog-meat takes a high rank in the wonderful 
variety of cuisine afforded to the gourmand and the gourmet by 
the prolific “ mountains.”” Now, when the bill of fare offers such 
tempting viands as buffalo beef, venison, mountain mutton, turkey, 
grouse, wildfowl, hares, rabbits, beaver and their tails, &c., &c., the 


? 


station assigned to “ dog” as No. 2 in the list can be well appre- 
ciated—No. 1, in delicacy of flavor, richness of meat, and other 
good qualities, being the flesh of panthers, which surpasses every 
other, and all put together. 

‘« Painter meat can’t ‘shine’ with this,” says a hunter, to ex- 
press the delicious flavor of an extraordinary cut of “ tender-loin,” 
or delicate fleece. ‘ 

La Bonté started with his squaw for the North Fork early in 
November, and arrived at the Laramie at the moment that the 
big village of the Sioux came up for their winter trade. Two 
other villages were encamped lower down the Platte, including 
the Brulés and the Yanka-taus, who were now on more friendly 
terms with the whites. The first band numbered several hundred 
lodges, and presented quite an imposing appearance, the village 
being laid out in parallel lines, the lodge of each chief being marked 
with his particular totem. The traders had a particular portion 
of the village allotted to them, and a Ime was marked out which 
was strictly kept by the soldiers appointed for the protection of _ 


- 
“a 


110 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


the whites. -As there were many rival traders, and numerous 
coureurs des bois, or peddling ones, the market promised to be 
brisk, the more so as a large quantity of ardent spirits was in their 
possession, which would be dealt with no unsparing hand to put 
down the opposition of so many competing traders. 

In opening a trade a quantity of liquor is first given “on the 
prairie,’ * as the Indians express it in words, or by signs in rub- 
bing the palm of one hand quickly across the other, holding both 
flat. Having once tasted the pernicious liquid, there is no fear 
but they will quickly come to terms; and not unfrequently the 
spirit is drugged, to render the unfortunate Indians still more help- 
less. Sometimes, maddened and infuriated by drink, they commit 
the most horrid atrocities on each other, murdering and muti- 
lating in a barbarous manner, and often attempting the lives of 
the traders themselves. On one occasion a band of Sionx, while 
under the influence of liquor, attacked and took possession of a 
trading fort of the American Fur Company, stripping it of every 
thing it contained, and roasting the trader himself over his own fire. 

The principle on which the nefarious trade is conducted is this, 
that the Indians, possessing a certain quantity of buffalo robes, 
have to be cheated out of them, and the sooner the better. Al- 
though it is explicitly prohibited by the laws of the United States 
to convey spirits across the Indian frontier, and its introduction 
among the Indian tribes subjects the offender to a heavy penalty ; 
yet the infraction of this law is of daily occurrence, perpetrated 
almost in the very presence of the government officers, who are 
stationed along the frontier for the purpose of enforcing the laws 
for the protection of the Indians. 

The misery entailed upon these unhappy people by the illicit 
traffic must be seen to be fully appreciated. Before the effects 
of the poisonous “‘ fire-water,” they disappear from the earth like 


“ “Qn the prairie,” is the Indian term for a free gift. 


LIFE IN- THE FAR WEST. 111 


“‘snow before the sun.’’ Although aware of the destruction it 
entails spon them, the poor wretches have not moral courage to 
shun the fatal allurement it holds out to them, of wild excitement 
and a temporary oblivion of their many suflerings and privations. 
With such palpable effects, it appears only likely that the illegal 
trade is connived at by those whose policy it has ever been, grad- 
ually but surely, to exterminate the Indians, and by any means to 
extinguish their title to the few lands they now own on the out- 
skirts of civilization. Certain it is that large quantities of liquor 
find their way annually into the Indian country, and as certain 
are the fatal results of the pernicious system, and that the Amer- 
ican government takes no steps to prevent it. There are some 
tribes who have as yet withstood the great temptation, and have 
resolutely refused to permit liquor to be brought into their villages. 
The marked diflerence between the improved condition of these, 
and the moral and physical abasement of those which give way to 
the fatal passion for drinking, sufficiently proves the pernicious 
effects of the liquor trade on the unfortunate and abused aborig- 
ines ; and it is matter of regret that no philanthropist has sprung 
up in the United States to do battle for the rights of the Red 
men, and call attention to the wrongs they endure at the hands of 
their supplanters in the lands of their fathers. : 

Robbed of their homes and hunting-grounds, and driven by the 
encroachments of the whites to distant regions, which hardly sup- 
port existence, the Indians, day by day, gradually decrease before 
the accumulating evils, of body and soul, which their civilized 
persecutors entail upon them. With every man’s hand against 
them, they drag on to their final destiny ; and the day is not far 
distant when the American Indian will exist only in the traditions 
of his pale-faced conquerors. 

The Indians trading at this time on the Platte were mostly of 
the Sioux nation, including the tribes of Burnt-woods, Yanka-taus, 


Pian-Kashas, Assinaboins, Oglallahs, Broken Arrows, all of which 


11% LIFE IN- THE FAR WEST. 


belong to the great Sioux nation, or La-cotahs, as they call them- 
selves, and which means cut-throats. ‘There were also some 
Cheyennes allied to the Sioux, as well as a small band of Re- 
publican Pawnees. 

Horse-racing, gambling, and ball-play, served to pass away the 
time until the trade commenced, and many packs of dressed robes 
changed hands among themselves. When playing at the usual 


9 


game of “hand,” the stakes, comprising all the valuables the 
players possess, are piled in two heaps close at hand, the winner 
at the conclusion of the game sweeping the goods toward him, 


p) 


and often returning a small portion ‘on the prairie,” with which 
the loser may again commence operations with another player. 

The game of “hand” is played by two persons. One, who 
commences, places a plum or cherry-stone in the hollow formed 
by joming the concaved palms of the hands together, then shak- 
ing the stone for a few moments, the hands are suddenly sepa- 
rated, and the other player must guess which hand now contains 
the stone. . 

Large bets are often wagered on the result of this favorite 
game, which is also often played by the squaws, the men stand- 
ing round encouraging them to bet, and laughing loudly at their 
grotesque excitement. 

A Burnt-wood Sioux, Tah-tunganisha, one of the bravest chiefs 
of his tribe, was out, when a young man, on a solitary war expe- 
dition against the Crows. One evening he drew near a certain 
“medicine” spring, where, to his astonishment, he encountered a 
Crow warrior in the act of quenching his thirst. He was on the 
point of drawing his bow upon him, when he remembered the 
sacred nature of the spot, and making the sign of peace, he fear- 
lessly drew near his foe, and proceeded likewise to slake his thirst. 
.A pipe of kinnik-kinnik being produced, it was proposed to pass 
away the early part of the might in a game of “hand.” They 
accordingly sat down beside the spring, and commenced the game. 


LIFE IN- THE FAR WEST. 113 


Fortune favored the Crow. He won arrow after arrow from 
the Burnt-wood brave; then his bow, his club, his knife, his robe, 
all followed, and the Sioux sat naked on the plain. Still he pro- 
posed another stake against the other’s winnings—his scalp. He 
played, and lost ; and bending forward his head, the Crow warrior 
drew his knife, and quickly removed the bleeding prize. Without 

a murmur the luckless Sioux rose to depart, but first exacted a 
- promise from his antagonist that he would meet him once more 
at the same spot, and engage in another trial of skill. 

On the day appointed, the Burnt-wood sought the spot, with a 
new equipment, and again the Crow made his appearance, and 
they sat down to play. This time fortune changed sides; the 
Sioux won back his former losses, and in his turn the Crow was 
stripped to his skin. 

Scalp against scalp was now the stake, and this time the Crow 
submitted his head to the victorious Burnt-wood’s knife; and both 
the warriors stood scalpless on the plain. 

And now the Crow had but one single stake of value to offer, 
and the offer of it he did not hesitate to make. He staked his 
life against the other’s winnings. They played; and fortune still 
being adverse, he lost. He offered his breast to his adversary. 
The Burnt-wood plunged his knife into his heart to the very hilts 
and, laden with his spoils, returned to his village, and to this day 
wears suspended from his ears his own and enemy’s scalp. 

The village presented the usual scene of confusion as long as 
the trade lasted. Fighting, brawling, yelling, dancing, and all 
the concomitants of intoxication, continued to the last drop of the 
liquor-keg, when the reaction after such excitement was almost 
worse than the evil itself. During this time, all the work de- 
volved upon the squaws, who, in tending the horses, and in pack- 
ing wood and water from a long distance, had their time sufficiently 
occupied. As there was little or no grass in the vicinity, the ani- 
mals were supported entirely on the bark of the cotton-wood ; and 


114 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


to procure this, the women were daily engaged in felling huge trees, 
or climbing them fearlessly, chopping off the upper limbs—spring- 
ing like squirrels from branch to branch, which, in their confined 
costume, appeared matter of considerable difficulty. 

The most laughter-provoking scenes, however, were when a 
number of squaws sallied out to the grove, with their long-nosed, 
wolfish-looking dogs harnessed to their travées or trabogans, on 
which loads of cotton-wood were piled. The dogs, knowing full 
well the duty required of them, refuse to approach the coaxing 
squaws, and at the same time are fearful of provoking their 
anger by escaping and running off. They therefore squat on 
their haunches, with tongues hanging out of their long mouths, 
the picture of indecision, removing a short distance as the irate 
squaw approaches. When once harnessed to the travée, how- 
ever, which is simply a couple of lodge-poles lashed on either side 
of the dog, with a couple of cross-bars near the ends to support 
the freight, they follow quietly enough, urged by bevies of chil- 
dren, who invariably accompany the women. Once arrived at 
the scene of their labors, the reluctance of the curs to draw near 
the piles of cotton-wood is most comical. They will le down 
stubbornly at a little distance, whining their uneasiness, or some- 
times scamper off bodily, with their long poles trailing after them, 
pursued by the yelling and half frantic squaws. 

When the travées are laden, the squaws, bent double under 
loads of wood sufficient to break a porter’s back, and calling to 
the dogs, which are urged on by the buffalo-fed urchins in rear, 
lead the line of march. The curs, taking advantage of the help- 
less state of their mistresses, turn a deaf ear to their coaxings, 
lying down every few yards to rest, growling and fighting with 
each other; in which encounters every cur joins the mélée, charg- 
ing pell-mell into the yelping throng, upsetting the squalling chil- 
dren, and making confusion worse confounded. Then, armed with 
lodge-poles, the squaws, throwing down their loads, rush to the 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 115 


rescue, dealing stalwart blows on the pugnacious curs, and finally 
restoring something like order to the march. 

“ 'T'szoo—tszoo !” they cry, “wah, kashne, ceitcha—get on, 
you devilish beasts—tszoo—tszoo !” and belaboring them without 
mercy, they start them into a gallop, which, once commenced, is 
generally continued till they reach their destination. 

The Indian dogs are, however, invariably well treated by the 
squaws, since they assist materially the every-day labors of these 
patient, over-worked creatures, in hauling firewood to the lodge, 
and, on the line of march, carrying many of the household goods 
and chattels, which otherwise the squaw herself would have to 
carry on her back. Every lodge possesses from half-a-dozen to a 
score ; some for draught and others for eating—for dog meat forms 
part and parcel of an Indian feast. The former are stout, wiry 
animals, half wolf half sheep-dog, and are regularly trained to 
draught ; the latter are of a smaller kind, more inclined to fat, 
and embrace every variety of the genus cur. Many of the 
southern tribes possess a breed of dogs entirely divested of hair, 
which evidently have come from South America, and are highly 
esteemed for the kettle. Their meat, in appearance and flavor, 
resembles young pork, but far surpasses it in richness and delicacy. 

The Sioux are very expert in making their lodges comfortable, 
taking more pains in their construction than most Indians. They 
are all of conical form: a framework of straight, slender poles, 
resembling hop-poles, and from twenty to twenty-five feet long, 
is first erected, round which is stretched a sheeting of buffalo 
robes, softly dressed, and smoked to render them water-tight. 
The apex, through whieh the ends of the poles protrude, is left 
open to allow the stmoke to escape. A small opening, sufficient 
to permit the entrance of a man, is made on one side, over which 
is hung a door of buffalo hide. A lodge of the common size con- 
tains about twelve or fourteen skins, and contains comfortably a 
family of twelve in number. The fire is made in the center, im- 


a 


116 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


mediately under the aperture in the roof, and a flap of the upper 
skins is closed or extended at pleasure, serving as a cowl or chim- 
ney-top to regulate the draught, and permit the smoke to escape 
freely. Round the fire, with their feet toward it, the inmates 
sleep on skins and buffalo rugs, which are rolled up during the 
day, and stowed at the back of the lodge. 

In traveling, the lodge-poles are secured half on each side a 
horse, and the skins placed on transversal bars near the ends, 
which trail along the ground—two or three squaws or children 
mounted on the same horse, or the smallest of the latter borne in 
the dog travées. A set of lodge-poles will last from three to 
seven years, unless the village is constantly on the move, when 
they are soon worn out in trailing over the gravelly prairie. They 
are usually of ash, which grows on many of the mountain creeks, 
and regular expeditions are undertaken when a supply is required, 
either for their own lodges, or for trading with those tribes who 
inhabit the prairies at a great distance from the locality where 
the poles are procured. 

There are also certain creeks where the Indians resort to lay in 
a store of kinnik-kinnik (the inner bark of the red willow), which 
they use as a substitute for tobacco, and which has an aromatic 
and very pungent flavor. It is prepared for smoking by being 
scraped in thin curly flakes from the slender saplings, and crisped 
before the fire, after which it is rubbed between the hands into a 
form resembling leaf-tobacco, and stored in skin bags for use. It 
has a highly narcotic effect on those not habituated to its use, and 
produces a heaviness sometimes approaching stupefaction, alto- 
gether different from the soothing effects ef tobacco. 

Every year, owing to the disappearance of the buffalo from their 
former haunts, the Indians are compelled to encroach upon each 
other’s hunting-grounds, which is a fruitful cause of war between 
the different tribes. It is a curious fact, that the buffalo retire 
before the whites, while the presence of Indians in their pastures 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 117 


appears in no degree to disturb them. Wherever a few white 
hunters are congregated in a trading post, or elsewhere, so sure it 
is that, if they remain in the same locality, the buffalo will desert 
the vicinity, and seek pasture elsewhere. In this, the Indians 


? 


affirm, the wah-keitcha, or ‘“‘ bad medicine,” of the pale-faces is 
very apparent; and they ground upon it their well-founded com- 
plaints of the encroachments made upon their hunting-grounds by 
the white hunters. 

In the winter, many of the tribes are reduced to the very verge 
of starvation—the buflalo having passed from their country into 
that of their enemies, when no other alternative is offered them, 
but to remain where they are and starve, or to follow the game 
into a hostile region, a move entailing war and all its horrors. 

Reckless, moreover, of the future, in order to prepare robes for 
the traders, and to procure the pernicious fire-water, they wantonly 
slaughter, every year, vast numbers of buffalo cows (the skins of - 
which sex only are dressed), and thus add to the evils in store for 
them. When questioned on this subject, and reproached with 
such want of foresight, they answer, that however quickly the 
buffalo disappears, the Red man “ goes under” more quickly still ; 
aud that the Great Spirit has ordained that both shall be “rubbed 
out” from the face of nature at one and the same time—“ that 
arrows and bullets are not more fatal to the buffalo than the 
small-pox and fire-water to them, and that before many winters’ 
snows have disappeared, the buffalo and the Red man will only be 
remembered by their bones, which will strew the plains.”—‘ They 
look forward, however, to a future state, when, after a long jour- 
ney, they will reach the happy hunting-grounds, where buffalo 
will once more blacken the prairies ; where the pale-faces dare not 
come to disturb them; where no winter snows cover the ground, 
and the buffalo are always plentiful and fat.” 

As soon as the streams opened, La Bonté, now reduced to two 
animals and four traps, sallied forth again, this time seeking the 


118 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


dangerous country of the Blackfeet, on the head waters of the © 
Yellow Stone and Upper Missouri. He was accompanied by 
three others, a man named Wheeler, and one Cross-Eagle, a 
Swede, who had been many years in the western country. Reach- 
ing the forks of a small creek, on both of which appeared plenty 
of beaver sign, La Bonté followed the left-hand one alone, while 
the others trapped the right in company, the former leaving his_ 
squaw in the company of a Sioux woman, who followed the for- 
tunes of Cross-Eagle, the party agreeing to rendezvous at the 
junction of the two forks as soon as they had trapped to their 
heads and again descended them. ‘The larger party were the first 
to reach the rendezvous, and camped on the banks of the main 
stream to await the arrival of La Bonté. 

The morning after their return, they had just risen from their 
blankets, and were lazily stretching themselves before the fire, 
when a volley of fire-arms rattled from the bank of the creek, and 
two of their number fell dead to the ground, while at the same 
moment the deafening yells of Indians broke upon the ears of the 
frightened squaws. Cross-Eagle seized his rifle, and, though 
_ severely wounded, rushed to the cover of a hollow tree which 
stood near, and crawling into it, defended himself the whole day 
with the greatest obstinacy, killing five Indians outright, and 
wounding several more. Unable to drive the gallant trapper from 
his retreat, the savages took advantage of a favorable wind which 
suddenly sprang up, and fired the long dry grass surrounding the 
tree. The rotten log catching fire, at length compelled the hunter 
to leave his retreat. Clubbing his rifle, he charged among the 
Indians, and fell at last, pierced through and through with wounds, 
but not until two more of his assailants had fallen by his hand. 

The two squaws were carried off; and one was sold shortly 
afterward to some white men at the trading posts on the Platte ; 
but La Bonté never recovered the ‘Bending Reed,” nor even 
heard of her existence from that day. So once more was the 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 119 


» mountaineer bereft of his better half; and when he returned to 
the rendezvous, a troop of wolves were feasting on the bodies of 
his late companions, and of the Indians killed in the affray, of 
which he only heard the particulars a long time after from a trap- 
per, who had been present when one of the squaws was offered at 
the trading post for sale, and had heard her recount the miserable 
fate of her husband and his companions on the forks of the creek 
which, from the fact of La Bonté being the leader of the party has 
since borne his name. 

Undaunted by this misfortune, the trapper continued his solitary 
hunt, passing through the midst of the Crow and Blackfeet coun- 
try ; encountering many perils, often hunted by the Indians, but 
always escaping. He had soon loaded both his animals with 
beaver, and then thought of bending his steps to some of the trading 
rendezvous on the other side of the mountains, where employés of 
the Great Northwest Fur Company meet the trappers with the 
produce of their hunts, on Lewis’s fork of the Columbia, or one of 
its numerous affluents. His intention was to pass the winter at 
some of the company’s trading posts in Oregon, into which country 
he had never yet penetrated. 


_ CHAPTER V. 

We have said that La Bonté was a philosopher: he took the 
streaks of ill luck which checkered his mountain life with perfect 
carelessness, if not with stoical mdifference. Nothing ruffled his 
danger-steeled equanimity of temper ; no sudden emotion disturbed 
his mind. We have seen how wives were torn from him without 
eliciting a groan or grumble (but such contretemps, it may be said, 
can scarcely find a place in the category of ills) ; how the loss of 
mules and mustangs, harried by horse-stealing Indians, left him in 
the ne-plus-ultra of mountain misery—‘ afoot ;” how packs and 
peltries, the hard-earned ‘“ beaver’ of his perilous hunts, were 
“raised” at one fell swoop by freebooting bands of savages. Hun- 
ger and thirst, we know, were common-place sensations to the 
mountaineer. His storm-hardened flesh scarce felt the pinging 
wounds of arrow-point or bullet ; and when in the midst of Indian 
fight, it is not probable that any tender qualms of feeling would 
allay the itching of his fingers for his enemy’s scalp-lock, nor 
would any remains of civilized fastidiousness prevent his burying 
his knife again and again in the life-blood of an Indian savage. 

Still, in one dark corner of his heart, there shone at intervals a 
faint spark of what was once a fiercely-burning fire. Neither time, 
that corroder of all things, nor change, that ready abettor of obliv- 
ion, nor scenes of peril and excitement, which act as dampers to 
more quiet memories, could smother this little smoldering spark, 
which now and again—when rarely-coming calm succeeded some 
stirring passage in the hunter’s life, and left him, for a brief time, 
devoid of care, and victim to his thoughts—would flicker suddenly, 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 121 


and light up all the nooks and corners of his rugged breast, and 
discover to his mind’s eye that one deep-rooted memory clung there 
still, though long neglected ; pei that, spite of time and change, 
of life and fortune. 
, On revient toujours a ses premiers 3 

Often and éften: as La Bonté sat cross-legged pie his solitary 
camp-fire, and, pipe in mouth, watched the blue smoke curling 
upward in the clear cold sky, a well- remembered form appeared 
to gaze upon him from the vapory wreaths. Then would old 
recollections crowd before him, and old emotions, long a stranger 
to his breast, shape themselves, as it were, into long-forgotten but 
now familiar pulsations. Again he felt the soft, subduing influence 
which once, in days gone by, a certain passion exercised over his 
mind and body; and often a trembling seized him, the same he 
used to experience at the sudden sight of one Mary Brand, whose 
dim and dreamy apparition so often watched his lonely bed, or, 
unconsciously conjured up, cheered him in the dreary watches oi 
the Jong and stormy winter nights. 

At first he only knew that one face haunted his dreams by night, 
and the few moments by day when he thought of any thing, and 
this face smiled lovingly upon him, and cheered him mightily. 
Name he had quite forgotten, or recalled it vaguely, and, setting 
small store by it, had thought of it no more. 

For many years after he had deserted his home, ex Bonté had 
cherished the idea of again re turning to his country. During this 
period he had never forgotten his old flame, and many a choice 
fur he had carefully laid by, intended as a present for Mary Brand ; 
and many a gage d’amour of cunning shape and device, worked in 
stained quills, of porcupine and bright-colored beads—the handi- 
work of nimble-fingered squaws—he had packed in his possible 
sack for the same destination, hoping a time would come when he 
might lay them at her feet. 

F 


122 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


Year after year wore on, however, and still found him, with 
traps and rifle, following his perilous avocation ; and each succeed- 
ing one saw him more and more wedded to the wild mountain-life. 
He was conscious how unfitted he had become again to enter the 
galling harness of conventionality and civilization. He thought, 
too, how changed in manners and appearance he now must be, 
and could not believe that he would again find favor in the eyes of 
his quondam love, who, he judged, had long since forgotten him ; 
and imexperienced as he was in such matters, yet he knew enough 
of womankind to feel assured that time and absence had long since 
done the work, if even the natural fickleness of woman’s nature 
had lain dormant. Thus it was that he came to forget Mary 
Brand, but still remembered the all-absorbing feeling she had once 
created in his breast, the shadow of which still remained, and often 
took form and: feature in the smoke-wreaths of his solitary eamp- 
fire. 

If truth be told, La Bonté had his failings as a mountaineer, 
and—sin unpardonable in hunter law—still possessed, in holes and 
corners of his breast seldom explored by his inward eye, much of 
the leaven of kindly human nature, which now and again involun- 
tarily peeped out, as greatly to the contempt of his comrade trap- 
pers as it was blushingly repressed by the mountaineer himself. 
Thus, in his various matrimonial episodes, he treated his dusky 
sposas with all the consideration the sex could possibly demand 
from hand of man. No squaw of his ever humped shoulder to re- 
ceive a castigatory and marital “ lodge-poling’’ for offense domes- 
tic ; but often has his helpmate blushed to see her pale-face lord 
and master devote himself to the feminine labor of packing huge 
piles of fire-wood on his back, felling trees, butchering unwieldy 
bufialo—all which are included in the Indian category of female 
duties. ‘Thus he was esteemed an excellent pavid by all the mar- 
riageable young squaws of Blackfoot, Crow, and Shoshone, of 
/Yutah, Shian, and Arapaho; but after his last connubial catastro- 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 123 


phe, he steeled his heart against all the charms and coquetry of 
Indian belles, and persevered in unblessed widowhood for many 
a long day. 

From the point where we left him on his way to the waters of 
the Columbia, we must jump with him over a space of nearly two 
years, during which time he had a most uninterrupted run of good 
luck; trapping with great success on the head streams of the Co- 
lumbia and Yellow Stone—the most dangerous of trapping ground 
—and finding good market for his peltries at the ‘‘ Northwest” 
posts—beaver fetching as high a price as five and six dollars a 
“‘ plew’’—the “ golden age’’ of trappers; now, alas, never to return, 
and existing only in the fond memory of the mountaineers. This 
glorious time, however, was too good to last. In mountain lan- 
guage, “such heap of fat meat was not going to ‘shine’ much 
longer.” 

La Bonté was at this time one of a band of eight trappers, 
whose hunting ground was about the head waters of the Yellow 
Stone, which we have before said is in the country of the Black- 
feet. With him were Killbuck, Meek, Marcellin, and three others ; 
and the leader of the party was Bill Williams, that old “hard 
case’ who had spent forty years and more in the mountains, until 
he had become as tough as the parfléche soles of his moccasins. 
They were all good men and true, expert hunters, and well-trained 
mountaineers. After having trapped all the streams they were 
acquainted with, it was determined to strike into the mountains, 
at a point where old Williams affirmed, from the “run” of the 
hills, there must be plenty of water, although not one of the party 
had before explored the country, or knew any thing of its nature, 
or of the likelihood of its affording game for themselves or pasture 
for their animals. However, they packed their peltry, and put 
out for the land in view—a lofty peak, dimly seen above the more 
regular summit of the chain, being their landmark. 

For the first day or two their rout lay between two ridges of 


124 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 

mountains, and by following the little valley which skirted a creek, 
they kept on level ground, and saved their animals considerable 
labor and fatigue. Williams always rode ahead, his body bent 
over his saddle-horn, across which rested a long heavy rifle, his 
keen gray eyes peering from under the slouched brim of a flexible 
felt-hat, black and shining with grease. His buckskin hunting- 
shirt, bedaubed until it had the appearance of polished leather, 
hung in folds over his bony carcass; his nether extremities being 
clothed in pantaloons of the same material (with scattered fringes 
down the outside of the lee—which ornaments, however, had been 
pretty well thinned to supply “ whangs” for mending moccasins or 
pack-saddles), which, shrunk with wet, clung tightly to his long, 
spare, sinewy legs. His feet were thrust into a pair of Mexican 
stirrups made of wood, and as big as coal-scuttles ; and iron spurs 
of incredible proportions, with tinkling drops attached to the 
rowels, were fastened to his heel—a bead-worked strap, four inches 
broad, securing them over the instep. In the shoulder-belt which 
sustained his powder-horn and bullet-pouch, were fastened the 
various instruments essential to one pursuing his mode of life. An 
awl, with deer-horn handle, and the point defended by a case of 
cherry-wood carved by his own hand, hung at the back of the belt, 
side by side with a worm for cleaning the rifle; and under this 
was a squat and quaint-looking bullet-mold, the handles guarded 
by strips of buckskin to save his fingers from burning when running 
balls, having for its companion a little bottle made from the point 
of an antelope’s horn, scraped transparent, which contained the 
“medicine” used in baiting the traps. The old coon’s face was 
sharp and thin, a long nose and chin hob-nobbing each other ; and 
his head was always bent forward giving him the appearance of 
- being hump-backed. He appeared to look neither to the right nor 
left, but, in fact, his little twinkling eye was every where. He 
looked at no one he was addressing, always seeming to be thinking 
of something else than the subject of his discourse, speaking in a 


- 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 125 


whining, thin, cracked voice, and in a tone that left the hearer in 
doubt whether he was laughing or crying. On the present occa- 
sion he had joined this band, and naturally assumed the leadership 
(for Bill ever refused to go in harness), in opposition to his usual 
practice, which was to hunt alone. His character was well 
known. Acquainted with every inch of the Far West, and with 
all the Indian tribes who inhabited it, he never failed to outwit his 
Red enemies, and generally made his appearance at the rendez- 
vous, from his solitary expeditions, with galore of beaver, when 
numerous bands of trappers dropped in on foot, having been de- 
spoiled of their packs and animals by the very Indians through the 
midst of whom old Williams had contrived to pass unseen and 
unmolested. On occasions when he had been in company with 
others, and attacked by Indians, Bill invariably fought manfully, 
and with all the coolness that perfect indifference to death or 
danger could give, but always “on his own hook.” His rifle 
eracked away merrily, and never spoke in vain; and in a charge— 
if ever it came to that—his keen-edged butcher-knife tickled the 
fleece of many a Blackfoot. But at the same time, if he saw that 
discretion was the better part of valor, and affairs wore so cloudy 
an aspect as to render retreat advisable, he would first express his 
opinion in curt terms, and decisively, and, charging up his rifle, 
would take himself off and ‘“‘ cache’’* so effectually that to search 
for him was utterly useless. Thus, when with a large party of 
trappers, when any thing occurred which gave him a hint that 
trouble was coming, or more Indians were about than he con- 
sidered good for his animals, Bill was wont to exclaim— 

“ Do’ee hyar now, boys, thar’s sign about? this hos feels like 
eaching ;’ and, without more words, and stoically deaf to all 
remonstrances, he would forewith proceed to pack his animals, 
talking the while to an old, crop-eared, raw-boned Nez-percé pony, 


* Hide—from cdcher. 


126 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


his own ‘particular saddle-horse, who in dogged temper and iron 
hardiness, was a worthy companion of his self-willed master. 
This beast, as Bill seized his apishamore to lay upon its galled 
back, would express displeasure by humping its back and shaking 
its withers with a wincing motion, that always excited the ire of 
the old trapper; and no sooner had he laid the apishamore 
smoothly on the chafed skin, than a wriggle of the animal shook 
it off: 

‘““Do’ee hyar now, you darned crittur ?” he would whine out, 
“can’t ee keep quiet your old fleece now? Isn't this old coon 
putting out to save ’ee from the darned Injuns now, do ’ee hyar ?” 
And then, continuing his work and taking no notice of his com- 
rades, who stood by bantering the eccentric old trapper, he would 
soliloquize—‘‘ Do ’ee hyar, now? ‘This niggur sees sign ahead— 
he does ; he'll be afoot afore long, if he don’t keep his eye skinned 
—he will. Injuns is all about, they ar’: Blackfoot at that. 
Can’t come round this child—they can’t, wagh! And at last, 
his pack animals securely tied to the tail of his horse, he would 
mount, and throwing the rifle across the horn of his saddle, and 
without noticing his companions, would drive the jingling spurs 
into his horse’s gaunt sides, and muttering, ‘“‘Can’t come round this 
child—they can’t!” would ride away ; and nothing more would 
be seen or heard of him perhaps for months, when they would not 
unfrequently, themselves bereft of animals in the scrape he had 
foreseen, find him located in some solitary valley, in his lonely 
camp, with his animals securely picketed around, and his peltries 
safe. 

However, if he took it into his head to keep company with a 
party, all felt perfectly secure under his charge. His iron frame 
defied fatigue, and, at night, his love for himself and his own 
animals was sufficient guarantee that the camp would be well 
guarded. As he rode away, his spurs jingling, and thumping the 
sides of his old horse at every step, he managed, with admirable 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 127 


dexterity, to take advantage of the best line of country to follow— 
avoiding the gullies and cafions and broken ground which would 
otherwise have impeded his advance. This tact appeared instinct- 
ive, for he looked neither right nor left, while continuing a course 
as straight as possible at the foot of the mountains. In selecting 
a camping site, he displayed equal skill: wood, water, and grass 
began to fill his thoughts toward sundown, and when these three 
requisites for a camping ground presented themselves, old Bill 
sprang from his saddle, unpacked his animals in a twinkling, and 
hobbled them, struck fire and ignited a few chips (leaving the rest 
to pack in the wood), lit his pipe, and enjoyed himself. On one 
oceasion, when passing through the valley, they had come upon a 
band of fine buffalo cows, and, shortly after camping, two of the party 
rode in with a good supply of fat fleece. One of the party was a 
‘‘oreenhorn”’ on his first hunt, fresh from a fort on Platte, and as 
yet uninitiated in the mysteries of mountain cooking. Bill, lazily 
smoking his pipe, called to him as he happened to be nearest, to 
butcher off a piece of meat and put it in his pot. Markhead 
seized the fleece, and commenced innocently carving off a huge 
ration, When a gasping roar from the old trapper caused him to 
drop his knife. 

“'Ti-ya,” growled Bill, ‘‘do ’ee hyar, now, you darned green- 
horn, do ’ee spile fat cow like that whar you was raised ? Them 
dvins won't shine in this crowd, boy, do ’ee hyar, darn you ?— 
What! butcher meat across the grain! why, whar’ll the blood 
be goin’ to, you precious Spaniard? Down the grain, I say,” he 
continued, in a severe tone of rebuke, “ and let your flaps be long, 
or out the juice ‘ll run slick—do ’ee hyar, now?” But this heret- 
ical error nearly cost the old trapper his appetite, and all night 
long he grumbled his horror at seeing “fat cow spiled in that 
fashion.” 

‘When two or three days’ journey brought them to the end of 
the valley, and they commenced the passage of the mountain, 


128 PLE E. IN THE PAB WHST: 


their march was obstructed by all kinds of obstacles; although 
they had chosen what appeared to be a gap in the chain, and 
what was in fact the only practicable passage in that vicinity. 
‘They followed the canon of a branch of the Yellow Stone, where 
it entered the mountain ; but from this point it became a “torrent, 
and it was only by dint of incredible exertions that they reached 
the summit of the ridge. Game was exceedingly scarce in the 
vicinity, and they suflered extremely from hunger, having, on 
more than one occasion, recourse to the parfléche soles of their 
moccasins to allay its pangs. Old Bill, however, never grumbled : 
he chewed away at his shoes with relish even, and as long as he 
had a pipeful of tobacco in his pouch, was a happy man. Starv- 
ation was as yet far off, for all their animals were in existence ; 
out as they were in a country where it was difficult to procure a 
remount, each trapper hesitated to sacrifice one of his horses to his 
appetite. 

From the summit of the ridge, Bill recognized the country on 
the opposite side to that whence they had just ascended as famil- 
iar to him, and pronounced it to be full of beaver, as well as 
abounding in the less desirable commodity of Indians. This was 
the valley lying about the lakes now called Eustis and Biddle, in 
which are many thermal and mineral springs, well known to the 
trappers by the names of the Soda; Beer, and Brimstone Springs, 
and regarded by them with no little awe and curiosity, as being 
the breathing places of his Satanic majesty—considered, moreover, 
to be the “ biggest kind” of ‘‘ medicine” to be found in the mount- 
ains. If truth be teld, old Bill hardly relished the idea of enter- 
tug this country, which he pronounced to be of ‘bad medicine” 
aotoriety, but nevertheless agreed to guide them to the best trap- 
»ing ground. 

One day they reached a creek full of beaver sign, and determin- 
ed to halt here and establish their headquarters, while they trap- 
ped in the neighborhood. We must here observe that at this pe- 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. . 129 


riod—which was one of considerable rivalry among the various 
trading companies in the Indian territory—the Indians, having 
become possessed of arms and ammunition in great quantities, had 
_ grown unusually daring and persevering in their attacks on the 
white hunters who passed through their country, and consequently 
the trappers were compelled to roam about in large bands for mu- 
tual protection, which, although it made them less lable to open 
attack, yet rendered it more difficult for them to pursue their call- 
ing without being discovered ; for, where one or two men might 
pass unseen, the broad trail of a large party, with its animals, was 
not likely to escape the sharp eyes of the cunning savages. | 

They had scarcely encamped when the old leader, who had sal- 
lied out a short distance from camp to reconnoiter the neighbor- 
hood, returned with an Indian moccasin in his hand, and informed 
his companions that its late owner and others were about. 

“Do ’ee hyar now, boys, thar’s Inmjuns knocking round, and 
Blackfoot at that; but thar’s plenty of beaver too, and this child 
means trapping any how.” 

His companions were anxious to leave such dangerous vicinity ; 
but the old fellow, contrary to his usual caution, determined to 
remain where he was—saying that there were Indians all over the 
country, for that matter ; and as they had determined to hunt here, 
he had made up his mind too—which was conclusive, and all 
agreed to stop where they were, in spite of the Indians. La 
Bonté killed a couple of mountain sheep close to camp, and they 
feasted rarely on the fat mutton that night, and were unmolested 
by marauding Blackfeet. 

The next morning, leaving two of their number in camp, they 
started in parties of two, to hunt for beaver sign and set their 
traps. Markhead paired with one Batiste, Killbuck and La 
Bonté formed another couple, Meek and Marcellin another; two 
Canadians trapped together, and Bill Williams and another re- 
mained to guard the camp: but this last, leaving Bill mending 

r* 


130 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


his moccasins, started off to kill a mountain sheep, a band of 
which animals was visible. , 

Markhead and his companion, the first couple on the list, fol- 
lowed a creek, which entered that on which they had encamp- 
ed, about ten miles distant. Beaver sign was abundant, and 
they had set eight traps, when Markhead came suddenly upon 
fresh Indian sign, where squaws had passed through the shrub- 
bery on the banks of the stream to procure water, as he knew 
from observing a large stone placed by them in the stream, on 
which to stand to enable them to dip their kettles in the deepest 
water. Beckoning to his companion to follow, and cocking his 
rifle, he carefully pushed aside the bushes, and noiselessly proceed- 
ed up the bank, when, creeping on hands and knees, he gained 
the top, and, looking from his hiding-place descried three Indian 
huts standing on a little plateau near the creek. Smoke curled 
from the roofs of branches, but the skin doors were carefully closed, 
so that he was unable to distinguish the number of the inmates. 
At a little distance, however, he observed two or three squaws 
gathering wood, with the usual attendance of curs whose acute- 
ness in detecting the scent of strangers was much to be dreaded. 

Markhead was a rash and daring young fellow, caring no more 
for Indians than he did for prairie dogs, and acting ever on the 
spur of the moment, and as his inclination dictated, regardless of 
consequences. He at once determined to enter the lodges, and 
attack the enemy, should any be there ; and the other trapper 
was fain to join him in the enterprise. ‘The lodges proved empty, 
but the fires were still burning, and meat cooking upon them, to 
which the hungry hunters did ample justice, besides helping them- 
selves to whatever goods and chattels, in the shape of leather and 
moccasins, took their fancy. 

Gathering their spoil into a bundle, they sought their horses, 
which they had left tied under cover of the timber on the banks 
of the creek ; and, mounting, took the back trail, to pick up their 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 131 


traps and remove from so dangerous a neighborhood. They were 
approaching the spot where the first trap was set, a thick growth 
of ash and quaking-ash concealing the stream, when Markhead, 
who was riding ahead, observed the bushes agitated, as if some 
animal was making its way through them. He instantly stopped 
his horse, and his companion rode to his side, to inquire the cause 
of this abrupt halt. They were within a few yards of the belt of 
shrubs which skirted the stream; and before Markhead had time 
to reply, a dozen swarthy heads and shoulders suddenly protruded 
from the leafy screen, and as many rifle-barrels and arrows were 
pointing at their breasts. Before the trappers had time to turn 
their horses and fly, a cloud of smoke burst from the thicket almost 
in their faces. Batiste, pierced with several balls, fell dead, and 
Markhead felt himself severely wounded. However, he struck 
the spurs into his horse; and as some half-score Blackfeet jumped 
with loud eries from their cover, he discharged his rifle among 
them, and galloped off} a volley of balls and arrows whistling 
after him. He drew no bit until he reined up at the camp-fire, 
where he found Bill quietly dressing a deer-skin. That worthy 
looked up from his work ; and seemg Markhead’s face streaming 
with blood, and the very unequivocal evidence of an Indian 
rencounter in the shape of an arrow sticking in his back, he asked 

—‘ Do ’ee feel bad now, boy? Whar away you see them darned 
Blackfoot ?” 

“Well, pull this arrow out of my back, and may be I'll feel 
like telling,” answered Markhead. 

‘“ Do ’ee hyar now! hold on till I’ve pete this cussed skin, 
will ’ee! Did ’ee ever see sich a darned pelt, now? it won’t take the 
- smoke any how I fix it.” And Markhead was fain to wait the 
leisure of the imperturbable old trapper, before he was eased of 
his annoying companion. 


Old Bill expressed no surprise or grief when informed of the fate 


of poor Batiste. He said it was “just like greenhorns, runnin’ 


a 


152 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


into them cussed Blackfoot ;’ and observed that the defunct 
trapper, being only a Vide-poche, was “no account anyhow.” 
Presently Killbuck and La Bonté galloped into camp with another 
alarm of Indians. They had also been attacked suddenly by a 
band of Blackfeet, but, being in a more open country, had got 
clear off, after killing two of their assailants, whose scalps hung at 
the horns of their saddles. They had been in a different direction 
dothat in which Markhead and his companion had proceeded, and, 
from the signs they had observed, expressed their belief that the 
country was alive with Indians. Neither of these men had been 
wounded. Presently the two Canadians made their appearance 
on the bluff, galloping with might and main to camp, and shouting 


9 


* Indians, Indians,’ as they came. All being assembled, and a 
council held, it was determined to abandon the camp and neigh- 
borhood immediately. -Old Bill was already packing his animals, 
and as he pounded the saddle down on the withers of his old 
Rosinante, he muttered—‘ Do ’ee hyar, now! this coon ‘ull cache, 
he will.” So mounting his horse, and leading his pack-mule by 
a lariat, he bent over his saddle-horn, dug his ponderous rowels 
into the lank sides of his beast, and, without a word, struck up the 
bluff and disappeared. 

The others hastily gathering up their packs, and most of them 
having lost their traps, quickly followed his example, and “ put 
out.” On cresting the high ground which rose from the creek, 
they observed thin columns of smoke mounting into the air from 


>? 


many different points, the meaning of which they were at no loss 
to guess. However they were careful not to show themselves on 
elevated ground, keeping as much as possible under the banks of 
the creek, when such a course was practicable; but, the blufls” 
sometimes rising precipitously from the water, they were more 
‘han once compelled to ascend the banks, and continue their 
course along the uplands, whence they might easily be discovered 
by the Indians. It was nearly sundown when they left their 


\ 


LIFE°-IN THE FAR WEST: 133 


camp, but they proceeded during the greater part of the night 
at as rapid a rate as possible; their progress, however, being 
greatly retarded as they advanced into the mountain, their route 
lying up stream. Toward morning they halted for a brief space, 
but started again as soon as daylight permitted them to see their 
way over the broken ground. 

The creek now forced its way through a narrow cajion, the 
banks being thickly clothed with a shrubbery of cotton-wood and 
quaking ash. The mountain rose on each side, but not abruptly, 
‘being here and there broken into plateaus and shelving prairies. 
In a very thick bottom, sprinkled with coarse grass, they halted 
about noon, and removed the saddles and packs from their wearied 
animals, picketing them in the best spots of grass. 

La Bonté and Killbuck, after securing their animals, left the 
camp to hunt, for they had no provisions of any kind ; and a short 
distance beyond it, the former came suddenly upon a recent moc- 
casin track in the timber. After examining it for a moment, 
he raised his head with a broad grin, and turning to his compan- 
ion, pointed into the cover, where, in the thickest part, they dis- 
cerned the well known figure of old Bill’s horse browsing upon 
the cherry bushes. Pushing through the thicket in search of the 
brute’s master, La Bonté suddenly stopped short as the muzzle of 
a rifle-barrel gaped before his eyes at the distance of a few inches, 
while the thin voice of Bill muttered— 

“Do ’ee hyar now, I was nigh giving ’ee h—: I was now. If 
I didn’t. think ’ee was Blackfoot, ’m dogged now.’ And not a 
little indignant was the old fellow that his cache had been so easi- 
ly, though accidentally, discovered. However, he presently made 
his appearance in camp, leading his animals, and once more joined 
his late companions, not deigning to give any explanation as te 
why or wherefore he had deserted them the day before, merely 
muttering, ‘‘ Do ’ee hyar now, thar’s trouble comin.’ ”’ 

The two hunters returned after sundown with a black-tailed 


134 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


deer: and after eating the better part of the meat, and setting a 
guard, the party were glad to roll in their blankets and enjoy the 
rest they so much needed. They were undisturbed during the 
night ; but at dawn of day the sleepers were roused by a hundred 
fierce yells from the mountains inclosing the creek on which they 
‘had encamped. The yells were instantly followed by a ringing 
volley, the bullets thudding into the trees, and cutting the branch- 
es near them, but without causing any mischief. Old Bill rose 
from his blanket and shook himself, and exclaimed ‘“‘ Wagh!” as at 
that moment a ball plumped into the fire over which he was 
standing, and knocked the ashes about in a cloud. All the mount- 
aineers seized their rifles and sprang to cover ; but as yet it was 
not sufficiently light to show them their enemy, the bright flashes 
from the guns alone indicating their position. As morning dawn- 
ed, however, they saw that both sides of the canon were occupied 
by the Indians; and, from the firing, judged there must be at least 
a hundred warriors engaged in the attack. Not a shot had yet 
been fired by the trappers, but as the light increased, they eagerly 
watched for an Indian to expose himself, and offer a mark to their 
trusty rifles. La Bonté, Killbuck, and old Bill, lay a few yards dis- 
tant from each other, flat on their faces, near the edge of the thick- 
et, their rifles raised before them, and the barrels resting in the forks 
of convenient bushes. From their place of concealment to the 
position of the Indians—who, however, were scattered here and 
there, wherever a rock afforded them cover—was a distance of 
about a hundred and fifty yards, or within fair rifle-shot. The 
trappers were obliged to divide their force, since both sides of the 
creek were occupied; but, such was the nature of the ground, and 
the excellent cover afforded by the rocks and boulders, and clumps 
of dwarf pine and hemlock, that not a hand’s breadth of an Indi- 
an’s body had yet been seen. Nearly opposite La Bonté, a shelv- 
ing glade in the mountain side ended in an abrupt precipice, and at 
the very edge, and almost toppling over it, were several boulders 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 135 


just of sufficient size to afford cover to a man’s body. As this 
bluff overlooked the trappers’ position, it was occupied by the In- 
dians, and every rock covered an assailant. At one point, just 
over where La Bonté and Killbuck were lying, two boulders lay 
together, with just sufficient interval to admit a rifle-barrel be- 
tween them, and from this breastwork an Indian kept up a most 
annoying fire. All his shots fell in dangerous propinquity to one 
or other of the trappers, and already Killbuck had been grazed by 
one better directed than the others. La Bonté watched for some 


time in vain for a chance to answer this persevering marksman, — 


and at length an opportunity offered, by which he was not long in a 


profiting. 

The Indian, as the light increased, was better able to discern 
his mark, and fired, and yelled every time he did so, with re- 
doubled vigor. In his eagerness, and probably while in the act 
of taking aim, he leaned too heavily against the rock which cover- 
ed him, and detaching it from its position, dewn it rolled into the 
cafion, exposing his body by its fall. At the same instant a 
wreath of smoke puffed from the bushes which concealed the trap- 
pers, and the erack of La Bonté’s rifle spoke the first word of re- 
ply to the Indian challenge. A few feet behind the rock, fell the 
dead body of the Indian, rolling down the steep sides of the canon, 
and only stopped by a bush at the very bottom, with a few 
yards of the spot where Markhead lay coneealed in some high 
grass. 

That daring fellow instantly jumped from his cover, and draw- 
ing his knife, rushed to the body, and in another moment held 
aloft the Indian’s scalp, giving, at the same time, a triumphant 
whoop. <A score of rifles were leveled and discharged at the in- 
trepid mountaineer; but in the act many Indians incautiously ex- 
posed themselves, every rifle in the timber cracked simultaneously, 
and for each report an Indian bit the dust. 

Now, however, they changed their tactics. Finding they were 


156 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


unable to drive the trappers from their position, they retired from 
the mountain and the firing suddenly ceased. In their retreat 
they were forced to expose themselves, and again the whites dealt 
destruction among them. As the Indians retired, yelling loudly, 
the hunters thought they had given up the contest ; but presently 
a cloud of smoke rising from the bottom immediately below them, 
at once discovered the nature of their plans. A brisk wind was 
blowing up the cation ; and favored by it, they fired the brush on 
the banks of the stream, knowing that before this the hunters 
must speedily retreat. 

Against such a result, but for the gale of wind which drove the 
fire roaring before it, they could have provided—for your mount- 
aineer never fails to find resources on a pinch. They would have 
fired the brush to leeward of their position, and also carefully 
ignited that to windward, or between them and the advancing 
flame, extinguishing it immediately when a sufficient space had 
thus been cleared, over which the flame could not leap, and thus 
cutting themselves off from it both above and below their position. 
In the present instance they could not profit by such a course, as 
the wind was so strong that, if once the bottom caught fire, they 
would not be able to extinguish it; besides which, in the attempt, 
they would so expose themselves that they would be picked off by 
the Indians without difficulty. As it was, the fire came roaring 
before the wind with the speed of a race-horse, and, spreading 
from the bottom, licked the mountain sides, the dry grass burning 
like tinder. Huge volumes of stifling smoke rolled before it, and, 
in a very few minutes, the trappers were hastily mounting their 
animals, driving the packed ones before them. The dense clouds 
of smoke concealed every thing from their view, and, to avoid this, 
they broke from the creek and galloped up the sides of the canon 
on to the more level plateau. As they attained this, a band of 
mounted Indians charged them. One, waving a red blanket, 
dashed through the cavallada, and was instantly followed by all 


- 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 131 


the loose animals of the trappers, the rest of the Indians pursuing 
with loud shouts. So sudden was the charge, that the whites had 
not power to prevent the stampede. Old Bill, as usual, led his 
pack-mules by the lariat; but the animals, mad with terror, at 
the shouts of the Indians, broke from him, nearly pulling him out _ 
of his seat at the same time. 

To cover the retreat. of the others with their prey, a band of 
mounted Indians now appeared, threatening an attack in front, 
while their first assailants, rushing from the bottom, at least a 
hundred strong, assaulted in rear. ‘Do ’ee hyar, boys!” shouted 
old Bill, “break, or you'll go under. This child’s goin’ to cache’ 
and saying the word, off he went. Sawve-qui-peut was the order 
of the day, and not a moment too soon, for overwhelming numbers 
were charging upon them, and the mountain resounded with 
savage yells. La Bonté and Killbuck stuck together: they saw 
old Bill, bending over his saddle, dive right into the cloud of 
smoke, and apparently make for the creek bottom—their other 
companions scattering each on his own hook, and saw no more of 
them for many a month; and thus was,one of the most daring 
and successful bands broken up that ever trapped in the mountains 
of the Far West. 

It is painful to follow the steps of the poor fellows who, thus 
despoiled of the hardly-earned produce of their hunt, saw all their 
wealth torn from them at one swoop. ‘The two Canadians were 
lalled upon the night succeeding that of the attack. Worn with 
fatigue, hungry and cold, they had built a fire in what they thought 
was a secure retreat, and, rolled in their blankets, were soon buried 
in a sleep from which they never awoke. An Indian boy tracked 
them, and watched their camp. Burning with the idea of signal- 
izing himself thus early, he awaited his opportunity, and noise- 
lessly approaching their resting-place, shot them both with arrows, 
and returned in triumph to his people with their horses and 
scalps. 


138 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


La Bonté and Killbuck sought a passage in the mountain by 
which to cross over to the head waters of the Columbia, and there 
fall in with some of the traders or trappers of the Northwest. 
They became involved in the mountains, in a part where was no 
game of any description, and no pasture for their miserable ani- 
mals. One of these they killed for food; the other, a bag of 
bones, died from sheer starvation. They had very httle ammuni- 
tion, their moccasins were worn out, and they were unable to pro- 
cure skins to supply themselves with fresh ones. Winter was fast 
approaching ; the snow already covered the mountains; and 
storms of sleet and hail poured incessantly through the valleys, 
benumbing their exhausted limbs, hardly protected by scanty and 
ragged covering. To add to their miseries, poor Killbuck was 
taken ill. He had been wounded in the groin by a bullet, some 
time before, and the ball still remained. 'The wound, aggravated 
by walking and the excessive cold, assumed an ugly appearance, 
and soon rendered him incapable of sustained exertion, all motion 
even being attended with intolerable pain. La Bonté had made 
a shanty for his suffering companion, and spread a soft bed of pine 
branches for him, by the side of a small creek at the point where 
it came out of the mountain and followed its course through a little 
prairie. They had been three days without other food than a 
piece of parfléche, which had formed the back of La Bonté’s 
bullet-pouch, and which, after soaking in the creek, they eagerly 
devoured. Killbuck was unable to move, and sinking fast from 
exhaustion. His companion had hunted from morning till night, 
as well as his failing strength would allow him, but had not seen 
the traces of any kind of game, with the exception of some old 
buffalo tracks, made apparently months before by a band of bulls 
crossing the mountain. 

The morning of the fourth day La Bonté, as nsual, rose at day- 
break from his blanket, and was proceeding to collect wood for the 
fire during his absence while hunting, when Killbuck called to 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 139 


him, and in an almost inarticulate voice desired him to seat him- 
gelf by his side. 

“Boy,” he said, “this old hos feels like goin’ under, and that 
afore long. You're stout yet, and if thar was meat handy, you’d 
“ome round slick. Now, boy, I’ll be under, as I said, afore many 
rours, and if you don’t raise meat you'll be in the same fix. I 
never eat dead meat* myself, and wouldn’t ask no one to do it 
neither ; but meat fair killed is meat any way; so, boy, put your 
knife in this old niggur’s lights, and help yourself. It’s ‘ poor bull,’ I 
know, but maybe it'll do to keep life in; and along the fleece 
thar’s meat yet, and maybe my old hump ribs has picking on 
"em.” 

“ You’re a good old hos,” answered La Bonté, “but this child 
ain’t turned nigeur yet.” 

Killbuck then begged his companion to leave him to his fate, 
and strive himself to reach game; but this alternative La Bonté 
likewise generously refused, and faintly endeavoring to cheer the 
sick man, left him once again to look for game. He was so weak 
that he felt difficulty in supporting himself, and knowing how 
futile would be his attempts to hunt, he sallied from the camp 
convinced that a few hours more would see the last of him. 

He had scarcely raised his eyes, when, hardly crediting his 
senses, he saw within a few hundred yards of him an old bull, 
worn with age, lying on the prairie. ‘Two wolves were seated on 
their haunches before him, their tongues lolling from their mouths, 
while the buffalo was impotently rolling his ponderous head from 
side to side, his blood-shot eyes glaring fiercely at his tormentors, 
and flakes of foam, mixed with blood, dropping from his mouth 
over his long shaggy beard. a Bonté was transfixed; he 
scarcely dared to breathe, lest the animal should be alarmed and 
escape. Weak as it was, he could hardly have followed it, and, 


* Carrion, 


140 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


knowing that his own and companion’s life hung upon the success 
' of his shot, he scarcely had strength to raise his rifle. By dint of 
extraordinary exertions and precautions, which were totally un- 
necessary, for the poor old bull had not a move in him, the hunter 
approached within shot. Lying upon the ground, he took a long, 
steady aim, and fired. The buffalo raised its matted head, tossed 
it wildly for an instant, and, stretching out its limbs convulsively, 
turned over on its side and was dead. 

Killbuck heard the shot, and crawling from under the little 
shanty which covered his bed, saw, to his astonishment, La Bonté 
in the act of butchering a buffalo within two hundred yards of 
camp. ‘‘ Hurraw for you!” he faintly exclaimed; and exhausted 
by the exertion he had used, and perhaps by the excitement of an 
anticipated feast, fell back and fainted. 

However, the killing was the easiest matter, for when the huge 
carcass lay dead upon the ground, our hunter had hardly strength 
to drive the blade of his knife through the tough hide of the old 
patriarch. Then having cut off as much of the meat as he could 
carry, eating the while sundry portions of the liver, which he 
dipped in the gall-bladder by way of relish, La Bonté cast a wist- 
ful look upon the half-starved wolves, who now loped round and 
round, licking their chops, only waiting until his back was turned 
to fall to with appetite equal to his own, and capabilities of swal- 
lowing and digesting far superior. La Bonté looked at the buflalo 
and then at the wolves, leveled his rifle and shot one dead, at 
which the survivor scampered off without delay. 

Arrived at camp, packing in a tolerable load of the best part of 
the animal—for hunger lent him strength—he found poor Killbuck 
lying on his back, deaf to time, and to all appearance gone under. 
Having no sal-volatile or vinaigrette at hand, La Bonté flapped a 
‘lump of raw fleece to his patient’s face, and this instantly revived 
him. Then taking the sick man’s shoulder, he raised him tenderly 
into a sitting posture, and invited, in kindly accents, “the old hos 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 141 


to feed,” thrusting at the same time a tolerable slice of liver into 
his hand, which the patient looked at wistfully and vaguely for a 
few short moments, and then greedily devoured. It was nightfall 
by the time that La Bonté, assisted by many intervals of hard 
eating, packed in the last of the meat, which formed a goodly pile 
around the fire. 

“Poor bull’ it was, in all conscience: the labor of chewing a 
mouthful of the “tender-loin” was equal to a hard day’s hunt ; 
but to them, poor starved fellows, it appeared the richest of meat. 
They still preserved a small tin pot, and in this, by stress of eternal 
boiling, La Bonté contrived to make some strong soup, which soon 
restored his sick companion to marching order. For himself, as 
soon as a good meal had filled him, he was strong as ever, and 
employed himself in drying the remainder of the meat for future 
use. Even the wolf, bony as he was, was converted into meat, 
and rationed them several days. Winter, however, had set in 
with such severity, and Killbuck was still so weak, that La Bonté 
determined to remain in his present position until spring, as he 
now found that buffalo frequently visited the valley, as it was 
more bare of snow than the lowlands, and afforded them better 
pasture ; and one morning he had the satisfaction of seeing a band 
of seventeen bulls within long rifle-shot of the camp, out of which , 
four of the fattest were soon laid low by his rifle. 

They still had hard times before them, for toward spring the 
buffalo again disappeared; the greater part of their meat had been 
spoiled, owing to there not being sufficient sun to dry it thorough- 
ly; and when they resumed their journey they had nothing to 
carry with them, and had a desert before them without game of 
‘any kind. We pass over what they suffered. Hunger and thirst 
were their portion, and Indians assaulted them at times, and 
many miraculous and hair-breadth escapes they had from these 
enemies. 


CHAPTER VI. 


Tue trail to Oregon, followed by traders and emigrants, crosses 
the Rocky Mountains at a point known as the South Pass, where 
a break in the chain occurs of such moderate and gradual elevation, 
as to permit the passage of wagons with tolerable facility. The 
Sweet Water Valley runs nearly to the point where the dividing 
ridge of the Pacific and Atlantic waters throws off its streams to 
their respective oceans. At one end of this valley, and situated on 
the right bank of the Sweet Water, a huge isolated mass of 
granitic rock rises to the height of three hundred feet, abruptly 
from the plain. On the smooth and scarped surface presented by 
one of its sides, are rudely carved the names and initials of traders, 
trappers, travelers, and emigrants, who have here recorded the 
memorial of their sojourn in the remote wilderness of the Far West. 
The face of the rock is covered with names familiar to the mount- 
aineers as those of the most renowned of their hardy brotherhood ; 
while others again occur, better known to the science and literature 
of the Old World than to the unlearned trappers of the Rocky 
Mountains. The huge mass is a well-known landmark to the 
Indians and mountaineers: and travelers and emigrants hail it as 
the half-way beacon between the frontiers of the United States 
and the still distant goal of their long and perilous journey. 

It was a hot sultry day in July. Not a breath of air relieved 
the intense and oppressive heat of the atmosphere, unusual here, 
where pleasant summer breezes, and sometimes stronger gales, 
blow over the elevated plains with the regularity of trade-winds. 
The sun, at its meridian height, struck the dry sandy plain and 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 143 


parched the drooping buffalo-grass on its surface, and its rays, 
refracted and reverberating from the heated ground, distorted 
every object seen through its lurid medium. Straggling antelope, 
leisurely crossing the adjoming prairie, appeared to be gracefully 
moving in mid-air; while a scattered band of buffalo bulls loomed 
huge and indistinct in the vapory distance. In the timbered 
valley of the river, deer and elk were standing motionless in the 
water, under the shade of the overhanging cotton-woods, seeking a 
respite from the persevering attacks of swarms of horse-flies and 
musquitos ; and now and then a heavy splash was heard, as they 
tossed their antlered heads into the stream, to free them from the 
venomous insects that buzzed incessantly about them. In the 
sandy prairie, beetles of an enormous size were rolling in every 
direction huge balls of earth, pushing them with their hind legs 
with comical perseverance ; cameleons darted about, assimilating 
the hue of their grotesque bodies with the color of the sand: groups 
of prairie-dog houses were seen, each with its inmate barking lustily 
on the roof; while under cover of nearly every bush of sage or 
cactus a rattlesnake lay glittering in lazy coil. Tantalizing the 
parched sight, the neighboring peaks of the lofty Wind River 
Mountains glittered in a mantle of sparkling snow, while Sweet 
Water Mountain, capped in cloud, looked gray and cool, in 
striking contrast to the burned up plains which lay basking at its 
foot. 

Resting their backs against the rock (on which, we have said, 
are now carved the names of many travelers), and defended from 
‘the powerful rays ofthe sun by its precipitous sides, two white men 
quietly slept. They were gaunt and lantern-jawed, and clothed 
in tattered buckskin. Each held a rifle across his knees, but— 
strange sight in this country—one had its pan thrown open, which 
was rust-eaten and contained no priming; the other’s hammer 
was without a flint. Their faces were as if covered with mahog- 
any-colored parchment ; their eyes were sunken ; and as their jaws 


144 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. : 


fell listlessly on their breasts, their cheeks were hollow, with the 
bones nearly protruding from the skin. One was in the prime of 
manhood, with handsome features; the other, considerably past 
middle age, was stark and stern. Months of dire privation had 
brought them to this pass. The elder of the two was Killbuck, 
of mountain fame ; the other was hight La Bonté. 

The former opened his eyes, and saw the buffalo feeding on the 
plain. ‘Ho, boy,” he said, touching his companion, “ thar’s meat 
a-runnin.” ~ : 

La Bonté looked in the direction the other poimted, stood up 
and hitching round his pouch and powder-horn, drew the stopper — 
from the latter with his teeth, and placing the mouth in the palm 
of his left hand, turned the horn up and shook it. 

“ Not a grain,” he said—* not a grain, old hos.” 

“Wagh!” exclaimed the other, ‘‘ we'll have to eat afore long,” 
and rising, walked into the prairie. He had hardly stepped two 
paces, when, passing close to a sage bush, a rattlesnake whizzed a 
note of warning with its tail. Killbuck grinned, and taking the 
wiping-stick from his rifle-barrel, tapped the snake on the head, 
and, taking it by the tail, threw it to La Bonté, saying, “ hyar’s 
meat, any how.” ‘The old fellow followed up his success by slay- 
ing half-a-dozen more, and brought them in skewered through the 
head on his wiping-stick. A fire was soon kindled, and the snakes 
roasting before it; when La Bonté, who sat looking at the buffalo 
which fed close to the rock, suddenly saw them raise their heads, 
snuff the air, and scamper toward him. A few minutes afterward 
a huge shapeless body loomed in the refracted air, approaching the 
spot where the buffalo had been grazing. The hunters looked at 
it and then at each other, and ejaculated ‘‘Wagh!”’ Presently a 
long white mass showed more distinctly, followed by another, and 
before each was a string of animals. 

“Wagons, by hos and beaver! Hurrah for Conostoga!” ex- 
claimed the trappers in a breath, as they now observed two white- 


. LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 145 


tilted wagons, drawn by several pairs of mules, approaching the 
very spot where they sat. Several mounted men were. riding 
about the wagons, and two on horseback, in advance of all, were 
approaching the rock, when they observed the smoke curling from 
the hunters’ fire. They halted at sight of this, and one of the two, 
drawing a long instrument from a case, which Killbuck voted a 
rifle, directed it toward them fo le moment, and then, lowering it, 
again moved forward. 

As they drew near, the two poor featipers, although half-dead 
with joy, still retained their seats with Indian gravity and immo- 
_ bility of feature, turning now and then the crackling snakes which 
lay on the embers of the fire. The two strangers approached. 
One, a man of some fifty years of age, of middle height and stoutly 
built, was clad in a white shooting-jacket, of cut unknown in 
mountain tailoring, and a pair of trowsers of the well-known 
material called ‘“ shepherd’s plaid ;’’ a broad-brimmed Panama 
shaded his face, which was ruddy with health and exercise ; a belt 
round the waist supported a handsome bowie-knife, and a double- 
barreled fowling-piece was slung across his shoulder. 

His companion was likewise dressed in a light shooting-jacket, 
of many pockets and dandy cut, rode on an English saddle and in 
boots, and was armed with a superb double rifle, glossy from the 
case, and bearing few marks of use or service. He was a tall, 
fine-looking fellow of thirty, with light hair and complexion; a 
scrupulous beard and mustache ; a wide-awake hat, with a short 
pipe stuck in the band, not very black with smoke; an elaborate 
powder-horn over his shoulder, with a Cairngorm in the butt as 
large as a plate; a blue handkerchief tied round his throat in a 
sailor’s knot, and the collar of his shirt turned carefully over it. 
He had, moreover, a tolerable idea of his very correct appearance, 
and wore Woodstock gloves. 

The trappers looked at them from head to foot, and the more 
they looked, the less could they make them out. 

G 


146 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


“ H—!” exclaimed La Bonté emphatically. 

“This beats grainin’ bull-hide slick,” broke from Killbuck as 
the strangers reined up at the fire, the younger dismounting, and 
staring with wonder at the weather-beaten trappers. 

“Well, my men, how are you?” he rattled out. ‘“ Any game 
here? By Jove!” he suddenly exclaimed, seizing his rifle, as at 
that moment a large buzzard, the most unclean of birds, flew into 
the topmast branch of a cotton-wood, and sat, a tempting shot. 
“By Jove, there’s a chance!” cried the mighty hunter; and, 
bending low, started off to approach the unwary bird in the most 
approved fashion of northern deer-stalkers. The buzzard sat 
quietly, and now and then stretched its neck to gaze upon the 
advancing sportsman, who on such occasions threw himself flat on 
the ground, and remained motionless, in dread of alarming the 
bird. It was worth while to look at the countenance of old Kill- 
buck, as he watched the antics of the “bourgeois” hunter. He 
thought at first that the dandy rifleman had really discovered 
came in the bottom, and was nothing loth that there was a chance 
of his seeing meat; but when he understood the object of such 
maneuvres, and saw the quarry the hunter was so carefully ap- 
proaching, his mouth grinned from ear to ear, and, turning to La 
Bonté, he said, ‘‘ Wagh! he’s some—he is!” 

Nothing doubting, however, the stranger approached the tree 
on which the bird was sitting, and, getting well under it, raised 
his rifle and fired. Down tumbled the bird ; and the successful 
hunter, with a loud shout, rushed frantically toward it, and bore it 
in triumph to the camp, earning the most sovereign contempt 
from the two trappers by the achievement. 

The other stranger was a quieter character. He, too, smiled as 
he witnessed the exultation of his younger companion, (whose 
norse, by the way, was scampering about the plain), and spoke 
kindly to the mountaineers, whose appearance was clear evidence 
of the sufferings they had endured. The snakes by this time were 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 147 


cooked, and the trappers gave their new acquaintances the never- 
failing invitation to “sit and eat.’”’ When the latter, however, 
understood what the viands were, their looks expressed the horror 
and disgust they felt. 

‘Good God!” exclaimed the elder, ‘‘ you surely can not eat such 
disgusting food ?” 

“ This niggur doesn’t savy what disgustin is,” gruffly answered 
Killbuck; ‘but them as carries empty paunch three days an’ 
more, is glad to get ‘snake-meat ,’ I’m thinkin.” 

“What! you’ve no ammunition, then ?” 

‘* Well, we haven't.” 

“Wait till the wagons come up, and throw away i 
inable stuff, and you shall have something better, I Pro 
the elder of the strangers. ee 


‘Yes,’ continued the younger, ‘ some hot preserved soup, hotch- 
potch, and a glass of porter, will do you good.” 

The trappers looked at the speaker, who was talking Greek 
(to them). They thought the bourgeois were making fun, and 
did not half like it, so answered simply, “ Wagh! h—’s full of 
hosh-posh and porter.” 

Two large wagons presently came up, escorted by some eight 
or ten stout Missourians. Sublette was among the number, well 
known as a mountain trader, and under whose guidance the 
present party, which formed a pleasure expedition at the expense 
of a Scotch sportsman, was leisurely making its way across the 
mountains to the Columbia. As several mountaineers were in 
company, Killbuck and La Bonté recognized more than one friend, 
and the former and Sublette were old compaferos. As soon as 
the animals were unhitched, and camp formed on the banks of the 
ereek, a black cook set about preparing a meal. Our two trap- 
ping friends looked on with astonishment as the sable functionary 
drew from the wagon the different articles he required to furnish 
forth a feed. Hams, tongues, tins of preserved meats, bottles of 


148 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


pickles, of porter, brandy, coffee, sugar, flour, were tumbled pro- 
miscuously on the prairie; while pots and pans, knives, forks, 
spoons, plates, &c., &c., displayed their unfamiliar faces to the 
mountaineers. ‘‘ Hosh-posh and porter’ did not now appear such 
Utopian articles as they had first imagined; but no one but those 
who have fared for years on simple meat and water, can under- 
stand the relish with which they accepted the invitation of the 
Capen (as they called the Scotchman) to “take a horn of liquor.” 
Killbuck and La Bonté sat in the same position as when we first 
surprised them asleep under the shadow of Independence Rock, 
regarding the profuse display of comestibles with scarce-believing 
eyes, and childishly helpless from the novelty of the scene. Each 
took the proffered half-pint cup, filled to the brim with excellent 
brandy—(no tee-totalers they !)—looked once more at the amber- 
colored surface, and with the usual mountain pledge of “ here’s 
luck !”’ tossed off the grateful liquor at a breath. This prepared 
them in some measure for what was yet in store’ for them. The 
Scotchman bestirred the cook in his work, and soon sundry steam- 
ing pots were lifted from the fire, and the skillets emptied of their 
bread—the contents of the former poured in large flat pans, while 
panikins were filled with smoking coffee. The two trappers 
needed no second invitation, but, seizing each a panful of steam- 
ing stew, drew the butcher-knives from their belts, and fell to 
lustily—the hospitable Scotchman plying them with more and 
- more, and administering corrective noggins of brandy the while; 
until at last they were fain to cry enough, wiped their knives on 
the grass, and placed them in their sheaths—a sign that human 
nature could no more. How can pen describe the luxury of the 
smoke that followed, to lips which had not kissed pipe for many 
months, and how the fragrant honey-dew from Old Virginia was 
relishingly puffed. 

But the Scotchman’s bounty did not stop here. He soon elicited 
from the lips of the hunters the narrative of their losses and pri- 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 149 


vations, and learned that they now, without ammunition and 
_ searcely clothed, were on their way to Platte Fort, to hire them- 
selves to the Indian traders in order to earn another outfit, where- 
with once more to betake themselves to their perilous employment 
of trapping. What was their astonishment to see their entertainer 
presently lay out upon the ground two piles of goods, each con- 
sisting of a four-point Mackinaw, two tin canisters of powder, 
with corresponding lead and flints, a pair of moccasins, a shirt, 
and. sufficient buckskin to make a pair of pantaloons; and how 
much the more was the wonder increased when two excellent 
Indian horses were presently lassoed from the cavallada, and with 

untain saddle, bridle, and lariats complete, together with the 
two piles of goods described, presented to them “on the prairie” 
or “ oift-free,” by the kind-hearted stranger, who would not even 
listen to thanks for the most timely and invaluable present. 

Once more equipped, our two hunters, filled with good brandy 
and fat buffalo meat, again wended on their way; their late 
entertainers continuing their pleasure trip across the gap of the 
South Pass, intending to visit the Great Salt Lake, or Timpono- 
gos, of the West. ‘The former were bound for the North Fork 
of the Platte, with the intention of joming one of the numerous 
trapping parties which rendezvous at the American Fur Com- 
pany’s post on that branch of the river. On a fork of Sweet 
Water, however, not two days after the meeting with the Scotch- 
man’s wagons, they encountered a band of a dozen mountaineers, 
mounted on fine horses, and well armed and equipped, traveling 
along without the usual accompaniment of a mulada of pack- 
animals, two or three mules alone being packed with meat and 
spare ammunition. The band was proceeding at a smart rate, 
the horses moving with the gait peculiar to American animals, 
known as ‘“‘ pacing” or “vacking,” in Indian file—each of the 
mountaineers with a long, heavy rifle resting across the horn of 
his saddle. Among them our two friends recognized Markhead, 


150 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


who had been one of the party dispersed months before by the 

Blackfeet on one of the head streams of the Yellow Stone, which. 
event had been the origin of the dire sufferings of Killbuck and 

La Bonté. Markhead, after running the gauntlet of numerous 

Indians, through the midst of whose country he passed with his 

usual temerity and utter disregard to danger, suffering hunger, 
thirst, and cold—those every-day experiences of mountain life— 

riddled with balls, but with three scalps hanging from his belt, 

made his way to a rendezvous on Bear River, whence he struck 

out for the Platte in early spring, in time to join the band he 

now accompanied, who were on a horse-stealing expedition to the 

Missions of Upper California. Little persuasion did either Kill- 

buck or La Bonté require to join the sturdy freebooters. In five 

minutes they had gone “files-about,” and at sundown were camp- 

ing on the well-timbered bottom of “ Little Sandy,” feasting once 

more on delicate hump-rib and tender-loin. 

For California, ho! 

Fourteen good rifles in the hands of fourteen mountain men, 
stout and true, on fourteen strong horses, of true Indian blood 
and training ; fourteen cool heads, with fourteen pairs of keen 
eyes in them, each head crafty as an Indian’s, directing a right 
arm strong as steel, and a heart as brave as grizzly bear’s. Be- 
fore them a thousand miles of dreary desert or wilderness, overrun 
by hostile savages, thirsting for the white man’s blood ; famine 
and drought, the arrows of wily hordes of Indians—and, these 
dangers past, the invasion of the civilized settlements of whites, 
the least numerous of which contained ten times their number of 
armed and bitter enemies; the sudden swoop upon their countless 
herds of mules and horses, the fierce attack and bloody slaughter : 
such were the consequences of the expedition these bold mount- 
aineers were now engaged in. Fourteen lives of any fourteen 
enemies who would be rash enough to stay them, were, any day 
you will, carried in the rifle barrels of these stout fellows ; who, 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 151 


ee ee 


in all the proud consciousness of their physical qualities, neither 
thought nor cared to think of future perils ; and rode merrily on 
their way, rejoicing in the dangers théy must necessarily meet. 
Never a more daring band crossed the mountains: a more than 
ordinary want of caution characterized their march, and dangers 
recklessly and needlessly invited, which even the older and more 
cold-blooded mountaineers seemed not to care to avoid. They 
had, each and all, many a debt to pay the marauding Indians. 
Grudges for many privations, for wounds and loss of comrades, 
rankled in their breasts; and not one but had suffered more or 
less in property and person at the hands of the savages, within a 
few short months. Threats of vengeance on every Redskin they 
met were loud and deep; and the wild war-songs round their 

nightly camp- -fires, and grotesque scalp-dances, borrowed from the 
Indians, proved to the initiated that they were, one and all, “‘half- 
froze for hair.” Soon after Killbuck and La Bonté joined them, 
they one day suddenly surprised a band of twenty Sioux, scattered 
on a small prairie and butchering some buffalo they had just 
killed. Before they could escape, the whites were upon them 
with loud shouts, and in three minutes the scalps of eleven were 
dangling from their saddle-horns. 

Struggling up mountains, slipping down precipices, dashing over 
prairies which resounded with their Indian songs, charging the 
Indians wherever they met them, and without regard to their 
numbers ; frightening with their lusty war-whoops the miserable 
Diggers, who were not unfrequently surprised while gathering 
roots in the mountain plains, and who, scrambling up the rocks 
and concealing themselves, like sage rabbits, in holes and corners, 
peered, chattering with fear, as the wild and noisy troop rode by. 
Scarce drawing rein, they passed rapidly the heads of Green and 
Grand Rivers, through a country abounding in game and in 
excellent pasture ; encountering in the upland valleys, through 
which meandered the well-timbered creeks on which they made 


152 - LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


their daily camps, many a band of Yutas, through whom they 
dashed at random, caring not whether they were friends or foes. 
Passing many other heads of streams, they struck at last the edge 
of the desert, lying along the southeastern base of the Great Salt 
Lake, and which extends in almost unbroken sterility to the foot 
of the range of the Sierra Nevada—a mountain chain, capped 
with perpetual snow, that bounds the northern extremity of a 
singular tract of country, walled by mountains and utterly desert, 
whose salt lagoons and lakes, although fed by many streams, find 
no outlet to the ocean, but are absorbed in the spongy soil or 
thirsty sand, which characterizes the different portions of this 
deserted tract. In the “Grand Basin,” it is reported, neither 
human nor animal life can be supported. No oases cheer the 
wanderer in the unbroken solitude of the vast wilderness. More 
than once the lone trapper has penetrated, with hardy enterprise, 
into the salt plains of the basin; but no signs of beaver or fur- 
bearing animal rewarded the attempt. The ground is scantily 
covered with coarse, unwholesome grass that mules and horses 
refuse to eat; and the water of the springs, impregnated with 
the impurities of the soil through which it percolates, affords but 
nauseating draughts to the thirsty traveler. 

In passing from the more fertile uplands to the lower plains, 
as they descended the streams, the timber on their banks became 
scarcer, and the groves more scattered. The rich buffalo or grama 
grass was exchanged for a coarser species, on which the hard-work- 
ed animals soon grew poor and weak. ‘The thickets of plum and 
cherry, of box-alder and quaking ash, which had hitherto fringed 
the creeks, and where the deer and bear loved to resort—the 
former to browse on the leaves and tender shoots, the latter to 
devour the fruit—now entirely disappeared, and the only shrub 
seen was the eternal sage-bush, which flourishes every where in 
the western regions in uncongenial soils where other vegetation 
refuses to grow. The visible change in the scenery had also a 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 153 


sensible effect on the spirits of the mountaineers. They traveled 
on in silence through the deserted plains; the hi-hi-hiya of their 
Indian chants were no longer heard enlivening the line of march. 
More than once a Digger of the Piyutah tribe took himself and 
hair, in safety, from their path, and almost unnoticed ; but as 
they advanced they became more cautious in their movements, 
and testified, by the vigilant watch they kept up, that they an- 
ticipated hostile attacks even “in these arid wastes. They had 
passed without molestation through the country infested by the 
bolder Indians. The mountain Yutas, not relishing the appear- 
ance of the hunters, had left them unmolested ; but they were 
now entering a country inhabited by the most degraded and ab- 
ject of the western tribes; who, nevertheless, ever suffering from 
the extremities of hunger, have their brutish wits sharpened by 
the necessity of procuring food, and rarely fail to levy a contri- 
bution of rations, of horse or mule flesh, on the passenger in their 
inhospitable country. The brutish cunning and animal instinct 
of these wretches is such, that although arrant cowards, their 
attacks are more feared than those of bolder Indians. These 
people—called the Yamparicas, or Root Diggers—are, neverthe- 
less, the degenerate descendants of those tribes which once overran 
that portion of the continent of North America now comprehended 
within the boundaries of Mexico, and who have left such start- 
ling evidences in their track of a comparatively superior state of 
civilization. They now form an outcast tribe of the great nation 
of the Apache, which extends under various names from the Great 
Salt Lake along the table-lands on each side the Sierra Madre to 
the tropic of Cancer, where they merge into what are called the 
Mexican Indians. The whole of this nation is characterized by 
most abject cowardice; and they even refuse to meet the helpless 
Mexicans in open fight—unlike the Yuta or Camanche, who carry 
bold and open warfare into the territories of their civilized enemy, 
and never shrink from hand to hand encounter. The Apaches 
pe 


154 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


— 


and the degenerate Diggers pursue a cowardly warfare, hiding in 
ambush, and shooting the passer-by with arrows; or dashing upon 
him at night when steeped in sleep, they bury their arrow to the 
feather in his heaving breast. As the Mexicans say, ‘“ Siz ven- 
taja, no salen ;” they never attack without odds: But they are 
not the less dangerous enemies on this account; and by the small 
bands of trappers who visit their country, they are the more dreaded 
by reason of this cowardly and wolfish system of warfare. 

To provide against surprise, therefore, as the hunters rode along, 
flankers were extended en guerilla on each side, mounting the 
high points to reconnoiter the country, and keeping a sharp look- 
out for Indian sign. At night the animals were securely hobbled, 
aud a horse-guard posted round them—a service of great danger, 
as the stealthy, cat-like Diggers are often known to steal up 
silently, under cover of the darkness, toward the sentinel, shoot 
him with their arrows, and approaching the animals, cut the hob- 
bles and drive them away unseen. 

One night they encamped on a creek ‘where was but little of 
the coarsest pasture, and that little scattered here and there; so 
that they were compelled to allow their animals to roam farther 
than usual from camp in search of food. Four of the hunters, 
however, accompanied them to guard against surprise ; while but 
half of those in camp lay down to sleep, the others, with rifles in 
their hands, remained prepared for any emergency. This day 
they had lalled one of their two pack-mules for food, game not 
having been met with for several days; but the animal was so 
poor, that it scarcely afforded more than one tolerable meal to the 
whole party. 

A short time before the dawn of day, an alarm was given; the 
animals were heard to snort violently; a loud shout was heard, 
followed by the sharp crack of a rifle, and the tramp of galloping 
horses, plainly showed that a stampede had been effected. The 
whites instantly sprang to their arms, and rushed in the direction 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 155 


of the sounds. The body of the cavallada, however, had luckily 
turned, and, being headed by the mountaineers, were surrounded 
and secured, with the loss of only three, which had probably been 
mounted by the Indians. 

Day breaking soon after, one of their band was discovered to be 
missing ; and it was then found that a man who had been stand- 
ing horse-guard at the time of the attack, had not come into camp 
with his companions. At that moment a thin, spiral column of 
smoke was seen to rise from the banks of the creek, telling but too 
surely the fate of the missing mountaineer. It was the signal of 
the Indians to their people that a “coup” had been struck, and 
that an pete te scalp remained in their triumphant hands. 

‘“H—!” exclaimed the trappers in a breath; and soon impre- 
cations ind threats of revenge, loud and deep, were showered upon 
the heads of the treacherous Indians. Some of the party rushed 
to the spot where the guard had stood, and there lay the body of 
their comrade, pierced with lance and arrow, the scalp gone, and 
the body otherwise mutilated in a barbarous manner. Five were 
quickly in the saddle, mounted upon the strongest horses, and fly- 
ing along the track of the Indians, who had made off toward the 
mountains with their prize and booty. We will not follow them 
in their work of bloody vengeance, save by saying that they fok 
lowed the savages to their village, into which they charged head- 
long, recovered their stolen horses, and returned to camp at sun- 
down with thirteen scalps dangling from their rifles, in payment 
for the loss of their unfortunate companion.* 

In their further advance, hunger and thirst were their daily 


* In Frémont’s expedition to California, on a somewhat similar occasion, two 
mountaineers, one the celebrated Kit Carson, the other a St. Louis Frenchman 
named Godey, and both old trappers, performed a feat surpassing the one de- 
scribed above, inasmuch as they were but two. They charged into an Indian 
village to rescue some stolen horses, and avenge the slaughter of two New Mex- 
icans who had been butchered by the Indians ; both which objects they effected, 
returning to camp with the lost animals and a couple of propitiatory scalps. 


156 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


companions ; they were compelled to kill several of their animals 
for food, but were fortunate enough to replace them by_a stroke of 
good luck in meeting a party of Indians returning from an excur- 
sion against one of the Californian settlements with a tolerably 
large band of horses. Our hunters met this band one fine morn- 
ing, and dashed into the midst at once; half a dozen Indians bit 
the dust, and twenty horses were turned over from red to white 
masters in as many seconds, which remounted those whose ani- 
mals had been eaten, and enabled the others to exchange their 
worn-out steeds for fresh ones. This fortunate event was consid- 
ered a cowp, and the event was celebrated by the slaughter of a 
fat young horse, which furnished an excellent supper that night— 
a memorable event in these starveling regions. 

They were now devouring their horses and muies at the rate 
of one every alternate day ; for, so poor were the animals, that one 
scarcely furnished an ample meal for the thirteen hungry hunters. 
They were once more reduced to the animals they rode on; and, 
after a fast of twenty-four hours’ duration, were debating on the 
propriety of drawing lots as to whose Iosinante should fill the ket- 
tle, when some Indians suddenly appeared, making signs of peace 
upon the bluff, and indicating a disposition to enter the camp for 
the purpose of trading. Being invited to approach, they offered 
to trade a few dressed elk-skins; but being asked for meat, they 
said that their village was a long way off. and they had nothing 
with them but a small portion of some game they had lately kill- 
- ed. When requested to produce this, they hesitated, but the 
trappers looking hungry and angry at the same moment, an old 
Indian drew from under his blanket several flaps of portable dried 
meat, which he declared was bear’s. Jt was but a small ration 
among so many; but, being divided was quickly laid upon the 
fire to broil. The meat was stringy, and of a whitish color, alto- 
gether unlike any flesh the trappers had before eaten. Killbuck 
was the first to discover this. He had been quietly masticating 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 157 


the last mouthful of his portion, the stringiness of which required 
more than usual dental exertion, when the novelty of the flavor 
struck him as something singular. Suddenly his jaws ceased 
their work, he thought a moment, took the morsel from his mouth, 
looked at it intently, and dashed it into the fire. 

‘“Man-meat, by G—!” he cried out; and at the words every 
jaw stopped work: the trappers looked at the meat and each 
other. 

“T’m dog-gone if it ain’t!” cried old Walker, looking at his 
piece, ‘‘and white meat at that, wagh !” (and report said it was 
not the first time he had tasted such viands ;) and the conviction 
seizing each mind, every mouthful was quickly spat into the fire, 
and the ire of the deceived whites was instantly turned upon the 
luckless providers of the feast. They saw the storm that was 
brewing, and without more ado turned tail from the camp, and 
scuttled up the bluffs, where, turning round, they fired a volley of 
arrows at. the tricked mountaineers, and instantly disappeared. 

However, the desert and its nomade pilferers were at length 
passed ; the sandy plains became grass-covered prairies ; the mon- 
strous cotton-wood on the creeks was replaced by oak and ash; the 
surface of the country grew more undulating, and less broken up 
into canons and ravines; elk and deer leaped in the bottoms, and 
bands of antelope dotted the plains, with occasional troops of wild 
horses, too wary to allow the approach of man. On the banks of 
a picturesque stream called the San Joaquim, the party halted a 
few days to recruit themselves and animals, feasting the while on 
the fattest of venison and other game. They then struck to the 
southeast for two days, until they reached a branch of the ‘“ Las 
Animas,” a clear stream running through a pretty valley, well 
timbered, and abounding in game. Here, as they wound along 
the river-banks, a horseman suddenly appeared upon the bluff 
above them, galloping at a furious rate along the edge.. His dress 
approached in some degree to civilized attire. A. broad-brimmed 


x ' 


f 
158 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


sombrero surmounted his swarthy face ; a colored blanket, through 
a slit in which his head was thrust, floated in the air from his 
shoulders ; leathern leggings encased his lower limbs; and huge 
spurs jingled on his heels. He rode in a high-peaked Mexican 
saddle, his feet thrust in ponderous stirrups, and in his hand 
swung a coil of ready lasso, his only offensive arm. One of the 
trappers knew a little Spanish, and instantly hailed him. 

“ Compadre,” he shouted, “por onde va?” The Californian 
reined in suddenly, throwing the horse he rode on its very haunches, 
and darting down the bluff, galloped unhesitatingly into the midst 
of the hunters. 


“ Americanos!” he exclaimed, glancing at them; and continued, 
3 
smilings-—‘ Y caballos quieren, por eso vienen tan lejitos. Jesus, 
oO 
gue mala gente !”— It’s horses you want, and for this you come 


all this way. Ah, what rogues you are!” 

He was an Indian, employed at the mission of San Fernando, 
distant three days’ journey from their present position, and was 
now searching for a band of horses and mules which had strayed. 
San Fernando, it appeared, had once before been visited by a party 
of mountain freebooters, and the Indian therefore divined the 
object of the present one. He was, he told them, “wn Indio, pero 
mansito : an Indian, but a tame one;* ‘de mas, Christiano :” 
a Christian moreover (exhibiting a small cross which hung round 
his neck). There were many people about the mission, he said, 
who knew how to fight, and had plenty of arms; and there were 
enough to ‘eat up” the “ Americanos, sin frijoles,” without 
beans, as he facetiously observed. for his part, however, he was 
very friendly to the Americanos ; he had once met a man of that 
nation who was a good sort of fellow, and had made him a present 
of tobacco, of which he was particularly fond. Finding this hint 
did not take, he said that the horses and mules belonging to the 


* The Mexicans call the Indians living near the missions and engaged in agri- 
culture, mansos, or mansitos, tame. 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. (159 


mission were innumerable—“ like that,’ he added, sweeping his 
hand to all points of the compass over the plain, to intimate that 
they would cover that extent ; and he could point out a large herd 
grazing nearer at hand than the mission, and guarded but by three 
vaqueros. KRegaled with venison, and with a smoke of his coveted 
tobacco, he rode off, and made his way to the mission without 
delay, conveying the startling intelligence that a thousand Amer- 
icans were upon them. 

The next morning the thirteen doughty mountaineers quietly 
resumed their journey, moving leisurely along toward the object 
of their expedition. 

It will not be out of place here to digress a little, in order to 
describe the singular features of the establishments formed in these 
remote regions by the Catholic church, as nuclei round which to 
concentrate the wandering tribes that inhabit the country, with a 
view to give them the benefit of civilized example, and to wean 
them from their restless nomadic habits.  - 

The establishment of missions in Upper California is coeval 
with the first settlement of Southern Mexico. No sooner had 
Spanish rule taken a firm foothold in the Aztec empire, than the 
avowed primary object of the military expedition began to be 
carried into effect. ‘To save the souls” of the savage and bar 
barous subjects of their most Catholic majesties was ever incul- 
cated upon the governers of the conquered country as the grand 
object to be sought after, as soon as tranquillity was partially re- 
stored by the submission of the Mexicans; and the Cross, the 
sacred emblem of the Catholic faith, was to be upraised in the 
remotest corners of the country, and the natives instructed and 
compelled to worship it, in lieu of the grotesque images of their 
own idolatrous religion. 

To carry into effect these orthodox instructions, troops of pious 
priests, of friars, and monks of every order, and even of saintly 
nuns, followed in the wake of the victorious armies of Cortez; 


160 LIFE. IN THE FAR WEST. 


and, girding up their loins with zealous fervor and enthusiasm, 
and with an enterprise and hardihood worthy of bucaniers, they 
pushed their adventurous way far into the -bowels of the land, 
preaching devoutly and with commendable perseverance to savages 
who did not understand a syllable of what they so eloquently dis- 
coursed ; and returning, after the lapse of many months passed in 
this first attempt, with glowing accounts of the “muy bwen 
andole,’ the very ductile disposition of the savages, and of the 
thousands they had converted to “la santa fé catolica.”’ 
Ferdinand and Isabel, of glorious memory, at once beat up for 
volunteers. Crowds of Franciscan monks, greasy Capuchinos, and 
nuns of orthodox odor, joined the band; and saints even of the 
feminine gender, long since canonized and up aloft among the 
goodly muster of saints and martyrs, put foot once more on terra 
firma, and, rosary in hand, crossed the seas to participate in the 
good work. As proof of this latter fact, one Venabides, a Fran- 
ciscan, whose veracity is beyond impeachment, declared that, 
while preaching im the regions now known as New Mexico, one 
million Indians from the ‘“‘rumbo” known as Cibolo, a mighty 
nation, approached his temporary pulpit on the Rio Grande, and 
requested in a body the favor of being baptized. Struck with the 
singularity of this request from Indians with whom he had as yet 
held no cormmunication, and with conscientieas scruples as to 
whether he would be justified in performing such ceremony with- 
out their having received previous instruction, he hesitated a few 
moments before making an answer. At this juncture the Indians 
espied a medallion which hung around his neck, bearing the effigy 
of a certain saint of extraordinary virtue. At sight of this they 
fell on their knees before it; and it was some time before they 
found words (in what language does not appear) to explain to the 
holy father that the original of that effigy, which hung pendent 
from his neck, had been long among them instructing them in the 
elements of the Christian religion, and had only lately disappeared ; 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 161 


informing them that certain reverend men would shortly appear in 
the land, who would finish the good work she had devoutly com- 
menced, and clench the business by baptizing the one million mis- 
erable sinners who now knelt before El Padre Venabides. 

“Valgame Dios" reverently exclaimed that worthy man, “ qui 
milagro es este ;” [what a miracle is this I hear ;] and casting up 
his eyes, and speaking slowly, as if he weighed every word, and 
taxing his memory of the historical calendar of saints, continued— 

“ Se murt6é—aquella—santissima—muger—en el ano 175—es- 
decir—ya hacen—mil—quatro—cientos—anos.” [That most 
holy woman died in the year 175, that is to say, one thousand 
four hundred years ago.] 

“Oh, what a strange thing is this!” the padre continues de- 
voutly. ‘‘ After so many ages spent in heaven in company of the 
angels, of most holy men, and of virgins the most pure ; and, per- 
haps, also in the company of my worthy and esteemed friend and 
patron, Don Vincente Carvajal y Calvo, who died a few years ago 
in San Lucar of Xeres (bequeathing me certain arrobas of dry 
wine, of a class I greatly esteem—for which act he deserved to be 
canonized, and, I have no doubt, is), the said Don Vincente Car- 
vajal y Calvo being, moreover, a man of the purest and holiest 
thoughts (Dios mio! what a puchero that man always had on his 
table!) this holy woman comes here—to these wild and remote 
regions ; this holy woman (who died fifteen hundred years ago), 
abandoning the company of angels, of holy men, and sanctified 
women and virgins, and also of Don Vincente Carvajal y Calvo 
(that worthy man !)—comes here, I say, where there are neither 
pucheros, nor garbanzos, nor dry wine, nor sweet wine, neither of 
Xeres, nor of Val de Penas, nor of Peralta; where” (sobbed the 
padre, and bellowed the last word) “‘ there is—nothing either to eat 
or to drink. Valgame Purissima Maria! And what is the name 
of this holy woman? the world will ask,” continues Venabides. 


“Santa Clara of Carmona is her name, one well known in my 
; | 


162 LIF £).IN THE FAR ‘WEST. 


native country, who leaves heaven and all its joys, wends her way 
to the distant wilds of New Spain, and spends years in inducting 
the savage people to the holy faith. Truly a pious work, and 
pleasing to God!” * 

Thus spoke Venabides the Franciscan, and no doubt he believed 
what he said; and many others in old Spain were fools enough to 
believe it too, for the shaven heads flocked over in greater num- 
bers, and the cry was ever “ still they come.” 

Along the whole extent of the table-lands, not an Indian tribe 
but was speedily visited by the preaching friars and monks; and, 
in less than a century after the conquest of Mexico by the Span- 
iards, these hardy and enthusiastic frayles had pushed their way 
ito the inhospitable regions of New Mexico, nearly two thousand 
miles distant from the valley of Anahuac. How they succeeded 
in surmounting the natural obstacles presented by the wild and 
barren deserts they traversed ; how they escaped the infinite peril 
they encountered at every step, at the hands of the savage inhab- 
itants of the country, with whose language they were totally unac- 
quainted, is sufficient puzzle to those who, in the present day, have 
attempted a journey in the same regions. 

However, it is impossible not to admire the hardihood of these 
holy pioneers of civilization, who, totally unfitted by their former 
mode of life for undergoing such hardships as they must have an- 
ticipated, threw themselves into the wilderness with fearless and 
stubborn zeal. 

For the most part, however, they found the Indians exceedingly 
hospitable and well disposed; and it was not until some time after 
—when, receiving from the missionary monks glowing, and not al- 
ways very truthful accounts of the riches of the country in which 
they had located themselves, the governors of Mexico dispatched 


* From a manuscript obtained in Santa Fé of New Mexico, describing the 
labors of the missionaries Fray Augustin Ruiz, Venabides, and Marcos, in the 
year 1585. 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 163 


armed expeditions under adventurous desperadoes to take and re- 
tain possession of the said country, with orders to compel the sub- 
mission of the native tribes, and enforce their obedience to the 
authority of the whites—that the simple and confiding Indians 
began to see the folly they had committed in permitting the resi- 
dence among them of these superior beings, whom they had first 
looked upon as more than mortal, but who, when strong enough to 
do so, were not long in throwing off the mask, and proving to the 
simple savages that they were much ‘“‘ more human than divine.” 

Thus, i the province of New Mexico, Fray Augustin Ruiz, 
with his co-preachers, Marcos and Venabides, were kindly received 
by the inhabitants, and we have seen how one million (?) Indians 
came from the “rumbo’’ of the cibolo, ready and willing to receive 
the baptismal sacrament. This Cibolo, or Sivulo, as it is written 
in some old MSS.., is, by the way, mysteriously alluded to by the 
monkish historians who have written on this region, as being a 
kingdom inhabited by a very superior class of Indians to any met 
with between Anahuac and the Vale of T’aos—in the enjoyment 
of a high state of civilization, mhabiting a well-built city, the 
houses of which were three stories high, and having attained con- 
siderable perfection in the domestic arts. This, notwithstanding 
the authority of Don Francisco Vasquez Coronado, who visited’ 
Cibolo, and of Solis and Venegas, who have guaranteed the asser- 
tion, must be received cum grano salis; but, at all events, the 
civilization of the mysterious Cibolo may be compared to that of 
the Aztec empire, under Montezuma, at the time of the Spanish 
Conquest, both being egregiously exaggerated by the historians of 
the day. Cibolo was situated on a river-called Tegue. At this 
day, neither name is known to the inhabitants of New Mexico. 
If pate-shaven Venabides had held his tongue, New Mexico might 
now be in the peaceful possession of the Catholic Missions, and the 
property of the Church of Mexico pretty considerably enhanced by 
the valuable placeres, or gold washings, which abound in that prov- | 


164 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


ince. Full, however, of the wonderful miracle of Santa Clara of 
Carmona, which had been brought to light through the agency of 
the- medallion at the end of his rosario, Fray Venabides must 
needs return to Spain, and humbug poor old Fernando, and even 
the more sensible Isabel, with wonderful accounts of the riches of 
the country he had been instrumental in exploring, and of the ex- 
cellent disposition of the natives to receive the word of God. Don 
Juan Onate was, therefore, quickly dispatched to take possession ; 
and in his train followed twelve Castilian families of sangre azul, 
to colonize the newly acquired territory. The names of these still 
remain, disgraced by the degenerate wretches who now bear them, 
but in whom scarce a drop of blood remains which ever filtered 
from the veins of the paladins of Old Castile. 

Then commenced the troublous times. The missions were up- 
held by dint of steel alone ; and frequently the Indians rose, and 
often massacred their white persecutors. The colonists were more 
than once driven bodily from New Mexico, and were only rein- 
stated by the aid of large bodies of armed men. 

In California, however, they managed these things better. The 
wily monks took care to keep all interlopers from the country, es- 
tablished themselves in snug quarters, instructed the Indians in 
agriculture, and soon gained such an ascendency over them, that 
no difficulty was experienced in keeping them under proper and 
wholesome restraint. Strong and commodious missions were built 
and fortified, well stored with arms and ammunition, and contain- 
ing sufficient defenders to defy attack. Luxuriant gardens and 
thriving vineyards soon surrounded these isolated stations: the 
plains waved with golden corn; while domestic cattle, thriving on 
the rich pasture, and roaming far and near, multiplied and in- 
creased a hundred fold. 

Nothing can be more beautiful than the appearance of one 
of these missions, to the traveler who has lately passed the arid 
and barren wilderness of the Northwest. The adobe walls of 


: 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 165 


the convent-looking building, surmounted by cross and belfry, are 
generally hidden in a mass of luxuriant vegetation. IF ig-trees, 
bananas, cherry, and apple, leaf-spreading platanos, and groves 
of olives, form umbrageous vistas, under which the sleek monks 
delight to wander ; gardens, cultivated by their own hands, testify 
to the horticultural skill of the worthy padres ; while vineyards 
yield their grateful produce to gladden the hearts of the holy exiles 
in these western solitudes. Vast herds of cattle roam half-wild 
on the plains, and bands of mules and horses, whose fame has even 
reached the distant lable-lands of the Rocky Mountains, and excit- 
ed the covetousness of the hunters—and thousands of which, from 
the day they are foaled to that of their death, never feel a saddle 
on their backs—cover the country. Indians (Mansitos) idle round 
the skirts of these vast herds (whose very numbers keep them to- 
gether), living, at their own choice, upon the flesh of mule, or ox, 
or horse. 


CHAPTER VII. 


Tae Mission of San Fernando is situated on a small river called 
Las Animas, a branch of the Los Martires. - The convent is built 
at the neck of a large plain, at the point of influx of the stream 
from the broken spurs of the sierra. The savanna is covered with 
luxuriant grass, kept down, however, by the countless herds of cat- 
tle which pasture on it. The banks of the creek are covered with 
a lofty growth of oak and poplar, which near the Mission have been 
considerably thinned for the purpose of affording fuel and building 
materials for the increasing settlement. The convent stands in 
the midst of a grove of fruit-trees, its rude tower and cross peep- 
ing above them, and contrasting picturesquely with the wildness 
of the surrounding scenery. Gardens and orchards lie immediate- 
ly in front of the building, and a vineyard stretches away to the 
upland ridge of the valley. The huts of the Indians are scattered 
here and there, built of stone and adobe, sometimes thatched with 
flags and boughs, but comfortable enough. ‘The convent itself is 
a substantial building, of the style of architecture characterizing 
monastic edifices in most parts of the world. Loopholes peer 
from its plastered walls, and on a flat portion of the roof a comically 
mounted gingall or wall-piece, carrying a two-pound ball, threat- 
ens the assailant in time of war. At one end of the oblong build- 
ing, a rough irregular arch of sun-burned bricks is surmounted by 

a rude cross, under which hangs a small but deep toned bell—the 
wonder of the Indian peones, and highly venerated by the frayles 
themselves, who received it as a present from a certain venerable 


archbishop of Old Spain, and who, while guarding it with rever- 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 167 


ential awe, tell wondrous tales of its adventures on the road to its 
present abiding place. 

Of late years the number of the canonical inmates of the con- 
vent has been much reduced—there being but four priests now to 
do the duties of the eleven who formerly inhabited it: Fray Au- 
gustin, a Capuchin of due capacity of paunch, being at the head 
of the holy quartette. Augustin is the conventual name of the 
reverend father, who fails not to impress upon such casual visitants 
to that ultima Thule as he deems likely to appreciate the inform- 
ation, that, but for his humility, he might add the sonorous ap- 
pellations of Ignacio Sabanal-Morales-y Fuentes—his family being 
of the best blood of Old Castile, and known there since the days 
of Ruy Gomez—el Campéador—possessing, moreover, half the 
“veoa’’ of the Ebro, &c., where, had fate been propitious, he 
would now have been the sleek superior of a rich capuchin con- 
vent, instead of vegetating, a leather-clad frayle, in the wilds of 
California Alta. 

Nevertheless, his lot is no bad one. With plenty of the best 
and fattest meat to eat, whether of beef or venison, of bear or 
mountain mutton; with good wine and brandy of home make, and 
plenty of it; fruit of all climes in great abundance; wheaten or 
corn bread to suit his palate ; a tractable flock of natives to guide, 
and assisted in the task by three brother shepherds ; far from the 
strife of politics or party—secure from hostile attack (not quite, 
by-the-by), and eating, drinking, and sleeping away his time, one 
would think that Fray Augustin Ignacio Sabanal-Morales-y Fuentes 
had little to trouble him, and had no cause to regret even the vega 
of Castilian Ebro, held by his family since the days of el Cam- 
néador. 

One evening Fray Augustin sat upon an adobe bench, under the 
fig-tree shadowing the porch of the Mission. He was dressed ina 
goat-skin jerkin, softly and beautifully dressed, and descending to 
his hips, under which his only covering—tell it not in Gath !—~ 


168 ' *LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


was a long linen shirt, reaching to his knees, and lately procured 
from Puebla de los Angeles, as a sacerdotal garment. Boots, 
stockings, or unmentionables, he had none. A cigarito, of tobacco 
rolled in corn shuck, was occasionally placed between his lips; 
whereupon huge clouds of smoke rushed in columns from his mouth 
and nostrils. His face was of a golden yellow color, relieved by 
arched and very black eyebrows; his shaven chin was of most 
respectable duplicity—his corporation of orthodox dimensions. 
Several Indians and half-breed Mexican women were pounding 
Indian corn on metates near at hand; while sundry _beef-fed 
urchins of whitey-brown complexion sported before the door, ex- 
hibiting, as they passed Fray Augustin, a curious resemblance to 
the strongly marked features of that worthy padre. They were 
probably his nieces and nephews—a class of relations often pos- 
sessed in numbers by priests and monks. 

The three remaining brothers were absent from the Mission ; 
Fray Bernardo, hunting elk in the sierra ; Fray Jose, gallivanting 
at Puebla de los Angeles, ten days’ journey distant ; Fray Cristo- 
val, lassoing colts upon the plain. Augustin, thus left to his own 
resources, had just eaten his vespertine frijolitos and chile colorado, 
and was enjoying a post-ceenal smoke of fragrant pouche under the 
shadow of his own fig-tree. | 

While thus employed, an Indian dressed in Mexican attire 
approached him hat in hand, and, making a reverential bow, asked 
his directions concerning domestic business of the Mission. 

“Hola! friend José,” cried Fray Augustin in a thick guttural 
voice, ‘‘pensaba yo—I was thinking that it was very nearly this 
time three years ago when those ‘malditos Americanos’ came by 
here and ran off with so many of our cavallada.” 

«True, reverend father,’ answered the administrador, “just 
three years ago, all but fifteen days: I remember it well. Malditos 
sean—curse them !” 

“How many did we kill, José ?” 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 169 


‘“Quizas moochos—a great many, I dare say. But they did 
not fight fairly—charged right upon us, and gave us no time to do 
any thing. ‘They don’t know how to fight, these Mericanos: 
come right at you, before you can swing a lasso, hallooing like 
Indios Bravos.” 

“ But, José, how many did they leave dead on the field ?” 

“Not one.” 

“And we?” 

“Valgame Dios! thirteen dead, and many more wounded.” 

“That’s it! Now if these savages come again (and the 
Chemeguaba, who came in yesterday, says he saw a large trail), 
we must fight adentro—within—outside is no go; for as you very 
properly say, José, these Americans don’t know how to fight, and. 
kill us before—before we can kill them! Vaya!” 

At this moment there issued from the door of the Mission Don 
Antonio Velez Trueba, a Gachupin—that is, a native of Old 
Spain—a wizened old hidalgo refugee, who had left the mother 
country on account of his political opinions, which were stanchly 
Carlist, and had found his way—how, he himself scarcely knew— 
from Mexico to San Francisco in Upper California, where, having 
a most perfect contempt for every thing Mexican, and hearing 
that m the Mission of San Fernando, far away, were a couple of 
Spanish padres of “sangre regular,” he had started into the 
wilderness to ferret them out ; and having escaped all dangers on 
the route (which, however, were hardly dangers to the Don, who 
could not realize the idea of scalp-taking savages), had arrived with 
a whole skin at the Mission. There he was received with open 
arms by his countryman Fray Augustin, who made him welcome 
to all the place afforded, and there he harmlessly smoked away his 
time ; his heart far away on the banks of the Geni] and in the 
grape-bearing vegas of his beloved Andalusia, his withered cuerpo 
in the sierras of Upper California. Don Antonio was the walking 
essence of a Spaniard of the ancien régime. His family dated 


H 


170 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


from the Flood, and with the exception of sundry refreshing jets of 
Moorish blood, injected into the Truebas during the Moorish epoch, 
no strange shoot was ever engrafted on their genealogical tree. 
The marriages of the family were ever confined to the family itself 
—never looking to fresh blood in a station immediately below it, 
which was not hidaleuefio; nor above, since any thing higher in 
rank than the Trueba y Trueba family, 20 haéza, there was not. 

Thus, in the male and female scions of the house, were plainly 
visible the ill effects of breeding ‘‘in and in.” The male Truebas 
were sadly degenerate Dons, in body as in mind—compared to 
their ancestors of Boabdil’s day; and the sennoritas of the name 
were all eyes, and eyes alone, and hardly of such stamp as would 
have tempted that amorous monarch to bestow a kingdom for a 
kiss, as ancient ballads tell. 


“ Duenia de la negra toca, 
Por un beso de tu boca, 
Diera un reyno, Boabdil 
Y yo por ello, Cristiana, 
Te diera de buena gana 
Mil ceilos, si fueran mil.” 


Come of such poor stock, and reared on tobacco smoke and 
*‘ gazpacho,’ Don Antonio would not have shone, even among 
pigmy Mexicans, for physical beauty. Five feet high, a frame- 
work of bones covered with a skin of Andalusian tint, the Trueba 
stood erect and stiff in all the consciousness of his ‘sangre regu- 
lar.” His features were handsome, but entirely devoid of flesh, 
his upper lip was covered with a jet-black mustache mixed with 
gray, his chin was bearded “like the pard.” Every one around 
him clad in deer and goat-skin, our Don walked conspicuous in 
shining suit of black—much the worse for wear, it must be con- 
fessed—with beaver hat sadly battered, and round his body and 
over his shoulder an unexceptionable “capa” of the amplest di- 
mensions. Asking, as he stepped over him, the pardon of an 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 171 


Indian urchin who blocked the door, and bowing with punctil- 
lous politeness to the sturdy mozas who were grinding corn, Don 
Antonio approached our friend Augustin, who was discussing war- 
like matters with his administrador. 

“ Hola! Don Antonio, how do you find yourself, sir ?” 

“ Perfectly well, and your very humble servant, reverend father ; 
and your worship also, I trust you are in good health ?” 

“ Sen novedad—without novelty ;” which, since it was one 
hour and a half since our friends had separated to take their 
siestas, was not impossible. 

“Myself and the worthy José,” continued Fray Augustin, 
“were speaking of the vile invasion of a band of North Ameri- 
can robbers, who three years since fiercely assaulted this peaceful 
Mission, killing many of its inoffensive inhabitants, wounding 
many more, and carrying off several of our finest colts and most 
promising mules to their dens and caves in the Rocky Mountains. 
Not with impunity, however, did they effect this atrocity. José 
informs me that many of the assailants were killed by my brave 
Indians. How many said you, José?” 

‘“‘Quizas mo-o-ochos,” answered the Indian. 

“Yes, probably a great multitude,” continued the padre; “but, | 
unwarned by such well-merited castigation, it has been reported 
to me by a Chemeguaba mansito, that a band of these audacious 
marauders are now on the road to repeat the offense, numbering 
many thousands, well mounted and armed ; and to oppose these 
white barbarians it behoves us to make every preparation of de- 
fense.”’* 

“There is no cause for alarm,’’ answered the Andaluz. ‘I 
(tapping his breast) have served in three wars: in that glorious 
one ‘de la Independencia,’ when our glorious patriots drove the 
French like sheep across the Pyrenees ; in that equally glorious 


99 


* From the report to the Governor of California by the Head of the Mission, 
in reference to the attacks by the American mountaineers. 


\ 


172 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


one of 1521; and in the late magnanimous struggle for the legiti- 
mate rights of his majesty Charles V., king of Spain (doffing his 
hat), whom God preserve. With that right arm,” cried the spirited 
Don, extending his shriveled member, “I have supperted the 
throne of my kings—have fought for my country, mowing down 
its enemies before me; and with it,’ vehemently exclaimed the 
Gachupin, working himself into a perfect frenzy, “I will slay 
these Norte Americanos, should they dare to show their faces 
in my front. Adios, Don Augustin Ignacio Sabanal-Morales-y 
Fuentes,” he cried, doffing his hat with an earth-sweeping bow ; 
“T go to grind my sword. ‘Till then, adieu!” 

‘““A countryman of mine!” said the frayle, admiringly, to the 
administrador. ‘ With him by our side we need not to fear; 
neither Norte Americanos, nor the devil himself, can harm us 
when he is by.” 

While the Trueba sharpens his Tizona, and the priest puffs 
volumes of smoke from his nose and mouth, let us introduce to 
the reader one of the muchachitas, who knelt grinding corn on 
the metate, to make tortillas for the evening meal. Juanita was 
a stout wench from Sonora, of Mexican blood, hardly as dark as 
the other women who surrounded her, and with a drop or two of 
the old Spanish blood struggling with the darker Indian tint to 
color her plump cheeks. An enagua (a short petticoat) of red 
serge was confined round her waist by a gay band ornamented 
with beads, and a chemisette covered the upper part of the body, 
permitting, however, a prodigal display of her charms. While 
pounding sturdily at the corn, she laughed and joked with her 
fellow-laborers upon the anticipated American attack, which ap- 
peared to have but few terrors for her. ‘Que vengan,” she ex- 
claimed, “let them come; they are only men, and will not molest 
us women. Besides, I have seen these white men before—in my 
own country, and they are fine fellows, very tall, and as white as 
the snow on the sierras. Let them come, say I!” 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 173 


‘Only hear the girl!” cried another ; “if these savages come, 
then will they lull Pedrillo, and what will Juanita say to lose her 
sweetheart ?” 

““Pedrillo !” sneered the latter; “what care I for Pedrillo? 
Soy Mejicana, yo—a Mexican girl am I, I’d have you know, and 
don’t demean me to look at a wild Indian. Not I, indeed, by 
my salvation! ‘What I say is, let the Norte Americanos come.” 

At this juncture Fray Augustin called fora glass of aguardiente, 
which Juanita was dispatched to bring, and on presenting it, the 
churchman facetiously inquired why she wished for the Americans, 
adding, “ Don’t think they'll come here—no, no; here we are 
brave men, and have Don Antonio with us, a noble fellow, well 
used to arms.” As the words were on his lips, the clattering of a 
horse’s hoofs was heard rattling across the loose stones and pebbles 
in the bed of the river, and presently an Indian herder galloped 
up to the door of the Mission, his horse covered with foam, and 
its sides bleeding ae spur-wounds. 

“Oh, padre mio!” he cried, as soon as he caught sight of his 
reverence, ‘‘vienen los Americanos—the Americans, the Americans 
are upon us. Ave Maria purissima!—more than ten thousand 
are at my heels!” 

Up started the priest, and shouted for the Don. 

That hidalgo presently appeared, armed with the sword that 
had graced his thigh in so many glorious encounters—the sword 
with which he had mowed down the enemies of his country, and 
by whose aid he now proposed to annihilate the American savages, 
should they dare to appear before him. 

The alarm was instantly given ; peones, vaqueros hurried from 
the plains; and milpas, warned by the deep-toned bell, which 
soon rung out its sonorous alarum. A score of mounted Indians, 
armed with gun and lasso, dashed off to bring intelligence of the 
enemy. The old gingall on the roof was crammed with powder 
and bullets to the very muzzle, by the frayle’s own hand. Arms 


174 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


were brought and’ piled in the sala, ready for use. ‘The padre 
exhorted, the women screamed, the men grew pale and nervous, 
and thronged within the walls. Don Antonio, the fiery Andaluz, 
alone remained outside, flourishing his whetted saber, and roaring 
to the padre, who stood on the roof with lighted match, by the 
side of his formidable cannon, not to be affrighted.. ‘“ That he, 
the Trueba, was there, with his Tizona, ready to defeat the devil 
himself should he come on.” 

He was deaf to the entreaties of the priest to enter. 

“Siempre en el frente—Ever in the van,” he said, “was the 
war cry of the Truebas.” 

But now a cloud of dust was seen approaching from the plain, 
and presently a score of horsemen dashed headlong toward the 
Mission. ‘ El enemigo,”’ shouted. Fray Augustin; and without 
waiting to aim, he clapped his match to the touch-hole of the 
gun, harmlessly pointed to the sky, and crying out “In el nombre 
de Dios’—in God’s name—-as he did so, was instantly knocked 
over and over by the recoil of the piece, then was as instantly 
seized by some of the Indian garrison, and forced through the 
trap-door into the building; while the horsemen (who were his 


? 


own scouts) galloped up with the intelligence that the enemy was 
at hand, and in overwhelming force. 

Thereupon the men were all mounted, and formed in a body 
before the building, to the amonnt of more than fifty, well armed 
with guns or bows and arrows. Here the gallant Don harangued 
them, and infusing into their hearts a little of his own courage, 
they eagerly demanded to be led against the enemy. Fray Au- 
gustin re-appeared on the roof, gave them his blessing, advised 
them to give no quarter, and, with slight misgivings, saw them 
ride off to the conflict. 

About a mile from the Mission, the plain eodnally ascended to 
a ridge of moderate elevation, on which was a growth of dwarf 
oak and ilex. ‘To this point the eyes of the remaining inmates of 


: 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST, 175 


the convent were earnestly directed, as here the enemy was first 
expected to make his appearance. Presently a few figures were 
seen to crown the ridge, clearly defined against the clear evening 
sky. Not more than a dozen mounted men composed this party, 
which all imagined must be doubtless the vanguard of the thou- 
sand invaders. On the summit of the ridge they halted a few 
minutes, as if to reconnoiter; and by this time the Californian 
horsemen were halted in the plain, midway between the Mission | 
and the ridge, and distant from the former less than half-a-mile, 
so that all the operations were clearly visible to the lookers-on. 
The enemy wound slowly, in Indian file, down the broken ground 
of the descent ; but when the plain was reached, they formed into 
something like a line, and trotted fearlessly toward the Californi- 
ans. These began to sit uneasily in their saddles; nevertheless 
they made a forward movement, and even broke into a gallop, but 
soon halted, and again huddled together. Then the mountaineers 
quickened their pace, and their loud shout was heard as they 
dashed into the middle of the faltering troop. The sharp cracks 
of the rifles followed, and the duller reports of the smooth-bored 
pieces of the Californians, flying like mad across the level. The 
little steady line of the mountaineers advanced, and puffs of smoke 
arose, as they loaded and discharged their rifles at the flying horse- 
men. As the Americans came on, however, one was seen to totter 
in his saddle, the rifle fell from his grasp, and he tumbled head- 
long to the ground. For an instant his companions surrounded 
the fallen man, but again forming, dashed toward the Mission, 
shouting fierce war-whoops, and brandishing aloft their long and 
heavy rifles. Of the defeated Californians some jumped off their 
horses at the door of the Mission, and sought shelter within ; 
others galloped off toward the sierra in panic-striken flight. Be- 
fore the gate, however, still paced valiantly the proud hidalgo, 
encumbered with his cloak, and waving with difficulty his sword 
above his head. ‘To the priest and women, who implored him 


176 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


to enter, he replied with cries of defiance, ‘“‘ Viva Carlos Quinto,” 
and, “ Death or glory.” He shouted in vain to the flying crowd 
to halt ; but, seeing their panic was beyond hope, he clutched his 
weapon more firmly as the Americans dashed at him, closed his 
teeth and his eyes, thought once of the vega of his beloved Genil, 
and of Granada la Florida, and gave himself up for lost. Those 
inside the mission, when they observed the flight of their cavalry, 
gave up the defense as hopeless; and already the charging moun- 
taineers were almost under the walls, when they observed the 
curious figure of the little Don making demonstrations of hostility. 

“"Wagh!” exclaimed the leading hunter (no other than our 
friend La Bonté), “here’s a little crittur as means to do all the 
fighting ;”’ and seizing his rifle by the barrel he poked at the 
Don with the butt-end, who parried the blow, and with such 

a sturdy stroke, as nearly severed the stock in two. Another 
mountaineer rode up, and, swinging his lasso overhead, threw the 
noose dexterously over the. Spaniard’s head, and as it fell over his 
shoulders, drew it taut, thus securing the arms of the pugnacious 
Don as in a vice. | 

“Quartel !” cried the latter; “‘ por Dios, quartel !”’ 

“Quarter be d—!” exclaimed one of the whites, who. under- 
stood Spanish ; “‘ who’s a-goin’ to hurt you, you little crittur ?” 

By this time Fray Augustin was waving a white flag from the 
roof, in token of surrender ; and soon after he appeared trembling 
at the door, beseeching the victors to be merciful and to spare the 
lives of the vanquished, when all and every thing in the Mission 
would be freely placed at their disposal. 

“What does the niggur say!” asked old Walker, the leader of 
the mountaineers, of the interpreter. 

“Well, he talks so queer, this hos can’t rightly make it out,” 

“Tell the old coon then to quit that, and make them darned 
greasers clear out of the lodge, and pock some corn and shucks 
here for the animals, for they’re nigh give out.” 


. 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 177 


This being conveyed to him in’ mountain Spanish, which fear 
alone made him understand, the padre gave orders to the men to 
leave the Mission, advising them moreover, not to reeommence 
hostilities, as himself was kept as hostage, and if a finger was lift- 
ed against the mountaineers, he would be killed at once, and the 
Mission burned to the ground. Once inside, the hunters had no 
fear of attack, they could have kept the building against all 
California ; so, leaving a guard of two outside the gate, and first 
seeing their worn-out animals supplied with piles of com and 
shucks, they made themselves at home, and soon were paying at- 
tention to the hot tortillas, meat, and chile colorado, which were 
quickly placed before them, washing down the hot-spiced viands 
with deep draughts of wine and brandy. It would have been 
amusing to have seen the faces of these rough fellows as they grave- 
ly pledged each other in the grateful liquor, and looked askance at 
the piles of fruit served by the attendant Hebes.. These came in 
for no little share of attention, it may be imagined ; but the utmost 
respect was paid to them, for your mountaineer, rough and bear- 
like though he be, never, by word or deed, offends the modesty of a 
woman, although sometimes obliged to use a compulsory wooing, 
when time is not allowed for regular courtship, and not unfre- 
quently known to jerk a New Mexican or Californian beauty be- 
hind his saddle, should the obdurate parents refuse consent to their 
immediate union. It tickled the Americans not a little to have 
all their wants supplied, and to be thus waited upon, by what they 
considered the houris of paradise ; and after their long journey, and 
the many hardships and privations they had suffered, their present 
luxurious situation seemed scarcely real. — 

The hidalgo, released from the durance vile of the lasso, as- 
sisted at the entertainment; his sense of what was due to the 
“sangre regular’ which ran in his veins being appeased by the 
fact, that he sat above the wild, uncouth mountaineers, these pre- 
ferring to squat crosslegged on the floor in their own fashion, to the 


178 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


uncomfortable and novel luxury of a chair. Killbuck, indeed, 
seemed to have quite forgotten the use of such pieces of furniture. 
On Fray Augustin offering him one, and begging him, with many 
protestations, to be seated, that old mountain worthy looked at it, 
and then at the padre, turned it round, and at length comprehend- 
ing the intention, essayed to sit. This he effected at last, and sat 
grimly for some moments, when seizing the chair by the back, he 
huried it out of the open door, exclaiming— Wagh! this coon 
aint hamshot anyhow, and don’t want such fixins, he don’t ;” and 
gathering his legs under his body, reclined in the manner cus- 
tomary to him. There was a prodigious quantity of liquor con- 
sumed that night, the hunters making up for their many banyans ; 
but as it was the pure juice of the grape, it had little or no effect 
upon their hard heads. They had not much to fear from attacks 
on the part of the Californians; but, to provide against all emer- 
gencies, the padre and the Gachupin were “ hobbled,” and con- 
fined in an inner room, to which there was no ingress nor egress 
save through the door which opened into the apartment where the 
mountaineers lay sleeping, two of the number keeping watch. A 
fandango with the Indian girls had been proposed by some of them, 
but Walker placed a decided veto on this. He said “ they had 
need of sleep now, for there was no knowing what to-morrow 
might bring forth ; that they had a long journey before them, and 
winter was coming on; they would have to ‘streak’ it night and 
day, and sleep when their journey was over, which would not be 
until Pike’s Peak was left behind them. It was now October, 
and the way they’d have to hump it back to the mountains would 
take the gristle off a painter's tail.” 

Young Ned Wooton was not to the fore when the roll was 
called. He was courting the Sonora wench Juanita, and to some 
purpose ; for we may at once observe, that the maiden accompan- 
ied the mountaineer to his distant home, and at the present mo- 
ment is sharing his lodge on Hard-scrabble creek of the upper 


LIFE 1N;THE FAR WEST. 179 


Arkansas, having been duly and legally married by Fray Augustin 
before their departure. 

But now the snow on the ridge of the Sierra Madre, and the 
nightly frosts; the angular flights of geese and ducks constantly 
passing overhead; the sober tints of the foliage, and the dead 
leaves that strew the ground; the withering grass on the plain, 
and the cold gusts, sometimes laden with snow and sleet, that 
sweep from the distant snow-clad mountains ;—all these signs 
warn us to linger no longer in the tempting valley of San Fer- 
nando, but at once to pack our mules to cross the dreary and 
desert plains and inhospitable sierras; and to seek with our booty 
one of the sheltered bayous of the Rocky Mountains. 

On the third day after their arrival, behold our mountaineers 
again upon the march, driving before them—with the assistance 
of half a dozen Indians, impressed for the first few days of the 
journey until the cavallada get accustomed to travel without con- 
fusion—a band of four hundred head of mules and horses, them- 
selves mounted on the strongest and fleetest they could select from 
at least a thousand. | 

Fray Augustin and the Hidalgo, from the house-top, watched 
them depart: the former glad to get rid of such unscrupulous 
guests at any cost, the latter rather loth to part with his boon 
companions, with whom he had quaffed many a quartillo of Cali- 
fornian wine. Great was the grief, and violent the sobbing, when 
all the girls in the Mission surrounded Juanita to bid her adieu ; 
as she, seated en cavalier on an easy pacing mule, bequeathed her 
late companions to the keeping of every saint in the calendar, and 
particularly to the great St. Ferd nd himself, under whose 
especial tutelage all those in the Mission were supposed to live. 
Pedrillo, poor forsaken Pedrillo, a een, sulky half-breed, was 
le, 1 with grief, but with anger at the slight put upon 
him, and vo wed revenge. He of the “sangre regular,” having 
not a pithele of enmity in his heart, waved his arm—that arm 


180 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


with which he had mowed down the enemies of Carlos Quinto— 
and requested the mountaineers, if ever fate should carry them to 
Spain, not to fail to visit his quinta in the vega of Genil, which, 
with all in it, he placed at their worships’ disposal—con muchis- 
sima franqueza. : 

Fat Fray Augustin likewise waved his arm, but groaned in 
spirit as he beheld the noble band of mules and horses, throwing 
back clouds of dust on the plain where they had been bred. One 
noble roan stallion seemed averse to leave his accustomed pasture, 
and again and again broke away from the band. Luckily old 
Walker had taken the precaution to secure the “ dell-mare’” of 
the herd, and mounted on her rode ahead, the animals all follow- 
ing their well-known leader. As the roan galloped back, the 
padre was in ecstasy. It was a favorite steed, and one he would 
have gladly ransomed at any price. 


19 


‘Ya viene, ya viene!’’ he cried. out, “‘ now, now it’s coming! 
hurra for the roan !” but, under.the rifle of a mountaineer, one of 
the Californians dashed at it, a lasso whirling round his head, and 
turning and twisting like a doubling hare, as the horse tried to avoid 
him, at last threw the open coil over the animal’s head, and led 
him back in triumph to the band. 

‘“‘ Maldito sea aquel Indio—curse that Indian !’ quoth the padre, 
and turned away. 

And now our sturdy band—less two who had gone under— 
were fairly on their way. They passed the body of their comrade 
who had been killed in the fight before the Mission ; the wolves, 
or Indian dogs, had picked it to the bones ; but a mound near by, 
surmounted. by a rude cross, showed where the Californians (seven 
of whom were killed) had been interred—the pile of stones at the 
foot of the cross testifying that, many an ave Maria had already 
been said by the poor Indians, to save the souls of their slaugh 
tered companions from the pangs of purgatory. = 

For the first few days progress was slow and tedious. The 


~~ 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 181 


confusion attendant upon driving so large a number of animals 
over a country without trail or track of any description, was suf- 
ficient to prevent speedy traveling; and the mountaineers, de- 
sirous of improving the pace, resolved to pursue a course more 
easterly, and to endeavor to strike the great Spanish Tram, 
which is the route followed by the New Mexicans in their jour- 
neys to and from the towns of Puebla de los Angeles and Santa 
Fé. This road, however, crosses a long stretch of desert country, 
destitute alike of grass and-water, save at a few points, the regular 
halting-places of the caravans; and as but little pasture is to be 
found at these places at any time, there was great reason to doubt, 
if the Santa Fé traders had passed this season, that there would 
not be sufficient grass to support the numerous cavallada, after 
the herbage had been laid under contribution by the traders’ 
animals. However, a great saving of time would be effected by 
taking this trail, although it wound a considerable distance out 
of the way to avoid the impassable chain of the Sierra Nevada— 
the gap in those mountains through which the Americans had 
come being far to the southward, and at this late season probably 
obstructed by the snow. 

Urged by threats and bribes, one of the Indians agreed to guide 
the cavallada to the trail, which he declared was not more than 
five days distant. As they advanced, the country became wilder 
and more sterile—the valleys, through which several small streams 
coursed, alone being capable of supporting so large a number of 
animals. No time was lost in hunting for game; the poorest of 
the mules and horses were killed for provisions, and the diet was 
improved by a little venison when a deer casually presented itself 
near the camping ground. Of Indians they had seen not one; 
but they now approached the country of the Diggers, who infest 
the district through which the Spanish trail passes, laying con- 
tributions on the caravans of traders, and. who. have been, not 
inaptly, termed the “ Arabs of the American desert.” The Cali- 


182 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


fornian guide now earnestly entreated permission to retrace his 
steps, saying, that he should lose his life if he attempted to pass- 
the Digger country alone on his return. He pointed to a snow- 
covered peak, at the foot of which the trail passed; and leave 
being accorded, he turned his horse’s head toward the Mission of 
San Fernando. 

Although the cavallada traveled, by this time, with much less 
confusion than at first, still, from the want of a track to follow, 
great trouble and exertion were required to keep the proper direc- 
tion. The bell-mare led the van, carrying Walker, who was bet- 
ter acquainted with the country than the others; another hunter, 
of considerable distinction in the band, on a large mule, rode by 
his side. Then followed the cavallada, jumping and frisking with 
each other, stopping whenever a blade of grass showed, and con- 
stantly endeavoring to break away to green patches which some- 
times presented themselves in the plains. Behind the troop, urg- 
ing them on by dint of loud cries and objurgations, rode six mount- 
aineers, keeping as much as possible in a line. ‘T'wo others were 
on each flank to repress all attempts to wander, and keep the herd 
in a compact body. In this order the caravan had been crossing 
a broken country, up and down ridges, all day, the animals giv- 
ing infinite trouble to their drivers, when a loud shout from the 
advanced guard put them all upon the guwi-vive. Old Walker 
was seen to brandish the rifle over his head and point before him, 
and presently the cry of “The trail! the trail!’ gladdened all 
hearts with the anticipation of a respite from the harassing labor 
of mule-driving. Descending a broken ridge, they at once struck 
into a distinct and tolerably well-worn track, into which the cav- 
allada turned as easily and instinctively as if they had all their 
lives been accustomed to travel on beaten roads. Along this they 
traveled merrily—their delight being, however, alloyed by frequent 
indications that hunger and thirst had done their work on the 
mules and horses of the caravans which had preceded them on the 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 183 


trail. They happened to strike it in the center of a long stretch 
of desert, extending sixty miles without either water or pasture ; 
and many animals had perished here, leaving their bones to 
bleach upon the piain. The soil was sandy, but rocks and stones 
covered the surface, disabling the feet of many of the young horses 
and mules; several of which, at this early stage of the journey, 
were already abandoned. ‘Traces of the wretched Diggers be- 
came very frequent ; these abject creatures resorting to the sandy 
plains for the purpose of feeding upon the lizards which there 
abound. As yet they did not show; only at night they prowled 
around the camp, waiting a favorable opportunity to run the ani- 
mals. In the present instance, however, many of the horses hav- 
ing been left on the road, the Diggers found so plentiful a supply 
of meat as to render unnecessary any attack upon the formidable 
mountaineers. 

One evening the Americans had encamped, earlier than usual, 
on a creek well-timbered with willow and quaking-ash, and afford- 
ing tolerable pasture ; and although it was still rather early, they 
determined to stop here, and give the animals an opportunity to fill 
themselves. Several deer had jumped out of the bottom as they 
entered it; and La Bonté and Killbuck had sallied from the 
camp with their rifles, to hunt and endeavor to procure some 
venison for supper. Along the river banks, herds of deer were 
feeding in every direction, within shot of the belt of timber ;_ 
the two hunters had no difficulty in approaching an 
over two fine bucks within a few paces of the thicke >t 
were engaged in butchering the animals, when La Bonté, ie 
up from his work, saw half a dozen Indians dodging among the 
trees, within a few yards of himself and Killbuck. At the same 
instant two arrows thudded into the carcass of the deer over 
which he knelt, passing but a few inches from his head. Hollow- 
ing to his companion, La Bonté immediately seized the deer, and, 
lifting 1t with main strength, held it as a shield before him, but 


184 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


not before an arrow had struck him in the shoulder. Rising iron 
the ground he retreated behind cover, yelling loudly to alarm the 
camp, which was not five hundred yards’ distant on the other 
side of the stream. Killbuck when apprized of the danger, rar 
bodily into the plain, and, keeping out of shot of the timber, joinee 
La Bonté, who now, out of arrow-shot, threw down his shield of 
venison, and fired his rifle at the assailants. The Indians appear- 
ed at first afraid to leave the cover ; but three or four more joining 
them, one a chief, they advanced into the plain, with drawn bows, 
scattering wide apart, and running swiftly toward the whites, in 
a zigzag course, in order not to present a steady mark to their 
unerring rifles. The latter were too cautious to discharge their 
pieces, but kept a steady front with mfle at shoulder. The In- 
dians evidently disliked to approach nearer ; but the chief, an old 
grizzled man, incited them by word and gesture—running in ad- 
vance, and calling upon the others to follow him. 

“Ho, boy! exclaimed Killbuck to his companion, “that old 
coon must go under, or we'll get rubbed out by these darned crit- 
turs.”’ 

La Bonté understood him. Squatting on the ground, he plant- 
ed his wiping-stick firmly at the extent of his left arm, and resting 
the long barrel of his rifle on his left hand, which was supported 
by the stick, he took a steady aim and fired. The Indian, throw- 
ing out his arms, staggered and let fall his bow—tried hard to re- 
cover himself, and then fell forward on his face. ‘The others, see- 
ing the death of their chief, turned and made again for the cover. 
“ You darned eritturs,” roared Killbuck, ‘“‘ take that!’ and fired 
his rifle at the last one, tumbling him over as dead as a stone. 
The camp had also been alarmed. Five of them waded across 
the creek and took the Indians in rear; their rifles cracked within 
the timber, several more Indians fell, and the rest quickly beat a 
retreat. The venison, however, was not forgotten ; the two deer 
were packed into camp, and did the duty of mule-meat that night. 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. - 185 


This lesson had a seasonable effect upon the Diggers, who 
made no attempt on the cavallada that night or the next ; for the 
camp remained two days to recruit the animals. 

We will not follow the party through all the difficulties and 
perils of the desert route, nor detail the various deviltries of the 
Diggers, who constantly sought opportunities to stampede the ani- 
mals, or, approaching them in the night as they grazed, fired their 
arrows indiscriminately at the herd; trusting that dead or disabled 
ones would be left behind, and afford them a good supply of meat. 
In the month of December the mountaineers crossed the great di- 
viding ridge of the Rocky Mountains, making their way through 
the snowy barrier with the utmost difficulty, and losing many mules 
and horses in the attempt. On passing the ndge, they at once struck 
the head-springs of the Arkansas river, and turned into the Bayou 
Salade. Here they found a village of Arapahos, and were in no 
little fear of leaving their cavallada with these dexterous horse- 
thieves. Fortunately, the chief in command was friendly to the 
whites, and restrained his young men; and a present of three 
horses insured his good offices. Still, the near neighborhood of 
these Indians being hardly desirable, after a few days’ halt the 
Americans were again on their way, and halted finally at the 
juncture of the Fontaine-qui-bout with the Arkansas, where they, 
determined to construct a winter camp. ‘They now considered 
themselves at home, and at once set about building a log-shanty 
capable of containing them all, and a large corral for securing the 
animals at night, or in case of Indian alarms. This they effected 
by felling several large cotton-woods, and throwing them in the 
form of a horse-shoe: the entrance, however, being narrower than 
in that figure, and secured by upright logs, between which poles 
were fixed to be withdrawn at pleasure. The house, or “ fort’’— 
as any thing in the shape of a house is called in these parts, 
where, indeed, every man must make his house a castle—was 

. loopholed on all sides, and boasted a turf chimney of rather primi- 


186 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


tive construction; but which answered the purpose of drawing 
the smoke from the interior. Game was plentiful all around ;— 
bands of buflalo were constantly passing the Arkansas; and there 
were always deer and antelope within sight of the fort. The pas- 
ture, too, was good and abundant—being the rich grama or buf- 
falo grass, which, although rather dry at this season, still retains 
its fattening qualities; and the animals soon began to improve 
wonderfully in condition and strength. 

Of the four hundred head of mules and horses with which they 
had started from California, but one-half reached the Arkansas. 
Many had been killed for food (indeed they had furnished the only 
provisions during the journey), many had been stolen by the Indians, 
or shot by them at night; and many had strayed off and not been 
recovered. We have omitted to mention that the Sonora girl, 
Juanita, and her spouse, Ned Wooton, remained behind at Rou- 
bideau’s Fort and Rendezvous on the Uintah, which our band had 
passed on the other side of the mountains, whence they proceeded 
with a party to Taos in New Mexico, and resided there for some 
years, blessed with a fine family, &c., &c., &c., as the novels end. 

As soon as the animals were fat and strong, they were taken 
down the Arkansas to Bent’s Indian trading fort, about sixty 
miles below the mouth of Fontaine-qui-bout. Here a ready sale 
was found for them, mules being at that time in great demand on 
the frontier of the United States, and every season the Bents 
carried across the plains to Independence a considerable number 
collected in the Indian country, and in the upper settlements of 
New Mexico. While the mountaineers were descending the 
Arkansas, a little incident occurred, and some of the party very 
unexpectedly encountered an old friend. Killbuck and La Bonté, 
who were generally companeros, were riding some distance ahead 
of the cavallada, passing at the time the mouth of the Huerfano 
or Orphan Creek, when, at a long distance before them, they saw 
the figure of a horseman, followed by two loose animals, descending 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 187 


the bluff into the timbered bottom of the river. Judging the 
stranger to be Indian, they spurred their horses and galloped in 
pursuit, but the figure ahead suddenly disappeared. However, 
they quickly followed the track, which was plain enough in the 
sandy bottom, that of a horse and two mules. Killbuck scrutinized 
the “sign,” and puzzled over it a considerable time ; and at last 
exclaimed—“ Wagh! this sign’s as plain as mon beaver to me; 
look at that hos-track, boy ; did ye ever see that afore ?”’ 

“ Well, Ihave!” answered La Bonté, peering down at it; “that 
ar shuffle-toe seems handy to me now, I tell you.” 

“The man as used to ride that hos is long gone under, but the 
hos, darn the old crittur, is old Bill Williams’s, Ill swar by 
hook.” . 

‘Well, it aint nothin else,” continued La Bonté, satisfymg 
himself by a long look ; ‘“ It’s the old boy’s hos as sure as shootin: 
and them Rapahos has rubbed him out at last, and raised his 
animals. Ho, boy! let’s lift their hair.” 

“ Aoreed,” answered Killbuck ; and away they started in pur- 
suit, determined to avenge the death of their old comrade. 

They followed the track through the bottom and into the 
stream, which it crossed, and, passing a few yards up the bank, 
entered the water again, when they could see nothing more of it. 
Puzzled at this, they sought on each side the river, but in vain ; * 

and, not wishing to lose more time in the search, they proceeded 
through the timber on the banks to find a good camping-place for 
the night, which had been their object in riding in advance of the 
cavallada. On the left bank, a short distance before them, was a 
heavy growth of timber, and the river ran in one place close to a 
high bluff, between which and the water was an almost impervious 
thicket of plum and cherry trees. The grove of timber ended 
before it reached this point, and but few scattered trees grew in 
the little glade which intervened, and which was covered with 
tolerable grass. ‘This being fixed upon as an excellent camp, the 


- 


188 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


two mountaineers rode into the glade, and dismounted close to the 
plum and cherry thicket,which formed almost a wall before them, 
and an excellent shelter from the wind. Jumping off their horses, 
they were in the act of removing the saddles from their backs, 
when a shrill neigh burst from the thicket not two yards behind 
them; a rusting in the bushes followed, and presently a man 
dressed in buck-skin, and rifle in hand, burst out of the tangled 
brush, exclaiming in an angry voice— 

‘“Do’ee hy’ar now? I was nigh upon gut-shootin some of ’ee 
—I was now; thought ’ee was darned Rapahos, I did, and 
cached night off.” 

“Ho, Bill! what, old hos! not gone under yet?” cried both 
the hunters. ‘‘ Give us your paw.” 

‘‘Do’ee now, if hy’ar ar’nt them boys as was rubbed out on 
Lodge Pole (creek) a time ago. Do’ee hyar? if this aint ‘some’ 
now, I would’nt say so.” 

Leaving old Bill Williams and our two friends to exchange 
their rough but hearty greetings, we will glance at that old 
worthy’s history since the time when we left him caching in the 
fire and smoke on the Indian battle-ground in the Rocky Mount- 
ains. He had escaped fire and smoke, or he would not have been 
here on Arkansas with his old grizzled Nez-percé steed. On that 
occasion, the veteran mountaineer had lost his two pack-animals 
and all his beaver. He was not the man, however, to want a 
horse or mule as long as an Indian village was near at hand. 
Skulking, therefore, by day in canons and deep gorges of the 
mountains, and traveling by night, he followed closely on the trail 
of the victorious savages, bided his time, struck his ‘‘ coup,” and 
recovered a pair of pack-horses, which was all he required. Ever 
since, he had been trapping alone in all parts-of the mountains ; 
had visited the rendezvous but twice for short periods, and then 
with full packs of beaver; and was now on his way to Bent’s . 
Fort, to dispose of his present loads of peltry, enjoy one good 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 189 


earouse on T'aos whisky, and then return to some hole or corner in 
the mountains which he knew of, to follow in the spring his soli- 
tary avocation. He, too, had had his share of troubles, and had 
many Indian scrapes, but passed safely through all, and scarcely 
cared to talk of what he had done, so matter-of-fact to him were 
the most extraordinary of his perilous adventures. 

Arrived at Bent’s Fort, the party disposed of their cavallada, 
and then—respect for the pardonable weaknesses of our mountain 
friends prompts us to draw a vail over the furious orgies that en- 
sued. A number of hunters and trappers were “in” from their 
hunting-grounds, and a village of Shians and some lodges of Kio- 
ways were camped round the fort. As long as the liquor lasted, 
and there was good store of alcohol as well as of Taos whisky, the 
Arkansas resounded with furious mirth—not unmixed with graver 
scenes; for your mountaineer, ever quarrelsome,in his cups, 1s 
quick to give and take offense, when rifles alone can settle the 
difference, and much blood is spilt upon the prairie in his wild and 
frequent quarrels. 

Bent’s Fort is situated on the left or northern bank of the river 
Arkansas, about one hundred miles from the foot of the Rocky 
Mountains—on a low and level bluff of the prairie which here 
slopes gradually to the water’s-edge. The walls are built entirely, 
of adobes—or sun-burned bricks—in the form of a hollow square, 
at two corners of which are circular flanking towers of the same 
material. The entrance is by a large gateway into the square, 
round which are the rooms occupied by the traders and employés 
of the host. These are small in size, with walls colored by a 
white-wash made of clay found in the prairie. Their flat roofs 
are defended along the exterior by parapets of adobe, to serve as a 
cover to marksmen firing from the top; and along the coping 
grow plants of cactus of all the varieties common in the plains. 
In the center of the square is the press for packing the furs; and 
there are three large rooms, one used as a store and magazine, 


190 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


another as a council-room, where the Indians assemble for their 
“talks,” while the third is the common dining-hall, where the 
traders, trappers, and hunters, and all employés, feast upon the 
best provender the game-covered country affords. Over the culin- 
ary department presided of late years a fair lady of color, Charlotte 
by name, who was, as she loved to say, “de onlee lady in de dam 
Injun country,” and who moreover was celebrated from Long’s 
Peak to the Cumbres Espanolas for slap-jacks and pumpkin pies. 

Here congregate at certain seasons the merchants of the plains 
and mountains, with their stocks of peltry. Chiefs of the Shian, 
the Kioway, and Arapahé, sit in solemn conclave with the head 
traders, and smoke the “calumet” over their real and imaginary 
grievances. Now O-cun-no-whurst, the Yellow Wolf, grand chief 
of the Shian, complains of certain grave offenses against the dignity 
of his nation! A trader from the “ big lodge” (the fort) has been 
in his village, and before the trade was opened, in laying the 
customary chief’s gift ‘“‘on the prairie’* has not “opened his 
hand,” but ‘squeezed out his present between his fingers,” grudg- 
ingly, and with too sparing measure. ‘This was hard to bear, but 
the Yellow Wolf would say no more! 

Tah-kai-buhl, or, ‘he who jumps,” is deputed from the Kioway 
to warn the white traders not to proceed to the Canadian to trade 
with the Camanche. That nation is mad—a “heap mad” with 
the whites, and has “ dug up the hatchet” to “ rub out” all who 
enter its country. The Kioway loves the pale-face, and gives him 
warning (and “he who jumps” looks as if he deserves something 
“on the prairie” for his information). 

Shawh-noh-qua-mish, “the peeled lodge-pole,”’ is there to excuse 
his Arapaho braves, who lately made free with a band of horses 
belonging to the fort. He promises the like shall never happen 
again, and he, Shawh-noh-qua-mish, speaks with a “single tongue.” — 


* Indian expression fgr a free gift. 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 191 


Over clouds of tobacco and kinnik-kinnk, these grave affairs are 
settled and terms arranged. 

In the corral, groups of leather-clad mountaineers, with ‘ decks” 
of “euker” and “seven up,” gamble away their hard-earned 
peltries. The employés—mostly St. Louis Frenchmen and Cana- 
dian voyageurs—are pressing packs of buffalo skins, beating robes, 
or engaged in other duties of a trading fort. Indian squaws, the 
wives of mountaineers, strut about in all the pride of beads and 
fofarrow, jingling with bells and bugles, and happy as paint can 
make them. Hunters drop in with animals packed with deer or 
buffalo meat to supply the fort; Indian dogs look anxiously in at 
the gate-way, fearing to enter and encounter their natural enemies, 
the whites: and outside the fort, at any hour of the day or night, 
one may safely wager to see a dozen cayeutes or prairie wolves 
loping round, or seated on their haunches, and looking gravely on, 
waiting patiently for some chance offal to be cast outside. Against 
the walls, groups of Indians, too proud to enter without an invita- 
tion, lean, wrapped in their buffalo robes, sulky and evidently ill 
at ease to be so near the whites without a chance of fingering their 
scalp-locks ; their white lodges shining in the sun, at a little 
distance from the river-banks; their horses feeding in the plain 
beyond. es 
_ The appearance of the fort is very striking, standing as it does 
hundreds of miles from any settlement, on the vast and lifeless 
prairie, surrounded by hordes of hostile Indians, and far out of 
reach of intercourse with civilized man; its mud-built walls in- 
closing a little garrison of a dozen hardy men, sufficient to hold in 
check the numerous tribes of savages ever thirsting for their blood. 
Yet the solitary stranger passing this lone fort, feels proudly secure 
when he comes within sight of the “stars and stripes” which float 
above the walls. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


AGaIn we must take a jump with La Bonté over a space of 
several months: when we find him, in company of half a dozen 
trappers, among them his inseparable companero Killbuck, camped 
on the Greenhorn Creek, e route to the settlements of New 
Mexico. They have a few mules packed with beaver for the 
Taos market: but this expedition has been planned more for 
pleasure than profit—a journey to Taos valley being the only 
civilized relaxation coveted by the mountaineers. Not a few of 
the present band are bound thither with matrimonial intentions ; 
the belles of Nuevo Mejico being to them the xe plus ultra of 
female perfection, uniting most conspicuous personal charms (al- 
though coated with cosmetic alegrta—an herb, with the juice of 
which the women of Mexico hideously bedaub their faces), with 
all the hard-working industry of Indian squaws. The ladies, on 
their part, do not hesitate to leave the paternal abodes, and eternal 
tortilla-making, to share the perils and privations of the American 
mountaineers in the distant wilderness. Utterly despising their 
own countrymen, whom they are used to contrast with the dashing 
white hunters who swagger in all the pride of fringe and leather 
through their towns—they, as is but natural, gladly accept hus- 
bands from the latter class ; preferrmg the stranger, who possesses 
the heart and strong right arm to defend them, to the miserable 
cowardly ‘ Pelados,’ who hold what little they have on sufferance 
of savage Indians, but one degree superior to themselves. 

Certainly no band of hunters that ever appeared in the vale of 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 195 


Taos, numbered in its ranks a properer lot of lads than those now 
camped on Greenhorn, intent on matrimonial foray into the settle- 
ments of New Mexico. There was young Dick Wooton, who 
was “some”’ for his inches, being six feet six, and as straight and 
strong as the barrel of his long rifle. Shoulder to shoulder with 
this “ boy,” stood Rube Herring, and not a hair’s-breadth differ- 
ence in height or size was there between them. Killbuck, though 
mountain winters had sprinkled a few snow-flakes on his head, 
looked up to neither; and La Bonté held his own with any 
mountaineer who ever set a trap in sight of Long’s Peak or the 
Snowy Range. Marcellin—who, though a Mexican, despised his 
people and abjured his blood, having been all his life in the 
mountains with the white hunters—looked down easily upon six 
feet and odd inches. In form a Hercules, he had the symmetry 
of an Apollo; with strikingly handsome features, and masses of 

long black hair hanging from his slouching beaver over the 
shoulders of his buckskin hunting shirt. He, as he was wont tu 
say, was “no dam Spaniard, but ‘mountainee man,’ wagh!” 

Chabonard, a half-breed, was not lost in the crowd ;—and, the 
last in height, but the first m every quality which constitutes 
excellence in a mountaineer, whether of indomitable courage, or 
perfect indiffence to death or danger; with an iron frame capable 
of withstanding hunger, thirst, heat, cold, fatigue, and hardships of" 
every kind; of wonderful presence of mind, and endless resources 
in times of peril; with the instinct of an animal, and the, moral 
courage of a man—who was “ taller’ for his inches than Kr 

Carson, paragon of mountaineers?* Small in stature, anc 


* Since the time of which we speak, Kit Carson has distinguished himself i: 
guiding the several U.S. exploring expeditions, under Frémont, across the Rocky 
Mountains, and to all parts of Oregon and California; and for his services, the 
President of the United States presented the gallant mountaineer with the com- 
mission of lieutenant in a newly raised regiment of mounted riflemen, of which 
his old leader Fxémont is appoiated colonel. 


i 


194 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


slenderly limbed, but with muscles of wire, with a fair complexion 
and quiet intelligent features, to look at Kit none would suppose 
that the mild-looking being before him was an incarnate devil in 
Indian fight, and had raised more hair from head of Redskins than 
any two men in the western country ; and yet, thirty winters had 
scarcely planted a line. or furrow on his clean-shaven face. No 
name, however, was better known in the mountains—from Yellow 
Stone to Spanish Peaks, from Missouri to Columbia River—than 
that of Kit Carson, “raised” in Boonlick county, of Missouri 
State, and a credit to the diggins that gave him birth. 

On Huerfano or Orphan Creek, so called from an isolated hutte 
which stands on a prairie near the stream, our party fell in with a 
village of Yuta Indians, at that time hostile to the whites. Both 
parties were preparing for battle, when Killbuck, who spoke the 
language, went forward with signs of peace, and after a talk with 
several chiefs, entered into an armistice, each party agreeing not 
to molest the other. After trading for a few deer-skins, which the 
Yutas are celebrated for dressing delicately fine, the trappers moved 
hastily on out of such dangerous company, and camped under the 
mountain on Oak Creek, where they forted in a strong position, 
and constructed a corral in which to secure their animals at night. 
At this point is a tolerable pass through the mountains, where a 
break occurs in a range, whence they gradually decrease in magni- 
tude until they meet the sierras of Mexico, which connect the two 
mighty chains of the Andes and the Rocky Mountains. From the 
summit of the dividing ridge, to the eastward a view is had of 
the vast sea of prairie which stretches away from the base of the 
mountains in dreary barrenness, for nearly a thousand miles, until 
it meets the fertile valley of the great Missouri. Over this bound- 
less expanse, nothing breaks the uninterrupted solitude of the 
view. Not a tree or atom of foliage relieves the eye; for the 
Imes of scattered timber which helt the streams running from the 
mountains, are lost in the shadow of their stupendous height, and 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 195 


beyond this nothing is seen but the bare surface of the rolling 
prairie. In no other part of the chain are the grand character- 
istics of the Far West more strikingly displayed than from this 
pass. The mountains here rise, on the eastern side, abruptly from 
the plain, and the view over the great prairies is not therefore 
obstructed by intervening ridges. To the westward the eye sweeps 
over the broken spurs which stretch from the main range in every 
direction ; while distant peaks, for the most part snow-covered, are 
seen at intervals rising isolated above the range. On all sides the 
scene is wild and dismal. 

Crossing by this pass, the trappers followed the Yuta trail over 
a plain, skirting a pine-covered ridge, in which countless herds of 
antelope, tame as sheep, were pasturing. Numerous creeks inter- 
sect it, well timbered with oak, pine, and cedar, and well stocked 
with game of all kinds. On the eleventh day from leaving the 
Huerfano, they struck the Taos valley settlement on Arroyo Hon- 
do, and pushed on at once to the village of Fernandez—sometimes 
but improperly, called Taos. As the dashing band clattered 
through the village, the dark eyes of the reboso-wrapped mucha- 
chas peered from the doors of the adobe houses, each mouth armed 
with a cigarito, which was at intervals removed to allow utterance 
to the salutation to each hunter as he trotted past of Adios Amer- 
icanos—‘ Welcome to Fernandez!” and then they hurried off to 
prepare for the fandango, which invariably followed the advent of 
the mountaineers. The men, however, seemed scarcely so well 
pleased; but leaned sulkily against the walls, their sarapes turned 
over the left shoulder, and concealing the lower part of the face, 
the hand appearing from its upper folds only to remove the eternal 
cigarro from their lips. They, from under their broad-brimmed 
sombreros, scowled with little affection upon the stalwart hunters, 
who clattered past them, scarcely deigning to glance at the sullen 
Pelados, but paying incomprehensible compliments to the buxom 
wenches who smiled at them from the doors. Thus exchanging 

co 


196 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


salutations, they rode up to the house of an old mountaineer, who 
had long been settled here with a New Mexican wife, and who 
was the recognized entertainer of the hunters when they visited 
Taos valley, receiving in exchange such peltry as they brought 
with them. 

No sooner was it known that Los Americanos had arrived, than 
nearly all the householders of Fernandez presented themselves to 
offer the use of their ‘“salas’ for the fandango which invariably 
celebrated their arrival. This was always a profitable event ; for as 
the mountaineers were generally pretty well “flush” of cash when 
on their “spree,” and as open-handed as an Indian could wish, the 
sale of whiskey, with which they regaled all comers, produced a 
handsome return to the fortunate individual whose room was se- 
lected for the fandango. On this occasion the sala of the Alcalde 
Don Cornelio Vegil was selected and put in order; a general invi- 
tation was distributed ; and all the dusky beauties of Fernandez 
were soon engaged in arraying themselves for the fete. Of came 
the coats of dirt and “alegria’” which had bedaubed their faces 
since the last “funcion,” leaving their cheeks clear and clean. 
Water was profusely used, and their cuerpos were doubtless aston- 
ished by the unusual lavation. Their long black hair was washed 
and combed, plastered behind their ears, and plaited into a long 
queue, which hung down their backs. Hmaguas of gaudy color, 
(red most affected) were donned, fastened round the waist with or- 
namented belts, and above this a snow white camzsita of fine linen 
was the only covering, allowing a prodigal display of their charms. 
Gold and silver ornaments, of antiquated pattern, decorate their 
ears and necks; and massive crosses of the precious metals, 
wrought from the gold or silver of their own placeres, hang pen- 
dent on their breasts. ‘The enagua or petticoat, reaching about 
half-way between the knee and ankle, displays their well-turned 
limbs, destitute of stockings, and their tiny feet, thrust into quaint 
little shoes (zapatitos) of Cinderellan dimensions. Thus equipped, 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 197 


with the reboso drawn over their heads and faces, out of the folds 
of which their brilliant eyes flash like lightning, and each pretty 
mouth armed with its cigarito, they coquettishly enter the fandan- 
go.* Here, at one end of a long room are seated the musicians, 
their instruments being generally a species of guitar, called he- 
aca, a bandolin, and an Indian drum, called tombe—one of each. 
Round the room groups of New Mexicans lounge, wrapped in the 
eternal sarape, and smoking of course, scowling with jealous eyes 
at the more favored mountaineers. These, divested of their hunt- 
ing-coats of buckskins, appear in their bran-new shirts of gaudy 
calico, and close fitting buckskin pantaloons, with long fringes 
down the outside seam from the hip to the ankle; with moc- 
casins, ornamented with bright beads and porcupine quills. Each, 
round his waist, wears his mountain belt and scalp-knife, ominous 
of the company he is in, and some have pistols sticking in their 
belt. 

The dances—save the mark !—are without form or figure, at 
least those in which the white hunters sport the “fantastic toe.” 
Seizing his partner round the waist with the gripe of a grisly bear, 
each mountaineer whirls and twirls, jumps and stamps; intro- 
duces Indian steps used in the “ scalp” or “ buffalo” dances, whoop- 
ing occasionally with unearthly cry, and then subsiding into the 
jerking step, raising each foot alternately from the ground, so much 
in vogue in Indian ballets. The hunters have the floor all to 
themselves. The Mexicans have no chance in such physical force 
dancing ; and if a dancing Peladof steps into the ring, a lead-like 
thump from a galloping mountaineer quickly sends him sprawl- 
ing, with the considerate remark‘ Quit, you darned Spaniard ! 
you can’t ‘shine’ in this crowd.” 


* The word fandango, in New Mexico, is not applied to the peculiar dance 
known in Spain by that name, but designates a ball or dancing meeting. 

t A nickname for the idle fellows hanging about a Mexican town, translated 
into “Greasers” by the Americans. 


198 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


During a lull, guagés* filled with whisky go the rounds—offer- 
ed to and seldom refused by the ladies—sturdily quaffed by the 
mountaineers, and freely swallowed by the Pelidos, who drown 
their jealousy and envious hate of their entertainers in potent 
aguardiente. Now, as the guagés are oft refilled and as often 
drained, and as night advances, so do the spirits of the mount- 
aineers become more boisterous, while their attentions to their 
partners become warmer—the jealousy of the natives waxes hot- 
ter thereat—and they begin to show symptoms of resenting the 
endearments which the mountaineers bestow upon their wives and 
sweethearts. And now, when the room is filled to crowding— 
with two hundred people, swearing, drinking, dancing, and shout- 
ing-—the half-dozen Americans monopolizing the fair, to the evident 
disadvantage of at least threescore scowling Pelados, it happens 
that one of these, maddened by whisky and the green-eyed monster, 
suddenly seizes a fair one from the waist-encircling arm of a mount- 
aineer, and pulls her from her partner. Wagh !—La Bonté—it 
is he—stands erect as a pillar for a moment, then raises his hand to 
his mouth, and gives a ringing war-whoop—jumps upon the rash 
Pelado, seizes him by the body as if he were a child, lifts him 
over his head, and dashes him with the force of a giant against 
the wall. 

The war, long threatened, has commenced ; twenty Mexicans 
draw their knives and rush upon La Bonté, who stands his ground, 
and sweeps them down with his ponderous fist, one after another 
as they throng around him. ‘ Howgh-owgh-owgh-owgh-h!” the 
well known war-whoop, bursts from the throats of his companions, 
and on they rush to the rescue. The women scream, and block 
the door in their eagerness to escape; and thus the Mexicans are 
compelled to stand their ground and fight. Knives glitter in the 
light, and quick thrusts are given and parried. In the center of the 


* Cask-shaped gourds. 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 199 


room the whites stand shoulder to shoulder—covering the floor with 
Mexicans by their stalwart blows; but the odds are fearful against 
them, and other assailants crowd up to supply the place of those 
who fall. | 

The alarm being given by the shrieking women, reinforcements 
of Pelados rushed to the scene of action, but could not enter the 
room, which, was already full. The odds began to tell against the 
mountaineers, when Kit Carson’s quick eye caught sight of a high 
stool or stone, supported by three long heavy legs. In a moment 
he had cleared his way to this, and in another the three legs were 
broken off and in the hands of himself, Dick Wooton, and La 
Bonté. Sweeping them round their heads, down came the heavy 
weapons among the Mexicans with wonderful effect—each blow, 
dealt by the nervous arms of Wooton and La Bonté, mowing down 
a good half-dozen of the assailants. At this the mountaineers 
gave a hearty whoop, and charged the wavering enemy with such 
resistless vigor, that they gave way and bolted through the door, 
leaving the floor strewed with wounded, many most dangerously ; 
for, as may be imagined, a thrust from the keen scalp-knife by the 
nervous arm of-a mountaineer was no baby blow, and seldom fail- 
ed to strike home—up to the “‘ Green River’’* on the blade. 

The field being won, the whites too, beat a quick retreat to the 
house where they were domiciled, and where they had left their 
rifles. Without their trusty weapons they felt, deed unarmed ; 
and not knowing how the affair just over would be followed up, 
lost no time in making preparations for defense. However, after 
great blustermg on the part of the prefecto, who, accompanied 
by a posse comitatus of “Greasers,” proceeded to the house, and 
demanded the surrender of all concerned in the affair—which prop- 


* The knives used by the hunters and trappers are manufactured at the “ Green 
River’ works, and have that name stamped upon the blade. Hence the monn- 
tain term for doing any thing effectually is “up to Green Biver.” 


200 LIFE IN THY FAR WEST. 


osition was received with a yell of derision—the business was com- 
pounded by the mountaineers promising to give sundry dollars to 
the friends of two of the Mexicans, who died during the night of 
their wounds, and to pay for a certain amount of masses to be sung 
for the repose of their souls in purgatory. Thus the affair blew 
over; but for several days the mountaineers never showed them- 
selves in the streets of Fernandez without their rifles on their 
shoulders, and refrained from attending fandangos for the present, 
aid until the excitement had cooled down. 

A bitter feeling, however, existed on the part of the men; and one 
or two offers of a matrimonial nature were rejected by the papas 
of certain ladies who had been wooed by some of the white hunt- 
ers, and their hands formally demanded from the respective padres. 

La Bonté had been rather smitten with the charms of one 
Dolores Salazar—a buxom lass, more than three parts Indian in 
ner blood, but confessedly the ‘‘ beauty” of the Vale of Taos. She, 
by dint of eye, and of nameless acts of elaborate coquetry, with 
which the sex so universally bait their traps, whether in the salons 
of Belgravia, or the rancherias of new Mexico, contrived to make . 
considerable havoc in the heart of our mountaineer; and when 
once Dolores saw she had made an impression, she followed up 
her advantage with all the arts the most civilized of her sex could 
use when fishing for a husband. 

La Bonté, however, was too old a hunter to be easily caught ; 
and before committing himself, he sought the advice of. his tried 
companion Killbuck. Taking him to a retired spot without the 
village, he drew out his pipe and charged it—seated himself cross- . 
logged on the ground, and, with Indian gravity, composed himself — 
for a “talk.” - 

“Ho, Killbuck!” he began, touching the ground with the bow] 
of his pipe, and then turning the stem upward for “ medicine” 
—‘‘Hyar’s a child feels squamptious like, and nigh upon ‘gone 


19) 


beaver,’ he is—Wagh ! 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 201 


“ Wagh !” exclaimed Killbuck, all attention. 

“Old hos,”’ continued the other, “thay’s no use caching any- 
how what a niggur feels—so hyar’s to ‘put out.’ . You’re good 
for beaver J know; at deer or bufller, or darned red Injun either, 
you're ‘some.’ Now that’s a fact. ‘Offhand,’ or ‘ with a rest,’ 
you make ’em ‘come.’ You knows the ‘sion’ of Injuns slick— 
Blackfoot or Sioux, Pawnee or Burntwood, Zeton, Rapaho, Shian, 
or Shoshonée, Yutah, Piyutah, or Yamhareek—their trail’s as 
plain as writin’, old hos, to you.” 

‘“Wagh!” grunted Killbuck, blushing bronze at all these com- 
pliments. 

“Your sight ain’t bad. Elks is elk ; black-tail deer ain’t white- 
tails; and b’ar is b’ar to you, and nothin’ else, a long mile off 
and more.” 

“ Wa-ch !” 

“Thar ain’t a track as leaves its mark upon the plains or mount- 
ains but you can read off-hand; that I’ve see’d myself. But tell 
me, old hos, can you make understand the ‘sign’ as shows itself in 
a woman’s breast ?” 

Killbuck removed the pipe from his mouth, raised his head, and 
puffed a rolling cloud of smoke into the air—knocked the ashes 
from the bowl, likewise made his “medicine’—and answered 
thus :— 

“From Red River, away up north among the Britishers, to 
Heely (Gila) in the Spanish country—from ‘old Missoura to the 
Sea of Californy, I’ve trapped and hunted. I knows the Injuns 
and thar ‘sign,’ and they knows me, ’m thinkin’. Thirty winters 
has snowed on me in these hyar mountains, and a niggur or a 
Spaniard * would larn ‘some’ in that time. This old tool” 
(tapping his rifle) “shoots ‘center’ she does; and if thar’s game 
afoot, this child knows pal from ‘cow,’ and ought to could. 
a Always alluding to Mexicans, who are invariably called Spaniards by the 


W estern Americans. 
[* 


202 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


That deer is deer, and goats is goats, is plain as paint to any but 
agreenhorn. Beaver’s a cunning crittur, but I’ve trapped ‘a heap ;’ 
and at killing meat when meat’s a running, I’ll ‘shine’ in the big- 
gest kind of crowd. For twenty year I packed a squaw along. 
Not one, but a many. First I had a Blackfoot—the darndest 
slut as ever cried for fofarow. I lodge-poled her on Colter’s Creek, 
and made her quit. My bufiler hos, and as good as four packs of 
beaver, I gave for old Bull-tail’s daughter. He was head chief of 
the Ricaree, and ‘came’ nicely ‘round’ me. ‘Thar wasn’t enough 
scarlet cloth, nor beads, nor vermilion in Sublette’s packs for her. 
Traps wouldn’t buy her all the fofarrow she wanted ; and in two 
years I’d sold her to Cross-Eagle for one of Jake Hawkin’s guns 
—this very one I hold in my hands. Then I tried the Sioux, 
the Shian, and a Digger from the other side, who made the best 
moccasin as ever J wore. She was the best of all, and was rubbed 
out by the Yutas in the Bayou Salade. Bad was the best ; and 
after she was gone under I tried no more. 

«“ Afore I left the settlements I know’d a white gal, and she 
was some punkins. I have never seed nothing as ’ould beat her. 
Red blood won’t ‘shine’ any ways you fix it; and though I’m 
h— for ‘sign,’ a woman’s breast is the hardest kind of rock to me, 
and leaves no trail that I can see of. I’ve hearn you talk of a 
gal, in Memphis county ; Mary Brand you called her oncest. The 
gal I said J know’d, her name I disremember, but she stands 
before me as plain as Chimbly Rock on Platte, and thirty year 
and more har’nt changed a feature in her face, to me. 

“Tf you ask this child, he’ll tell you to leave the Spanish slut to 
her Greasers, and hold on till you take the trail to old Missoura, 
whar white and Christian gals are to be had for axing. Wagh"’ 

La Bonté rose to his feet. The mention of Mary Brand’s name 
decided him ; and he said— 

“ Darn the Spaniard ! she can’t shine with me ; come, old hos ! 
let’s move.” 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 203 

£2) UVSC R ob i SARE a cai BES AI dS AITO BB 
And, shouldering their rifles, the two campaiieros returned to 
the Ranch. More than one of the mountaineers had fulfilled the 
object of their journey, and had taken to themselves a partner 
from among the belles of Taos, and now they were preparing for 
their return to the mountains. Dick Wooton was the only un- 
fortunate one. He had wooed a damsel whose parents peremptorily 
forbade their daughter to wed the hunter, and he therefore made 
ready for his departure with considerable regret. ; 

The day came, however. The band of mountaineers were 
already mounted, and those with wives in charge were some hours 
on the road, leaving the remainder quaffing many a stirrup-cup 
before they left. Dick Wooton was as melancholy as a buffalo 
bull in spring ; and as he rode down the village, and approached 
the house of his lady-love, who stood wrapped in reboso, and 
cigarito in mouth, on the sill of the door, he turned away his head 
as if dreading to say adios. La Bonté rode beside him, and a 
thought struck him. 

“Ho Dick!” he said, “thar’s the gal, and thar’s the mount- 
ains: shoot sharp’s the word.” 

Dick instantly understood him, and was “himself again.” He 
rode up to the girl as if to bid her adieu, and she came to meet 
him. Whispering one word, she put her foot upon his, was ins 
stantly seized round the waist, and. placed upon the horn of his 
saddle. He struck spurs into his horse, and in a minute was out 
of sight, his three companions covering his retreat, and menacing 
with their rifles the crowd which was soon drawn to the spot by 
the cries of the girl’s parents, who had been astonished spectators 

of the daring rape. 

The trapper and his bride, however, escaped scatheless, and the 
whole party effected a safe passage of the mountains, and reached. 
the Arkansas, where the band was broken up—some proceeding to 
Bent’s Fort, and others to the Platte, among whom were Killbuck 
and La Bonté, still in company. | 


204 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


These two once more betook themselves to trapping, the Yellow 
Stone being their chief hunting-ground. But we must again leap 
over months and years, rather than conduct the reader through 
all their perilous wanderings, and at last bring him back to the 
camp on Bijou, where we first introduced him to our mount- 
aineers; and as we have already followed them on the Arapaho 
trail, which they pursued to recover their stolen animals from a 
band of that nation, we will once again seat ourselves at the camp 
on Boiling Spring, where they had met a strange hunter on a 
solitary expedition to the Bayou Salade, whose double-barreled 
rifle had excited their wonder and curiosity. 

From him they learned also that a large band of Mormons were 
wintering on the Arkansas, ev voute to the Great Salt Lake and 
Upper California ; and as our hunters had before fallen in with 
the advanced guard of these fanatic emigrants, and felt no little 
wonder that such helpless people should undertake so long a jour- 
ney through the wilderness, the stranger narrated to them the 
history of the sect, which we shall shortly transcribe for the 
benefit of the reader. 


CHAPTER IX. 


_'Tue Mormons were originally of the sect known as “ Latter- 
day Saints,’ which sect flourishes wherever Anglo-Saxon gulls 
are found in sufficient numbers to swallow the egregious nonsense 
of fanatic humbugs who fatten upon their credulity. In the 
United States they especially abounded ; but, the creed becoming 
‘“‘slow,’ one Joe Smith, a smart man, arose from its ranks, and 
instilled a little life into the decaying sect. 

Joe, better known as the “ Prophet Joe,” was taking his siesta 
one fine day, upon a hill in one of the New England States, when 
an angel suddenly appeared to him, and made known the locality 
of a new Bible or Testament, which contained the history of the 
lost tribes of Israel; that these tribes were no other than the 
Indian nations which possessed the continent of America at the 
time of its discovery, and the remains of which still existed in their 
savage state; that, through the agency of Joe, these were to be 
reclaimed, collected into the bosom of a church to be there estab- 
lished, according to principles which would be found in the won- 
derful book--and which church was gradually to receive into its 
bosom all other churches, sects, and persuasions, with “ unanimity 
of belief and perfect brotherhood.” 

After a certain probation, Joe was led in body and spirit to the 
mountain ; by the angel who first appeared to him, was pointed 
out the position of the wonderful book, which was covered by a 
flat stone, on which would be found two round pebbles, called 
Urim and Thummim, and through the agency of which the 
mystic characters inscribed on the pages of the book were to be 


206 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


deciphered and translated. Joe found the spot indicated without 
any difficulty, cleared away the earth, and discovered a hollow 
place formed by four flat stowes ; on removing the topmost one of 
which sundry plates of brass presented themselves, covered with 
quaint and antique carving; on the top lay Urim and Thummim 
(commonly known to the Mormons as Mummum and Thummum, 
the pebbles of wonderful virtue), through which the miracle of 
reading the plates of brass was to be pexformed. 

Joe Smith, on whom the mantle of Moses had so suddenly 
fallen, carefully removed the plates and hid them, burying him- 
self in woods and mountains while engaged in the work of trans- 
lation. However, he made no secret of the important task im- 
posed upon him, nor of the great work to which he had been 
called. Numbers at once believed him, but not a few were deaf 
to belief, and openly derided him. Being persecuted (as the sect 
declares, at the instigation of the authorities), and many attempts 
being made to steal his precious treasure, Joe, one fine night, 
packed his plates in a sack of beans, bundled them into a Jersey 
wagon, and made tracks for the West. Here he completed the 
great work of translation, and not long after gave to the world 
the ‘ Book of Mormon,” a work as bulky as the Bible, and called 
“of Mormon,” for so was the prophet named by whose hand the 
history of the lost tribes had been handed down in the plates 
of brass thus miraculously preserved for thousands of years, and 
brought to light through the agency of Joseph Smith. 

The fame of the book of Mormon spread over all America, and 
even to Great Britain and Ireland. Hundreds of proselytes flocked 
to Joe, to hear from his lips the doctrine of Mormonism ; and in 
a very brief period, the Mormons became a numerous and recog- 
nized sect, and Joe was at once, and by universal acclamation, 
installed as the head of the Mormon church, and was ever after 
known by the name of the ‘‘ Prophet Joseph.” 

However, from certain peculiarities in their social system, the 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 207 


Mormons became rather unpopular in the settled States, and at 
length moved bodily into Missouri, where they purchased several 
tracts of land in the neighborhood of Independence. Here they 
erected a large building, which they called the Lord’s Store, 
where goods were collected on the common account, and retailed 
to members of the church at moderate ‘prices.. All this time their 
numbers increased in a wonderful manner, and immigrants from 
all parts of the States, as well as Europe, continually joined them. 
As they became stronger, they grew bolder and more arrogant 
in their projects. They had hitherto been considered as bad 
neighbors, on account of their pilfering propensities, and their 
utter disregard of the conventional decencies of society—exhibit- 
ing the greatest immorality, and endeavoring to establish among 
their society an indiscriminate concubinage. ‘This was sufficient 
to produce an ill feeling against them on the part of their neigh- 
bors, the honest Missourians; but they still tolerated their pres- 
ence among them, until the Saints openly proclaimed their inten-- 
tion of seizing upon the country, and expelling by force the present 
occupants ; giving, as their reason, that it had been revealed to 
their prophets that the “Land of Zion’ was to be possessed by 
themselves alone. 

The sturdy Missourians began to think this was a little too 
strong, and that, if they permitted such aggressions any longer, 
they would be in a fair way of being despoiled of their lands by the 
Mormon interlopers. At length matters came to a crisis, and the 
Saints, emboldened by the impunity with which they had hitherto 
carried out their plans, issued a proclamation to the effect that all 
in that part of the country, who did not belong to the Mormon 
persuasion, must “clear out,’ and give up possession of their 
lands and houses. The Missourians collected in a body, burned 
the printing-press from which the proclamation had emanated, 
seized. several of the Mormon leaders, and, after inflicting a sum- 
mary chastisement, “tarred and feathered” them, and let them go. 


208 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


/ 


To revenge this’ insult, the Mormons marshaled an army of 
Saints, and marched upon Independence, threatening vengeance 
against the town and people. Here they met, however, a band 
of sturdy backwoodsmen, armed with rifles, determined to defend 
the town against the fanatic mob, who, not relishing their appear- 
ance, refused the encounter, and surrendered their leaders at the 
first demand. ‘The prisoners were afterward. released, on condition 
that the Mormons left that part of the country without delay. 

Accordingly, they once more “ took up their beds and walked,” 
erossing the Missouri to Clay County, where they established 
themselves, and would finally have formed a thriving settlement 
but for their own acts of willful dishonesty. At this time their 
blasphemous mummery knew no bounds. Joe Smith, and other 
prophets who had lately arisen, were declared to be chosen of 
God ; and it was the general creed that, on the day of judgment, 
the former would take his stand on the right hand of the judg- 
ment-seat, and that none would pass into the kingdom of heaven 
without his seal and touch. One of their tenets was the faith in 
“spiritual matrimony.” No woman, it appeared, would be ad- 
mitted into heaven unless ‘‘ passed” by a saint. To qualify them 
for this, it was necessary that the woman should first be received 
by the guaranteeing Mormon as an “earthly wife,” in order that 
he did not pass in any of whom he had no knowledge. The con- 
sequence of this state of things may be imagined. The most de- 
basing immorality was a precept of the order, and an almost uni- 
versal concubinage existed among the sect, which at this time 
numbered at least forty thousand. ‘Their disregard to the laws 
of decency and morality was such as could not be tolerated in any 
class of civilized society. 

Again did the honest Missourians set their faces against this 
pernicious example, and when the county to which the Mormons 
had removed became more thickly settled, they rose to a man 
against the modern Gomorrah. ‘The Mormons, by this time, 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 209 


shaving on their part gained considerable accession to their 
strength, thought to set the laws at defiance, organized and 
armed large bodies of men, in order to maintain the ascendency 
over the legitimate settlers, and bid fair to constitute an ‘“ im- 
perium in imperio” in the State, and become the sole possessors 
of the public lands. This, of course, could not be tolerated. 
Governor Boggs at once ordered out a large force of State militia 
to put down this formidable demonstration, marched against the 
Mormons, and suppressed the insurrectionary movement without 
bloodshed. 

From Clay County they moved still farther into the wilds, and 
settled at last in Caldwell County, where they built the town 
of “Far West,” and here they remained for the space of three 
years. 

During this time they were continually receiving converts to 
the faith, and many of the more ignorant country people were 
disposed to join them, being only deterred by the fear of incur- 
ring ridicule from the stronger-minded. The body of the Mor- 
mons seeing this, called upon their prophet, Joe Smith, to perform 
a miracle in public before all comers, which was to prove to those 
- of their own people who still doubted the doctrine, the truth of 
what it advanced (the power of performing miracies was-stead- 
fastly declared to be in their hands by the prophets), and to en- 
list those who wavered in the Mormon cause. 

The prophet instantly agreed, and declared that; upon a certain 
day, he would walk across the broad waters of the Missouri with- 
out wetting the soles of his feet. On the appointed day, the river 
banks were thronged by an expectant crowd. The Mormons sang 
hymns of praise in honor of their prophet, and were proud of the 
forthcoming miracle, which was to set finally at rest all doubt as 
to his power and sanctity. 

This power of performing miracles and effecting miraculous 
cures of the sick, was so generally believed by the Mormons, 


210 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


that physic was never used among them. The prophets visited 
the beds of the sick, and laid hands upon them, and if, as of 
course was almost invariably the case, the patient died, it was 
attributed to his or her want of faith; but if, on the contrary, the 
patient recovered, there was universal glorification on the miracu- 
lous eure. ; 

Joe Smith, was a tall, fine-looking man, of most plausible ad- 
dress, and possessed the gift of the gab in great perfection. At 
the time appointed for the performance of the walking-water 
miracle, he duly attended on the river banks, and descended bare- 
foot to the edge of the water. 

“My brethren!” he exclaimed in a loud voice, “this day is a 
happy one to me, to us all, who venerate the great and only faith. 
The truth of our great and blessed doctrine will now be proved 
before the thousands I see around me. You have asked me to 
prove by a miracle that the power of the prophets of old has been 
given tome. I say unto you, not only to me, but to all who have 
faith. I have faith, and can perform miracles—that faith em- 
powers me to walk across the broad surface of that mighty river 
without wetting the soles of my unworthy feet ; but if ye are to 
see this miracle performed, it 1s necessary that ye have faith also, 
not only in yourselves, but in me. Have ye this faith in your- 
selves ?” 

“« We have, we have!” roared the crowd. 

“Have ye the faith in me, that ye believe I can perform this 
miracle ?” 

«We have, wé have!” roared the crowd. 

“Then,” said Joe Smith, coolly walking away, “ with such 
faith do ye know well that I cowld, but it boots not that I 
should do it; therefore, my brethren, doubt no more ;’ and Joe 
put on his boots and disappeared. 

Being again compelled to emigrate, the Mormons proceeded 
into the state of Illinois, where, in a beautiful situation, they 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 211 


founded the New Jerusalem, which, it had been declared by the 
prophet Mormon, should rise out of the wilderness of the west, 
and where the chosen people should be collected under one church, 
and governed by the elders after a “spiritual fashion.” 

The city of Nauvoo soon became a large and imposing settle- 
ment. An enormous building, called the Temple of Zion, was 
erected, half church half hotel, in which Joe Smith and the other 
prophets resided, and large storehouses were connected with it, in 
which the goods and chattels belonging to the community were 
kept for the common good. 

However, here, as every where else, they were continually 
quarreling with .their neighbors ; and as their numbers increased, 
so did their audacity. A regular Mormon militia was again or- 
ganized and armed, under the command of experienced officers, 
who had joined the sect; and now the authority of the State 
government was openly defied. In consequence, the executive 
took measures to put down the nuisance, and a regular war 
commenced, and was carried on for some time, with no little 
bloodshed on both sides; and this armed movement is known in 
the United States as the Mormon war. The Mormons, how- 
ever, who, it seemed, were much better skilled in the use of the 
tongue than the rifle, succumbed ; the city of Nauvoo was taken,; 
Joe Smith and other ringleading prophets captured, and the 
former, in an attempt to escape from his place of confinement, 
was seized and shot. ‘The Mormons declare he had long foretold 
his own fate, and that when the rifles of the firing party who 
were his executioners were leveled at the prophet’s breast, a flash 
of lightning struck the weapons from their hands, and blinded for 
a time the eyes of the sacrilegious soldiers. 

With the death of Joe Smith the prestige of the Mormon cause 
declined ; but still thousands of proselytes joined them annually, 
and at last the State took measures to remove them altogether, as 
a body, from the country. 


212 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


Once again they. fled, as they themselves term it, before the 
persecutions of the ungodly! But this time their migration was 
far beyond the reach of their enemies, and their intention was to 
place between them the impassable barrier of the Rocky Mount- 
ains, and to seek a home and resting-place in the remote regions 
of the Far West. 

This, the most extraordinary migration of modern times, com- 
menced in the year 1845 ; but it was not till the following year 
that the great body of the Mormons turned their backs upon the 
settlements of the United States, and launched boldly out into the 
vast and barren prairies, without any fixed destination as a goal 
to their endless journey. For many months, long strings of Pitts- 
burg and Conostaga wagons, with herds of horses and domestic 
eattle, wound their way toward the Indian frontier, with the in- 
tention of rendezvousing at Council Bluffs on the Upper Missouri. 
Here thousands of wagons were congregated, with their tens of 
thousands of men, women, and children, anxiously waiting the 
route from the elders of the church, who on their parts scarcely 
knew whither to direct the steps of the vast crowd they had set in 
motion. At length the indefinite destination of Oregon and Cali- 
fornia was proclaimed, and the long train of emigrants took up the 
line of march. It was believed the Indian tribes would immedi- 
ately fraternize with the Mormons, on their approaching their 
country ; but the Pawneées quickly undeceived them by running 
off with their stock on every opportunity. Besides these losses, at 
every camp, horses, sheep, and oxen strayed away and were not 
recovered, and numbers died from fatigue and want of provender ; 
so that, before they had been many weeks on their journey, nearly 
all their cattle, which they had brought to stock their new country, 
were dead or missing, and those that were left were in most miser- 
able condition. 

They had started so late in the season, that the greater part 
were compelled to winter on the Platte, on Grand Island, and in 


7 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. t 2138 . 


the vicinity, where they endured the greatest privations and suffer- 
ing from cold and hunger. Many who had lost their stock lived 
upon roots and pig-nuts; and scurvy, in a most malignant form, 
and other disorders, carried off numbers of the wretched fanatics. 

Among them were many substantial farmers from all parts of 
the United States, who had given up their valuable farms, sold 
off all their property, and were dragging their irresponsible and 
unfortunate families into the wilderness—carried away by their 
blind and fanatic zeal in this absurd and incredible faith. There 
were also many poor wretches from different parts of England, 
mostly of the farm-laboring class, with wives and families, crawl- 
ing along with helpless and almost idiotic despair, but urged for- 
ward by the fanatic leaders of the movement, who promised them 
a land flowing with milk and honey to reward them for all their 
hardships and privations. 

Their numbers were soon reduced by want and disease. "When 
too late, they often wished themselves back in the old country, 
and sighed many a time for the beer and bacon of former days, 
now preferable to the dry buffalo meat, (but seldom obtainable) of 
the Far West. 

Evil fortune pursued the Mormons, and dogged their steps. 
The year following, some struggled on toward the promised land, 
and of these a few reached Oregon and California. Many were 
killed by hostile Indians; many perished of hunger, cold, and 
thirst, in passing the great wilderness ; and many returned to the 
States, penniless, and crestfallen, and heartily cursing the moment 
in which they had listened to the counsels of the Mormon prophet. 
The numbers who reached their destination of Oregon, California, 
and the Great Salt Lake, are computed at 20,000, of whom the 
United States had an unregretted riddance. 

One party had followed the troops of the American government 
intended for the conquest of New Mexico and the Californias. Of 
these a battalion’was formed, and part of it proceeded to Upper 


. 


Big. LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


California ; but the way being impracticable for wagons, some 
seventy families proceeded up the Arkansas, and wintered near the 
mountains, intending to cross to the Platte the ensuing spring, and 
jom the main body of emigrants on their way by the South Pass 
of the Rocky Mountains. 

In the wide and well-timbered bottom of “the Arkansas, the 
Mormons had erected a street of log shanties, in which to pass the 
inclement winter. These were built of rough logs of cotton-wood, 
laid one above the other, the interstices filled with mud, and 
rendered impervious to wind or wet. At one end of the row of 
shanties was built the “church” or temple—a long building of 
huge logs, in which the prayer-meetings and holdings-forth took 
place. The band wintering on the Arkansas were a far better 
class than the generality of Mormons, and comprised many wealthy 
and respectable farmers from the western states, most of whom 
were accustomed to the life of woodmen, and were good hunters. 
Thus they were enabled to support their families upon the produce 
of their rifles, frequently sallying out to the nearest point of the 
mountains with a wagon, which they would bring back loaded 
with buffalo, deer, and elk meat, thereby saving the necessity of 
killing any of their stock of cattle, of which but few remained. 

_ The mountain hunters found this camp a profitable market for 
their meat and deer-skins, with which the Mormons were now 
compelled to clothe themselves, and resorted there for that purpose 
—to say nothing of the attraction of the many really beautiful 
Missourian girls who sported their tall, graceful figures at the fre- 
quent fandangoes. Dancing and preaching go hand in hand in 
Mormon doctrine, and the “temple” was generally cleared for a 
hop two or three times during the week, a couple of fiddles doing 
the duty of orchestra. A party of mountaineers came in one day, 
bringing some buffalo meat and dressed deer-skins, and were 
invited to be present at one of these festivals. 

Arrived at the temple, they were rather taken aback by finding 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 215 


themselves in for a sermon, which one of the elders delivered pre- 
paratory to the ‘physical exercises.’ ‘The preacher was one 
Brown—called, by reason of his commanding a company of Mor- 
mon volunteers, “‘Cap’en Brown’—a hard-featured, black-coated 
man of five-and-forty, correctly got up in black continuations, and 
white handkerchief round his neck, a costume seldom seen at the 
foot of the Rocky Mountains.. The Cap’en, rising, cleared his 
voice, and thus commenced, first turning to an elder (with whom 
there was a little rivalry in the way of preaching) :—“ Brother 
Dowdle !’—(brother Dowdle blushed and nodded: he was a long 
tallow-faced man, with black hair combed over his face)—‘I feel 
like holding forth a little this afternoon, before we glorify the Lord 
—a—a—ain the—a—holy dance. As there are a many strange 
gentlemen now—a—present, it’s about right to tell *em—a— 
what our doctrine just is, and so [ tells ’°em right off what the 
Mormons is. They are the chosen of the Lord; they are the 
children of glory, persecuted by the hand of man: they flies here 
to the wilderness, and, among the Jmjine and the buffler, they 
lifts up their heads, and cries with a loud voice, Susannah, and 
hurray for the promised land! Do you believe it? I know it. 

“They wants to know whar we’re going. Whar the church 
goes—thar we goes. Yes, to hell, and pull the devil off his throne 
that’s what we'll do. Do you believe it? I know it. 

“'Thar’s milk and honey in that land as we’re goin’ to, and the 
lost tribes of Israel is thar, and will jine us. They say as we'll 
starve on the road, bekase thar’s no game and no water; but 
thar’s manna up in heaven, and it’ll rain on us, and thar’s proph- 
ets among us can make the water ‘come.’ Can't they, brother 
Dowdle ?” 

‘“ Well, they can.” 

*¢ And now, what have the Genézles and the Philistenes to say 
against us Mormons? They says we’re thieves, and steal hogs ; 
yes, d— ’em! they say we has as many wives as we like. So 


216 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


we have. Ive twenty—forty, myself, and mean to have as zp ny 
more as I can get. But it’s to f unfortunate females into 
heaven that I has ’em—yes, to ies going to roaring flames 
and damnation that I does it. 

“Brother Dowdle,” he continued, in a hoarse, low voice, ‘‘ I’ve 
‘give out,’ and think we’d better begin the exercises grettful to 
the Lord.” 

Brother Dowdle rose, and, after saying that “he didn’t feel like 
saying much, begged to remind all hands, that dancing was solemn 
like, to be done with proper devotion, and not with laughing and 
talking, of which he hoped to hear little or none; that joy was to 
be in their hearts, and not on their lips; that they danced for the 
glory of the Lord, and not their own amusement, as did the Gen- 
tiles.” After saying thus, he called upon brother Ezra to “ strike 
up :” sundry couples stood forth, and the ball commenced. 

Ezra of the violin was a tall, shambling Missourian, with a 
pair of “homespun” pantaloons thrust into the legs of his heavy 
boots. Nodding his head in time with the music, he occasionally 
gave instructions to such of the dancers as were at fault, singing 
them to the tune he was playing, in a dismal nasal tone— 


“ Down the center—hands across,” 
“You, Jake Herring—thump it,” 
“Now, you all go right a-head— 
Every one of you hump it. 
Every one of you—hump tt.” 


The last words being the signal that all should clap the steam on, 
which they did con amore, and with comical seriousness. 

A mountaineer, Rube Herring, whom we have more than once 
met in the course of this narrative, became a convert to the Mor- 
mon creed, and held forth its wonderful doctrines to such of the 
incredulous trappers as he could induce to listen to him. Old 
Rube stood nearly six feet six in height, and was spare and bony 
in make. He had picked up a most extraordinary cloth coat 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 217 


ong the Mormons, which had pclae to some one his equal 
in stature. This coat, whi ch was of a snuff-brown color, had its 
waist about a hand’s span from ‘the nape of Rube’s neck, or about 
a yard above its proper position, and the skirts reached to his 


ankles. A slouching felt-hat covered his head, from which long 


black hair escaped, hanging in flakes over his lantern-jaws. His 
pantaloons of buckskin were shrunk with wet, and reached mid- 
way between his knees and ankles, and his huge feet were encased 
in moccasins of buffalo-cow skin. 

Rube was never without the book of Mormon in his hand, and 
his sonorous voice might be heard, at all hours of the day and 
night, reading passages from its wonderful pages. He stood the 
badgering of the hunters with most perfect good humor, and said . 
there never was such a book as that ever before printed ; that the 
Mormons were the ‘ biggest kind” of prophets, and theirs the best 
faith ever man believed in. 

Rube had let out one day that he was to be hired as guide by 
this party of Mormons to the Great Salt Lake; but their destina- 
tion being changed, and his services not required, a wonderful 
change came over his mind. He was, as usual, book of Mormon 
in hand, when brother Brown announced the change in their 
plans ; at which the book was cast into the Arkansas, and Rube 
exclaimed—“ Cuss your darned Mummum and Thummum! 
thar’s not one among you knows ‘fat cow’ from ‘ poor bull,’ and 
you may go to h— for me.” And turning away, old Rube spat 
out a quid of tobacco and Kis Mormonism together. 

Among the Mormons was an old man, named Brand, from 
Memphis County, state of Tennessee, with a family of a daughter 
and two sons, the latter with their wives and children. Brand 
was 2 wiry old fellow, nearly seventy years of age, but still stout 
and strong, and wielded ax or rifle better than many a younger 
man. If truth be told, he was not a very red-hot Mormon, and 
had joined them as much for the sake of company to California, 

K 


2158 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


‘whither he had long resolved to emigrate, as from any implicit 
credence in the faith. His sons were strapping fellows, of the 
sterling stuff that the Western pioneers are made of ; his daughter 
Mary, a fine woman of thirty, for whose state of single blessedness 
there must doubtless have been sufficient reason ; for she was not 
only remarkably handsome, but was well-known in Memphis to 
be the best-tempered and most industrious young woman in those 
diggings. She was known to have received several advantageous 
offers, all of which she had refused; and report said that it was 
from having been disappointed in very early life in an affaire du 
ceur, at an age when such wounds sometimes strike strong and 
deep, leaving a sear difficult to heal. Neither his daughter, nor any 
of his family, had been converted to the Mormon doctrine, but had 
ever kept themselves aloof, and refused to join or associate with 
them ; and, for this reason, the family had been very unpopular 
with the Mormon families on the Arkansas; and hence, probably, 
one great reason why they now started alone on their journey. 

Spring had arrived, and it was time the Mormons should pro- 
ceed on their march; but whether already tired of the sample 
they had had of life in the wilderness, or fearful of encountermg 
the perils of the Indian country, not one among them, with the 
exception of old Brand, seemed inclined to pursue the journey far- 
ther. That old backwoodsman, however, was not to be deterred, 
but declared his intention of setting out alone, with his family, 

- and risking a]l the dangers to be anticipated. 

One fine sunny evening in April of 1847, when the cotton- 
woods on the banks of the Arkansas began to put forth their 
buds, and robins and blue-birds—harbingers of spring-—were hop- 
ping, with gaudy plumage, through the thickets, three white-tilt- 
ed Conostoga wagons emerged from the timbered bottom of the 
river, and rumbled slowly over the prairie, in the direvtion of the 
Platte’s waters. Each wagon was drawn by eight oxen, and 
contained a portion of the farming implements and horgehold uten: 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 219 


sils of the Brand family. The teams were driven by the young 
boys, the men following in rear with shouldered rifles—old 
Brand himself mounted on an Indian horse, leading the advance. 
The women were safely housed under the shelter of the wagon 
tilts, and out of the first the mild face of Mary Brand smiled 
adieu to many of her old companions, who had accompanied them 
thus far, and now wished them “ God-speed” on their long jour- 
ney. Some mountaineers, too, galloped up, dressed in buckskin, 
and gave them rough greeting—warning the men to keep their 
‘eyes skinned,” and look out for the Arapahos, who were out on 
the waters of the Platte. Presently all retired, and then the 
huge wagons and the little company were rolling on their solitary 
way through the deserted prairies—passing the first of the many 
thousand miles which lay between them and the “ setting sun,” 
as the Indians style the distant regions of the Far West. And 
on, without casting a look behind him, doggedly and _ boldly 
marched old Brand, followed by his sturdy family. 

They made but a few miles that evening, for the first day the 
start is all that is effected; and nearly the whole morning is 
taken up in getting fairly under weigh. The loose stock had 
been sent off earlier, for they had been collected and corralled the 
previous night; and, after a twelve hours’ fast, it was necessary 
they should reach the end of the day’s journey betimes. They 
found the herd grazing in the bottom of the Arkansas, at a point 
previously fixed upon for their first camp. Here the oxen were 
unyoked, and the wagons drawn up so as to form the three sides 
of a small square. ‘The women then descended from their seats, 
and prepared the evening meal. <A huge fire was kindled before 
the wagons, and round this the whole party collected ; while large 
kettles of coffee boiled on it, and hoe-cakes baked upon the em- 
bers. 

The women were sadly down-hearted, as well they might be, 
with the dreary prospect before them ; and poor Mary, when she 


220 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


saw the Mormon encampment shut out from her sight by the roll- 
ing bluffs, and nothing before her but the bleak, barren prairie, 
could not divest herself of the idea that she had looked for the last 
time on civilized fellow-creatures, and fairly burst into tears. 

In the morning the heavy wagons rolled on again across the 
upland prairies, to strike the trail used by the traders in passing 
from the south fork of the Platte to the Arkansas. ‘They had for 
guide a Canadian voyageur, who had been in the service of the 
Indian traders, and knew the route well, and had agreed to pilot 
them to Fort Lancaster on the north fork of the Platte. Their 
course led for about thirty miles up the Boiling Spring River, 
whence they pursued a northeasterly course to the dividing ridge 
which separates the waters of the Platte and Arkansas. Their 
progress was slow, for the ground was saturated with wet, and 
exceedingly heavy for the cattle, and they scarcely advanced more 
than ten miles a day. 

At the camp fire at night, Antoine, the Canadian guide, 
amused them with tales of the wild life and perilous adventures 
of the hunters and trappers who make the mountains their home ; 
often extorting a scream from the women by the description of 
some scene of Indian fight and slaughter, or beguiling them of a 
commiserating tear by the narrative of the sufferings and priva- 
tions endured by those hardy hunters in their arduous life. 

Mary listened with the greater interest, since she remembered 
that such was the life which had been led by one very dear to 
her—by one, long supposed to be dead, of whom she had never 
but once, since his departure, nearly fifteen years before, heard a 
syllable. Her imagination pictured him as the bravest and most 
daring of these adventurous hunters, and conjured up his figure 
charging through the midst of whooping savages, or stretched on 
the ground perishing from wounds, or cold, or famine. 

Among the characters who figured in Antoine’s stories, a hunt- 
er named La Bonté was made conspicuous for deeds of hardiness 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 221 


and daring. The first mention of the name caused the blood to 
rush to Mary’s face: not that she for a moment imagined it was 
her La Bonté, for she knew the name was a common one; but, 
associated with feelings which she had never got the better of, it 
recalled a sad epoch in her former life, to which she could not 
look back without mingled pain and pleasure. " 

Once only, and about two years after his departure, had she 
ever received tidings of her former lover. A mountaineer had 
returned from the Far West to settle in his native state, and had 
found his way to the neighborhood of old Brand’s farm: Meeting 
him by accident, Mary, hearing him speak of the mountain hunt- 
ers, had inquired tremblingly, after La Bonté. Her informant 
knew him well—had trapped in company with him—and had 
heard at the trading fort, whence he had taken his departure for 
the settlements, that La Bonté had been killed on the Yellow 
Stone by Blackfeet ; which report was confirmed by some Indians 
of that nation. ‘This was all she had ever learned of the lover 
of her youth. 

Now, upon hearing the name of La Bonté so often nentitaeal 
by Antoine, a vague hope was raised in her breast that he was 
still alive, and she took an opportunity of questioning the Cana- 
dian closely on the subject. ; 

“Who was this this La Bonté, Antoine, who you say was so 
brave a mountaineer ?” she asked one day. 

“ J’ne sais pas; he vas un beau garcon, and strong comme le 
diable—enfant de garce, mais he pas not care a dam for les sau- 
ages, pe gar. He shoot de centare avec his carabine ; and ride 
de cheval comme one Comanche. He trap heap castor (what 
you call beevare), and get plenty dollare—mais he open hand 
vare wide—and got none too. Den, he hont vid de Blackfoot 
and avec de Cheyenne, and all round de montaignes he hont dam 
sight.” 

“ But, Antoine, what became of him at last? and why did he 


222 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


not come home, when he made so many dollars?” asked poor 
Mary. 

“Enfant de garce, mais pourquoi he com home? Pe gar, de 
montaigne-man, he love de montaigne and the prairie more better 
dan he love de grandes villes—méme de Saint Louis ou de Mont- 
real. Wagh! La Bonté, well, he one montaigne-man, wagh' He 
love de buffaloe and de chevreaux plus que de beuf and de mouton, 
may be. Mais on-dit dat he have autre raison—dat de gal he lofe in 
Missouri not lofe him, and for dis he not go back. Mais now he go 
ondare, m’ on dit. He vas go to de Californe, may be to steal de 
hos and de mule—pe gar, and de Espagnols rub him out, and 
take his hair, so he mort.” 

“But are you sure of this?” she asked, trembling with grief. 

“« Ah, now, j’ne suis pas sir, mais I tink you know dis La Bon- 
té. Enfant de garce, maybe you de gal in Missouri he lofe, and 
not lofe him. Pe gar! ’fant de garce! fort beau garcon dis La 
Bonté, pourquoi you ne l’aimez pas? Maybe he not gone ondare. 
Maybe he turn op, autrefois. De trappares, dey go ondare tree, 
four, ten times, mais dey turn op twenty time. De sauvage not 
able for kill La Bonté, ni de dam Espagnols. Ah, non! ne 
craignez pas; pe gar, he not gone ondare encore.” 

Spite of the good-natured attempts of the Canadian, poor Mary 
burst into a flood of tears: not that the information took her una- 
wares, for she had long believed him dead ; but because the very 
mention of his name awoke the strongest feelings within her 
breast, and taught her how deep was the affection she had felt 
for him whose loss and violent fate she now bewailed. 

As the wagons of the lone caravan roll on toward the Platte, 
we return to the camp where La Bonté, Killbuck, and the 
stranger, were sitting before the fire when last we saw them :— 
Killbuck loquitur :— 

“The doins of them Mormon fools can’t be beat by Spaniards, 
stranger. ‘Their mummums and thummums you speak of won't 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 223 


— 


‘shine’ whar Injuns are about; nor pint out a trail, whar nothin 
crossed but rattler-snakes since fust it snow’d on old Pike’s Peak. 
If they pack along them profits, as you tell of, who can make it 
rain hump-ribs and marrow-guts when the crowd gets out of the 
buffler range, they are ‘some,’ now, that’s a fact. But this child 
don’t believe it. I’d laugh to get a sight on these darned Mor- 
monites, I would. They’re ‘no account,’ I guess; and it’s the 
‘meanest’ kind of action to haul their women critters and their 
young ‘uns to sech a starving country as the Californys.” 

“They are not all Mormons in the crowd,” said the strange 
hunter ; “and there’s one family among them with some smartish 
boys and girls, I tell you. Their name’s Brand.” 

La Bonté looked up from the lock of his rifle, which he was 
cleaning—but either didn’t hear, or, hearing, didn’t heed, for he 
continued his work. 

“And they are going to part company,” continued the stranger, 
“and put out alone for Platte and the South Pass.” 

“They'll lose their hair, ’m thinking,” said Killbuck, “ if the 
Rapahos are out thar.” 

“TJ hope not,” continued the other, “for there’s a girl among 
them worth more than that.” 

‘Poor beaver!” said La Bonté, looking up from his work. 
“T’d hate to see any white gal in the hands of Injuns, and of 
Rapahos worse than all. Where does she come from, stranger?” 

“Down below St. Louis, from Tennessee, I’ve heard them 
say.” 

“Tennessee,” cried La Bonté—‘ hurrah for the old State! 

What’s her name, stran—”’ At this moment Killbuck’s old mule 
pricked her ears and snuffed the air, which action catching La 
Sonté’s eye, he rose abruptly, without waiting a reply to his 
question, and exclaimed, “The old mule smells Injuns, or I’m a 
Spaniard !” : 

The hunter did the old mule justice, and she well maintained 


224 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


her reputation as the best ‘‘ guard” in the mountains; for in two 
nvlahies an Indian stalked into the camp, dressed in a pot capote, 
and in odds and ends of civilized attire. 

‘Rapaho,” cried Killbuck, as soon as he vai: and the 
Indian catching the word, struck his hand upon his breast, and 
exclaimed, in broken Spanish and English mixed, “Si, si, me 
- Arapaho, white man amigo. Come to camp—eat heap carne— 
me amigo white man. Come from Pueblo—hunt cibola—me gun 
break—no puedo-matar nada: mucha hambre (very hungry)— 
heap eat.” 

Killbuck offered his pipe to the Indian, and spoke to him in his 
own language, which both he and La Bonté well understood. 
They learned that he was married to a Mexican woman, and lived 
with some hunters at the Pueblo fort on the Arkansas. He volun- 
teered the information that a war party of his people were out on 
the Platte trail to intercept the Indian traders on their return 
from the North Fork ; and as some ‘“‘ Mormons” had just started 
with three wagons in that direction, he said his people would 
make a “raise.” Being muy amigo himself to the whites, he 
cautioned his present companions from crossing to the “ divide,” 
as the “braves,” he said, were a “heap” mad, and their hearts 
were “big, 
before them. 

“Waeh!” exclaimed Killbuck, “the Rapahos know me, I’m 
and small gain they’ve made against this child. [ve 


9? 


and nothing in the shape of white skin would live 


thinking ; 
knowed the time when my gun-cover couldn’t hold more of their 
scalps.” 

The Indian was provided with some powder, of which he stood 
im need; and, after gorging as much meat as his capacious 
stomach would hold, he left the camp, and started into the 
mountain. | 

The next day our hunters started on their journey down the 


river, traveling leisurely, and stopping wherever good grass pre- 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 225 


sented itself. One morning they suddenly struck a wheel trail, 
which left the ereek banks and pursued a course at right angles to 
it, in the direction of the “divide.” Killbuck pronounced it but 
a few hours old, and that of three wagons drawn by oxen. 

‘“ Wagh!” he exclaimed, “if them poor devils of Mormonites 
ain't going head first into the Rapaho trap. They'll be ‘gone 
beaver’ afore long.” 

“ Ay,” said the strange hunter, ‘these are the wagons belong- 
ing to old Brand, and he has started alone for Laramie. I hope 
nothing will happen to them.” 

“ Brand !” muttered La Bonté. ‘I knowed that name mighty 
well once, years agone: and should hate the worst kind that 
mischief happened to any one who bore it. This trail’s as fresh 
as paint; and it goes against me to let these simple critters help 
the Rapahos to their own hair. This child feels like helping ’em 
out of the scrape. What do you say, old hos ?” 

“T thinks with you, boy,” answered Killbuck, “and go in for 
following this wagon trail, and telling the poor critters that thar’s 
danger ahead of them. What's your talk, stranger ?” 

“T go with you,” shortly answered the latter; and both fol- 
lowed quickly after La Bonté, who was already trotting smartly 
on the trail. 

Meanwhile the three wagons, containing the household gods of 
the Brand family, rumbled slowly over the rolling prairie, and 
toward the upland ridge of the “divide,” which, studded with 
dwarf pine and cedar thicket, rose gradually before them. They 
traveled with considerable caution, for already the quick eye of 
Antoine had discovered recent Indian sign upon the trail, and, 
with mountain quickness, had at once made it out to be that of a 
war party; for there were no horses with them, and, after one or 
two of the moccasin tracks, the mark of a rope which trailed upon 
the ground was sufficient to show him that the Indians were pro- 
vided with the usual lasso of skin, with which to secure the horses 

K* 


226 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


stolen in the expedition. The men of the party were consequently 
all mounted and thoroughly armed, the wagons moved in a line 
abreast, and a sharp look-out was kept on all sides. ‘The women 
and children were all consigned to the interior of the wagons; and 
the latter had also guns in readiness, to take their part in the 
defense, should an attack be made. 

However, they had seen no Indians, and no fresh sign, for two 
days after they left the Boiling Spring River, and they began to 
think they were well out of their neighborhood. One evening they 
camped on a creek called Black Horse, and, as usual, had corralled 
the wagons, and forted as well as circumstances would permit, 
when three or four Indians suddenly appeared on a bluff at a little 
distance, and, making signals of peaceable intentions, approached 
the camp. Most of the men were absent at the time, attending 
to the cattle or collecting fuel, and only old Brand and one of his 
young grandchildren, about fourteen years old, remained in camp. 
The Indians were hospitably received, and regaled with a smoke, 
after which they began to evince their curiosity by examining 
every article lying abont, and signifying their wishes that it should 
be given to them. Finding their hints were not taken, they laid 
hold of several things which took their fancies, and, among others, 
of the pot which was boiling on the fire, and with which one of 
them was about very coolly to walk off, when old Brand, who up 
to this moment had retained possession of his temper, seized it out — 
of the Indian’s hand, and knocked him down. One of the others 
instantly began to draw the buckskin cover from his gun, and 
“would no doubt have taken summary vengeance for the insult 
offered to his companion, when Mary Brand courageously stepped 
up to him, and, placing her left hand upon the gun which he was 
in the act of uncovering, with the other pointed a pistol at his 
breast. 

Whether daunted by the bold act of the girl, or admiring her 
devotion to her father, the Indian drew himself back, exclaimed 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 227 


*‘Howgh!” and drew the cover again on his piece, went up to 
old Brand, who all this tume looked him sternly in the face, and, 
shaking him by the hand, motioned at the same time to the others 
to. be peaceable. 
~ The other whites presently coming into camp, the Indians sat 
quietly down by the fire, and, when the supper was ready, joined 
in the repast, after which they gathered their buffalo robes about 
them, and quietly withdrew. Meanwhile Antome, knowing the 
treachereus character of the savages, advised that the greatest 
precaution should be taken to secure the stock; and before dark, 
therefore, all the mules and horses were hobbled and secured 
within the corral, the oxen being allowed to feed at liberty—for 
the Indians scarcely care to trouble themselves with such cattle. 
A guard was also set round the camp, and relieved every two 
hours ; the fire was extinguished, lest the savages should aim, by 
its light, at any of the party, and all slept with rifles ready at 
their sides. However, the night passed quietly, and nothing dis- 
turbed the tranquillity of the camp. ‘The prairie wolves loped 
hunerily around, and their mournful ery was borne upon the wind 
as they chased deer and antelope on the neighboring plain ; but 
not a sion of lurking Indians was seen or heard. : 
In the morning, shortly after sunrise, they were in the act of 
yoking the oxen te the wagons, and driving in the loose animals 
which had been turned out to feed at daybreak, when some 
Indians again appeared upon the bluff; and, descending it, confi- 
dently approached the camp. Antoine strongly advised their not 
being allowed to enter; but Brand, ignorant of Indian treachery, 
replied that, so long as they came as friends, they could not be 
deemed enemies, and allowed no obstruction to be offered to their 
approach. It was now observed that they were all painted, 
armed with bows and arrows, and divested of their buffalo robes, 
appearing naked to the breech-clout, their lees only being protected 
by deerskin leggings; reaching to the miudle of the thigh. Six or 


228 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 

seven first arrived, and others quickly followed, dropping in one 
after the other, until a score or more were collected round the 
wagons. ‘Their demeanor, at first friendly, soon changed as their 
numbers increased, and they now became urgent in their demands 
for powder and lead, and bullying in their manner. A chief 
accosted Brand, and, through Antoine, informed him “that, unless 
the demands of his braves were acceded to, he could not be 
responsible for the consequences ; that they were out on the ‘ war- 
trail,’ and their eyes were red with blood, so that they could not 
distinguish between white and Yuta scalps; that the party, with 
all their women and wagons, were in the power of the Indian 
‘braves,’ and therefore the white chief’s best plan was to make 
the best terms he could; that all they required was that they 
should give up their guns and ammunition ‘on the prairie,’ and all 
their mules and horses—retaining the ‘medicine’ buffaloes (the 
oxen) to draw their wagons.” 

By this time the oxen were yoked, and the teamsters, whip in 
hand, only waited the word to start. Old Brand foamed while 
the Indian stated his demands, but, hearing him to the end, 
exclaimed, ‘“‘ Darn the red devil! I wouldn’t give him a grain of 
powder to save my life. Put out, boys!’—and, turning to his 
horse, which stood ready saddled, was about to mount, when the 
Indians sprang at once upon the wagons, and commenced their 
attack, yelling like fiends. 

One jumped upon old Brand, pulled him back as he was rising 
in the stirrup, and drew his bow upon him at the same moment. 
In an instant the old backwoodsman pulled a pistol from his belt, 
and, putting the muzzle to the Indian’s heart, shot him dead. 
Another Indian, flourishing his war-club, laid the old man at his: 
feet; while some dragged the women from the wagons, and 
others rushed upon the men, who made brave fight in their de- 
fense. 

Mary, when she saw her father struck to the ground, sprang 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 229 


with a shrill ery to his assistance: for at that moment a savage, 
frightful as red paint could make him, was standing over his pros- 
trate body, brandishing a glittering knife in the air, preparatory to 
thrusting it into the old man’s breast. or the rest, all was con- 
fusion : in vain the small party of whites struggled against over- 
powering numbers. Their rifles cracked but once, and they were 
quickly disarmed ; while the shrieks of the women and children, 
and the loud yells of the Indians, added to the scene of horror and 
confusion. As Mary flew to her father’s side, an Indian threw his 
lasso at her, the noose falling over her shoulders, and, jerking it 
’ tight, he uttered a delighted yell as the poor girl was thrown back | 
violently to the ground. As she fell, another deliberately shot an 
arrow at her body, while the one who had thrown the lasso rushed 
forward, his scalp-knife flashing in his hand, to seize the bloody 
trophy of his savage deed. The girl rose to her knees, and looked 
wildly toward the spot where her father lay bathed in blood ; but 
the Indian pulled the rope violently, dragged her some yards upon 
the ground, and then rushed with a yell of vengeance upon his 
victim. He paused, however, as at that moment a shout as fierce 
as his own sounded at his very ear; and, looking up, he saw La 
Bonté galloping madly down the bluff, his long hair and the 
fringes of his hunting-shirt and leggins flying in the wind, his 
night arm supporting his trusty rifle, while close behind him came 
Killbuck and the stranger. Dashing with loud hurrahs to the 
scene of action, La Bonté, as he charged down the bluff, caught 
sight of the girl struggling in the hands of the ferocious Indian. 
Loud was the war shout of the mountaineer, as he struck his 
heavy spurs to the rowels in the horse’s side, and bounded like 
lightning to the rescue. Ina single stride he was upon the Indian, 
and, thrusting the muzzle of his rifle into his very breast, he pulled 
the trigger, driving the savage backward by the blow itself, at the 
same moment that the bullet passed through his heart, and tum- 
bled him over stone-dead. Throwing down his rifle, La Bonté 


230 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


wheeled his obedient horse, and, drawing a pistol from his belt, 
again charged the enemy, among whom Killbuck and the stranger 
were dealing death-giving blows. Yelling for victory, the moun- 
taineers rushed at the Indians; and they, panic-struck at the sud- 
den attack, and thinking this was but the advanced guard of a 
large band, fairly turned and fled, leaving five of their number 
dead upon the field. 

Mary, shutting her eyes to the expected ae heard the 
loud shout La Bonté gave in charging down the bluff, and, again 
looking up, saw the wild-looking mountameer rush to her rescue, 
and save her from the savage by his timely blow. Her arms 
were still pinned by the lasso, which prevented her from rising to 
her feet ; and La Bonté was the first to run to aid her, as soon as 
the fight was fairly over. He jumped from his horse, cut the skin 
rope which bound her, raised her from the ground, and, upon her 
turning up her face to thank him, beheld his never-to-be-forgotten 
Mary Brand; while she, hardly believing her senses, recognized 
in her deliverer her former lover, and still well beloved La Bonté. 

“What, Mary! can it be you?” he asked, looking intently upon 
the trembling woman. 

“La Bonté, you don’t forget me!” she answered, and threw 
herself sobbing into the arms of the sturdy mountaineer. 

There we will leave her for the present, and help Killbuck and 
his companions to examine the killed and wounded. Of the form- 
er five Indians and two whites lay dead, grandchildren of old 
Brand, fine lads of fourteen or fifteen, who had fought with the 
greatest bravery, and lay pierced with arrows and lance wounds. 
Old Brand had received a sore buffet, but a hatful of cold water 
from the creek sprinkled over his face soon restored him. His sons 
had not escaped scot-free, and Antoine was shot through the neck, 
and, falling, had actually been half scalped by an Indian, whom the 
timely arrival of La Bonté had caused to leave his work unfinished. 

Silently, and with sad hearts, the survivors of the family, saw 


~ 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 231 


the bodies of the two boys buried on the river bank, and the spot 
marked with a pile of loose stones, procured from the rocky bed of 
the creek. The carcasses of the treacherous Indians were left to 
be devoured by wolves, and their bones to bleach in the sun and > 
wind—a warning to their tribe, that such foul treachery as they 
had meditated had met with a merited retribution. 

The next day the party continued their course to the Platte. 
Antoine and the stranger returned to the Arkansas, starting m the 
night to avoid the Indians ; but Killbuck and La Bonté lent the 
aid of their rifles to the solitary caravan, and, under their experi- 
enced guidance, no more Indian perils were encountered. Mary 
no longer sat perched up in her father’s Conostoga, but rode a 
quiet mustang by La Bonté’s side; and no doubt they found a 
theme with which to while away the monotonous journey over the 
dreary plains. South Fork was passed and Laramie was reached. 
The Sweet Water Mountains, which hang over the “ pass’’ to Cal- 
ifornia, were long since in sight; but when the waters of -the 
North Fork of Platte lay before their horses’ feet, and the broad 
trail was pointed out which led to the great valley of Columbia 
and their promised land, the heads of the oxen were turned down 
the stream where the shallow waters flow on to join the great 
Missouri—and not wp, toward the mountains where they leave 
_ their spring-heads, from which springs flow several waters—some 
coursing their way to the eastward, fertilizing, in their route to the 
Atlantic, the lands of civilized man; others westward forcing a 
passage through rocky cafions, and flowing through a barren wil- 
derness, inhabited by fierce and barbarous tribes. 

These were the routes to choose from: and, whatever was the 
cause, the oxen turned their yoked heads away from the rugged - 
mountains ; the teamsters joyfully cracked their ponderous whips, 
as the wagons rolled lightly down the Platte ; and men, women, 
and children, waved their hats and bonnets in the air, and cried 


1») 


out lustily, “‘ Hurrah for home ! 


‘ 


232 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


La Bonté looked at the dark somber mountains ere he turned 
his back upon them for the last time. He thought of the many 
years he had spent beneath their rugged shadow, of the many 
hardships he had suffered, of all his pains and perils in those wild 
regions. ‘The most exciting episodes of his adventurous career, his 
tried companions in scenes of fierce fight and bloodshed, passed in 
review before him. A feeling of regret was creeping over him, 
when Mary laid her hand gently on his shoulder. One single tear 
rolled unbidden down his cheek, and he answered her inquiring 
eyes: “I’m not sorry to leave it, Mary,” he said; but it’s hard to 
turn one’s back upon old friends.” 

They had a hard battle with Killbuck, in endeavoring to per- 
suade him to accompany them to the settlements. The old 
mountaineer shook his head. ‘The time,” he said, ‘‘ was gone 
by for that. He had often thought of it, but, when the day ar- 
rived, he hadn’t heart to leave the mountains. Trapping now 
was of no account, he knew; but beaver was bound to rise, and 
then the good times would come again. What could he do in the 
settlements, where there wasn’t room to move, and where it was 
hard to breathe—there were so many people. 

He accompanied them a considerable distance down the river, 
ever and anon looking cautiously back, to ascertam that he had 
not gone out of sight of the mountains. Before reaching the forks, 
however, he finally bade them adieu; and, turning the head of 
his old grizzled mule westward, he heartily wrung the hand of his 
comrade La Bonté; and, crying Yep! to his well-tried animal, 
disappeared behind a roll of the prairie, and was seen no more—a 
thousand good wishes for the welfare of the sturdy trapper speed- 
ing him on his solitary way. 

Four months from the day when La Bonté so opportunely ap- 
peared to rescue Brand’s family from the Indians on Black Horse 
Creek, that worthy and the faithful Mary were duly and lawfully 
united in the township church of Brandville, Memphis County, 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 233 


State of Tennessee. We can not say, in the concluding words of 
nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand novels, that “numerous 
pledges of mutual love surrounded and cheered them in their de 
clining years,” &c., &c.; because it was.only on the 24th of July, 
in the year of our Lord 1847, that La Bonté and Mary Brand 
were finally made one, after fifteen long years of separation. 


The fate of one of the humble characters who have figured in 
these pages, we must yet tarry a little longer to describe. 

During the past. winter, a party of mountaineers, flying from 
overpowering numbers of hostile Sioux, found themselves, one 
stormy evening, in a wild and dismal cafion near the elevated 
- mountain valley called the “‘ New Park.” 

The rocky bed of a dry mountain torrent, whose waters were 
now locked up at their spring-heads by icy fetters, was the only 
road up which they could make their difficult way : for the rugged 
sides of the gorge rose precipitously from the creek, scarcely aflord- 
ing a foot-hold to even the active bighorn, which occasionally 
looked down upon the travelers from the lofty summit. Logs of 
pine, uprooted by the hurricanes which sweep incessantly through 
the mountain defiles, and tossed headlong from the surrounding 
ridges, continually obstructed their way; and huge rocks and 
_ boulders, fallen from the heights and blocking up the bed of the 
stream, added to the difficulty, and threatened them every instant 
with destruction. . 

Toward sundown they reached a point where the eafion opened 
out into a little shelving glade or prairie, a few hundred yards in 
extent, the entrance to which was almost hidden by a thicket of 
dwarf pine and cedar. Here they determined to encamp for the 
night, in a spot secure from Indians, and, as they imagined, un- 
trodden by the foot of man. 

What, however, was their astonishment, on breaking through 
the cedar-covered entrance, to perceive a solitary horse standing 


° 


234 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 


motionless in the center of the prairie. Drawing near, they found 
it to be an old grizzled mustang, or Indian pony, with cropped 
ears and ragged tail (well picked by hungry mules), standing 
doubled up with cold, and at the very last gasp from extreme old 
age and weakness. Its bones were nearly through the stiffened 
skin, the legs of the animal were gathered under it ; while its for- 
lorn-looking head and stretched-out neck hung listlessly downward, 
almost overbalancing its tottering body. The glazed and sunken 
eye—the protruding and froth-covered tongue—the heaving” flank 
and quivering tail—declared its race was run; and the driving 
sleet and snow, and penetrating winter blast, scarce made impres- 
sion upon its callous and worn-out frame. 

One of the band of mountaineers was Marcellin, and a single 
look at the miserable beast was sufficient fer him to recognize the 
once renowned Nez-percé steed of old Bill Williams. That the 
owner himself was not far distant he felt certain ; and, searching 
earefully around, the hunters presently came upon an old camp, 
before which lay, protruding from the snow, the blackened 
remains of pine logs. Before these, which had been the fire, and 
leaning with his back against a pine trunk, and his legs crossed 
under him, half covered with snow, reclined the figure of the old 
mountaineer, his snow-capped head bent over his breast. His 
well-known hunting-coat of fringed elk-skin hung stiff and weather- 
stained about him; and his rifle, packs, and traps, were strewed 
around. 

Awe-struck, the trappers approached the body, and found it 
frozen hard as stone, in which state it had probably lain. there 
for many days or weeks. A jagged rent in the breast of his 
leather coat, and dark stains about it, showed he had received 
a wound before his death; but it was impossible to say, wheth- 
er to his hurt, or to sickness, or to the natural decay of age, 
was to be attributed the wretched and solitary end of poor Bill 
Williams. 


LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 235 


A friendly bullet cut short the few remaining hours of the trap-— 
per’s faithful steed ; and burying, as well as they were able, the 
body of the old mountaineer, the hunters next day left him in his 
lonely grave, in a spot so wild and remote, that it was doubtful 
whether even hungry wolves would discover and disinter his at- 
tenuated corpse. 


THE END. 


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A tale of much amusement and interest. We heartily commend it to our readers as a very 
pleasant and a very clever work.—Literary Gazette. 

An original novel, by an able hand.— Spectator. 

The story is well told, the characters clearly unfolded, and the conclusion natural and sat- 
isfactory.—Athen@um 


2 Popular Literature Published by Harper § Brothers. 


Che Life of Henrp the Fourth, 
King of France and Navarre. By G. P. R. James, Esq. 2 vols. 12mo, 
Muslin. $2 50. 


Mr. James has endeavored, and with success, to throw more light upon the earlier years of 
Henry than has hitherto been done, the latter and more important events in his striking ca- 
reer having naturally attracted the greatest attention.—Literary Gazette. 


Che Romance of Dachting: 
Voyage the First. By Josrru C. Harr. 12mo. 


Model Men, 


Modeled by Horace Maynew. With numerous Comic Illustrations. 


18mo, Paper. 25 cents. 

Sketches of various characters smartly executed, and one of the steam-boat and rail-way 
class of belles-lettres. The embellishments are also clever. Perhaps the ‘‘ Fast Man” will 
appear to be the most extraordinary nuisance to country readers, and to persons who are only 
acquainted with the higher classes of society.—London Literary Gazette. 


Che Moral, Gocial, and Professional Duties of Attor- 


nens and Solicitors. 
By Samue, Warren, Esq., F.R.S. 18mo, Muslin. cents. 


Now and Then. 


A Tale. By Samuet Warren, Esq., F.R.S. 12mo, Muslin, 75 cents; 


Paper, 50 cents. 
Dr. Warren’s skill is of a peculiar kind; it is earnest and emphatic. This tale excites 
strong interest.—Athengum. 


Arabian Nights’ Entertainments. 


Newly Translated and arranged for Family Reading, with Explanatory 
Notes, by E. W. Lane, Esq. Illustrated with Six Hundred Exquisite 
Engravings, &c. 2 vols. 8vo, Muslin extra gilt, or Morocco super. 
Fifty volumes of books of travel extant will not convey the instruction concerning the sin- 

gular and graceful habits of the Asiatics, that may be found inthe reading of these fascinating 
tales, and in the correct and beautiful engravings. This edition will be valued by the accom- 
plished scholar as a precious gallery of Oriental pictures: from the title-page to the last en- 
graving, it is a casket of rare and beautiful gems, and from the palace to the hut, it lays bare 
all that is interesting to know of the followers of Mohammed.—New York Sum, 


Mrs. Markham’s History of France, 


Prepared for the Use of Schools, with a supplementary Chapter, bringing 
down the History to the Present Time, by Jacop Assorr. Maps, En- 
gravings, &c. 12mo, half Bound. $1 25. 

Mrs. Markham’s historical works have, by common consent, loug occupied the highest rank 
as school histories; it has been stated that upward of 56,000 copies of her excellent series 
have already been sold in England. The London Journal of Education, referring to her pro- 
ductions, admits they are constructed on a plan well chosen, and adds that they can not be 
too strongly recommended as adapted for youth. 


Che History of Congress, Biographical and Political: 
Comprising Memoirs of Members of the Congress of the United States, 
drawn from authentic Sources. By H. G. Wuereter. Numerous Steel 
Portraits. 8vo, Muslin. $300 per vol. (Vols. I. and II. are now ready.) 
The author has enjoyed unusual opportunities for collecting the materials for such a work ; 


he has entered upon his task with a zeal and determination to make it permanently and emi- 
nently valuable.-—New York Courter and Enquirer. 


Popular Literature Published by Harper & Brothers. 3 


~ Home Influence : 


A Tale for Mothers and Daughters. By Grace Acurmar. 12mo, Musiin, 
$100; Paper, 75 cents. 


The author’s intention in this volume is to aid in educating the heart—an object which must 
commend itself to all who have the Christian faith, and all who hope and believe that the 
world may, by kindly influences, be transformed from a world of warring passions to one of 
love, and faith, and hope.—Cincinnati Journal. 


Che Image of his Sather. 
A Tale of a Young Monkey. By the Brothers Mayuew. With Illustra- 


tions. 12mo, Muslin, 75 cents; Paper, 50 cents. 

Sportively sarcastic and humorous, it touches off very graphically many follies of the day. 
-— Baltimore American. 

A very witty production of those distinguished comic writers, the Brothers Mayhew, two o} 
the most celebrated disciples of the “‘ Punch School.”—Spirit of the Times. 


Wuthering Heights. 


By A. Bett. 12mo, Muslin, 75 cents; Paper, 50 cents. 
‘We strongly recommend all our readers who love novelty to get this story, for we can prom- 
ise them that they never read any thing like it before.—DougLas JERROLD. a 


~~ Old Gicks the Guide; 
Or, Adventures in the Camanche Country in Search of a Gold Mine. By 
C.W.Wesser. 12mo, Muslin, $1 00; Paper, 75 cents. 


It has incidents enough for a score of novels. —Mirror. 
Here is a book to stir a fever in the blood of age. Full of wild adventures, and running over 
with life——Graham’s Magazine. 


Adventures in Mexico and the Rocky Monntains. 


By Groret Ruxton. 12mo, Muslin, 75 cents; Paper, 50 cents. 
Crowded with the wildest adventures, it has that reality which makes Melville’s “‘ South 
Seas” so charming and fresh. It has none of the homeliness of Robinson Crusoe, but the ad- 
ventures are as startling.— London Economist. 


: Danitp Sair ; 

Or, Pen and Pencil Sketches of English Society. By Wm. Maxerreacz 
Tuackeray. With numerous Illustrations by the Author. 8&vo, Muslin, 
$1 25; Paper, $1 00. 

He is the prince of etchers and sketehers. His genius is environed with a warm and glow- 
ing atmosphere of fine feeling and cultivated fancies--light, playful, kindling, acting upon the 


imagination and heart of the reader with a secret but irresistible influence. A humor, re- 
ioarkable for its geniality, illumes and vivifies every page.—Dickens’s Daily News. 


he Children of the New Forest. 


By Captain Marryat. 12mo, Muslin, 50 cents; Paper, 37} cents. 
The author's facility of description has here brought out a romance which will freshen the 
recollections of his former fame in the mind of the public.— Springfield Gazette. 


The Story of the Peninsular War 


By General Cuartes W. Vane, Marquess of Londonderry. iNew Edition 
revised, with considerable Additions. 12mo, Muslin, $1 00; Paper, 7é 


cents. 

It is the object of this publication to present what has long been a desideratum—a Complete 
History of the Peninsular War down to the peace of 1814, in the smallest possible compass, 
and at so moderate a cost as to be accessible to all classes of readers ; it will be regarded aa 
an indispensable companion to ‘* The Story of the Battle of Waterloo.” — Atheneum, 


4 Popular Literature Published by Harper § Brothers 


Loiterings in Enrope; 

Or, Sketches of Travel in France, Belgium, Switzerland, Italy, Austria, 
Prussia, Great Britain, and Ireland. With an Appendix, containing Ob- 
servations on European-Charities and Medical Institutions. By J. W. 
Corson, M.D. 12mo, Muslin, $1 00; Paper, 75 cents. 

The author evidently wrote just as he traveled, with a perfect overflowing of enthusiasm. 

The impressions which he received, and which he communicates to the reader, have all the 


minute fidelity of the Daguerreotype as to form, while the author’s imagination imparts to 
vhem those natural hues which are beyond the reach of that art.—Journal of Commerce. 


The Battle of Buena Vista, 


With the Operations of the ‘“‘ Army of Occupation” for One Month. By 
Captain CarLeTton. 12mo, Muslin, 75 cents; Paper, 50 cents. 
The best description that has yet appeared of one of the most distinguished battles fought 
during the Mexican campaign. We read it through from title-page to Colaphon with unabated 
interest. Its style is simple and pure, and its pictures vivid in a marked degree.—Knicker- 


bocker. 
Han and his Motives. 


By Grorcz Moore, M.D. 12mo, Muslin. 50 cents. 

Dr. Moore is one of the very best writers of the day. He is both a practical and a philo- 
sophical physician, and he derives much advantage in developing the spiritual as well as phys- 
ical nature of man, from the practice of his own profession. Thisis the third of his works, all 
of which have been placed by intelligent readers in the first class of modern literature and phi- 
losophy.—Cincinnati Herald. 


The Cenant of Wildfell Hall. 


By A. Bett. 12mo, Muslin, 75 cents ; Paper, 50 vents. 

It is by all odds the best temperance story we ever read. It is difficult not to believe in 
the reality of the scene. You can not doubt that it is an actual copy of life. You forget you 
are reading a romance, and put just as much trust in the narration as if it were told of your 
next-door neighbors. To produce this effect completely is, we take it, the highest success of 
a novelist.—Mirror. 


Che Swiss Family Robinson; ; 


Or, Adventures of a Father and Mother and Four Sons on a Desert Island. 
Being a Continuation of the Work published some years since under this 
Title. 2 vols. 18mo, Muslin. 75 cents. 

Every one will remember the first two volumes of this charming story for children, and, of 
course, be desirous to see the conclusion. The present volumes are quite as interesting as the 
former.— Godey’s Lady’s Magazine. 

THE FIRST TWo VotumEs Of the same work may still be had. 2 vols. 18mo, 
Muslin. 623 cents. 


The Good Genins that turned Every Ching into Gold; 


Or, the Queen Bee and the Magic Dress. A Christmas Fairy Tale. By 
the Brothers Mayvuew. Engravings. 18mo, Muslin, gilt edges, 45 cents; 
Muslin, plain, 373 cents: Fancy paper covers, 373 cents. : 


This is a most charming little fairy tale, written with singular beauty and spirit, and incul- 
cating the duty of industry. 


Mmoo; or, a Narrative of Adventures in the South Seas. 
By Herman Metvitte. 12mo, Mushkin, $1 25; Paper, $1 00. 


Musing the other day over our matinal hyson, we suddenly found ourselves in the entertain- 
ing society of Marquesan Melville, the phenix of modern voyagers, sprung, it would seem, from 
the mingled ashes of Captain Cook and Robinson Crusoe, The title signifies a rover; the 
bouk is excellent, quite first-rate. —BLACK WOOD 


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