text: COLONEL HENRY  INMAN THE OLD SANTA FE TRAIL 
   
   
   Preface 
   As We Look Into The Open Fire For Our Fancies, So We Are Apt To 
   Study The Dim Past For The Wonderful And Sublime, Forgetful Of The 
   Fact That The Present Is A Constant Romance, And That The Happenings 
   Of To-Day Which We Count Of Little Importance Are Sure To Startle 
   Somebody In the Future, And Engage The Pen Of The Historian, 
   Philosopher, And Poet. 
     
     
     
   Accustomed as We Are To Think Of The Vast Steppes Of Russia And 
   Siberia As Alike Strange And Boundless, And To Deal With The Unkown 
   Interior Of Africa As An Impenetrable Mystery, We Lose Sight Of A 
   Locality In our Own Country That Once Surpassed all These In 
   Virgin Grandeur, In majestic Solitude, And In all The Attributes 
   Of A Tremendous Wilderness. 
     
     
     
   The Story Of The Old Santa Fe Trail, So Truthfully Recalled by 
   Colonel Henry Inman, Ex-Officer Of The Old Regular Army, In these Pages, 
   Is A Most Thrilling One.  The Vast Area Through Which The Famous 
   Highway Ran Is Still Imperfectly Known To Most People As "The West"; 
   A Designation Once Appropriate, But Hardly Applicable Now; For In 
   These Days Of Easy Communication The Real Trail Region Is Not 
   So Far Removed from New York As Buffalo Was Seventy Years Ago. 
     
     
     
   At The Commencement Of The "Commerce Of The Prairies," In the Early 
   Portion Of The Century, The Old Trail Was The Arena Of Almost Constant 
   Sanguinary Struggles Between The Wily Nomads Of The Desert And The 
   Hardy White Pioneers, Whose Eventful Lives Made The Civilization 
   Of The Vast Interior Region Of Our Continent Possible.  Their Daring 
   Compelled its Development, Which Has Resulted in the Genesis Of 
   Great States And Large Cities.  Their Hardships Gave Birth To The 
   American Homestead; Their Determined will Was The Factor Of Possible 
   Achievements, The Most Remarkable And Important Of Modern Times. 
     
   
   
   
   Preface 
   When The Famous Highway Was Established across The Great Plains 
   As A Line Of Communication To The Shores Of The Blue Pacific, 
   The Only Method Of Travel Was By The Slow Freight Caravan Drawn By 
   Patient Oxen, Or The Lumbering Stage Coach With Its Complement Of 
   Four Or Six Mules.  There Was Ever To Be Feared an Attack By Those 
   Devils Of The Desert, The Cheyennes, Comanches, And Kiowas. 
   Along Its Whole Route The Remains Of Men, Animals, And The Wrecks Of 
   Camps And Wagons, Told A Story Of Suffering, Robbery, And Outrage 
   More Impressive Than Any Language.  Now The Tourist Or Business Man 
   Makes The Journey In palace Cars, And There Is Nothing To Remind Him 
   Of The Danger Or Desolation Of Border Days; On Every Hand Are The 
   Evidences Of A Powerful And Advanced civilization. 
     
     
     
   It Is Fortunate That One Is Left To Tell Some Of Its Story Who Was 
   A Living actor And Had Personal Knowledge Of Many Of The Thrilling 
   Scenes That Were Enacted along The Line Of The Great Route. 
   He Was Familiar With All The Famous Men, Both White And Savage, 
   Whose Lives Have Made The Story Of The Trail, His Own Sojourn On 
   The Plains And In the Rocky Mountains Extending Over A Period Of 
   Nearly Forty Years. 
     
     
     
   The Old Trail Has More Than Common Interest For Me, And I Gladly 
   Record Here My Indorsement Of The Faithful Record, Compiled by A 
   Brave Soldier, Old Comrade, And Friend. 
     
     
     
   W. F. Cody, "Buffalo Bill." 
     
   
   
   
   Contents 
   Introduction. 
   The First Europeans Who Traversed the Great Highway--Alvar Nunez 
   Cabeca De Vaca--Hernando De Soto, And Francisco Vasquez De Coronado-- 
   Spanish Expedition From Santa Fe Eastwardly--Escape Of The Sole Survivors. 
     
   
   
   
   Contents 
   Chapter I. 
   Under The Spaniards. 
   Quaint Descriptions Of Old Santa Fe--The Famous Adobe Palace-- 
   Santa Fe The Oldest Town In the United states--First Settlement-- 
   Onate'S Conquest--Revolt Of The Pueblo Indians--Under Pueblo Rule 
   --Cruelties Of The Victors--The Santa Fe Of To-Day--Arrival Of 
   A Caravan--The Railroad Reaches The Town--Amusements--A Fandango. 
     
     
     
   Chapter Ii. 
   La Lande And Pursley. 
   The Beginning Of The Santa Fe Trade--La Lande And Pursley, 
   The First Americans To Cross The Plains--Pursley'S Patriotism-- 
   Captain Ezekiel Williams--A Hungry Bear--A Midnight Alarm. 
     
     
     
   Chapter Iii. 
   Early Traders. 
   Captain Becknell'S Expedition--Sufferings From Thirst--Auguste 
   Chouteau--Imprisonment Of Mcknight And Chambers--The Caches-- 
   Stampeding Mules--First Military Escort Across The Plains-- 
   Captain Zebulon Pike--Sublette And Smith--Murder Of Mcness-- 
   Indians Not The Aggressors. 
     
     
     
   Chapter Iv. 
   Trains And Packers. 
   The Atajo Or Pack-Train Of Mules--Mexican Nomenclature Of 
   Paraphernalia--Manner Of Packing--The "Bell-Mare"--Toughness Of 
   Mules Among Precipices--The Caravan Of Wagons--Largest Wagon-Train 
   Ever On The Plains--Stampedes--Duties Of Packers En Route--Order Of 
   Travelling With Pack-Train--Chris. Gilson, The Famous Packer. 
     
     
     
   Chapter V. 
   Fight With Comanches. 
   Narrative Of Bryant'S Party Of Santa Fe Traders--The First Wagon 
   Expedition Across The Plains--A Thrilling Story Of Hardship And 
   Physical Suffering--Terrible Fight With The Comanches--Abandonment 
   Of The Wagons--On Foot Over The Trail--Burial Of Their Specie 
   On An Island In the Arkansas--Narrative Of William Y. Hitt, 
   One Of The Party--His Encounter With A Comanche--The First Escort 
   Of United states Troops To The Annual Caravan Of Santa Fe Traders, 
   In 1829--Major Bennett Riley'S Official Report To The War Department 
   --Journal Of Captain Cooke. 
     
   
   
   
   Contents 
   Chapter Vi. 
   A Romantic Tragedy. 
   The Expedition Of Texans To The Old Santa Fe Trail For The Purpose 
   Of Robbing Mexican Traders--Innocent Citizens Of The United states 
   Suspected, Arrested, And Carried to The Capital Of New Mexico-- 
   Colonel Snively'S Force--Warfield'S Sacking Of The Village Of Mora 
   --Attack Upon A Mexican Caravan--Kit Carson In the Fight-- 
   A Crime Of Over Sixty Years Ago--A Romance Of The Tragedy. 
     
     
     
   Chapter Vii. 
   Mexico Declares War. 
   Mexico Declares War Against The United states--Congress Authorizes 
   The President To Call For Fifty Thousand Volunteers--Organization Of 
   The Army Of The West--Phenomenon Seen By Santa Fe Traders In the Sky 
   --First Death On The March Of The Army Across The Plains--Men In 
   A Starving Condition--Another Death--Burial Near Pawnee Rock-- 
   Trouble At Pawnee Fork--Major Howard'S Report. 
     
     
     
   Chapter Viii. 
   The Valley Of Taos. 
   The Valley Of Taos--First White Settler--Rebellion Of The Mexicans 
   --A Woman Discovers And Informs Colonel Price Of The Conspiracy-- 
   Assassination Of Governor Bent--Horrible Butcheries By The Pueblos 
   And Mexicans--Turley'S Ranch--Murder Of Harwood And Markhead-- 
   Anecdote Of Sir William Drummond Stewart--Fight At The Mills-- 
   Battle Of The Pueblo Of Taos--Trial Of The Insurrectionists-- 
   Baptiste, The Juror--Execution Of The Rebels. 
     
     
     
   Chapter Ix. 
   First Overland Mail. 
   Independence--Opening Of Navigation On The Mississippi--Effect Of 
   Water Transportation Upon The Trade--Establishment Of Trading-Forts-- 
   Market For Cattle And Mules--Wages Paid Teamsters On The Trail-- 
   An Enterprising Coloured man--Increase Of The Trade At The Close Of 
   The Mexican War--Heavy Emigration To California--First Overland Mail 
   --How The Guards Were Armed--Passenger Coaches To Santa Fe-- 
   Stage-Coaching Days. 
     
     
   
   
   
   Contents 
   Chapter X. 
   Charles Bent. 
   The Tragedy In the Canyon Of The Canadian--Dragoons Follow The Trail 
   Of The Savages--Kit Carson, Dick Wooton, And Tom Tobin The Scouts 
   Of The Expedition--More Than A Hundred of The Savages Killed-- 
   Murder Of Mrs. White--White Wolf--Lieutenant Bell'S Singular Duel 
   With The Noted savage--Old Wolf--Satank--Murder Of Peacock-- 
   Satanta Made Chief--Kicking Bird--His Tragic Death--Charles Bent, 
   The Half-Breed renegade--His Terrible Acts--His Death. 
     
     
     
   Chapter Xi. 
   La Glorieta. 
   Neglect Of New Mexico By The United states Government--Intended 
   Conquest Of The Province--Conspiracy Of Southern Leaders-- 
   Surrender By General Twiggs To The Confederate Government Of The 
   Military Posts And Munitions Of War Under His Command--Only One 
   Soldier Out Of Two Thousand Deserts To The Enemy--Organization 
   Of Volunteers For The Defence Of Colorado And New Mexico-- 
   Battle Of La Glorieta--Rout Of The Rebels. 
     
     
     
   Chapter Xii. 
   The Buffalo. 
   The Ancient Range Of The Buffalo--Number Slaughtered in thirteen Years 
   For Their Robes Alone--Buffalo Bones--Trains Stopped by Vast Herds-- 
   Custom Of Old Hunters When Caught In a Blizzard--Anecdotes Of 
   Buffalo Hunting--Kit Carson'S Dilemma--Experience Of Two Of Fremont'S 
   Hunters--Wounded buffalo Bull--O'Neil'S Laughable Experience-- 
   Organization Of A Herd Of Buffalo--Stampedes--Thrilling Escapes. 
     
     
     
   Chapter Xiii. 
   Indian Customs And Legends. 
   Big Timbers--Winter Camp Of The Cheyennes, Kiowas, And Arapahoes-- 
   Savage Amusements--A Cheyenne Lodge--Indian Etiquette--Treatment 
   Of Children--The Pipe Of The North American Savage--Dog Feast-- 
   Marriage Ceremony. 
     
     
     
   Chapter Xiv. 
   Trappers. 
   The Old Pueblo Fort--A Celebrated rendezvous--Its Inhabitants-- 
   "Fontaine Qui Bouille"--The Legend Of Its Origin--The Trappers 
   Of The Old Santa Fe Trail And The Rocky Mountains--Beaver Trapping-- 
   Habits Of The Beaver--Improvidence Of The Old Trappers--Trading With 
   "Poor Lo"--The Strange Experience Of A Veteran Trapper On The 
   Santa Fe Trail--Romantic Marriage Of Baptiste Brown. 
     
   
   
   
   Contents 
   Chapter Xv. 
   Uncle John Smith. 
   Uncle John Smith--A Famous Trapper, Guide, And Interpreter-- 
   His Marriage With A Cheyenne Squaw--An Autocrat Among The People 
   Of The Plains And Mountains--The Mexicans Held Him In great Dread-- 
   His Wonderful Resemblance To President Andrew Johnson--Interpreter 
   And Guide On General Sheridan'S Winter Expedition Against The 
   Allied plains Tribes--His Stories Around The Camp-Fire. 
     
     
     
   Chapter Xvi. 
   Kit Carson. 
   Famous Men Of The Old Santa Fe Trail--Kit Carson--Jim Bridger-- 
   James P. Beckwourth--Uncle Dick Wooton--Jim Baker--Lucien B. 
   Maxwell--Old Bill Williams--Tom Tobin--James Hobbs. 
     
     
     
   Chapter Xvii. 
   Uncle Dick Wooton. 
   Uncle Dick Wooton--Lucien B. Maxwell--Old Bill Williams--Tom Tobin-- 
   James Hobbs--William F. Cody (Buffalo Bill). 
     
     
     
   Chapter Xviii. 
   Maxwell'S Ranch. 
   Maxwell'S Ranch On The Old Santa Fe Trail--A Picturesque Region-- 
   Maxwell A Trapper And Hunter With The American Fur Company-- 
   Lifelong Comrade Of Kit Carson--Sources Of Maxwell'S Wealth-- 
   Fond Of Horse-Racing--A Disastrous Fourth-Of-July Celebration 
   --Anecdote Of Kit Carson--Discovery Of Gold On The Ranch-- 
   The Big Ditch--Issuing Beef To The Ute Indians--Camping Out With 
   Maxwell And Carson--A Story Of The Old Santa Fe Trail. 
     
     
     
   Chapter Xix. 
   Bent'S Forts. 
   The Bents' Several Forts--Famous Trading-Posts--Rendezvous Of The 
   Rocky Mountain Trappers--Castle William And Incidents Connected 
   With The Noted place--Bartering With The Indians--Annual Feast 
   Of Arapahoes And Cheyennes--Old Wolf'S First Visit To Bent'S Fort-- 
   The Surprise Of The Savages--Stories Told By Celebrated frontiersmen 
   Around The Camp-Fire. 
     
     
     
   Chapter Xx. 
   Pawnee Rock. 
   Pawnee Rock--A Debatable Region Of The Indian Tribes--The Most 
   Dangerous Point On The Central Plains In the Days Of The Early 
   Santa Fe Trade--Received its Name In a Baptism Of Blood-- 
   Battle-Ground Of The Pawnees And Cheyennes--Old Graves On The 
   Summit Of The Rock--Kit Carson'S First Fight At The Rock With 
   The Pawnees--Kills His Mule By Mistake--Colonel St. Vrain'S 
   Brilliant Charge--Defeat Of The Savages--The Trappers' Terrible 
   Battle With The Pawnees--The Massacre At Cow Creek. 
     
   
   
   
   Contents 
   Chapter Xxi. 
   Fooling Stage Robbers. 
   Wagon Mound--John L. Hatcher'S Thrilling adventure With Old Wolf, 
   The War-Chief Of The Comanches--Incidents On The Trail--A Boy 
   Bugler'S Happy Escape From The Savages At Fort Union--A Drunken 
   Stage-Driver--How An Officer Of The Quartermaster'S Department 
   At Washington Succeeded in starting The Military Freight Caravans 
   A Month Earlier Than The Usual Time--How John Chisholm Fooled 
   The Stage-Robbers--The Story Of Half A Plug Of Tobacco. 
     
     
     
   Chapter Xxii. 
   A Desperate Ride. 
   Solitary Graves Along The Line Of The Old Santa Fe Trail--The Walnut 
   Crossing--Fort Zarah--The Graves On Hon. D. Heizer'S Ranch On 
   The Walnut--Troops Stationed at The Crossing Of The Walnut-- 
   A Terrible Five Miles--The Cavalry Recruit'S Last Ride. 
     
     
     
   Chapter Xxiii. 
   Hancock'S Expedition. 
   General Hancock'S Expedition Against The Plains Indians--Terrible 
   Snow-Storm At Fort Larned--Meeting With The Chiefs Of The 
   Dog-Soldiers--Bull Bear'S Diplomacy--Meeting Of The United states 
   Troops And The Savages In line Of Battle--Custer'S Night Experience-- 
   The Surgeon And Dog Stew--Destruction Of The Village By Fire-- 
   General Sully'S Fight With The Kiowas, Comanches, And Arapahoes-- 
   Finding The Skeletons Of The Unfortunate Men--The Savages' Report 
   Of The Affair. 
     
     
     
   Chapter Xxiv. 
   Invasion Of The Railroad. 
   Scenery On The Line Of The Old Santa Fe Trail--The Great Plains-- 
   The Arkansas Valley--Over The Rocky Mountains Into New Mexico-- 
   The Raton Range--The Spanish Peaks--Simpson'S Rest--Fisher'S Peak 
   --Raton Peak--Snowy Range--Pike'S Peak--Raton Creek--The Invasion 
   Of The Railroad--The Old Santa Fe Trail A Thing Of The Past. 
     
   
   
   
   Introduction 
   For More Than Three Centuries, A Period Extending From 1541 To 1851, 
   Historians Believed, And So Announced to The Literary World, 
   That Francisco Vasquez De Coronado, The Celebrated spanish Explorer, 
   In His Search For The Seven Cities Of Cibola And The Kingdom Of Quivira, 
   Was The First European To Travel Over The Intra-Continent Region 
   Of North America.  In the Last Year Above Referred to, However, 
   Buckingham Smith, Of Florida, An Eminent Spanish Scholar, And Secretary 
   Of The American Legation At Madrid, Discovered among The Archives 
   Of State The _Narrative Of Alvar Nunez Cabeca De Vaca_, Where For 
   Nearly Three Hundred years It Had Lain, Musty And Begrimed with The 
   Dust Of Ages, An Unread And Forgotten Story Of Suffering That Has No 
   Parallel In fiction.  The Distinguished antiquarian Unearthed the 
   Valuable Manuscript From Its Grave Of Oblivion, Translated it Into 
   English, And Gave It To The World Of Letters; Conferring Honour Upon 
   Whom Honour Was Due, And Tearing The Laurels From Such Grand Voyageurs 
   And Discoverers As De Soto, La Salle, And Coronado, Upon Whose Heads 
   History Had Erroneously Placed them, Through No Fault, Or Arrogance, 
   However, Of Their Own. 
     
     
     
   Cabeca, Beyond Any Question, Travelled the Old Santa Fe Trail For 
   Many Miles, Crossed it Where It Intersects The Arkansas River, 
   A Little East Of Fort William Or Bent'S Fort, And Went Thence On 
   Into New Mexico, Following The Famous Highway As Far, At Least, 
   As Las Vegas.  Cabeca'S March Antedated that Of Coronado By Five Years. 
   To This Intrepid Spanish Voyageur We Are Indebted for The First 
   Description Of The American Bison, Or Buffalo As The Animal Is 
   Erroneously Called.  While Not So Quaint In its Language As That 
   Of Coronado'S Historian, A Lustrum Later, The Statement Cannot Be 
   Perverted into Any Other Reference Than To The Great Shaggy Monsters 
   Of The Plains:-- 
     
     
     
             Cattle Come As Far As This.  I Have Seen Them Three Times 
             And Eaten Of Their Meat.  I Think They Are About The Size 
             Of Those Of Spain. 
   
   
   
   Introduction 
   .  They Have Small Horns Like The Cows 
             Of Morocco, And The Hair Very Long And Flocky, Like That 
             Of The Merino; Some Are Light Brown, Others Black.  To My 
             Judgment The Flesh Is Finer And Fatter Than That Of This 
             Country.  The Indians Make Blankets Of The Hides Of Those 
             Not Full Grown.  They Range Over A District Of More Than 
             Four Hundred leagues, And In the Whole Extent Of Plain Over 
             Which They Run The People That Inhabit Near There Descend 
             And Live On Them And Scatter A Vast Many Skins Throughout 
             The Country. 
     
     
     
   It Will Be Remembered by The Student Of The Early History Of 
   Our Country, That When Alvar Nunez Cabeca De Vaca, A Follower Of The 
   Unfortunate Panphilo De Narvaez, And Who Had Been Long Thought Dead, 
   Landed in spain, He Gave Such Glowing accounts Of Florida[1] And The 
   Neighbouring Regions That The Whole Kingdom Was In a Ferment, 
   And Many A Heart Panted to Emigrate To A Land Where The Fruits 
   Were Perennial, And Where It Was Thought Flowed the Fabled 
   Fountain Of Youth. 
     
     
     
   Three Expeditions To That Country Had Already Been Tried: 
   One Undertaken In 1512, By Juan Ponce De Leon, Formerly A Companion 
   Of Columbus; Another In 1520, By Vasquez De Allyon; And Another By 
   Panphilo De Narvaez.  All Of These Had Signally Failed, The Bones 
   Of Most Of The Leaders And Their Followers Having Been Left To Bleach 
   Upon The Soil They Had Come To Conquer. 
     
     
     
   The Unfortunate Issue Of The Former Expeditions Did Not Operate As 
   A Check Upon The Aspiring Mind Of De Soto, But Made Him The More 
   Anxious To Spring as An Actor Into The Arena Which Had Been The Scene 
   Of The Discomfiture And Death Of The Hardy Chivalry Of The Kingdom. 
   He Sought An Audience Of The Emperor, And The Latter, After Hearing 
   De Soto'S Proposition That, "He Could Conquer The Country Known As 
   Florida At His Own Expense," Conferred upon Him The Title Of 
   "Governor Of Cuba And Florida." 
     
     
     
   On The 6Th Of April, 1538, De Soto Sailed from Spain With An Armament 
   Of Ten Vessels And A Splendidly Equipped army Of Nine Hundred chosen Men, 
   Amidst The Roar Of Cannons And The Inspiring Strains Of Martial Music. 
     
     
     
   It Is Not Within The Province Of This Work To Follow De Soto Through 
   All His Terrible Trials On The North American Continent; The Wonderful 
   Story May Be Found In every Well-Organized library. 
   
   
   
   Introduction 
   It Is Recorded, 
   However, That Some Time During The Year 1542, His Decimated army, 
   Then Under The Command Of Luis De Moscoso, De Soto Having Died 
   The Previous May, Was Camped on The Arkansas River, Far Upward Towards 
   What Is Now Kansas.  It Was This Command, Too, Of The Unfortunate 
   But Cruel De Soto, That Saw The Rocky Mountains From The East. 
   The Chronicler Of The Disastrous Journey Towards The Mountains Says: 
   "The Entire Route Became A Trail Of Fire And Blood," As They 
   Had Many A Desperate Struggle With The Savages Of The Plains, 
   Who "Were Of Gigantic Stucture, And Fought With Heavy Strong Clubs, 
   With The Desperation Of Demons.  Such Was Their Tremendous Strength, 
   That One Of These Warriors Was A Match For A Spanish Soldier, 
   Though Mounted on A Horse, Armed with A Sword And Cased in armour!" 
     
     
     
   Moscoso Was Searching For Coronado, And He Was One Of The Most Humane 
   Of All The Officers Of De Soto'S Command, For He Evidently Bent 
   Every Energy To Extricate His Men From The Dreadful Environments 
   Of Their Situation; Despairing Of Reaching The Gulf By The Mississippi, 
   He Struck Westward, Hoping, As Cabeca De Vaca Had Done, To Arrive 
   In Mexico Overland. 
     
     
     
   A Period Of Six Months Was Consumed in moscoso'S March Towards The 
   Rocky Mountains, But He Failed to Find Coronado, Who At That Time 
   Was Camped near Where Wichita, Kansas, Is Located; According To His 
   Historian, "At The Junction Of The St. Peter And St. Paul" (The Big 
   And Little Arkansas?).  That Point Was The Place Of Separation 
   Between Coronado And A Number Of His Followers; Many Returning 
   To Mexico, While The Undaunted commander, With As Many As He Could 
   Induce To Accompany Him, Continued easterly, Still In search Of 
   The Mythical Quivira. 
     
     
     
   How Far Westward Moscoso Travelled cannot Be Determined accurately, 
   But That His Route Extended up The Valley Of The Arkansas For More Than 
   Three Hundred miles, Into What Is Now Kansas, Is Proved by The Statement 
   Of His Historian, Who Says: "They Saw Great Chains Of Mountains And 
   Forests To The West, Which They Understood Were Uninhabited." 
     
     
   Another Strong Confirmatory Fact Is, That, In 1884, A Group Of Mounds 
   Was Discovered in mcpherson County, Kansas, Which Were Thoroughly 
   Explored by The Professors Of Bethany College, Lindsborg, Who Found, 
   Among Other Interesting Relics, A Piece Of Chain-Mail Armour, 
   Of Hard Steel; Undoubtedly Part Of The Equipment Of A Spanish Soldier 
   Either Of The Command Of Cabeca De Vaca, De Soto, Or Of Coronado. 
   The Probability Is, That It Was Worn By One Of De Soto'S Unfortunate Men, 
   As Neither Panphilo De Narvaez, De Vaca, Or Coronado Experienced any 
   Difficulty With The Savages Of The Great Plains, Because Those Leaders 
   Were Humane And Treated the Indians Kindly, In contradistinction To 
   De Soto, Who Was The Most Inhuman Of All The Early Spanish Explorers. 
   
   
   
   Introduction 
   He Was Of The Same School As Pizarro And Cortez; Possessing Their 
   Daring Valour, Their Contempt Of Danger, And Their Tenacity Of Purpose, 
   As Well As Their Cruelty And Avarice.  De Soto Made Treaties With 
   The Indians Which He Constantly Violated, And Murdered the Misguided 
   Creatures Without Mercy.  During The Retreat Of Moscoso'S Weakened 
   Command Down The Arkansas River, The Hot Springs Of Arkansas 
   Were Discovered.  His Historian Writes: 
     
     
     
             And When They Saw The Foaming Fountain, They Thought 
             It Was The Long-Searched-For "Fountain Of Youth," Reported 
             By Fame To Exist Somewhere In the Country, But Ten Of The 
             Soldiers Dying From Excessive Drinking, They Were Soon 
             Convinced of Their Error. 
     
     
     
   After These Intrepid Explorers The Restless Coronado Appears On 
   The Old Trail.  In the Third Volume Of Hakluyt'S _Voyages_, Published 
   In London, 1600, Coronado'S Historian Thus Describes The Great Plains 
   Of Kansas And Colorado, The Bison, And A Tornado:-- 
     
     
     
             From Cicuye They Went To Quivira, Which After Their Account 
             Is Almost Three Hundred leagues Distant, Through Mighty 
             Plains, And Sandy Heaths So Smooth And Wearisome, And Bare 
             Of Wood That They Made Heaps Of Ox-Dung, For Want Of Stones 
             And Trees, That They Might Not Lose Themselves At Their 
             Return: For Three Horses Were Lost On That Plain, And One 
             Spaniard Which Went From His Company On Hunting. . . . 
             All That Way Of Plains Are As Full Of Crooked-Back Oxen As 
             The Mountain Serrena In spain Is Of Sheep, But There Is 
             No Such People As Keep Those Cattle. . . .  They Were A 
             Great Succour For The Hunger And The Want Of Bread, Which 
             Our Party Stood In need of. . . . 
     
     
     
             One Day It Rained in that Plain A Great Shower Of Hail, 
             As Big As Oranges, Which Caused many Tears, Weakness 
             And Bowes. 
     
     
     
             These Oxen Are Of The Bigness And Colour Of Our Bulls, 
             But Their Bones Are Not So Great.  They Have A Great Bunch 
             Upon Their Fore-Shoulder, And More Hair On Their Fore Part 
             Than On Their Hinder Part, And It Is Like Wool.  They Have 
             As It Were An Horse-Mane Upon Their Backbone, And Much Hair 
             And Very Long From Their Knees Downward.  They Have Great 
             Tufts Of Hair Hanging Down On Their Foreheads, And It 
             Seemeth They Have Beards Because Of The Great Store Of Hair 
             Hanging Down At Their Chins And Throats. 
   
   
   
   Introduction 
   The Males Have 
             Very Long Tails, And A Great Knob Or Flock At The End, 
             So That In some Respects They Resemble The Lion, And In some 
             Other The Camel.  They Push With Their Horns, They Run, 
             They Overtake And Kill An Horse When They Are In their 
             Rage And Anger.  Finally It Is A Foul And Fierce Beast Of 
             Countenance And Form Of Body.  The Horses Fled from Them, 
             Either Because Of Their Deformed shape, Or Else Because 
             They Had Never Before Seen Them. 
     
     
     
   "The Number," Continues The Historian, "Was Incredible."  When The 
   Soldiers, In their Excitement For The Chase, Began To Kill Them, 
   They Rushed together In such Masses That Hundreds Were Literally 
   Crushed to Death.  At One Place There Was A Great Ravine; They Jumped 
   Into It In their Efforts To Escape From The Hunters, And So Terrible 
   Was The Slaughter As They Tumbled over The Precipice That The 
   Depression Was Completely Filled up, Their Carcasses Forming a Bridge, 
   Over Which The Remainder Passed with Ease. 
     
     
     
   The Next Recorded expedition Across The Plains Via The Old Trail 
   Was Also By The Spaniards From Santa Fe, Eastwardly, In the Year 1716, 
   "For The Purpose Of Establishing a Military Post In the Upper 
   Mississippi Valley As A Barrier To The Further Encroachments Of 
   The French In that Direction."  An Account Of This Expedition Is Found 
   In _Memoires Historiques Sur La Louisiane_, Published in paris In 1858, 
   But Never Translated in its Entirety.  The Author, Lieutenant Dumont 
   Of The French Army, Was One Of A Party Ascending The Arkansas River 
   In Search Of A Supposed mass Of Emeralds.  The Narrative Relates: 
             There Was More Than Half A League To Traverse To Gain The 
             Other Bank Of The River, And Our People Were No Sooner 
             Arrived than They Found There A Party Of Missouris, Sent To 
             M. De La Harpe By M. De Bienville, Then Commandant General 
             At Louisiana, To Deliver Orders To The Former.  Consequently 
             They Gave The Signal Order, And Our Other Two Canoes Having 
             Crossed the River, The Savages Gave To Our Commandant The 
             Letters Of M. De Bienville, In which He Informed him That 
             The Spaniards Had Sent Out A Detachment From New Mexico 
             To Go To The Missouris And To Establish A Post In that 
             Country. . . .  The Success Of This Expedition Was Very 
             Calamitous To The Spaniards.  Their Caravan Was Composed of 
             Fifteen Hundred people, Men, Women And Soldiers, Having 
             With Them A Jacobin For A Chaplain, And Bringing also A 
             Great Number Of Horses And Cattle, According To The Custom 
             Of That Nation To Forget Nothing That Might Be Necessary For 
             A Settlement.  Their Design Was To Destroy The Missouris, 
             And To Seize Upon Their Country, And With This Intention 
             They Had Resolved to Go First To The Osages, A Neighbouring 
             Nation, Enemies Of The Missouris, To Form An Alliance With 
             Them, And To Engage Them In their Behalf For The Execution 
             Of Their Plan.  
   
   
   
   Introduction 
   Perhaps The Map Which Guided them Was Not 
             Correct, Or They Had Not Exactly Followed it, For It Chanced 
             That Instead Of Going To The Osages Whom They Sought, They 
             Fell, Without Knowing It, Into A Village Of The Missouris, 
             Where The Spanish Commander, Presenting Himself To The Great 
             Chief And Offering Him The Calumet, Made Him Understand 
             Through An Interpreter, Believing Himself To Be Speaking 
             To The Osage Chief, That They Were Enemies Of The Missouris, 
             That They Had Come To Destroy Them, To Make Their Women 
             And Children Slaves And To Take Possession Of Their Country. 
             He Begged the Chief To Be Willing To Form An Alliance 
             With Them, Against A Nation Whom The Osages Regarded as 
             Their Enemy, And To Second Them In this Enterprise, Promising 
             To Recompense Them Liberally For The Service Rendered, 
             And Always To Be Their Friend In the Future.  Upon This 
             Discourse The Missouri Chief Understood Perfectly Well 
             The Mistake.  He Dissimulated and Thanked the Spaniard For 
             The Confidence He Had In his Nation; He Consented to Form 
             An Alliance With Them Against The Missouris, And To Join 
             Them With All His Forces To Destroy Them; But He Represented 
             That His People Were Not Armed, And That They Dared not 
             Expose Themselves Without Arms In such An Enterprise. 
             Deceived by So Favourable A Reception, The Spaniards Fell 
             Into The Trap Laid For Them.  They Received with Due 
             Ceremony, In the Little Camp They Had Formed on Their 
             Arrival, The Calumet Which The Great Chief Of The Missouris 
             Presented to The Spanish Commander.  The Alliance For War 
             Was Sworn To By Both Parties; They Agreed upon A Day For 
             The Execution Of The Plan Which They Meditated, And The 
             Spaniards Furnished the Savages With All The Munitions Which 
             They Thought Were Needed.  After The Ceremony Both Parties 
             Gave Themselves Up Equally To Joy And Good Cheer.  At The 
             End Of Three Days Two Thousand Savages Were Armed and In 
             The Midst Of Dances And Amusements; Each Party Thought 
             Nothing But The Execution Of Its Design.  It Was The Evening 
             Before Their Departure Upon Their Concerted expedition, 
             And The Spaniards Had Retired to Their Camps As Usual, 
             When The Great Chief Of The Missouris, Having assembled 
             His Warriors, Declared to Them His Intentions And Exhorted 
             Them To Deal Treacherously With These Strangers Who Were Come 
             To Their Home Only With The Design Of Destroying Them. 
             At Daybreak The Savages Divided into Several Bands, Fell On 
             The Spaniards, Who Expected nothing Of The Kind, And In 
             Less Than A Quarter Of An Hour All The Caravan Were Murdered. 
             No One Escaped from The Massacre Except The Chaplain, Whom 
             The Barbarians Saved because Of His Dress; At The Same Time 
             They Took Possession Of All The Merchandise And Other 
             Effects Which They Found In their Camp.  The Spaniards Had 
             Brought With Them, As I Have Said, A Certain Number Of Horses, 
             And As The Savages Were Ignorant Of The Use Of These Animals, 
             They Took Pleasure In making The Jacobin Whom They Had Saved, 
             And Who Had Become Their Slave, Mount Them.  The Priest Gave 
             Them This Amusement Almost Every Day For The Five Or Six 
             Months That He Remained with Them In their Village, Without 
             Any Of Them Daring To Imitate Him. 
   
   
   
   Introduction 
   .  Tired at Last Of His 
             Slavery, And Regarding The Lack Of Daring In these Barbarians 
             As A Means Of Providence To Regain His Liberty, He Made 
             Secretly All The Provisions Possible For Him To Make, 
             And Which He Believed necessary To His Plan.  At Last, 
             Having Chosen The Best Horse And Having Mounted him, 
             After Performing Several Of His Exploits Before The Savages, 
             And While They Were All Occupied with His Manoeuvres, 
             He Spurred up And Disappeared from Their Sight, Taking The 
             Road To Mexico, Where Doubtless He Arrived. 
     
     
     
   Charlevoix,[2] Who Travelled from Quebec To New Orleans In the 
   Year 1721, Says In one Of His Letters To The Duchess Of Lesdiguieres, 
   Dated at Kaskaskia, July 21, 1721: 
     
     
     
             About Two Years Ago Some Spaniards, Coming, As They Say, 
             From New Mexico, And Intending To Get Into The Country Of 
             The Illinois And Drive The French From Thence, Whom They 
             Saw With Extreme Jealousy Approach So Near The Missouri, 
             Came Down The River And Attacked two Villages Of The 
             Octoyas,[3] Who Are The Allies Of The Ayouez,[4] And From 
             Whom It Is Said Also That They Are Derived.  As The Savages 
             Had No Firearms And Were Surprised, The Spaniards Made An 
             Easy Conquest And Killed a Great Many Of Them.  A Third 
             Village, Which Was Not Far Off From The Other Two, Being 
             Informed of What Had Passed, And Not Doubting But These 
             Conquerors Would Attack Them, Laid An Ambush Into Which 
             The Spaniards Heedlessly Fell.  Others Say That The Savages, 
             Having Heard That The Enemy Were Almost All Drunk And 
             Fast Asleep, Fell Upon Them In the Night.  However It Was, 
             It Is Certain The Greater Part Of Them Were Killed. 
             There Were In the Party Two Almoners; One Of Them Was 
             Killed directly And The Other Got Away To The Missouris, 
             Who Took Him Prisoner, But He Escaped them Very Dexterously. 
             He Had A Very Fine Horse And The Missouris Took Pleasure 
             In seeing Him Ride It, Which He Did Very Skilfully.  He Took 
             Advantage Of Their Curiosity To Get Out Of Their Hands. 
     
     
     
             One Day As He Was Prancing and Exercising His Horse Before 
             Them, He Got A Little Distance From Them Insensibly; Then 
             Suddenly Clapping Spurs To His Horse He Was Soon Out Of Sight. 
     
     
     
   The Missouri Indians Once Occupied all The Territory Near The Junction 
   Of The Kaw And Missouri Rivers, But They Were Constantly Decimated 
   By The Continual Depredations Of Their Warlike And Feudal Enemies, 
   The Pawnees And Sioux, And At Last Fell A Prey To That Dreadful 
   Scourge, The Small-Pox, Which Swept Them Off By Thousands. 
   The Remnant Of The Once Powerful Tribe Then Found Shelter And A Home 
   With The Otoes, Finally Becoming Merged in that Tribe. 
   
   
   
   Chapter I (Under The Spaniards) 
   The Santa Fe Of The Purely Mexican Occupation, Long Before The Days 
   Of New Mexico'S Acquisition By The United states, And The Santa Fe Of 
   To-Day Are So Widely In contrast That It Is Difficult To Find Language 
   In Which To Convey To The Reader The Story Of The Phenomenal Change. 
   To Those Who Are Acquainted with The Charming Place As It Is Now, 
   With Its Refined and Cultured society, I Cannot Do Better, Perhaps, 
   In Attempting To Show What It Was Under The Old Regime, Than To Quote 
   What Some Traveller In the Early 30'S Wrote For A New York Leading 
   Newspaper, In regard To It.  As Far As My Own Observation Of The 
   Place Is Concerned, When I First Visited it A Great Many Years Ago, 
   The Writer Of The Communication Whose Views I Now Present Was Not 
   Incorrect In his Judgment.  He Said:-- 
     
     
     
             To Dignify Such A Collection Of Mud Hovels With The Name 
             Of "City," Would Be A Keen Irony; Not Greater, However, 
             Than Is The Name With Which Its Padres Have Baptized it. 
             To Call A Place With Its Moral Character, A Very Sodom 
             In iniquity, "Holy Faith," Is Scarcely A Venial Sin; 
             It Deserves Purgatory At Least.  Its Health Is The Best 
             In the Country, Which Is The First, Second And Third 
             Recommendation Of New Mexico By Its Greatest Admirers. 
             It Is A Small Town Of About Two Thousand Inhabitants, 
             Crowded up Against The Mountains, At The End Of A Little 
             Valley Through Which Runs A Mountain Stream Of The Same 
             Name Tributary To The Rio Grande.  It Has A Public Square 
             In the Centre, A Palace And An Alameda; As All Spanish 
             Roman Catholic Towns Have.  It Is True Its Plaza, Or 
             Public Square, Is Unfenced and Uncared for, Without Trees 
             Or Grass.  The Palace Is Nothing More Than The Biggest 
             Mud-House In the Town, And The Churches, Too, Are Unsightly 
             Piles Of The Same Material, And The Alameda[5] Is On Top Of 
             A Sand Hill.  Yet They Have In santa Fe All The Parts And 
             Parcels Of A Regal City And A Bishopric.  The Bishop Has A 
             Palace Also; The Only Two-Storied shingle-Roofed house In 
             The Place.  There Is One Public House Set Apart For Eating, 
             Drinking and Gambling; For Be It Known That Gambling Is Here 
             Authorized by Law.  Hence It Is As Respectable To Keep A 
             Gambling House, As It Is To Sell Rum In new Jersey; It Is 
             A Lawful Business, And Being Lawful, And Consequently 
             Respectable And A Man'S Right, Why Should Not Men Gamble? 
             And Gamble They Do.  The Generals And The Colonels And 
             The Majors And The Captains Gamble.  The Judges And The 
             Lawyers And The Doctors And The Priests Gamble; And There 
             Are Gentlemen Gamblers By Profession!  You Will See Squads 
             Of Poor Peons Daily, Men, Women And Boys, Sitting On The 
             Ground Around A Deck Of Cards In the Public Square, Gambling 
             For The Smallest Stakes. 
     
     
     
             The Stores Of The Town Generally Front On The Public Square. 
             Of These There Are A Dozen, More Or Less, Of Respectable 
             Size, And Most Of Them Are Kept By Others Than Mexicans. 
             The Business Of The Place Is Considerable, Many Of The 
             Merchants Here Being Wholesale Dealers For The Vast 
             Territory Tributary.  It Is Supposed that About $750,000 
             Worth Of Goods Will Be Brought To This Place This Year, And 
             There May Be $250,000 Worth Imported directly From The 
             United states. 
     
     
     
             In the Money Market There Is Nothing Less Than A Five-Cent 
             Piece.  You Cannot Purchase Anything For Less Than Five Cents. 
             In trade They Reckon Ten Cents The Eighth Of A Dollar. 
             If You Purchase Nominally A Dollar'S Worth Of An Article, 
             You Can Pay For It In eight Ten-Cent Pieces; And If You 
             Give A Dollar, You Receive No Change.  In changing a Dollar 
             For You, You Would Get But Eight Ten-Cent Pieces For It. 
     
     
     
             Yet, Although Dirty And Unkempt, And Swarming With Hungry 
             Dogs, It Has The Charm Of Foreign Flavour, And Like 
             San Antonio Retains Some Portion Of The Grace Which Long 
             Lingered about It, If Indeed it Ever Forsakes The Spot 
             Where Spain Held Rule For Centuries, And The Soft Syllables 
             Of The Spanish Language Are Yet Heard. 
     
     
     
   Such Was A Description Of The "Drowsy Old Town" Of Santa Fe, 
   Sixty-Five Years Ago.  Fifteen Years Later Major W. H. Emory, Of 
   The United states Army, Writes Of It As Follows:[6] 
     
     
     
             The Population Of Santa Fe Is From Two To Four Thousand, 
             And The Inhabitants Are, It Is Said, The Poorest People 
             Of Any Town In the Province.  The Houses Are Mud Bricks, 
             In the Spanish Style, Generally Of One Story, And Built 
             On A Square.  The Interior Of The Square Is An Open Court, 
             And The Principal Rooms Open Into It.  They Are Forbidding 
             In appearance From The Outside, But Nothing Can Exceed 
             The Comfort And Convenience Of The Interior.  The Thick 
             Walls Make Them Cool In summer And Warm In winter. 
     
     
     
             The Better Class Of People Are Provided with Excellent Beds, 
             But The Poorer Class Sleep On Untanned skins.  The Women 
             Here, As In many Other Parts Of The World, Appear To Be 
             Much Before The Men In refinements, Intelligence, And 
             Knowledge Of The Useful Arts.  The Higher Class Dress Like 
             The American Women, Except, Instead Of A Bonnet, They Wear 
             A Scarf Over Their Head, Called a Reboso.  This They Wear 
             Asleep Or Awake, In the House Or Abroad.  The Dress Of The 
             Lower Classes Of Women Is A Simple Petticoat, With Arms And 
             Shoulders Bare, Except What May Chance To Be Covered by 
             The Reboso. 
     
     
     
             The Men Who Have Means To Do So Dress After Our Fashion; 
             But By Far The Greater Number, When They Dress At All, 
             Wear Leather Breeches, Tight Around The Hips And Open From 
             The Knee Down; Shirt And Blanket Take The Place Of Our 
             Coat And Vest. 
     
     
     
             The City Is Dependent On The Distant Hills For Wood, And 
             At All Hours Of The Day May Be Seen Jackasses Passing Laden 
             With Wood, Which Is Sold At Two Bits, Twenty-Five Cents, 
             The Load.  These Are The Most Diminutive Animals, And 
             Usually Mounted from Behind, After The Fashion Of Leap-Frog. 
             The Jackass Is The Only Animal That Can Be Subsisted in 
             This Barren Neighbourhood Without Great Expense; Our Horses 
             Are All Sent To A Distance Of Twelve, Fifteen, And Thirty 
             Miles For Grass. 
     
     
     
   I Have Interpolated these Two Somewhat Similar Descriptions Of 
   Santa Fe Written In that Long Ago When New Mexico Was Almost As 
   Little Known As The Topography Of The Planet Mars, So That The 
   Intelligent Visitor Of To-Day May Appreciate The Wonderful Changes 
   Which American Thrift, And That Powerful Civilizer, The Locomotive, 
   Have Wrought In a Very Few Years, Yet It Still, As One Of The 
   Foregoing Writers Has Well Said, "Has The Charm Of Foreign Flavour, 
   And The Soft Syllables Of The Spanish Language Are Still Heard." 
     
     
     
   The Most Positive Exception Must Be Taken To The Statement Of The 
   First-Quoted writer In relation To The Palace, Of Which He Says 
   "It Is Nothing More Than The Biggest Mud-House In the Town." 
   Now This "Palacio Del Gobernador," As The Old Building Was Called 
   By The Spanish, Was Erected at A Very Early Day.  It Was The 
   Long-Established seat Of Power When Penalosa Confined the Chief 
   Inquisitor Within Its Walls In 1663, And When The Pueblo Authorities 
   Took Possession Of It As The Citadel Of Their Central Authority, 
   In 1681. 
     
     
     
   The Old Building Cannot Well Be Overlooked by The Most Careless 
   Visitor To The Quaint Town; It Is A Long, Low Structure, Taking Up 
   The Greater Part Of One Side Of The Plaza, Round Which Runs A 
   Colonnade Supported by Pillars Of Rough Pine.  In this Once Leaky 
   Old Palace Were Kept, Or Rather Neglected, The Archives Of The 
   Territory Until The American Residents, Appreciating The Importance 
   Of Preserving Precious Documents Containing So Much Of Interest 
   To The Student Of History And The Antiquarian, Enlisted themselves 
   Enthusiastically In the Good Cause, And Have Rescued from Oblivion 
   The Annals Of A Relatively Remote Civilization, Which, But For Their 
   Forethought, Would Have Perished from The Face Of The Earth As 
   Completely As Have The Written Records Of That Wonderful Region In 
   Central America, Whose Gigantic Ruins Alone Remain To Tell Us Of 
   What Was A Highly Cultured order Of Architecture In past Ages, 
   And Of A People Whose Intelligence Was Comparable To The Style 
   Of The Dwellings In which They Lived. 
     
     
     
   The Old Adobe Palace Is In itself A Volume Whose Pages Are Filled 
   With Pathos And Stirring Events.  It Has Been The Scene And Witness 
   Of Incidents The Recital Of Which Would To Us To-Day Seem Incredible. 
   An Old Friend, Once Governor Of New Mexico And Now Dead, Thus 
   Graphically Spoke Of The Venerable Building:[7] 
     
     
     
             In it Lived and Ruled the Spanish Captain General, So Remote 
             And Inaccessible From The Viceroyalty At Mexico That He Was 
             In effect A King, Nominally Accountable To The Viceroy, 
             But Practically Beyond His Reach And Control And Wholly 
             Irresponsible To The People.  Equally Independent For The 
             Same Reason Were The Mexican Governors.  Here Met All The 
             Provincial, Territorial, Departmental, And Other Legislative 
             Bodies That Have Ever Assembled at The Capital Of New Mexico. 
             Here Have Been Planned all The Indian Wars And Measures 
             For Defence Against Foreign Invasion, Including, As The 
             Most Noteworthy, The Navajo War Of 1823, The Texan Invasion 
             Of 1842, The American Of 1846, And The Confederate Of 1862. 
             Within Its Walls Was Imprisoned, In 1809, The American 
             Explorer Zebulon M. Pike, And Innumerable State Prisoners 
             Before And Since; And Many A Sentence Of Death Has Been 
             Pronounced therein And The Accused forthwith Led away And 
             Shot At The Dictum Of The Man At The Palace.  It Has Been 
             From Time Immemorial The Government House With All Its 
             Branches Annexed.  It Was Such On The Fourth Of July, 1776, 
             When The American Congress At Independence Hall In 
             Philadelphia Proclaimed liberty Throughout All The Land, 
             Not Then, But Now Embracing It.  Indeed, This Old Edifice 
             Has A History.  And As The History Of Santa Fe Is The 
             History Of New Mexico, So Is The History Of The Palace 
             The History Of Santa Fe. 
     
     
     
   The Palace Was The Only Building Having Glazed windows.  At One End 
   Was The Government Printing Office, And At The Other, The Guard-House 
   And Prison.  Fearful Stories Were Connected with The Prison. 
   Edwards[8] Says That He Found, On Examining The Walls Of The 
   Small Rooms, Locks Of Human Hair Stuffed into Holes, With Rude 
   Crosses Drawn Over Them. 
     
     
     
   Fronting The Palace, On The South Side Of The Plaza, Stood The 
   Remains Of The Capilla De Los Soldados, Or Military Chapel. 
   The Real Name Of The Church Was "Our Lady Of Light."  It Was Said 
   To Be The Richest Church In the Province, But Had Not Been In use 
   For A Number Of Years, And The Roof Had Fallen In, Allowing The 
   Elements To Complete The Work Of Destruction.  On Each Side Of The 
   Altar Was The Remains Of Fine Carving, And A Weather-Beaten Picture 
   Above Gave Evidence Of Having Been A Beautiful Painting.  Over The 
   Door Was A Large Oblong Slab Of Freestone, Elaborately Carved, 
   Representing "Our Lady Of Light" Rescuing a Human Being From The 
   Jaws Of Satan.  A Large Tablet, Beautifully Executed in relief, 
   Stood Behind The Altar, Representing Various Saints, With An 
   Inscription Stating That It Was Erected by Governor Francisco Antonio 
   Del Valle And His Wife In 1761. 
     
     
     
   Church Services Were Held In the Parroquia, Or Parish Church, 
   Now The Cathedral, Which Had Two Towers Or Steeples, In which Hung 
   Four Bells.  The Music Was Furnished by A Violin And A Triangle. 
   The Wall Back Of The Altar Was Covered with Innumerable Mirrors, 
   Paintings, And Bright-Coloured tapestry. 
     
     
     
   The Exact Date Of The First Settlement Of Santa Fe Is Uncertain. 
   One Authority Says: 
     
     
     
             It Was A Primeval Stronghold Before The Spanish Conquest, 
             And A Town Of Some Importance To The White Race When 
             Pennsylvania Was A Wilderness And The First Dutch Governor 
             Of New York Was Slowly Drilling The Knickerbocker Ancestry 
             In their Difficult Evolutions Around The Town-Pump. 
     
     
     
   It Is Claimed, On What Is Deemed very Authentic Data By Some, That 
   Santa Fe Is Really The Oldest Settled town In the United states. 
   St. Augustine, Florida, Was Established in 1565 And Was Unquestionably 
   Conceded the Honour Of Antiquity Until The Acquisition Of New Mexico 
   By The Guadalupe-Hidalgo Treaty.  Then, Of Course, Santa Fe Steps 
   Into The Arena And Carries Off The Laurels.  This Claim Of Precedence 
   For Santa Fe Is Based upon The Statement (Whether Historically Correct 
   Or Not Is A Question) That When The Spaniards First Entered the Region 
   From The Southern Portion Of Mexico, About 1542, They Found A Very 
   Large Pueblo Town On The Present Site Of Santa Fe, And That Its Prior 
   Existence Extended far Back Into The Vanished centuries.  This Is 
   Contradicted by Other Historians, Who Contend That The Claim Of 
   Santa Fe To Be The Oldest Town In the United states Rests Entirely 
   On Imaginary Annals Of An Indian Pueblo Before The Spanish Conquest, 
   And That There Are But Slight Indications That The Town Was Built 
   On The Site Of One.[9] 
     
     
     
   The Reader May Further Satisfy Himself On These Mooted points By 
   Consulting The Mass Of Historical Literature On New Mexico, 
   And The Records Of Its Primitive Times Are Not Surpassed in interest 
   By Those Of Any Other Part Of The Continent.  It Was There The 
   Europeans First Made Great Conquests, And Some Years Prior To The 
   Landing Of The Pilgrims, A History Of New Mexico, Being The Journal 
   Of Geronimo De Zarate Salmaron, Was Published by The Church In the 
   City Of Mexico, Early In 1600.  Salmaron Was A Franciscan Monk; 
   A Most Zealous And Indefatigable Worker.  During His Eight Years' 
   Residence At Jemez, Near Santa Fe, He Claims To Have Baptized over 
   Eight Thousand Indians, Converts To The Catholic Faith.  His Journal 
   Gives A Description Of The Country, Its Mines, Etc., And Was Made 
   Public In order That Other Monks Reading It Might Emulate His 
   Pious Example. 
     
     
     
   Between 1605 And 1616 Was Founded the Villa Of Santa Fe, Or 
   San Francisco De La Santa Fe.  "Villa," Or Village, Was An Honorary 
   Title, Always Authorized and Proclaimed by The King.  Bancroft Says 
   That It Was First Officially Mentioned on The 3D Of January, 1617. 
     
     
     
   The First Immigration To New Mexico Was Under Don Juan De Onate 
   About 1597, And In a Year Afterward, According To Some Authorities, 
   Santa Fe Was Settled.  The Place, As Claimed by Some Historians, 
   Was Then Named el Teguayo, A Spanish Adaptation Of The Word "Tegua," 
   The Name Of The Pueblo Nation, Which Was Quite Numerous, And Occupied 
   Santa Fe And The Contiguous Country.  It Very Soon, From Its Central 
   Position And Charming Climate, Became The Leading Spanish Town, 
   And The Capital Of The Province.  The Spaniards, Who Came At First 
   Into The Country As Friends, And Were Apparently Eager To Obtain 
   The Good-Will Of The Intelligent Natives, Shortly Began To Claim 
   Superiority, And To Insist On The Performance Of Services Which Were 
   Originally Mere Evidences Of Hospitality And Kindness.  Little By 
   Little They Assumed greater Power And Control Over The Indians, 
   Until In the Course Of Years They Had Subjected a Large Portion Of 
   Them To Servitude Little Differing From Actual Slavery. 
     
     
     
   The Impolitic Zeal Of The Monks Gradually Invoked the Spirit Of 
   Hatred and Resulted in a Rebellion That Drove The Spaniards, In 1680, 
   From The Country.  The Large Number Of Priests Who Were Left In the 
   Midst Of The Natives Met With Horrible Fates: 
     
     
     
             Not One Escaped martyrdom.  At Zuni, Three Franciscans 
             Had Been Stationed, And When The News Of The Spanish Retreat 
             Reached the Town, The People Dragged them From Their Cells, 
             Stripped and Stoned them, And Afterwards Compelled the 
             Servant Of One To Finish The Work By Shooting Them.  Having 
             Thus Whetted their Appetite For Cruelty And Vengeance, 
             The Indians Started to Carry The News Of Their Independence 
             To Moqui, And Signalized their Arrival By The Barbarous 
             Murder Of The Two Missionaries Who Were Living There. 
             Their Bodies Were Left Unburied, As A Prey For The Wild 
             Beasts.  At Jemez They Indulged in every Refinement Of 
             Cruelty.  The Old Priest, Jesus Morador, Was Seized in 
             His Bed at Night, Stripped naked and Mounted on A Hog, 
             And Thus Paraded through The Streets, While The Crowd 
             Shouted and Yelled around.  Not Satisfied with This, 
             They Then Forced him To Carry Them As A Beast Would, 
             Crawling On His Hands And Feet, Until, From Repeated beating 
             And The Cruel Tortures Of Sharp Spurs, He Fell Dead In 
             Their Midst.  A Similar Chapter Of Horrors Was Enacted 
             At Acoma, Where Three Priests Were Stripped, Tied together 
             With Hair Rope, And So Driven Through The Streets, And 
             Finally Stoned to Death.  Not A Christian Remained free 
             Within The Limits Of New Mexico, And Those Who Had Been 
             Dominant A Few Months Before Were Now Wretched and 
             Half-Starved fugitives, Huddled together In the Rude Huts 
             Of San Lorenzo. 
     
     
     
             As Soon As The Spaniards Had Retreated from The Country, 
             The Pueblo Indians Gave Themselves Up For A Time To 
             Rejoicing, And To The Destruction Of Everything Which Could 
             Remind Them Of The Europeans, Their Religion, And Their 
             Domination.  The Army Which Had Besieged santa Fe Quickly 
             Entered that City, Took Possession Of The Palace As The 
             Seat Of Government, And Commenced the Work Of Demolition. 
             The Churches And The Monastery Of The Franciscans Were 
             Burned with All Their Contents, Amid The Almost Frantic 
             Acclamations Of The Natives.  The Gorgeous Vestments Of 
             The Priests Had Been Dragged out Before The Conflagration, 
             And Now Were Worn In derision By Indians, Who Rode Through 
             The Streets At Full Speed, Shouting For Joy.  The Official 
             Documents And Books In the Palace Were Brought Forth, 
             And Made Fuel For A Bonfire In the Centre Of The Plaza; 
             And Here Also They Danced the Cachina, With All The 
             Accompanying Religious Ceremonies Of The Olden Time. 
             Everything Imaginable Was Done To Show Their Detestation 
             Of The Christian Faith And Their Determination To Utterly 
             Eradicate Even Its Memory.  Those Who Had Been Baptized 
             Were Washed with Amole In the Rio Chiquito, In order To Be 
             Cleansed from The Infection Of Christianity.  All Baptismal 
             Names Were Discarded, Marriages Celebrated by Christian 
             Priests Were Annulled, The Very Mention Of The Names Jesus 
             And Mary Was Made An Offence, And Estuffas Were Constructed 
             To Take The Place Of Ruined churches.[10] 
     
     
     
   For Twelve Years, Although Many Abortive Attempts Were Made To 
   Recapture The Country, The Pueblos Were Left In possession.  On The 
   16Th Of October, 1693, The Victorious Spaniards At Last Entered 
   Santa Fe, Bearing The Same Banner Which Had Been Carried by Onate When 
   He Entered the City Just A Century Before.  The Conqueror This Time 
   Was Don Diego De Vargas Zapata Lujan, Whom The Viceroy Of New Spain 
   Had Appointed governor In the Spring Of 1692, With The Avowed purpose 
   Of Having New Mexico Reconquered as Speedily As Possible. 
     
     
     
   Thus It Will Be Seen That The Quaint Old City Has Been The Scene Of 
   Many Important Historical Events, The Mere Outline Of Which I Have 
   Recorded here, As This Book Is Not Devoted to The Historical View 
   Of The Subject. 
     
     
     
   In Contradistinction To The Quiet, Sleepy Old Santa Fe Of Half 
   A Century Ago, It Now Presents All The Vigour, Intelligence, And 
   Bustling Progressiveness Of The Average American City Of To-Day, 
   Yet Still Smacks Of That Ancient Spanish Regime, Which Gives It 
   A Charm That Only Its Blended european And Indian Civilization 
   Could Make Possible After Its Amalgamation With The United states. 
     
     
     
   The Tourist Will No Longer Find A Drowsy Old Town, And The Plaza 
   Is No Longer Unfenced and Uncared for.  A Beautiful Park Of Trees 
   Is Surrounded by Low Palings, And Inside The Shady Enclosure, 
   Under A Group Of Large Cottonwoods, Is A Cenotaph Erected to The 
   Memory Of The Territory'S Gallant Soldiers Who Fell In the Shock Of 
   Battle To Save New Mexico To The Union In 1862, And Conspicuous Among 
   The Names Carved on The Enduring Native Rock Is That Of Kit Carson-- 
   Prince Of Frontiersmen, And One Of Nature'S Noblemen. 
     
     
     
   Around The Plaza One Sees The American Style Of Architecture And 
   Hears The Hum Of American Civilization; But Beyond, And Outside 
   This Pretty Park, The Streets Are Narrow, Crooked, And Have An 
   Ancient Appearance.  There The Old Santa Fe Confronts The Stranger; 
   Odd, Foreign-Looking, And Flavoured with All The Peculiarities Which 
   Marked the Era Of Mexican Rule.  And Now, Where Once Was Heard The 
   Excited shouts Of The Idle Crowd, Of "Los Americanos!" "Los Carros!" 
   "La Entrada De La Caravana!" As The Great Freight Wagons Rolled into 
   The Streets Of The Old Town From The Missouri, Over The Santa Fe Trail, 
   The Shrill Whistle Of The Locomotive From Its Trail Of Steel Awakens 
   The Echoes Of The Mighty Hills. 
     
     
     
   As May Be Imagined, Great Excitement Always Prevailed whenever A 
   Caravan Of Goods Arrived in santa Fe.  Particularly Was This The Case 
   Among The Feminine Portion Of The Community.  The Quaint Old Town 
   Turned out Its Mixed population En Masse The Moment The Shouts Went Up 
   That The Train Was In sight.  There Is Nothing There To-Day Comparable 
   To The Anxious Looks Of The Masses As They Watched the Heavily 
   Freighted wagons Rolling Into The Town, The Teamsters Dust-Begrimed, 
   And The Mules Making The Place Hideous With Their Discordant Braying 
   As They Knew That Their Long Journey Was Ended and Rest Awaited them. 
   The Importing Merchants Were Obliged to Turn Over To The Custom House 
   Officials Five Hundred dollars For Every Wagon-Load, Great Or Small; 
   And No Matter What The Intrinsic Value Of The Goods Might Be, 
   Salt Or Silk, Velvets Or Sugar, It Was All The Same.  The Nefarious 
   Duty Had To Be Paid Before A Penny'S Worth Could Be Transferred 
   To Their Counters.  Of Course, With The End Of Mexican Rule And 
   The Acquisition Of The Province By The United states, All Opposition 
   To The Traffic Of The Old Santa Fe Trail Ended, Traders Were Assured 
   A Profitable Market And The People Purchased at Relatively Low Prices. 
     
     
     
   What A Wonderful Change Has Taken Place In the Traffic With New Mexico 
   In Less Than Three-Quarters Of A Century!  In 1825 It Was All Carried 
   On With One Single Annual Caravan Of Prairie-Schooners, And Now There 
   Are Four Railroads Running Through The Rio Grande Valley, And One 
   Daily Freight Train Of The Atchison, Topeka, And Santa Fe Into The 
   Town Unloads More Freight Than Was Taken There In a Whole Year When 
   The "Commerce Of The Prairies" Was At Its Height! 
     
     
     
   Upon The Arrival Of A Caravan In the Days Of The Sleepy Regime Under 
   Mexican Control, The People Did Everything In their Power To Make 
   The Time Pass Pleasantly For Every One Connected with It During 
   Their Sojourn.  Bailes, Or Fandangoes, As The Dancing Parties Were 
   Called by The Natives, Were Given Nightly, And Many Amusing anecdotes 
   In Regard To Them Are Related by The Old-Timers. 
     
     
     
   The New Mexicans, Both Men And Women, Had A Great Fondness For 
   Jewelry, Dress, And Amusements; Of The Latter, The Fandango Was The 
   Principal, Which Was Held In the Most Fashionable Place Of Resort, 
   Where Every Belle And Beauty In the Town Presented herself, 
   Attired in the Most Costly Manner, And Displaying Her Jewelled 
   Ornaments To The Best Advantage.  To This Place Of Recreation 
   And Pleasure, Generally A Large, Capacious Saloon Or Interior Court, 
   All Classes Of Persons Were Allowed to Come, Without Charge And 
   Without Invitation.  The Festivities Usually Commenced about Nine 
   O'Clock In the Evening, And The Tolling Of The Church Bells Was 
   The Signal For The Ladies To Make Their Entrance, Which They Did 
   Almost Simultaneously. 
     
     
     
   New Mexican Ladies Were Famous For Their Gaudy Dresses, But It Must 
   Be Confessed they Did Not Exercise Good Taste.  Their Robes Were 
   Made Without Bodies; A Skirt Only, And A Long, Loose, Flowing Scarf 
   Or Reboso Dexterously Thrown About The Head And Shoulders, So As To 
   Supersede Both The Use Of Dress-Bodies And Bonnets. 
     
     
     
   There Was Very Little Order Maintained at These Fandangoes, And Still 
   Less Attention Paid To The Rules Of Etiquette.  A Kind Of Swinging, 
   Gallopade Waltz Was The Favourite Dance, The Cotillion Not Being 
   Much In vogue.  Read Byron'S Graphic Description Of The Waltz, 
   And Then Stretch Your Imagination To Its Utmost Tension, And You 
   Will Perhaps Have Some Faint Conception Of The Mexican Fandango. 
   Such Familiarity Of Position As Was Indulged in would Be Repugnant 
   To The Refined rules Of Polite Society In the Eastern Cities; 
   But With The New Mexicans, In those Early Times, Nothing Was 
   Considered to Be A Greater Accomplishment Than That Of Being able 
   To Go Handsomely Through All The Mazes Of Their Peculiar Dance. 
     
     
     
   There Was One Republican Feature About The New Mexican Fandango; 
   It Was That All Classes, Rich And Poor Alike, Met And Intermingled, 
   As Did The Romans At Their Saturnalia, Upon Terms Of Equality. 
   Sumptuous Repasts Or Collations Were Rarely Ever Prepared for Those 
   Frolicsome Gatherings, But There Was Always An Abundance Of 
   Confectionery, Sweetmeats, And Native Wine.  It Cost Very Little 
   For A Man To Attend One Of The Fandangoes In santa Fe, But Not To Get 
   Away Decently And Sober.  In that It Resembled the Descent Of Aeneas 
   To Pluto'S Realms; It Was Easy Enough To Get There, But When It Came 
   To Return, "Revocare Gradum, Superasque Evadere Ad Auras, Hic Labor, 
   Hoc Opus Est." 
   
   
   
   Chapter II (La Lande And Pursley) 
     
   In The Beginning Of The Trade With New Mexico, The Route Across 
   The Great Plains Was Directly West From The Missouri River To The 
   Mountains, Thence South To Santa Fe By The Circuitous Trail From Taos. 
   When The Traffic Assumed an Importance Demanding a More Easy Line 
   Of Way, The Road Was Changed, Running along The Left Bank Of The 
   Arkansas Until That Stream Turned northwest, At Which Point It 
   Crossed the River, And Continued southwest To The Raton Pass. 
     
     
     
   The Atchison, Topeka, And Santa Fe Railroad Track Substantially 
   Follows The Trail Through The Mountains, Which Here Afford The 
   Wildest And Most Picturesquely Beautiful Scenery On The Continent. 
     
     
     
   The Arkansas River At The Fording Of The Old Trail Is Not More Than 
   Knee-Deep At An Ordinary Stage Of Water, And Its Bottom Is Well Paved 
   With Rounded pebbles Of The Primitive Rock. 
     
     
     
   The Overland Trade Between The United states And The Northern 
   Provinces Of Mexico Seems To Have Had No Very Definite Origin; 
   Having Been Rather The Result Of An Accident Than Of Any Organized 
   Plan Of Commercial Establishment. 
     
     
     
   According To The Best Authorities, A French Creole, Named la Lande, 
   An Agent Of A Merchant Of Kaskaskia, Illinois, Was The First American 
   Adventurer To Enter Into The Uncertain Channels Of Trade With The 
   People Of The Ultramontane Region Of The Centre Of The Continent. 
   He Began His Adventurous Journey Across The Vast Wilderness, 
   With No Companions But The Savages Of The Debatable Land, In 1804; 
   And Following Him The Next Year, James Pursley Undertook The Same 
   Pilgrimage.  Neither Of These Pioneers In the "Commerce Of The 
   Prairies" Returned to Relate What Incidents Marked the Passage Of 
   Their Marvellous Expeditions.  Pursley Was So Infatuated with The 
   Strange Country He Had Travelled so Far To Reach, That He Took Up 
   His Abode In the Quaint Old Town Of Santa Fe Where His Subsequent 
   Life Is Lost Sight Of.  La Lande, Of A Different Mould, Forgot To 
   Render An Account Of His Mission To The Merchant Who Had Sent Him 
   There, And Became A Prosperous And Wealthy Man By Means Of Money 
   To Which He Had No Right. 
     
     
     
   To Captain Zebulon Pike, Who Afterwards Was Made A General, Is Due 
   The Impetus Which The Trade With Santa Fe Received shortly After 
   His Return To The United states.  The Student Of American History 
   Will Remember That The Expedition Commanded by This Soldier Was 
   Inaugurated in 1806; His Report Of The Route He Had Taken Was The 
   Incentive For Commercial Speculation In the Direction Of Trade With 
   New Mexico, But It Was So Handicapped by Restrictions Imposed by The 
   Mexican Government, That The Adventurers Into The Precarious Traffic 
   Were Not Only Subject To A Complete Confiscation Of Their Wares, 
   But Frequently Imprisoned for Months As Spies.  Under Such A Condition 
   Of Affairs, Many Of The Earlier Expeditions, Prior To 1822, Resulted 
   In Disaster, And Only A Limited number Met With An Indifferent Success. 
     
     
     
   It Will Not Be Inconsistent With My Text If I Herewith Interpolate 
   An Incident Connected with Pursley, The Second American To Cross 
   The Desert, For The Purpose Of Trade With New Mexico, Which I Find In 
   The _Magazine Of American History_: 
     
     
     
             When Zebulon M. Pike Was In mexico, In 1807, He Met, 
             At Santa Fe, A Carpenter, Pursley By Name, From Bardstown, 
             Kentucky, Who Was Working at His Trade.  He Had In a 
             Previous Year, While Out Hunting On The Plains, Met With 
             A Series Of Misfortunes, And Found Himself Near The 
             Mountains.  The Hostile Sioux Drove The Party Into The 
             High Ground In the Rear Of Pike'S Peak.  Near The Headwaters 
             Of The Platte River, Pursley Found Some Gold, Which He 
             Carried in his Shot-Pouch For Months.  He Was Finally Sent 
             By His Companions To Santa Fe, To See If They Could Trade 
             With The Mexicans, But He Chose To Remain In santa Fe 
             In preference To Returning To His Comrades.  He Told The 
             Mexicans About The Gold He Had Found, And They Tried hard 
             To Persuade Him To Show Them The Place.  They Even Offered 
             To Take Along A Strong Force Of Cavalry.  But Pursley 
             Refused, And His Patriotic Reason Was That He Thought The 
             Land Belonged to The United states.  He Told Captain Pike 
             That He Feared they Would Not Allow Him To Leave Santa Fe, 
             As They Still Hoped to Learn From Him Where The Gold Was 
             To Be Found.  These Facts Were Published by Captain Pike 
             Soon After His Return East; But No One Took The Hint, 
             Or The Risk Was Too Great, And Thus More Than A Half 
             A Century Passed before Those Same Rich Fields Of Gold 
             Were Found And Opened to The World.  If Pursley Had Been 
             Somewhat Less Patriotic, And Had Guided the Mexicans To 
             The Treasures, The Whole History And Condition Of The 
             Western Part Of Our Continent Might Have Been Entirely 
             Different From What It Now Is.  That Region Would Still 
             Have Been A Part Of Mexico, Or Spain Might Have Been 
             In possession Of It, Owning California; And, With The Gold 
             That Would Have Been Poured into Her Coffers, Would Have 
             Been The Leading Nation Of European Affairs To-Day. 
             We Can Easily See How American And European History In 
             The Nineteenth Century Might Have Been Changed, If That 
             Adventurer From Kentucky Had Not Been A True Lover Of His 
             Native Country. 
     
     
     
   The Adventures Of Captain Ezekiel Williams Along The Old Trail, 
   In The Early Days Of The Century, Tell A Story Of Wonderful Courage, 
   Endurance, And Persistency.  Williams Was A Man Of Great Perseverance, 
   Patience, And Determination Of Character.  He Set Out From St. Louis 
   In The Late Spring Of 1807, To Trap On The Upper Missouri And The 
   Waters Of The Yellowstone, With A Party Of Twenty Men Who Had Chosen 
   Him As Their Leader.  After Various Exciting Incidents And Thrilling 
   Adventures, All Of The Original Party, Except Williams And Two Others, 
   Were Killed by The Indians Somewhere In the Vicinity Of The Upper 
   Arkansas.  The Three Survivors, Not Knowing Where They Were, Separated, 
   And Captain Williams Determined to Take To The Stream By Canoe, And 
   Trap On His Way Toward The Settlements, While His Last Two Companions 
   Started for The Spanish Country--That Is, For The Region Of Santa Fe. 
   The Journal Of Williams, From Which I Shall Quote Freely, Is To Be 
   Found In _The Lost Trappers_, A Work Long Out Of Print.[11]  As The 
   Country Was An Unexplored region, He Might Be On A River That Flowed 
   Into The Pacific, Or He Might Be Drifting Down A Stream That Was 
   An Affluent To The Gulf Of Mexico.  He Was Inclined to Believe 
   That He Was On The Sources Of The Red river.  He Therefore Resolved 
   To Launch His Canoe, And Go Wherever The Stream Might Convey Him, 
   Trapping On His Descent, When Beaver Might Be Plenty. 
     
     
     
   The First Canoe He Used he Made Of Buffalo-Skins.  As This Kind 
   Of Water Conveyance Soon Begins To Leak And Rot, He Made Another 
   Of Cottonwood, As Soon As He Came To Timber Sufficiently Large, 
   In Which He Embarked for A Port, He Knew Not Where. 
     
     
     
   Most Of His Journeyings Captain Williams Performed during The Hours 
   Of Night, Excepting When He Felt It Perfectly Safe To Travel In 
   Daylight.  His Usual Plan Was To Glide Along Down The Stream, Until 
   He Came To A Place Where Beaver Signs Were Abundant.  There He Would 
   Push His Little Bark Among The Willows, Where He Remained concealed, 
   Excepting When He Was Setting His Traps Or Visiting Them In the 
   Morning.  When He Had Taken All The Beaver In one Neighbourhood, 
   He Would Untie His Little Conveyance, And Glide Onward And Downward 
   To Try His Luck In another Place. 
     
     
     
   Thus For Hundreds Of Miles Did This Solitary Trapper Float Down This 
   Unknown River, Through An Unknown Country, Here And There Lashing 
   His Canoe To The Willows And Planting His Traps In the Little 
   Tributaries Around.  The Upper Part Of The Arkansas, For This 
   Proved to Be The River He Was On,[12] Is Very Destitute Of Timber, 
   And The Prairie Frequently Begins At The Bank Of The River And 
   Expands On Either Side As Far As The Eye Can Reach.  He Saw Vast 
   Herds Of Buffalo, And As It Was The Rutting Season, The Bulls Were 
   Making a Wonderful Ado; The Prairie Resounded with Their Low, Deep 
   Grunting Or Bellowing, As They Tore Up The Earth With Their Feet 
   And Horns, Whisking Their Tails, And Defying Their Rivals To Battle. 
   Large Gangs Of Wild Horses Could Be Seen Grazing On The Plains And 
   Hillsides, And The Neighing and Squealing Of Stallions Might Be Heard 
   At All Times Of The Night. 
     
     
     
   Captain Williams Never Used his Rifle To Procure Meat, Except When 
   It Was Absolutely Necessary, Or Could Be Done With Perfect Safety. 
   On Occasions When He Had No Beaver, Upon Which He Generally Subsisted, 
   He Ventured to Kill A Deer, And After Refreshing His Empty Stomach 
   With A Portion Of The Flesh, He Placed the Carcass In one End Of The 
   Canoe.  It Was His Invariable Custom To Sleep In his Canoe At Night, 
   Moored to The Shore, And Once When He Had Laid In a Supply Of Venison 
   He Was Startled in his Sleep By The Tramping Of Something In the 
   Bushes On The Bank.  Tramp! Tramp! Tramp! Went The Footsteps, 
   As They Approached the Canoe.  He Thought At First It Might Be An 
   Indian That Had Found Out His Locality, But He Knew That It Could 
   Not Be; A Savage Would Not Approach Him In that Careless Manner. 
   Although There Was Beautiful Starlight, Yet The Trees And The Dense 
   Undergrowth Made It Very Dark On The Bank Of The River, Close To Which 
   He Lay.  He Always Adopted the Precaution Of Tying His Canoe With 
   A Piece Of Rawhide About Twenty Feet Long, Which Allowed it To Swing 
   From The Bank At That Distance; He Did This So That In case Of An 
   Emergency He Might Cut The String, And Glide Off Without Making 
   Any Noise.  As The Sound Of The Footsteps Grew More Distinct, 
   He Presently Observed a Huge Grizzly Bear Coming Down To The Water 
   And Swimming For The Canoe.  The Great Animal Held His Head Up As If 
   Scenting The Venison.  The Captain Snatched his Axe As The Most 
   Available Means To Defend Himself In such A Scrape, And Stood With 
   It Uplifted, Ready To Drive It Into The Brains Of The Monster. 
   The Bear Reached the Canoe, And Immediately Put His Fore Paws Upon 
   The Hind End Of It, Nearly Turning It Over.  The Captain Struck One 
   Of The Brute'S Feet With The Edge Of The Axe, Which Made Him Let Go 
   With That Foot, But He Held On With The Other, And He Received 
   This Time A Terrific Blow On The Head, That Caused him To Drop Away 
   From The Canoe Entirely.  Nothing More Was Seen Of The Bear, 
   And The Captain Thought He Must Have Sunk In the Stream And Drowned. 
   He Was Evidently After The Fresh Meat, Which He Scented from A Great 
   Distance.  In the Canoe The Next Morning There Were Two Of The Bear'S 
   Claws, Which Had Been Cut Off By The Well-Directed blow Of The Axe. 
   These Were Carefully Preserved by Williams For Many Years As A Trophy 
   Which He Was Fond Of Exhibiting, And The History Of Which He Always 
   Delighted to Tell. 
     
     
     
   As He Was Descending The River With His Peltries, Which Consisted of 
   One Hundred and Twenty-Five Beaver-Skins, Besides Some Of The Otter 
   And Other Smaller Animals, He Overtook Three Kansas Indians, Who Were 
   Also In a Canoe Going Down The River, As He Learned from Them, 
   To Some Post To Trade With The Whites.  They Manifested a Very 
   Friendly Disposition Towards The Old Trapper, And Expressed a Wish 
   To Accompany Him.  He Also Learned from Them, To His Great Delight, 
   That He Was On The Big Arkansas, And Not More Than Five Hundred miles 
   From The White Settlements.  He Was Well Enough Versed in the 
   Treachery Of The Indian Character To Know Just How Much He Could 
   Repose In their Confidence.  He Was Aware That They Would Not Allow 
   A Solitary Trapper To Pass Through Their Country With A Valuable 
   Collection Of Furs, Without, At Least, Making an Effort To Rob Him. 
   He Knew That Their Plan Would Be To Get Him Into A Friendly 
   Intercourse, And Then, At The First Opportunity, Strip Him Of 
   Everything He Possessed; Consequently He Was Determined to Get Rid 
   Of Them As Soon As Possible, And To Effect This, He Plied his Oars 
   With All Diligence.  The Indians, Like Most North American Savages, 
   Were Lazy, And Had No Disposition To Labour In that Way, But Took It 
   Quite Leisurely, Satisfied with Being Carried down By The Current. 
   Williams Soon Left Them In the Rear, And, As He Supposed, Far 
   Behind Him.  When Night Came On, However, As He Had Worked all Day, 
   And Slept None The Night Before, He Resolved to Turn Aside Into A 
   Bunch Of Willows To Take A Few Hours' Rest.  But He Had Not Stopped 
   More Than Forty Minutes When He Heard Some Indians Pull To The Shore 
   Just Above Him On The Same Side Of The River.  He Immediately 
   Loosened his Canoe From Its Moorings, And Glided silently Away. 
   He Rowed hard For Two Or Three Hours, When He Again Pulled to The 
   Bank And Tied up. 
     
     
     
   Only A Short Time After He Had Landed, He Heard Indians Again Going 
   On Shore On The Same Side Of The Stream As Himself.  A Second Time 
   He Repeated his Tactics, Slipped out Of His Place Of Concealment, 
   And Stole Softly Away.  He Pulled on Vigorously Until Some Time After 
   Midnight, When He Supposed he Could With Safety Stop And Snatch A 
   Little Sleep.  He Felt Apprehensive That He Was In a Dangerous Region, 
   And His Anxiety Kept Him Wide Awake.  It Was Very Lucky That He 
   Did Not Close His Eyes; For As He Was Lying In the Bottom Of His Canoe 
   He Heard For The Third Time A Canoe Land As Before.  He Was Now 
   Perfectly Satisfied that He Was Dogged by The Kansans Whom He Had 
   Passed the Preceding Day, And In no Very Good Humour, Therefore, 
   He Picked up His Rifle, And Walked up To The Bank Where He Had Heard 
   The Indians Land.  As He Suspected, There Were The Three Savages. 
   When They Saw The Captain, They Immediately Renewed their Expressions 
   Of Friendship, And Invited him To Partake Of Their Hospitality. 
   He Stood Aloof From Them, And Shook His Head In a Rage, Charging 
   Them With Their Villanous Purposes.  In the Short, Sententious Manner 
   Of The Indians, He Said To Them: "You Now Follow Me Three Times; 
   If You Follow Me Again, I Kill You!" And Wheeling around Abruptly, 
   Returned to His Canoe.  A Third Time The Solitary Trapper Pushed 
   His Little Craft From The Shore And Set Off Down Stream, To Get Away 
   From A Region Where To Sleep Would Be Hazardous.  He Plied his Oars 
   The Remainder Of The Night, And Solaced himself With The Thought 
   That No Evil Had Befallen Him, Except The Loss Of A Few Hours' Sleep. 
     
     
     
   While He Was Escaping From His Villanous Pursuers, He Was Running 
   Into New Dangers And Difficulties.  The Following Day He Overtook 
   A Large Band Of The Same Tribe, Under The Leadership Of A Chief, 
   Who Were Also Descending The River.  Into The Hands Of These Savages 
   He Fell A Prisoner, And Was Conducted to One Of Their Villages. 
   The Principal Chief There Took All Of His Furs, Traps, And Other 
   Belongings.  A Very Short Time After His Capture, The Kansans Went 
   To War With The Pawnees, And Carried captain Williams With Them. 
   In A Terrible Battle In which The Kansans Gained a Most Decided 
   Victory, The Old Trapper Bore A Conspicuous Part, Killing a Great 
   Number Of The Enemy, And By His Excellent Strategy Brought About 
   The Success Of His Captors.  When They Returned to The Village, 
   Williams, Who Had Ever Been Treated with Kindness By The Inhabitants, 
   Was Now Thought To Be A Wonderful Warrior, And Could Have Been 
   Advanced to All The Savage Honours; He Might Even Have Been Made 
   One Of Their Principal Chiefs.  The Tribe Gave Him His Liberty For 
   The Great Service He Had Rendered it In its Difficulty With An 
   Inveterate Foe, But Declining all Proffered promotions, He Decided 
   To Return To The White Settlements On The Missouri, At The Mouth 
   Of The Kaw, The Covetous Old Chief Retaining all His Furs, And Indeed 
   Everything He Possessed excepting His Rifle, With As Many Rounds 
   Of Ammunition As Would Be Necessary To Secure Him Provisions In the 
   Shape Of Game On His Route.  The Veteran Trapper Had Learned from 
   The Indians While With Them That They Expected to Go To Fort Osage 
   On The Missouri River To Receive Some Annuities From The Government, 
   And He Felt Certain That His Furs Would Be There At The Same Time. 
     
     
     
   After Leaving The Kansans He Travelled on Toward The Missouri, 
   And Soon Struck The Beginning Of The Sparse Settlements.  Just As 
   Evening Was Coming On, He Arrived at A Cluster Of Three Little 
   Log-Cabins, And Was Received with Genuine Backwoods Hospitality By 
   The Proprietor, Who Had Married an Osage Squaw.  Williams Was Not Only 
   Very Hungry, But Very Tired; And, After Enjoying an Abundant Supper, 
   He Became Stupid And Sleepy, And Expressed a Wish To Lie Down. 
   The Generous Trapper Accordingly Conducted him To One Of The Cabins, 
   In Which There Were Two Beds, Standing In opposite Corners Of 
   The Room.  He Immediately Threw Himself Upon One, And Was Soon In 
   A Very Deep Sleep.  About Midnight His Slumbers Were Disturbed by 
   A Singular And Very Frightful Kind Of Noise, Accompanied by Struggling 
   On The Other Bed.  What It Was, Williams Was Entirely At A Loss To 
   Understand.  There Were No Windows In the Cabin, The Door Was Shut, 
   And It Was As Dark As Egypt.  A Fierce Contest Seemed to Be Going On. 
   There Were Deep Groanings And Hard Breathings; And The Snapping Of 
   Teeth Appeared almost Constant.  For A Moment The Noise Would Subside, 
   Then Again The Struggles Woud Be Renewed accompanied as Before 
   With Groaning, Deep Sighing, And Grinding Of Teeth. 
     
     
     
   The Captain'S Bed-Clothes Consisted of A Couple Of Blankets And A 
   Buffalo-Robe, And As The Terrible Struggles Continued he Raised 
   Himself Up In the Bed, And Threw The Robe Around Him For Protection, 
   His Rifle Having Been Left In the Cabin Where His Host Slept, While 
   His Knife Was Attached to His Coat, Which He Had Hung On The Corner 
   Post Of The Other Bedstead From Which The Horrid Struggles Emanated. 
   In An Instant The Robe Was Pulled off, And He Was Left Uncovered and 
   Unprotected; In another Moment A Violent Snatch Carried away The 
   Blanket Upon Which He Was Sitting, And He Was Nearly Tumbled off The 
   Bed with It.  As The Next Thing Might Be A Blow In the Dark, He Felt 
   That It Was High Time To Shift His Quarters; So He Made A Desperate 
   Leap From The Bed, And Alighted on The Opposite Side Of The Room, 
   Calling For His Host, Who Immediately Came To His Relief By Opening 
   The Door.  Williams Then Told Him That The Devil--Or Something 
   As Bad, He Believed--Was In the Room, And He Wanted a Light. 
   The Accommodating Trapper Hurried away, And In a Moment Was Back 
   With A Candle, The Light Of Which Soon Revealed the Awful Mystery. 
   It Was An Indian, Who At The Time Was Struggling In convulsions, 
   Which He Was Subject To.  He Was A Superannuated chief, A Relative Of 
   The Wife Of The Hospitable Trapper, And Generally Made His Home There. 
   Absent When Captain Williams Arrived, He Came Into The Room At A 
   Very Late Hour, And Went To The Bed he Usually Occupied.  No One 
   On The Claim Knew Of His Being There Until He Was Discovered, 
   In A Dreadfully Mangled condition.  He Was Removed to Other Quarters, 
   And Williams, Who Was Not To Be Frightened out Of A Night'S Rest, 
   Soon Sunk Into Sound Repose. 
     
     
     
   Williams Reached the Agency By The Time The Kansas Indians Arrived 
   There, And, As He Suspected, Found That The Wily Old Chief Had Brought 
   All His Belongings, Which He Claimed, And The Agent Made The Savages 
   Give Up The Stolen Property Before He Would Pay Them A Cent Of Their 
   Annuities.  He Took His Furs Down To St. Louis, Sold Them There 
   At A Good Price, And Then Started back To The Rocky Mountains On 
   Another Trapping Tour.  
   
   
   
   Chapter III (Early Traders) 
   In 1812 A Captain Becknell, Who Had Been On A Trading Expedition 
   To The Country Of The Comanches In the Summer Of 1811, And Had Done 
   Remarkably Well, Determined the Next Season To Change His Objective 
   Point To Santa Fe, And Instead Of The Tedious Process Of Bartering 
   With The Indians, To Sell Out His Stock To The New Mexicans. 
   Successful In this, His First Venture, He Returned to The Missouri 
   River With A Well-Filled purse, And Intensely Enthusiastic Over The 
   Result Of His Excursion To The Newly Found Market. 
     
     
     
   Excited listeners To His Tales Of Enormous Profits Were Not Lacking, 
   Who, Inspired by The Inducement He Held Out To Them, Cheerfully 
   Invested five Thousand Dollars In merchandise Suited to The Demands 
   Of The Trade, And Were Eager To Attempt With Him The Passage Of 
   The Great Plains.  In this Expedition There Were Thirty Men, And 
   The Amount Of Money In the Undertaking Was The Largest That Had Yet 
   Been Ventured.  The Progress Of The Little Caravan Was Without 
   Extraordinary Incident, Until It Arrived at "The Caches" On The 
   Upper Arkansas.  There Becknell, Who Was In reality A Man Of The 
   Then "Frontier," Bold, Plucky, And Endowed with Excellent Sense, 
   Conceived the Ridiculous Idea Of Striking Directly Across The Country 
   For Santa Fe Through A Region Absolutely Unexplored; His Excuse 
   For This Rash Movement Being That He Desired to Avoid The Rough And 
   Circuitous Mountain Route He Had Travelled on His First Trip To Taos. 
     
     
     
   His Temerity In abandoning The Known For The Unknown Was Severely 
   Punished, And His Brave Men Suffered untold Misery, Barely Escaping 
   With Their Lives From The Terrible Straits To Which They Were Reduced. 
   Not Having The Remotest Conception Of The Region Through Which Their 
   New Trail Was To Lead Them, And Naturally Supposing That Water Would 
   Be Found In streams Or Springs, When They Left The Arkansas They 
   Neglected to Supply Themselves With More Than Enough Of The Precious 
   Fluid To Last A Couple Of Days.  At The End Of That Time They Learned, 
   Too Late, That They Were In the Midst Of A Desert, With All The 
   Tortures Of Thirst Threatening Them. 
     
     
     
   Without A Tree Or A Path To Guide Them, They Took An Irregular Course 
   By Observations Of The North Star, And The Unreliable Needle Of An 
   Azimuth Pocket-Compass.  There Was A Total Absence Of Water, And When 
   What They Had Brought With Them In their Canteens From The River Was 
   Exhausted, Thirst Began Its Horrible Office.  In a Short Time Both Men 
   And Animals Were In a Mental Condition Bordering On Distraction. 
   To Alleviate Their Acute Torment, The Dogs Of The Train Were Killed, 
   And Their Blood, Hot And Sickening, Eagerly Swallowed; Then The Ears 
   Of The Mules Were Cut Off For The Same Purpose, But Such A Substitute 
   For Water Only Added to Their Sufferings.  They Would Have Perished 
   Had Not A Superannuated buffalo Bull That Had Just Come From The 
   Cimarron River, Where He Had Gone To Quench His Thirst, Suddenly 
   Appeared, To Be Immediately Killed and The Contents Of His Stomach 
   Swallowed with Avidity.  It Is Recorded that One Of Those Who Partook 
   Of The Nauseous Liquid Said Afterward, "Nothing Had Ever Passed 
   His Lips Which Gave Him Such Exquisite Delight As His First Draught 
   Of That Filthy Beverage." 
     
     
     
   Although They Were Near The Cimarron, Where There Was Plenty Of Water, 
   Which But For The Affair Of The Buffalo They Never Would Have Suspected, 
   They Decided to Retrace Their Steps To The Arkansas. 
     
     
     
   Before They Started on Their Retreat, However, Some Of The Strongest 
   Of The Party Followed the Trail Of The Animal That Had Saved their 
   Lives To The River, Where, Filling all The Canteens With Pure Water, 
   They Returned to Their Comrades, Who Were, After Drinking, Able To 
   March Slowly Toward The Arkansas. 
     
     
     
   Following That Stream, They At Last Arrived at Taos, Having Experienced 
   No Further Trouble, But Missed the Trail To Santa Fe, And Had Their 
   Journey Greatly Prolonged by The Foolish Endeavour Of The Leader 
   To Make A Short Cut Thither. 
     
     
     
   As Early As 1815, Auguste P. Chouteau And His Partner, With A Large 
   Number Of Trappers And Hunters, Went Out To The Valley Of The 
   Upper Arkansas For The Purpose Of Trading With Indians, And Trapping 
   On The Numerous Streams Of The Contiguous Region. 
     
     
     
   The Island On Which Chouteau Established his Trading-Post, And Which 
   Bears His Name Even To This Day, Is In the Arkansas River On The 
   Boundary Line Of The United states And Mexico.  It Was A Beautiful 
   Spot, With A Rich Carpet Of Grass And Delightful Groves, And On 
   The American Side Was A Heavily Timbered bottom. 
     
     
     
   While Occupying The Island, Chouteau And His Old Hunters And Trappers 
   Were Attacked by About Three Hundred pawnees, Whom They Repulsed 
   With The Loss Of Thirty Killed and Wounded.  These Indians Afterward 
   Declared that It Was The Most Fatal Affair In which They Were Ever 
   Engaged.  It Was Their First Acquaintance With American Guns. 
     
     
     
   The General Character Of The Early Trade With New Mexico Was Founded 
   On The System Of The Caravan.  She Depended upon The Remote Ports 
   Of Old Mexico, Whence Was Transported, On The Backs Of The Patient 
   Burro And Mule, All That Was Required by The Primitive Tastes Of The 
   Primitive People; A Very Tedious And Slow Process, As May Be Inferred, 
   And The Limited traffic Westwardly Across The Great Plains Was 
   Confined to This Fashion.  At The Date Of The Legitimate And 
   Substantial Commerce With New Mexico, In 1824, Wheeled vehicles Were 
   Introduced, And Traffic Assumed an Importance It Could Never Have 
   Otherwise Attained, And Which Now, Under The Vast System Of Railroads, 
   Has Increased to Dimensions Little Dreamed of By Its Originators 
   Nearly Three-Quarters Of A Century Ago. 
     
     
     
   It Was Eight Years After Pursley'S Pilgrimage Before The Trade With 
   New Mexico Attracted the Attention Of Speculators And Adventurers. 
   Messrs. Mcknight,[13] Beard, And Chambers, With About A Dozen Comrades, 
   Started with A Supply Of Goods Across The Unknown Plains, And By 
   Good Luck Arrived safely At Santa Fe.  Once Under The Jurisdiction 
   Of The Mexicans, However, Their Trouble Began.  All The Party Were 
   Arrested as Spies, Their Wares Confiscated, And Themselves 
   Incarcerated at Chihuahua, Where The Majority Of Them Were Kept For 
   Almost A Decade.  Beard And Chambers, Having By Some Means Escaped, 
   Returned to St. Louis In 1822, And, Notwithstanding Their Dreadful 
   Experience, Told Of The Prospects Of The Trade With The Mexicans 
   In Such Glowing Colours That They Induced some Individuals Of Small 
   Capital To Fit Out Another Expedition, With Which They Again Set Out 
   For Santa Fe. 
     
     
     
   It Was Really Too Late In the Season; They Succeeded, However, 
   In Reaching The Crossing Of The Arkansas Without Any Difficulty, 
   But There A Violent Snowstorm Overtook Them And They Were Compelled 
   To Halt, As It Was Impossible To Proceed in the Face Of The Blinding 
   Blizzard.  On An Island[14] Not Far From Where The Town Of Cimarron, 
   On The Santa Fe Railroad, Is Now Situated, They Were Obliged to 
   Remain For More Than Three Months, During Which Time Most Of Their 
   Animals Died for Want Of Food And From The Severe Cold.  When The 
   Weather Had Moderated sufficiently To Allow Them To Proceed on 
   Their Journey, They Had No Transportation For Their Goods And Were 
   Compelled to Hide Them In pits Dug In the Earth, After The Manner 
   Of The Old French Voyageurs In the Early Settlement Of The Continent. 
   This Method Of Secreting Furs And Valuables Of Every Character 
   Is Called caching, From The French Word "To Hide."  Gregg Thus 
   Describes It: 
     
     
     
             The Cache Is Made By Digging a Hole In the Ground, Somewhat 
             In the Shape Of A Jug, Which Is Lined with Dry Sticks, 
             Grass, Or Anything Else That Will Protect Its Contents 
             From The Dampness Of The Earth.  In this Place The Goods 
             To Be Concealed are Carefully Stowed away; And The Aperture 
             Is Then So Effectually Closed as To Protect Them From 
             The Rains.  In caching, A Great Deal Of Skill Is Often 
             Required to Leave No Sign Whereby The Cunning Savage May 
             Discover The Place Of Deposit.  To This End, The Excavated 
             Earth Is Carried some Distance And Carefully Concealed, 
             Or Thrown Into A Stream, If One Be At Hand.  The Place 
             Selected for A Cache Is Usually Some Rolling Point, 
             Sufficiently Elevated to Be Secure From Inundations. 
             If It Be Well Set With Grass, A Solid Piece Of Turf Is 
             Cut Out Large Enough For The Entrance.  The Turf Is 
             Afterward Laid Back, And, Taking Root, In a Short Time 
             No Signs Remain Of Its Ever Having Been Molested. 
             However, As Every Locality Does Not Afford A Turfy Site, 
             The Camp-Fire Is Sometimes Built Upon The Place, Or The 
             Animals Are Penned over It, Which Effectually Destroys 
             All Traces. 
     
     
     
   Father Hennepin[15] Thus Describes, In his Quaint Style, How He Built 
   A Cache On The Bank Of The Mississippi, In 1680: 
     
     
     
             We Took Up The Green Sodd, And Laid It By, And Digg'D A Hole 
             In the Earth Where We Put Our Goods, And Cover'D Them With 
             Pieces Of Timber And Earth, And Then Put In again The Green 
             Turf; So That 'Twas Impossible To Suspect That Any Hole Had 
             Been Digg'D Under It, For We Flung The Earth Into The River. 
     
     
     
   After Caching Their Goods, Beard And The Party Went On To Taos, 
   Where They Bought Mules, And Returning To Their Caches Transported 
   Their Contents To Their Market. 
     
     
     
   The Word "Cache" Still Lingers Among The "Old-Timers" Of The Mountains 
   And Plains, And Has Become A Provincialism With Their Descendants; 
   One Of These Will Tell You That He Cached his Vegetables In the Side 
   Of The Hill; Or If He Is Out Hunting and Desires To Secrete Himself 
   From Approaching Game, He Will Say, "I Am Going To Cache Behind 
   That Rock," Etc. 
     
     
     
   The Place Where Beard'S Little Expedition Wintered was Called 
   "The Caches" For Years, And The Name Has Only Fallen Into Disuse 
   Within The Last Two Decades.  I Remember The Great Holes In the 
   Ground When I First Crossed the Plains, A Third Of A Century Ago. 
     
     
     
   The Immense Profit Upon Merchandise Transported across The Dangerous 
   Trail Of The Mid-Continent To The Capital Of New Mexico Soon Excited 
   The Cupidity Of Other Merchants East Of The Missouri.  When The 
   Commonest Domestic Cloth, Manufactured wholly From Cotton, Brought 
   From Two To Three Dollars A Yard At Santa Fe, And Other Articles At 
   The Same Ratio To Cost, No Wonder The Commerce With The Far-Off Market 
   Appeared to Those Who Desired to Send Goods There A Veritable Golconda. 
     
     
     
   The Importance Of Internal Trade With New Mexico, And The Possibilities 
   Of Its Growth, Were First Recognized by The United states In 1824, 
   The Originator Of The Movement Being Mr. Thomas Hart Benton Of Missouri, 
   Who Frequently, From His Place In the Senate, Prophesied the Coming 
   Greatness Of The West.  He Introduced a Bill Which Authorized the 
   President To Appoint A Commission To Survey A Road From The Missouri 
   River To The Boundary Line Of New Mexico, And From Thence On Mexican 
   Territory With The Consent Of The Mexican Government.  The Signing Of 
   This Bill Was One Of The Last Acts Of Mr. Monroe'S Official Life, 
   And It Was Carried into Effect By His Successor, Mr. John Quincy Adams, 
   But Unfortunately A Mistake Was Made In supposing That The Osage 
   Indians Alone Controlled the Course Of The Proposed route.  It Was 
   Partially Marked out As Far As The Arkansas, By Raised mounds; 
   But Travellers Continued to Use The Old Wagon Trail, And As No 
   Negotiations Had Been Entered into With The Comanches, Cheyennes, 
   Pawnees, Or Kiowas, These Warlike Tribes Continued to Harass The 
   Caravans When These Arrived in the Broad Valley Of The Arkansas. 
     
     
     
   The American Fur Trade Was At Its Height At The Time When The Santa Fe 
   Trade Was Just Beginning To Assume Proportions Worthy Of Notice; 
   The Difference Between The Two Enterprises Being Very Marked.  The Fur 
   Trade Was In the Hands Of Immensely Wealthy Companies, While That To 
   Santa Fe Was Carried on By Individuals With Limited capital, Who, 
   Purchasing Goods In the Eastern Markets, Had Them Transported to 
   The Missouri River, Where, Until The Trade To New Mexico Became A 
   Fixed business, Everything Was Packed on Mules.  As Soon, However, 
   As Leading Merchants Invested their Capital, About 1824, The Trade 
   Grew Into Vast Proportions, And Wagons Took The Place Of The Patient 
   Mule.  Later, Oxen Were Substituted for Mules, It Having Been 
   Discovered that They Possessed many Advantages Over The Former, 
   Particularly In being able To Draw Heavier Loads Than An Equal Number 
   Of Mules, Especially Through Sandy Or Muddy Places. 
     
     
     
   For A Long Time, The Traders Were In the Habit Of Purchasing Their 
   Mules In santa Fe And Driving Them To The Missouri; But As Soon As 
   That Useful Animal Was Raised in sufficient Numbers In the Southern 
   States To Supply The Demand, The Importation From New Mexico Ceased, 
   For The Reason That The American Mule Was In all Respects An Immensely 
   Superior Animal. 
     
     
     
   Once Mules Were An Important Object Of The Trade, And Those Who Dealt 
   In Them And Drove Them Across To The River On The Trail Met With 
   Many Mishaps; Frequently Whole Droves, Containing From Three To 
   Five Hundred, Were Stolen By The Savages En Route.  The Latter Soon 
   Learned that It Was A Very Easy Thing To Stampede A Caravan Of Mules, 
   For, Once Panic-Stricken, It Is Impossible To Restrain Them, And 
   The Indians Having Started them Kept Them In a State Of Rampant 
   Excitement By Their Blood-Curdling Yells, Until They Had Driven Them 
   Miles Beyond The Trail. 
     
     
     
   A Story Is Told Of A Small Band Of Twelve Men, Who, While Encamped 
   On The Cimarron River, In 1826, With But Four Serviceable Guns Among 
   Them, Were Visited by A Party Of Indians, Believed to Be Arapahoes, 
   Who Made At First Strong Demonstrations Of Friendship And Good-Will. 
   Observing The Defenceless Condition Of The Traders, They Went Away, 
   But Soon Returned about Thirty Strong, Each Provided with A Lasso, 
   And All On Foot.  The Chief Then Began By Informing The Americans 
   That His Men Were Tired of Walking, And Must Have Horses.  Thinking 
   It Folly To Offer Any Resistance, The Terrified traders Told Them 
   If One Animal Apiece Would Satisfy Them, To Go And Catch Them. 
   This They Soon Did; But Finding Their Request So Easily Complied with, 
   The Indians Held A Little Parley Together, Which Resulted in a New 
   Demand For More--They Must Have Two Apiece!  "Well, Catch Them!" 
   Was The Acquiescent Reply Of The Unfortunate Band; Upon Which The 
   Savages Mounted those They Had Already Secured, And, Swinging Their 
   Lassos Over Their Heads, Plunged among The Stock With A Furious Yell, 
   And Drove Off The Entire Caballada Of Nearly Five Hundred head Of 
   Horses, Mules, And Asses. 
     
     
     
   In 1829 The Indians Of The Plains Became Such A Terror To The Caravans 
   Crossing To Santa Fe, That The United states Government, Upon Petition 
   Of The Traders, Ordered three Companies Of Infantry And One Of Riflemen, 
   Under Command Of Major Bennet Riley, To Escort The Annual Caravan, 
   Which That Year Started from The Town Of Franklin, Missouri, Then The 
   Eastern Terminus Of The Santa Fe Trade, As Far As Chouteau'S Island, 
   On The Arkansas, Which Marked the Boundary Between The United states 
   And Mexico.[16]  The Caravan Started from The Island Across The Dreary 
   Route Unaccompanied by Any Troops, But Had Progressed only A Few Miles 
   When It Was Attacked by A Band Of Kiowas, Then One Of The Most Cruel 
   And Bloodthirsty Tribes On The Plains.[17] 
     
     
     
   This Escort, Commanded by Major Riley, And Another Under Captain 
   Wharton, Composed of Only Sixty Dragoons, Five Years Later, Were The 
   Sole Protection Ever Given By The Government Until 1843, When Captain 
   Philip St. George Cooke Again Accompanied two Large Caravans To The 
   Same Point On The Arkansas As Did Major Riley Fourteen Years Before. 
     
     
     
   As The Trade Increased, The Comanches, Pawnees, And Arapahoes 
   Continued to Commit Their Depredations, And It Was Firmly Believed 
   By Many Of The Freighters That These Indians Were Incited to Their 
   Devilish Acts By The Mexicans, Who Were Always Jealous Of 
   "Los Americanos." 
     
     
     
   It Was Very Rarely That A Caravan, Great Or Small, Or Even A Detachment 
   Of Troops, No Matter How Large, Escaped the Raids Of These Bandits Of 
   The Trail.  If The List Of Those Who Were Killed outright And Scalped, 
   And Those More Unfortunate Who Were Taken Captive Only To Be Tortured 
   And Their Bodies Horribly Mutilated, Could Be Collected from The 
   Opening Of The Traffic With New Mexico Until The Years 1868-69, When 
   General Sheridan Inaugurated his Memorable "Winter Campaign" Against 
   The Allied plains Tribes, And Completely Demoralized, Cowed, And 
   Forced them On Their Reservations, About The Time Of The Advent Of The 
   Railroad, It Would Present An Appalling Picture; And The Number Of 
   Horses, Mules, And Oxen Stampeded and Stolen During The Same Period 
   Would Amount To Thousands. 
     
     
     
   As The Excellent Narrative Of Captain Pike Is Not Read As It Should Be 
   By The Average American, A Brief Reference To It May Not Be Considered 
   Supererogatory.  The Celebrated officer, Who Was Afterward Promoted 
   To The Rank Of Major-General, And Died in the Achievement Of The 
   Victory Of York, Upper Canada, In 1813, Was Sent In 1806 On An 
   Exploring Expedition Up The Arkansas River, With Instructions To Pass 
   The Sources Of Red river, For Which Those Of The Canadian Were Then 
   Mistaken; He, However, Even Went Around The Head Of The Latter, 
   And Crossing The Mountains With An Almost Incredible Degree Of Peril 
   And Suffering, Descended upon The Rio Del Norte With His Little Party, 
   Then But Fifteen In number. 
     
     
     
   Believing Himself Now On Red river, Within The Then Assumed limits 
   Of The United states, He Built A Small Fortification For His Company, 
   Until The Opening Of The Spring Of 1807 Should Enable Him To Continue 
   His Descent To Natchitoches.  As He Was Really Within Mexican 
   Territory, And Only About Eighty Miles From The Northern Settlements, 
   His Position Was Soon Discovered, And A Force Sent To Take Him To 
   Santa Fe, Which By Treachery Was Effected without Opposition. 
   The Spanish Officer Assured him That The Governor, Learning That 
   He Had Mistaken His Way, Had Sent Animals And An Escort To Convey 
   His Men And Baggage To A Navigable Point On Red river (Rio Colorado), 
   And That His Excellency Desired very Much To See Him At Santa Fe, 
   Which Might Be Taken On Their Way. 
     
     
     
   As Soon, However, As The Governor Had The Too Confiding Captain 
   In His Power, He Sent Him With His Men To The Commandant General 
   At Chihuahua, Where Most Of His Papers Were Seized, And He And 
   His Party Were Sent Under An Escort, Via San Antonio De Bexar, 
   To The United states. 
     
     
     
   Many Citizens Of The Remote Eastern States, Who Were Contemporary 
   With Pike, Declared that His Expedition Was In some Way Connected 
   With The Treasonable Attempt Of Aaron Burr.  The Idea Is Simply 
   Preposterous; Pike'S Whole Line Of Conduct Shows Him To Have Been 
   Of The Most Patriotic Character; Never Would He For A Moment Have 
   Countenanced a Proposition From Aaron Burr! 
     
     
     
   After Captain Pike'S Report Had Been Published to The World, 
   The Adventurers Who Were Inspired by Its Glowing Description Of 
   The Country He Had Been So Far To Explore Were Destined to Experience 
   Trials And Disappointments Of Which They Had Formed no Conception. 
     
     
     
   Among Them Was A Certain Captain Sublette, A Famous Old Trapper 
   In The Era Of The Great Fur Companies, And With Him A Captain Smith, 
   Who, Although Veteran Pioneers Of The Rocky Mountains, Were Mere 
   Novices In the Many Complications Of The Trail; But Having Been In 
   The Fastnesses Of The Great Divide Of The Continent, They Thought 
   That When They Got Down On The Plains They Could Go Anywhere. 
   They Started with Twenty Wagons, And Left The Missouri Without 
   A Single One Of The Party Being Competent To Guide The Little Caravan 
   On The Dangerous Route. 
     
     
     
   From The Missouri The Trail Was Broad And Plain Enough For A Child 
   To Follow, But When They Arrived at The Cimarron Crossing Of 
   The Arkansas, Not A Trace Of Former Caravans Was Visible; Nothing But 
   The Innumerable Buffalo-Trails Leading From Everywhere To The River. 
     
     
     
   When The Party Entered the Desert, Or Dry Route, As It Was Years 
   Afterward Always, And Very Properly, Called in certain Seasons 
   Of Drought, The Brave But Too Confident Men Discovered that The 
   Whole Region Was Burnt Up.  They Wandered on For Several Days, 
   The Horrors Of Death By Thirst Constantly Confronting Them. 
   Water Must Be Had Or They Would All Perish!  At Last Smith, In his 
   Desperation, Determined to Follow One Of The Numerous Buffalo-Trails, 
   Believing That It Would Conduct Him To Water Of Some Character-- 
   A Lake Or Pool Or Even Wallow.  He Left The Train Alone; Asked for 
   No One To Accompany Him; For He Was The Very Impersonation Of Courage, 
   One Of The Most Fearless Men That Ever Trapped in the Mountains. 
     
     
     
   He Walked on And On For Miles, When, On Ascending a Little Divide, 
   He Saw A Stream In the Valley Beneath Him.  It Was The Cimarron, 
   And He Hurried toward It To Quench His Intolerable Thirst.  When He 
   Arrived at Its Bank, To His Disappointment It Was Nothing But A Bed 
   Of Sand; The Sometime Clear Running River Was Perfectly Dry. 
     
     
     
   Only For A Moment Was He Staggered; He Knew The Character Of Many 
   Streams In the West; That Often Their Waters Run Under The Ground 
   At A Short Distance From The Surface, And In a Moment He Was On 
   His Knees Digging Vigorously In the Soft Sand.  Soon The Coveted 
   Fluid Began To Filter Upwards Into The Little Excavation He Had Made. 
   He Stooped to Drink, And In the Next Second A Dozen Arrows From An 
   Ambushed band Of Comanches Entered his Body.  He Did Not Die At Once, 
   However; It Is Related by The Indians Themselves That He Killed two 
   Of Their Number Before Death Laid Him Low. 
     
     
     
   Captain Sublette And Smith'S Other Comrades Did Not Know What Had 
   Become Of Him Until Some Mexican Traders Told Them, Having Got The 
   Report From The Very Savages Who Committed the Cold-Blooded murder. 
     
     
     
   Gregg, In his Report Of This Little Expedition, Says: 
             Every Kind Of Fatality Seems To Have Attended this Small 
             Caravan.  Among Other Casualties, A Clerk In their Company, 
             Named minter, Was Killed by A Band Of Pawnees, Before They 
             Crossed the Arkansas.  This, I Believe, Is The Only Instance 
             Of Loss Of Life Among The Traders While Engaged in hunting, 
             Although The Scarcity Of Accidents Can Hardly Be Said To Be 
             The Result Of Prudence.  There Is Not A Day That Hunters 
             Do Not Commit Some Indescretion; Such As Straying at 
             A Distance Of Five And Even Ten Miles From The Caravan, 
             Frequently Alone, And Seldom In bands Of More Than Two Or 
             Three Together.  In this State, They Must Frequently Be 
             Spied by Prowling Savages; So That Frequency Of Escape, 
             Under Such Circumstances, Must Be Partly Attributed to 
             The Cowardice Of The Indians; Indeed, Generally Speaking, 
             The Latter Are Very Loth To Charge Upon Even A Single 
             Armed man, Unless They Can Take Him At A Decided advantage. 
     
     
     
             Not Long After, This Band Of Captain Sublette'S Very 
             Narrowly Escaped total Destruction.  They Had Fallen In 
             With An Immense Horde Of Blackfeet And Gros Ventres, And, 
             As The Traders Were Literally But A Handful Among Thousands 
             Of Savages, They Fancied themselves For A While In imminent 
             Peril Of Being Virtually "Eated up."  But As Captain 
             Sublette Possessed considerable Experience, He Was At 
             No Loss How To Deal With These Treacherous Savages; So That 
             Although The Latter Assumed a Threatening attitude, 
             He Passed them Without Any Serious Molestation, And Finally 
             Arrived at Santa Fe In safety. 
     
     
     
   The Virtual Commencement Of The Santa Fe Trade Dates From 1822, 
   And One Of The Most Remarkable Events In its History Was The First 
   Attempt To Introduce Wagons In the Expeditions.  This Was Made In 1824 
   By A Company Of Traders, About Eighty In number, Among Whom Were 
   Several Gentlemen Of Intelligence From Missouri, Who Contributed 
   By Their Superior Skill And Undaunted energy To Render The Enterprise 
   Completely Successful.  A Portion Of This Company Employed pack-Mules; 
   Among The Rest Were Owned twenty-Five Wheeled vehicles, Of Which 
   One Or Two Were Stout Road-Wagons, Two Were Carts, And The Rest 
   Dearborn Carriages, The Whole Conveying Some Twenty-Five Or Thirty 
   Thousand Dollars' Worth Of Merchandise.  Colonel Marmaduke, 
   Of Missouri, Was One Of The Party.  This Caravan Arrived at Santa Fe 
   Safely, Experiencing Much Less Difficulty Than They Anticipated 
   From A First Attempt With Wheeled vehicles. 
     
     
     
   Gregg Continues: 
             The Early Voyageurs, Having But Seldom Experienced any 
             Molestation From The Indians, Generally Crossed the Plains 
             In detached bands, Each Individual Rarely Carrying More Than 
             Two Or Three Hundred dollars' Worth Of Stock.  This Peaceful 
             Season, However, Did Not Last Very Long; And It Is Greatly 
             To Be Feared that The Traders Were Not Always Innocent Of 
             Having Instigated the Savage Hostilities That Ensued in 
             After Years.  Many Seemed to Forget The Wholesome Precept, 
             That They Should Not Be Savages Themselves Because They 
             Dealt With Savages.  Instead Of Cultivating Friendly 
             Feelings With Those Few Who Remained peaceful And Honest, 
             There Was An Occasional One Always Disposed to Kill, 
             Even In cold Blood, Every Indian That Fell Into Their Power, 
             Merely Because Some Of The Tribe Had Committed an Outrage 
             Either Against Themselves Or Friends. 
     
     
     
   As An Instance Of This, He Relates The Following: 
             In 1826 Two Young Men Named mcness And Monroe, Having 
             Carelessly Lain Down To Sleep On The Bank Of A Certain 
             Stream, Since Known As Mcness Creek,[18] Were Barbarously 
             Shot, With Their Own Guns, As It Was Supposed, In the Very 
             Sight Of The Caravan.  When Their Comrades Came Up, 
             They Found Mcness Lifeless, And The Other Almost Expiring. 
             In this State The Latter Was Carried nearly Forty Miles To 
             The Cimarron River, Where He Died, And Was Buried according 
             To The Custom Of The Prairies, A Very Summary Proceeding, 
             Necessarily.  The Corpse, Wrapped in a Blanket, Its Shroud 
             The Clothes It Wore, Is Interred in a Hole Varying In depth 
             According To The Nature Of The Soil, And Upon The Grave Is 
             Piled stones, If Any Are Convenient, To Prevent The Wolves 
             From Digging It Up.  Just As Mcness'S Funeral Ceremonies 
             Were About To Be Concluded, Six Or Seven Indians Appeared 
             On The Opposite Side Of The Cimarron.  Some Of The Party 
             Proposed inviting Them To A Parley, While The Rest, Burning 
             For Revenge, Evinced a Desire To Fire Upon Them At Once. 
             It Is More Than Probable, However, That The Indians Were Not 
             Only Innocent But Ignorant Of The Outrage That Had Been 
             Committed, Or They Would Hardly Have Ventured to Approach 
             The Caravan.  Being Quick Of Perception, They Very Soon Saw 
             The Belligerent Attitude Assumed by The Company, And 
             Therefore Wheeled round And Attempted to Escape.  One Shot 
             Was Fired, Which Brought An Indian To The Ground, When He 
             Was Instantly Riddled with Balls.  Almost Simultaneously 
             Another Discharge Of Several Guns Followed, By Which All 
             The Rest Were Either Killed or Mortally Wounded, Except One, 
             Who Escaped to Bear The News To His Tribe. 
     
     
     
             These Wanton Cruelties Had A Most Disastrous Effect Upon The 
             Prospects Of The Trade; For The Exasperated children Of 
             The Desert Became More And More Hostile To The "Pale-Faces," 
             Against Whom They Continued to Wage A Cruel War For Many 
             Successive Years.  In fact This Party Suffered very Severely 
             A Few Days Afterward.  They Were Pursued by The Enraged 
             Comrades Of The Slain Savages To The Arkansas River, Where 
             They Were Robbed of Nearly A Thousand Horses And Mules. 
     
     
     
   The Author Of This Book, Although Having But Little Compassion For 
   The Indians, Must Admit That, During More Than A Third Of A Century 
   Passed on The Plains And In the Mountains, He Has Never Known Of 
   A War With The Hostile Tribes That Was Not Caused by Broken Faith 
   On The Part Of The United states Or Its Agents.  I Will Refer To 
   Two Prominent Instances: That Of The Outbreak Of The Nez Perces, And 
   That Of The Allied plains Tribes.  With The Former A Solemn Treaty 
   Was Made In 1856, Guaranteeing To Them Occupancy Of The Wallola Valley 
   Forever.  I. I. Stevens, Who Was Governor Of Washington Territory 
   At The Time, And Ex-Officio Superintendent Of Indian Affairs In 
   The Region, Met The Nez Perces, Whose Chief, "Wish-La-No-She," 
   An Octogenarian, When Grasping The Hand Of The Governor At The Council 
   Said: "I Put Out My Hand To The White Man When Lewis And Clark 
   Crossed the Continent, In 1805, And Have Never Taken It Back Since." 
   The Tribe Kept Its Word Until The White Men Took Forcible Possession 
   Of The Valley Promised to The Indians, When The Latter Broke Out, 
   And A Prolonged war Was The Consequence.  In 1867 Congress Appointed 
   A Commission To Treat With The Cheyennes, Kiowas, And Arapahoes, 
   Appropriating Four Hundred thousand Dollars For The Expenses Of 
   The Commission.  It Met At Medicine Lodge In august Of The Year 
   Mentioned, And Made A Solemn Treaty, Which The Members Of The 
   Commission, On The Part Of The United states, And The Principal 
   Chiefs Of The Three Tribes Signed.  Congress Failed to Make Any 
   Appropriation To Carry Out The Provisions Of The Treaty, And The 
   Indians, After Waiting a Reasonable Time, Broke Out, Devastated 
   The Settlements From The Platte To The Rio Grande, Destroying 
   Millions Of Dollars' Worth Of Property, And Sacrificing Hundreds 
   Of Men, Women, And Children.  Another War Was The Result, Which 
   Cost More Millions, And Under General Sheridan The Hostile Savages 
   Were Whipped into A Peace, Which They Have Been Compelled to Keep. 
   
   
   
   Chapter IV (Trains And Packers) 
   As Has Been Stated, Until The Year 1824 Transportation Across The 
   Plains Was Done By Means Of Pack-Mules, The Art Of Properly Loading 
   Which Seems To Be An Intuitive Attribute Of The Native Mexican. 
   The American, Of Course, Soon Became As Expert, For Nothing That 
   The Genus Homo Is Capable Of Doing Is Impossible To Him; But His 
   Teacher Was The Dark-Visaged, Superstitious, And Profanity-Expending 
   Mexican Arriero. 
     
     
     
   A Description Of The Equipment Of A Mule-Train And The Method Of 
   Packing, Together With Some Of The Curious Facts Connected with 
   Its Movements, May Not Be Uninteresting, Particularly As The 
   Whole Thing, With Rare Exceptions In the Regular Army At Remote 
   Frontier Posts, Has Been Relegated to The Past, Along With The Caravan 
   Of The Prairie And The Overland Coach.  To This Generation, Barring 
   A Few Officers Who Have Served against The Indians On The Plains 
   And In the Mountains, A Pack-Mule Train Would Be As Great A Curiosity 
   As The Hairy Mammoth.  In the Following Particulars I Have Taken 
   As A Model The Genuine Mexican Pack-Train Or Atajo, As It Was Called 
   In Their Spanish Dialect, Always Used in the Early Days Of The 
   Santa Fe Trade.  The Americans Made Many Modifications, But The Basis 
   Was Purely Mexican In its Origin.  A Pack-Mule Was Termed a Mula 
   De Carga, And His Equipment Consisted of Several Parts; First, 
   The Saddle, Or Aparejo, A Nearly Square Pad Of Leather Stuffed 
   With Hay, Which Covered the Animal'S Back On Both Sides Equally. 
   The Best Idea Of Its Shape Will Be Formed by Opening a Book In 
   The Middle And Placing It Saddle-Fashion On The Back Of A Chair. 
   Each Half Then Forms A Flap Of The Contrivance.  Before The Aparejo 
   Was Adjusted to The Mule, A Salea, Or Raw Sheep-Skin, Made Soft 
   By Rubbing, Was Put On The Animal'S Back, To Prevent Chafing, 
   And Over It The Saddle-Cloth, Or Xerga.  On Top Of Both Was Placed 
   The Aparejo, Which Was Cinched by A Wide Grass-Bandage.  This Band 
   Was Drawn As Tightly As Possible, To Such An Extent That The Poor 
   Brute Grunted and Groaned under The Apparently Painful Operation, 
   And When Fastened he Seemed to Be Cut In two.  This Always Appeared 
   To Be The Very Acme Of Cruelty To The Uninitiated, But It Is The 
   Secret Of Successful Packing; The Firmer The Saddle, The More 
   Comfortably The Mule Can Travel, With Less Risk Of Being Chafed 
   And Bruised.  The Aparejo Is Furnished with A Huge Crupper, And 
   This Appendage Is Really The Most Cruel Of All, For It Is Almost 
   Sure To Lacerate The Tail.  Hardly A Mexican Mule In the Old Days 
   Of The Trade Could Be Found Which Did Not Bear The Scar Of This 
   Rude Supplement To The Immense Saddle. 
     
     
     
   The Load, Which Is Termed a Carga, Was Generally Three Hundred pounds. 
   Two Arrieros, Or Packers, Place The Goods On The Mule'S Back, 
   One, The Cargador, Standing On The Near Side, His Assistant On 
   The Other.  The Carga Is Then Hoisted on Top Of The Saddle If It 
   Is A Single Package; Or If There Are Two Of Equal Size And Weight, 
   One On Each Side, Coupled by A Rope, Which Balances Them On The 
   Animal.  Another Stout Rope Is Then Thrown Over All, Drawn As Tightly 
   As Possible Under The Belly, And Laced round The Packs, Securing 
   Them Firmly In their Place.  Over The Load, To Protect It From Rain, 
   Is Thrown A Square Piece Of Matting Called a Petate.  Sometimes, 
   When A Mule Is A Little Refractory, He Is Blindfolded by A Thin 
   Piece Of Leather, Generally Embroidered, Termed the Tapojos, And 
   He Remains Perfectly Quiet While The Process Of Packing Is Going On. 
   When The Load Is Securely Fastened in its Place, The Blinder Is 
   Removed.  The Man On The Near Side, With His Knee Against The Mule 
   For A Purchase, As Soon As The Rope Is Hauled taut, Cries Out "Adios," 
   And His Assistant Answers "Vaya!"  Then The First Says Again, "Anda!" 
   Upon Which The Mule Trots Off To Its Companions, All Of Which Feed 
   Around Until The Animals Of The Whole Train Are Packed.  It Seldom 
   Requires More Than Five Minutes For The Two Men To Complete The 
   Packing Of The Animal, And In that Time Is Included the Fastening 
   Of The Aperejo.  It Is Surprising To Note The Degree Of Skill 
   Exercised by An Experienced packer, And His Apparently Abnormal 
   Strength In handling The Immense Bundles That Are Sometimes 
   Transported.  By The Aid Of His Knees Used as A Fulcrum, He Lifts 
   A Package And Tosses It On The Mule'S Back Without Any Apparent 
   Effort, The Dead Weight Of Which He Could Not Move From The Ground. 
     
     
     
   An Old-Time Atajo Or Caravan Of Pack-Mules Generally Numbered from 
   Fifty To Two Hundred, And It Travelled a Jornado, Or Day'S March Of 
   About Twelve Or Fifteen Miles.  This Day'S Journey Was Made Without 
   Any Stopping at Noon, Because If A Pack-Mule Is Allowed to Rest, 
   He Generally Tries To Lie Down, And With His Heavy Load It Is 
   Difficult For Him To Get On His Feet Again.  Sometimes He Is Badly 
   Strained in so Doing, Perhaps Ruined forever.  When The Train Starts 
   Out On The Trail, The Mules Are So Tightly Bound With The Ropes 
   Which Confine The Load That They Move With Great Difficulty; 
   But The Saddle Soon Settles Itself And The Ropes Become Loosened 
   So That They Have Frequently To Be Tightened.  On The March The 
   Arriero Is Kept Busy Nearly All The Time; The Packs Are Constantly 
   Changing Their Position, Frequently Losing Their Balance And 
   Falling Off; Sometimes Saddle, Pack, And All Swing Under The 
   Animal'S Belly, And He Must Be Unloaded and Repacked again. 
     
     
     
   On Arriving at The Camping-Ground The Pack-Saddles With Their Loads 
   Are Ranged in regular Order, Their Freight Being Between The Saddles, 
   Covered with The Petates To Protect It From The Rain, And Generally 
   A Ditch Is Dug Around To Carry Off The Water, If The Weather Is Stormy. 
   After Two Or Three Days' Travel Each Mule Knows Its Own Pack And 
   Saddle, And Comes Up To It At The Proper Moment With An Intelligence 
   That Is Astonishing.  If An Animal Should Come Whose Pack Is 
   Somewhere Else, He Is Soundly Kicked in the Ribs By The Rightful Mule, 
   And Sent Bruised and Battered to His Place.  He Rarely Makes A Mistake 
   In Relation To The Position Of His Own Pack The Second Time. 
     
     
     
   This Method Of Transportation Was So Cheap, Because Of The Low Rate 
   Of Wages, That Wagon-Freighting, Even In the Most Level Region, 
   Could Not Compete With It.  Five Dollars A Month Was The Amount Paid 
   To The Muleteers, But It Was Oftener Five With Rations, Costing 
   Almost Nothing, Of Corn And Beans.  Meat, If Used at All, Was Found 
   By The Arrieros Themselves. 
     
     
     
   On The Trail The Mule-Train Is Under A System Of Discipline Almost 
   As Severe As That On Board Of A Man-Of-War.  Every Individual 
   Employed is Assigned to His Place And Has Certain Duties To Perform. 
   There Is A Night-Herder, Called the Savanero, Whose Duty It Is 
   To Keep The Animals From Straying Too Far Away, As They Are All 
   Turned loose To Shift For Themselves, Depending Upon The Grass Alone 
   For Their Subsistence.  Each Herd Has A Mulera, Or Bell-Mare, 
   Which Wears A Bell Hanging To A Strap Around Her Neck, And Is Kept 
   In View Of The Other Animals, Who Will Never Leave Her.  If The Mare 
   Is Taken Away From The Herd, Every Mule Becomes Really Melancholy 
   And Is At A Loss What To Do Or Where To Go.  The Cook Of The Party, 
   Or Madre (Mother) As He Is Called, Besides His Duty In preparing 
   The Food, Must Lead The Bell-Mule Ahead Of The Train While Travelling, 
   The Pack-Animals Following Her With A Devotion That Is Remarkable. 
     
     
     
   Sometimes In traversing The Narrow Ledges Cut Around The Sides Of 
   A Precipitous Trail, Or Crossing a Narrow Natural Bridge Spanning 
   The Frightful Gorges Found Everywhere In the Mountains, A Mule 
   Will Be Incontinently Thrown Off The Slippery Path, And Fall Hundreds 
   Of Feet Into The Yawning Canyon Below.  Generally Instant Death 
   Is Their Portion, Though I Recall An Instance, While On An Expedition 
   Against The Hostile Indians Thirty Years Ago, Where A Number Of Mules 
   Of Our Pack-Train, Loaded with Ammunition, Tumbled nearly Five Hundred 
   Feet Down An Almost Perpendicular Chasm, And Yet Some Of Them Got 
   On Their Feet Again, And Soon Rejoined their Companions, Without 
   Having Suffered any Serious Injury. 
     
     
     
   The Wagons So Long Employed in this Trade, After Their First 
   Introduction In 1824, Were Manufactured in pittsburgh, Their Capacity 
   Being about A Ton And A Half, And They Were Drawn By Eight Mules 
   Or The Same Number Of Oxen.  Later Much Larger Wagons Were Employed 
   With Nearly Double The Capacity Of The First, Hauled by Ten And 
   Twelve Mules Or Oxen.  These Latter Were Soon Called prairie-Schooners, 
   Which Name Continued to Linger Until Transportation Across The Plains 
   By Wagons Was Completely Extinguished by The Railroads. 
     
     
     
   Under Mexican Rule Excessive Tariff Imposts Were Instituted, 
   Amounting To About A Hundred per Cent Upon Goods Brought From The 
   United states, And For Some Years, During The Administration Of 
   Governor Manuel Armijo, A Purely Arbitrary Duty Was Demanded of 
   Five Hundred dollars For Every Wagon-Load Of Merchandise Brought 
   Into The Province, Whether Great Or Small, And Regardless Of Its 
   Intrinsic Value.  As Gold And Silver Were Paid For The Articles 
   Brought By The Traders, They Were Also Required to Pay A Heavy Duty 
   On The Precious Metals They Took Out Of The Country.  Yankee Ingenuity, 
   However, Evaded much Of These Unjust Taxes.  When The Caravan 
   Approached santa Fe, The Freight Of Three Wagons Was Transferred 
   To One, And The Empty Vehicles Destroyed by Fire; While To Avoid 
   Paying The Export Duty On Gold And Silver, They Had Large False 
   Axletrees To Some Of The Wagons, In which The Money Was Concealed, 
   And The Examining Officer Of The Customs, Perfectly Unconscious Of 
   The Artifice, Passed them. 
     
     
     
   The Army, In its Expeditions Against The Hostile Indian Tribes, 
   Always Employed wagons In transporting Its Provisions And Munitions 
   Of War, Except In the Mountains, Where The Faithful Pack-Mule Was 
   Substituted.  The American Freighters, Since The Occupation Of 
   New Mexico By The United states, Until The Transcontinental Railroad 
   Usurped their Vocation, Used wagons Only; The Mexican Nomenclature 
   Was Soon Dropped and Simple English Terms Adopted: Caravan Became 
   Train, And Majordomo, The Person In charge, Wagon-Master.  The Latter 
   Was Supreme.  Upon Him Rested all The Responsibility, And To Him 
   The Teamsters Rendered absolute Obedience.  He Was Necessarily A Man 
   Of Quick Perception, Always Fertile In expedients In times Of 
   Emergency, And Something Of An Engineer; For To Know How Properly 
   To Cross A Raging Stream Or A Marshy Slough With An Outfit Of Fifty 
   Or Sixty Wagons Required more Than Ordinary Intelligence.  Then In 
   The Case Of A Stampede, Great Clear-Headedness And Coolness Were 
   Needed to Prevent Loss Of Life. 
     
     
     
   Stampedes Were Frequently Very Serious Affairs, Particularly With 
   A Large Mule-Train.  Notwithstanding The Willingness And Patient 
   Qualities Of That Animal, He Can Act As Absurdly As A Texas Steer, 
   And Is As Easily Frightened at Nothing.  Sometimes As Insignificant 
   A Circumstance As A Prairie-Dog Barking at The Entrance To His Burrow, 
   A Figure In the Distance, Or Even The Shadow Of A Passing Cloud 
   Will Start Every Animal In the Train, And Away They Go, Rushing Into 
   Each Other, And Becoming Entangled in such A Manner That Both Drivers 
   And Mules Have Often Been Crushed to Death.  It Not Infrequently 
   Happened that Five Or Six Of The Teams Would Dash Off And Never 
   Could Be Found.  I Remember One Instance That Occurred on The Trail 
   Between Fort Hays And Fort Dodge, During General Sheridan'S 
   Winter Campaign Against The Allied plains Tribes In 1868.  Three Of 
   The Wagons Were Dragged away By The Mules, In a Few Moments Were 
   Out Of Sight, And Were Never Recovered, Although Diligent Search 
   Was Made For Them For Some Days.  Ten Years Afterward A Farmer, 
   Who Had Taken Up A Claim In what Is Now Rush County, Kansas, 
   Discovered in a Ravine On His Place The Bones Of Some Animals, 
   Decayed parts Of Harness, And The Remains Of Three Army-Wagons, 
   Which With Other Evidence Proved them To Be The Identical Ones 
   Lost From The Train So Many Years Before. 
     
     
     
   The Largest Six-Mule Wagon-Train That Was Ever Strung Out On The 
   Plains Transported the Supplies For General Custer'S Command During 
   The Winter Above Referred to.  It Comprised over Eight Hundred 
   Army-Wagons, And Was Four Miles In length In one Column, Or One Mile 
   When In four Lines--The Usual Formation When In the Field. 
     
     
     
   The Animals Of The Train Were Either Hobbled or Herded at Night, 
   According To The Locality; If In an Indian Country, Always Hobbled 
   Or, Preferably, Tied up To The Tongue Of The Wagon To Which They 
   Belonged.  The Hobble Is Simply A Strip Of Rawhide, With Two Slides 
   Of The Same Material.  Placed on The Front Legs Of The Mule Just 
   At The Fetlock, The Slides Pushed close To The Limb, The Animal 
   Could Move Around Freely Enough To Graze, But Was Not Able To Travel 
   Very Fast In the Event Of A Stampede.  In the Indian Country, It Was 
   Usual At Night, Or In the Daytime When Halting To Feed, To Form 
   A Corral Of The Wagons, By Placing Them In a Circle, The Wheels 
   Interlocked and The Tongues Run Under The Axles, Into Which Circle 
   The Mules, On The Appearance Of The Savages, Were Driven, And Which 
   Also Made A Sort Of Fortress Behind Which The Teamsters Could More 
   Effectually Repel An Attack. 
     
     
     
   In The Earlier Trading Expeditions To Santa Fe, The Formation And 
   March Of The Caravan Differed materially From That Of The Army-Train 
   In Later Years.  I Here Quote Gregg, Whose Authority On The Subject 
   Has Never Been Questioned.  When All Was Ready To Move Out On The 
   Broad Sea Of Prairie, He Said: 
     
     
     
             We Held A Council, At Which The Respective Claims Of The 
             Different Aspirants For Office Were Considered, Leaders 
             Selected, And A System Of Government Agreed upon--As Is 
             The Standing Custom Of These Promiscuous Caravans. 
             A Captain Was Proclaimed elected, But His Powers Were Not 
             Defined by Any Constitutional Provision; Consequently, 
             They Were Very Vague And Uncertain.  Orders Being Only 
             Viewed as Mere Requests, They Are Often Obeyed or Neglected 
             At The Caprice Of The Subordinates.  It Is Necessary To 
             Observe, However, That The Captain Is Expected to Direct 
             The Order Of Travel During The Day And To Designate The 
             Camping-Ground At Night, With Many Other Functions Of 
             General Character, In the Exercise Of Which The Company 
             Find It Convenient To Acquiesce. 
     
     
     
             After This Comes The Task Of Organizing.  The Proprietors 
             Are First Notified by Proclamation To Furnish A List Of 
             Their Men And Wagons.  The Latter Are Generally Apportioned 
             Into Four Divisions, Particularly When The Company Is Large. 
             To Each Of These Divisions, A Lieutenant Is Appointed, 
             Whose Duty It Is To Inspect Every Ravine And Creek On The 
             Route, Select The Best Crossings, And Superintend What Is 
             Called in prairie Parlance The Forming Of Each Encampment. 
     
     
     
             There Is Nothing So Much Dreaded by Inexperienced travellers 
             As The Ordeal Of Guard Duty.  But No Matter What The 
             Condition Or Employment Of The Individual May Be, No One 
             Has The Slightest Chance Of Evading The Common Law Of 
             The Prairies.  The Amateur Tourist And The Listless Loafer 
             Are Precisely In the Same Wholesome Predicament--They Must 
             All Take Their Regular Turn At The Watch.  There Is Usually 
             A Set Of Genteel Idlers Attached to Every Caravan, Whose 
             Wits Are Forever At Work In devising Schemes For Whiling 
             Away Their Irksome Hours At The Expense Of Others. 
             By Embarking In these Trips Of Pleasure, They Are Enabled 
             To Live Without Expense; For The Hospitable Traders Seldom 
             Refuse To Accommodate Even A Loafing Companion With A Berth 
             At Their Mess Without Charge.  But These Lounging attaches 
             Are Expected at Least To Do Good Service By Way Of Guard 
             Duty.  None Are Ever Permitted to Furnish A Substitute, 
             As Is Frequently Done In military Expeditions; For He That 
             Would Undertake To Stand The Tour Of Another Besides 
             His Own Would Scarcely Be Watchful Enough For Dangers 
             Of The Prairies.  Even The Invalid Must Be Able To Produce 
             Unequivocal Proofs Of His Inability, Or It Is A Chance 
             If The Plea Is Admitted. 
     
     
     
             The Usual Number Of Watchers Is Eight, Each Standing a 
             Fourth Of Every Alternate Night.  When The Party Is Small, 
             The Number Is Generally Reduced, While In the Case Of 
             Very Small Bands, They Are Sometimes Compelled for Safety'S 
             Sake To Keep Watch On Duty Half The Night.  With Large 
             Caravans The Captain Usually Appoints Eight Sergeants 
             Of The Guard, Each Of Whom Takes An Equal Portion Of Men 
             Under His Command. 
     
     
     
             The Wild And Motley Aspect Of The Caravan Can Be But 
             Imperfectly Conceived without An Idea Of The Costumes Of 
             Its Various Members.  The Most Fashionable Prairie Dress 
             Is The Fustian Frock Of The City-Bred merchant, Furnished 
             With A Multitude Of Pockets Capable Of Accommodating a 
             Variety Of Extra Tackling.  Then There Is The Backwoodsman 
             With His Linsey Or Leather Hunting-Shirt--The Farmer With 
             His Blue Jean Coat--The Wagoner With His Flannel Sleeve 
             Vest--Besides An Assortment Of Other Costumes Which Go 
             To Fill Up The Picture. 
     
     
     
             In the Article Of Firearms There Is Also An Equally 
             Interesting Medley.  The Frontier Hunter Sticks To His 
             Rifle, As Nothing Could Induce Him To Carry What He Terms 
             In derision "The Scatter-Gun."  The Sportsman From The 
             Interior Flourishes His Double-Barrelled fowling-Piece 
             With Equal Confidence In its Superiority.  A Great Many 
             Were Furnished beside With A Bountiful Supply Of Pistols 
             And Knives Of Every Description, So That The Party Made 
             Altogether A Very Brigand-Like Appearance. 
     
     
     
             "Catch Up!  Catch Up!" Is Now Sounded from The Captain'S 
             Camp And Echoed from Every Division And Scattered group 
             Along The Valley.  The Woods And Dales Resound With The 
             Gleeful Yells Of The Light-Hearted wagoners Who, Weary Of 
             Inaction And Filled with Joy At The Prospect Of Getting 
             Under Way, Become Clamorous In the Extreme.  Each Teamster 
             Vies With His Fellow Who Shall Be Soonest Ready; And It 
             Is A Matter Of Boastful Pride To Be The First To Cry Out, 
             "All'S Set." 
     
     
     
             The Uproarious Bustle Which Follows, The Hallooing Of Those 
             In pursuit Of Animals, The Exclamations Which The Unruly 
             Brutes Call Forth From Their Wrathful Drivers, Together 
             With The Clatter Of Bells, The Rattle Of Yokes And Harness, 
             The Jingle Of Chains, All Conspire To Produce An Uproarious 
             Confusion.  It Is Sometimes Amusing To Observe The Athletic 
             Wagoner Hurrying an Animal To Its Post--To See Him Heave 
             Upon The Halter Of A Stubborn Mule, While The Brute As 
             Obstinately Sets Back, Determined not To Move A Peg Till 
             His Own Good Pleasure Thinks It Proper To Do So--His Whole 
             Manner Seeming To Say, "Wait Till Your Hurry'S Over." 
             I Have More Than Once Seen A Driver Hitch A Harnessed animal 
             To The Halter, And By That Process Haul His Mulishness 
             Forward, While Each Of His Four Projected feet Would Leave 
             A Furrow Behind. 
     
     
     
             "All'S Set!" Is Finally Heard From Some Teamster-- 
             "All'S Set," Is Directly Responded from Every Quarter. 
             "Stretch Out!" Immediately Vociferates The Captain. 
             Then The "Heps!" To The Drivers, The Cracking Of Whips, 
             The Trampling Of Feet, The Occasional Creak Of Wheels, 
             The Rumbling Of The Wagons, While "Fall In" Is Heard From 
             Head-Quarters, And The Train Is Strung Out And In a Few 
             Moments Has Started on Its Long Journey. 
     
     
     
   With An Army-Train The Discipline Was As Perfect As That Of A Garrison. 
   The Wagon-Master Was Under The Orders Of The Commander Of The Troops 
   Which Escorted the Caravan, The Camps Were Formed with Regard To 
   Strategic Principles, Sentries Walked their Beats And Were Visited 
   By An Officer Of The Day, As If Stationed at A Military Post. 
     
     
     
   Unquestionably The Most Expert Packer I Have Known Is Chris. Gilson, 
   Of Kansas.  In nearly All The Expeditions On The Great Plains And 
   In The Mountains He Has Been The Master-Spirit Of The Pack-Trains. 
   General Sheridan, Who Knew Gilson Long Before The War, In oregon 
   And Washington, Regarded the Celebrated packer With More Than 
   Ordinary Friendship.  For Many Years He Was Employed by The Government 
   At The Suggestion Of General Sheridan, To Teach The Art Of Packing 
   To The Officers And Enlisted men At Several Military Posts In the West. 
   He Received a Large Salary, And For A Long Period Was Stationed at 
   The Immense Cavalry Depot Of Fort Riley, In kansas.  Gilson Was Also 
   Employed by The British Army During The Zulu War In africa, 
   As Chief Packer, At A Salary Of Twenty Dollars A Day.  Now, However, 
   Since The Railroads Have Penetrated the Once Considered impenetrable 
   Fastnesses Of The Mountains, Packing Will Be Relegated to The Lost Arts. 
   
   
   
   Chapter V (Fight With Comanches) 
   Early In the Spring Of 1828, A Company Of Young Men Residing In the 
   Vicinity Of Franklin, Missouri, Having Heard Related by A Neighbour 
   Who Had Recently Returned the Wonderful Story Of A Passage Across 
   The Great Plains, And The Strange Things To Be Seen In the Land Of 
   The Greasers, Determined to Explore The Region For Themselves; 
   Making The Trip In wagons, An Innovation Of A Startling Character, 
   As Heretofore Only Pack-Animals Had Been Employed in the Limited trade 
   With Far-Off Santa Fe.  The Story Of Their Journey Can Best Be Told 
   In The Words Of One Of The Party:[19]-- 
     
     
     
             We Had About One Thousand Miles To Travel, And As There Was 
             No Wagon-Road In those Early Days Across The Plains To The 
             Mountains, We Were Compelled to Take Our Chances Through 
             The Vast Wilderness, Seeking The Best Route We Could. 
     
     
     
             No Signs Of Life Were Visible Except The Innumerable Buffalo 
             And Antelope That Were Constantly Crossing Our Trail. 
             We Moved on Slowly From Day To Day Without Any Incident 
             Worth Recording and Arrived at The Arkansas; Made The 
             Passage And Entered the Great American Desert Lying Beyond, 
             As Listless, Lonesome, And Noiseless As A Sleeping Sea. 
             Having Neglected to Carry Any Water With Us, We Were Obliged 
             To Go Withot A Drop For Two Days And Nights After Leaving 
             The River.  At Last We Reached the Cimarron, A Cool, 
             Sparkling Stream, Ourselves And Our Animals On The Point 
             Of Perishing.  Our Joy At Discovering It, However, Was 
             Short-Lived.  We Had Scarcely Quenched our Thirst When 
             We Saw, To Our Dismay, A Large Band Of Indians Camped on 
             Its Banks.  Their Furtive Glances At Us, And Significant 
             Looks At Each Other, Aroused our Worst Suspicions, And 
             We Instinctively Felt We Were Not To Get Away Without 
             Serious Trouble.  Contrary To Our Expectations, However, 
             They Did Not Offer To Molest Us, And We At Once Made Up 
             Our Minds They Preferred to Wait For Our Return, As We 
             Believed they Had Somehow Learned of Our Intention To Bring 
             Back From New Mexico A Large Herd Of Mules And Ponies. 
     
     
     
             We Arrived in santa Fe On The 20Th Of July, Without Further 
             Adventure, And After Having Our Stock Of Goods Passed 
             Through The Custom House, Were Granted the Privilege Of 
             Selling Them.  The Majority Of The Party Sold Out In a 
             Very Short Time And Started on Their Road To The States, 
             Leaving Twenty-One Of Us Behind To Return Later. 
     
     
     
             On The First Day Of September, Those Of Us Who Had Remained 
             In santa Fe Commenced our Homeward Journey.  We Started 
             With One Hundred and Fifty Mules And Horses, Four Wagons, 
             And A Large Amount Of Silver Coin.  Nothing Of An Eventful 
             Character Occurred until We Arrived at The Upper Cimarron 
             Springs, Where We Intended to Encamp For The Night. 
             But Our Anticipations Of Peaceable Repose Were Rudely 
             Dispelled; For When We Rode Up On The Summit Of The Hill, 
             The Sight That Met Our Eyes Was Appalling Enough To Excite 
             The Gravest Apprehensions.  It Was A Large Camp Of 
             Comanches, Evidently There For The Purpose Of Robbery 
             And Murder.  We Could Neither Turn Back Nor Go On Either 
             Side Of Them On Account Of The Mountainous Character Of 
             The Country, And We Realized, When Too Late, That We Were 
             In a Trap. 
     
     
     
             There Was Only One Road Open To Us; That Right Through 
             The Camp.  Assuming The Bravest Look Possible, And Keeping 
             Our Rifles In position For Immediate Action, We Started 
             On The Perilous Venture.  The Chief Met Us With A Smile 
             Of Welcome, And Said, In spanish: "You Must Stay With Us 
             To-Night.  Our Young Men Will Guard Your Stock, And We Have 
             Plenty Of Buffalo Meat." 
     
     
     
             Realizing The Danger Of Our Situation, We Took Advantage 
             Of Every Moment Of Time To Hurry Through Their Camp. 
             Captain Means, Ellison, And Myself Were A Little Distance 
             Behind The Wagons, On Horseback; Observing That The Balance 
             Of Our Men Were Evading Them, The Blood-Thirsty Savages 
             At Once Threw Off Their Masks Of Dissimulation And In an 
             Instant We Knew The Time For A Struggle Had Arrived. 
     
     
     
             The Indians, As We Rode On, Seized our Bridle-Reins And 
             Began To Fire Upon Us.  Ellison And I Put Spurs To Our 
             Horses And Got Away, But Captain Means, A Brave Man, 
             Was Ruthlessly Shot And Cruelly Scalped while The Life-Blood 
             Was Pouring From His Ghastly Wounds. 
     
     
     
             We Succeeded in fighting Them Off Until We Had Left Their 
             Camp Half A Mile Behind, And As Darkness Had Settled down 
             On Us, We Decided to Go Into Camp Ourselves.  We Tied our 
             Gray Bell-Mare To A Stake, And Went Out And Jingled the 
             Bell, Whenever Any Of Us Could Do So, Thus Keeping The 
             Animals From Stampeding.  We Corralled our Wagons For 
             Better Protection, And The Indians Kept Us Busy All Night 
             Resisting Their Furious Charges.  We All Knew That Death 
             At Our Posts Would Be Infinitely Preferable To Falling 
             Into Their Hands; So We Resolved to Sell Our Lives As 
             Dearly As Possible. 
     
     
     
             The Next Day We Made But Five Miles; It Was A Continuous 
             Fight, And A Very Difficult Matter To Prevent Their 
             Capturing Us.  This Annoyance Was Kept Up For Four Days; 
             They Would Surround Us, Then Let Up As If Taking Time To 
             Renew Their Strength, To Suddenly Charge Upon Us Again, 
             And They Continued thus To Harass Us Until We Were Almost 
             Exhausted from Loss Of Sleep. 
     
     
     
             After Leaving The Cimarron, We Once More Emerged on The 
             Open Plains And Flattered ourselves We Were Well Rid Of 
             The Savages; But About Twelve O'Clock They Came Down On Us 
             Again, Uttering Their Demoniacal Yells, Which Frightened 
             Our Horses And Mules So Terribly, That We Lost Every Hoof. 
             A Member Of Our Party, Named hitt, In endeavouring To 
             Recapture Some Of The Stolen Stock, Was Taken By The 
             Savages, But Luckily Escaped from Their Clutches, After 
             Having Been Wounded in sixteen Parts Of His Body; 
             He Was Shot, Tomahawked, And Speared.  When The Painted 
             Demons Saw That One Of Their Number Had Been Killed by Us, 
             They Left The Field For A Time, While We, Taking advantage 
             Of The Temporary Lull, Went Back To Our Wagons And Built 
             Breastworks Of Them, The Harness, And Saddles.  From Noon 
             Until Two Hours In the Night, When The Moon Went Down, 
             The Savages Were Apparently Confident We Would Soon Fall 
             A Prey To Them, And They Made Charge After Charge Upon 
             Our Rude Fortifications. 
     
     
     
             Darkness Was Now Upon Us.  There Were Two Alternatives 
             Before Us: Should We Resolve To Die Where We Were, Or 
             Attempt To Escape In the Black Hours Of The Night? 
             It Was A Desperate Situation.  Our Little Band Looked 
             The Matter Squarely In the Face, And, After A Council 
             Of War Had Been Held, We Determined to Escape, If Possible. 
     
     
     
             In order To Carry Out Our Resolve, It Was Necessary To 
             Abandon The Wagons, Together With A Large Amount Of Silver 
             Coin, As It Would Be Impossible To Take All Of The Precious 
             Stuff With Us In our Flight; So We Packed up As Much Of It 
             As We Could Carry, And, Bidding Our Hard-Earned wealth 
             A Reluctant Farewell, Stepped out In the Darkness Like 
             Spectres And Hurried away From The Scene Of Death. 
     
     
     
             Our Proper Course Was Easterly, But We Went In a Northerly 
             Direction In order To Avoid The Indians.  We Travelled 
             All That Night, The Next Day, And A Portion Of Its Night 
             Until We Reached the Arkansas River, And, Having Eaten 
             Nothing During That Whole Time Excepting a Few Prickly-Pears, 
             Were Beginning To Feel Weak From The Weight Of Our Burdens 
             And Exhaustion.  At This Point We Decided to Lighten 
             Our Loads By Burying all Of The Money We Had Carried 
             Thus Far, Keeping Only A Small Sum For Each Man. 
             Proceeding To A Small Island In the River, Our Treasure, 
             Amounting To Over Ten Thousand Silver Dollars, Was Cached 
             In the Ground Between Two Cottonwood Trees. 
     
     
     
             Believing Now That We Were Out Of The Usual Range Of 
             The Predatory Indians, We Shot A Buffalo And An Antelope 
             Which We Cooked and Ate Without Salt Or Bread; But No Meal 
             Has Ever Tasted better To Me Than That One. 
     
     
     
             We Continued our Journey Northward For Three Or Four Days 
             More, When, Reaching Pawnee Fork, We Travelled down It For 
             More Than A Week, Arriving again On The Old Santa Fe Trail. 
             Following The Trail Three Days, We Arrived at Walnut Creek, 
             Then Left The River Again And Went Eastwardly To Cow Creek. 
             When We Reached that Point, We Had Become So Completely 
             Exhausted and Worn Out From Subsisting On Buffalo Meat 
             Alone, That It Seemed as If There Was Nothing Left For 
             Us To Do But Lie Down And Die.  Finally It Was Determined 
             To Send Five Of The Best-Preserved men On Ahead To 
             Independence, Two Hundred miles, For The Purpose Of 
             Procuring assistance; The Other Fifteen To Get Along 
             As Well As They Could Until Succour Reached them. 
     
     
     
             I Was One Of The Five Selected to Go On In advance, And 
             I Shall Never Forget The Terrible Suffering We Endured. 
             We Had No Blankets, And It Was Getting Late In the Fall. 
             Some Of Us Were Entirely Barefooted, And Our Feet So Sore 
             That We Left Stains Of Blood At Every Step.  Deafness, Too, 
             Seized upon Us So Intensely, Occasioned by Our Weak 
             Condition, That We Coud Not Hear The Report Of A Gun Fired 
             At A Distance Of Only A Few Feet. 
     
     
     
             At One Place Two Of Our Men Laid Down Their Arms, Declaring 
             They Could Carry Them No Farther, And Would Die If They 
             Did Not Get Water.  We Left Them And Went In search Of Some. 
             After Following a Dry Branch Several Miles, We Found 
             A Muddy Puddle From Which We Succeeded in getting Half 
             A Bucket Full, And, Although Black And Thick, It Was Life 
             For Us And We Guarded it With Jealous Eyes.  We Returned 
             To Our Comrades About Daylight, And The Water So Refreshed 
             Them They Were Able To Resume The Weary March.  We Travelled 
             On Until We Arrived at The Big Blue River, In missouri, 
             On The Bank Of Which We Discovered a Cabin About Fifteen 
             Miles From Independence.  The Occupants Of The Rude Shanty 
             Were Women, Seemingly Very Poor, But They Freely Offered us 
             A Pot Of Pumpkin They Were Stewing.  When They First Saw Us, 
             They Were Terribly Frightened, Because We Looked more Like 
             Skeletons Than Living Beings.  They Jumped on The Bed while 
             We Were Greedily Devouring The Pumpkin, But We Had To 
             Refuse Some Salt Meat Which They Had Also Proffered, 
             As Our Teeth Were Too Sore To Eat It.  In a Short Time 
             Two Men Came To The Cabin And Took Three Of Our Men 
             Home With Them.  We Had Subsisted for Eleven Days On 
             One Turkey, A Coon, A Crow, And Some Elm Bark, With An 
             Occasional Bunch Of Wild Grapes, And The Pictures We 
             Presented to These Good People They Will Never, Probably, 
             Forget; We Had Not Tasted bread Or Salt For Thirty-Two Days. 
     
     
     
             The Next Day Our Newly Found Friends Secured horses And 
             Guided us To Independence, All Riding Without Saddles. 
             One Of The Party Had Gone On To Notify The Citizens Of 
             Our Safety, And When We Arrived general Muster Was Going On, 
             The Town Was Crowded, And When The People Looked upon Us 
             The Most Intense Excitement Prevailed.  All Business Was 
             Suspended; The Entire Population Flocked around Us To Hear 
             The Remarkable Story Of Our Adventures, And To Render Us 
             The Assistance We So Much Needed.  We Were Half-Naked, 
             Foot-Sore, And Haggard, Presenting Such A Pitiable Picture 
             That The Greatest Sympathy Was Immediately Aroused in 
             Our Behalf. 
     
     
     
             We Then Said That Behind Us On The Trail Somewhere, Fifteen 
             Comrades Were Struggling Toward Independence, Or Were 
             Already Dead From Their Sufferings.  In a Very Few Minutes 
             Seven Men With Fifteen Horses Started out To Rescue Them. 
     
     
     
             They Were Gone From Independence Several Days, But Had The 
             Good Fortune To Find All The Men Just In time To Save Them 
             From Starvation And Exhaustion.  Two Were Discovered 
             A Hundred miles From Independence, And The Remainder 
             Scattered along The Trail Fifty Miles Further In their Rear. 
             Not More Than Two Of The Unfortunate Party Were Together. 
             The Humane Rescuers Seemingly Brought Back Nothing But 
             Living Skeletons Wrapped in rags; But The Good People Of 
             The Place Vied with Each Other In their Attentions, And 
             Under Their Watchful Care The Sufferers Rapidly Recuperated. 
     
     
     
             One Would Suppose That We Had Had Enough Of The Great Plains 
             After Our First Trip; Not So, However, For In the Spring 
             We Started again On The Same Journey.  Major Riley, With 
             Four Companies Of Regular Soldiers, Was Detailed to Escort 
             The Santa Fe Traders' Caravans To The Boundary Line Between 
             The United states And Mexico, And We Went Along To Recover 
             The Money We Had Buried, The Command Having Been Ordered to 
             Remain In camp To Await Our Return Until The 20Th Of October. 
     
     
     
             We Left Fort Leavenworth About The 10Th Of May, And Were 
             Soon Again On The Plains.  Many Of The Troops Had Never 
             Seen Any Buffalo Before, And Found Great Sport In wantonly 
             Slaughtering Them.  At Walnut Creek We Halted to Secure 
             A Cannon Which Had Been Thrown Into That Stream Two Seasons 
             Previously, And Succeeded in dragging It Out.  With A Seine 
             Made Of Brush And Grape Vine, We Caught More Fine Fish Than 
             We Could Possibly Dispose Of.  One Morning The Camp Was 
             Thrown Into The Greatest State Of Excitement By A Band Of 
             Indians Running an Enormous Herd Of Buffalo Right Into Us. 
             The Troops Fired at Them By Platoons, Killing Hundreds 
             Of Them. 
     
     
     
             We Marched in two Columns, And Formed a Hollow Square 
             At Night When We Camped, In which All Slept Excepting 
             Those On Guard Duty.  Frequently Some One Would Discover 
             A Rattlesnake Or A Horned toad In bed with Him, And It 
             Did Not Take Him A Very Long Time To Crawl Out Of His 
             Blankets! 
     
     
     
             On The 10Th Of July, We Arrived at The Dividing Line 
             Separating The Two Countries, And Went Into Camp.  The Next 
             Day Major Riley Sent A Squad Of Soldiers To Escort Myself 
             And Another Of Our Old Party, Who Had Helped bury The 
             Ten Thousand Dollars, To Find It.  It Was A Few Miles 
             Further Up The Arkansas Than Our Camp, In the Mexican 
             Limits, And When We Reached the Memorable Spot On The 
             Island,[20] We Found The Coin Safe, But The Water Had 
             Washed the Earth Away, And The Silver Was Exposed to View 
             To Excite The Cupidity Of Any One Passing That Way; 
             There Were Not Many Travellers On That Lonely Route In 
             Those Days, However, And It Would Have Been Just As Secure, 
             Probably, Had We Simply Poured it On The Ground. 
     
     
     
             We Put The Money In sacks And Deposited it With Major Riley, 
             And, Leaving The Camp, Started for Santa Fe With Captain 
             Bent As Leader Of The Traders.  We Had Not Proceeded far 
             When Our Advanced guard Met Indians.  They Turned, And When 
             Within Two Hundred yards Of Us, One Man Named samuel Lamme 
             Was Killed, His Body Being Completely Riddled with Arrows. 
             His Head Was Cut Off, And All His Clothes Stripped from 
             His Body.  We Had A Cannon, But The Mexicans Who Hauled it 
             Had Tied it Up In such A Way That It Could Not Be Utilized 
             In time To Effect Anything In the First Assault; But When 
             At Last It Was Turned loose Upon The Indians, They Fled 
             In dismay At The Terrible Noise. 
     
     
     
             The Troops At The Crossing Of The Arkansas, Hearing The 
             Firing, Came To Our Assistance.  The Next Morning The 
             Hills Were Covered by Fully Two Thousand Indians, Who Had 
             Evidently Congregated there For The Purpose Of Annihilating 
             Us, And The Coming Of The Soldiers Was Indeed fortunate; 
             For As Soon As The Cowardly Savages Discovered them 
             They Fled.  Major Riley Accompanied us On Our March For 
             A Few Days, And, Seeing No More Indians, He Returned to 
             His Camp. 
     
     
     
             We Travelled on For A Week, Then Met A Hundred mexicans 
             Who Were Out On The Plains Hunting Buffalo.  They Had 
             Killed a Great Many And Were Drying The Meat.  We Waited 
             Until They Were Ready To Return And Then All Started for 
             Santa Fe Together. 
     
     
     
             At Rabbit-Ear Mountain The Indians Had Constructed 
             Breastworks In the Brush, Intending To Fight It Out There. 
             The Mexicans Were In the Advance And Had One Of Their 
             Number Killed before Discovering The Enemy.  We Passed 
             Point Of Rocks And Camped on The River.  One Of The 
             Mexicans Went Out Hunting and Shot A Huge Panther; 
             Next Morning He Asked a Companion To Go With Him And Help 
             Skin The Animal.  They Saw The Indians In the Brush, And 
             The One Who Had Killed the Panther Said To The Other, 
             "Now For The Mountains"; But His Comrade Retreated, 
             And Was Despatched by The Savages Almost Within Reach 
             Of The Column. 
     
     
     
             We Now Decided to Change Our Destination, Intending To Go 
             To Taos Instead Of Santa Fe, But The Governor Of The 
             Province Sent Out Troops To Stop Us, As Taos Was Not A 
             Place Of Entry.  The Soldiers Remained with Us A Whole Week, 
             Until We Arrived at Santa Fe, Where We Disposed of Our Goods 
             And Soon Began To Make Preparations For Our Return Trip. 
     
     
     
             When We Were Ready To Start Back, Seven Priests And A 
             Number Of Wealthy Families, Comfortably Fixed in carriages, 
             Accompanied us.  The Mexican Government Ordered colonel 
             Viscarra Of The Army, With Five Troops Of Cavalry, 
             To Guard Us To The Camp Of Major Riley. 
     
     
     
             We Experienced no Trouble Until We Arrived at The 
             Cimarron River.  About Sunset, Just As We Were Preparing 
             To Camp For The Night, The Sentinels Saw A Body Of A 
             Hundred indians Approaching; They Fired at Them And Ran 
             To Camp.  Knowing They Had Been Discovered, The Indians 
             Came On And Made Friendly Overtures; But The Pueblos Who 
             Who Were With The Command Of Colonel Viscarra Wanted to 
             Fight Them At Once, Saying The Fellows Meant Mischief. 
             We Declined to Camp With Them Unless They Would Agree To 
             Give Up Their Arms; They Pretended they Were Willing To 
             Do So, When One Of Them Put His Gun At The Breast Of Our 
             Interpreter And Pulled the Trigger.  In an Instant A Bloody 
             Scene Ensued; Several Of Viscarra'S Men Were Killed, 
             Together With A Number Of Mules.  Finally The Indians 
             Were Whipped and Tried to Get Away, But We Chased them 
             Some Distance And Killed thirty-Five.  Our Friendly Pueblos 
             Were Delighted, And Proceeded to Scalp The Savages, 
             Hanging The Bloody Trophies On The Points Of Their Spears. 
             That Night They Indulged in a War-Dance Which Lasted 
             Until Nearly Morning. 
     
     
     
             We Were Delighted to See A Beautiful Sunshiny Day After 
             The Horrors Of The Preceding Night, And Continued our March 
             Without Farther Interruption, Safely Arriving at The Camp 
             On The Boundary Line, Where Major Riley Was Waiting For Us, 
             As We Supposed; But His Time Having Expired the Day Before, 
             He Had Left For Fort Leavenworth.  A Courier Was Despatched 
             To Him, However, As Colonel Viscarra Desired to Meet The 
             American Commander And See His Troops.  The Courier Overtook 
             Major Riley A Short Distance Away, And He Halted for Us 
             To Come Up.  Both Commands Then Went Into Camp, And Spent 
             Several Days Comparing The Discipline Of The Armies Of 
             The Two Nations, And Having a General Good Time. 
             Colonel Viscarra Greatly Admired our Small Arms, And 
             Took His Leave In a Very Courteous Manner. 
     
     
     
             We Arrived at Fort Leavenworth Late In the Season, And 
             From There We All Scattered.  I Received my Share Of The 
             Money We Had Cached on The Island, And Bade My Comrades 
             Farewell, Only A Few Of Whom I Have Ever Seen Since. 
     
     
     
   Mr. Hitt In his Notes Of This Same Perilous Trip Says: 
             When The Grass Had Sufficiently Started to Insure The 
             Subsistence Of Our Teams, Our Wagons Were Loaded with 
             A Miscellaneous Assortment Of Merchandise And The First 
             Trader'S Caravan Of Wagons That Ever Crossed the Plains 
             Left Independence.  Before We Had Travelled three Weeks 
             On Our Journey, We Were One Evening Confronted with The 
             Novel Fact Of Camping In a Country Where Not A Stick Of 
             Wood Could Be Found.  The Grass Was Too Green To Burn, 
             And We Were Wondering How Our Fire Could Be Started 
             With Which To Boil Our Coffee, Or Cook Our Bread.  One Of 
             Our Number, However, While Diligently Searching For 
             Something To Utilize, Suddenly Discovered scattered all 
             Around Him A Large Quantity Of Buffalo-Chips, And He Soon 
             Had An Excellent Fire Under Way, His Coffee Boiling and 
             His Bacon Sizzling Over The Glowing Coals. 
     
     
     
             We Arrived in santa Fe Without Incident, And As Ours 
             Was The First Train Of Wagons That Ever Traversed the 
             Narrow Streets Of The Quaint Old Town, It Was, Of Course, 
             A Great Curiosity To The Natives. 
     
     
     
             After A Few Days' Rest, Sight-Seeing, And Purchasing Stock 
             To Replace Our Own Jaded animals, Preparations Were Made 
             For The Return Trip.  All The Money We Had Received for 
             Our Goods Was In gold And Silver, Principally The Latter, 
             In consequence Of Which, Each Member Of The Company Had 
             About As Much As He Could Conveniently Manage, And, 
             As Events Turned out, Much More Than He Could Take Care Of. 
     
     
     
             On The Morning Of The Third Day Out, When We Were Not 
             Looking For The Least Trouble, Our Entire Herd Was 
             Stampeded, And We Were Left Upon The Prairie Without 
             As Much As A Single Mule To Pursue The Fast-Fleeing 
             Thieves.  The Mexicans And Indians Had Come So Suddenly 
             Upon Us, And Had Made Such An Effective Dash, That We 
             Stood Like Children Who Had Broken Their Toys On A Stone 
             At Their Feet.  We Were So Unprepared for Such A Stampede 
             That The Thieves Did Not Approach Within Rifle-Shot Range 
             Of The Camp To Accomplish Their Object; Few Of Them 
             Coming Within Sight, Even. 
     
     
     
             After The Excitement Had Somewhat Subsided and We Began 
             To Realize What Had Been Done, It Was Decided that While 
             Some Should Remain To Guard The Camp, Others Must Go To 
             Santa Fe To See If They Could Not Recover The Stock. 
             The Party That Went To Santa Fe Had No Difficulty In 
             Recognizing The Stolen Animals; But When They Claimed them, 
             They Were Laughed at By The Officials Of The Place. 
             They Experienced no Difficulty, However, In purchasing 
             The Same Stock For A Small Sum, Which They At Once Did, 
             And Hurried back To Camp.  By This Unpleasant Episode 
             We Learned of The Stealth And Treachery Of The Miserable 
             People In whose Country We Were.  We, Therefore, Took Every 
             Precaution To Prevent A Repetition Of The Affair, And 
             Kept Up A Vigilant Guard Night And Day. 
     
     
     
             Matters Progressed very Well, And When We Had Travelled 
             Some Three Hundred miles Eastwardly, Thinking We Were 
             Out Of Range Of Any Predatory Bands, As We Had Seen No 
             Sign Of Any Living Thing, We Relaxed our Vigilance Somewhat. 
             One Morning, Just Before Dawn, The Whole Earth Seemed to 
             Resound With The Most Horrible Noises That Ever Greeted 
             Human Ears; Every Blade Of Grass Appeared to Re-Echo 
             The Horrid Din.  In a Few Moments Every Man Was At His Post, 
             Rifle In hand, Ready For Any Emergency, And Almost 
             Immediately A Large Band Of Indians Made Their Appearance, 
             Riding Within Rifle-Shot Of The Wagons.  A Continuous 
             Battle Raged for Several Hours, The Savages Discharging 
             A Shot, Then Scampering Off Out Of Range As Fast As 
             Their Ponies Could Carry Them.  Some, More Brave Than 
             Others Would Venture Closer To The Corral, And One Of These 
             Got The Contents Of An Old-Fashioned flint-Lock Musket 
             In his Bowels. 
     
     
     
             We Were Careful Not All To Fire At The Same Time, And 
             Several Of Our Party, Who Were Watching The Effects Of 
             Our Shots Declared they Could See The Dust Fly Out Of 
             The Robes Of The Indians As The Bullets Struck Them. 
             It Was Learned afterward That A Number Of The Savages 
             Were Wounded, And That Several Had Died.  Many Were Armed 
             With Bows And Arrows Only, And In order To Do Any Execution 
             Were Obliged to Come Near The Corral.  The Indians Soon 
             Discovered they Were Getting The Worst Of The Fight, And, 
             Having Run Off All The Stock, Abandoned the Conflict, 
             Leaving Us In possession Of The Camp, But It Can Hardly 
             Be Said Masters Of The Situation. 
     
     
     
             There We Were; Thirty-Five Pioneers Upon The Wild Prairie, 
             Surrounded by A Wily And Terribly Cruel Foe, Without 
             Transportation Of Any Character But Our Own Legs, And With 
             Five Hundred miles Of Dangerous, Trackless Waste Between 
             Us And The Settlements.  We Had An Abundance Of Money, 
             But The Stuff Was Absolutely Worthless For The Present, 
             As There Was Nothing We Could Buy With It. 
     
     
     
             After The Last Savage Had Ridden Away Into The Sand Hills 
             On The Opposite Side Of The River, Each One Of Us Had A 
             Thrilling Story To Relate Of His Individual Narrow Escapes. 
             Though None Was Killed, Many Received wounds, The Scars 
             Of Which They Carried through Life.  I Was Wounded six 
             Times.  Once Was In the Thigh By An Arrow, And Once While 
             Loading My Rifle I Had My Ramrod Shot Off Close To The 
             Muzzle Of My Piece, The Ball Just Grazing My Shoulder, 
             Tearing away A Small Portion Of The Skin.  Others Had 
             Equally Curious Experiences, But None Were Seriously Injured. 
     
     
     
             After The Excitement Incident To The Battle Had Subsided, 
             The Realization Of Our Condition Fully Dawned upon Us. 
             When We Were First Robbed, We Were Only A Short Distance 
             From Santa Fe, Where Our Money Easily Procured other Stock; 
             Now There Were Three Hundred miles Behind Us To That Place, 
             And The Picture Was Anything But Pleasant To Contemplate. 
             To Transport Supplies For Thirty-Five Men Seemed impossible. 
             Our Money Was Now A Burden Greater Than We Could Bear; 
             What Was To Be Done With It?  We Would Have No Use For It 
             On Our Way To The Settlements, Yet The Idea Of Abandoning 
             It Seemed hard To Accept.  A Vigilant Guard Was Kept Up 
             That Day And Night, During Which Time We All Remained 
             In camp, Fearing a Renewal Of The Attack. 
     
     
     
             The Next Morning, As There Were No Apparent Signs Of 
             The Indians, It Was Decided to Reconnoitre The Surrounding 
             Country In the Hope Of Recovering a Portion, At Least, 
             Of Our Lost Stock, Which We Thought Might Have Become 
             Separated from The Main Herd.  Three Men Were Detailed 
             To Stay In the Old Camp To Guard It While The Remainder, 
             In squads, Scoured the Hills And Ravines.  Not A Horse 
             Or Mule Was Visible Anywhere; The Stampede Had Been 
             Complete--Not Even The Direction The Animals Had Taken 
             Could Be Discovered. 
     
     
     
             It Was Late In the Afternoon When I, Having Left My 
             Companions To Continue The Search And Returning To Camp 
             Alone, Had Gotten Within A Mile Of It, That I Thought I Saw 
             A Horse Feeding Upon An Adjoining Hill.  I At Once Turned 
             My Steps In that Direction, And Had Proceeded but A Short 
             Distance When Three Indians Jumped from Their Ambush In 
             The Grass Between Me And The Wagons And Ran After Me. 
             The Men In camp Had Been Watching My Every Movement, 
             And As Soon As They Saw The Savages Were Chasing Me, 
             They Started in pursuit, Running at Their Greatest Speed 
             To My Rescue. 
     
     
     
             The Savages Soon Overtook Me, And The First One That 
             Came Up Tackled me, But In an Instant Found Himself Flat 
             On The Ground.  Before He Could Get Up, The Second One 
             Shared the Same Fate.  By This Time The Third One Arrived, 
             And The Two I Had Thrown Grabbed me By The Legs So That 
             I Could No Longer Handle Myself, While The Third One Had 
             A Comparatively Easy Task In pushing Me Over.  Fortunately, 
             My Head Fell Toward The Camp And My Fast-Approaching 
             Comrades.  The Two Indians Held My Legs To Prevent My 
             Rising, While The Third One, Who Was Standing Over Me, 
             Drew From His Belt A Tomahawk, And Shrugging His Head 
             In his Blanket, At The Same Time Looking Over His Shoulder 
             At My Friends, With A Tremendous Effort And That Peculiar 
             Grunt Of All Savages, Plunged his Hatchet, As He Supposed, 
             Into My Head, But Instead Of Scuffling To Free Myself 
             And Rise To My Feet, I Merely Turned my Head To One Side 
             And The Wicked weapon Was Buried in the Ground, Just 
             Grazing My Ear. 
     
     
     
             The Indian, Seeing That He Had Missed, Raised his Hatchet 
             And Once More Shrugging His Head In his Blanket, And 
             Turning To Look Over His Other Shoulder, Attempted to 
             Strike Again, But The Blow Was Evaded by A Sudden Toss 
             Of His Intended victim'S Head.  Not Satisfied with Two 
             Abortive Trials, The Third Attempt Must Be Made To Brain Me, 
             And Repeating The Same Motions, With A Great "Ugh!" He 
             Seemed to Put All His Strength Into The Blow, Which, Like 
             The Others, Missed, And Spent Its Force In the Earth. 
             By This Time The Rescuing Party Had Come Near Enough To 
             Prevent The Savage From Risking another Effort, And He Then 
             Addressed the Other Indians In spanish, Which I Understood, 
             Saying, "We Must Run Or The Americans Will Kill Us!" 
             And Loosening His Grasp, He Scampered off With His 
             Companions As Fast As His Legs Could Take Him, Hurried on 
             By Several Pieces Of Lead Fired from The Old Flintlocks 
             Of The Traders. 
     
     
     
             By Sundown Every Man Had Returned to The Forlorn Camp, 
             But Not An Animal Had Been Recovered.  Then, With Tired 
             Limbs And Weary Hearts, We Took Turns At Guarding The 
             Wagons Through The Long Night.  The Next Morning Each Man 
             Shouldered his Rifle, And Having Had His Proportion Of 
             The Provisions And Cooking Utensils Assigned him, 
             We Broke Camp, And Again Turned to Take A Last Look At 
             The Country Behind Us, In which We Had Experienced so Much 
             Misfortune, And Started on Foot For Our Long March Through 
             The Dangerous Region Ahead Of Us. 
     
     
     
             Scarcely Had We Gotten Out Of Sight Of Our Abandoned camp, 
             When One Of The Party, Happening To Turn His Eyes In that 
             Direction, Saw A Large Volume Of Smoke Rising In the 
             Vicinity; Then We Knew That All Of Our Wagons, And 
             Everything We Had Been Forced to Leave, Were Burning Up. 
             This Proved that, Although We Had Been Unable To Discover 
             Any Signs Of Indians, They Had Been Lurking around Us 
             All The Time, And This Fact Warned us To Exercise The 
             Utmost Vigilance In guarding Our Persons. 
     
     
     
             Though Our Burdens Were Very Heavy, The First Few Days 
             Were Passed without Anything To Relieve The Dreadful 
             Monotony Of Our Wearisome March; But Each Succeeding 
             Twenty-Four Hours Our Loads Became Visibly Lighter, 
             As Our Supplies Were Rapidly Diminishing.  It Had Already 
             Become Apparent That Even In the Exercise Of The Greatest 
             Frugality, Our Stock Of Provisions Would Not Last Until 
             We Could Reach The Settlements, So Some Of The Most Expert 
             Shots Were Selected to Hunt For Game; But Even In this 
             They Were Not Successful, The Very Birds Seeming To Have 
             Abandoned the Country In its Extreme Desolation. 
     
     
     
             After Eight Days' Travel, Despite Our Most Rigid Economy, 
             An Inventory Showed that There Was Less Than One Hundred 
             Pounds Of Flour Left.  Day After Day The Hunters Repeated 
             The Same Old Story: "No Game!"  For Two Weeks The Allowance 
             Of Flour To Each Individual Was But A Spoonful, Stirred 
             In water And Taken Three Times A Day. 
     
     
     
             One Afternoon, However, Fortune Smiled upon The Weary Party; 
             One Of The Hunters Returned to Camp With A Turkey He Had 
             Killed.  It Was Soon Broiling Over A Fire Which Willing 
             Hands Had Kindled, And Our Drooping Spirits Were Revived 
             For A While.  While The Turkey Was Cooking, A Crow Flew 
             Over The Camp, And One Of The Company, Seizing a Gun, 
             Despatched it, And In a Few Moments It, Too, Was Sizzling 
             Along With The Other Bird. 
     
     
     
             Now, In addition To The Pangs Of Hunger, A Scarcity Of 
             Water Confronted us, And One Day We Were Compelled to 
             Resort To A Buffalo-Wallow And Suck The Moist Clay Where 
             The Huge Animals Had Been Stamping In the Mud.  We Were 
             Much Reduced in strength, Yet Each Day Added new 
             Difficulties To Our Forlorn Situation.  Some Became So Weak 
             And Exhausted that It Was With The Greatest Effort They 
             Could Travel At All.  To Divide The Company And Leave 
             The More Feeble Behind To Starve, Or To Be Murdered by 
             The Merciless Savages, Was Not Considered for A Moment; 
             But One Alternative Remained, And That Was Speedily Accepted. 
             As Soon As A Convenient Camping-Ground Could Be Found, 
             A Halt Was Made, Shelter Established, And Things Made As 
             Comfortable As Possible.  Here The Weakest Remained to Rest, 
             While Some Of The Strongest Scoured the Surrounding Country 
             In search Of Game.  During This Temporary Halt The Hunters 
             Were More Successful Than Before, Having Killed two 
             Buffaloes, Besides Some Smaller Animals, In one Morning. 
             Again The Natural Dry Fuel Of The Prairies Was Called 
             Into Requisition, And Juicy Steak Was Once More Broiling 
             Over The Fire. 
     
     
     
             With An Abundance To Eat And A Few Days' Rest, The Whole 
             Company Revived and Were Enabled to Renew Their March 
             Homeward.  We Were Now In the Buffalo Range, And Every Day 
             The Hunters Were Fortunate Enough To Kill One Or More Of 
             The Immense Animals, Thus Keeping Our Larder In excellent 
             Condition, And Starvation Averted. 
     
     
     
             Doubting Whether Our Good Fortune In relation To Food 
             Would Continue For The Remainder Of Our March, And Our 
             Money Becoming Very Cumbersome, It Was Decided by A Majority 
             That At The First Good Place We Came To We Would Bury It 
             And Risk Its Being Stolen By Our Enemies.  When Not More 
             Than Half Of Our Journey Had Been Accomplished, We Came 
             To An Island In the River To Which We Waded, And There, 
             Between Two Large Trees, Dug A Hole And Deposited our 
             Treasure.  We Replaced the Sod Over The Spot, Taking The 
             Utmost Precaution To Conceal Every Sign Of Having Disturbed 
             The Ground.  Though No Indians Had Been Seen For Several 
             Days, A Sharp Lookout Was Kept In all Directions For Fear 
             That Some Lurking Savage Might Have Been Watching Our 
             Movements.  This Task Finished, With Much Lighter Burdens, 
             But More Anxious Than Ever, We Again Took Up Our March 
             Eastwardly, And, Thus Relieved, Were Able To Carry A 
             Greater Quantity Of Provisions. 
     
     
     
             Having Journeyed until We Supposed we Were Within A Few 
             Miles Of The Settlements, Some Of Our Number, Scarcely Able 
             To Travel, Thought The Best Course To Pursue Would Be To 
             Divide The Company; One Portion To Press On, The Weaker 
             Ones To Proceed by Easier Stages, And When The Advance 
             Arrived at The Settlements, They Were To Send Back A Relief 
             For Those Plodding On Wearily Behind Them.  Soon A Few 
             Who Were Stronger Than The Others Reached independence, 
             Missouri, And Immediately Sent A Party With Horses To 
             Bring In their Comrades; So, At Last, All Got Safely To 
             Their Homes. 
     
     
     
   In The Spring Of 1829, Major Bennett Riley Of The United states Army 
   Was Ordered with Four Companies Of The Sixth Regular Infantry To 
   March Out On The Trail As The First Military Escort Ever Sent For 
   The Protection Of The Caravans Of Traders Going and Returning Between 
   Western Missouri And Santa Fe.  Captain Philip St. George Cooke, 
   Of The Dragoons, Accompanied the Command, And Kept A Faithful Journal 
   Of The Trip, From Which, And The Official Report Of Major Riley To 
   The Secretary Of War, I Have Interpolated here Copious Extracts. 
     
     
     
   The Journal Of Captain Cooke States That The Battalion Marched 
   From Fort Leavenworth, Which Was Then Called a Cantonment, And, 
   Strange To Say, Had Been Abandoned by The Third Infantry On Account 
   Of Its Unhealthiness.  It Was The 5Th Of June That Riley Crossed 
   The Missouri At The Cantonment, And Recrossed the River Again At 
   A Point A Little Above Independence, In order To Avoid The Kaw, 
   Or Kansas, Which Had No Ferry. 
     
     
     
   After Five Days' Marching, The Command Arrived at Round Grove, Where 
   The Caravan Had Been Ordered to Rendezvous And Wait For The Escort. 
   The Number Of Traders Aggregated about Seventy-Nine Men, And Their 
   Train Consisted of Thirty-Eight Wagons Drawn By Mules And Horses, 
   The Former Preponderating.  Five Days' Marching, At An Average Of 
   Fifteen Miles A Day, Brought Them To Council Grove.  Leaving The 
   Grove, In a Short Time Cow Creek Was Reached, Which At That Date 
   Abounded in fish; Many Of Which, Says The Journal, "Weighed several 
   Pounds, And Were Caught As Fast As The Line Could Be Handled." 
   The Captain Does Not Describe The Variety To Which He Refers; 
   Probably They Were The Buffalo--A Species Of Sucker, To Be Found 
   To-Day In every Considerable Stream In kansas. 
     
     
     
   Having Reached the Upper Valley,[21] Bordered by High Sand Hills, 
   The Journal Continues: 
     
     
     
             From The Tops Of The Hills, We Saw Far Away, In almost 
             Every Direction, Mile After Mile Of Prairie, Blackened 
             With Buffalo.  One Morning, When Our March Was Along The 
             Natural Meadows By The River, We Passed through Them For 
             Miles; They Opened in front And Closed continually In 
             The Rear, Preserving a Distance Scarcely Over Three Hundred 
             Paces.  On One Occasion, A Bull Had Approached within 
             Two Hundred yards Without Seeing Us, Until He Ascended 
             The River Bank; He Stood A Moment Shaking His Head, And 
             Then Made A Charge At The Column.  Several Officers 
             Stepped out And Fired at Him, Two Or Three Dogs Also Rushed 
             To Meet Him; But Right Onward He Came, Snorting Blood 
             From Mouth And Nostril At Every Leap, And, With The Speed 
             Of A Horse And The Momentum Of A Locomotive, Dashed 
             Between Two Wagons, Which The Frightened oxen Nearly Upset; 
             The Dogs Were At His Heels And Soon He Came To Bay, And, 
             With Tail Erect, Kicked violently For A Moment, And Then 
             Sank In death--The Muscles Retaining The Dying Rigidity 
             Of Tension. 
     
     
     
   About The Middle Of July, The Command Arrived at Its Destination-- 
   Chouteau'S Island, Then On The Boundary Line Between The United states 
   And New Mexico. 
     
     
     
             Our Orders Were To March No Further; And, As A Protection 
             To The Trade, It Was Like The Establishment Of A Ferry 
             To The Mid-Channel Of A River. 
     
     
     
             Up To This Time, Traders Had Always Used mules Or Horses. 
             Our Oxen Were An Experiment, And It Succeeded admirably; 
             They Even Did Better When Water Was Very Scarce, Which Is 
             An Important Consideration. 
     
     
     
             A Few Hours After The Departure Of The Trading Company, 
             As We Enjoyed a Quiet Rest On A Hot Afternoon, We Saw 
             Beyond The River A Number Of Horsemen Riding Furiously 
             Toward Our Camp.  We All Flocked out Of The Tents To Hear 
             The News, For They Were Soon Recognized as Traders. 
             They Stated that The Caravan Had Been Attacked, About 
             Six Miles Off In the Sand Hills, By An Innumerable Host 
             Of Indians; That Some Of Their Companions Had Been Killed; 
             And They Had Run, Of Course, For Help.  There Was Not A 
             Moment'S Hesitation; The Word Was Given, And The Tents 
             Vanished as If By Magic.  The Oxen Which Were Grazing 
             Near By Were Speedily Yoked to The Wagons, And Into The 
             River We Marched.  Then I Deemed myself The Most Unlucky 
             Of Men; A Day Or Two Before, While Eating My Breakfast, 
             With My Coffee In a Tin Cup--Notorious Among Chemists And 
             Campaigners For Keeping It Hot--It Was Upset Into My Shoe, 
             And On Pulling Off The Stocking, It So Happened that The 
             Skin Came With It.  Being Thus Hors De Combat, I Sought To 
             Enter The Combat On A Horse, Which Was Allowed; But I Was 
             Put In command Of The Rear Guard To Bring Up The Baggage 
             Train.  It Grew Late, And The Wagons Crossed slowly; 
             For The River Unluckily Took That Particular Time To 
             Rise Fast, And, Before All Were Over, We Had To Swim It, 
             And By Moonlight.  We Reached the Encampment At One O'Clock 
             At Night.  All Was Quiet, And Remained so Until Dawn, 
             When, At The Sound Of Our Bugles, The Pickets Reported 
             They Saw A Number Of Indians Moving Off.  On Looking 
             Around Us, We Perceived ourselves And The Caravan In the 
             Most Unfavorable Defenceless Situation Possible--In The 
             Area Of A Natural Amphitheatre Of Sand Hills, About Fifty 
             Feet High, And Within Gun-Shot All Around.  There Was 
             The Narrowest Practicable Entrance And Outlet. 
     
     
     
             We Ascertained that Some Mounted traders, In spite Of All 
             Remonstrance And Command, Had Ridden On In advance, And 
             When In the Narrow Pass Beyond This Spot, Had Been Suddenly 
             Beset By About Fifty Indians; All Fled and Escaped save One, 
             Who, Mounted on A Mule, Was Abandoned by His Companions, 
             Overtaken, And Slain.  The Indians, Perhaps, Equalled the 
             Traders In number, But Notwithstanding Their Extraordinary 
             Advantage Of Ground, Dared not Attack Them When They 
             Made A Stand Among Their Wagons; And The Latter, All Well 
             Armed, Were Afraid To Make A Single Charge, Which Would 
             Have Scattered their Enemies Like Sheep. 
     
     
     
             Having Buried the Poor Fellow'S Body, And Killed an Ox For 
             Breakfast, We Left This Sand Hollow, Which Would Soon Have 
             Been Roasting Hot, And Advancing Through The Defile--Of 
             Which We Took Care To Occupy The Commanding Ground-- 
             Proceeded to Escort The Traders At Least One Day'S March 
             Further. 
     
     
     
             When The Next Morning Broke Clear And Cloudless, The Command 
             Was Confronted by One Of Those Terrible Hot Winds, Still 
             Frequent On The Plains.  The Oxen With Lolling Tongues 
             Were Incapable Of Going On; The Train Was Halted, And The 
             Suffering animals Unyoked, But They Stood Motionless, 
             Making No Attempt To Graze.  Late That Afternoon, The 
             Caravan Pushed on For About Ten Miles, Where Was The 
             Sandy Bed of A Dry Creek, And Fortunately, Not Far From 
             The Trail, Up The Stream, A Pool Of Water And An Acre 
             Or Two Of Grass Was Discovered.  On The Surface Of The 
             Water Floated thick The Dead Bodies Of Small Fish, Which 
             The Intense Heat Of The Sun That Day Had Killed. 
     
     
     
             Arriving at This Point, It Was Determined to March No 
             Further Into The Mexican Territory.  At The First Light 
             Next Day We Were In motion To Return To The River And 
             The American Line, And No Further Adventure Befell Us. 
     
     
     
   While Permanently Encamped at Chouteau'S Island, Which Is Situated 
   In The Arkansas River, The Term Of Enlistment Of Four Of The Soldiers 
   Of Captain Cooke'S Command Expired, And They Were Discharged. 
   In His Journal He Says: 
     
     
     
             Contrary To All Advice They Determined to Return To 
             Missouri.  After Having Marched several Hundred miles 
             Over A Prairie Country, Being Often On High Hills 
             Commanding a Vast Prospect, Without Seeing a Human Being 
             Or A Sign Of One, And, Save The Trail We Followed, Not 
             The Slightest Indication That The Country Had Ever Been 
             Visited by Man, It Was Exceedingly Difficult To Credit 
             That Lurking Foes Were Around Us, And Spying Our Motions. 
             It Was So With These Men; And Being armed, They Set Out 
             On The First Of August On Foot For The Settlements. 
             That Same Night Three Of The Four Returned.  They Reported 
             That, After Walking about Fifteen Miles, They Were 
             Surrounded by Thirty Mounted indians.  A Wary Old Soldier 
             Of Their Number Succeeded in extricating Them Before Any 
             Hostile Act Had Been Committed; But One Of Them, Highly 
             Elated and Pleased at Their Forbearance, Insisted on 
             Returning among Them To Give Them Tobacco And Shake Hands. 
             In this Friendly Act He Was Shot Down.  The Indians 
             Stripped him In an Incredibly Short Time, And As Quickly 
             Dispersed to Avoid A Shot; And The Old Soldier, After 
             Cautioning The Others To Reserve Their Fire, Fired among 
             Them, And Probably With Some Effect.  Had The Others Done 
             The Same, The Indians Would Have Rushed upon Them Before 
             They Could Have Reloaded.  They Managed to Make Good 
             Their Retreat In safety To Our Camp. 
     
     
     
             We Were Instructed to Wait Here For The Return Of The 
             Caravan, Which Was Expected early In october. 
             Our Provisions Consisted of Salt And Half Rations Of Flour, 
             Besides A Reserve Of Fifteen Days' Full Rations--As To The 
             Rest, We Were Dependent Upon Hunting.  When The Buffalo 
             Became Scarce, Or The Grass Bad, We Marched to Other 
             Ground, Thus Roving Up And Down The River For Eighty 
             Miles.  The First Thing We Did After Camping Was To Dig 
             And Construct, With Flour Barrels, A Well In front Of 
             Each Company; Water Was Always Found At The Depth Of 
             From Two To Four Feet Varying With The Corresponding 
             Height Of The River, But Clear And Cool.  Next We Would 
             Build Sod Fire-Places; These, With Network Platforms Of 
             Buffalo Hide, Used for Smoking and Drying Meat, Formed a 
             Tolerable Additional Defence, At Least Against Mounted men. 
     
     
     
             Hunting Was A Military Duty, Done By Detail, Parties Of 
             Fifteen Or Twenty Going Out With A Wagon.  Completely 
             Isolated, And Beyond Support Or Even Communication, 
             In the Midst Of Many Thousands Of Indians, The Utmost 
             Vigilance Was Maintained.  Officer Of The Guard Every 
             Fourth Night; I Was Always Awake And Generally In motion 
             The Whole Time Of Duty.  Night Alarms Were Frequent; When, 
             As We All Slept In our Clothes, We Were Accustomed to 
             Assemble Instantly, And With Scarcely A Word Spoken, 
             Take Our Places In the Grass In front Of Each Face Of 
             The Camp, Where, However Wet, We Sometimes Lay For Hours. 
     
     
     
             While Encamped a Few Miles Below Chouteau'S Island, On The 
             Eleventh Of August, An Alarm Was Given, And We Were Under 
             Arms For An Hour Until Daylight.  During The Morning, 
             Indians Were Seen A Mile Or Two Off, Leading Their Horses 
             Through The Ravines.  A Captain, However, With Eighteen 
             Men Was Sent Across The River After Buffalo, Which We Saw 
             Half A Mile Distant.  In his Absence, A Large Body Of 
             Indians Came Galloping Down The River, As If To Charge 
             The Camp, But The Cattle Were Secured in good Time. 
             A Company, Of Which I Was Lieutenant, Was Ordered to 
             Cross The River And Support The First.  We Waded in some 
             Disorder Through The Quicksands And Current, And Just 
             As We Neared a Dry Sandbar In the Middle, A Volley Was 
             Fired at Us By A Band Of Indians, Who That Moment Rode 
             To The Water'S Edge.  The Balls Whistled very Near, 
             But Without Damage; I Felt An Involuntary Twitch Of 
             The Neck, And Wishing To Return The Compliment Instantly, 
             I Stooped down, And The Company Fired over My Head, 
             With What Execution Was Not Perceived, As The Indians 
             Immediately Retired out Of Our View.  This Had Passed 
             In half A Minute, And We Were Astonished to See, A Little 
             Above, Among Some Bushes On The Same Bar, The Party We Had 
             Been Sent To Support, And We Heard That They Had Abandoned 
             One Of The Hunters, Who Had Been Killed.  We Then Saw, 
             On The Bank We Had Just Left, A Formidable Body Of The 
             Enemy In close Order, And Hoping To Surprise Them, 
             We Ascended the Bed of The River.  In crossing The Channel 
             We Were Up To The Arm-Pits, But When We Emerged on The 
             Bank, We Found That The Indians Had Detected the Movement, 
             And Retreated.  Casting Eyes Beyond The River, I Saw A 
             Number Of The Indians Riding On Both Sides Of A Wagon 
             And Team Which Had Been Deserted, Urging The Animals 
             Rapidly Toward The Hills.  At This Juncture The Adjutant 
             Sent An Order To Cross And Recover The Body Of The Slain 
             Hunter, Who Was An Old Soldier And A Favourite.  He Was 
             Brought In with An Arrow Still Transfixing His Breast, 
             But His Scalp Was Gone. 
     
     
     
             On The Fourteenth Of October, We Again Marched on Our 
             Return.  Soon After, We Saw Smokes Arise Over The Distant 
             Hills; Evidently Signals, Indicating To Different Parties 
             Of Indians Our Separation And March, But Whether Preparatory 
             To An Attack Upon The Mexicans Or Ourselves, Or Rather 
             Our Immense Drove Of Animals, We Could Only Guess. 
     
     
     
             Our March Was Constantly Attended by Great Collections 
             Of Buffalo, Which Seemed to Have A General Muster, Perhaps 
             For Migration.  Sometimes A Hundred or Two--A Fragment 
             From The Multitude--Would Approach Within Two Or Three 
             Hundred yards Of The Column, And Threaten A Charge Which 
             Would Have Proved disastrous To The Mules And Their Drivers. 
     
     
     
             Under The Friendly Cover Of The Shades Of Evening, On The 
             Eighth Of November, Our Tatterdemalion Veterans Marched 
             Into Fort Leavenworth, And Took Quiet Possession Of The 
             Miserable Huts And Sheds Left By The Third Infantry In 
             The Preceding May. 
     
   
   
   
   Chapter VI (A Romantic Tragedy) 
   As Early As November, 1842, A Rumour Was Current In santa Fe, And 
   Along The Line Of The Trail, That Parties Of Texans Had Left The 
   Republic For The Purpose Of Attacking and Robbing The Caravans To 
   The United states Which Were Owned wholly By Mexicans.  In consequence 
   Of This, Several Americans Were Accused of Being Spies And Acting 
   In Collusion With The Texans; Many Were Arrested and Carried to 
   Santa Fe, But Nothing Could Be Proved against Them, And The Rumours 
   Of The Intended purposes Of The Texans Died out. 
     
     
     
   Very Early In may, However, Of The Following Year, 1843, A Certain 
   Colonel Snively Did Organize A Small Force, Comprising about Two 
   Hundred men, Which He Led from Northern Texas, His Home, To The 
   Line Of The Trail, With The Intention Of Attacking and Robbing The 
   Mexican Caravans Which Were Expected to Cross The Plains That Month 
   And In june. 
     
     
     
   When He Arrived at The Arkansas River, He Was There Reinforced by 
   Another Texan Colonel, Named warfield With Another Small Command. 
   Gregg Says: 
     
     
     
             This Officer, With About Twenty Men, Had Some Time 
             Previously Attacked the Village Of Mora, On The Mexican 
             Frontier, Killing Five Men, And Driving Off A Number 
             Of Horses.  They Were Afterward Followed by A Party Of 
             Mexicans, However, Who Stampeded and Carried away, Not Only 
             Their Own Horses, But Those Of The Texans.  Being Left 
             Afoot, The Latter Burned their Saddles, And Walked to 
             Bent'S Fort, Where They Were Disbanded; Whence Warfield 
             Passed to Snively'S Camp, As Before Mentioned. 
     
     
     
             The Texans Now Advanced along The Santa Fe Trail, Beyond 
             The Sand Hills South Of The Arkansas, When They Discovered 
             That A Party Of Mexicans Had Passed toward The River. 
             They Soon Came Upon Them, And A Skirmish Ensuing, Eighteen 
             Mexicans Were Killed, And As Many Wounded, Five Of Whom 
             Afterward Died.  The Texans Suffered no Injury, Though 
             The Mexicans Were A Hundred in number.  The Rest Were All 
             Taken Prisoners Except Two, Who Escaped and Bore The News 
             To General Armijo, Who Was Encamped with A Large Force 
             At Cold Spring, One Hundred and Forty Miles Beyond. 
     
     
     
   Kit Carson Figured conspicuously In this Fight, Or, Rather, Immediately 
   Afterward.  His Recital Differs Somewhat From Gregg'S Account, 
   But The Stories Substantially Agree.  Kit Said That In april, 
   Previously To The Assault Upon Armijo'S Caravan, He Had Hired out 
   As Hunter To Bent'S And Colonel St. Vrain'S Train Caravan, Which Was 
   Then Making Its Annual Tour Eastwardly.  When He Arrived at The 
   Crossing Of Walnut Creek,[22] He Found The Encampment Of Captain 
   Philip St. George Cooke, Of The United states Army, Who Had Been 
   Detailed with His Command To Escort The Caravans To The New Mexican 
   Boundary.  His Force Consisted of Four Troops Of Dragoons. 
   The Captain Informed carson That Coming On Behind Him From The States 
   Was A Caravan Belonging To A Very Wealthy Mexican. 
     
     
     
   It Was A Richly Loaded train, And In order To Insure Its Better 
   Protection While Passing Through That Portion Of The Country Infested 
   By The Blood-Thirsty Comanches And Apaches, The Majordomo In charge 
   Had Hired one Hundred mexicans As A Guard.  The Teamsters And Others 
   Belonging To The Caravan Had Heard That A Large Body Of Texans Were 
   Lying In wait For Them, And Intended to Murder And Plunder Them In 
   Retaliation For The Way Armijo Had Treated some Texan Prisoners 
   He Had Got In his Power At Santa Fe Some Time Before.  Of Course, 
   It Was The Duty Of The United states Troops To Escort This Caravan 
   To The New Mexico Line, But There Their Duty Would End, As They 
   Had No Authority To Cross The Border.  The Mexicans Belonging To 
   The Caravan Were Afraid They Would Be At The Mercy Of The Texans 
   After They Had Parted company With The Soldiers, And When Kit Carson 
   Met Them, They, Knowing The Famous Trapper And Mountaineer Well, 
   Asked him To Take A Letter To Armijo, Who Was Then Governor Of 
   New Mexico, And Resided in santa Fe, For Which Service They Would 
   Give Him Three Hundred dollars In advance.  The Letter Contained 
   A Statement Of The Fears They Entertained, And Requested the General 
   To Send Mexican Troops At Once To Meet Them. 
     
     
     
   Carson, Who Was Then Not Blessed with Much Money, Eagerly Accepted 
   The Task, And Immediately Started on The Trail For Bent'S Fort, 
   In Company With Another Old Mountaineer And Bosom Friend Named owens. 
   In A Short Time They Arrived at The Fort, Where Owens Decided not 
   To Go Any Further, Because They Were Informed by The Men At Bent'S 
   That The Utes Had Broken Out, And Were Scattered along The Trail 
   At The Most Dangerous Points, And He Was Fearful That His Life 
   Would Be Endangered if He Attempted to Make Santa Fe. 
     
     
     
   Kit, However, Nothing Daunted, And Determined to Do The Duty For 
   Which He Had Been Rewarded so Munificently, Started out Alone On 
   His Perilous Trip.  Mr. Bent Kindly Furnished him With The Best And 
   Fastest Horse He Had In his Stables, But Kit, Realizing The Dangers 
   To Which He Would Be Exposed, Walked, Leading His Animal, Ready To 
   Mount Him At A Moment'S Notice; Thus Keeping Him In a Condition That 
   Would Enable Carson To Fly And Make His Escape If The Savages Tried 
   To Capture Him.  His Knowledge Of The Indian Character, And Wonderful 
   Alertness In moments Of Peril, Served him Well; For He Reached the 
   Village Of The Hostile Indians Without Their Discovering His Proximity. 
   Hiding Himself In a Rocky, Bush-Covered canyon, He Stayed there Until 
   Night Came On, When He Continued his Journey In the Darkness. 
     
     
     
   He Took The Trail To Taos, Where He Arrived in two Or Three Days, 
   And Presented his Letter To The Alcalde, To Be Sent On To Santa Fe 
   By Special Messenger. 
     
     
     
   He Was To Remain At Taos Until An Answer From The Governor Arrived, 
   And Then Return With It As Rapidly As Possible To The Train. 
   While At Taos, He Was Informed that Armijo Had Already Sent Out 
   A Company Of One Hundred soldiers To Meet The Caravan, And Was To 
   Follow In person, With A Thousand More. 
     
     
     
   This First Hundred were Those Attacked by Colonel Snively, As Related 
   By Gregg, Who Says That Two Survived, Who Carried the News Of The 
   Disaster To Armijo At Cold Spring; But Carson Told Me That Only One 
   Got Away, By Successfully Catching, During The Heat Of The Fight, 
   A Texan Pony Already Saddled, That Was Grazing around Loose. 
   With Him He Made Armijo'S Camp And Related to The Mexican General 
   The Details Of The Terribly Unequal Battle.  Armijo, Upon Receipt 
   Of The News, "Turned tail," And Retreated to Santa Fe. 
     
     
     
   Before Armijo Left Santa Fe With His Command, He Had Received the 
   Letter Which Carson Had Brought From The Caravan, And Immediately 
   Sent One In reply For Carson To Carry Back, Thinking That The Old 
   Mountaineer Might Reach The Wagons Before He Did.  Carson, With His 
   Usual Promptness, Started on The Trail For The Caravan, And Came Up 
   With It While It Was Escorted by The Dragoons, Thus Saving It From 
   The Fate That The Texans Intended for It, As They Dared not Attempt 
   Any Interference In the Presence Of The United states Troops. 
     
     
     
   The Rumour Current In santa Fe In relation To A Probable Raid Of 
   Parties Of Texans Along The Line Of The Trail, For The Purpose Of 
   Attacking and Robbing The Caravans Of The Wealthy Mexican Traders, 
   Was Received with So Little Credence By The Prominent Citizens Of 
   The Country, That Several Native Trains Left For The Missouri River 
   Without Their Proprietors Having The Slightest Apprehension That 
   They Would Not Reach Their Destination, And Make The Return Trip 
   In Safety. 
     
     
     
   Among Those Who Had No Fear Of Marauders Was Don Antonio Jose Chavez, 
   Who, In february, 1843, Left Santa Fe For Independence With An Outfit 
   Consisting Of A Number Of Wagons, His Private Coach, Several Servants 
   And Other Retainers.  Don Antonio Was A Very Wealthy Mexican Engaged 
   In A General Mercantile Business On A Large Scale In albuquerque, 
   Who Made All His Purchases Of Goods In st. Louis, Which Was Then 
   The Depot Of Supplies For The Whole Mountain Region.  He Necessarily 
   Carried with Him On These Journeys A Large Amount Of Money, In silver, 
   Which Was The Legal Currency Of The Country, And Made But One Trip 
   Yearly To Replenish The Stock Of Goods Required in his Extensive 
   Trade In all Parts Of Mexico. 
     
     
     
   Upon His Arrival At Westport Landing, As Kansas City Was Then Called, 
   He Would Take The Steamboat For St. Louis, Leaving His Coach, Wagons, 
   Servants, And Other Appointments Of His Caravan Behind Him In the 
   Village Of Westport, A Few Miles From The Landing. 
     
     
     
   Westport Was At That Time, Like All Steamboat Towns In the Era Of 
   Water Navigation, The Harbor Of As Great A Lot Of Ruffians As Ever 
   Escaped the Gallows.  There Was Especially A Noted gang Of Land Pirates, 
   The Members Of Which Had Long Indulged in speculations Regarding The 
   Probable Wealth Of The Mexican Don, And How Much Coin He Generally 
   Carried with Him.  They Knew That It Must Be Considerable From The 
   Quantity Of Goods That Always Came By Boat With Him From St. Louis. 
     
     
     
   At Last A Devilish Plot Was Arranged to Get Hold Of The Rich Trader'S 
   Money.  Nine Men Were Concerned in the Robbery, Nearly All Of Whom 
   Were Residents Of The Vicinity Of Westport; Their Leader Was One 
   John Mcdaniel, Recently From Texas, From Which Government He Claimed 
   To Hold A Captain'S Commission, And One Of Their Number Was A Doctor. 
   It Was Evidently The Intention Of This Band To Join Warfield'S Party 
   On The Arkansas, And Engage In a General Robbery Of The Freight 
   Caravans Of The Santa Fe Trail Belonging To The Mexicans; But They 
   Had Determined that Chavez Should Be Their First Victim, And In order 
   To Learn When He Intended to Leave Santa Fe On His Next Trip East, 
   They Sent Their Spies Out On The Great Highway. 
     
     
     
   They Did Not Dare Attempt Their Contemplated robbery, And Murder 
   If Necessary, In the State Of Missouri, For There Were Too Many 
   Citizens Of The Border Who Would Never Have Permitted such A Thing 
   To Go Unpunished; So They Knew That Their Only Chance Was To Effect It 
   In The Indian Country Of Kansas, Where There Was Little Or No Law. 
     
     
     
   Cow Creek, Which Debouches Into The Arkansas At Hutchinson, Where 
   The Atchison, Topeka And Santa Fe Railroad Crosses The Historic 
   Little Stream,[23] Was, Like Big And Little Coon Creeks, A Most 
   Dangerous Point In the Transcontinental Passage Of Freight Caravans 
   And Overland Coaches, In the Days Of The Commerce Of The Prairies. 
   It Was On This Purling Little Prairie Brook That Mcdaniel'S Band 
   Lay In wait For The Arrival Of The Ill-Fated don Antonio, Whose 
   Imposing Equipage Came Along, Intending To Encamp On The Bank, 
   One Of The Usual Stopping-Places On The Route. 
     
     
     
   The Don Was Taken A Few Miles South Of The Trail, And His Baggage 
   Rifled.  All Of His Party Were Immediately Murdered, But The Wealthy 
   Owner Of The Caravan Was Spared for A Few Moments In order To Make 
   A Confession Of Where His Money Was Concealed, After Which He Was 
   Shot Down In cold Blood, And His Body Thrown Into A Ravine. 
     
     
     
   It Appears, However, That The Ruffians Had Not Completed their 
   Bloody Work So Effectually As They Thought; For One Of The Mexican'S 
   Teamsters Escaped, And, Making His Way To Leavenworth, Reported 
   The Crime, And Was Soon On His Way Back To The Trail, Guiding a 
   Detachment Of United states Troops In pursuit Of The Murderers. 
     
     
     
   John Hobbs, Scout, Trapper, And Veteran Plainsman, Happened to Be 
   Hunting Buffalo On Pawnee Fork, On The Ground Where Larned is Now 
   Situated, With A Party From Bent'S Fort.  They Were Just On The Point 
   Of Crossing The Trail At The Mouth Of The Pawnee When The Soldiers 
   From Fort Leavenworth Came Along, And From Them Hobbs And His 
   Companions First Learned of The Murder Of Chavez On Cow Creek. 
   As The Men Who Were Out Hunting Were All Familiar With Every Foot 
   Of The Region They Were Then In, The Commanding Officer Of The Troops 
   Induced them To Accompany Him In his Search For The Murderers. 
     
     
     
   Hobbs And His Men Cheerfully Accepted the Invitation, And In about 
   Four Days Met The Band Of Cut-Throats On The Broad Trail, They Little 
   Dreaming That The Government Had Taken A Hand In the Matter. 
   The Band Tried to Escape By Flight, But Hobbs Shot The Doctor'S Horse 
   From Under Him, And A Soldier Killed another Member Of The Band, 
   When The Remainder Surrendered. 
     
     
     
   The Money, About Twelve Or Fifteen Thousand Dollars,[24] Was All 
   Recovered, And The Murderers Taken To St. Louis, Where Some Were Hung 
   And Some Imprisoned, The Doctor Escaping The Death Penalty By Turning 
   State'S Evidence.  His Sentence Was Incarceration In the Penitentiary, 
   From Which He Was Pardoned after Remaining There Two Years. 
   Hobbs Met The Doctor Some Years After In san Francisco.  He Was Then 
   Leading an Honest Life, Publishing a Newspaper, And Begged his Captor 
   Not To Expose Him. 
     
     
     
   The Money Taken From The Robbers Was Placed in charge Of Colonel Owens, 
   A Friend Of The Chavez Family And A Leading Santa Fe Trader. 
   He Continued on To The River, Purchased a Stock Of Goods, And 
   Sent Back The Caravan To Santa Fe In charge Of Doctor Conley Of 
   Boonville, Missouri. 
     
     
     
   Arriving at His Destination, The Widow Of The Deceased chavez 
   Employed the Good Doctor To Sell The Goods And Take The Sole 
   Supervision Of Her Immense Business Interests, And There Is A Touch 
   Of Romance Attached to The Terrible Kansas Tragedy, Which Lies In 
   The Fact That The Doctor In about Two Years Married the Rich Widow, 
   And Lived very Happily For About A Decade, Dying Then On One Of The 
   Large Estates In new Mexico, Which He Had Acquired by His Fortunate 
   Union With The Amiable Mexican Lady. 
   
   
   
   Chapter VII (Mexico Declares War) 
   Mexico Declared war Against The United states In april, 1846.  In the 
   Following May, Congress Passed an Act Authorizing The President To 
   Call Into The Field Fifty Thousand Volunteers, Designed to Operate 
   Against Mexico At Three Distinct Points, And Consisting Of The 
   Southern Wing, Or The Army Of Occupation, The Army Of The Centre, 
   And The Army Of The West, The Latter To Direct Its March Upon The 
   City Of Santa Fe.  The Original Plan Was, However, Somewhat Changed, 
   And General Kearney, Who Commanded the Army Of The West, Divided his 
   Forces Into Three Separate Commands.  The First He Led in person 
   To The Pacific Coast.  One Thousand Volunteers, Under Command Of 
   Colonel A. W. Doniphan, Were To Make A Descent Upon The State Of 
   Chihuahua, While The Remainder And Greater Part Of The Forces, Under 
   Colonel Sterling Price, Were To Garrison Santa Fe After Its Capture. 
     
     
     
   There Is A Pretty Fiction Told Of The Breaking Out Of The War 
   Between Mexico And The United states.  Early In the Spring Of 1846, 
   Before It Was Known Or Even Conjectured that A State Of War Would Be 
   Declared to Exist Between This Government And Mexico, A Caravan 
   Of Twenty-Nine Traders, On Their Way From Independence To Santa Fe, 
   Beheld, Just After A Storm And A Little Before Sunset, A Perfectly 
   Distinct Image Of The Bird Of Liberty, The American Eagle, On The 
   Disc Of The Sun.  When They Saw It They Simultaneously And Almost 
   Involuntarily Exclaimed that In less Than Twelve Months The Eagle 
   Of Liberty Would Spread His Broad Plumes Over The Plains Of The West, 
   And That The Flag Of Our Country Would Wave Over The Cities Of 
   New Mexico And Chihuahua.  The Student Of The Classics Will Remember 
   That Just Before The Assassination Of Julius Caesar, Both Brutus 
   And Cassius, While In their Places In the Roman Senate, Saw Chariots 
   Of Fire In the Sky.  One Story Is As True, Probably, As The Other, 
   Though Separated by Centuries Of Time. 
     
     
     
   The Army Of The West, Under General Stephen W. Kearney, Consisted of 
   Two Batteries Of Artillery, Commanded by Major Clark; Three Squadrons 
   Of The First United states Dragoons, Commanded by Major Sumner; 
   The First Regiment Of Missouri Cavalry, Commanded by Colonel Doniphan, 
   And Two Companies Of Infantry, Commanded by Captain Aubrey. 
   This Force Marched in detached columns From Fort Leavenworth, And 
   On The 1St Of August, 1846, Concentrated in camp On The Santa Fe 
   Trail, Nine Miles Below Bent'S Fort. 
     
     
     
   Accompanying The Expedition Was A Party Of The United states 
   Topographical Engineers, Under Command Of Lieutenant W. H. Emory.[25] 
   In Writing Of This Expedition, So Far As Its March Relates To The 
   Old Santa Fe Trail, I Shall Quote Freely From Emory'S Report And 
   Doniphan'S Historian.[26] 
     
     
     
   The Practicability Of Marching a Large Army Over The Waste, 
   Uncultivated, Uninhabited prairie Regions Of The West Was Universally 
   Regarded as Problematical, But The Expedition Proved completely 
   Successful.  Provisions Were Conveyed in wagons, And Beef-Cattle 
   Driven Along For The Use Of The Men.  These Animals Subsisted 
   Entirely By Grazing.  To Secure Them From Straying Off At Night, 
   They Were Driven Into Corrals Formed of The Wagons, Or Tethered to 
   An Iron Picket-Pin Driven Into The Ground About Fifteen Inches. 
   At The Outset Of The Expedition Many Laughable Scenes Took Place. 
   Our Horses Were Generally Wild, Fiery, And Unused to Military 
   Trappings And Equipments.  Amidst The Fluttering Of Banners, 
   The Sounding Of Bugles, The Rattling Of Artillery, The Clattering 
   Of Sabres And Also Of Cooking Utensils, Some Of Them Took Fright 
   And Scampered pell-Mell Over The Wide Prairie.  Rider, Arms And 
   Accoutrements, Saddles, Saddle-Bags, Tin Cups, And Coffee-Pots, 
   Were Frequently Left Far Behind In the Chase.  No Very Serious Or 
   Fatal Accident, However, Occurred from This Cause, And All Was 
   Right As Soon As The Affrighted animals Were Recovered. 
     
     
     
   The Army Of The West Was, Perhaps, Composed of As Fine Material As 
   Any Other Body Of Troops Then In the Field.  The Volunteer Corps 
   Consisted almost Entirely Of Young Men Of The Country. 
     
     
     
   On The 9Th Of July, A Separate Detachment Of The Troops Arrived at 
   The Little Arkansas, Where The Santa Fe Trail Crosses That Stream-- 
   Now In mcpherson County, Kansas.  The Mosquitoes, Gnats, And Black 
   Flies Swarmed in that Locality And Nearly Drove The Men And Animals 
   Frantic.  While Resting There, A Courier Came From The Commands 
   Of General Kearney And Colonel Doniphan, Stating That Their Men 
   Were In a Starving Condition, And Asking For Such Provisions As 
   Could Be Spared.  Lieutenant-Colonel Ruff Of Doniphan'S Regiment, 
   In Command Of The Troops Now Camped on The Little Arkansas, Was 
   Almost Destitute Himself.  He Had Sent Couriers Forward To Pawnee Fork 
   To Stop A Train Of Provisions At That Point And Have It Wait There 
   Until He Came Up With His Force, And He Now Directed the Courier From 
   Kearney To Proceed to The Same Place And Halt As Many Wagons Loaded 
   With Supplies, As Would Suffice To Furnish The Three Detachments 
   With Rations.  One Of The Couriers, In attempting To Ford The Fork 
   Of The Pawnee, Which Was Bank-Full, Was Drowned.  His Body Was Found 
   And Given A Military Funeral; He Was The First Man Lost On The 
   Expedition After It Had Reached the Great Plains, One Having Been 
   Drowned in the Missouri, At Fort Leavenworth, Before The Troops Left. 
     
     
     
   The Author Of _Doniphan'S Expedition_ Says: 
             In approaching The Arkansas, A Landscape Of The Most 
             Imposing and Picturesque Nature Makes Its Appearance. 
             While The Green, Glossy Undulations Of The Prairie To 
             The Right Seem To Spread Out In infinite Succession, 
             Like Waves Subsiding after A Storm, And Covered with 
             Herds Of Gambolling Buffalo, On The Left, Towering To 
             The Height Of Seventy-Five To A Hundred feet, Rise The 
             Sun-Gilt Summits Of The Sand Hills, Along The Base Of 
             Which Winds The Broad, Majestic River, Bespeckled with 
             Verdant Islets, Thickly Beset With Cottonwood Timber, 
             The Sand Hills Resembling Heaps Of Driven Snow. 
   I Refer To This Statement To Show How Wonderfully The Settlement 
   Of The Region Has Changed the Physical Aspect Of That Portion 
   Bordering The Arkansas River.  Now Those Sand Hills Are Covered 
   With Verdure, And This Metamorphosis Has Taken Place Within The 
   Last Thirty Years; For The Author Of This Work Well Remembers How 
   The Great Sand Dunes Used to Shine In the Sunlight, When He First 
   Saw Them A Third Of A Century Ago.  In coming From Fort Leavenworth 
   Up The Smoky Hill Route To The Santa Fe Trail, Where The Former 
   Joined the Latter At Pawnee Rock, The Contour Of The Arkansas 
   Could Be Easily Traced by The White Sand Hills Referred to, 
   Long Before It Was Reached. 
     
     
     
   On The 15Th Of July The Combined forces Formed a Junction At 
   Pawnee Fork, Now Within The City Limits Of Larned, Kansas.  The River 
   Was Impassable, But General Kearney, With The Characteristic Energy 
   Of His Family, Determined not To Be Delayed, And To That End Caused 
   Great Trees To Be Cut Down And Their Trunks Thrown Across The Stream, 
   Over Which The Army Passed, Carrying In their Arms The Sick, The 
   Baggage, Tents, And Other Paraphernalia; The Animals Being Forced 
   To Swim.  The Empty Bodies Of The Wagons, Fastened to Their Running 
   Gear, Were Floated across By Means Of Ropes, And Hauled up The 
   Slippery Bank By The Troops.  This Required two Whole Days; And On 
   The Morning Of The 17Th, Not An Accident Having Occurred, The Entire 
   Column Was En Route Again, The Infantry, As Is Declared in the 
   Official Reports, Keeping Pace With The Cavalry Right Along. 
   Their Feet, However, Became Terribly Blistered, And, Like The 
   Continentals At Valley Forge, Their Tracks Were Marked with Blood. 
     
     
     
   In A Day Or Two After The Command Had Left Pawnee Fork, While Camping 
   In A Beautiful Spot On The Bank Of The Arkansas, An Officer, Major 
   Howard, Who Had Been Sent Forward To Santa Fe Some Time Previously 
   By The General To Learn Something Of The Feeling Of The People 
   In Relation To Submitting To The Government Of The United states, 
   Returned and Reported 
     
     
     
             That The Common People, Or Plebeians, Were Inclined to 
             Favour The Conditions Of Peace Proposed by General Kearney; 
             Viz. That If They Would Lay Down Their Arms And Take The 
             Oath Of Allegiance To The Government Of The United states, 
             They Should, To All Intents And Purposes, Become Citizens 
             Of The Same Republic, Receiving The Protection And Enjoying 
             The Liberties Guaranteed to Other American Citizens; But 
             That The Patricians Who Held The Offices And Ruled the 
             Country Were Hostile, And Were Making Warlike Preparations. 
             He Added, Further, That Two Thousand Three Hundred men 
             Were Already Armed for The Defence Of The Capital, And 
             That Others Were Assembling at Taos. 
   This Intelligence Created quite A Sensation In camp, And It Was 
   Believed, And Earnestly Hoped, That The Entrance Of The Troops 
   Into Santa Fe Would Be Desperately Opposed; Such Is The Pugnacious 
   Character Of The Average American The Moment He Dons The Uniform 
   Of A Soldier. 
     
     
     
   The Army Arrived at The Cimarron Crossing Of The Arkansas On The 20Th, 
   And During The March Of Nearly Thirty Miles From Their Last Camp, 
   A Herd Of About Four Hundred buffalo Suddenly Emerged from The 
   Arkansas, And Broke Through The Long Column.  In an Instant The 
   Troops Charged upon The Surprised animals With Guns, Pistols, And 
   Even Drawn Sabres, And Many Of The Huge Beasts Were Slaughtered 
   As They Went Dashing and Thundering among The Excited troopers And 
   Infantrymen. 
     
     
     
   On The 29Th An Express From Bent'S Fort Brought News To General 
   Kearney From Santa Fe That Governor Armijo Had Called the Chief Men 
   Together To Deliberate On The Best Means Of Defending The City; 
   That Hostile Preparations Were Rapidly Going On In all Parts Of 
   New Mexico; And That The American Advance Would Be Vigorously Opposed. 
   Some Mexican Prisoners Were Taken Near Bent'S Fort, With Blank Letters 
   On Their Persons Addressed to The General; It Was Supposed this Piece 
   Of Ingenuity Was Resorted to To Deceive The American Residents At 
   The Fort.  These Men Were Thought To Be Spies Sent Out From Santa Fe 
   To Get An Idea Of The Strength Of The Army; So They Were Shown 
   Everything In and Around Camp, And Then Allowed to Depart In peace 
   For Santa Fe, To Report What They Had Seen. 
     
     
     
   On The Same Date, The Army Of The West Crossed the Arkansas And Camped 
   On Mexican Soil About Eight Miles Below Bent'S Fort, And Now The 
   Utmost Vigilance Was Exercised; For The Troops Had Not Only To Keep 
   A Sharp Lookout For The Mexicans, But For The Wily Comanches, In whose 
   Country Their Camp Was Located.  Strong Picket And Camp Guards Were 
   Posted, And The Animals Turned loose To Graze, Guarded by A Large 
   Force.  Notwithstanding The Care Taken To Confine Them Within Certain 
   Limits, A Pack Of Wolves Rushed through The Herd, And In an Instant 
   It Was Stampeded, And There Ensued a Scene Of The Wildest Confusion. 
   More Than A Thousand Horses Were Dashing Madly Over The Prairie, 
   Their Rage And Fright Increased at Every Jump By The Lariats And 
   Picket-Pins Which They Had Pulled up, And Which Lashed them Like 
   So Many Whips.  After Desperate Exertions By The Troops, The Majority 
   Were Recovered from Thirty To Fifty Miles Distant; Nearly A Hundred, 
   However, Were Absolutely Lost And Never Seen Again. 
     
     
     
   At This Camp The Troops Were Visited by The War Chief Of The Arapahoes, 
   Who Manifested great Surprise At The Big Guns, And Declared that 
   The Mexicans Would Not Stand A Moment Before Such Terrible Instruments 
   Of Death, But Would Escape To The Mountains With The Utmost Despatch. 
     
     
     
   On The 1St Of August A New Camp Near Bent'S Fort Was Established, 
   From Whence Twenty Men Under Lieutenant De Courcy, With Orders To 
   Proceed through The Mountains To The Valley Of Taos, To Learn 
   Something Of The Disposition And Intentions Of The People, And To 
   Rejoin General Kearney On The Road To Santa Fe.  Lieutenant De Courcy, 
   In His Official Itinerary, Relates The Following anecdote: 
             We Took Three Pack-Mules Laden With Provisions, And As 
             We Did Not Expect To Be Long Absent, The Men Took No Extra 
             Clothing.  Three Days After We Left The Column Our Mules 
             Fell Down, And Neither Gentle Means Nor The Points Of Our 
             Sabres Had The Least Effect In inducing Them To Rise. 
             Their Term Of Service With Uncle Sam Was Out.  "What'S To 
             Be Done?" Said The Sergeant.  "Dismount!" Said I. 
             "Off With Your Shirts And Drawers, Men! Tie Up The Sleeves 
             And Legs, And Each Man Bag One-Twentieth Part Of The Flour!" 
             Having Done This, The Bacon Was Distributed to The Men Also, 
             And Tied to The Cruppers Of Their Saddles.  Thus Loaded, 
             We Pushed on, Without The Slightest Fear Of Our Provision 
             Train Being Cut Off. 
     
     
     
             The March Upon Santa Fe Was Resumed on The 2D Of August. 
             As We Passed bent'S Fort The American Flag Was Raised, 
             In compliment To Our Troops, And, Like Our Own, Streamed 
             Most Animatingly In the Gale That Swept From The Desert, 
             While The Tops Of The Houses Were Crowded with Mexican Girls 
             And Indian Squaws, Intently Beholding The American Army. 
     
     
     
   On The 15Th Of The Month, The Army Neared las Vegas; When Two Spies 
   Who Had Been Sent On In advance To See How Matters Stood Returned 
   And Reported that Two Thousand Mexicans Were Camped at The Pass 
   A Few Miles Beyond The Village, Where They Intended to Offer Battle. 
     
     
     
   Upon Receipt Of This News, The General Immediately Formed a Line 
   Of Battle.  The United states Dragoons With The St. Louis Mounted 
   Volunteers Were Stationed in front, Major Clark With The Battalion 
   Of Volunteer Light Artillery In the Centre, And Colonel Doniphan'S 
   Regiment In the Rear.  The Companies Of Volunteer Infantry Were 
   Deployed on Each Side Of The Line Of March As Flankers.  The Supply 
   Trains Were Next In order, With Captain Walton'S Mounted company 
   As Rear Guard.  There Was Also A Strong Advance Guard.  The Cartridges 
   Were Hastily Distributed; The Cannon Swabbed and Rigged; The 
   Port-Fires Burning, And Every Rifle Loaded. 
     
     
     
   In Passing Through The Streets Of The Curious-Looking Village Of 
   Las Vegas, The Army Was Halted, And From The Roof Of A Large House 
   General Kearney Administered to The Chief Officers Of The Place 
   The Oath Of Allegiance To The United states, Using The Sacred cross 
   Instead Of The Bible.  This Act Completed, On Marched the Exultant 
   Troops Toward The Canyon Where It Had Been Promised them That They 
   Should Meet The Enemy. 
     
     
     
   On The Night Of The 16Th, While Encamped on The Pecos River, Near 
   The Village Of San Jose, The Pickets Captured a Son Of The Mexican 
   General Salezar, Who Was Acting The Role Of A Spy, And Two Other 
   Soldiers Of The Mexican Army.  Salezar Was Kept A Close Prisoner; 
   But The Two Privates Were By Order Of General Kearney Escorted 
   Through The Camp And Shown The Cannon, After Which They Were Allowed 
   To Depart, So That They Might Tell What They Had Seen.  It Was 
   Learned afterward That They Represented the American Army As Composed 
   Of Five Thousand Troops, And Possessing So Many Cannons That They 
   Were Not Able To Count Them. 
     
     
     
   When Armijo Was Certain That The Army Of The West Was Really 
   Approaching Santa Fe, He Assembled seven Thousand Troops, Part Of Them 
   Well Armed, And The Remainder Indifferently So.  The Mexican General 
   Had Written A Note To General Kearney The Day Before The Capture 
   Of The Spies, Saying That He Would Meet Him On The Following Day. 
     
     
     
   General Kearney, At This, Hastened on, Arriving at The Mouth Of 
   The Apache Canyon At Noon, With His Whole Force Ready And Anxious 
   To Try The Mettle Of The Mexicans In battle.  Emory In his 
   _Reconnoissance_ Says: 
     
     
     
             The Sun Shone With Dazzling Brightness; The Guidons And 
             Colours Of Each Squadron, Regiment, And Battalion Were 
             For The First Time Unfurled.  The Drooping Horses Seemed 
             To Take Courage From The Gay Array.  The Trumpeters 
             Sounded "To Horse" With Spirit, And The Hills Multiplied 
             And Re-Echoed the Call.  All Wore The Aspect Of A Gala Day. 
             About The Middle Of The Day'S March The Two Pueblo Indians, 
             Previously Sent To Sound The Chief Men Of That Formidable 
             Tribe, Were Seen In the Distance, At Full Speed, With Arms 
             And Legs Both Thumping The Sides Of Their Mules At Every 
             Stride.  Something Was Now Surely In the Wind.  The Smaller 
             And Foremost Of The Two Dashed up To The General, His Face 
             Radiant With Joy, And Exclaimed: 
     
     
     
             "They Are In the Canyon, My Brave; Pluck Up Your Courage 
             And Push Them Out."  As Soon As His Extravagant Delight At 
             The Prospect Of A Fight, And The Pleasure Of Communicating 
             The News, Had Subsided, He Gave A Pretty Accurate Idea 
             Of Armijo'S Force And Position. 
     
     
     
             Shortly Afterwards A Rumour Reached the Camp That The 
             Two Thousand Mexicans Assembled in the Canyon To Oppose Us, 
             Have Quarrelled among Themselves; And That Armijo, Taking 
             Advantage Of The Dissensions, Has Fled with His Dragoons 
             And Artillery To The South.  It Is Well Known That He Has 
             Been Averse To A Battle, But Some Of His People Threatened 
             His Life If He Refused to Fight.  He Had Been, For Some 
             Days, More In fear Of His Own People Than Of The American 
             Army, Having Seen What They Are Blind To--The Hopelessness 
             Of Resistance. 
     
     
     
             As We Approached the Ancient Town Of Pecos, A Large Fat 
             Fellow, Mounted on A Mule, Came Toward Us At Full Speed, 
             And, Extending His Hand To The General, Congratulated him 
             On The Arrival Of Himself And Army.  He Said With A Roar 
             Of Laughter, "Armijo And His Troops Have Gone To H---Ll, 
             And The Canyon Is All Clear." 
     
     
     
   On Reaching The Canyon, It Was Found To Be True That The Mexican 
   Troops Had Dispersed and Fled to The Mountains, Just As The Old 
   Arapahoe Chief Had Said They Would.  There, However, They Commenced 
   To Fortify, By Chopping away The Timber So That Their Artillery 
   Could Play To Better Advantage Upon The American Lines, And By 
   Throwing Up Temporary Breastworks.  It Was Ascertained afterward, 
   On Undoubted authority, That Armijo Had An Army Of Nearly Seven 
   Thousand Mexicans, With Six Pieces Of Artillery, And The Advantage 
   Of Ground, Yet He Allowed general Kearney, With A Force Of Less Than 
   Two Thousand, To March Through The Almost Impregnable Gorge, And On 
   To The Capital Of The Province, Without Any Attempt To Oppose Him. 
     
     
     
   Thus Was New Mexico Conquered with But Little Loss Relatively. 
   For The Further Details Of The Movements Of The Army Of The West, 
   The Reader Is Referred to General History, As This Book, Necessarily, 
   Treats Only Of That Portion Of Its March And The Incidents Connected 
   With It While Travelling The Santa Fe Trail. 
   
   
   
   Chapter VIII (The Valley Of Taos) 
   The Principal Settlement In new Mexico, Immediately After It Was 
   Reconquered from The Indians By The Spaniards, Was, Of Course, 
   Santa Fe, And Ranking Second To It, That Of The Beautiful Valle De Taos, 
   Which Derived its Name From The Taosa Indians, A Few Of Whose Direct 
   Descendants Are Still Occupying a Portion Of The Region.  As The 
   Pioneers In the Trade With Santa Fe Made Their First Journeys To 
   The Capital Of The Province By The Circuitous Route Of The Taos 
   Valley, And The Initial Consignments Of Goods From The Missouri 
   Were Disposed of In the Little Villages Scattered along The Road, 
   The Story Of The Trail Would Be Deficient In its Integrity Were The 
   Thrilling Historical Facts Connected with The Romantic Region Omitted. 
     
     
     
   The Reader Will Find On All Maps, From The Earliest Published to The 
   Latest Issued by The Local Railroads, A Town With The Name Of Taos, 
   Which Never Had An Existence.  Fernandez De Taos Is The Chief City, 
   Which Has Been Known So Long By The Title Of The Valley That Perhaps 
   The Misnomer Is Excusable After Many Years' Use. 
     
     
     
   Fernandez, Or Taos As It Is Called, Was Once Famous For Its 
   Distilleries Of Whiskey, Made Out Of The Native Wheat, A Raw, Fiery 
   Spirit, Always Known In the Days Of The Santa Fe Trade As "Taos 
   Lightning," Which Was The Most Profitable Article Of Barter With 
   The Indians, Who Exchanged their Buffalo Robes And Other Valuable 
   Furs For A Supply Of It, At A Tremendous Sacrifice. 
     
     
     
   According To The Statement Of Gregg, The First White Settler Of The 
   Fertile And Picturesque Valley Was A Spaniard Named pando, Who 
   Established himself There About 1745.  This Primitive Pioneer Of 
   The Northern Part Of The Province Was Constantly Exposed to The Raids 
   Of The Powerful Comanches, But Succeeded in creating a Temporary 
   Friendship With The Tribe By Promising His Daughter, Then A Young 
   And Beautiful Infant, To The Chief In marriage When She Arrived 
   At A Suitable Age.  At The Time For The Ratification Of Her Father'S 
   Covenant With The Indians, However, The Maiden Stubbornly Refused 
   To Fulfil Her Part.  The Savages, Enraged at The Broken Faith Of 
   The Spaniard, Immediately Swept Down Upon The Little Settlement And 
   Murdered everybody There Except The Betrothed girl, Whom They 
   Carried off Into Captivity.  She Was Forced to Live With The Chief 
   As His Wife, But He Soon Became Tired of Her And Traded her For 
   Another Woman With The Pawnees, Who, In turn, Sold Her To A Frenchman, 
   A Resident Of St. Louis.  It Is Said That Some Of The Most Respectable 
   Families Of That City Are Descended from Her, And Fifty Years Ago 
   There Were Many People Living Who Remembered the Old Lady, And Her 
   Pathetic Story Of Trials And Sufferings When With The Indians. 
     
     
     
   The Most Tragic Event In the History Of The Valley Was The Massacre 
   Of The Provisional Governor Of The Territory Of New Mexico, With 
   A Number Of Other Americans, Shortly After Its Occupation By The 
   United states. 
     
     
     
   Upon General Kearney'S Taking Possession Of Santa Fe, Acting Under 
   The Authority Of The President, He Established a Civil Government 
   And Put It Into Operation.  Charles Bent Was Appointed governor, 
   And The Other Offices Filled by Americans And Mexicans Who Were 
   Rigidly Loyal To The Political Change.  At This Time The Command 
   Of The Troops Devolved upon Colonel Sterling Price, Colonel Doniphan, 
   Who Ranked him, Having Departed from Santa Fe On An Expedition 
   Against The Navajoes.  Notwithstanding The Apparent Submission Of 
   The Natives Of New Mexico, There Were Many Malcontents Among Them 
   And The Pueblo Indians, And Early In december, Some Of The Leaders, 
   Dissatisfied with The Change In the Order Of Things, Held Secret 
   Meetings And Formulated plots To Overthrow The Existing Government. 
     
     
     
   Midnight Of The 24Th Of December Was The Time Appointed for The 
   Commencement Of Their Revolutionary Work, Which Was To Be Simultaneous 
   All Over The Country.  The Profoundest Secrecy Was To Be Preserved, 
   And The Most Influential Men, Whose Ambition Induced them To Seek 
   Preferment, Were Alone To Be Made Acquainted with The Plot.  No Woman 
   Was To Be Privy To It, Lest It Should Be Divulged.  The Sound Of 
   The Church Bell Was To Be The Signal, And At Midnight All Were To 
   Enter The Plaza At The Same Moment, Seize The Pieces Of Artillery, 
   And Point Them Into The Streets. 
     
     
     
   The Time Chosen For The Assault Was Christmas-Eve, When The Soldiers 
   And Garrison Would Be Indulging In wine And Feasting, And Scattered 
   About Through The City At The Fandangoes, Not Having Their Arms In 
   Their Hands.  All The Americans, Without Distinction, Throughout 
   The State, And Such New Mexicans As Had Favoured the American 
   Government And Accepted office By Appointment Of General Kearney, 
   Were To Be Massacred or Driven From The Country, And The Conspirators 
   Were To Seize Upon And Occupy The Government. 
     
     
     
   The Conspiracy Was Detected in the Following Manner: A Mulatto Girl, 
   Residing In santa Fe, Had Married one Of The Conspirators, And Had By 
   Degrees Obtained a Knowledge Of Their Movements And Secret Meetings. 
   To Prevent The Effusion Of Blood, Which Would Inevitably Be The Result 
   Of A Revolution, She Communicated to Colonel Price All The Facts 
   Of Which She Was In possession, And Warned him To Use The Utmost 
   Vigilance.  The Rebellion Was Immediately Suppressed, But The 
   Restless And Unsatisfied ambition Of The Leaders Of The Conspiracy 
   Did Not Long Permit Them To Remain Inactive.  A Second And Still More 
   Dangerous Conspiracy Was Formed.  The Most Powerful And Influential 
   Men In the State Favoured the Design, And Even The Officers Of State 
   And The Priests Gave Their Aid And Counsel.  The People Everywhere, 
   In The Towns, Villages, And Settlements, Were Exhorted to Arm And 
   Equip Themselves; To Strike For Their Faith, Their Religion, And 
   Their Altars; And Drive The "Heretics," The "Unjust Invaders Of 
   The Country," From Their Soil, And With Fire And Sword Pursue Them 
   To Annihilation.  On The 18Th Of January This Rebellion Broke Out 
   In Every Part Of The State Simultaneously. 
     
     
     
   On The 14Th Of January, Governor Bent, Believing The Conspiracy 
   Completely Crushed, With An Escort Of Five Persons--Among Whom Were 
   The Sheriff And Circuit Attorney--Had Left Santa Fe To Visit His 
   Family, Who Resided at Fernandez. 
     
     
     
   On The 19Th, He Was Early Roused from Sleep By The Populace, Who, 
   With The Aid Of The Pueblos Of Taos, Were Collected in front Of His 
   Dwelling Striving To Gain Admittance.  While They Were Effecting 
   An Entrance, He, With An Axe, Cut Through An Adobe Wall Into Another 
   House; And The Mexican Wife Of The Occupant, A Clever Though Shiftless 
   Canadian, Hearing Him, With All Her Strength Rendered him Assistance. 
   He Retreated to A Room, But, Seeing No Way Of Escaping From The 
   Infuriated assailants, Who Fired upon Him From A Window, He Spoke 
   To His Weeping Wife And Trembling Children, And, Taking Paper 
   From His Pocket, Endeavoured to Write; But Fast Losing Strength, 
   He Commended them To God And His Brothers And Fell, Pierced by A 
   Ball From A Pueblo.  Then Rushing In and Tearing Off His Gray-Haired 
   Scalp, The Indians Bore It Away In triumph. 
     
     
     
   The Circuit Attorney, T. W. Leal, Was Scalped alive And Dragged 
   Through The Streets, His Relentless Persecutors Pricking Him With 
   Lances.  After Hours Of Suffering, They Threw Him Aside In the 
   Inclement Weather, He Imploring Them Earnestly To Kill Him To End 
   His Misery.  A Compassionate Mexican At Last Closed the Tragic Scene 
   By Shooting Him.  Stephen Lee, Brother To The General, Was Killed 
   On His Own Housetop.  Narcisse Beaubien, Son Of The Presiding Judge 
   Of The District, Hid In an Outhouse With His Indian Slave, At The 
   Commencement Of The Massacre, Under A Straw-Covered trough. 
   The Insurgents On The Search, Thinking That They Had Escaped, 
   Were Leaving, But A Woman Servant Of The Family, Going To The 
   Housetop, Called to Them, "Kill The Young Ones, And They Will Never 
   Be Men To Trouble Us."  They Swarmed back And, By Cruelly Putting 
   To Death And Scalping Him And His Slave, Added two More To The List 
   Of Unfortunate Victims. 
     
     
     
   The Pueblos And Mexicans, After Their Cruelties At Fernandez De Taos, 
   Attacked and Destroyed turley'S Ranch On The Arroyo Hondo[27] Twelve 
   Miles From Fernandez, Or Taos.  Arroyo Hondo Runs Along The Base 
   Of A Ridge Of A Mountain Of Moderate Elevation, Which Divides The 
   Valley Of Taos From That Of The Rio Colorado, Or Red river, Both 
   Flowing Into The Del Norte.  The Trail From One Place To The Other 
   Passes Over The Mountain, Which Is Covered with Pine, Cedar, And 
   A Species Of Dwarf Oak; And Numerous Little Streams Run Through 
   The Many Canyons. 
     
     
     
   On The Bank Of One Of The Creeks Was A Mill And Distillery Belonging 
   To An American Named turley, Who Did A Thriving Business.  He Possessed 
   Herds Of Goats, And Hogs Innumerable; His Barns Were Filled with 
   Grain, His Mill With Flour, And His Cellars With Whiskey.  He Had 
   A Mexican Wife And Several Children, And He Bore The Reputation Of 
   Being One Of The Most Generous And Kind-Hearted of Men.  In times Of 
   Scarcity, No One Ever Sought His Aid To Be Turned away Empty-Handed; 
   His Granaries Were Always Open To The Hungry, And His Purse To 
   The Poor. 
     
     
     
   When On Their Road To Turley'S, The Pueblos Murdered two Men, Named 
   Harwood And Markhead.  Markhead Was One Of The Most Successful 
   Trappers And Daring Men Among The Old Mountaineers.  They Were On 
   Their Way To Taos With Their Pack-Animals Laden With Furs, When The 
   Savages, Meeting Them, After Stripping Them Of Their Goods, And 
   Securing Their Arms By Treachery, Made Them Mount Their Mules Under 
   Pretence Of Conducting Them To Taos, Where They Were To Be Given Up 
   To The Leaders Of The Insurrection.  They Had Hardly Proceeded 
   A Mile When A Mexican Rode Up Behind Harwood And Discharged his Gun 
   Into His Back; He Called out To Markhead That He Was Murdered, And 
   Fell To The Ground Dead. 
     
     
     
   Markhead, Seeing That His Own Fate Was Sealed, Made No Struggle, 
   And Was Likewise Shot In the Back With Several Bullets.  Both Men 
   Were Then Stripped naked, Scalped, And Horribly Mutilated; Their 
   Bodies Thrown Into The Brush To Be Devoured by The Wolves. 
     
     
     
   These Trappers Were Remarkable Men; Markhead, Particularly, Was 
   Celebrated in the Mountains For His Courage, Reckless Daring, And 
   Many Almost Miraculous Escapes When In the Very Hands Of The Indians. 
   When Some Years Previously He Had Accompanied sir William Drummond 
   Stewart On One Of His Expeditions Across The Rockies, It Happened 
   That A Half-Breed indian Employed by Sir William Absconded one Night 
   With Some Animals, Which Circumstance Annoyed the Nobleman So Much, 
   As It Disturbed all His Plans, That He Hastily Offered, Never Dreaming 
   That He Would Be Taken Up, To Give Five Hundred dollars For The Scalp 
   Of The Thief.  The Very Next Evening Markhead Rode Into Camp With The 
   Hair Of The Luckless Horse-Thief Dangling at The Muzzle Of His Rifle. 
     
     
     
   The Wild Crowd Of Rebels Rode On To Turley'S Mill.  Turley Had Been 
   Warned of The Impending Uprising, But Had Treated the Report With 
   Indifference, Until One Morning a Man In his Employ, Who Had Been 
   Despatched to Santa Fe With Several Mule-Loads Of Whiskey A Few Days 
   Before, Made His Appearance At The Gate On Horseback, And Hastily 
   Informing The Inmates Of The Mill That The New Mexicans Had Risen And 
   Massacred governor Bent And Other Americans, Galloped off.  Even Then 
   Turley Felt Assured that He Would Not Be Molested; But At The 
   Solicitation Of His Men, He Agreed to Close The Gate Of The Yard 
   Around Which Were The Buildings Of The Mill And Distillery, And Make 
   Preparations For Defence. 
     
     
     
   A Few Hours Afterward A Large Crowd Of Mexicans And Pueblo Indians 
   Made Their Appearance, All Armed with Guns And Bows And Arrows, And, 
   Advancing With A White Flag, Summoned turley To Surrender His House 
   And The Americans In it, Guaranteeing That His Own Life Should Be 
   Saved, But That Every Other American In the Valley Must Be Destroyed; 
   That The Governor And All The Americans At Fernandez Had Been Killed, 
   And That Not One Was To Be Left Alive In all New Mexico. 
     
     
     
   To This Summons Turley Answered that He Would Never Surrender His 
   House Nor His Men, And That If They Wanted it Or Them, They Must 
   Take Them. 
     
     
     
   The Enemy Then Drew Off, And, After A Short Consultation, Commenced 
   The Attack.  The First Day They Numbered about Five Hundred, But Were 
   Hourly Reinforced by The Arrival Of Parties Of Indians From The More 
   Distant Pueblos, And New Mexicans From Fernandez, La Canada, And 
   Other Places. 
     
     
     
   The Building Lay At The Foot Of A Gradual Slope In the Sierra, Which 
   Was Covered with Cedar Bushes.  In front Ran The Stream Of The 
   Arroyo Hondo, About Twenty Yards From One Side Of The Square, And 
   The Other Side Was Broken Ground Which Rose Abruptly And Formed 
   The Bank Of The Ravine.  In the Rear And Behind The Still-House Was 
   Some Garden Ground Enclosed by A Small Fence, Into Which A Small 
   Wicket-Gate Opened from The Corral. 
     
     
     
   As Soon As The Attack Was Determined upon, The Assailants Scattered 
   And Concealed themselves Under Cover Of The Rocks And Bushes Which 
   Surrounded the House.  From These They Kept Up An Incessant Fire Upon 
   Every Exposed portion Of The Building Where They Saw Preparations 
   For Defence. 
     
     
     
   The Americans, On Their Part, Were Not Idle; Not A Man But Was An Old 
   Mountaineer, And Each Had His Trusty Rifle, With A Good Store Of 
   Ammunition.  Whenever One Of The Besiegers Exposed a Hand'S-Breadth 
   Of His Person, A Ball From An Unerring Barrel Whistled.  The Windows 
   Had Been Blockaded, Loopholes Having Been Left, And Through These 
   A Lively Fire Was Maintained.  Already Several Of The Enemy Had 
   Bitten The Dust, And Parties Were Seen Bearing Off The Wounded up 
   The Banks Of The Canada.  Darkness Came On, And During The Night 
   A Continual Fire Was Kept Up On The Mill, Whilst Its Defenders, 
   Reserving Their Ammunition, Kept Their Posts With Stern And Silent 
   Determination.  The Night Was Spent In casting Balls, Cutting Patches, 
   And Completing The Defences Of The Building.  In the Morning The Fight 
   Was Renewed, And It Was Found That The Mexicans Had Effected a 
   Lodgment In a Part Of The Stables, Which Were Separated from The 
   Other Portions Of The Building By An Open Space Of A Few Feet. 
   The Assailants, During The Night, Had Sought To Break Down The Wall, 
   And Thus Enter The Main Building, But The Strength Of The Adobe And 
   Logs Of Which It Was Composed resisted effectually All Their Attempts. 
     
     
     
   Those In the Stable Seemed anxious To Regain The Outside, For Their 
   Position Was Unavailable As A Means Of Annoyance To The Besieged, And 
   Several Had Darted across The Narrow Space Which Divided it From The 
   Other Part Of The Building, Which Slightly Projected, And Behind 
   Which They Were Out Of The Line Of Fire.  As Soon, However, As The 
   Attention Of The Defenders Was Called to This Point, The First Man 
   Who Attempted to Cross, Who Happened to Be A Pueblo Chief, Was Dropped 
   On The Instant, And Fell Dead In the Centre Of The Intervening Space. 
   It Appeared to Be An Object To Recover The Body, For An Indian 
   Immediately Dashed out To The Fallen Chief, And Attempted to Drag Him 
   Within The Shelter Of The Wall.  The Rifle Which Covered the Spot 
   Again Poured forth Its Deadly Contents, And The Indian, Springing 
   Into The Air, Fell Over The Body Of His Chief.  Another And Another 
   Met With A Similar Fate, And At Last Three Rushed to The Spot, And, 
   Seizing The Body By The Legs And Head, Had Already Lifted it From The 
   Ground, When Three Puffs Of Smoke Blew From The Barricaded windows, 
   Followed by The Sharp Cracks Of As Many Rifles, And The Three Daring 
   Indians Were Added to The Pile Of Corpses Which Now Covered the Body 
   Of The Dead Chief. 
     
     
     
   As Yet The Besieged had Met With No Casualties; But After The Fall 
   Of The Seven Indians, The Whole Body Of The Assailants, With A Shout 
   Of Rage, Poured in a Rattling Volley, And Two Of The Defenders Fell 
   Mortally Wounded.  One, Shot Through The Loins, Suffered great Agony, 
   And Was Removed to The Still-House, Where He Was Laid On A Large 
   Pile Of Grain, As Being The Softest Bed that Could Be Found. 
     
     
     
   In The Middle Of The Day The Attack Was Renewed more Fiercely Than 
   Before.  The Little Garrison Bravely Stood To The Defence Of The Mill, 
   Never Throwing away A Shot, But Firing Coolly, And Only When A Fair 
   Mark Was Presented to Their Unerring aim.  Their Ammunition, However, 
   Was Fast Failing, And To Add To The Danger Of Their Situation, 
   The Enemy Set Fire To The Mill, Which Blazed fiercely, And Threatened 
   Destruction To The Whole Building.  Twice They Succeeded in overcoming 
   The Flames, And, While They Were Thus Occupied, The Mexicans And 
   Indians Charged into The Corral, Which Was Full Of Hogs And Sheep, 
   And Vented their Cowardly Rage Upon The Animals, Spearing and Shooting 
   All That Came In their Way.  No Sooner Were The Flames Extinguished 
   In One Place Than They Broke Out More Fiercely In another; And 
   As A Successful Defence Was Perfectly Hopeless, And The Numbers Of 
   The Assailants Increased every Moment, A Council Of War Was Held By 
   The Survivors Of The Little Garrison, When It Was Determined, 
   As Soon As Night Approached, That Every One Should Attempt To Escape 
   As Best He Could. 
     
     
     
   Just At Dusk A Man Named john Albert And Another Ran To The 
   Wicket-Gate Which Opened into A Kind Of Enclosed space, In which Were 
   A Number Of Armed mexicans.  They Both Rushed out At The Same Moment, 
   Discharging Their Rifles Full In the Face Of The Crowd.  Albert, 
   In The Confusion, Threw Himself Under The Fence, Whence He Saw His 
   Companion Shot Down Immediately, And Heard His Cries For Mercy As 
   The Cowards Pierced him With Knives And Lances.  He Lay Without Motion 
   Under The Fence, And As Soon As It Was Quite Dark He Crept Over 
   The Logs And Ran Up The Mountain, Travelled by Day And Night, And, 
   Scarcely Stopping Or Resting, Reached the Greenhorn, Almost Dead 
   With Hunger And Fatigue.  Turley Himself Succeeded in escaping From 
   The Mill And In reaching The Mountain Unseen.  Here He Met A Mexican 
   Mounted on A Horse, Who Had Been A Most Intimate Friend Of His For 
   Many Years.  To This Man Turley Offered his Watch For The Use Of The 
   Horse, Which Was Ten Times More Than It Was Worth, But Was Refused. 
   The Inhuman Wretch, However, Affected pity And Consideration For The 
   Fugitive, And Advised him To Go To A Certain Place, Where He Would 
   Bring Or Send Him Assistance; But On Reaching The Mill, Which Was 
   A Mass Of Fire, He Immediately Informed the Mexicans Of Turley'S 
   Place Of Concealment, Whither A Large Party Instantly Proceeded and 
   Shot Him To Death. 
     
     
     
   Two Others Escaped and Reached santa Fe In safety.  The Mill And 
   Turley'S House Were Sacked and Gutted, And All His Hard-Earned savings, 
   Which Were Concealed in gold About The House, Were Discovered, And, 
   Of Course, Seized upon By The Victorious Mexicans. 
     
     
     
   The Following account Is Taken From Governor Prince'S Chapter On The 
   Fight At Taos, In his Excellent And Authentic _History Of New Mexico_:-- 
     
     
     
             The Startling News Of The Assassination Of The Governor Was 
             Swiftly Carried to Santa Fe, And Reached colonel Price The 
             Next Day.  Simultaneously, Letters Were Discovered calling 
             On The People Of The Rio Abajo To Secure Albuquerque And 
             March Northward To Aid The Other Insurgents; And News 
             Speedily Followed that A United mexican And Pueblo Force Of 
             Large Magnitude Was Marching Down The Rio Grande Valley 
             Toward The Capital, Flushed with The Success Of The Revolt 
             At Taos.  Very Few Troops Were In santa Fe; In fact, The 
             Number Remaining In the Whole Territory Was Very Small, 
             And These Were Scattered at Albuquerque, Las Vegas, And 
             Other Distant Points.  At The First-Named town Were Major 
             Edmonson And Captain Burgwin; The Former In command Of The 
             Town, And The Latter With A Company Of The First Dragoons. 
     
     
     
             Colonel Price Lost No Time In taking Such Measures As His 
             Limited resources Permitted.  Edmonson Was Directed to Come 
             Immediately To Santa Fe To Take Command Of The Capital; And 
             Burgwin To Follow Price As Fast As Possible To The Scene 
             Of Hostilities.  The Colonel Himself Collected the Few 
             Troops At Santa Fe, Which Were All On Foot, But Fortunately 
             Included the Little Battalion Which Under Captain Aubrey 
             Had Made Such Extraordinary Marches On The Journey Across 
             The Plains As To Almost Outwalk The Cavalry.  With These 
             Was A Volunteer Company Formed of Nearly All Of The American 
             Inhabitants Of The City, Under The Command Of Colonel Ceran 
             St. Vrain, Who Happened to Be In santa Fe, Together With 
             Judge Beaubien, At The Time Of The Rising at Taos. 
             With This Little Force, Amounting In all To Three Hundred 
             And Ten Men, Colonel Price Started to March To Taos, Or At 
             All Events To Meet The Army Which Was Coming Toward The 
             Capital From The North And Which Grew As It Marched by 
             Constant Accessions From The Surrounding Country. 
             The City Of Santa Fe Was Left In charge Of A Garrison Under 
             Lieutenant-Colonel Willock.  While The Force Was Small 
             And The Volunteers Without Experience In regular Warfare, 
             Yet All Were Nerved to Desperation By The Belief, Since 
             The Taos Murders, That The Only Alternative Was Victory 
             Or Annihilation. 
     
     
     
             The Expedition Set Out On January 23D, And The Next Day 
             The Mexican Army, Under Command Of General Montoya As 
             Commander-In-Chief, Aided by Generals Tafoya And Chavez, 
             Was Found Occupying The Heights Commanding The Road Near 
             La Canada (Santa Cruz), With Detachments In some Strong 
             Adobe Houses Near The River Banks.  The Advance Had Been 
             Seen Shortly Before At The Rocky Pass, On The Road From 
             Pojuaque; And Near There And Before Reaching The River, The 
             San Juan Pueblo Indians, Who Had Joined the Revolutionists 
             Reluctantly And Under A Kind Of Compulsion, Surrendered and 
             Were Disarmed by Removing The Locks From Their Guns. 
             On Arriving at The Canada, Price Ordered his Howitzers To 
             The Front And Opened fire; And After A Sharp Cannonade, 
             Directed an Assault On The Nearest Houses By Aubrey'S 
             Battalion.  Meanwhile An Attempt By A Mexican Detachment 
             To Cut Off The American Baggage-Wagons, Which Had Not Yet 
             Come Up, Was Frustrated by The Activity Of St. Vrain'S 
             Volunteers.  A Charge All Along The Line Was Then Ordered 
             And Handsomely Executed; The Houses, Which, Being Of Adobe, 
             Had Been Practically So Many Ready-Made Forts, Were 
             Successively Carried, And St. Vrain Started in advance To 
             Gain The Mexican Rear.  Seeing This Manoeuvre, And Fearing 
             Its Effects, The Mexicans Retreated, Leaving Thirty-Six 
             Dead On The Field.  Among Those Killed was General Tafoya, 
             Who Bravely Remained on The Field After The Remainder Had 
             Abandoned it, And Was Shot. 
     
     
     
             Colonel Price Pressed on Up The River As Fast As Possible, 
             Passing San Juan, And At Los Luceros, On The 28Th, His 
             Little Army Was Rejoiced at The Arrival Of Reinforcements, 
             Consisting Of A Mounted company Of Cavalry, Captain Burgwin'S 
             Company, Which Had Been Pushed up By Forced marches On Foot 
             From Albuquerque, And A Six-Pounder Brought By Lieutenant 
             Wilson.  Thus Enlarged, The American Force Consisted of 
             Four Hundred and Eighty Men, And Continued its Advance Up 
             The Valley To La Joya, Which Was As Far As The River Road At 
             That Time Extended.  Meanwhile The Mexicans Had Established 
             Themselves In a Narrow Pass Near Embudo, Where The Forest 
             Was Dense, And The Road Impracticable For Wagons Or Cannon, 
             The Troops Occupying The Sides Of The Mountains On Both 
             Sides Of The Canyon.  Burgwin Was Sent With Three Companies 
             To Dislodge Them And Open A Passage--No Easy Task. 
             But St. Vrain'S Company Took The West Slope, And Another 
             The Right, While Burgwin Himself Marched through The Gorge 
             Between.  The Sharp-Shooting Of These Troops Did Such 
             Terrible Execution That The Pass Was Soon Cleared, Though 
             Not Without The Display Of Great Heroism, And Some Loss; 
             And The Americans Entered embudo Without Further Opposition. 
             The Difficulties Of This Campaign Were Greatly Increased by 
             The Severity Of The Weather, The Mountains Being Thickly 
             Covered with Snow, And The Cold So Intense That A Number 
             Of Men Were Frost-Bitten And Disabled.  The Next Day Burgwin 
             Reached las Trampas, Where Price Arrived with The Remainder 
             Of The American Army On The Last Day Of January, And All 
             Together They Marched into Chamisal. 
     
     
     
             Notwithstanding The Cold And Snow They Pressed on Over The 
             Mountain, And On The 3D Of February Reached the Town Of 
             Fernandez De Taos, Only To Find That The Mexican And Pueblo 
             Force Had Fortified itself In the Celebrated pueblo Of Taos, 
             About Three Miles Distant.  That Force Had Diminished 
             Considerably During The Retreat From La Canada, Many Of The 
             Mexicans Returning To Their Homes, And Its Greater Part 
             Now Consisting Of Pueblo Indians.  The American Troops Were 
             Worn Out With Fatigue And Exposure, And In most Urgent Need 
             Of Rest; But Their Intrepid Commander, Desiring To Give His 
             Opponents No More Time To Strengthen Their Works, And Full 
             Of Zeal And Energy, If Not Of Prudence, Determined to 
             Commence An Immediate Attack. 
     
     
     
             The Two Great Buildings At This Pueblo, Certainly The Most 
             Interesting and Extraordinary Inhabited structures In 
             America, Are Well Known From Descriptions And Engravings. 
             They Are Five Stories High And Irregularly Pyramidal In 
             Shape, Each Story Being Smaller Than The One Below, In order 
             To Allow Ingress To The Outer Rooms Of Each Tier From The 
             Roofs.  Before The Advent Of Artillery These Buildings Were 
             Practically Impregnable, As, When The Exterior Ladders Were 
             Drawn Up, There Were No Means Of Ingress, The Side Walls 
             Being Solid Without Openings, And Of Immense Thickness. 
             Between These Great Buildings, Each Of Which Can Accommodate 
             A Multitude Of Men, Runs The Clear Water Of The Taos Creek; 
             And To The West Of The Northerly Building Stood The Old 
             Church, With Walls Of Adobe From Three To Seven And A Half 
             Feet In thickness.  Outside Of All, And Having Its Northwest 
             Corner Just Beyond The Church, Ran An Adobe Wall, Built For 
             Protection Against Hostile Indians And Which Now Answered 
             For An Outer Earthwork.  The Church Was Turned into A 
             Fortification, And Was The Point Where The Insurgents 
             Concentrated their Strength; And Against This Colonel Price 
             Directed his Principal Attack.  The Six-Pounder And The 
             Howitzer Were Brought Into Position Without Delay, Under 
             The Command Of Lieutenant Dyer, Then A Young Graduate Of 
             West Point, And Since Then Chief Of Ordnance Of The 
             United states Army, And Opened a Fire On The Thick Adobe 
             Walls.  But Cannon-Balls Made Little Impression On The 
             Massive Banks Of Earth, In which They Embedded themselves 
             Without Doing Damage; And After A Fire Of Two Hours, 
             The Battery Was Withdrawn, And The Troops Allowed to Return 
             To The Town Of Taos For Their Much-Needed rest. 
     
     
     
             Early The Next Morning, The Troops, Now Refreshed and Ready 
             For The Combat, Advanced again To The Pueblo, But Found 
             Those Within Equally Prepared.  The Story Of The Attack And 
             Capture Of This Place Is So Interesting, Both On Account 
             Of The Meeting Here Of Old And New Systems Of Warfare--Of 
             Modern Artillery With An Aboriginal Stronghold--And Because 
             The Precise Localities Can Be Distinguished by The Modern 
             Tourist From The Description, That It Seems Best To Insert 
             The Official Report As Presented by Colonel Price. 
             Nothing Could Show More Plainly How Superior Strong 
             Earthworks Are To Many More Ambitious Structures Of Defence, 
             Or More Forcibly Display The Courage And Heroism Of Those 
             Who Took Part In the Battle, Or The Signal Bravery Of The 
             Accomplished captain Burgwin Which Led to His Untimely Death. 
             Colonel Price Writes: 
     
     
     
             "Posting The Dragoons Under Captain Burgwin About Two 
             Hundred and Sixty Yards From The Western Flank Of The Church, 
             I Ordered the Mounted men Under Captains St. Vrain And Slack 
             To A Position On The Opposite Side Of The Town, Whence They 
             Could Discover And Intercept Any Fugitives Who Might Attempt 
             To Escape Toward The Mountains, Or In the Direction Of 
             San Fernando.  The Residue Of The Troops Took Ground About 
             Three Hundred yards From The North Wall.  Here, Too, 
             Lieutenant Dyer Established himself With The Six-Pounder 
             And Two Howitzers, While Lieutenant Hassendaubel, Of Major 
             Clark'S Battalion, Light Artillery, Remained with Captain 
             Burgwin, In command Of Two Howitzers.  By This Arrangement 
             A Cross-Fire Was Obtained, Sweeping The Front And Eastern 
             Flank Of The Church.  All These Arrangements Being Made, 
             The Batteries Opened upon The Town At Nine O'Clock A.M. 
             At Eleven O'Clock, Finding It Impossible To Breach The 
             Walls Of The Church With The Six-Pounder And Howitzers, 
             I Determined to Storm The Building.  At A Signal, Captain 
             Burgwin, At The Head Of His Own Company And That Of Captain 
             Mcmillin, Charged the Western Flank Of The Church, While 
             Captain Aubrey, Infantry Battalion, And Captain Barber And 
             Lieutenant Boon, Second Missouri Mounted volunteers, Charged 
             The Northern Wall.  As Soon As The Troops Above Mentioned 
             Had Established themselves Under The Western Wall Of The 
             Church, Axes Were Used in the Attempt To Breach It, And A 
             Temporary Ladder Having Been Made, The Roof Was Fired. 
             About This Time, Captain Burgwin, At The Head Of A Small 
             Party, Left The Cover Afforded by The Flank Of The Church, 
             And Penetrating Into The Corral In front Of That Building, 
             Endeavoured to Force The Door.  In this Exposed situation, 
             Captain Burgwin Received a Severe Wound, Which Deprived me 
             Of His Valuable Services, And Of Which He Died on The 
             7Th Instant.  Lieutenants Mcilvaine, First United states 
             Dragoons, And Royall And Lackland, Second Regiment 
             Volunteers, Accompanied captain Burgwin Into The Corral, 
             But The Attempt On The Church Door Proved fruitless, And 
             They Were Compelled to Retire Behind The Wall.  In the 
             Meantime, Small Holes Had Been Cut In the Western Wall, And 
             Shells Were Thrown In by Hand, Doing Good Execution. 
             The Six-Pounder Was Now Brought Around By Lieutenant Wilson, 
             Who, At The Distance Of Two Hundred yards, Poured a Heavy 
             Fire Of Grape Into The Town.  The Enemy, During all Of 
             This Time, Kept Up A Destructive Fire Upon Our Troops. 
             About Half-Past Three O'Clock, The Six-Pounder Was Run Up 
             Within Sixty Yards Of The Church, And After Ten Rounds, 
             One Of The Holes Which Had Been Cut With The Axes Was 
             Widened into A Practicable Breach.  The Storming Party, 
             Among Whom Were Lieutenant Dyer, Of The Ordnance, And 
             Lieutenant Wilson And Taylor, First Dragoons, Entered and 
             Took Possession Of The Church Without Opposition. 
             The Interior Was Filled with Dense Smoke, But For Which 
             Circumstance Our Storming Party Would Have Suffered great 
             Loss.  A Few Of The Enemy Were Seen In the Gallery, 
             Where An Open Door Admitted the Air, But They Retired 
             Without Firing a Gun.  The Troops Left To Support The 
             Battery On The North Side Were Now Ordered to Charge On 
             That Side. 
     
     
     
             "The Enemy Then Abandoned the Western Part Of The Town. 
             Many Took Refuge In the Large Houses On The East, While 
             Others Endeavoured to Escape Toward The Mountains. 
             These Latter Were Pursued by The Mounted men Under Captains 
             Slack And St. Vrain, Who Killed fifty-One Of Them, Only Two 
             Or Three Men Escaping.  It Was Now Night, And Our Troops 
             Were Quietly Quartered in the House Which The Enemy Had 
             Abandoned.  On The Next Morning The Enemy Sued for Peace, 
             And Thinking The Severe Loss They Had Sustained would Prove 
             A Salutary Lesson, I Granted their Supplication, On The 
             Condition That They Should Deliver Up To Me Tomas, One Of 
             Their Principal Men, Who Had Instigated and Been Actively 
             Engaged in the Murder Of Governor Bent And Others. 
             The Number Of The Enemy At The Battle Of Pueblo De Taos 
             Was Between Six And Seven Hundred, And Of These One Hundred 
             And Fifty Were Killed, Wounded not Known.  Our Own Loss Was 
             Seven Killed and Forty-Five Wounded; Many Of The Wounded 
             Have Since Died." 
     
     
     
             The Capture Of The Taos Pueblo Practically Ended the Main 
             Attempt To Expel The Americans From The Territory. 
             Governor Montoya, Who Was A Very Influential Man In the 
             Conspiracy And Styled himself The "Santa Ana Of The North," 
             Was Tried by Court-Martial, Convicted, And Executed on 
             February 7Th, In the Presence Of The Army.  Fourteen Others 
             Were Tried for Participating In the Murder Of Governor Bent 
             And The Others Who Were Killed on The 19Th Of January, And 
             Were Convicted and Executed.  Thus, Fifteen In all Were 
             Hung, Being an Equal Number To Those Murdered at Taos, The 
             Arroyo Hondo, And Rio Colorado.  Of These, Eight Were 
             Mexicans And Seven Were Pueblo Indians.  Several More Were 
             Sentenced to Be Hung For Treason, But The President Very 
             Properly Pardoned them, On The Ground That Treason Against 
             The United states Was Not A Crime Of Which A Mexican 
             Citizen Could Be Found Guilty, While His Country Was 
             Actually At War With The United states. 
     
     
     
   There Are Several Thrilling, As Well As Laughable, Incidents Connected 
   With The Taos Massacre, And The Succeeding Trial Of The Insurrectionists; 
   In Regard To Which I Shall Quote Freely From _Wah-To-Yah_, Whose 
   Author, Mr. Lewis H. Garrard, Accompanied colonel St. Vrain Across 
   The Plains In 1846, And Was Present At The Trial And Execution Of 
   The Convicted participants. 
     
     
     
   One Fitzgerald, Who Was A Private In captain Burgwin'S Company Of 
   Dragoons, In the Fight At The Pueblo De Taos, Killed three Mexicans 
   With His Own Hand, And Performed heroic Work With The Bombs That Were 
   Thrown Into That Strong Indian Fortress.  He Was A Man Of Good Feeling, 
   But His Brother Having Been Killed, Or Rather Murdered by Salazar, 
   While A Prisoner In the Texan Expedition Against Santa Fe, He Swore 
   Vengeance, And Entered the Service With The Hope Of Accomplishing It. 
   The Day Following The Fight At The Pueblo, He Walked up To The 
   Alcalde, And Deliberately Shot Him Down.  For This Act He Was Confined 
   To Await A Trial For Murder. 
     
     
     
   One Raw Night, Complaining Of Cold To His Guard, Wood Was Brought, 
   Which He Piled up In the Middle Of The Room.  Then Mounting That, 
   And Succeeding In breaking Through The Roof, He Noiselessly Crept 
   To The Eaves, Below Which A Sentinel, Wrapped in a Heavy Cloak, Paced 
   To And Fro, To Prevent His Escape.  He Watched until The Guard'S Back 
   Was Turned, Then Swung Himself From The Wall, And With As Much Ease 
   As Possible, Walked to A Mess-Fire, Where His Friends In waiting 
   Supplied him With A Pistol And Clothing.  When Day Broke, The Town 
   Of Fernandez Lay Far Beneath Him In the Valley, And Two Days After 
   He Was Safe In our Camp. 
     
     
     
   Many A Hand-To-Hand Encounter Ensued during The Fight At Taos, 
   One Of Which Was By Colonel Ceran St. Vrain, Whom I Knew Intimately; 
   A Grand Old Gentleman, Now Sleeping Peacefully In the Quaint Little 
   Graveyard At Mora, New Mexico, Where He Resided for Many Years. 
   The Gallant Colonel, While Riding along, Noticed an Indian With Whom 
   He Was Well Acquainted lying Stretched out On The Ground As If Dead. 
   Confident That This Particular Red devil Had Been Especially Prominent 
   In The Hellish Acts Of The Massacre, The Colonel Dismounted from 
   His Pony To Satisfy Himself Whether The Savage Was Really Dead Or 
   Only Shamming.  He Was Far From Being a Corpse, For The Colonel Had 
   Scarcely Reached the Spot, When The Indian Jumped to His Feet And 
   Attempted to Run A Long, Steel-Pointed lance Through The Officer'S 
   Shoulder.  Colonel St. Vrain Was A Large, Powerfully Built Man; 
   So Was The Indian, I Have Been Told.  As Each Of The Struggling 
   Combatants Endeavoured to Get The Better Of The Other, With The 
   Savage Having a Little The Advantage, Perhaps, It Appears That 
   "Uncle Dick" Wooton, Who Was In the Chase After The Rebels, Happened 
   To Arrive On The Scene, And Hitting The Indian A Terrific Blow On 
   The Head With His Axe, Settled the Question As To His Being a Corpse. 
     
     
     
   Court For The Trial Of The Insurrectionists Assembled at Nine O'Clock. 
   On Entering The Room, Judges Beaubien And Houghton Were Occupying 
   Their Official Positions.  After Many Dry Preliminaries, Six Prisoners 
   Were Brought In--Ill-Favoured, Half-Scared, Sullen Fellows; And The 
   Jury Of Mexicans And Americans Having Been Empanelled, The Trial 
   Commenced.  It Certainly Did Appear To Be A Great Assumption On The 
   Part Of The Americans To Conquer A Country, And Then Arraign The 
   Revolting Inhabitants For Treason.  American Judges Sat On The Bench. 
   New Mexicans And Americans Filled the Jury-Box, And American Soldiery 
   Guarded the Halls.  It Was A Strange Mixture Of Violence And Justice-- 
   A Middle Ground Between The Martial And Common Law. 
     
     
     
   After An Absence Of A Few Minutes, The Jury Returned with A Verdict 
   Of "Guilty In the First Degree"--Five For Murder, One For Treason. 
   Treason, Indeed!  What Did The Poor Devil Know About His New 
   Allegiance?  But So It Was; And As The Jail Was Overstocked with 
   Others Awaiting Trial, It Was Deemed expedient To Hasten The Execution, 
   And The Culprits Were Sentenced to Be Hung On The Following Friday-- 
   Hangman'S Day. 
     
     
     
   Court Was Daily In session; Five More Indians And Four Mexicans 
   Were Sentenced to Be Hung On The 30Th Of April.  In the Court Room, 
   On The Occasion Of The Trial Of These Nine Prisoners, Were Senora Bent 
   The Late Governor'S Wife, And Senora Boggs, Giving Their Evidence In 
   Regard To The Massacre, Of Which They Were Eye-Witnesses.  Mrs. Bent 
   Was Quite Handsome; A Few Years Previously She Must Have Been A 
   Beautiful Woman.  The Wife Of The Renowned kit Carson Also Was In 
   Attendance.  Her Style Of Beauty Was Of The Haughty, Heart-Breaking 
   Kind--Such As Would Lead A Man, With A Glance Of The Eye, To Risk 
   His Life For One Smile. 
     
     
     
   The Court Room Was A Small, Oblong Apartment, Dimly Lighted by Two 
   Narrow Windows; A Thin Railing Keeping The Bystanders From Contact 
   With The Functionaries.  The Prisoners Faced the Judges, And The 
   Three Witnesses--Senoras Bent, Boggs, And Carson--Were Close To Them 
   On A Bench By The Wall.  When Mrs. Bent Gave Her Testimony, The Eyes 
   Of The Culprits Were Fixed sternly Upon Her; When She Pointed out 
   The Indian Who Had Killed the Governor, Not A Muscle Of The Chief'S 
   Face Twitched or Betrayed agitation, Though He Was Aware Her Evidence 
   Settled his Death Warrant; He Sat With Lips Gently Closed, Eyes 
   Earnestly Fixed on Her, Without A Show Of Malice Or Hatred--A Spectacle 
   Of Indian Fortitude, And Of The Severe Mastery To Which The Emotions 
   Can Be Subjected. 
     
     
     
   Among The Jurors Was A Trapper Named baptiste Brown, A Frenchman, 
   As Were The Majority Of The Trappers In the Early Days Of The Border. 
   He Was An Exceptionally Kind-Hearted man When He First Came To The 
   Mountains, And Seriously Inclined to Regard The Indians With That 
   Mistaken Sentimentality Characterizing The Average New England 
   Philanthropist, Who Has Never Seen The Untutored savage On His Native 
   Heath.  His Ideas, However, Underwent A Marked change As The Years 
   Rolled on And He Became More Familiar With The Attributes Of The 
   Noble Red man.  He Was With Kit Carson In the Blackfeet Country 
   Many Years Before The Taos Massacre, When His Convictions Were Thus 
   Modified, And It Was From The Famous Frontiersman Himself I Learned 
   The Story Of Baptiste'S Conversion. 
     
     
     
   It Was Late One Night In their Camp On One Of The Many Creeks In the 
   Blackfoot Region, Where They Had Been Established for Several Weeks, 
   And Baptiste Was On Duty, Guarding Their Meat And Furs From The 
   Incursions Of A Too Inquisitive Grizzly That Had Been Prowling around, 
   And The Impertinent Investigations Of The Wolves.  His Attention Was 
   Attracted to Something High Up In a Neighbouring Tree, That Seemed 
   Restless, Changing Its Position Constantly Like An Animal Of Prey. 
   The Frenchman Drew A Bead Upon It, And There Came Tumbling Down At His 
   Feet A Dead Savage, With His War-Paint And Other Indian Paraphernalia 
   Adorning His Body.  Baptiste Was Terribly Hurt Over The Circumstance 
   Of Having Killed an Indian, And It Grieved him For A Long Time. 
   One Day, A Month After The Incident, He Was Riding alone Far Away 
   From Our Party, And Out Of Sound Of Their Rifles As Well, When A Band 
   Of Blackfeet Discovered him And Started for His Scalp.  He Had No 
   Possible Chance For Escape Except By The Endurance Of His Horse; 
   So A Race For Life Began.  He Experienced no Trouble In keeping Out 
   Of The Way Of Their Arrows--The Indians Had No Guns Then--And Hoped 
   To Make Camp Before They Could Possibly Wear Out His Horse.  Just As 
   He Was Congratulating Himself On His Luck, Right In front Of Him 
   There Suddenly Appeared a Great Gorge, And Not Daring To Stop Or To 
   Turn To The Right Or Left, The Only Thing To Do Was To Make His Animal 
   Jump It.  It Was His Only Chance; It Was Death If He Missed it, And 
   Death By The Most Horrible Torture If The Indians Captured him. 
   So He Drove His Heels Into His Horse'S Sides, And Essayed the 
   Awful Leap.  His Willing animal Made A Desperate Effort To Carry Out 
   The Desire Of His Daring Rider, But The Dizzy Chasm Was Too Wide, 
   And The Pursuing Savages Saw Both Horse And The Coveted white Man 
   Dash To The Bottom Of The Frightful Canyon Together.  Believing That 
   Their Hated enemy Had Eluded them Forever, They Rode Back On Their 
   Trail, Disgusted and Chagrined, Without Even Taking The Trouble Of 
   Looking Over The Precipice To Learn The Fate Of Baptiste. 
     
     
     
   The Horse Was Instantly Killed, And The Frenchman Had Both Of His Legs 
   Badly Broken.  Far From Camp, With The Indians In close Proximity, 
   He Did Not Dare Discharge His Rifle--The Usual Signal When A Trapper 
   Is Lost Or In danger--Or To Make Any Demonstration, So He Was 
   Compelled to Lie There And Suffer, Hoping That His Comrades, 
   Missing Him, Would Start Out To Search For Him.  They Did So, 
   But More Than Twenty-Four Hours Had Elapsed before They Found Him, 
   As The Bottom Of The Canyon Was The Last Place They Thought Of. 
     
     
     
   Doctors, In the Wild Region Where Their Camp Was Located, Were As 
   Impossible As Angels; So His Companions Set His Broken Bones As Well 
   As They Could, While Baptiste Suffered excruciating Torture. 
   When They Had Completed their Crude Surgery, They Improvised a Litter 
   Of Poles, And Rigged it On A Couple Of Pack-Mules, And Thus Carried 
   Him Around With Them From Camp To Camp Until He Recovered--A Period 
   Extending Over Three Months. 
     
     
     
   This Affair Completely Cured baptiste Of His Original Sentimentality 
   In Relation To The Indian, And He Became One Of Their Worst Haters. 
     
     
     
   When Acting as A Juror In the Trials Of Rebel Mexicans And Indians, 
   He Was Asleep Half The Time, And Never Heard Much Of The Evidence, 
   And That Portion Which He Did Was So Much Greek To Him.  In the Last 
   Nine Cases, In which The Indian Who Had Murdered governor Bent 
   Was Tried, Baptiste, As Soon As The Jury Room Was Closed, Sang Out: 
   "Hang 'Em, Hang 'Em, Sacre Enfans Des Garces, Dey Dam Gran Rascale!" 
   "But Wait," Suggested one Of The Cooler Members; "Let'S Look At The 
   Evidence And Find Out Whether They Are Really Guilty."  Upon This 
   Wise Caution, Baptiste Got Greatly Excited, Paced the Floor, And 
   Cried out: "Hang De Indian Anyhow; He May Not Be Guilty Now--Mais He 
   Vare Soon Will Be.  Hang 'Em All, Parceque Dey Kill Monsieur Charles; 
   Dey Take Son Topknot, Vot You Call Im--Scalp.  Hang 'Em, Hang 'Em-- 
   Sa-A-Cre-E!" 
     
     
     
   On Friday The 9Th, The Day For The Execution, The Sky Was Unspotted, 
   Save By Hastily Fleeting Clouds; And As The Rising Sun Loomed over 
   The Taos Mountain, The Bright Rays, Shining On The Yellow And White 
   Mud-Houses, Reflected cheerful Hues, While The Shades Of The Toppling 
   Peaks, Receding From The Plain Beneath, Drew Within Themselves. 
   The Humble Valley Wore An Air Of Calm Repose.  The Plaza Was Deserted; 
   Woe-Begone Burros Drawled forth Sacrilegious Brays, As The Warm 
   Sunbeams Roused them From Hard, Grassless Ground, To Scent Their 
   Breakfast Among Straw And Bones. 
     
     
     
   Poor Mexicans Hurried to And Fro, Casting Suspicious Glances Around; 
   Los Yankees At El Casa Americano Drank Their Juleps, And Puffed their 
   Cigarettes In silence. 
     
     
     
   The Sheriff, Metcalf, Formerly A Mountaineer, Was In want Of The 
   Wherewithal To Hang The Condemned criminals, So He Borrowed some 
   Rawhide Lariats And Picket-Ropes Of A Teamster. 
     
     
     
   "Hello, Met," Said One Of The Party Present, "These Reatas Are Mighty 
   Stiff--Won'T Fit; Eh, Old Feller?" 
     
     
     
   "I'Ve Got Something To Make 'Em Fit--Good 'Intment--Don'T Emit Very 
   Sweet Perfume; But Good Enough For Greasers," Said The Sheriff, 
   Producing a Dollar'S Worth Of Mexican Soft Soap.  "This'Ll Make 'Em 
   Slip Easy--A Long Ways Too Easy For Them, I 'Spect." 
     
     
     
   The Prison Apartment Was A Long Chilly Room, Badly Ventilated by 
   One Small Window And The Open Door, Through Which The Sun Lit Up The 
   Earth Floor, And Through Which The Poor Prisoners Wistfully Gazed. 
   Two Muscular Mexicans Basked in its Genial Warmth, A Tattered serape 
   Interposing Between Them And The Ground.  The Ends, Once Fringed but 
   Now Clear Of Pristine Ornament, Were Partly Drawn Over Their Breasts, 
   Disclosing In the Openings Of Their Fancifully Colored shirts 
   --Now Glazed with Filth And Faded with Perspiration--The Bare Skin, 
   Covered with Straight Black Hair.  With Hands Under Their Heads, 
   In The Mass Of Stringy Locks Rusty-Brown From Neglect, They Returned 
   The Looks Of Their Executioners With An Unmeaning Stare, And 
   Unheedingly Received the Salutation Of--"Como Le Va!" 
     
     
     
   Along The Sides Of The Room, Leaning against The Walls, Were Crowded 
   The Poor Wretches, Miserable In dress, Miserable In features, 
   Miserable In feelings--A More Disgusting Collection Of Ragged, Greasy, 
   Unwashed prisoners Were, Probably, Never Before Congregated within 
   So Small A Space As The Jail Of Taos. 
     
     
     
   About Nine O'Clock, Active Preparations Were Made For The Execution, 
   And The Soldiery Mustered.  Reverend Padres In long Black Gowns, 
   With Meek Countenances, Passed the Sentinels, Intent On Spiritual 
   Consolation, Or The Administration Of The Blessed sacrament. 
     
     
     
   Lieutenant-Colonel Willock, Commanding The Military, Ordered every 
   American Under Arms.  The Prison Was At The Edge Of The Town; 
   No Houses Intervened between It And The Fields To The North. 
   One Hundred and Fifty Yards Distant, A Gallows Was Erected. 
     
     
     
   The Word Was Passed, At Last, That The Criminals Were Coming. 
   Eighteen Soldiers Received them At The Gate, With Their Muskets At 
   "Port Arms"; The Six Abreast, With The Sheriff On The Right-- 
   Nine Soldiers On Each Side. 
     
     
     
   The Poor Prisoners Marched slowly, With Downcast Eyes, Arms Tied 
   Behind, And Bare Heads, With The Exception Of White Cotton Caps 
   Stuck On The Back, To Be Pulled over The Face As The Last Ceremony. 
     
     
     
   The Roofs Of The Houses In the Vicinity Were Covered with Women And 
   Children, To Witness The First Execution By Hanging In the Valley 
   Of Taos, Save That Of Montojo, The Insurgent Leader.  No Men Were 
   Near; A Few Stood Afar Off, Moodily Looking On. 
     
     
     
   On The Flat Jail Roof Was Placed a Mountain Howitzer, Loaded and 
   Ranging The Gallows.  Near Was The Complement Of Men To Serve It, 
   One Holding In his Hand A Lighted match.  The Two Hundred and Thirty 
   Soldiers, Less The Eighteen Forming The Guard, Were Paraded in front 
   Of The Jail, And In sight Of The Gibbet, So As To Secure The Prisoners 
   Awaiting Trial.  Lieutenant-Colonel Willock, On A Handsome Charger, 
   Commanded a View Of The Whole. 
     
     
     
   When Within Fifteen Paces Of The Gallows, The Side-Guard, Filing Off 
   To The Right, Formed, At Regular Distances From Each Other, Three 
   Sides Of A Hollow Square; The Mountaineers Composed the Fourth And 
   Front Side, In full View Of The Trembling Prisoners, Who Marched up To 
   The Tree Under Which Was A Government Wagon, With Two Mules Attached. 
   The Driver And Sheriff Assisted them In, Ranging Them On A Board, 
   Placed across The Hinder End, Which Maintained its Balance, As They 
   Were Six--An Even Number--Two On Each Extremity, And Two In the Middle. 
   The Gallows Was So Narrow That They Touched.  The Ropes, By Reason 
   Of Their Size And Stiffness, Despite The Soaping Given Them, Were 
   Adjusted with Difficulty; But Through The Indefatigable Efforts 
   Of The Sheriff And A Lieutenant Who Had Accompanied him, All 
   Preliminaries Were Arranged, Although The Blue Uniform Looked sadly 
   Out Of Place On A Hangman. 
     
     
     
   With Rifles At A "Shoulder," The Military Awaited the Consummation 
   Of The Tragedy.  There Was No Crowd Around To Disturb; A Death-Like 
   Stillness Prevailed.  The Spectators On The Roofs Seemed scarcely 
   To Move--Their Eyes Were Directed to The Doomed wretches, With Harsh 
   Halters Now Encircling Their Necks. 
     
     
     
   The Sheriff And His Assistant Sat Down; After A Few Moments Of 
   Intense Expectation, The Heart-Wrung Victims Said A Few Words To 
   Their People.  Only One Of Them Admitted he Had Committed murder 
   And Deserved death.  In their Brief But Earnest Appeals, The Words 
   "Mi Padre, Mi Madre"--"My Father, My Mother"--Were Prominent. 
   The One Sentenced for Treason Showed a Spirit Of Patriotism Worthy 
   Of The Cause For Which He Died--The Liberty Of His Country; And 
   Instead Of The Cringing Recantation Of The Others, His Speech Was 
   A Firm Asseveration Of His Own Innocence, The Unjustness Of His Trial, 
   And The Arbitrary Conduct Of His Murderers.  As The Cap Was Pulled 
   Over His Face, The Last Words He Uttered between His Teeth With 
   A Scowl Were "Carajo, Los Americanos!" 
     
     
     
   At A Word From The Sheriff, The Mules Were Started, And The Wagon 
   Drawn From Under The Tree.  No Fall Was Given, And Their Feet Remained 
   On The Board Till The Ropes Drew Tight.  The Bodies Swayed back And 
   Forth, And While Thus Swinging, The Hands Of Two Came Together With 
   A Firm Grasp Till The Muscles Loosened in death. 
     
     
     
   After Forty Minutes' Suspension, Colonel Willock Ordered his Command 
   To Quarters, And The Howitzer To Be Taken From Its Place On The Roof 
   Of The Jail.  The Soldiers Were Called away; The Women And Population 
   In General Collecting around The Rear Guard Which The Sheriff Had 
   Retained for Protection While Delivering The Dead To Their Weeping 
   Relatives. 
     
     
     
   While Cutting a Rope From One Man'S Neck--For It Was In a Hard Knot-- 
   The Owner, A Government Teamster Standing By Waiting, Shouted angrily, 
   At The Same Time Stepping Forward: 
     
     
     
   "Hello There! Don'T Cut That Rope; I Won'T Have Anything To Tie 
   My Mules With." 
     
     
     
   "Oh! You Darned fool," Interposed a Mountaineer, "The Dead Men'S 
   Ghosts Will Be After You If You Use Them Lariats--Wagh!  They'Ll Make 
   Meat Of You Sartain." 
     
     
     
   "Well, I Don'T Care If They Do.  I'M In government Service; And If 
   Them Picket-Halters Was Gone, Slap Down Goes A Dollar Apiece. 
   Money'S Scarce In these Diggin'S, And I'M Going To Save All I Kin 
   To Take Home To The Old Woman And Boys." 
   
   
   
   Chapter IX (First Overland Mail) 
   On The Summit Of One Of The Highest Plateaus Bordering The Missouri 
   River, Surrounded by A Rich Expanse Of Foliage, Lies Independence, 
   The Beautiful Residence Suburb Of Kansas City, Only Ten Miles Distant. 
     
     
     
   Tradition Tells That Early In this Century There Were A Few Pioneers 
   Camping at Long Distances From Each Other In the Seemingly 
   Interminable Woods; In summer Engaged in hunting The Deer, Elk, And 
   Bear, And In winter In trapping.  It Is A Well-Known Fact That 
   The Big Blue Was Once A Favourite Resort Of The Beaver, And That 
   Even Later Their Presence In great Numbers Attracted many A Veteran 
   Trapper To Its Waters. 
     
     
     
   Before That Period The Quaint Old Cities Of Far-Off Mexico Were 
   Forbidden To Foreign Traders, Excepting To The Favoured few Who Were 
   Successful In obtaining Permits From The Spanish Government.  In 1821, 
   However, The Rebellion Of Iturbide Crushed the Power Of The Mother 
   Country, And Established the Freedom Of Mexico.  The Embargo Upon 
   Foreign Trade Was At Once Removed, And The Santa Fe Trail, For Untold 
   Ages Only A Simple Trace Across The Continent, Became The Busy Highway 
   Of A Relatively Great Commerce. 
     
     
     
   In 1817 The Navigation Of The Mississippi River Was Begun.  On The 2D 
   Of August Of That Year The Steamer _General Pike_ Arrived at St. Louis. 
   The First Boat To Ascend The Missouri River Was The _Independence_; 
   She Passed franklin On The 28Th Of May, 1819, Where A Dinner Was Given 
   To Her Officers.  In the Same And The Following Month Of That Year, 
   The Steamers _Western Engineer Expedition_ And _R. M. Johnson_ Came 
   Along, Carrying Major Long'S Scientific Exploring Party, Bound For 
   The Yellowstone. 
     
     
     
   The Santa Fe Trade Having Been Inaugurated shortly After These 
   Important Events, Those Engaged in it Soon Realized the Benefits 
   Of River Navigation--For It Enabled them To Shorten The Distance 
   Which Their Wagons Had To Travel In going across The Plains--And 
   They Began To Look Out For A Suitable Place As A Shipping and 
   Outfitting Point Higher Up The River Than Franklin, Which Had Been 
   The Initial Starting Town. 
     
     
     
   By 1827 Trading-Posts Had Been Established at Blue Mills, Fort Osage, 
   And Independence.  The First-Mentioned place, Which Is Situated about 
   Six Miles Below Independence, Soon Became The Favourite Landing, 
   And The Exchange From Wagons To Boats Settled and Defied all Efforts 
   To Remove The Headquarters Of The Trade From There For Several Years. 
   Independence, However, Being The County Seat And The Larger Place, 
   Succeeded in its Claims To Be The More Suitable Locality, And As 
   Early As 1832 It Was Recognized as The American Headquarters And The 
   Great Outfitting Point For The Santa Fe Commerce, Which It Continued 
   To Be Until 1846, When The Traffic Was Temporarily Suspended by The 
   Breaking Out Of The Mexican War. 
     
     
     
   Independence Was Not Only The Principal Outfitting Point For The 
   Santa Fe Traders, But Also That Of The Great Fur Companies.  That 
   Powerful Association Used to Send Out Larger Pack-Trains Than Any 
   Other Parties Engaged in the Traffic To The Rocky Mountains; 
   They Also Employed wagons Drawn By Mules, And Loaded with Goods For 
   The Indians With Whom Their Agents Bartered, Which Also On Their 
   Return Trip Transported the Skins And Pelts Of Animals Procured from 
   The Savages.  The Articles Intended for The Indian Trade Were 
   Always Purchased in st. Louis, And Usually Shipped to Independence, 
   Consigned to The Firm Of Aull And Company, Who Outfitted the Traders 
   With Mules And Provisions, And In fact Anything Else Required by Them. 
     
     
     
   Several Individual Traders Would Frequently Form Joint Caravans, 
   And Travel In company For Mutual Protection From The Indians.  After 
   Having Reached a Fifty-Mile Limit From The State Line, Each Trader 
   Had Control Of His Own Men; Each Took Care Of A Certain Number Of 
   The Pack-Animals, Loaded and Unloaded them In camp, And Had General 
   Supervision Of Them. 
     
     
     
   Frequently There Would Be Three Hundred mules In a Single Caravan, 
   Carrying Three Hundred pounds Apiece, And Very Large Animals More. 
   Thousands Of Wagons Were Also Sent Out From Independence Annually, 
   Each Drawn By Twelve Mules Or Six Yoke Of Oxen, And Loaded with 
   General Merchandise. 
     
     
     
   There Were No Packing Houses In those Days Nearer Than St. Louis, 
   And The Bacon And Beef Used in the Santa Fe Trade Were Furnished by 
   The Farmers Of The Surrounding Country, Who Killed their Meat, 
   Cured it, And Transported it To The Town Where They Sold It. 
   Their Wheat Was Also Ground At The Local Mills, And They Brought 
   The Flour To Market, Together With Corn, Dried fruit, Beans, Peas, 
   And Kindred provisions Used on The Long Route Across The Plains. 
     
     
     
   Independence Very Soon Became The Best Market West Of St. Louis For 
   Cattle, Mules, And Wagons; The Trade Of Which The Place Was The 
   Acknowledged headquarters Furnishing Employment To Several Thousand 
   Men, Including The Teamsters And Packers On The Trail.  The Wages 
   Paid Varied from Twenty-Five To Fifty Dollars A Month And Rations. 
   The Price Charged for Hauling Freight To Santa Fe Was Ten Dollars 
   A Hundred pounds, Each Wagon Earning From Five To Six Hundred dollars 
   Every Trip, Which Was Made In eighty Or Ninety Days; Some Fast 
   Caravans Making Quicker Time. 
     
     
     
   The Merchants And General Traders Of Independence In those Days 
   Reaped a Grand Harvest.  Everything To Eat Was In constant Demand; 
   Mules And Oxen Were Sold In great Numbers Every Month At Excellent 
   Prices And Always For Cash; While Any Good Stockman Could Readily 
   Make From Ten To Fifty Dollars A Day. 
     
     
     
   One Of The Largest Manufacturers And Most Enterprising Young Men In 
   Independence At That Time Was Hiram Young, A Coloured man.  Besides 
   Making Hundreds Of Wagons, He Made All The Ox-Yokes Used in the 
   Entire Traffic; Fifty Thousand Annually During The '50'S And Until 
   The Breaking Out Of The War.  The Forward Yokes Were Sold At An 
   Average Of One Dollar And A Quarter, The Wheel Yokes A Dollar Higher. 
     
     
     
   The Freight Transported by The Wagons Was Always Very Securely Loaded; 
   Each Package Had Its Contents Plainly Marked on The Outside. 
   The Wagons Were Heavily Covered and Tightly Closed.  Every Man 
   Belonging To The Caravan Was Thoroughly Armed, And Ever On The Alert 
   To Repulse An Attack By The Indians. 
     
     
     
   Sometimes At The Crossing Of The Arkansas The Quicksands Were So Bad 
   That It Was Necessary To Get The Caravan Over In a Hurry; Then Forty 
   Or Fifty Yoke Of Oxen Were Hitched to One Wagon And It Was Quickly 
   Yanked through The Treacherous Ford.  This Was Not Always The Case, 
   However; It Depended upon The Stage Of Water And Recent Floods. 
     
     
     
   After The Close Of The War With Mexico, The Freight Business Across 
   The Plains Increased to A Wonderful Degree.  The Possession Of The 
   Country By The United states Gave A Fresh Impetus To The New Mexico 
   Trade, And The Traffic Then Began To Be Divided between Westport 
   And Kansas City.  Independence Lost Control Of The Overland Commerce 
   And Kansas City Commenced its Rapid Growth.  Then Came The Discovery 
   Of Gold In california, And This Gave An Increased business Westward; 
   For Thousands Of Men And Their Families Crossed the Plains And 
   The Rocky Mountains, Seeking Their Fortunes In the New El Dorado. 
   The Old Trail Was The Highway Of An Enormous Pilgrimage, And Both 
   Independence And Kansas City Became The Initial Point Of A Wonderful 
   Emigration. 
     
     
     
   In Independence May Still Be Seen A Few Of The Old Landmarks When 
   It Was The Headquarters Of The Santa Fe Trade. 
     
     
     
   An Overland Mail Was Started from The Busy Town As Early As 1849. 
   In An Old Copy Of The Missouri _Commonwealth_, Published there Under 
   The Date Of July, 1850, Which I Found On File In the Kansas State 
   Historical Society, There Is The Following account Of The First Mail 
   Stage Westward:-- 
     
     
     
             We Briefly Alluded, Some Days Since, To The Santa Fe Line 
             Of Mail Stages, Which Left This City On Its First Monthly 
             Journey On The 1St Instant.  The Stages Are Got Up In 
             Elegant Style, And Are Each Arranged to Convey Eight 
             Passengers.  The Bodies Are Beautifully Painted, And Made 
             Water-Tight, With A View Of Using Them As Boats In ferrying 
             Streams.  The Team Consists Of Six Mules To Each Coach. 
             The Mail Is Guarded by Eight Men, Armed as Follows: Each Man 
             Has At His Side, Fastened in the Stage, One Of Colt'S 
             Revolving Rifles; In a Holster Below, One Of Colt'S Long 
             Revolvers, And In his Belt A Small Colt'S Revolver, Besides 
             A Hunting-Knife; So That These Eight Men Are Ready, In case 
             Of Attack, To Discharge One Hundred and Thirty-Six Shots 
             Without Having To Reload.  This Is Equal To A Small Army, 
             Armed as In the Ancient Times, And From The Looks Of This 
             Escort, Ready As They Are, Either For Offensive Or Defensive 
             Warfare With The Savages, We Have No Fears For The Safety 
             Of The Mails. 
     
     
     
             The Accommodating Contractors Have Established a Sort Of 
             Base Of Refitting at Council Grove, A Distance Of One 
             Hundred and Fifty Miles From This City, And Have Sent Out 
             A Blacksmith, And A Number Of Men To Cut And Cure Hay, With 
             A Quantity Of Animals, Grain, And Provisions; And We 
             Understand They Intend To Make A Sort Of Traveling Station 
             There, And To Commence A Farm.  They Also, We Believe, 
             Intend To Make A Similar Settlement At Walnut Creek Next 
             Season.  Two Of Their Stages Will Start From Here The 
             First Of Every Month. 
     
     
     
   The Old Stage-Coach Days Were Times Of Western Romance And Adventure, 
   And The Stories Told Of That Era Of The Border Have A Singular 
   Fascination In this Age Of Annihilation Of Distance. 
     
     
     
   Very Few, If Any, Of The Famous Men Who Handled the "Ribbons" In those 
   Dangerous Days Of The Slow Journey Across The Great Plains Are Among 
   The Living; Like The Clumsy And Forgotten Coaches They Drove, 
   They Have Themselves Been Mouldering Into Dust These Many Years. 
     
     
     
   In Many Places On The Line Of The Trail, Where The Hard Hills Have Not 
   Been Subjected to The Plough, The Deep Ruts Cut By The Lumbering 
   Concord Coaches May Yet Be Distinctly Traced.  Particularly Are They 
   Visible From The Atchison, Topeka, And Santa Fe Track, As The Cars 
   Thunder Rapidly Toward The City Of Great Bend, In kansas, Three Miles 
   East Of That Town.  Let The Tourist As He Crosses Walnut Creek Look 
   Out Of His Window Toward The East At An Angle Of About Thirty-Five 
   Degrees, And On The Flint Hills Which Slope Gradually Toward The 
   Railroad, He Will Observe, Very Distinctly, The Old Trail, Where It 
   Once Drew Down From The Divide To Make The Ford At The Little Stream. 
     
     
     
   The Monthly Stages Started from Each End Of The Route At The Same Time; 
   Later The Service Was Increased to Once A Week; After A While To 
   Three Times, Until In the Early '60'S Daily Stages Were Run From Both 
   Ends Of The Route, And This Was Continued until The Advent Of The 
   Railroad. 
     
     
     
   Each Coach Carried eleven Passengers, Nine Closely Stowed inside 
   --Three On A Seat--And Two On The Outside On The Boot With The Driver. 
   The Fare To Santa Fe Was Two Hundred and Fifty Dollars, The Allowance 
   Of Baggage Being Limited to Forty Pounds; All In excess Of That Cost 
   Half A Dollar A Pound.  In this Now Seemingly Large Sum Was Included 
   The Board Of The Travellers, But They Were Not Catered to In any 
   Extravagant Manner; Hardtack, Bacon, And Coffee Usually Exhausted 
   The Menu, Save That At Times There Was An Abundance Of Antelope And 
   Buffalo. 
     
     
     
   There Was Always Something Exciting In those Journeys From The 
   Missouri To The Mountains In the Lumbering Concord Coach.  There Was 
   The Constant Fear Of Meeting The Wily Red man, Who Persistently 
   Hankered after The White Man'S Hair.  Then There Was The Playfulness 
   Of The Sometimes Drunken Driver, Who Loved to Upset His Tenderfoot 
   Travellers In some Arroya, Long After The Moon Had Sunk Below 
   The Horizon. 
     
     
     
   It Required about Two Weeks To Make The Trip From The Missouri River 
   To Santa Fe, Unless High Water Or A Fight With The Indians Made It 
   Several Days Longer.  The Animals Were Changed every Twenty Miles 
   At First, But Later, Every Ten, When Faster Time Was Made.  What Sleep 
   Was Taken Could Only Be Had While Sitting Bolt Upright, Because There 
   Was No Laying Over; The Stage Continued on Night And Day Until 
   Santa Fe Was Reached. 
     
     
     
   After A Few Years, The Company Built Stations At Intervals Varying 
   From Ten Miles To Fifty Or More; And There The Animals And Drivers 
   Were Changed, And Meals Furnished to Travellers, Which Were Always 
   Substantial, But Never Elegant In variety Or Cleanliness. 
     
     
     
   Who Can Ever Forget Those Meals At The "Stations," Of Which You Were 
   Obliged to Partake Or Go Hungry: Biscuit Hard Enough To Serve As 
   "Round-Shot," And A Vile Decoction Called, Through Courtesy, Coffee 
   --But God Help The Man Who Disputed it! 
     
     
     
   Some Stations, However, Were Notable Exceptions, Particularly In the 
   Mountains Of New Mexico, Where, Aside From The Bread--Usually Only 
   Tortillas, Made Of The Blue-Flint Corn Of The Country--And Coffee 
   Composed of The Saints May Know What, The Meals Were Excellent. 
   The Most Delicious Brook Trout, Alternating With Venison Of The 
   Black-Tailed deer, Elk, Bear, And All The Other Varieties Of Game 
   Abounding In the Region Cost You One Dollar, But The Station-Keeper 
   A Mere Trifle; No Wonder The Old Residents And Ranchmen On The Line 
   Of The Old Trail Lament The Good Times Of The Overland Stage! 
     
     
     
   Thirteen Years Ago I Revisited the Once Well-Known Kosloskie'S Ranch, 
   A Picturesque Cabin At The Foot Of The Glorieta Mountains, About Half 
   A Mile From The Ruins On The Rio Pecos.  The Old Pole Was Absent, 
   But His Wife Was There; And, Although I Had Not Seen Her For Fifteen 
   Years, She Remembered me Well, And At Once Began To Deplore The 
   Changed condition Of The Country Since The Advent Of The Railroad, 
   Declaring It Had Ruined their Family With Many Others.  I Could Not 
   Disagree With Her View Of The Matter, As I Looked on The Debris Of 
   A Former Relative Greatness All Around Me.  I Recalled the Fact That 
   Once Kosloskie'S Ranch Was The Favourite Eating Station On The Trail; 
   Where You Were Ever Sure Of A Substantial Meal--The Main Feature 
   Of Which Was The Delicious Brook Trout, Which Were Caught Out Of 
   The Stream Which Ran Near The Door While You Were Washing The Dust 
   Out Of Your Eyes And Ears. 
     
     
     
   The Trout Have Vacated the Pecos; The Ranch Is A Ruin, And Stands 
   In Grim Contrast With The Old Temple And Church On The Hill; And Both 
   Are Monuments Of Civilizations That Will Never Come Again. 
     
     
     
   Weeds And Sunflowers Mark The Once Broad Trail To The Quaint Aztec 
   City, And Silence Reigns In the Beautiful Valley, Save When Broken 
   By The Passage Of "The Flyer" Of The Atchison, Topeka, And Santa Fe 
   Railway, As It Struggles Up The Heavy Grade Of The Glorieta Mountains 
   A Mile Or More Distant. 
     
     
     
   Besides The Driver, There Was Another Employee--The Conductor Or 
   Messenger, As He Was Called.  He Had Charge Of The Mail And Express 
   Matter, Collected the Fares, And Attended generally To The Requirements 
   Of Those Committed to His Care During The Tedious Journey; For He 
   Was Not Changed like The Driver, But Stayed with The Coach From Its 
   Starting To Its Destination.  Sometimes Fourteen Individuals Were 
   Accommodated in case Of Emergency; But It Was Terribly Crowded and 
   Uncomfortable Riding, With No Chance To Stretch Your Limbs, Save For 
   A Few Moments At Stations Where You Ate And Changed animals. 
     
     
     
   In Starting From Independence, Powerful Horses Were Attached to 
   The Coach--Generally Four In number; But At The First Station They 
   Were Exchanged for Mules, And These Animals Hauled it The Remainder 
   Of The Way.  Drivers Were Changed about Eight Times In making The Trip 
   To Santa Fe; And Some Of Them Were Comical Fellows, But Full Of Nerve 
   And Endurance, For It Required a Man Of Nerve To Handle Eight Frisky 
   Mules Through The Rugged passes Of The Mountains, When The Snow Was 
   Drifted in immense Masses, Or When Descending The Curved, Icy 
   Declivities To The Base Of The Range.  A Cool Head Was Highly 
   Necessary; But Frequently Accidents Occurred and Sometimes Were 
   Serious In their Results. 
     
     
     
   A Snowstorm In the Mountains Was A Terrible Thing To Encounter By 
   The Coach; All That Could Be Done Was To Wait Until It Had Abated, 
   As There Was No Going On In the Face Of The Blinding Sheets Of 
   Intensely Cold Vapour Which The Wind Hurled against The Sides Of 
   The Mountains.  All Inside Of The Coach Had To Sit Still And Shake 
   With The Freezing Branches Of The Tall Trees Around Them.  A Summer 
   Hailstorm Was Much More To Be Dreaded, However; For Nowhere Else On 
   The Earth Do The Hailstones Shoot From The Clouds Of Greater Size Or 
   With Greater Velocity Than In the Rocky Mountains.  Such An Event 
   Invariably Frightened the Mules And Caused them To Stampede; And, 
   To Escape Death From The Coach Rolling Down Some Frightful Abyss, 
   One Had To Jump Out, Only To Be Beaten To A Jelly By The Masses Of 
   Ice Unless Shelter Could Be Found Under Some Friendly Ledge Of Rock 
   Or The Thick Limbs Of A Tree. 
     
     
     
   Nothing Is More Fatiguing Than Travelling For The First Day And Night 
   In A Stage-Coach; After That, However, One Gets Used to It And The 
   Remainder Of The Journey Is Relatively Comfortable. 
     
     
     
   The Only Way To Alleviate The Monotony Of Riding Hour After Hour 
   Was To Walk; Occasionally This Was Rendered absolutely Necessary 
   By Some Accident, Such As Breaking a Wheel Or Axle, Or When An Animal 
   Gave Out Before A Station Was Reached.  In such Cases, However, 
   No Deduction Was Made From The Fare, That Having Been Collected in 
   Advance, So It Cost You Just As Much Whether You Rode Or Walked. 
   You Could Exercise Your Will In the Matter, But You Must Not Lag 
   Behind The Coach; The Savages Were Always Watching For Such Derelicts, 
   And Your Hair Was The Forfeit! 
     
     
     
   In The Worst Years, When The Indians Were Most Decidedly On The 
   War-Trail, The Government Furnished an Escort Of Soldiers From The 
   Military Posts; They Generally Rode In a Six-Mule Army-Wagon, And 
   Were Commanded by A Sergeant Or Corporal; But In the Early Days, 
   Before The Army Had Concentrated at The Various Forts On The Great 
   Plains, The Stage Had To Rely On The Courage And Fighting Qualities 
   Of Its Occupants, And The Nerve And The Good Judgment Of The Driver. 
   If The Latter Understood His Duty Thoroughly And Was Familiar With 
   The Methods Of The Savages, He Always Chose The Cover Of Darkness 
   In Which To Travel In localities Where The Danger From Indians Was 
   Greater Than Elsewhere; For It Is A Rare Thing In savage Warfare 
   To Attack At Night.  The Early Morning Seemed to Be Their Favourite 
   Hour, When Sleep Oppresses Most Heavily; And Then It Was That The 
   Utmost Vigilance Was Demanded. 
     
     
     
   One Of The Most Confusing Things To The Novice Riding Over The Great 
   Plains Is The Idea Of Distance; Mile After Mile Is Travelled on 
   The Monotonous Trail, With A Range Of Hills Or A Low Divide In 
   Full Sight, Yet Hours Roll By And The Objects Seem No Nearer Than 
   When They Were First Observed.  The Reason For This Seems To Be That 
   Every Atom Of Vapour Is Eliminated from The Air, Leaving Such An 
   Absolute Clearness Of Atmosphere, Such An Indescribable Transparency 
   Of Space Through Which Distant Objects Are Seen, That They Are 
   Magnified and Look Nearer Than They Really Are.  Consequently, 
   The Usual Method Of Calculating Distance And Areas By The Eye Is Ever 
   At Fault Until Custom And Familiarity Force A New Standard Of Measure. 
     
     
     
   Mirages, Too, Were Of Frequent Occurrence On The Great Plains; 
   Some Of Them Wonderful Examples Of The Refracting Properties Of Light. 
   They Assumed all Manner Of Fantastic, Curious Shapes, Sometimes 
   Ludicrously Distorting The Landscape; Objects, Like A Herd Of Buffalo 
   For Instance, Though Forty Miles Away, Would Seem To Be High In air, 
   Often Reversed, And Immensely Magnified in their Proportions. 
     
     
     
   Violent Storms Were Also Frequent Incidents Of The Long Ride. 
   I Well Remember One Night, About Thirty Years Ago, When The Coach 
   In Which I And One Of My Clerks Were Riding To Fort Dodge Was 
   Suddenly Brought To A Standstill By A Terrible Gale Of Wind And Hail. 
   The Mules Refused to Face It, And Quickly Turning around Nearly 
   Overturned the Stage, While We, With The Driver And Conductor, 
   Were Obliged to Hold On To The Wheels With All Our Combined strength 
   To Prevent It From Blowing Down Into A Stony Ravine, On The Brink 
   Of Which We Were Brought To A Halt.  Fortunately, These Fearful 
   Blizzards Did Not Last Very Long; The Wind Ceased blowing So Violently 
   In A Few Moments, But The Rain Usually Continued until Morning. 
     
     
     
   It Usually Happened that You Either At Once Took A Great Liking For 
   Your Driver And Conductor, Or The Reverse.  Once, On A Trip From 
   Kansas City, Nearly A Third Of A Century Ago, When I And Another Man 
   Were The Only Occupants Of The Coach, We Entertained quite A Friendly 
   Feeling For Our Driver; He Was A Good-Natured, Jolly Fellow, Full Of 
   Anecdote And Stories Of The Trail, Over Which He Had Made More Than 
   A Hundred sometimes Adventurous Journeys. 
     
     
     
   When We Arrived at The Station At Plum Creek, The Coach Was A Little 
   Ahead Of Time, And The Driver Who Was There To Relieve Ours Commenced 
   To Grumble At The Idea Of Having To Start Out Before The Regular Hour. 
   He Found Fault Because We Had Come Into The Station So Soon, And 
   Swore He Could Drive Where Our Man Could Not "Drag A Halter-Chain," 
   As He Claimed in his Boasting.  We At Once Took A Dislike To Him, 
   And Secretly Wished that He Would Come To Grief, In order To Cure Him 
   Of His Boasting.  Sure Enough, Before We Had Gone Half A Mile From The 
   Station He Incontinently Tumbled the Coach Over Into A Sandy Arroya, 
   And We Were Delighted at The Accident.  Finding Ourselves Free From 
   Any Injury, We Went To Work And Assisted him To Right The Coach-- 
   No Small Task; But We Took Great Delight In reminding Him Several 
   Times Of His Ability To Drive Where Our Old Friend Could Not "Drag 
   A Halter-Chain."  It Was Very Dark; Neither Moon Or Star Visible, 
   The Whole Heavens Covered with An Inky Blackness Of Ominous Clouds; 
   So He Was Not So Much To Be Blamed after All. 
     
     
     
   The Very Next Coach Was Attacked at The Crossing Of Cow Creek By 
   A Band Of Kiowas.  The Savages Had Followed the Stage All That 
   Afternoon, But Remained out Of Sight Until Just At Dark, When They 
   Rushed over The Low Divide, And Mounted on Their Ponies Commenced 
   To Circle Around The Coach, Making The Sand Dunes Resound With Echoes 
   Of Their Infernal Yelling, And Shaking Their Buffalo-Robes To Stampede 
   The Mules, At The Same Time Firing Their Guns At The Men Who Were 
   In The Coach, All Of Whom Made A Bold Stand, But Were Rapidly Getting 
   The Worst Of It, When Fortunately A Company Of United states Cavalry 
   Came Over The Trail From The West, And Drove The Savages Off. 
   Two Of The Men In the Coach Were Seriously Wounded, And One Of The 
   Soldiers Killed; But The Indian Loss Was Never Determined, As They 
   Succeeded in carrying Off Both Their Dead And Wounded. 
     
     
     
   Mr. W. H. Ryus, A Friend Of Mine Now Residing In kansas City, Who Was 
   A Driver And Messenger Thirty-Five Years, And Had Many Adventures, 
   Told Me The Following Incidents: 
     
     
     
             I Have Crossed the Plains Sixty-Five Times By Wagon And 
             Coach.  In july, 1861, I Was Employed by Barnum, Vickery, 
             And Neal To Drive Over What Was Known As The Long Route, 
             That Is, From Fort Larned to Fort Lyon, Two Hundred and 
             Forty Miles, With No Station Between.  We Drove One Set Of 
             Mules The Whole Distance, Camped out, And Made The Journey, 
             In good Weather, In four Or Five Days.  In winter We 
             Generally Encountered a Great Deal Of Snow, And Very Cold 
             Air On The Bleak And Wind-Swept Desert Of The Upper Arkansas, 
             But We Employees Got Used to That; Only The Passengers Did 
             Any Kicking.  We Had A Way Of Managing Them, However, 
             When They Got Very Obstreperous; All We Had To Do Was To 
             Yell Indians! And That Quieted them Quicker Than Forty-Rod 
             Whiskey Does A Man. 
     
     
     
             We Gathered buffalo-Chips, To Boil Our Coffee And Cook Our 
             Buffalo And Antelope Steak, Smoked for A While Around The 
             Smouldering Fire Until The Animals Were Through Grazing, 
             And Then Started on Our Lonely Way Again. 
     
     
     
             Sometimes The Coach Would Travel For A Hundred miles Through 
             The Buffalo Herds, Never For A Moment Getting Out Of Sight 
             Of Them; Often We Saw Fifty Thousand To A Hundred thousand 
             On A Single Journey Out Or In.  The Indians Used to Call 
             Them Their Cattle, And Claimed to Own Them.  They Did Not, 
             Like The White Man, Take Out Only The Tongue, Or Hump, And 
             Leave All The Rest To Dry Upon The Prairie, But Ate Every 
             Last Morsel, Even To The Intestines.  They Said The Whites 
             Were Welcome To All They Could Eat Or Haul Away, But They 
             Did Not Like To See So Much Meat Wasted as Was Our Custom. 
     
     
     
             The Indians On The Plains Were Not At All Hostile In 1861-62; 
             We Could Drive Into Their Villages, Where There Were Tens 
             Of Thousands Of Them, And They Would Always Treat Us To 
             Music Or A War-Dance, And Set Before Us The Choicest Of 
             Their Venison And Buffalo.  In july Of The Last-Mentioned 
             Year, Colonel Leavenworth, Jr., Was Crossing The Trail In 
             My Coach.  He Desired to See Satanta, The Great Kiowa Chief. 
             The Colonel'S Father[28] Was Among The Indians A Great Deal 
             While On Duty As An Army Officer, While The Young Colonel 
             Was A Small Boy.  The Colonel Said He Didn'T Believe That 
             Old Satanta Would Know Him. 
     
     
     
             Just Before The Arrival Of The Coach In the Region Of The 
             Indian Village, The Comanches And The Pawnees Had Been 
             Having a Battle.  The Comanches Had Taken Some Scalps, 
             And They Were Camping On The Bank Of The Arkansas River, 
             Where Dodge City Is Now Located.  The Pawnees Had Killed 
             Five Of Their Warriors, And The Comanches Were Engaged in 
             An Exciting War-Dance; I Think There Were From Twenty To 
             Thirty Thousand Indians Gathered there, Men, Women, And 
             Children Of The Several Tribes--Comanches, Kiowas, Cheyennes, 
             Arapahoes, And Others. 
     
     
     
             When We Came In sight Of Their Camp, The Colonel Knew, By 
             The Terrible Noise They Were Making, That A War-Dance Was 
             Going On; But We Did Not Know Then Whether It Was On Account 
             Of Troubles Among Themselves, Or Because Of A Fight With 
             The Whites, But We Were Determined to Find Out.  If He Could 
             Get To The Old Chief, All Would Be Right.  So He And I 
             Started for The Place Whence The Noise Came.  We Met A Savage 
             And The Colonel Asked him Whether Satanta Was There, And 
             What Was Going On.  When He Told Us That They Had Had 
             A Fight And It Was A Scalp-Dance, Our Hair Lowered; For We 
             Knew That If It Was In consequence Of Trouble With The 
             Whites, We Stood In some Danger Of Losing Our Own Scalps. 
     
     
     
             The Indian Took Us In, And The Situation, Too; And Conducted 
             Us Into The Presence Of Satanta, Who Stood In the Middle 
             Of The Great Circle, Facing The Dancers.  It Was Out On An 
             Island In the Stream; The Chief Stood Very Erect, And Eyed 
             Us Closely For A Few Seconds, Then The Colonel Told His 
             Own Name That The Indians Had Known Him By When He Was A Boy. 
             Satanta Gave One Bound--He Was At Least Ten Feet From Where 
             We Were Waiting--Grasped the Colonel'S Hand And Excitedly 
             Kissed him, Then Stood Back For Another Instant, Gave Him 
             A Second Squeeze, Offered his Hand To Me, Which I, 
             Of Course, Shook Heartily, Then He Gazed at The Man He Had 
             Known As A Boy So Many Years Ago, With A Countenance 
             Beaming With Delight.  I Never Saw Any One, Even Among 
             The White Race, Manifest So Much Joy As The Old Chief Did 
             Over The Visit Of The Colonel To His Camp. 
     
     
     
             He Immediately Ordered some Of His Young Men To Go Out And 
             Herd Our Mules Through The Night, Which They Brought Back 
             To Us At Daylight.  He Then Had The Coach Hauled to The 
             Front Of His Lodge, Where We Could See All That Was Going On 
             To The Best Advantage.  We Had Six Travellers With Us On 
             This Journey, And It Was A Great Sight For The Tenderfeet. 
     
     
     
             It Was About Ten O'Clock At Night When We Arrived at 
             Satanta'S Lodge, And We Saw Thousands Of Squaws And Bucks 
             Dancing and Mourning For Their Dead Warriors.  At Midnight 
             The Old Chief Said We Must Eat Something at Once.  So He 
             Ordered a Fire Built, Cooked buffalo And Venison, Setting 
             Before Us The Very Best That He Had, We Furnishing Canned 
             Fruit, Coffee, And Sugar From Our Coach Mess.  There We Sat, 
             And Talked and Ate Until Morning; Then When We Were Ready 
             To Start Off, Satanta And The Other Chiefs Of The Various 
             Tribes Escorted us About Eight Miles On The Trail, Where 
             We Halted for Breakfast, They Remaining and Eating With Us. 
     
     
     
   Colonel Leavenworth Was On His Way To Assume Command Of One Of The 
   Military Posts In new Mexico; The Indians Begged him To Come Back 
   And Take His Quarters At Either Fort Larned or Fort Dodge.  They Told 
   Him They Were Afraid Their Agent Was Stealing Their Goods And Selling 
   Them Back To Them; While If The Indians Took Anything From The Whites, 
   A War Was Started. 
     
     
     
   Colonel A. G. Boone Had Made A Treaty With These Same Indians In 1860, 
   And It Was Agreed that He Should Be Their Agent.  It Was Done, And 
   The Entire Savage Nations Were Restful And Kindly Disposed toward 
   The Whites During His Administration; Any One Could Then Cross The 
   Plains Without Fear Of Molestation.  In 1861, However, Judge Wright, 
   Of Indiana, Who Was A Member Of Congress At The Time, Charged colonel 
   Boone With Disloyalty.[29]  He Succeeded in having Him Removed. 
     
     
     
   Majors Russel And Waddell, The Great Government Freight Contractors 
   Across The Plains, Gave Colonel Boone Fourteen Hundred acres Of Land, 
   Well Improved, With Some Fine Buildings On It, About Fifteen Miles 
   East Of Pueblo, Colorado.  It Was Christened booneville, And The 
   Colonel Moved there.  In the Fall Of 1862, Fifty Influential Indians 
   Of The Various Tribes Visited colonel Boone At His New Home, And 
   Begged that He Would Come Back To Them And Be Their Agent.  He Told 
   The Chiefs That The President Of The United states Would Not Let Him. 
   Then They Offered to Sell Their Horses To Raise Money For Him To Go 
   To Washington To Tell The Great Father What Their Agent Was Doing; 
   And To Have Him Removed, Or There Was Going To Be Trouble. 
   The Indians Told Colonel Boone That Many Of Their Warriors Would Be 
   On The Plains That Fall, And They Were Declaring They Had As Much 
   Right To Take Something To Eat From The Trains As Their Agent Had 
   To Steal Goods From Them. 
     
     
     
   Early In the Winter Of The Next Year, A Small Caravan Of Eight Or Ten 
   Wagons Travelling To The Missouri River Was Overhauled at Nine Mile 
   Ridge, About Fifty Miles West Of Fort Dodge, By A Band Of Indians, 
   Who Asked for Something To Eat.  The Teamsters, Thinking Them To Be 
   Hostile, Believed it Would Be A Good Thing To Kill One Of Them Anyhow; 
   So They Shot An Inoffensive Warrior, After Which The Train Moved on 
   To Its Camp And The Trouble Began.  Every Man In the Whole Outfit, 
   With The Exception Of One Teamster, Who Luckily Got To The Arkansas 
   River And Hid, Was Murdered, The Animals All Carried away, And The 
   Wagons And Contents Destroyed by Fire. 
     
     
     
   This Foolish Act By The Master Of The Caravan Was The Cause Of A 
   Long War, Causing Hundreds Of Atrocious Murders And The Destruction 
   Of A Great Deal Of Property Along The Whole Western Frontier. 
     
     
     
   That Fall, 1863, Mr. Ryus Was The Messenger Or Conductor In charge 
   Of The Coach Running From Kansas City To Santa Fe.  He Said: 
             It Then Required a Month To Make The Round Trip, About 
             Eighteen Hundred miles.  On Account Of The Indian War 
             We Had To Have An Escort Of Soldiers To Go Through The Most 
             Dangerous Portions Of The Trail; And The Caravans All 
             Joined forces For Mutual Safety, Besides Having an Escort. 
     
     
     
             My Coach Was Attacked several Times During That Season, And 
             We Had Many Close Calls For Our Scalps.  Sometimes The 
             Indians Would Follow Us For Miles, And We Had To Halt And 
             Fight Them; But As For Myself, I Had No Desire To Kill One 
             Of The Miserable, Outraged creatures, Who Had Been Swindled 
             Out Of Their Just Rights. 
     
     
     
             I Know Of But One Occasion When We Were Engaged in a Fight 
             With Them When Our Escort Killed any Of The Attacking 
             Savages; It Was About Two Miles From Little Coon Creek 
             Station, Where They Surrounded the Coach And Commenced 
             Hostilities.  In the Fight One Officer And One Enlisted man 
             Were Wounded.  The Escort Chased the Band For Several Miles, 
             Killed nine Of Them, And Got Their Horses. 
   
   
   
   Chapter X (Charles Bent) 
   Almost Immediately After The Ratification Of The Purchase Of 
   New Mexico By The United states Under The Stipulations Of The 
   "Guadalupe-Hidalgo Treaty," The Utes, One Of The Most Powerful Tribes 
   Of Mountain Indians, Inaugurated a Bloody And Relentless War Against 
   The Civilized inhabitants Of The Territory.  It Was Accompanied by 
   All The Horrible Atrocities Which Mark The Tactics Of Savage Hatred 
   Toward The White Race.  It Continued for Several Years With More 
   Or Less Severity; Its Record A Chapter Of History Whose Pages Are 
   Deluged with Blood, Until Finally The Indians Were Subdued by The 
   Power Of The Military. 
     
     
     
   Along The Line Of The Santa Fe Trail, They Were Frequently In 
   Conjunction With The Apaches, And Their Depredations And Atrocities 
   Were Very Numerous; They Attacked fearlessly Freight Caravans, 
   Private Expeditions, And Overland Stage-Coaches, Robbing and Murdering 
   Indiscriminately. 
     
     
     
   In January, 1847, The Mail And Passenger Stage Left Independence, 
   Missouri, For Santa Fe On One Of Its Regular Trips Across The Plains. 
   It Had Its Full Complement Of Passengers, Among Whom Were A Mr. White 
   And Family, Consisting Of His Wife, One Child, And A Coloured nurse. 
     
     
     
   Day After Day The Lumbering Concord Coach Rolled on, With Nothing To 
   Disturb The Monotony Of The Vast Prairies, Until It Had Left Them 
   Far Behind And Crossed the Range Into New Mexico.  Just About Dawn, 
   As The Unsuspecting Travellers Were Entering The "Canyon Of The 
   Canadian,"[30] And Probably Waking Up From Their Long Night'S Sleep, 
   A Band Of Indians, With Blood-Curdling Yells And Their Terrific 
   War-Whoop, Rode Down Upon Them. 
     
     
     
   In That Lonely And Rock-Sheltered gorge A Party Of The Hostile Savages, 
   Led by "White Wolf," A Chief Of The Apaches, Had Been Awaiting The 
   Arrival Of The Coach From The East; The Very Hour It Was Due Was 
   Well Known To Them, And They Had Secreted themselves There The 
   Night Before So As To Be On Hand Should It Reach Their Chosen Ambush 
   A Little Before The Schedule Time. 
     
     
     
   Out Dashed the Savages, Gorgeous In their Feathered war-Bonnets, 
   But Looking Like Fiends With Their Paint-Bedaubed faces.  Stopping The 
   Frightened mules, They Pulled open The Doors Of The Coach And, 
   Mercilessly Dragging Its Helpless And Surprised inmates To The Ground, 
   Immediately Began Their Butchery.  They Scalped and Mutilated the 
   Dead Bodies Of Their Victims In their Usual Sickening Manner, Not A 
   Single Individual Escaping, Apparently, To Tell Of Their Fiendish Acts. 
     
     
     
   If The Indians Had Been Possessed of Sufficient Cunning To Cover Up 
   The Tracks Of Their Horrible Atrocities, As Probably White Robbers 
   Would Have Done, By Dragging The Coach From The Road And Destroying It 
   By Fire Or Other Means, The Story Of The Murders Committed in the 
   Deep Canyon Might Never Have Been Known; But They Left The Tell-Tale 
   Remains Of The Dismantled vehicle Just Where They Had Attacked it, 
   And The Naked corpses Of Its Passengers Where They Had Been Ruthlessly 
   Killed. 
     
     
     
   At The Next Stage Station The Employees Were Anxiously Waiting For 
   The Arrival Of The Coach, And Wondering What Could Have Caused 
   The Delay; For It Was Due There At Noon On The Day Of The Massacre. 
   Hour After Hour Passed, And At Last They Began To Suspect That 
   Something Serious Had Occurred; They Sat Up All Through The Night 
   Listening For The Familiar Rumbling Of Wheels, But Still No Stage. 
   At Daylight Next Morning, Determined to Wait No Longer, As They Felt 
   Satisfied that Something Out Of The Usual Course Had Happened, 
   A Party Hurriedly Mounted their Horses And Rode Down The Broad Trail 
   Leading To The Canyon. 
     
     
     
   Upon Entering Its Gloomy Mouth After A Quick Lope Of An Hour, 
   They Discovered the Ghastly Remains Of Twelve Mutilated bodies. 
   These Were Gathered up And Buried in one Grave, On The Top Of The 
   Bluff Overlooking The Narrow Gorge. 
     
     
     
   They Could Not Be Sure Of The Number Of Passengers The Coach Had 
   Brought Until The Arrival Of The Next, As It Would Have A List Of 
   Those Carried by Its Predecessor; But It Would Not Be Due For 
   Several Days.  They Naturally Supposed, However, That The Twelve Dead 
   Lying On The Ground Were Its Full Complement. 
     
     
     
   Not Waiting For The Arrival Of The Next Stage, They Despatched a 
   Messenger To The Last Station East That The One Whose Occupants 
   Had Been Murdered had Passed, And There Learned the Exact Number 
   Of Passengers It Had Contained.  Now They Knew That Mrs. White, 
   Her Child, And The Coloured nurse Had Been Carried off Into A 
   Captivity Worse Than Death; For No Remains Of A Woman Were Found 
   With The Others Lying In the Canyon. 
     
     
     
   The Terrible News Of The Massacre Was Conveyed to Taos, Where Were 
   Stationed several Companies Of The Second United states Dragoons, 
   Commanded by Major William Greer; But As The Weather Had Grown 
   Intensely Cold And Stormy Since The Date Of The Massacre, It Took 
   Nearly A Fortnight For The Terrible Story To Reach There.  The Major 
   Acted promptly When Appealed to To Go After And Punish The Savages 
   Concerned in the Outrage, But Several Days More Were Lost In getting 
   An Expedition Ready For The Field.  It Was Still Stormy While The 
   Command Was Preparing For Its Work; But At Last, One Bright Morning, 
   In A Piercing Cold Wind, Five Troops Of The Dragoons, Commanded by 
   Major Greer In person, Left Their Comfortable Quarters To Attempt 
   The Rescue Of Mrs. White, Her Child, And Nurse. 
     
     
     
   Kit Carson, "Uncle Dick" Wooten, Joaquin Leroux, And Tom Tobin Were 
   The Principal Scouts And Guides Accompanying The Expedition, Having 
   Volunteered their Services To Major Greer, Which He Had Gladly Accepted. 
     
     
     
   The Massacre Having Occurred three Weeks Before The Command Had 
   Arrived at The Canyon Of The Canadian, And Snow Having Fallen Almost 
   Continuously Ever Since, The Ground Was Deeply Covered, Making It 
   Almost Impossible To Find The Trail Of The Savages Leading Out Of 
   The Gorge.  No One Knew Where They Had Established their Winter Camp 
   --Probably Hundreds Of Miles Distant On Some Tributary Of The Canadian 
   Far To The South. 
     
     
     
   Carson, Wooton, And Leroux, After Scanning The Ground Carefully At 
   Every Point, Though The Snow Was Ten Inches Deep, In a Way Of Which 
   Only Men Versed in savage Lore Are Capable, Were Rewarded by 
   Discovering Certain Signs, Unintelligible To The Ordinary Individual[31] 
   --That The Murderers Had Gone South Out Of The Canyon Immediately 
   After Completing Their Bloody Work, And That Their Camp Was Somewhere 
   On The River, But How Far Off None Could Tell. 
     
     
     
   The Command Followed up The Trail Discovered by The Scouts For Nearly 
   Four Hundred miles.  Early One Morning When That Distance Had Been 
   Rounded, And Just As The Men Were About To Break Camp Preparatory 
   To The Day'S March, Carson Went Out On A Little Reconnoissance On His 
   Own Account, As He Had Noticed a Flock Of Ravens Hovering In the Air 
   When He First Got Out Of His Blankets At Dawn, Which Was Sufficient 
   Indication To Him That An Indian Camp Was Located somewhere In the 
   Vicinity; For That Ominous Bird Is Always To Be Found In the Region 
   Where The Savages Take Up An Abode, Feeding Upon The Carcasses Of 
   The Many Varieties Of Game Killed for Food.  He Had Not Proceeded 
   More Than Half A Mile From The Camp When He Discovered two Indians 
   Slowly Riding Over A Low "Divide," Driving a Herd Of Ponies Before 
   Them.  The Famous Scout Was Then Certain Their Village Could Not 
   Be Very Far Away.  The Savages Did Not Observe Him, As He Took Good 
   Care They Should Not; So He Returned quickly To Where Major Greer 
   Was Standing By His Camp-Fire And Reported the Presence Of A Village 
   Very Close At Hand. 
     
     
     
   The Major Having Sent For Tom Tobin And Uncle Dick Wooton, Requested 
   Them To Go And Find The Exact Location Of The Savages.  These Scouts 
   Came Back In less Than Half An Hour, And Reported a Large Number 
   Of Teepees In a Thick Grove Of Timber A Mile Away. 
     
     
     
   It Was At Once Determined to Surprise The Savages In their Winter 
   Quarters By Charging Right Among Their Lodges Without Allowing Them 
   Time To Mount Their Ponies, As The Gallant Custer Rode, At The Head 
   Of His Famous Troopers Of The Seventh Cavalry, Into The Camp Of The 
   Celebrated chief "Black Kettle" On The Washita, In the Dawn Of A 
   Cold November Morning Twenty Years Afterward. 
     
     
     
   The Command Succeeded in getting Within Good Charging Distance Of The 
   Village Without Its Occupants Having any Knowledge Of Its Proximity; 
   But At This Moment Major Greer Was Seized with An Idea That He Ought 
   To Have A Parley With The Indians Before He Commenced to Fight Them, 
   And For That Purpose He Ordered a Halt, Just As The Soldiers Were 
   Eager For The Sound Of The "Charge!" 
     
     
     
   Never Were A Body Of Men More Enraged.  Carson Gave Vent To His Wrath 
   In A Series Of Elaborately Carved english Oaths, For Which He Was 
   Noted when Young; Leroux, Whose Naturally Hot Blood Was Roused, 
   Swore At The Major In a Curious Mixture Of Bad French And Worse 
   Mountain Dialect, And It Appeared as If The Battle Would Begin In the 
   Ranks Of The Troops Instead Of Those Of The Savages; For Never Was 
   A Body Of Soldiers So Disgusted at The Act Of Any Commanding Officer. 
     
     
     
   This Delay Gave The Indians, Who Could Be Seen Dodging about Among 
   Their Lodges And Preparing For A Fight That Was No Longer A Surprise, 
   Time To Hide Their Women And Children, Mount Their Ponies, And Get 
   Down Into Deep Ravines, Where The Soldiers Could Not Follow Them. 
   While The Major Was Trying To Convince His Subordinates That His 
   Course Was The Proper One, The Indians Opened fire Without Any Parley, 
   And It Happened that At The First Volley A Bullet Struck Him In the 
   Breast, But A Suspender Buckle Deflected its Course And He Was Not 
   Seriously Wounded. 
     
     
     
   The Change In the Countenance Of Their Commanding Officer Caused by 
   The Momentary Pain Was Just The Incentive The Troopers Wanted, And 
   Without Waiting For The Sound Of The Trumpet, They Spurred their 
   Horses, Dashed in, And Charged the Thunderstruck Savages With The 
   Shock Of A Tornado. 
     
     
     
   In Two Successful Charges Of The Gallant And Impatient Troopers More 
   Than A Hundred of The Indians Were Killed and Wounded, But The Time 
   Lost Had Permitted many To Escape, And The Pursuit Of The Stragglers 
   Would Have Been Unavailing Under The Circumstances; So The Command 
   Turned back And Returned to Taos.  In the Village Was Found The Body 
   Of Mrs. White Still Warm, With Three Arrows In her Breast.  Had The 
   Charge Been Made As Originally Expected by The Troopers, Her Life 
   Would Have Been Saved.  No Trace Of The Child Or Of The Coloured 
   Nurse Was Ever Discovered, And It Is Probable That They Were Both 
   Killed while En Route From The Canyon To The Village, As Being 
   Valueless To Keep Either As Slaves Or For Other Purposes. 
     
     
     
   The Fate Of The Apache Chief, "White Wolf," Who Was The Leader In 
   The Outrages In the Canyon Of The Canadian, Was Fitting For His 
   Devilish Deeds.  It Was Lieutenant David Bell'S Fortune To Avenge 
   The Murder Of Mrs. White And Her Family, And In an Extraordinary 
   Manner.[32]  The Action Was Really Dramatic, Or Romantic; He Was 
   On A Scout With His Company, Which Was Stationed at Fort Union, 
   New Mexico, Having about Thirty Men With Him, And When Near The Canyon 
   Of The Canadian They Met About The Same Number Of Indians.  A Parley 
   Was In order At Once, Probably Desired by The Savages, Who Were 
   Confronted with An Equal Number Of Troopers.  Bell Had Assigned 
   The Baggage-Mules To The Care Of Five Or Six Of His Command, And Held 
   A Mounted interview With The Chief, Who Was No Other Than The Infamous 
   White Wolf Of The Jicarilla Apaches.  As Bell Approached, White Wolf 
   Was Standing In front Of His Indians, Who Were On Foot, All Well Armed 
   And In perfect Line.  Bell Was In advance Of His Troopers, Who Were 
   About Twenty Paces From The Indians, Exactly Equal In number And 
   Extent Of Line; Both Parties Were Prepared to Use Firearms. 
     
     
     
   The Parley Was Almost Tediously Long And The Impending Duel Was 
   Arranged, White Wolf Being Very Bold And Defiant. 
     
     
     
   At Last The Leaders Exchanged shots, The Chief Sinking On One Knee 
   And Aiming His Gun, Bell Throwing His Body Forward And Making His 
   Horse Rear.  Both Lines, By Command, Fired, Following The Example 
   Of Their Superiors, The Troopers, However, Spurring Forward Over 
   Their Enemies.  The Warriors, Or Nearly All Of Them, Threw Themselves 
   On The Ground, And Several Vertical Wounds Were Received by Horse 
   And Rider.  The Dragoons Turned short About, And Again Charged through 
   And Over Their Enemies, The Fire Being Continuous.  As They Turned 
   For A Third Charge, The Surviving Indians Were Seen Escaping To A 
   Deep Ravine, Which, Although Only One Or Two Hundred paces Off, 
   Had Not Previously Been Noticed.  A Number Of The Savages Thus 
   Escaped, The Troopers Having To Pull Up At The Brink, But Sending 
   A Volley After The Descending Fugitives. 
     
     
     
   In Less Than Fifteen Minutes Twenty-One Of The Forty-Six Actors In 
   This Strange Combat Were Slain Or Disabled.  Bell Was Not Hit, But 
   Four Or Five Of His Men Were Killed or Wounded.  He Had Shot 
   White Wolf Several Times, And So Did Others After Him; But So 
   Tenacious Of Life Was The Apache That, To Finish Him, A Trooper 
   Got A Great Stone And Mashed his Head. 
     
     
     
   This Was Undoubtedly The Greatest Duel Of Modern Times; Certainly 
   Nothing Like It Ever Occurred on The Santa Fe Trail Before Or Since. 
     
     
     
   The War Chief Of The Kiowa Nation In the Early '50'S Was Satank, 
   A Most Unmitigated villain; Cruel And Heartless As Any Savage That 
   Ever Robbed a Stage-Coach Or Wrenched off The Hair Of A Helpless Woman. 
   After Serving a Dozen Or More Years With A Record For Hellish 
   Atrocities Equalled by Few Of His Compeers, He Was Deposed for Alleged 
   Cowardice, As His Warriors Claimed, Under The Following Circumstances:-- 
     
     
     
   The Village Of His Tribe Was Established in the Large Bottoms, 
   Eight Miles From The Great Bend Of The Arkansas, And About The Same 
   Distance From Fort Zarah.[33]  All The Bucks Were Absent On A Hunting 
   Expedition, Excepting Satank And A Few Superannuated warriors. 
   The Troops Were Out From Fort Larned on A Grand Scout After Marauding 
   Savages, When They Suddenly Came Across The Village And Completely 
   Took The Kiowas By Surprise.  Seeing The Soldiers Almost Upon Them, 
   Satank And Other Warriors Jumped on Their Ponies And Made Good Their 
   Escape.  Had They Remained, All Of Them Would Have Been Killed or 
   At Least Captured; Consequently Satank, Thinking Discretion Better 
   Than Valour At That Particular Juncture, Incontinently Fled. 
   His Warriors In council, However, Did Not Agree With Him; They Thought 
   That It Was His Duty To Have Remained at The Village In defence Of 
   The Women And Children, As He Had Been Urged to Refrain From Going On 
   The Hunt For That Very Purpose. 
     
     
     
   Some Time Before Satank Lost His Office Of Chief, There Was Living 
   On Cow Creek, In a Rude Adobe Building, A Man Who Was Ostensibly 
   An Indian Trader, But Whose Traffic, In reality, Consisted in selling 
   Whiskey To The Indians, And Consequently The United states Troops 
   Were Always After Him.  He Was Obliged to Cache His Liquor In every 
   Conceivable Manner So That The Soldiers Should Not Discover It, And, 
   Of Course, He Dreaded the Incursions Of The Troops Much More Than 
   He Did Raids Of The Indian Marauders That Were Constantly On The Trail. 
     
     
     
   Satank And This Illicit Trader, Whose Name Was Peacock, Were Great 
   Chums.  One Day While They Were Indulging In a General Good Time 
   Over Sundry Drinks Of Most Villanous Liquor, Satank Said To Peacock: 
   "Peacock, I Want You To Write Me A Letter; A Real Nice One, That 
   I Can Show To The Wagon-Bosses On The Trail, And Get All The 'Chuck' 
   I Want.  Tell Them I Am Satank, The Great Chief Of The Kiowas, And 
   For Them To Treat Me The Best They Know How." 
     
     
     
   "All Right, Satank," Said Peacock; "I'Ll Do So."  Peacock Then Sat 
   Down And Wrote The Following Epistle:-- 
     
     
     
   "The Bearer Of This Is Satank.  He Is The Biggest Liar, Beggar, And 
   Thief On The Plains.  What He Can'T Beg Of You, He'Ll Steal.  Kick Him 
   Out Of Camp, For He Is A Lazy, Good-For-Nothing Indian." 
     
     
     
   Satank Began At Once To Make Use Of The Supposed precious Document, 
   Which He Really Believed would Assure Him The Dignified treatment 
   And Courtesy Due To His Exalted rank.  He Presented it To Several 
   Caravans During The Ensuing Week, And, Of Course, Received a Very 
   Cool Reception In every Instance, Or Rather A Very Warm One. 
     
     
     
   One Wagon-Master, In fact, Black-Snaked him Out Of His Camp. 
   After These Repeated insults He Sought Another White Friend, And 
   Told Of His Grievances.  "Look Here," Said Satank, "I Asked peacock 
   To Write Me A Good Letter, And He Gave Me This; But I Don'T 
   Understand It!  Every Time I Hand It To A Wagon-Boss, He Gives Me 
   The Devil!  Read It To Me And Tell Me Just What It Does Say." 
     
     
     
   His Friend Read It Over, And Then Translated it Literally To Satank. 
   The Savage Assumed a Countenance Of Extreme Disgust, And After Musing 
   For A Few Moments, Said: "Well, I Understand It All Now.  All Right!" 
     
     
     
   The Next Morning at Daylight, Satank Called for Some Of His Braves 
   And With Them Rode Out To Peacock'S Ranch.  Arriving There, He Called 
   Out To Peacock, Who Had Not Yet Risen: "Peacock, Get Up, The Soldiers 
   Are Coming!"  It Was A Warning Which The Illicit Trader Quickly 
   Obeyed, And Running Out Of The Building With His Field-Glass In his 
   Hand, He Started for His Lookout, But While He Was Ascending The 
   Ladder With His Back To Satank The Latter Shot Him Full Of Holes, 
   Saying, As He Did So: "There, Peacock, I Guess You Won'T Write Any 
   More Letters." 
     
     
     
   His Warriors Then Entered the Building and Killed every Man In it, 
   Save One Who Had Been Gored by A Buffalo Bull The Day Before, And 
   Who Was Lying In a Room All By Himself.  He Was Saved by The Fact 
   That The Indian Has A Holy Dread Of Small-Pox, And Will Never Enter 
   An Apartment Where Sick Men Lie, Fearing They May Have The Awful 
   Disease. 
     
     
     
   Satanta (White Bear) Was The Most Efficient And Dreaded chief Of All 
   Who Have Ever Been At The Head Of The Kiowa Nation.  Ever Restlessly 
   Active In ordering Or Conducting Merciless Forays Against An Exposed 
   Frontier, He Was The Very Incarnation Of Deviltry In his Determined 
   Hatred of The Whites, And His Constant Warfare Against Civilization. 
     
     
     
   He Also Possessed wonderful Oratorical Powers; He Could Hurl The Most 
   Violent Invectives At Those Whom He Argued with, Or He Could Be 
   Equally Pathetic When Necessary.  He Was Justly Called "The Orator Of 
   The Plains," Rivalling The Historical Renown Of Tecumseh Or Pontiac. 
     
     
     
   He Was A Short, Bullet-Headed indian, Full Of Courage And Well Versed 
   In Strategy.  Ordinarily, When On His Visits To The Various Military 
   Posts He Wore A Major-General'S Full Uniform, A Suit Of That Rank 
   Having Been Given To Him In the Summer Of 1866 By General Hancock. 
   He Also Owned an Ambulance, A Team Of Mules, And A Set Of Harness, 
   The Last Stolen, Maybe, From Some Caravan He Had Raided on The Trail. 
   In That Ambulance, With A Trained indian Driver, The Wily Chief 
   Travelled, Wrapped in a Savage Dignity That Was Truly Laughable. 
   In His Village, Too, He Assumed a Great Deal Of Style.  He Was Very 
   Courteous To His White Guests, If At The Time His Tribe Were At All 
   Friendly With The Government; Nothing Was Too Good For Them. 
   He Always Laid Down A Carpet On The Floor Of His Lodge In the Post 
   Of Honour, On Which They Were To Sit.  He Had Large Boards, Twenty 
   Inches Wide And Three Feet Long, Ornamented with Brass Tacks Driven 
   All Around The Edges, Which He Used for Tables.  He Also Had A 
   French Horn, Which He Blew Vigorously When Meals Were Ready. 
     
     
     
   His Friendship Was Only Dissembling.  During all The Time That 
   General Sheridan Was Making His Preparations For His Intended winter 
   Campaign Against The Allied plains Tribes, Satanta Made Frequent 
   Visits To The Military Posts, Ostensibly To Show The Officers That 
   He Was Heartily For Peace, But Really To Inform Himself Of What Was 
   Going On. 
     
     
     
   At That Time I Was Stationed at Fort Harker, On The Smoky Hill. 
   One Evening, General Sheridan, Who Was My Guest, Was Sitting On The 
   Verandah Of My Quarters, Smoking and Chatting With Me And Some Other 
   Officers Who Had Come To Pay Him Their Respects, When One Of My Men 
   Rode Up And Quietly Informed me That Satanta Had Just Driven His 
   Ambulance Into The Fort, And Was Getting Ready To Camp Near The Mule 
   Corral.  On Receiving This Information, I Turned to The General And 
   Suggested the Propriety Of Either Killing Or Capturing The Inveterate 
   Demon.  Personally I Believed it Would Be Right To Get Rid Of Such 
   A Character, And I Had Men Under My Command Who Would Have Been 
   Delighted to Execute An Order To That Effect. 
     
     
     
   Sheridan Smiled when I Told Him Of Satanta'S Presence And The 
   Excellent Chance To Get Rid Of Him.  But He Said: "That Would 
   Never Do; The Sentimentalists In the Eastern States Would Raise 
   Such A Howl That The Whole Country Would Be Horrified!" 
     
     
     
   Of Course, In these "Piping Times Of Peace" The Reader, In the Quiet 
   Of His Own Room, Will Think That My Suggestion Was Brutal, And Without 
   Any Palliation; My Excuse, However, May Be Found In general 
   Washington'S Own Motto: Exitus Acta Probat.  If The Suggestion Had 
   Been Acted upon, Many An Innocent Man And Woman Would Have Escaped 
   Torture, And Many A Maiden A Captivity Worse Than Death. 
     
     
     
   As A Specimen Of Satanta'S Oratory, I Offer The Following, To Show 
   The Hypocrisy Of The Subtle Old Villain, And His Power Over The Minds 
   Of Too Sensitive Auditors.  Once Congress Sent Out To The Central 
   Plains A Commission From Washington To Inquire Into The Causes Of 
   The Continual Warfare Raging With The Savages On The Kansas Border; 
   To Learn What The Grievances Of The Indians Were; And To Find Some 
   Remedy For The Wholesale Slaughter Of Men, Women, And Children Along 
   The Line Of The Old Trail. 
     
     
     
   Satanta Was Sent For By The Commission As The Leading Spirit Of The 
   Formidable Kiowa Nation.  When He Entered the Building at Fort Dodge 
   In Which Daily Sessions Were Held, He Was Told By The President To 
   Speak His Mind Without Any Reservation; To Withhold Nothing, But To 
   Truthfully Relate What His Tribe Had To Complain Of On The Part Of 
   The Whites.  The Old Rascal Grew Very Pathetic As He Warmed up To 
   His Subject.  He Declared that He Had No Desire To Kill The White 
   Settlers Or Emigrants Crossing The Plains, But That Those Who Came 
   And Lived on The Land Of His Tribe Ruthlessly Slaughtered the Buffalo, 
   Allowing Their Carcasses To Rot On The Prairie; Killing Them Merely 
   For The Amusement It Afforded them, While The Indian Only Killed 
   When Necessity Demanded.  He Also Stated that The White Hunters 
   Set Out Fires, Destroying The Grass, And Causing The Tribe'S Horses 
   To Starve To Death As Well As The Buffalo; That They Cut Down And 
   Otherwise Destroyed the Timber On The Margins Of The Streams, Making 
   Large Fires Of It, While The Indian Was Satisfied to Cook His Food 
   With A Few Dry And Dead Limbs.  "Only The Other Day," Said He, 
   "I Picked up A Little Switch On The Trail, And It Made My Heart Bleed 
   To Think That So Small A Green Branch, Ruthlessly Torn Out Of The 
   Ground And Thoughtlessly Destroyed by Some White Man, Would In time 
   Have Grown Into A Stately Tree For The Use And Benefit Of My Children 
   And Grandchildren." 
     
     
     
   After The Pow-Wow Had Ended, And Satanta Had Got A Few Drinks Of 
   Red liquor Into Him, His Real, Savage Nature Asserted itself, And 
   He Said To The Interpreter At The Settler'S Store: "Now Didn'T I 
   Give It To Those White Men Who Came From The Great Father?  Didn'T I 
   Do It In fine Style?  Why, I Drew Tears From Their Eyes!  The Switch 
   I Saw On The Trail Made My Heart Glad Instead Of Sad; For I New There 
   Was A Tenderfoot Ahead Of Me, Because An Old Plainsman Or Hunter 
   Would Never Have Carried anything But A Good Quirt Or A Pair Of Spurs. 
   So I Said To My Warriors, 'Come On, Boys; We'Ve Got Him!' And When 
   We Came In sight, After We Had Followed him Closely On The Dead Run, 
   He Threw Away His Rifle And Held Tightly On To His Hat For Fear 
   He Should Lose It!" 
     
     
     
   Another Time When Satanta Had Remained at Fort Dodge For A Very Long 
   Period And Had Worn Out His Welcome, So That No One Would Give Him 
   Anything To Drink, He Went To The Quarters Of His Old Friend, 
   Bill Bennett, The Overland Stage Agent, And Begged him To Give Him 
   Some Liquor.  Bill Was Mixing a Bottle Of Medicine To Drench A 
   Sick Mule.  The Moment He Set The Bottle Down To Do Something Else, 
   Satanta Seized it Off The Ground And Drank Most Of The Liquid Before 
   Quitting.  Of Course, It Made The Old Savage Dreadfully Sick As Well 
   As Angry.  He Then Started for A Certain Officer'S Quarters And Again 
   Begged for Something To Cure Him Of The Effects Of The Former Dose; 
   The Officer Refused, But Satanta Persisted in his Importunities; 
   He Would Not Leave Without It.  After A While, The Officer Went To 
   A Closet And Took A Swallow Of The Most Nauseating Medicine, Placing 
   The Bottle Back On Its Shelf.  Satanta Watched his Chance, And, 
   As Soon As The Officer Left The Room, He Snatched the Bottle Out Of 
   The Closet And Drank Its Contents Without Stopping To Breathe. 
   It Was, Of Course, A Worse Dose Than The Horse-Medicine.  The Next 
   Day, Very Early In the Morning, He Assembled a Number Of His Warriors, 
   Crossed the Arkansas, And Went South To His Village.  Before Leaving, 
   However, He Burnt All Of The Government Contractor'S Hay On The Bank 
   Of The River Opposite The Post.  He Then Continued on To Crooked creek, 
   Where He Murdered three Wood-Choppers, All Of Which, He Said Afterward, 
   He Did In revenge For The Attempt To Poison Him At Fort Dodge. 
     
     
     
   At The Comanche Agency, Where Several Of The Government Agents Were 
   Assembled to Have A Talk With Chiefs Of The Various Plains Tribes, 
   Satanta Said In his Address: "I Would Willingly Take Hold Of That Part 
   Of The White Man'S Road Which Is Represented by The Breech-Loading 
   Rifles; But I Don'T Like The Corn Rations--They Make My Teeth Hurt!" 
     
     
     
   Big Tree Was Another Kiowa Chief.  He Was The Ally And Close Friend 
   Of Satanta, And One Of The Most Daring and Active Of His Warriors. 
   The Sagacity And Bravery Of These Two Savages Would Have Been A Credit 
   To That Of The Most Famous Warriors Of The Old French And Indian Wars. 
   Both Were At Last Taken, Tried, And Sent To The Texas Penitentiary 
   For Life.  Satanta Was Eventually Pardoned; But Before He Was Made 
   Aware Of The Efforts That Were Being Taken For His Release, 
   He Attempted to Escape, And, In jumping From A Window, Fell And Broke 
   His Neck.  His Pardon Arrived the Next Morning.  Big Tree, Through 
   The Work Of The Sentimentalists Of Washington, Was Set Free And Sent 
   To The Kiowa Reservation--Near Fort Sill In the Indian Territory. 
     
     
     
   The Next Most Audacious And Terrible Scourge Of The Plains Was 
   "Ta-Ne-On-Koe" (Kicking Bird).  He Was A Great Warrior Of The Kiowas, 
   And Was The Chief Actor In some Of The Bloodiest Raids On The Kansas 
   Frontier In the History Of Its Troublous Times. 
     
     
     
   One Of His Captures Was That Of A Miss Morgan And Mrs. White. 
   They Were Finally Rescued from The Savages By General Custer, Under 
   The Following Circumstances: Custer, Who Was Advancing With His 
   Column Of Invincible Cavalrymen--The Famous Seventh United states-- 
   In Search Of The Two Unfortunate Women, Had Arrived near The Head 
   Waters Of One Of The Tributaries Of The Washita, And, With Only 
   His Guide And Interpreter, Was Far In advance Of The Column, When, 
   On Reaching The Summit Of An Isolated bluff, They Suddenly Saw A 
   Village Of The Kiowas, Which Turned out To Be That Of Kicking Bird, 
   Whose Handsome Lodge Was Easily Distinguishable From The Rest. 
   Without Waiting For His Command, The General And His Guide Rode 
   Boldly To The Lodge Of The Great Chief, And Both Dismounted, Holding 
   Cocked revolvers In their Hands; Custer Presented his At Kicking 
   Bird'S Head.  In the Meantime, Custer'S Column Of Troopers, Whom 
   The Kiowas Had Good Reason To Remember For Their Bravery In many 
   A Hard-Fought Battle, Came In full View Of The Astonished village. 
   This Threw The Startled savages Into The Utmost Consternation, But 
   The Warriors Were Held In check By Signs From Kicking Bird.  As The 
   Cavalry Drew Nearer, General Custer Demanded the Immediate Release 
   Of The White Women.  Their Presence In the Village Was At First 
   Denied by The Lying Chief, And Not Until He Had Been Led to The Limb 
   Of A Huge Cottonwood Tree Near The Lodge, With A Rope Around His Neck, 
   Did He Acknowledge That He Held The Women And Consent To Give Them Up. 
     
     
     
   This Well-Known Warrior, With A Foreknowledge Not Usually Found In the 
   Savage Mind, Seeing The Beginning Of The End Of Indian Sovereignty 
   On The Plains, Voluntarily Came In and Surrendered himself To The 
   Authorities, And Stayed on The Reservation Near Fort Sill. 
     
     
     
   In June, 1867, A Year Before The Breaking Out Of The Great Indian War 
   On The Central Plains, The Whole Tribe Of Kiowas, Led by Him, 
   Assembled at Fort Larned.  He Was The Cynosure Of All Eyes, As He 
   Was Without Question One Of The Noblest-Looking Savages Ever Seen 
   On The Plains.  On That Occasion He Wore The Full Uniform Of A 
   Major-General Of The United states Army.  He Was As Correctly Moulded 
   As A Statue When On Horseback, And When Mounted on His Magnificent 
   Charger The Morning He Rode Out With General Hancock To Visit The 
   Immense Indian Camp A Few Miles Above The Fort On Pawnee Fork, 
   It Would Have Been A Difficult Task To Have Determined which Was 
   The Finer-Looking Man. 
     
     
     
   After Kicking Bird Had Abandoned his Wicked career, He Was Regarded 
   By Every Army Officer With Whom He Had A Personal Acquaintance As 
   A Remarkably Good Indian; For He Really Made The Most Strenuous 
   Efforts To Initiate His Tribe Into The Idea That It Was Best For It 
   To Follow The White Man'S Road.  He Argued with Them That The Time 
   Was Very Near When There Would No Longer Be Any Region Where The 
   Indians Could Live As They Had Been Doing, Depending On The Buffalo 
   And Other Game For The Sustenance Of Their Families; They Must Adapt 
   Themselves To The Methods Of Their Conquerors. 
     
     
     
   In July, 1869, He Became Greatly Offended with The Government For 
   Its Enforced removal Of His Tribe From Its Natural And Hereditary 
   Hunting-Grounds Into The Reservation Allotted to It.  At That Time 
   Many Of His Warriors, Together With The Comanches, Made A Raid On 
   The Defenceless Settlements Of The Northern Border Of Texas, In which 
   The Savages Were Disastrously Defeated, Losing a Large Number Of 
   Their Most Beloved warriors.  On The Return Of The Unsuccessful 
   Expedition, A Great Council Was Held, Consisting Of All The Chiefs 
   And Head Men Of The Two Tribes Which Had Suffered so Terribly In 
   The Awful Fight, To Consider The Best Means Of Avenging The Loss 
   Of So Many Braves And Friends.  Kicking Bird Was Summoned before 
   That Council And Condemned as A Coward; They Called him A Squaw, 
   Because He Had Refused to Go With The Warriors Of The Combined tribes 
   On The Raid Into Texas. 
     
     
     
   He Told A Friend Of Mine Some Time Afterward That He Had Intended 
   Never Again To Go Against The Whites; But The Emergency Of The Case, 
   And His Severe Condemnation By The Council, Demanded that He Should 
   Do Something To Re-Establish Himself In the Good Graces Of His Tribe. 
   He Then Made One Of The Most Destructive Raids Into Texas That Ever 
   Occurred in the History Of Its Border Warfare, Which Successfully 
   Restored him To The Respect Of His Warriors. 
     
     
     
   In That Raid Kicking Bird Carried off Vast Herds Of Horses And A 
   Large Number Of Scalps.  Although His Tribe Fairly Worshipped him, 
   He Was Not At All Satisfied with Himself.  He Could Look Into The 
   Future As Well As Any One, And From That Time On To His Tragic Death 
   He Laboured most Zealously And Earnestly In connection With The 
   Indian Agents To Bring His People To Live On The Reservation Which 
   The Government Had Established for Them In the Territory. 
     
     
     
   At The Inauguration Of The So-Called "Quaker Policy" By President 
   Grant, That Sect Was Largely Intrusted with The Management Of Indian 
   Affairs, Particularly In the Selection Of Agents For The Various 
   Tribes.  A Mr. Tatham Was Appointed agent For The Kiowas In 1869. 
   He At Once Gained the Confidence Of Kicking Bird, Who Became Very 
   Valuable To Him As An Assistant In controlling The Savages.  It Was 
   Through That Chief'S Influence That Thomas Batty, Another Quaker, 
   Was Allowed to Take Up His Residence With The Tribe, The First White 
   Man Ever Accorded that Privilege.  Batty Was Permitted to Erect 
   Three Tents, Which Were Staked together, Converting Them Into An 
   Ample Schoolhouse.  In that Crude, Temporary Structure He Taught 
   The Kiowa Youth The Rudiments Of An Education.  This Very Successful 
   Innovation Shows How Earnest The Former Dreaded savage Was In his 
   Efforts To Promote The Welfare Of His People, By Trying To Induce 
   Them To "Take The White Man'S Road." 
     
     
     
   Batty Succeeded admirably For A Year In his Office Of Teacher, 
   The Chief All The Time Nobly Withstanding The Taunts And Jeers Of 
   His Warriors And Their Threats Of Taking His Life, For Daring To 
   Allow A White Man Within The Sacred precincts Of Their Village-- 
   A Thing Unparalleled in the Annals Of The Tribe. 
     
     
     
   At Last Trouble Came; The Dissatisfied members Of The Tribe, The 
   Ambitious And Restless Young Men, Eager For Renown, Made Another 
   Unsuccessful Raid Into Texas.  The Result Was That They Lost Nearly 
   The Whole Of The Band, Among Which Was The Favourite Son Of Lone Wolf, 
   A Noted chief.[34]  After The Death Of His Son, He Declared that He 
   Must And Would Have The Scalp Of A White Man In revenge For The 
   Untimely Taking Off Of The Young Warrior.  Of Course, The Most 
   Available White Man At This Juncture Was Batty, The Quaker Teacher, 
   And He Was Chosen By Lone Wolf As The Victim Of Savage Revenge. 
   Here The Noble Instincts Of Kicking Bird Developed themselves. 
   He Very Plainly Told Lone Wolf, Who Was Constantly Threatening and 
   Thirsting For Blood, That He Could Not Kill Batty Until He First 
   Killed him And All His Band.  But Lone Wolf Had Fully Determined 
   To Have The Hair Of The Innocent Quaker; So Kicking Bird, To Avert 
   Any Collision Between The Two Bands Of Indians, Kidnapped batty 
   And Ran Him Off To The Agency, Arriving at Fort Sill About An Hour 
   Before Lone Wolf'S Band Of Avengers Overtook Them, And Thus The 
   Quaker Teacher Was Saved. 
     
     
     
   One Day, Long After These Occurrences, A Friend Of Mine Was In the 
   Sutler'S Store At Fort Sill.  In there Was A Stranger Talking To 
   Mr. Fox, The Agent Of The Indians.  Soon Kicking Bird Entered the 
   Establishment, And The Stranger Asked mr. Fox Who That Fine-Looking 
   Indian Was.  He Was Told, And Then He Begged the Agent To Say To Him 
   That He Would Like To Have A Talk With Him; For He It Was Who Led 
   That Famous Raid Into Texas.  "I Never Saw Better Generalship In the 
   Field In all My Experience.  He Had Three Horses Killed under Him. 
   I Was The Surgeon Of The Rangers And Was, Of Course, In the Fight."[35] 
     
     
     
   When Kicking Bird Was Told That The Texas Doctor Desired to Talk With 
   Him, He Replied with Great Dignity That He Did Not Want To Revive 
   Those Troublous Times.  "Tell Him, Though," Said Kicking Bird, "That 
   Was My Last Raid Against The Whites; That I Am A Changed man." 
     
     
     
   The President Of The United states Sent For Kicking Bird To Come To 
   Washington, And To Bring With Him Such Other Influential Indians As 
   He Thought Might Aid In inducing The Kiowas To Cease Their Continual 
   Raiding On The Border Of Texas. 
     
     
     
   In Due Time Kicking Bird Left For The Capital, Taking With Him 
   Lone Wolf, Big Bow, And Sun Boy Of The Kiowas, Together With Several 
   Of The Head Men Of The Comanches.  When The Deputation Of Savages 
   Arrived in washington, It Was Received at The Presidential Mansion 
   By The Chief Magistrate Himself.  So Much More Attention Was Given 
   To Kicking Bird Than To The Others, That They Became Very Jealous, 
   Particularly When The President Announced to Them The Appointment 
   Of Kicking Bird As The Head Chief Of The Tribe.[36]  But Lone Wolf 
   Would Never Recognize His Authority, Constantly Urging The Young Men 
   To Raid The Settlements.  Lone Wolf Was A Genuine Savage, Without One 
   Redeeming Trait, And His Hatred of The White Race Was Unparalleled 
   In Its Intensity.  He Was Never Known To Smile.  No Other Indian Can 
   Show Such A Record Of Horrible Massacres As He Is Responsible For. 
   His Orders Were Rigidly Obeyed, For He Brooked no Disobedience On 
   The Part Of His Warriors. 
     
     
     
   In The Summer Of 1876, A Party Of English Gentlemen Left Fort Harker 
   For A Buffalo Hunt.  They Soon Exhausted all Their Rations And Started 
   A Four-Mule Team Back To The Post For More.  Some Of Lone Wolf'S Band 
   Of Cut-Throats Came Across The Unfortunate Teamster, Killed him, 
   And Ran Off The Team.  After The Occurrence, Kicking Bird Came Into 
   The Agency At Fort Sill And Told Mr. Haworth, The Agent, That He Had 
   Given His Word To The Great Father At Washington He Would Do All He 
   Could To Bring In those Indians Who Had Been Raiding By Order Of 
   Lone Wolf, Particularly The Two Who Had Killed the Englishmen'S Driver. 
     
     
     
   He Succeeded in  Bringing In twelve Indians In all, Among Them The 
   Murderers Of The Driver.  They, With Lone Wolf And Satank, Were Sent 
   To The Dry Tortugas For Life.  The Morning They Started on Their 
   Journey Satank Talked very Feelingly To Kicking Bird, With Tears In 
   His Eyes.  He Said That They Might Look For His Bones Along The Road, 
   For He Would Never Go To Florida.  The Savages Were Loaded into 
   Government Wagons.  Satank Was Inside Of One With A Soldier On Each 
   Side Of Him, Their Legs Hanging Outside.  Somehow The Crafty Villain 
   Managed to Slip The Handcuffs Off His Wrists, At The Same Instant 
   Seizing The Rifle Of One Of His Guards, And Then Shoved the Two Men 
   Out With His Feet.  He Tried to Work The Lever Of The Rifle, But 
   Could Not Move It, And One Of The Soldiers, Coming around The Wagon 
   To Where He Was Still Trying To Get The Gun So As He Could Use It, 
   Shot Him Down, And Then Threw His Body On The Trail.  Thus Satank 
   Made Good His Vow That He Would Never Be Taken To Florida.  He Met 
   His Death Only A Mile From The Post. 
     
     
     
   After The Departure Of The Condemned savages, The Feeling In the Tribe 
   Against Kicking Bird Increased to An Alarming Extent.  Several Times 
   The Most Incensed warriors Tried to Kill Him By Shooting at Him From 
   An Ambush.  After He Became Fully Aware That His Life Was In danger, 
   He Never Left His Lodge Without His Carbine.  He Was As Brave As A 
   Lion, Fearing None Of The Members Of Lone Wolf'S Band; But He Often 
   Said It Was Only A Question Of A Short Time When He Would Be Gotten 
   Rid Of; He Did Not Allow The Matter, However, To Worry Him In the 
   Least, Saying That He Was Conscious He Had Done His Duty By His Tribe 
   And The Great Father. 
     
     
     
   In A Bend Of Cash Creek, About Half A Mile Below The Mill, About Half 
   A Dozen Of The Kiowas Had Their Lodges, That Of Their Chief Being 
   Among Them.  At Ten O'Clock One Monday In june, 1876, Mr. Haworth, 
   The Agent, Came In haste To The Shops, Called the Master Mechanic, 
   Mr. Wykes, Out, Told Him To Jump Into The Carriage Quickly; That 
   Kicking Bird Was Dead. 
     
     
     
   When They Arrived at The Home Of The Great Chief, Sure Enough He Was 
   Dead, And Some Of The Women Were Engaged in folding His Body In robes. 
   Other Squaws Were Cutting Themselves In a Terrible Manner, As Is Their 
   Custom When A Relative Dies, And Were Also Breaking Everything 
   Breakable About The Lodge.  Kicking Bird Had Always Been Scrupulously 
   Clean And Neat In the Care Of His Home; It Was Adorned with The Most 
   Beautifully Dressed buffalo Robes And The Finest Furs, While The Floor 
   Was Covered with Matting. 
     
     
     
   It Seems That Kicking Bird, After Visiting Mr. Wykes That Morning, 
   Went Immediately To His Lodge, And Sat Down To Eat Something, But 
   Just As He Had Finished a Cup Of Coffee, He Fell Over, Dead.  He Had 
   In His Service A Mexican Woman, And She Had Been Bribed to Poison Him. 
     
     
     
   An Expensive Coffin Was Made At The Agency For His Remains, Fashioned 
   Out Of The Finest Black Walnut To Be Found In the Country Where That 
   Timber Grows To Such A Luxuriant Extent.  It Was Eight Feet Long 
   And Four Feet Deep, But Even Then It Did Not Hold One-Half Of His 
   Effects, Which Were, According To The Savage Custom, Interred with 
   His Body. 
     
     
     
   The Cries And Lamentations Of The Warriors And Women Of His Band 
   Were Heartrending; Such A Manifestation Of Grief Was Never Before 
   Witnessed at The Agency.  A Handsome Fence Was Erected around His 
   Grave, In the Cemetery At Fort Sill, And The Government Ordered 
   A Beautiful Marble Monument To Be Raised over It; But I Do Not Know 
   Whether It Was Ever Done. 
     
     
     
   Kicking Bird Was Only Forty Years Old At The Time Of His Sudden 
   Taking Off, And Was Very Wealthy For An Indian.  He Knew The Uses 
   Of Money And Was A Careful Saver Of It.  A Great Roll Of Greenbacks 
   Was Placed in his Coffin, And That Fact Having Leaked out, It Was 
   Rumoured that His Grave Was Robbed; But The Story May Not Have Been 
   True. 
     
     
     
   One Of The Greatest Terrors Of The Old Santa Fe Trail Was The 
   Half-Breed indian Desperado Charles Bent.  His Mother Was A Cheyenne 
   Squaw, And His Father The Famous Trader, Colonel Bent.  He Was Born 
   At The Base Of The Rocky Mountains, And At A Very Early Age Placed 
   In One Of The Best Schools That St. Louis Afforded.  His Venerable 
   Sire, With Only A Limited education Himself, Was Determined that 
   His Boy Should Profit By The Culture And Refinement Of Civilization, 
   So He Was Not Allowed to Return To His Mountain Home At Bent'S Fort, 
   And The Savage Conditions Under Which He Was Born, Until He Had 
   Attained his Majority.  He Then Spoke No Language But English. 
   His Mother Died while He Was Absent At School, And His Father 
   Continued to Live At The Old Fort, Where Charles, After He Had 
   Reached the Age Of Twenty-One, Joined him. 
     
     
     
   Some Washington Sentimentalist, Philosophizing On The Indian Character, 
   His Knowledge Being Based on Cooper'S Novels Probably, Has Said: 
   "Civilization Has Very Marked effects Upon An Indian.  If He Once 
   Learns To Speak English, He Will Soon Forget All His Native Cunning 
   And Pride Of Race."  Let Us See How This Theory Worked with Charley Bent. 
     
     
     
   As Soon As The Educated half-Breed set His Foot On His Native Heath 
   He Readily Found Enough Ambitious Young Bucks Of His Own Age Who 
   Were Willing To Look On Him As Their Leader.  They Loved him, Too, 
   If Such A Thing Were Possible, As Fra Diavolo Was Loved by His Wild 
   Followers.  His Band Was Known As The "Dog-Soldiers"; A Sort Of A 
   Semi-Military Organization, Consisting Of The Most Daring, 
   Blood-Thirsty Young Men Of The Tribe; And Sometimes "Squaw-Men," 
   That Is, Renegade White Men Married to Squaws, Attached themselves 
   To His Command Of Cut-Throats. 
     
     
     
   At The Head Of This Collection Of The Worst Savages, Hardly Ever 
   Numbering Over A Hundred, Charles Bent Robbed ranches, Attacked 
   Wagon-Trains, Overland Coaches, And Army Caravans.  He Stole And 
   Murdered indiscriminately.  The History Of His Bloody Work Will 
   Never Be Wholly Revealed, For Dead Men Have No Tongues. 
     
     
     
   He Would Visit All Alone, In the Guise Of Plainsman, Hunter, Or 
   Cattleman, The Emigrant Trains Crossing The Continent, Always, 
   However, Those Which Had Only Small Escorts Or None At All.  Feigning 
   Hunger, While His Needs Were Being Kindly Furnished, He Would Glance 
   Around Him To Learn What Kind Of An Outfit It Was; Its Value, Its 
   Destination, And How Well Guarded.  Then He Would Take His Leave With 
   Many Thanks, Rejoin His Band, And With It Dash Down On The Train And 
   Kill Every Human Being Unfortunate Enough Not To Have Escaped before 
   He Arrived. 
     
     
     
   He Was Indefatigable In his Efforts To Kill Off The Whole Corps Of 
   Army Scouts.  He Would Pass Himself Off As A Fellow-Scout, As A 
   Deserter From Some Military Post, Or As An Indian Trader, For He Was 
   A Wonderful Actor, And Would Have Achieved histrionic Honours Had 
   He Chosen The Stage As A Profession. 
     
     
     
   He Would Always Time His Actions So As To Be Found Apparently Asleep 
   By A Little Camp-Fire On The Bank Of Pawnee Fork, Crooked, Mulberry, 
   Or Walnut Creeks, All Of Which Streams Intercepted the Trails Running 
   North And South Between The Several Military Posts During The Indian 
   War, When He Would Seem Delighted and Astonished, Or Else Simulate 
   Suspicion.  Then He Would Either Murder The Unsuspecting Scout With 
   His Own Hands, Or Deliver Him To The Red fiends Of His Band To Be 
   Tormented. 
     
     
     
   The Government Offered a Reward Of Five Thousand Dollars For Bent'S 
   Capture, Dead Or Alive.  It Was Reported currently That He Was At Last 
   Killed in a Battle With Some Deputy United states Marshals, And That 
   They Received the Reward; But The Whole Thing Was Manufactured out Of 
   Whole Cloth, And If The Marshals Received the Money, Uncle Sam Was 
   Most Outrageously Swindled. 
     
     
     
   The Facts Are That He Died of Malarial Fever Superinduced by A Wound 
   Received in a Fight With The Kaws, Near The Mouth Of The Walnut And 
   Not Far From Fort Zarah.  His "Dog-Soldiers" Were Whipped by The Kaws, 
   And His Band Driven Off.  Bent Lingered for Some Time And Died. 
   
   
   
   Chapter XI (La Glorieta) 
   New Mexico, At The Breaking Out Of The Civil War, Was Abandoned by 
   The Government At Washington, Or At Least So Overlooked that The 
   Charge Of Neglect Was Merited.  In the Report Of The Committee On 
   The Conduct Of The War, Under Date Of July 15, 1862, Brevet 
   Lieutenant-Colonel B. S. Roberts Of The Regular Army, Major Of The 
   Third Cavalry, Who Was Stationed in the Territory In 1861, Says: 
             It Appears To Me To Be The Determination Of General Thomas[37] 
             Not To Acknowledge The Service Of The Officers Who Saved 
             The Territory Of New Mexico; And The Utter Neglect Of The 
             Adjutant-General'S Department For The Last Year To 
             Communicate In any Way With The Commanding Officer Of The 
             Department Of New Mexico, Or To Answer His Urgent Appeals 
             For Reinforcements, For Money And Other Supplies, In 
             Connection With His Repudiation Of The Services Of All The 
             Army There, Convinces Me That He Is Not Gratified at Their 
             Loyalty And Their Success In saving That Territory To 
             The Union. 
     
     
     
   If Space Could Be Given To The Story Of The Carefully Prepared plans 
   Of The Leaders Of Secession For The Conquest Of All The Territory 
   South Of A Line Drawn From Maryland Directly West To The Pacific 
   Coast, In which Were California, Arizona, And New Mexico, It Would 
   Reveal Some Startling Facts, And Prove Beyond Question That It Was 
   The Intention Of Jefferson Davis To Precipitate The Rebellion A 
   Decade Before It Actually Occurred.  The Basis Of The Scheme Was To 
   Inaugurate A War Between Texas--Which, When Admitted into The Union, 
   Claimed all That Part Of New Mexico East Of The Rio Grande--And The 
   United states, In which Conflict Mississippi And Some Of The Other 
   Southern States Were To Become Participants.  The Plan Fell Flat, 
   Because, In 1851, Mr. Davis Failed of A Re-Election To The Governorship 
   Of Mississippi. 
     
     
     
   So Confident Were Many Of Mr. Davis' Allies In regard To The 
   Contemplated rebellion, That They Boasted to Their Friends Of The 
   North, Upon Leaving Washington, That When They Met Again, It Would 
   Be Upon A Southern Battle-Field. 
     
     
     
   I Have Alluded incidentally To What Is Known As The Texas Santa Fe 
   Expedition, Inaugurated by The President Of What Was Then The Republic 
   Of Texas, Mirabeau B. Lamar.  It Was Given Out To The World That 
   It Was Merely One Of Commercial Interest--To Increase The Trade 
   Between The Two Countries; But That It Was Intended for The Conquest 
   Of New Mexico, No One Now, In the Light Of History, Doubts. 
   It Resulted in disaster, And Is A Story Well Worthy The Examination 
   Of The Student Of American Politics.[38] 
     
     
     
   In 1861 General Twiggs Commanded the Military Department Of Which 
   Texas Was An Important Part.  It Will Be Remembered that He Surrendered 
   To The Confederate Government The Troops, The Munitions Of War, 
   The Forts, Or Posts As They Were Properly Termed, And Everything 
   Pertaining To The United states Army Under His Control.  It Was The 
   Intention Of The Confederacy To Use This Region As A Military Base 
   From Which To Continue Its Conquests Westward, And Capture The Various 
   Forts In new Mexico.  Particularly They Had Their Eyes Upon Fort Union, 
   Where There Was An Arsenal, Which John B. Floyd, Secretary Of War, 
   Had Taken Especial Care To Have Well Stocked previously To The Act 
   Of Secession. 
     
     
     
   But The Conspirators Had Reckoned without Their Host; They Imagined 
   The Native Mexicans Would Eagerly Accept Their Overtures, And Readily 
   Support The Southern Confederacy.  Mr. Davis And His Coadjutors Had 
   Evidently Forgotten The Effect Of The Texas Santa Fe Expedition, 
   In 1841, Upon The People Of The Province Of New Mexico; But The 
   Natives Themselves Had Not.  Besides The Loyalty Of The Mexicans, 
   There Was A Factor Which The Confederate Leaders Had Failed to 
   Consider, Which Was That The Majority Of The American Pioneers Had 
   Come From Loyal States. 
     
     
     
   Of Course, There Were Many Secessionists Both In colorado And 
   New Mexico Who Were Watching The Progress Of Rebellion In eager 
   Anticipation; And It Is Claimed that In denver A Rebel Flag Was 
   Raised--But How True That Is I Do Not Know. 
     
     
     
   John B. Floyd, Secretary Of War, Was One Of The Leading Spirits Of 
   The Confederacy.  A Year Before The Civil War He Placed in command 
   Of The Department Of New Mexico A North Carolinian, Colonel Loring, 
   Who Was In perfect Sympathy With His Superior, And Willing To Carry 
   Out His Well-Defined plans.  In 1861 He Ordered colonel G. B. Crittenden 
   On An Expedition Against The Apaches.  This Officer At Once Tried to 
   Induce His Troops To Attach Themselves To The Rebel Army In texas, 
   But He Was Met With An Indignant Refusal By Colonel Roberts And 
   The Regular Soldiers Under Him.  The Loyal Colonel Told Crittenden, 
   In The Most Forcible Language, That He Would Resist Any Such Attempt 
   On His Part, And Reported the Action Of Colonel Crittenden To The 
   Commander Of The Department At Santa Fe.  Of Course, Colonel Loring 
   Paid No Attention To The Complaint Of Disloyalty, And Then Colonel 
   Roberts Conveyed the Tidings To The Commanding Officers Of Several 
   Military Posts In the Territory, Whom He Knew Were True To The Union, 
   And Only One Man Out Of Nearly Two Thousand Regular Soldiers 
   Renounced his Flag.  Some Of The Officers Stationed at New Mexico 
   Were Of A Different Mind, And One Of Them, Major Lynde, Commanding 
   Fort Filmore, Surrendered to A Detachment Of Texans, Who Paroled 
   The Enlisted men, As They Firmly Refused to Join The Rebel Forces. 
     
     
     
   Upon The Desertion Of Colonel Loring To The Southern Confederacy, 
   General Edward R. S. Canby Was Assigned to The Command Of The 
   Department; Next In rank Was The Loyal Roberts.  At This Perilous 
   Juncture In new Mexico, There Were But A Thousand Regulars All Told, 
   But The Territory Furnished two Regiments Of Volunteers, Commanded by 
   Officers Whose Names Had Been Famous On The Border For Years. 
   Among These Was Colonel Ceran St. Vrain, Who Had Been Conspicuous 
   In The Suppression Of The Mexican Insurrection Of 1847, Fifteen Years 
   Before.  Kit Carson Was Lieutenant-Colonel; J. F. Chaves, Major; And 
   The Most Prominent Of The Line Officers Captain Albert H. Pfeiffer, 
   With A Record As An Indian Fighter Equal To That Of Carson. 
     
     
     
   At The Same Time Colorado Was Girding On Her Armour For The Impending 
   Conflict.  The Governor Of The Prosperous Territory Was William Gilpin, 
   An Old Army Officer, Who Had Spent A Large Part Of His Life On The 
   Frontier, And Had Accompanied colonel Doniphan, As Major Of His 
   Regiment, Across The Plains, On The Expedition To New Mexico In 1846. 
     
     
     
   Colonel Gilpin At Once Responded to The Pleadings Of New Mexico For 
   Help, By Organizing Two Companies At First, Quickly Following With 
   A Full Regiment.  This Colorado Regiment Was Composed of As Fine 
   Material As Any Portion Of The United states Could Furnish. 
   John P. Slough, A War Democrat And A Lawyer, Was Its Colonel. 
   He Afterwards Became Chief Justice Of New Mexico, And Was Brutally 
   Murdered in that Territory. 
     
     
     
   John M. Chivington, A Strict Methodist And A Presiding Elder Of 
   That Church, Was Offered the Chaplaincy, But Firmly Declined, And, 
   Like Many Others Who Wore The Clerical Garb, He Quickly Doffed it 
   And Put On The Attire Of A Soldier; So He Was Made Major, And His 
   Record As A Fighter Was Equal To The Best. 
     
     
     
   The Commanding General Knew Well The Plans Of The Rebels As To Their 
   Intended occupation Of New Mexico, And, Notwithstanding The Weakness 
   Of His Force, Determined to Frustrate Them If Within The Limits Of 
   Possibility.  To That End He Concentrated his Little Army, Comprising 
   A Thousand Regular Soldiers, The Two Regiments Of New Mexico 
   Volunteers, Two Companies Of Colorado Troops, And A Portion Of The 
   Territorial Militia, At Fort Craig, On The Rio Grande, To Await 
   The Approach Of The Confederate Troops, Under The Command Of 
   General H. H. Sibley, An Old Regular Army Officer, A Native Of 
   Louisiana, And The Inventor Of The Comfortable Tent Named after Him. 
     
     
     
   Sibley'S Brigade Comprised some Three Thousand Men, The Majority 
   Of Them Texans, And He Expected that Many More Would Flock To His 
   Standard As He Moved northward.  On The 19Th Of February, 1862, 
   He Crossed the Rio Grande Below Fort Craig, Not Daring To Attack 
   Canby In his Intrenched position.  The Union Commander, In order 
   To Keep The Texas Troops From Gaining The High Points Overlooking 
   The Fort, Placed portions Of The Fifth, Seventh, And Tenth Regulars, 
   Together With Carson'S And Pino'S Volunteers, On The Other Side Of 
   The River.  No Collision Occurred that Day, But The Next Afternoon 
   Major Duncan, With His Cavalry And Captain M'Rae'S Light Battery, 
   Having Been Sent Across To Reinforce The Infantry, A Heavy Artillery 
   Fire Was Immediately Opened upon Them By The Texans.  The Men Under 
   Carson Behaved splendidly, But The Other Volunteer Regiments Became 
   A Little Demoralized, And The General Was Compelled to Call Back 
   The Force Into The Fort.  Sibley'S Force, Both Men And Animals, 
   Suffered much From Thirst, The Latter Stampeding, And Many, Wandering 
   Into Our Lines, Were Caught By The Scouts Of The Union Forces. 
   The Next Morning Early Colonel Roberts Was Ordered to Proceed about 
   Seven Miles Up The River To Keep The Texans Away From The Water At 
   A Point Where It Was Alone Accessible, On Account Of The Steepness 
   Of The Banks Everywhere Else. 
     
     
     
   The Gallant Roberts, On Arriving at The Ford, Planted a Battery There, 
   And At Once Opened fire.  This Was The Battle Of Valverde, The Details 
   Of Which, However, Do Not Belong To This Book, Having Been Only 
   Incidentally Referred to In order To Lead The Reader Intelligently 
   Up To That Of La Glorieta, Apache Canyon, Or Pigeon'S Ranch, As It 
   Is Indifferently Called. 
     
     
     
   Valverde Was Lost To The Union Troops, But Never Did Men Fight More 
   Valiantly, With The Exception Of A Few Who Did Not Act The Part Of 
   The True Soldier.  The Brave M'Rae Mounted one Of The Guns Of His 
   Battery, Choosing To Die Rather Than Surrender. 
     
     
     
   General Sibley, After His Doubtful Victory At Valverde, Continued 
   On To Albuquerque And Santa Fe.  The Old City Offered no Resistance 
   To His Occupation; In fact, Some Of The Most Influential Mexicans 
   Were Pleased, Their Leaning Being Strongly Toward The Southern 
   Confederacy; But The Common People Were As Loyal To The Union As 
   Those Of Any Of The Northern States, A Feeling Intensified by Their 
   Hatred for The Texans On Account Of The Expedition Of Conquest In 
   1841, Twenty-One Years Before.  They Contributed of Their Means To 
   Aid The United states Troops, But Have Never Received proper Credit 
   For Their Action In those Days Of Trouble In the Neglected territory. 
     
     
     
   The Confederate General Was Disappointed at The Way In which Affairs 
   Were Going, For He Had Based great Hopes Upon The Defection Of The 
   Native Residents; But He Determined to March Forward To Fort Union, 
   Where His Friend Floyd Had Placed such Stores As Were Likely To Be 
   Needed in the Campaign Which He Had Designed. 
     
     
     
   From Santa Fe To Fort Union, Where The Arsenal Was Located, The Road 
   Runs Through The Deep, Rocky Gorge Known As Apache Canyon.  It Is 
   One Of The Wildest Spots In the Mountains, The Walls On Each Side 
   Rising From One To Two Thousand Feet Above The Trail, Which Is Within 
   The Range Of Ordinary Cannon From Every Point, And In many Places 
   Of Point-Blank Rifle-Shot.  Granite Rocks And Sands Abound, And The 
   Hills Are Covered with Long-Leafed pine.  It Is A Gateway Which, 
   In The Hands Of A Skilful Engineer And One Hundred resolute Men, 
   Can Be Made Perfectly Impregnable. 
     
     
     
   The Atchison, Topeka, And Santa Fe Railway Passes Directly Through 
   This Picturesque Chasm, Every Foot Of Which Is Classic Ground, And 
   In The Season Of The Mountain Freshets Constant Care Is Needed to 
   Keep Its Bridges In place. 
     
     
     
   At Its Eastern Entrance Is A Large Residence, Known As Pigeon'S Ranch, 
   From Which The Battle To Be Described derives Its Name, Though, 
   As Stated, It Is Also Known As That Of Apache Canyon, And La Glorieta,[39] 
   The Latter, Perhaps, The Most Classical, From The Range Of Mountains 
   Enclosing The Rent In the Mighty Hills. 
     
     
     
   The Following Detailed account Of This Battle I Have Taken From 
   The _History Of Colorado_,[40] An Admirable Work: 
     
     
     
             The Sympathizers With And Abettors Of The Southern 
             Confederacy Inaugurated their Plans By Posting Handbills 
             In all Conspicuous Places Between Denver And The 
             Mining-Camps, Designating Certain Localities Where The 
             Highest Prices Would Be Paid For Arms Of Every Description, 
             And For Powder, Lead, Shot, And Percussion Caps. 
             Simultaneously, A Small Force Was Collected and Put Under 
             Discipline To Co-Operate With Parties Expected from Arkansas 
             And Texas Who Were To Take Possession, First Of Colorado, 
             And Subsequently Of New Mexico, Anticipating The Easy 
             Capture Of The Federal Troops And Stores Located there. 
             Being apprised of The Movement, The Governor Immediately 
             Decided to Enlist A Full Regiment Of Volunteers. 
             John P. Slough Was Appointed colonel, Samuel F. Tappan 
             Lieutenant-Colonel, And John J. M. Chivington Major. 
     
     
     
             Without Railroads Or Telegraphs Nearer Than The Missouri 
             River, And Wholly Dependent Upon The Overland Mail Coach 
             For Communication With The States And The Authorities At 
             Washington, News Was At Least A Week Old When Received. 
             Thus The Troops Passed the Time In a Condition Of Doubt 
             And Extreme Anxiety, Until The 6Th Of January, 1862, When 
             Information Arrived that An Invading Force Under General 
             H. H. Sibley, From San Antonio, Texas, Was Approaching 
             The Southern Border Of New Mexico, And Had Already Captured 
             Forts Fillmore And Bliss, Making Prisoners Of Their 
             Garrisons Without Firing a Gun, And Securing all Their 
             Stock And Supplies. 
     
     
     
             Immediately Upon Receipt Of This Intelligence, Efforts 
             Were Made To Obtain The Consent Of, Or Orders From, General 
             Hunter, Commanding The Department At Fort Leavenworth, 
             Kansas, For The Regiment To Go To The Relief Of General 
             Canby, Then In command Of The Department Of New Mexico. 
             On The 20Th Of February, Orders Came From General Hunter, 
             Directing Colonel Slough And The First Regiment Of Colorado 
             Volunteers To Proceed with All Possible Despatch To 
             Fort Union, Or Santa Fe, New Mexico, And Report To General 
             Canby For Service. 
     
     
     
             Two Days Thereafter, The Command Marched out Of Camp Weld 
             Two Miles Up The Platte River, And In due Time Encamped 
             At Pueblo, On The Arkansas River.  At This Point Further 
             Advices Were Received from Canby, Stating That He Had 
             Encountered the Enemy At Valverde, Ten Miles North Of 
             Fort Craig, But, Owing To The Inefficiency Of The Newly 
             Raised new Mexican Volunteers, Was Compelled to Retire. 
             The Texans Under Sibley Marched on Up The Rio Grande, 
             Levying Tribute Upon The Inhabitants For Their Support. 
             The Colorado Troops Were Urged to The Greatest Possible 
             Haste In reaching Fort Union, Where They Were To Unite 
             With Such Regular Troops As Could Be Concentrated at That 
             Post, And Thus Aid In saving The Fort And Its Supplies 
             From Falling Into Confederate Hands.  Early On The 
             Following Morning The Order Was Given To Proceed to Union 
             By Forced marches, And It Is Doubtful If The Same Number Of 
             Men Ever Marched a Like Distance In the Same Length Of Time. 
     
     
     
             When The Summit Of Raton Pass Was Reached, Another Courier 
             From Canby Met The Command, Who Informed colonel Slough 
             That The Texans Had Already Captured albuquerque And 
             Santa Fe With All The Troops Stationed at Those Places, 
             Together With The Supplies Stored there, And That They 
             Were Then Marching On Fort Union. 
     
     
     
             Arriving at Red river About Sundown, The Regiment Was 
             Drawn Up In line And This Information Imparted to The Men. 
             The Request Was Then Made For All Who Were Willing To 
             Undertake A Forced march At Night To Step Two Paces To 
             The Front, When Every Man Advanced to The New Alignment. 
             After A Hasty Supper The March Was Resumed, And At Sunrise 
             The Next Morning They Reached maxwell'S Ranch On The 
             Cimarron, Having Made Sixty-Four Miles In less Than 
             Twenty-Four Hours.  At Ten O'Clock On The Second Night 
             Thereafter, The Command Entered fort Union.  It Was There 
             Discovered that Colonel Paul, In charge Of The Post, Had 
             Mined the Fort, Giving Orders For The Removal Of The Women 
             And Children, And Was Preparing To Blow Up All The Supplies 
             And March To Fort Garland Or Some Other Post To The 
             Northward, On The First Approach Of The Confederates. 
     
     
     
             The Troops Remained at Union From The 13Th To The 22D Of 
             March, When By Order Of Colonel Slough They Proceeded in 
             The Direction Of Santa Fe.  The Command Consisted of 
             The First Colorado Volunteers; Two Light Batteries, 
             One Commanded by Captain Ritter And The Other By Captain 
             Claflin; Ford'S Company Of Colorado Volunteers Unattached; 
             Two Companies Of The Fifth Regular Infantry; And Two 
             Companies Of The Seventh United states Cavalry. 
     
     
     
             The Force Encamped at Bernal Springs, Where Colonel Slough 
             Determined to Organize A Detachment To Enter Santa Fe By 
             Night With The View Of Surprising The Enemy, Spiking His 
             Guns, And After Doing What Other Damage Could Be Accomplished 
             Without Bringing On A General Action, Falling Back On The 
             Main Body.  The Detachment Chosen Comprised sixty Men Each 
             From Companies A, D, And E Of The Colorado Regiment, With 
             Company F Of The Same Mounted, And Thirty-Seven Men Each 
             From The Companies Of Captains Ford And Howland, And Of 
             The Seventh Cavalry, The Whole Commanded by Major Chivington. 
     
     
     
             At Sundown On The 25Th Of March It Reached kosloskie'S Ranch, 
             Where Major Chivington Was Informed that The Enemy'S Pickets 
             Were In the Vicinity.  He Went Into Camp At Once, And About 
             Nine O'Clock Of The Same Evening Sent Out Lieutenant Nelson 
             Of The First Colorado With Thirty Men Of Company F, Who 
             Captured the Texan Pickets While They Were Engaged in a Game 
             Of Cards At Pigeon'S Ranch, And Before Daylight On The 
             Morning Of The 26Th, Reported at Camp With His Prisoners. 
             After Breakfast, The Major, Being apprised of The Enemy'S 
             Whereabouts, Proceeded cautiously, Keeping His Advance 
             Guard Well To The Front.  While Passing Near The Summit 
             Of The Hill, The Officer In command Of The Advance Met 
             The Confederate Advance, Consisting Of A First Lieutenant 
             And Thirty Men, Captured them Without Firing a Gun, And 
             Returning Met The Main Body And Turned them Over To The 
             Commanding Officer.  The Confederate Lieutenant Declared 
             That They Had Received no Intimation Of The Advance From 
             Fort Union, But Themselves Expected to Be There Four Days 
             Later. 
     
     
     
             Descending apache Canyon For The Distance Of Half A Mile, 
             Chivington'S Force Observed the Approaching Texans, About 
             Six Hundred strong, With Three Pieces Of Artillery, Who, 
             On Discovering The Federals, Halted, Formed line And Battery, 
             And Opened fire. 
     
     
     
             Chivington Drew Up His Cavalry As A Reserve Under Cover, 
             Deployed company D Under Captain Downing To The Right, 
             And Companies A And E Under Captains Wynkoop And Anthony 
             To The Left, Directing Them To Ascend The Mountain-Side 
             Until They Were Above The Elevation Of The Enemy'S Artillery 
             And Thus Flank Him, At The Same Time Directing Captain 
             Howland, He Being The Ranking Cavalry Officer, To Closely 
             Observe The Enemy, And When He Retreated, Without Further 
             Orders To Charge With The Cavalry.  This Disposition Of 
             The Troops Proved wise And Successful.  The Texans Soon 
             Broke Battery And Retreated down The Canyon A Mile Or More, 
             But From Some Cause Captain Howland Failed to Charge As 
             Ordered, Which Enabled the Confederates To Take Up A New 
             And Strong Position, Where They Formed battery, Threw Their 
             Supports Well Up The Sides Of The Mountain, And Again 
             Opened fire. 
     
     
     
             Chivington Dismounted captains Howland And Lord With Their 
             Regulars, Leaving Their Horses In charge Of Every Fourth 
             Man, And Ordered them To Join Captain Downing On The Left, 
             Taking Orders From Him.  Our Skirmishers Advanced, And, 
             Flanking The Enemy'S Supports, Drove Them Pell-Mell Down 
             The Mountain-Side, When Captain Samuel Cook, With Company F, 
             First Colorado, Having Been Signalled by The Major, Made 
             As Gallant And Successful A Charge Through The Canyon, 
             Through The Ranks Of The Confederates And Back, As Was 
             Ever Performed.  Meanwhile, Our Infantry Advanced rapidly; 
             When The Enemy Commenced his Retreat A Second Time, They 
             Were Well Ahead Of Him On The Mountain-Sides And Poured 
             A Galling Fire Into Him, Which Thoroughly Demoralized and 
             Broke Him Up, Compelling The Entire Body To Seek Shelter 
             Among The Rocks Down The Canyon And In some Cabins That 
             Stood By The Wayside. 
     
     
     
             After An Hour Spent In collecting The Prisoners, And 
             Caring For The Wounded, Both Federal And Confederate, 
             The Latter Having Left In killed, Wounded, And Prisoners 
             A Number Equal To Our Whole Force In the Field, The First 
             Baptism By Fire Of Our Volunteers Terminated.  The Victory 
             Was Decided and Complete.  Night Intervening, And There 
             Being No Water In the Canyon, The Little Command Fell Back 
             To Pigeon'S Ranch, Whence A Courier Was Despatched to 
             Colonel Slough, Advising Him Of The Engagement And Its 
             Result, And Requesting Him To Bring Forward The Main 
             Command As Rapidly As Possible, As The Enemy With All His 
             Forces Had Moved from Santa Fe Toward Fort Union. 
     
     
     
             After Interring The Dead And Making a Comfortable Hospital 
             For The Wounded, On The Afternoon Of The 27Th Chivington 
             Fell Back To The Pecos River At Kosloskie'S Ranch And 
             Encamped.  On Receiving The News From Apache Canyon, 
             Colonel Slough Put His Forces In motion, And At Eleven 
             O'Clock At Night Of The 27Th Joined chivington At Kosloskie'S. 
     
     
     
             At Daybreak On The 28Th, The Assembly Was Sounded, And 
             The Entire Command Resumed its March.  Five Miles Out 
             From Their Encampment Major Chivington, In command Of 
             A Detachment Composed of Companies A, B, H, And E Of The 
             First Colorado, And Captain Ford'S Company Unattached, 
             With Captain Lewis' Company Of The Fifth Regular Infantry, 
             Was Ordered to Take The Galisteo Road, And By A Detour 
             Through The Mountains To Gain The Enemy'S Rear, If Possible, 
             At The West End Of Apache Canyon, While Slough Advanced 
             Slowly With The Main Body To Gain His Front About The 
             Same Time; Thus Devising an Attack In front And Rear. 
     
     
     
             About Ten O'Clock, While Making His Way Through The Scrub 
             Pine And Cedar Brush In the Mountains, Major Chivington 
             And His Command Heard Cannonading To Their Right, And 
             Were Thereby Apprised that Colonel Slough And His Men 
             Had Met The Enemy.  About Twelve O'Clock He Arrived with 
             His Men On The Summit Of The Mountain Which Overlooked 
             The Enemy'S Supply Wagons, Which Had Been Left In the 
             Charge Of A Strong Guard With One Piece Of Artillery Mounted 
             On An Elevation Commanding The Camp And Mouth Of The Canyon. 
             With Great Difficulty Chivington Descended the Precipitous 
             Mountain, Charged, Took, And Spiked the Gun, Ran Together 
             The Enemy'S Supply Wagons Of Commissary, Quartermaster, 
             And Ordnance Stores, Set Them On Fire, Blew And Burnt 
             Them Up, Bayoneted his Mules In corral, Took The Guard 
             Prisoners And Reascended the Mountain, Where About Dark 
             He Was Met By Lieutenant Cobb, Aide-De-Camp On Colonel 
             Slough'S Staff, With The Information That Slough And His 
             Men Had Been Defeated and Had Fallen Back To Kosloskie'S. 
             Upon The Supposition That This Information Was Correct, 
             Chivington, Under The Guidance Of A French Catholic Priest, 
             In the Intensest Darkness, With Great Difficulty Made 
             His Way With His Command Through The Mountains Without 
             A Road Or Trail, And Joined colonel Slough About Midnight. 
     
     
     
             Meanwhile, After Chivington And His Detachment Had Left 
             In the Morning, Colonel Slough With The Main Body Proceeded 
             Up The Canyon, And Arriving at Pigeon'S Ranch, Gave Orders 
             For The Troops To Stack Arms In the Road And Supply Their 
             Canteens With Water, As That Would Be The Last Opportunity 
             Before Reaching The Further End Of Apache Canyon. 
             While Thus Supplying Themselves With Water And Visiting 
             The Wounded in the Hospital At Pigeon'S Ranch, Being 
             Entirely Off Their Guard, They Were Suddenly Startled by 
             A Courier From The Advance Column Dashing Down The Road 
             At Full Speed and Informing Them That The Enemy Was Close 
             At Hand.  Orders Were Immediately Given To Fall In and 
             Take Arms, But Before The Order Could Be Obeyed the Enemy 
             Had Formed battery And Commenced shelling Them. 
             They Formed as Quickly As Possible, The Colonel Ordering 
             Captain Downing With Company D, First Colorado Volunteers, 
             To Advance On The Left, And Captain Kerber With Company I 
             First Colorado, To Advance On The Right.  In the Meantime 
             Ritter And Claflin Opened a Return Fire On The Enemy With 
             Their Batteries.  Captain Downing advanced and Fought 
             Desperately, Meeting a Largely Superior Force In point 
             Of Numbers, Until He Was Almost Overpowered and Surrounded; 
             When, Happily, Captain Wilder Of Company G Of The First 
             Colorado, With A Detachment Of His Command, Came To His 
             Relief, And Extricated him And That Portion Of His Company 
             Not Already Slaughtered.  While On The Opposite Side, 
             The Right, Company I Had Advanced into An Open Space, 
             Feeling The Enemy, And Ambitious Of Capturing His Battery, 
             When They Were Surprised by A Detachment Which Was Concealed 
             In an Arroya, And Which, When Kerber And His Men Were 
             Within Forty Feet Of It, Opened a Galling Fire Upon Them. 
             Kerber Lost Heavily; Lieutenant Baker, Being Wounded, 
             Fell Back.  In the Meantime The Enemy Masked, And Made 
             Five Successive Charges On Our Batteries, Determined to 
             Capture Them As They Had Captured canby'S At Valverde. 
             At One Time They Were Within Forty Yards Of Slough'S 
             Batteries, Their Slouch Hats Drawn Down Over Their Faces, 
             And Rushing On With Deafening Yells.  It Seemed inevitable 
             That They Would Make The Capture, When Captain Claflin 
             Gave The Order To Cease Firing, And Captain Samuel Robbins 
             With His Company, K Of The First Colorado, Arose From The 
             Ground Like Ghosts, Delivering a Galling Fire, Charged 
             Bayonets, And On The Double-Quick Put The Rebels To Flight. 
     
     
     
             During The Whole Of This Time The Cavalry, Under Captain 
             Howland, Were Held In reserve, Never Moving Except To 
             Fall Back And Keep Out Of Danger, With The Exception Of 
             Captain Cook'S Men, Who Dismounted and Fought As Infantry. 
             From The Opening Of The Battle To Its Close The Odds Were 
             Against Colonel Slough And His Forces; The Enemy Being 
             Greatly Superior In numbers, With A Better Armament Of 
             Artillery And Equally Well Armed otherwise.  But Every Inch 
             Of Ground Was Stubbornly Contested.  In no Instance Did 
             Slough'S Forces Fall Back Until They Were In danger Of 
             Being Flanked and Surrounded, And For Nine Hours, Without 
             Rest Or Refreshment, The Battle Raged incessantly. 
             At One Time Claflin Gave Orders To Double-Shot His Guns, 
             They Being Nothing But Little Brass Howitzers, And He 
             Counted, "One, Two, Three, Four," Until One Of His Own 
             Carriages Capsized and Fell Down Into The Gulch; From Which 
             Place Captain Samuel Robbins And His Company, K, Extricated 
             It And Saved it From Falling Into The Enemy'S Hands. 
     
     
     
             Having Been Compelled to Give Ground All Day, Colonel Slough, 
             Between Five And Six O'Clock In the Afternoon, Issued 
             Orders To Retreat.  About The Same Time General Sibley 
             Received information From The Rear Of The Destruction Of 
             His Supply Trains, And Ordered a Flag Of Truce To Be Sent 
             To Colonel Slough, Which Did Not Reach Him, However, Until 
             He Arrived at Kosloskie'S.  A Truce Was Entered into Until 
             Nine O'Clock The Next Morning, Which Was Afterward Extended 
             To Twenty-Four Hours, And Under Which Sibley With His 
             Demoralized forces Fell Back To Santa Fe, Laying That Town 
             Under Tribute To Supply His Forces. 
     
     
     
             The 29Th Was Spent In burying The Dead, As Well As Those 
             Of The Confederates Which They Left On The Field, And 
             Caring For The Wounded.  Orders Were Received from General 
             Canby Directing Colonel Slough To Fall Back To Fort Union, 
             Which So Incensed him That While Obeying The Order He 
             Forwarded his Resignation, And Soon After Left The Command. 
     
     
     
   Thus Ended the Battle Of La Glorieta. 
   
   
   
   Chapter XII (The Buffalo) 
   The Ancient Range Of The Buffalo, According To History And Tradition, 
   Once Extended from The Alleghanies To The Rocky Mountains, Embracing 
   All That Magnificent Portion Of North America Known As The Mississippi 
   Valley; From The Frozen Lakes Above To The "Tierras Calientes" Of 
   Mexico, Far To The South. 
     
     
     
   It Seems Impossible, Especially To Those Who Have Seen Them, As 
   Numerous, Apparently, As The Sands Of The Seashore, Feeding On The 
   Illimitable Natural Pastures Of The Great Plains, That The Buffalo 
   Should Have Become Almost Extinct. 
     
     
     
   When I Look Back Only Twenty-Five Years, And Recall The Fact That 
   They Roamed in immense Numbers Even Then, As Far East As Fort Harker, 
   In Central Kansas, A Little More Than Two Hundred miles From The 
   Missouri River, I Ask Myself, "Have They All Disappeared?" 
     
     
     
   An Idea May Be Formed of How Many Buffalo Were Killed from 1868 To 
   1881, A Period Of Only Thirteen Years, During Which Time They Were 
   Indiscriminately Slaughtered for Their Hides.  In kansas Alone 
   There Was Paid Out, Between The Dates Specified, Two Million Five 
   Hundred thousand Dollars For Their Bones Gathered on The Prairies, 
   To Be Utilized by The Various Carbon Works Of The Country, Principally 
   In St. Louis.  It Required about One Hundred carcasses To Make One 
   Ton Of Bones, The Price Paid Averaging Eight Dollars A Ton; So The 
   Above-Quoted enormous Sum Represented the Skeletons Of Over Thirty-One 
   Millions Of Buffalo.[42]  These Figures May Appear Preposterous To 
   Readers Not Familiar With The Great Plains A Third Of A Century Ago; 
   But To Those Who Have Seen The Prairie Black From Horizon To Horizon 
   With The Shaggy Monsters, They Are Not So.  In the Autumn Of 1868 
   I Rode With Generals Sheridan, Custer, Sully, And Others, For Three 
   Consecutive Days, Through One Continuous Herd, Which Must Have 
   Contained millions.  In the Spring Of 1869 The Train On The Kansas 
   Pacific Railroad Was Delayed at A Point Between Forts Harker And 
   Hays, From Nine O'Clock In the Morning Until Five In the Afternoon, 
   In Consequence Of The Passage Of An Immense Herd Of Buffalo Across 
   The Track.  On Each Side Of Us, And To The West As Far As We Could 
   See, Our Vision Was Only Limited by The Extended horizon Of The Flat 
   Prairie, And The Whole Vast Area Was Black With The Surging Mass 
   Of Affrighted buffaloes As They Rushed onward To The South. 
     
     
     
   In 1868 The Union Pacific Railroad And Its Branch In kansas Was Nearly 
   Completed across The Plains To The Foothills Of The Rocky Mountains, 
   The Western Limit Of The Buffalo Range, And That Year Witnessed 
   The Beginning Of The Wholesale And Wanton Slaughter Of The Great 
   Ruminants, Which Ended only With Their Practical Extinction Seventeen 
   Years Afterward.  The Causes Of This Hecatomb Of Animals On The 
   Great Plains Were The Incursion Of Regular Hunters Into The Region, 
   For The Hides Of The Buffalo, And The Crowds Of Tourists Who Crossed 
   The Continent For The Mere Pleasure And Novelty Of The Trip. 
   The Latter Class Heartlessly Killed for The Excitement Of The 
   New Experience As They Rode Along In the Cars At A Low Rate Of Speed, 
   Often Never Touching a Particle Of The Flesh Of Their Victims, 
   Or Possessing Themselves Of A Single Robe.  The Former, Numbering 
   Hundreds Of Old Frontiersmen, All Expert Shots, With Thousands Of 
   Novices, The Pioneer Settlers On The Public Domain, Just Opened 
   Under The Various Land Laws, From Beyond The Platte To Far South 
   Of The Arkansas, Within Transporting Distance Of Two Railroads, 
   Day After Day For Years Made It A Lucrative Business To Kill For 
   The Robes Alone, A Market For Which Had Suddenly Sprung Up All Over 
   The Country. 
     
     
     
   On Either Side Of The Track Of The Two Lines Of Railroads Running 
   Through Kansas And Nebraska, Within A Relatively Short Distance 
   And For Nearly Their Whole Length, The Most Conspicuous Objects 
   In Those Days Were The Desiccated carcasses Of The Noble Beasts 
   That Had Been Ruthlessly Slaughtered by The Thoughtless And Excited 
   Passengers On Their Way Across The Continent.  On The Open Prairie, 
   Too, Miles Away From The Course Of Legitimate Travel, In some Places 
   One Could Walk All Day On The Dead Bodies Of The Buffaloes Killed 
   By The Hide-Hunters, Without Stepping Off Them To The Ground. 
     
     
     
   The Best Robes, In their Relation To Thickness Of Fur And Lustre, 
   Were Those Taken During The Winter Months, Particularly February, 
   At Which Period The Maximum Of Density And Beauty Had Been Reached. 
   Then, Notwithstanding The Sudden And Fitful Variations Of Temperature 
   Incident To Our Mid-Continent Climate, The Old Hunters Were Especially 
   Active, And Accepted unusual Risks To Procure As Many Of The Coveted 
   Skins As Possible.  A Temporary Camp Would Be Established under 
   The Friendly Shelter Of Some Timbered stream, From Which The Hunters 
   Would Radiate Every Morning, And Return At Night After An Arduous 
   Day'S Work, To Smoke Their Pipes And Relate Their Varied adventures 
   Around The Fire Of Blazing Logs. 
     
     
     
   Sometimes When Far Away From Camp A Blizzard Would Come Down From 
   The North In all Its Fury Without Ten Minutes' Warning, And In a 
   Few Seconds The Air, Full Of Blinding Snow, Precluded the Possibility 
   Of Finding Their Shelter, An Attempt At Which Would Only Result 
   In An Aimless Circular March On The Prairie.  On Such Occasions, 
   To Keep From Perishing By The Intense Cold, They Would Kill A Buffalo, 
   And, Taking Out Its Viscera, Creep Inside The Huge Cavity, Enough 
   Animal Heat Being Retained until The Storm Had Sufficiently Abated 
   For Them To Proceed with Safety To Their Camp. 
     
     
     
   Early In march, 1867, A Party Of My Friends, All Old Buffalo Hunters, 
   Were Camped in paradise Valley, Then A Famous Rendezvous Of The 
   Animals They Were After.  One Day When Out On The Range Stalking, 
   And Widely Separated from Each Other, A Terrible Blizzard Came Up. 
   Three Of The Hunters Reached their Camp Without Much Difficulty, 
   But He Who Was Farthest Away Was Fairly Caught In it, And Night 
   Overtaking Him, He Was Compelled to Resort To The Method Described 
   In The Preceding Paragraph.  Luckily, He Soon Came Up With A 
   Superannuated bull That Had Been Abandoned by The Herd; So He Killed 
   Him, Took Out His Viscera And Crawled inside The Empty Carcass, Where 
   He Lay Comparatively Comfortable Until Morning Broke, When The Storm 
   Had Passed over And The Sun Shone Brightly.  But When He Attempted 
   To Get Out, He Found Himself A Prisoner, The Immense Ribs Of The 
   Creature Having Frozen Together, And Locked him Up As Tightly As If 
   He Were In a Cell.  Fortunately, His Companions, Who Were Searching 
   For Him, And Firing Their Rifles From Time To Time, Heard Him Yell 
   In Response To The Discharge Of Their Pieces, And Thus Discovered and 
   Released him From The Peculiar Predicament Into Which He Had Fallen. 
     
     
     
   At Another Time, Several Years Before The Acquisition Of New Mexico 
   By The United states, Two Old Trappers Were Far Up On The Arkansas 
   Near The Trail, In the Foot-Hills Hunting Buffalo, And They, As Is 
   Generally The Case, Became Separated.  In an Hour Or Two One Of Them 
   Killed a Fat Young Cow, And, Leaving His Rifle On The Ground, Went Up 
   And Commenced to Skin Her.  While Busily Engaged in his Work, 
   He Suddenly Heard Right Behind Him A Suppressed snort, And Looking 
   Around He Saw To His Dismay A Monstrous Grizzly Ambling along In 
   That Animal'S Characteristic Gait, Within A Few Feet Of Him. 
     
     
     
   In Front, Only A Few Rods Away, There Happened to Be A Clump Of 
   Scrubby Pines, And He Incontinently Made A Break For Them, Climbing 
   Into The Tallest In less Time Than It Takes To Tell Of It.  The Bear 
   Deliberately Ate A Hearty Meal Off The Juicy Hams Of The Cow, 
   So Providentially Fallen In his Way, And When He Had Satiated himself, 
   Instead Of Going away, He Quietly Stretched himself Alongside Of 
   The Half-Devoured carcass, And Went To Sleep, Keeping One Eye Open, 
   However, On The Movements Of The Unlucky Hunter Whom He Had Corralled 
   In The Tree.  In the Early Evening His Partner Came To The Spot, 
   And Killed the Impudent Bear, That, Being Full Of Tender Buffalo Meat, 
   Was Sluggish And Unwary, And Thus Became An Easy Victim To The 
   Unerring Rifle; When The Unwilling Prisoner Came Down From His Perch 
   In The Pine, Feeling Sheepish Enough.  The Last Time I Saw Him He 
   Told Me He Still Had The Bear'S Hide, Which He Religiously Preserved 
   As A Memento Of His Foolishness In separating Himself From His Rifle, 
   A Thing He Has Never Been Guilty Of Before Or Since. 
     
     
     
   Kit Carson, When With Fremont On His First Exploring Expedition, 
   While Hunting For The Command, At Some Point On The Arkansas, 
   Left A Buffalo Which He Had Just Killed and Partly Cut Up, To Pursue 
   A Large Bull That Came Rushing By Him Alone.  He Chased his Game 
   For Nearly A Quarter Of A Mile, Not Being able, However, To Gain 
   On It Rapidly, Owing To The Blown Condition Of His Horse.  Coming Up 
   At Length To The Side Of The Fleeing Beast, Carson Fired, But At The 
   Same Instant His Horse Stepped into A Prairie-Dog Hole, Fell Down 
   And Threw Kit Fully Fifteen Feet Over His Head.  The Bullet Struck 
   The Buffalo Low Under The Shoulder, Which Only Served to Enrage Him 
   So That The Next Moment The Infuriated animal Was Pursuing Kit, 
   Who, Fortunately Not Much Hurt, Was Able To Run Toward The River. 
   It Was A Race For Life Now, Carson Using His Nimble Legs To The 
   Utmost Of Their Capacity, Accelerated very Much By The Thundering, 
   Bellowing Bull Bringing Up The Rear.  For Several Minutes It Was 
   Nip And Tuck Which Should Reach The Stream First, But Kit Got There 
   By A Scratch A Little Ahead.  It Was A Big Bend Of The River, And 
   The Water Was Deep Under The Bank, But It Was Paradise Compared 
   With The Hades Plunging at His Back; So Kit Leaped into The Water, 
   Trusting To Providence That The Bull Would Not Follow.  The Trust 
   Was Well Placed, For The Bull Did Not Continue The Pursuit, But Stood 
   On The Bank And Shook His Head Vehemently At The Struggling Hunter 
   Who Had Preferred deep Waves To The Horns Of A Dilemma On Shore. 
     
     
     
   Kit Swam Around For Some Time, Carefully Guarded by The Bull, Until 
   His Position Was Observed by One Of His Companions, Who Attacked 
   The Belligerent Animal Successfully With A Forty-Four Slug, And Then 
   Kit Crawled out And--Skinned the Enemy! 
     
     
     
   He Once Killed five Buffaloes During a Single Race, And Used but 
   Four Balls, Having Dismounted and Cut The Bullet From The Wound 
   Of The Fourth, And Thus Continued the Chase.  He It Was, Too, Who 
   Established his Reputation As A Famous Hunter By Shooting a Buffalo 
   Cow During an Impetuous Race Down A Steep Hill, Discharging His Rifle 
   Just As The Animal Was Leaping On One Of The Low Cedars Peculiar 
   To The Region.  The Ball Struck A Vital Spot, And The Dead Cow 
   Remained in the Jagged branches.  The Indians Who Were With Him 
   On That Hunt Looked upon The Circumstance As Something Beyond Their 
   Comprehension, And Insisted that Kit Should Leave The Carcass In 
   The Tree As "Big Medicine."  Katzatoa (Smoked shield), A Celebrated 
   Chief Of The Kiowas Many Years Ago, Who Was Over Seven Feet Tall, 
   Never Mounted a Horse When Hunting The Buffalo; He Always Ran After 
   Them On Foot And Killed them With His Lance. 
     
     
     
   Two Lance, Another Famous Chief, Could Shoot An Arrow Entirely 
   Through A Buffalo While Hunting On Horseback.  He Accomplished this 
   Remarkable Feat In the Presence Of The Grand Duke Alexis Of Russia, 
   Who Was Under The Care Of Buffalo Bill, Near Fort Hays, Kansas. 
     
     
     
   During One Of Fremont'S Expeditions, Two Of His Chasseurs, Named 
   Archambeaux And La Jeunesse,[43] Had A Curious Adventure On A 
   Buffalo-Hunt.  One Of Them Was Mounted on A Mule, The Other On 
   A Horse; They Came In sight Of A Large Band Of Buffalo Feeding Upon 
   The Open Prairie About A Mile Distant.  The Mule Was Not Fleet Enough, 
   And The Horse Was Too Much Fatigued with The Day'S Journey, To Justify 
   A Race, And They Concluded to Approach The Herd On Foot.  Dismounting 
   And Securing The Ends Of Their Lariats In the Ground, They Made 
   A Slight Detour, To Take Advantage Of The Wind, And Crept Stealthily 
   In The Direction Of The Game, Approaching Unperceived until Within 
   A Few Hundred yards.  Some Old Bulls Forming The Outer Picket Guard 
   Slowly Raised their Heads And Gazed long And Dubiously At The Strange 
   Objects, When, Discovering That The Intruders Were Not Wolves, But Two 
   Hunters, They Gave A Significant Grunt, Turned about As Though On 
   Pivots, And In less Than No Time The Whole Herd--Bulls, Cows, And 
   Calves--Were Making The Gravel Fly Over The Prairie In fine Style, 
   Leaving The Hunters To Their Discomfiture.  They Had Scarcely 
   Recovered from Their Surprise, When, To Their Great Consternation, 
   They Beheld The Whole Company Of The Monsters, Numbering Several 
   Thousand, Suddenly Shape Their Course To Where The Riding animals 
   Were Picketed.  The Charge Of The Stampeded buffalo Was A Magnificent 
   One; For The Buffalo, Mistaking The Horse And The Mule For Two Of 
   Their Own Species, Came Down Upon Them Like A Tornado.  A Small Cloud 
   Of Dust Arose For A Moment Over The Spot Where The Hunter'S Animals 
   Had Been Left; The Black Mass Moved on With Accelerated speed, And 
   In A Few Seconds The Horizon Shut Them All From View.  The Horse 
   And Mule, With All Their Trappings, Saddles, Bridles, And Holsters, 
   Were Never Seen Or Heard Of Afterward. 
     
     
     
   Buffalo Bill, In less Than Eighteen Months, While Employed as Hunter 
   Of The Construction Company Of The Kansas Pacific Railroad, In 1867-68, 
   Killed nearly Five Thousand Buffalo, Which Were Consumed by The 
   Twelve Hundred men Employed in track-Laying.  He Tells In his 
   Autobiography Of The Following Remarkable Experience He Had At One 
   Time With His Favourite Horse Brigham, On An Impromptu Buffalo Hunt:-- 
     
     
     
             One Day We Were Pushed for Horses To Work On Our Scrapers, 
             So I Hitched up Brigham, To See How He Would Work.  He Was 
             Not Much Used to That Kind Of Labour, And I Was About Giving 
             Up The Idea Of Making a Work Horse Of Him, When One Of The 
             Men Called to Me That There Were Some Buffaloes Coming Over 
             The Hill.  As There Had Been No Buffaloes Seen Anywhere 
             In the Vicinity Of The Camp For Several Days, We Had Become 
             Rather Short Of Meat.  I Immediately Told One Of Our Men 
             To Hitch His Horses To A Wagon And Follow Me, As I Was Going 
             Out After The Herd, And We Would Bring Back Some Fresh Meat 
             For Supper.  I Had No Saddle, As Mine Had Been Left At Camp 
             A Mile Distant, So Taking The Harness From Brigham I Mounted 
             Him Bareback, And Started out After The Game, Being armed 
             With My Celebrated buffalo Killer Lucretia Borgia--A Newly 
             Improved breech-Loading Needle-Gun, Which I Had Obtained 
             From The Government. 
     
     
     
             While I Was Riding Toward The Buffaloes, I Observed five 
             Horsemen Coming Out From The Fort, Who Had Evidently Seen 
             The Buffaloes From The Post, And Were Going Out For A Chase. 
             They Proved to Be Some Newly Arrived officers In that Part 
             Of The Country, And When They Came Up Closer I Could See 
             By The Shoulder-Straps That The Senior Was A Captain, 
             While The Others Were Lieutenants. 
     
     
     
             "Hello! My Friend," Sang Out The Captain; "I See You Are 
             After The Same Game We Are." 
     
     
     
             "Yes, Sir; I Saw Those Buffaloes Coming Over The Hill, 
             And As We Were About Out Of Fresh Meat I Thought I Would 
             Go And Get Some," Said I. 
     
     
     
             They Scanned my Cheap-Looking Outfit Pretty Closely, And 
             As My Horse Was Not Very Prepossessing In appearance, Having 
             On Only A Blind Bridle, And Otherwise Looking Like A Work 
             Horse, They Evidently Considered me A Green Hand At Hunting. 
     
     
     
             "Do You Expect To Catch Those Buffaloes On That Gothic 
             Steed?" Laughingly Asked the Captain. 
     
     
     
             "I Hope So, By Pushing On The Reins Hard Enough," Was 
             My Reply. 
     
     
     
             "You'Ll Never Catch Them In the World, My Fine Fellow," 
             Said The Captain.  "It Requires A Fast Horse To Overtake 
             The Animals On The Prairie." 
     
     
     
             "Does It?" Asked i, As If I Didn'T Know It. 
     
     
     
             "Yes; But Come Along With Us, As We Are Going To Kill Them 
             More For Pleasure Than Anything Else.  All We Want Are The 
             Tongues And A Piece Of Tenderloin, And You May Have All 
             That Is Left," Said The Generous Man. 
     
     
     
             "I Am Much Obliged to You, Captain, And Will Follow You," 
             I Replied. 
     
     
     
             There Were Eleven Buffaloes In the Herd, And They Were Not 
             More Than A Mile Ahead Of Us.  The Officers Dashed on As If 
             They Had A Sure Thing On Killing Them All Before I Could 
             Come Up With Them; But I Had Noticed that The Herd Was 
             Making Toward The Creek For Water, And As I Knew Buffalo 
             Nature, I Was Perfectly Aware That It Would Be Difficult 
             To Turn Them From Their Direct Course.  Thereupon, I Started 
             Toward The Creek To Head Them Off, While The Officers 
             Came Up In the Rear And Gave Chase. 
     
     
     
             The Buffaloes Came Rushing Past Me Not A Hundred yards 
             Distant, With The Officers About Three Hundred yards In 
             The Rear.  Now, Thought I, Is The Time To "Get My Work In," 
             As They Say; And I Pulled off The Blind Bridle From My 
             Horse, Who Knew As Well As I Did That We Were Out After 
             Buffaloes, As He Was A Trained hunter.  The Moment The 
             Bridle Was Off He Started at The Top Of His Speed, Running 
             In ahead Of The Officers, And With A Few Jumps He Brought Me 
             Alongside The Rear Buffalo.  Raising Old Lucretia Borgia 
             To My Shoulder, I Fired, And Killed the Animal At The 
             First Shot.  My Horse Then Carried me Alongside The Next 
             One, Not Ten Feet Away, And I Dropped him At The Next Fire. 
     
     
     
             As Soon As One Of The Buffalo Would Fall, Brigham Would 
             Take Me So Close To The Next That I Could Almost Touch It 
             With My Gun.  In this Manner I Killed the Eleven Buffaloes 
             With Twelve Shots; And As The Last Animal Dropped, My Horse 
             Stopped.  I Jumped off To The Ground, Knowing That He Would 
             Not Leave Me--It Must Be Remembered that I Had Been Riding 
             Him Without Bridle, Reins, Or Saddle--And, Turning around 
             As The Party Of Astonished officers Rode Up, I Said To Them:-- 
     
     
     
             "Now, Gentlemen, Allow Me To Present To You All The Tongues 
             And Tenderloins You Wish From These Buffaloes." 
     
     
     
             Captain Graham, For Such I Soon Learned was His Name, 
             Replied: "Well, I Never Saw The Like Before.  Who Under 
             The Sun Are You, Anyhow?" 
     
     
     
             "My Name Is Cody," Said I. 
     
     
     
             Captain Graham, Who Was Considerable Of A Horseman, 
             Greatly Admired brigham, And Said: "That Horse Of Yours 
             Has Running Points." 
     
     
     
             "Yes, Sir; He Has Not Only Got The Points, He Is A Runner 
             And Knows How To Use The Points," Said I. 
     
     
     
             "So I Noticed," Said The Captain. 
     
     
     
             They All Finally Dismounted, And We Continued chatting 
             For Some Little Time Upon The Different Subjects Of Horses, 
             Buffaloes, Hunting, And Indians.  They Felt A Little Sore 
             At Not Getting a Single Shot At The Buffaloes; But The Way 
             I Had Killed them, They Said, Amply Repaid Them For Their 
             Disappointment.  They Had Read Of Such Feats In books, 
             But This Was The First Time They Had Ever Seen Anything 
             Of The Kind With Their Own Eyes.  It Was The First Time, 
             Also, That They Had Ever Witnessed or Heard Of A White Man 
             Running Buffaloes On Horseback Without A Saddle Or Bridle. 
     
     
     
             I Told Them That Brigham Knew Nearly As Much About The 
             Business As I Did, And If I Had Twenty Bridles They Would 
             Have Been Of No Use To Me, As He Understood Everything, 
             And All That He Expected of Me Was To Do The Shooting. 
             It Is A Fact That Brigham Would Stop If A Buffalo Did Not 
             Fall At The First Fire, So As To Give Me A Second Chance; 
             But If I Did Not Kill The Animal Then, He Would Go On, As 
             If To Say, "You Are No Good, And I Will Not Fool Away My 
             Time By Giving You More Than Two Shots."  Brigham Was The 
             Best Horse I Ever Saw Or Owned for Buffalo Chasing. 
     
     
     
   At One Time An Old, Experienced buffalo Hunter Was Following at The 
   Heels Of A Small Herd With That Reckless Rush To Which In the 
   Excitement Of The Chase Men Abandon Themselves, When A Great Bull 
   Just In front Of Him Tumbled into A Ravine.  The Rider'S Horse Fell 
   Also, Throwing The Old Hunter Over His Head Sprawling, But With 
   Strange Accuracy Right Between The Bull'S Horns!  The First To 
   Recover From The Terrible Shock And To Regain His Legs Was The Horse, 
   Which Ran Off With Wonderful Alacrity Several Miles Before He Stopped. 
   Next The Bull Rose, And Shook Himself With An Astonished air, As If 
   He Would Like To Know "How That Was Done?"  The Hunter Was On The 
   Great Brute'S Back, Who, Perhaps, Took The Affair As A Good Practical 
   Joke; But He Was Soon Pitched to The Ground, As The Buffalo Commenced 
   To Jump "Stiff-Legged," And The Latter, Giving The Hunter One 
   Lingering Look, Which He Long Remembered, With Remarkable Good Nature 
   Ran Off To Join His Companions.  Had The Bull Been Wounded, The Rider 
   Would Have Been Killed, As The Then Enraged animal Would Have Gored 
   And Trampled him To Death. 
     
     
     
   An Officer Of The Old Regular Army Told Me Many Years Ago That In 
   Crossing The Plains A Herd Of Buffalo Were Fired at By A Twelve-Pound 
   Howitzer, The Ball Of Which Wounded and Stunned an Immense Bull. 
   Nevertheless, Heedless Of A Hundred shots That Had Been Fired at Him, 
   And Of A Bulldog Belonging To One Of The Officers, Which Had Fastened 
   Himself To His Lips, The Enraged beast Charged upon The Whole Troop 
   Of Dragoons, And Tossed one Of The Horses Like A Feather.  Bull, 
   Horse, And Rider All Fell In a Heap.  Before The Dust Cleared away, 
   The Trooper, Who Had Hung For A Moment To One Of The Bull'S Horns 
   By His Waistband, Crawled out Safe, While The Horse Got A Ball From 
   A Rifle Through His Neck While In the Air And Two Great Rips In his 
   Flank From The Bull. 
     
     
     
   In 1839 Kit Carson And Hobbs Were Trapping With A Party On The 
   Arkansas River, Not Far From Bent'S Fort.  Among The Trappers Was 
   A Green Irishman, Named o'Neil, Who Was Quite Anxious To Become 
   Proficient In hunting, And It Was Not Long Before He Received his 
   First Lesson.  Every Man Who Went Out Of Camp After Game Was Expected 
   To Bring In "Meat" Of Some Kind.  O'Neil Said That He Would Agree 
   To The Terms, And Was Ready One Evening To Start Out On His First 
   Hunt Alone.  He Picked up His Rifle And Stalked after A Small Herd 
   Of Buffalo In plain Sight On The Prairie Not More Than Five Or Six 
   Hundred yards From Camp. 
     
     
     
   All The Trappers Who Were Not Engaged in setting Their Traps Or 
   Cooking Supper Were Watching O'Neil.  Presently They Heard The Report 
   Of His Rifle, And Shortly After He Came Running Into Camp, Bareheaded, 
   Without His Gun, And With A Buffalo Bull Close Upon His Heels; 
   Both Going at Full Speed, And The Irishman Shouting Like A Madman,-- 
     
     
     
   "Here We Come, By Jabers.  Stop Us!  For The Love Of God, Stop Us!" 
     
     
     
   Just As They Came In among The Tents, With The Bull Not More Than 
   Six Feet In the Rear Of O'Neil, Who Was Frightened out Of His Wits 
   And Puffing Like A Locomotive, His Foot Caught In a Tent-Rope, And 
   Over He Went Into A Puddle Of Water Head Foremost, And In his Fall 
   Capsized several Camp-Kettles, Some Of Which Contained the Trappers' 
   Supper.  But The Buffalo Did Not Escape So Easily; For Hobbs And 
   Kit Carson Jumped for Their Rifles, And Dropped the Animal Before 
   He Had Done Any Further Damage. 
     
     
     
   The Whole Outfit Laughed heartily At O'Neil When He Got Up Out Of 
   The Water, For A Party Of Old Trappers Would Show No Mercy To Any 
   Of Their Companions Who Met With A Mishap Of That Character; But 
   As He Stood There With Dripping Clothes And Face Covered with Mud, 
   His Mother-Wit Came To His Relief And He Declared he Had Accomplished 
   The Hunter'S Task: "For Sure," Said He, "Haven'T I Fetched the Mate 
   Into Camp? And There Was No Bargain Whether It Should Be Dead Or Alive!" 
     
     
     
   Upon Kit'S Asking O'Neil Where His Gun Was,-- 
     
     
     
   "Sure," Said He, "That'S More Than I Can Tell You." 
     
     
     
   Next Morning Carson And Hobbs Took Up O'Neil'S Tracks And The 
   Buffalo'S, And After Hunting an Hour Or So Found The Irishman'S Rifle, 
   Though He Had Little Use For It Afterward, As He Preferred to Cook 
   And Help Around Camp Rather Than Expose His Precious Life Fighting 
   Buffaloes. 
     
     
     
   A Great Herd Of Buffaloes On The Plains In the Early Days, When One 
   Could Approach Near Enough Without Disturbing It To Quietly Watch 
   Its Organization And The Apparent Discipline Which Its Leaders Seemed 
   To Exact, Was A Very Curious Sight.  Among The Striking Features 
   Of The Spectacle Was The Apparently Uniform Manner In which The 
   Immense Mass Of Shaggy Animals Moved; There Was Constancy Of Action 
   Indicating a Degree Of Intelligence To Be Found Only In the Most 
   Intelligent Of The Brute Creation.  Frequently The Single Herd Was 
   Broken Up Into Many Smaller Ones, That Travelled relatively Close 
   Together, Each Led by An Independent Master.  Perhaps A Few Rods 
   Only Marked the Dividing-Line Between Them, But It Was Always 
   Unmistakably Plain, And Each Moved synchronously In the Direction 
   In Which All Were Going. 
     
     
     
   The Leadership Of A Herd Was Attained only By Hard Struggles For The 
   Place; Once Reached, However, The Victor Was Immediately Recognized, 
   And Kept His Authority Until Some New Aspirant Overcame Him, Or He 
   Became Superannuated and Was Driven Out Of The Herd To Meet His 
   Inevitable Fate, A Prey To Those Ghouls Of The Desert, The Gray Wolves. 
     
     
     
   In The Event Of A Stampede, Every Animal Of The Separate, Yet 
   Consolidated, Herds Rushed off Together, As If They Had All Gone Mad 
   At Once; For The Buffalo, Like The Texas Steer, Mule, Or Domestic 
   Horse, Stampedes On The Slightest Provocation; Frequently Without 
   Any Assignable Cause.  The Simplest Affair, Sometimes, Will Start 
   The Whole Herd; A Prairie-Dog Barking at The Entrance To His Burrow, 
   A Shadow Of One Of Themselves Or That Of A Passing Cloud, Is 
   Sufficient To Make Them Run For Miles As If A Real And Dangerous 
   Enemy Were At Their Heels. 
     
     
     
   Like An Army, A Herd Of Buffaloes Put Out Vedettes To Give The Alarm 
   In Case Anything Beyond The Ordinary Occurred.  These Sentinels Were 
   Always To Be Seen In groups Of Four, Five, Or Even Six, At Some 
   Distance From The Main Body.  When They Perceived something approaching 
   That The Herd Should Beware Of Or Get Away From, They Started on 
   A Run Directly For The Centre Of The Great Mass Of Their Peacefully 
   Grazing Congeners.  Meanwhile, The Young Bulls Were On Duty As 
   Sentinels On The Edge Of The Main Herd Watching The Vedettes; 
   The Moment The Latter Made For The Centre, The Former Raised their 
   Heads, And In the Peculiar Manner Of Their Species Gazed all Around 
   And Sniffed the Air As If They Could Smell Both The Direction And 
   Source Of The Impending Danger.  Should There Be Something Which Their 
   Instinct Told Them To Guard Against, The Leader Took His Position 
   In Front, The Cows And Calves Crowded in the Centre, While The Rest 
   Of The Males Gathered on The Flanks And In the Rear, Indicating 
   A Gallantry That Might Be Emulated at Times By The Genus Homo. 
     
     
     
   Generally Buffalo Went To Their Drinking-Places But Once A Day, And 
   That Late In the Afternoon.  Then They Ambled along, Following Each 
   Other In single File, Which Accounts For The Many Trails On The 
   Plains, Always Ending at Some Stream Or Lake.  They Frequently 
   Travelled twenty Or Thirty Miles For Water, So The Trails Leading 
   To It Were Often Worn To The Depth Of A Foot Or More. 
     
     
     
   That Curious Depression So Frequently Seen On The Great Plains, 
   Called a Buffalo-Wallow, Is Caused in this Wise: The Huge Animals 
   Paw And Lick The Salty, Alkaline Earth, And When Once The Sod Is 
   Broken The Loose Dirt Drifts Away Under The Constant Action Of 
   The Wind.  Then, Year After Year, Through More Pawing, Licking, 
   Rolling, And Wallowing By The Animals, The Wind Wafts More Of The 
   Soil Away, And Soon There Is A Considerable Hole In the Prairie. 
     
     
     
   Many An Old Trapper And Hunter'S Life Has Been Saved by Following 
   A Buffalo-Trail When He Was Suffering From Thirst.  The Buffalo-Wallows 
   Retain Usually A Great Quantity Of Water, And They Have Often Saved 
   The Lives Of Whole Companies Of Cavalry, Both Men And Horses. 
     
     
     
   There Was, However, A Stranger And More Wonderful Spectacle To Be Seen 
   Every Recurring Spring During The Reign Of The Buffalo, Soon After 
   The Grass Had Started.  There Were Circles Trodden Bare On The Plains, 
   Thousands, Yes, Millions Of Them, Which The Early Travellers, Who Did 
   Not Divine Their Cause, Called fairy-Rings.  From The First Of April 
   Until The Middle Of May Was The Wet Season; You Could Depend Upon Its 
   Recurrence Almost As Certainly As On The Sun And Moon Rising at Their 
   Proper Time.  This Was Also The Calving Period Of The Buffalo, As 
   They, Unlike Our Domestic Cattle, Only Rutted during a Single Month; 
   Consequently, The Cows All Calved during a Certain Time; This Was The 
   Wet Month, And As There Were A Great Many Gray Wolves That Roamed 
   Singly And In immense Packs Over The Whole Prairie Region, The Bulls, 
   In Their Regular Beats, Kept Guard Over The Cows While In the Act 
   Of Parturition, And Drove The Wolves Away, Walking In a Ring around 
   The Females At A Short Distance, And Thus Forming The Curious Circles. 
     
     
     
   In Every Herd At Each Recurring Season There Were Always Ambitious 
   Young Bulls That Came To Their Majority, So To Speak, And These Were 
   Ever Ready To Test Their Claims For The Leadership, So That It May 
   Be Safely Stated that A Month Rarely Passed without A Bloody Battle 
   Between Them For The Supremacy; Though, Strangely Enough, The Struggle 
   Scarcely Ever Resulted in the Death Of Either Combatant. 
     
     
     
   Perhaps There Is No Animal In which Maternal Love Is So Wonderfully 
   Developed as The Buffalo Cow; She Is As Dangerous With A Calf By 
   Her Side As A She-Grizzly With Cubs, As All Old Mountaineers Know. 
     
     
     
   The Buffalo Bull That Has Outlived his Usefulness Is One Of The Most 
   Pitiable Objects In the Whole Range Of Natural History.  Old Age 
   Has Probably Been Decided in the Economy Of Buffalo Life As The 
   Unpardonable Sin.  Abandoned to His Fate, He May Be Discovered, 
   In His Dreary Isolation, Near Some Stream Or Lake, Where It Does Not 
   Tax Him Too Severely To Find Good Grass; For He Is Now Feeble, And 
   Exertion An Impossibility.  In this New Stage Of His Existence He 
   Seems To Have Completely Lost His Courage.  Frightened at His Own 
   Shadow, Or The Rustling Of A Leaf, He Is The Very Incarnation Of 
   Nervousness And Suspicion.  Gregarious In his Habits From Birth, 
   Solitude, Foreign To His Whole Nature, Has Changed him Into A New 
   Creature; And His Inherent Terror Of The Most Trivial Things Is 
   Intensified to Such A Degree That If A Man Were Compelled to Undergo 
   Such Constant Alarm, It Would Probably Drive Him Insane In less Than 
   A Week.  Nobody Ever Saw One Of These Miserable And Helplessly 
   Forlorn Creatures Dying a Natural Death, Or Ever Heard Of Such An 
   Occurrence.  The Cowardly Coyote And The Gray Wolf Had Already 
   Marked him For Their Own; And They Rarely Missed their Calculations. 
     
     
     
   Riding Suddenly To The Top Of A Divide Once With A Party Of Friends 
   In 1866, We Saw Standing Below Us In the Valley An Old Buffalo Bull, 
   The Very Picture Of Despair.  Surrounding Him Were Seven Gray Wolves 
   In The Act Of Challenging Him To Mortal Combat.  The Poor Beast, 
   Undoubtedly Realizing The Utter Hopelessness Of His Situation, 
   Had Determined to Die Game.  His Great Shaggy Head, Filled with Burrs, 
   Was Lowered to The Ground As He Confronted his Would-Be Executioners; 
   His Tongue, Black And Parched, Lolled out Of His Mouth, And He Gave 
   Utterance At Intervals To A Suppressed roar. 
     
     
     
   The Wolves Were Sitting On Their Haunches In a Semi-Circle Immediately 
   In Front Of The Tortured beast, And Every Time That The Fear-Stricken 
   Buffalo Would Give Vent To His Hoarsely Modulated groan, The Wolves 
   Howled in concert In most Mournful Cadence. 
     
     
     
   After Contemplating His Antagonists For A Few Moments, The Bull Made 
   A Dash At The Nearest Wolf, Tumbling Him Howling Over The Silent 
   Prairie; But While This Diversion Was Going On In front, The Remainder 
   Of The Pack Started for His Hind Legs, To Hamstring Him.  Upon This 
   The Poor Brute Turned to The Point Of Attack Only To Receive A 
   Repetition Of It In the Same Vulnerable Place By The Wolves, Who Had 
   As Quickly Turned also And Fastened themselves On His Heels Again. 
   His Hind Quarters Now Streamed with Blood And He Began To Show Signs 
   Of Great Physical Weakness.  He Did Not Dare To Lie Down; That Would 
   Have Been Instantly Fatal.  By This Time He Had Killed three Of The 
   Wolves Or So Maimed them That They Were Entirely Out Of The Fight. 
     
     
     
   At This Juncture The Suffering animal Was Mercifully Shot, And The 
   Wolves Allowed to Batten On His Thin And Tough Carcass. 
     
     
     
   Often There Are Serious Results Growing Out Of A Stampede, Either By 
   Mules Or A Herd Of Buffalo.  A Portion Of The Fifth United states 
   Infantry Had A Narrow Escape From A Buffalo Stampede On The Old Trail, 
   In The Early Summer Of 1866.  General George A. Sykes, Who Commanded 
   The Division Of Regulars In the Army Of The Potomac During The 
   Civil War, Was Ordered to Join His Regiment, Stationed in new Mexico, 
   And Was Conducting a Body Of Recruits, With Their Complement Of 
   Officers, To Fill Up The Decimated ranks Of The Army Stationed at 
   The Various Military Posts, In far-Off Greaser Land. 
     
     
     
   The Command Numbered nearly Eight Hundred, Including The Subaltern 
   Officers.  These Recruits, Or The Majority Of Them At Least, Were 
   Recruits In name Only; They Had Seen Service In many A Hard Campaign 
   Of The Rebellion.  Some, Of Course, Were Beardless Youths Just Out 
   Of Their Teens, Full Of That Martial Ardour Which Induced so Many 
   Young Men Of The Nation To Follow The Drum On The Remote Plains And 
   In The Fastnesses Of The Rocky Mountains, Where The Wily Savages 
   Still Held Almost Undisputed sway, And Were A Constant Menace To 
   The Pioneer Settlers. 
     
     
     
   One Morning, When The Command Had Just Settled itself In careless 
   Repose On The Short Grass Of The Apparently Interminable Prairie 
   At The First Halt Of The Day'S March, A Short Distance Beyond 
   Fort Larned, A Strange Noise, Like The Low Muttering Of Thunder 
   Below The Horizon, Greeted the Ears Of The Little Army. 
     
     
     
   All Were Startled by The Ominous Sound, Unlike Anything They Had 
   Heard Before On Their Dreary Tour.  The General Ordered his Scouts 
   Out To Learn The Cause; Could It Be Indians?  Every Eye Was Strained 
   For Something Out Of The Ordinary.  Even The Horses Of The Officers 
   And The Mules Of The Supply-Train Were Infected by Something That 
   Seemed impending; They Grew Restless, Stamped the Earth, And Vainly 
   Essayed to Stampede, But Were Prevented by Their Hobbles And 
   Picket-Pins. 
     
     
     
   Presently One Of The Scouts Returned from Over The Divide, And 
   Reported to The General That An Immense Herd Of Buffalo Was Tearing 
   Down Toward The Trail, And From The Great Clouds Of Dust They Raised, 
   Which Obscured the Horizon, There Must Have Been Ten Thousand Of Them. 
   The Roar Wafted to The Command, And Which Seemed so Mysterious, 
   Was Made By Their Hoofs As They Rattled over The Dry Prairie. 
     
     
     
   The Sound Increased in volume Rapidly, And Soon A Black, Surging Mass 
   Was Discovered bearing Right Down On The Trail.  Behind It Could Be 
   Seen A Cavalcade Of About Five Hundred cheyennes, Comanches, And 
   Kiowas, Who Had Maddened the Shaggy Brutes, Hoping To Capture The 
   Train Without An Attack By Forcing The Frightened animals To Overrun 
   The Command. 
     
     
     
   Luckily, Something Caused the Herd To Open Before It Reached the 
   Foot Of The Divide, And It Passed in two Masses, Leaving The Command 
   Between, Not Two Hundred feet From Either Division Of The Infuriated 
   Beasts. 
     
     
     
   The Rage Of The Savages Was Evident When They Saw That Their Attempt 
   To Annihilate The Troops Had Failed, And They Rode Off Sullenly Into 
   The Sand Hills, As The Number Of Soldiers Was Too Great For Them 
   To Think Of Charging. 
     
     
     
   Cody Tells Of A Buffalo Stampede Which He Witnessed in his Youth 
   On The Plains, When He Was A Wagon-Master.  The Caravan Was On Its 
   Way With Government Stores For The Military Posts In the Mountains, 
   And The Wagons Were Hauled by Oxen. 
     
     
     
   He Says: 
             The Country Was Alive With Buffalo, And Besides Killing 
             Quite A Number We Had A Rare Day For Sport.  One Morning 
             We Pulled out Of Camp, And The Train Was Strung Out To A 
             Considerable Length Along The Trail, Which Ran Near The Foot 
             Of The Sand Hills, Two Miles From The River.  Between The 
             Road And The River We Saw A Large Herd Of Buffalo Grazing 
             Quietly, They Having Been Down To The Stream To Drink. 
             Just At This Time We Observed a Party Of Returning 
             Californians Coming From The West.  They, Too, Noticed 
             The Buffalo Herd, And In another Moment They Were Dashing 
             Down Upon Them, Urging Their Horses To Their Greatest Speed. 
             The Buffalo Herd Stampeded at Once, And Broke Down The Sides 
             Of The Hills; So Hotly Were They Pursued by The Hunters 
             That About Five Hundred of Them Rushed pell-Mell Through 
             Our Caravan, Frightening Both Men And Oxen.  Some Of The 
             Wagons Were Turned clear Around And Many Of The Terrified 
             Oxen Attempted to Run To The Hills With The Heavy Wagons 
             Attached to Them.  Others Were Turned around So Short 
             That They Broke The Tongues Off.  Nearly All The Teams 
             Got Entangled in their Gearing and Became Wild And Unruly, 
             So That The Perplexed drivers Were Unable To Manage Them. 
     
     
     
             The Buffalo, The Cattle, And The Men Were Soon Running 
             In every Direction, And The Excitement Upset Everybody 
             And Everything.  Many Of The Oxen Broke Their Yokes And 
             Stampeded.  One Big Buffalo Bull Became Entangled in one 
             Of The Heavy Wagon-Chains, And It Is A Fact That In his 
             Desperate Efforts To Free Himself, He Not Only Snapped 
             The Strong Chain In two, But Broke The Ox-Yoke To Which 
             It Was Attached, And The Last Seen Of Him He Was Running 
             Toward The Hills With It Hanging From His Horns. 
     
     
     
   Stampedes Were A Great Source Of Profit To The Indians Of The Plains. 
   The Comanches Were Particularly Expert And Daring In this Kind Of 
   Robbery.  They Even Trained their Horses To Run From One Point To 
   Another In expectation Of The Coming Of The Trains.  When A Camp 
   Was Made That Was Nearly In range, They Turned their Trained animals 
   Loose, Which At Once Flew Across The Prairie, Passing Through The 
   Herd And Penetrating The Very Corrals Of Their Victims.  All Of The 
   Picketed horses And Mules Would Endeavour To Follow These Decoys, 
   And Were Invariably Led right Into The Haunts Of The Indians, 
   Who Easily Secured them.  Young Horses And Mules Were Easily 
   Frightened; And, In the Confusion Which Generally Ensued, Great 
   Injury Was Frequently Done To The Runaways Themselves. 
     
     
     
   At Times When The Herd Was Very Large, The Horses Scattered over 
   The Prairie And Were Irrevocably Lost; And Such As Did Not Become 
   Wild Fell A Prey To The Wolves.  That Fate Was Very Frequently The 
   Lot Of Stampeded horses Bred in the States, They Not Having Been 
   Trained by A Prairie Life To Take Care Of Themselves.  Instead Of 
   Stopping and Bravely Fighting Off The Blood-Thirsty Beasts, They 
   Would Run.  Then The Whole Pack Were Sure To Leave The Bolder Animals 
   And Make For The Runaways, Which They Seldom Failed to Overtake 
   And Despatch. 
     
     
     
   On The Old Trail Some Years Ago One Of These Stampedes Occurred of 
   A Band Of Government Horses, In which Were Several Valuable Animals. 
   It Was Attended, However, With Very Little Loss, Through The Courage 
   And Great Exertion Of The Men Who Had Them In charge; Many Were 
   Recovered, But None Without Having Sustained injuries. 
     
     
     
   Hon. R. M. Wright, Of Dodge City, Kansas, One Of The Pioneers In 
   The Days Of The Santa Fe Trade, And In the Settlement Of The State, 
   Has Had Many Exciting Experiences Both With The Savages Of The Great 
   Plains, And The Buffalo.  In relation To The Habits Of The Latter, 
   No Man Is Better Qualified to Speak. 
     
     
     
   He Was Once Owner Of Fort Aubrey, A Celebrated point On The Trail, 
   But Was Compelled to Abandon It On Account Of Constant Persecution 
   By The Indians, Or Rather He Was Ordered to Do So By The Military 
   Authorities.  While Occupying The Once Famous Landmark, In connection 
   With Others, Had A Contract To Furnish Hay To The Government At 
   Fort Lyon, Seventy-Five Miles Further West.  His Journal, Which He 
   Kindly Placed at My Disposal, Says: 
     
     
     
             While We Were Preparing To Commence The Work, A Vast Herd 
             Of Buffalo Stampeded through Our Range One Night, And 
             Took Off With Them About Half Of Our Work Cattle.  The Next 
             Day A Stage-Driver And Conductor On The Overland Route Told 
             Us They Had Seen A Number Of Our Oxen Twenty-Five Miles East 
             Of Aubrey, And This Information Gave Me An Idea In which 
             Direction To Hunt For The Missing Beasts.  I Immediately 
             Started after Them, While My Partner Took Those That 
             Remained and A Few Wagons And Left With Them For Fort Lyon. 
     
     
     
             Let Me Explain Here That While The Indians Were Supposed to 
             Be Peaceable, Small War-Parties Of Young Men, Who Could Not 
             Be Controlled by Their Chiefs, Were Continually Committing 
             Depredations, And The Main Body Of Savages Themselves Were 
             Very Uneasy, And Might Be Expected to Break Out Any Day. 
             In consequence Of This Unsettled state Of Affairs, There 
             Had Been A Brisk Movement Among The United states Troops 
             Stationed at The Various Military Posts, A Large Number Of 
             Whom Were Believed to Be On The Road From Denver To Fort Lyon. 
     
     
     
             I Filled my Saddle-Bags With Jerked buffalo, Hardtack And 
             Ground Coffee, And Took With Me A Belt Of Cartridges, 
             My Rifle And Six-Shooter, A Field-Glass And My Blankets, 
             Prepared for Any Emergency.  The First Day Out, I Found A 
             Few Of The Lost Cattle, And Placed them On The River-Bottom, 
             Which I Continued to Do As Fast As I Recovered them, For A 
             Distance Of About Eighty-Five Miles Down The Arkansas. 
             There I Met A Wagon-Train, The Drivers Of Which Told Me 
             That I Would Find Several More Of My Oxen With A Train 
             That Had Arrived at The Cimarron Crossing The Day Before. 
             I Came Up With This Train In eight Or Ten Hours' Travel 
             South Of The River, Got My Cattle, And Started next Morning 
             For Home. 
     
     
     
             I Picked up Those I Had Left On The Arkansas As I Went 
             Along, And After Having Made A Very Hard Day'S Travel, 
             About Sundown I Concluded i Would Go Into Camp.  I Had 
             Only Fairly Halted when The Oxen Began To Drop Down, 
             So Completely Tired out Were They, As I Believed.  Just As 
             It Was Growing Dark, I Happened to Look Toward The West, 
             And I Saw Several Fires On A Big Island, Near What Was 
             Called "The Lone Tree," About A Mile From Where I Had 
             Determined to Remain For The Night. 
     
     
     
             Thinking The Fires Were Those Of The Soldiers That I Had 
             Heard Were On The Road From Denver, And Anticipating and 
             Longing For A Cup Of Good Coffee, As I Had Had None For 
             Five Days, Knowing, Too, That The Troops Would Be Full Of 
             News, I Felt Good And Determined to Go Over To Their Camp. 
     
     
     
             The Arkansas Was Low, But The Banks Steep, With High, 
             Rank Grass Growing To The Very Water'S Edge.  I Found 
             A Buffalo-Trail Cut Through The Deep Bank, Narrow And 
             Precipitous, And Down This I Went, Arriving In a Short Time 
             Within A Little Distance Of My Supposed soldiers' Camp. 
             When I Had Reached the Middle Of Another Deep Cut In the 
             Bank, I Looked across To The Island, And, Great Caesar! 
             Saw A Hundred little Fires, Around Which An Aggregation 
             Of A Thousand Indians Were Huddled! 
     
     
     
             I Slid Backwards Off My Horse, And By Dint Of Great Exertion, 
             Worked him Up The River-Bank As Quietly And Quickly As 
             Possible, Then Led him Gently Away Out On The Prairie. 
             My First Impulse Was Not To Go Back To The Cattle; But As 
             We Needed them Very Badly, I Concluded to Return, Put Them 
             All On Their Feet, And Light Out Mighty Lively, Without 
             Making any Noise.  I Started them, And, Oh Dear!  I Was 
             Afraid To Tread Upon A Weed, Lest It Would Snap And Bring 
             The Indians Down On My Trail.  Until I Had Put Several 
             Miles Between Them And Me, I Could Not Rest Easy For 
             A Moment.  Tired as I Was, Tired as Were Both My Horse 
             And The Cattle, I Drove Them Twenty-Five Miles Before 
             I Halted.  Then Daylight Was Upon Me.  I Was At What Is 
             Known As Chouteau'S Island, A Once Famous Place In the 
             Days Of The Old Santa Fe Trail. 
     
     
     
             Of Course, I Had To Let The Oxen And My Horse Rest And Fill 
             Themselves Until The Afternoon, And I Lay Down, And Fell 
             Asleep, But Did Not Sleep Long, As I Thought It Dangerous 
             To Remain Too Near The Cattle.  I Rose And Walked up A Big, 
             Dry Sand Creek That Opened into The River, And After I Had 
             Ascended it For A Couple Of Miles, Found The Banks Very 
             Steep; In fact, They Rose To A Height Of Eighteen Or Twenty 
             Feet, And Were Sharply Cut Up By Narrow Trails Made By 
             The Buffalo. 
     
     
     
             The Whole Face Of The Earth Was Covered by Buffalo, And 
             They Were Slowly Grazing Toward The Arkansas.  All At Once 
             They Became Frightened at Something, And Stampeded pell-Mell 
             Toward The Very Spot On Which I Stood.  I Quickly Ran Into 
             One Of The Precipitous Little Paths And Up On The Prairie, 
             To See What Had Scared them.  They Were Making The Ground 
             Fairly Tremble As Their Mighty Multitude Came Rushing On 
             At Full Speed, The Sound Of Their Hoofs Resembling Thunder, 
             But In a Continuous Peal.  It Appeared to Me That They Must 
             Sweep Everything In their Path, And For My Own Preservation 
             I Rushed under The Creek-Bank, But On They Came Like A 
             Tornado, With One Old Bull In the Lead.  He Held Up A Second 
             To Descend The Narrow Trail, And When He Had Got About 
             Halfway Down I Let Him Have It; I Was Only A Few Steps From 
             Him And Over He Tumbled.  I Don'T Know Why I Killed him; 
             Out Of Pure Wantonness, I Expect, Or Perhaps I Thought 
             It Would Frighten The Others Back.  Not So, However; 
             They Only Quickened their Pace, And Came Dashing Down In 
             Great Numbers.  Dozens Of Them Stumbled and Fell Over The 
             Dead Bull; Others Fell Over Them.  The Top Of The Bank 
             Was Fairly Swarming With Them; They Leaped, Pitched, And 
             Rolled down.  I Crouched as Close To The Bank As Possible, 
             But Many Of Them Just Grazed my Head, Knocking The Sand 
             And Gravel In great Streams Down My Neck; Indeed i Was 
             Half Buried before The Herd Had Passed over.  That Old Bull 
             Was The Last Buffalo I Ever Shot Wantonly, Excepting Once, 
             From An Ambulance While Riding On The Old Trail, To Please 
             A Distinguished englishman, Who Had Never Seen One Shot; 
             Then I Did It Only After His Most Earnest Persuasion. 
     
     
     
             One Day A Stage-Driver Named frank Harris And Myself Started 
             Out After Buffalo; They Were Scarce, For A Wonder, And 
             We Were Very Hungry For Fresh Meat.  The Day Was Fine And 
             We Rode A Long Way, Expecting Sooner Or Later A Bunch Would 
             Jump Up, But In the Afternoon, Having Seen None, We Gave 
             It Up And Started for The Ranch.  Of Course, We Didn'T 
             Care To Save Our Ammunition, So Shot It Away At Everything 
             In sight, Skunks, Rattlesnakes, Prairie-Dogs, And Gophers, 
             Until We Had Only A Few Loads Left.  Suddenly An Old Bull 
             Jumped up That Had Been Lying Down In one Of Those 
             Sugar-Loaf-Shaped sand Hills, Whose Tops Are Hollowed out 
             By The Action Of The Wind.  Harris Emptied his Revolver 
             Into Him, And So Did I; But The Old Fellow Sullenly Stood 
             Still There On Top Of The Sand Hill, Bleeding Profusely 
             At The Nose, And Yet Absolutely Refusing To Die, Although 
             He Would Repeatedly Stagger And Nearly Tumble Over. 
     
     
     
             It Was Getting Late And We Couldn'T Wait On Him, So Harris 
             Said: "I Will Dismount, Creep Up Behind Him, And Cut His 
             Hamstrings With My Butcher-Knife."  The Bull Having Now 
             Lain Down, Harris Commenced operations, But His Movement 
             Seemed to Infuse New Life Into The Old Fellow; He Jumped 
             To His Feet, His Head Lowered in the Attitude Of Fight, 
             And Away He Went Around The Outside Of The Top Of The 
             Sand Hill!  It Was A Perfect Circus With One Ring; Harris, 
             Who Was A Tall, Lanky Fellow, Took Hold Of The Enraged 
             Animal'S Tail As He Rose To His Feet, And In a Moment His 
             Legs Were Flying Higher Than His Head, But He Did Not Dare 
             Let Go Of His Hold On The Bull'S Tail, And Around And 
             Around They Went; It Was His Only Show For Life.  I Could 
             Not Assist Him A Particle, But Had To Sit And Hold His Horse, 
             And Be Judge Of The Fight.  I Really Thought That Old Bull 
             Would Never Weaken.  Finally, However, The "Ring" Performance 
             Began To Show Symptoms Of Fatigue; Slower And Slower The 
             Actions Of The Bull Grew, And At Last Harris Succeeded 
             In cutting His Hamstrings And The Poor Beast Went Down. 
             Harris Said Afterward, When The Danger Was All Over, That 
             The Only Thing He Feared was That Perhaps The Bull'S Tail 
             Would Pull Out, And If It Did, He Was Well Aware That He 
             Was A Goner.  We Brought His Tongue, Hump, And A Hindquarter 
             To The Ranch With Us, And Had A Glorious Feast And A Big 
             Laugh That Night With The Boys Over The Ridiculous Adventure. 
     
     
     
   General Richard Irving Dodge, United states Army, In his Work On 
   The Big Game Of America, Says: 
     
     
     
             It Is Almost Impossible For A Civilized being To Realize 
             The Value To The Plains Indian Of The Buffalo.  It Furnished 
             Him With Home, Food, Clothing, Bedding, Horse Equipment-- 
             Almost Everything. 
     
     
     
             From 1869 To 1873 I Was Stationed at Various Posts Along 
             The Arkansas River.  Early In spring, As Soon As The Dry 
             And Apparently Desert Prairie Had Begun To Change Its Coat 
             Of Dingy Brown To One Of Palest Green, The Horizon Would 
             Begin To Be Dotted with Buffalo, Single Or In groups Of Two 
             Or Three, Forerunners Of The Coming Herd.  Thick And Thicker, 
             And In large Groups They Come, Until By The Time The Grass 
             Is Well Up, The Whole Vast Landscape Appears A Mass Of 
             Buffalo, Some Individuals Feeding, Others Lying Down, But 
             The Herd Slowly Moving To The Northward; Of Their Number, 
             It Was Impossible To Form A Conjecture. 
     
     
     
             Determined as They Are To Pursue Their Journey Northward, 
             Yet They Are Exceedingly Cautious And Timid About It, 
             And On Any Alarm Rush To The Southward With All Speed, 
             Until That Alarm Is Dissipated.  Especially Is This The Case 
             When Any Unusual Object Appears In their Rear, And So 
             Utterly Regardless Of Consequences Are They, That An Old 
             Plainsman Will Not Risk A Wagon-Train In such A Herd, 
             Where Rising Ground Will Permit Those In front To Get 
             A Good View Of Their Rear. 
     
     
     
             In may, 1871, I Drove In a Buggy From Old Fort Zarah 
             To Fort Larned, On The Arkansas River.  The Distance Is 
             Thirty-Four Miles.  At Least Twenty-Five Miles Of That 
             Distance Was Through An Immense Herd.  The Whole Country 
             Was One Mass Of Buffalo, Apparently, And It Was Only When 
             Actually Among Them, That The Seemingly Solid Body Was 
             Seen To Be An Agglomeration Of Countless Herds Of From 
             Fifty To Two Hundred animals, Separated from The Surrounding 
             Herds By A Greater Or Less Space, But Still Separated. 
     
     
     
             The Road Ran Along The Broad Valley Of The Arkansas. 
             Some Miles From Zarah A Low Line Of Hills Rises From The 
             Plain On The Right, Gradually Increasing In height And 
             Approaching Road And River, Until They Culminate In 
             Pawnee Rock. 
     
     
     
             So Long As I Was In the Broad, Level Valley, The Herds 
             Sullenly Got Out Of My Way, And, Turning, Stared stupidly 
             At Me, Some Within Thirty Or Forty Yards.  When, However, 
             I Had Reached a Point Where The Hills Were No More Than 
             A Mile From The Road, The Buffalo On The Crests, Seeing an 
             Unusual Object In their Rear, Turned, Stared an Instant, 
             Then Started at Full Speed toward Me, Stampeding and 
             Bringing With Them The Numberless Herds Through Which 
             They Passed, And Pouring Down On Me, No Longer Separated 
             But Compacted into One Immense Mass Of Plunging animals, 
             Mad With Fright, Irresistible As An Avalanche. 
     
     
     
             The Situation Was By No Means Pleasant.  There Was But 
             One Hope Of Escape.  My Horse Was, Fortunately, A Quiet 
             Old Beast, That Had Rushed with Me Into Many A Herd, And 
             Been In at The Death Of Many A Buffalo.  Reining Him Up, 
             I Waited until The Front Of The Mass Was Within Fifty Yards, 
             Then, With A Few Well-Directed shots, Dropped some Of 
             The Leaders, Split The Herd And Sent It Off In two Streams 
             To My Right And Left.  When All Had Passed me, They Stopped, 
             Apparently Satisfied, Though Thousands Were Yet Within 
             Reach Of My Rifle.  After My Servant Had Cut Out The 
             Tongues Of The Fallen, I Proceeded on My Journey, Only To 
             Have A Similar Experience Within A Mile Or Two, And This 
             Occurred so Often That I Reached fort Larned with Twenty-Six 
             Tongues, Representing The Greatest Number Of Buffalo That 
             I Can Blame Myself With Having Murdered in one Day. 
     
     
     
             Some Years, As In 1871, The Buffalo Appeared to Move 
             Northward In one Immense Column, Oftentimes From Twenty 
             To Fifty Miles In width, And Of Unknown Depth From Front 
             To Rear.  Other Years The Northward Journey Was Made 
             In several Parallel Columns Moving at The Same Rate And 
             With Their Numerous Flankers Covering a Width Of A Hundred 
             Or More Miles. 
     
     
     
             When The Food In one Locality Fails, They Go To Another, 
             And Toward Fall, When The Grass Of The High Prairies 
             Becomes Parched by The Heat And Drought, They Gradually 
             Work Their Way Back To The South, Concentrating On The 
             Rich Pastures Of Texas And The Indian Territory, Whence, 
             The Same Instinct Acting On All, They Are Ready To Start 
             Together Again On Their Northward March As Soon As Spring 
             Starts The Grass. 
     
     
     
             Old Plainsmen And The Indians Aver That The Buffalo Never 
             Return South; That Each Year'S Herd Was Composed of Animals 
             Which Had Never Made The Journey Before, And Would Never 
             Make It Again.  All Admit The Northern Migration, That 
             Being Too Pronounced for Any One To Dispute, But Refuse 
             To Admit The Southern Migration.  Thousands Of Young Calves 
             Were Caught And Killed every Spring That Were Produced 
             During This Migration, And Accompanied the Herd Northward; 
             But Because The Buffalo Did Not Return South In one Vast 
             Body As They Went North, It Was Stoutly Maintained that 
             They Did Not Go South At All.  The Plainsman Could Give 
             No Reasonable Hypothesis Of His "No-Return Theory" On Which 
             To Base The Origin Of The Vast Herds Which Yearly Made 
             Their March Northward.  The Indian Was, However, Equal 
             To The Occasion.  Every Plains Indian Firmly Believed that 
             The Buffalo Were Produced in countless Numbers In a Country 
             Under Ground; That Every Spring The Surplus Swarmed, 
             Like Bees From A Hive, Out Of The Immense Cave-Like Opening 
             In the Region Of The Great Llano Estacado, Or Staked plain 
             Of Texas.  In 1879 Stone Calf, A Celebrated chief, Assured 
             Me That He Knew Exactly Where The Caves Were, Though He Had 
             Never Seen Them; That The Good God Had Provided this 
             Means For The Constant Supply Of Food For The Indian, And 
             However Recklessly The White Men Might Slaughter, They Could 
             Never Exterminate Them.  When Last I Saw Him, The Old Man 
             Was Beginning To Waver In this Belief, And Feared that 
             The "Bad God" Had Shut The Entrances, And That His Tribe 
             Must Starve. 
     
     
     
   The Old Trappers And Plainsmen Themselves, Even As Early As The 
   Beginning Of The Santa Fe Trade, Noticed the Gradual Disappearance 
   Of The Buffalo, While They Still Existed in countless Numbers. 
   One Veteran French Canadian, An Employee Of The American Fur Company, 
   Way Back In the Early '30'S, Used to Mourn Thus: "Mais, Sacre! 
   Les Amarican, Dey Go To De Missouri Frontier, De Buffalo He Ron To 
   De Montaigne; De Trappaire Wid His Fusil, He Follow To De Bayou 
   Salade, He Ron Again.  Dans Les Montaignes Espagnol, Bang! Bang! 
   Toute La Journee, Toute La Journee, Go De Sacre Voleurs.  De Bison He 
   Leave, Parceque Les Fusils Scare Im Vara Moche, Ici La De Sem-Sacre!" 
     
   
   
   
   Chapter XIII (Indian Customs And Legends) 
   Thirty-Five Miles Before Arriving at Bent'S Fort, At Which Point 
   The Old Trail Crossed the Arkansas, The Valley Widens And The Prairie 
   Falls Toward The River In gentle Undulations.  There For Many Years 
   The Three Friendly Tribes Of Plains Indians--Cheyennes, Arapahoes, 
   And Kiowas--Established their Winter Villages, In order To Avail 
   Themselves Of The Supply Of Wood, To Trade With The Whites, And To 
   Feed their Herds Of Ponies On The Small Limbs And Bark Of The 
   Cottonwood Trees Growing along The Margin Of The Stream For Four 
   Or Five Miles.  It Was Called big Timbers, And Was One Of The Most 
   Eligible Places To Camp On The Whole Route After Leaving Council Grove. 
   The Grass, Particularly On The South Side Of The River, Was Excellent; 
   There Was An Endless Supply Of Fuel, And Cool Water Without Stint. 
     
     
     
   In The Severe Winters That Sometimes Were Fruitful Of Blinding 
   Blizzards, Sweeping From The North In an Intensity Of Fury That 
   Was Almost Inconceivable, The Buffalo Too Congregated there For 
   Shelter, And To Browse On The Twigs Of The Great Trees. 
     
     
     
   The Once Famous Grove, Though Denuded of Much Of Its Timber, May 
   Still Be Seen From The Car Windows As The Trains Hurry Mountainward. 
     
     
     
   Garrard, In his _Taos Trail_, Presents An Interesting and Amusing 
   Account Of A Visit To The Cheyenne Village With Old John Smith, 
   In 1847, When The Santa Fe Trade Was At Its Height, And That With 
   The Various Tribes Of Savages In its Golden Days. 
     
     
     
             Toward The Middle Of The Day, The Village Was In a Great 
             Bustle.  Every Squaw, Child, And Man Had Their Faces 
             Blackened--A Manifestation Of Joy.[44] 
     
     
     
             Pell-Mell They Went--Men, Squaws, And Dogs--Into The Icy 
             River.  Some Hastily Jerked off Their Leggings, And Held 
             Moccasins And Dresses High Out Of The Water.  Others, Too 
             Impatient, Dashed the Stream From Beneath Their Impetuous 
             Feet, Scarce Taking Time To Draw More Closely The Always 
             Worn Robe.  Wondering What Caused all This Commotion, And 
             Looking Over The River, Whither The Yelling, Half-Frantic 
             Savages Were So Speedily Hurrying, We Saw A Band Of Indians 
             Advancing Toward Us.  As The Foremost Braves Reined their 
             Champing Barbs On The River-Bank, Mingled whoops Of Triumph 
             And Delight And The Repeated discharge Of Guns Filled 
             The Air.  In the Hands Of Three Were Slender Willow Wands, 
             From The Smaller Points Of Which Dangled as Many Scalps-- 
             The Single Tuft Of Hair On Each Pronouncing Them Pawnees.[45] 
     
     
     
             These Were Raised aloft, Amid Unrestrained bursts Of Joy 
             From The Thrice-Happy, Blood-Thirsty Throng.  Children Ran 
             To Meet Their Fathers, Sisters Their Brothers, Girls Their 
             Lovers, Returning From The Scene Of Victorious Strife; 
             Decrepit Matrons Welcomed manly Sons; And Aged chiefs Their 
             Boys And Braves.  It Was A Scene Of Affection, And A Proud 
             Day In the Cheyenne Annals Of Prowess.  That Small But 
             Gallant Band Were Relieved of Their Shields And Lances By 
             Tender-Hearted squaws, And Accompanied to Their Respective 
             Homes, To Repose By The Lodge-Fire, Consume Choice Meat, 
             And To Be The Heroes Of The Family Circle. 
     
     
     
             The Drum At Night Sent Forth Its Monotony Of Hollow Sound, 
             And My Mexican Pedro And I, Directed by The Booming, 
             Entered a Lodge, Vacated for The Purpose, Full Of Young Men 
             And Squaws, Following One Another In a Continuous Circle, 
             Keeping The Left Knee Stiff And Bending The Right With A 
             Half-Forward, Half-Backward Step, As If They Wanted to Go On 
             And Could Not, Accompanying It, Every Time The Right Foot 
             Was Raised, With An Energetic, Broken Song, Which, Dying 
             Away, Was Again And Again Sounded--"Hay-A, Hay-A, Hay-A," 
             They Went, Laying The Emphasis On The First Syllable. 
             A Drum, Similar To, Though Larger Than A Tambourine, Covered 
             With Parfleche,[46] Was Beaten Upon With A Stick, Producing 
             With The Voices A Sound Not Altogether Disagreeable. 
     
     
     
             Throughout The Entire Night And Succeeding Day The Voices 
             Of The Singers And Heavy Notes Of The Drum Reached us, 
             And At Night Again The Same Dull Sound Lulled me To Sleep. 
             Before Daylight Our Lodge Was Filled with Careless Dancers, 
             And The Drum And Voices, So Unpleasing To Our Wearied ears, 
             Were Giving Us The Full Benefit Of Their Compass.  Smith, 
             Whose Policy It Was Not To Be Offended, Bore The Infliction 
             As Best Be Could, And I Looked on Much Amused.  The Lodge 
             Was So Full That They Stood Without Dancing, In a Circle 
             Round The Fire, And With A Swaying Motion Of The Body 
             Kept Time To Their Music. 
     
     
     
             During The Day The Young Men, Except The Dancers, Piled up 
             Dry Logs In a Level Open Space Near, For A Grand Demonstration. 
             At Night, When It Was Fired, I Folded my Blanket Over My 
             Shoulders, Comme Les Sauvages, And Went Out.  The Faces 
             Of Many Girls Were Brilliant With Vermilion; Others Were 
             Blacked, Their Robes, Leggings, And Skin Dresses Glittering 
             With Beads And Quill-Work.  Rings And Bracelets Of Shining 
             Brass Encircled their Taper Arms And Fingers, And Shells 
             Dangled from Their Ears.  Indeed, All The Finery Collectable 
             Was Piled on In barbarous Profusion, Though A Few, In good 
             Taste Through Poverty, Wore A Single Band And But Few Rings, 
             With Jetty Hair Parted in the Middle, From The Forehead 
             To The Neck, Terminating In two Handsome Braids. 
     
     
     
             The Young Men Who Can Afford The Expense Trade For Dollars 
             And Silver Coin Of Less Denomination--Coin As A Currency 
             Is Not Known Among Them--Which They Flatten Thin, And Fasten 
             To A Braid Of Buffalo Hair, Attached to The Crown Lock, 
             Which Hangs Behind, Outside Of The Robe, And Adds Much To 
             The Handsome Appearance Of The Wearer. 
     
     
     
             The Girls, Numbering Two Hundred, Fell Into Line Together, 
             And The Men, Of Whom There Were Two Hundred and Fifty, 
             Joining, A Circle Was Formed, Which Travelled around With 
             The Same Shuffling Step Already Described.  The Drummers 
             And Other Musicians--Twenty Or Twenty-Five Of Them--Marched 
             In a Contrary Direction To And From And Around The Fire, 
             Inside The Large Ring; For At The Distance Kept By The 
             Outsiders The Area Was One Hundred and Fifty Feet In diameter. 
             The Apollonian Emulators Chanted the Great Deeds Performed 
             By The Cheyenne Warriors.  As They Ended, The Dying Strain 
             Was Caught Up By The Hundreds Of The Outside Circle, Who, 
             In fast-Swelling, Loud Tones, Poured out The Burden Of 
             Their Song.  At This Juncture The March Was Quickened, 
             The Scalps Of The Slain Were Borne Aloft And Shaken With 
             Wild Delight, And Shrill War-Notes, Rising above The 
             Furious Din, Accelerated the Pulsation And Strung High 
             The Nerves.  Time-Worn Shields, Careering In mad Holders' 
             Hands, Clashed; And Keen Lances, Once Reeking In pawnee 
             Blood, Clanged.  Braves Seized one Another With An Iron 
             Grip, In the Heat Of Excitement, Or Chimed more Tenderly 
             In the Chant, Enveloped in the Same Robe With Some Maiden 
             As They Approvingly Stepped through One Of Their Own 
             Original Polkas. 
     
     
     
             Thirty Of The Chiefs And Principal Men Were Ranged by The 
             Pile Of Blazing Logs.  By Their Invitation, I Sat Down With 
             Them And Smoked death And Its Concomitant Train Of Evils To 
             Those Audacious Tribes Who Doubt The Courage Or Supremacy 
             Of The Brave, The Great And Powerful, Cheyenne Nation. 
     
     
     
   It Is Indian Etiquette That The First Lodge A Stranger Enters On 
   Visiting a Village Is His Home As Long As He Remains The Guest Of 
   The Tribe.  It Is All The Same Whether He Be Invited or Not. 
   Upon Going In, It Is Customary To Place All Your Traps In the Back 
   Part, Which Is The Most Honoured spot.  The Proprietor Always Occupies 
   That Part Of His Home, But Invariably Gives It Up To A Guest. 
   With The Cheyennes, The White Man, When The Tribe Was At Peace With 
   Him, Was Ever Welcome, As In the Early Days Of The Border He Generally 
   Had A Supply Of Coffee, Of Which The Savage Is Particularly Fond-- 
   Mok-Ta-Bo-Mah-Pe, As They Call It.  Their Salutation To The Stranger 
   Coming Into The Presence Of The Owner Of A Lodge Is "Hook-Ah-Hay! 
   Num-Whit,"--"How Do You Do?  Stay With Us."  Water Is Then Handed by 
   A Squaw, As It Is Supposed a Traveller Is Thirsty After Riding; 
   Then Meat, For He Must Be Hungry, Too.  A Pipe Is Offered, And 
   Conversation Follows. 
     
     
     
   The Lodge Of The Cheyennes Is Formed of Seventeen Poles, About Three 
   Inches Thick At The End Which Rests On The Ground, Slender In shape, 
   Tapering Symmetrically, And Eighteen Feet Or More In length.  They Are 
   Tied together At The Small Ends With Buffalo-Hide, Then Raised until 
   The Frame Resembles A Cone, Over Which Buffalo-Skins Are Placed, 
   Very Skilfully Fitted and Made Soft By Having Been Dubbed by The 
   Women--That Is, Scraped to The Requisite Thinness, And Made Supple 
   By Rubbing With The Brains Of The Animal That Wore It.  They Are 
   Sewed together With Sinews Of The Buffalo, Generally Of The Long 
   And Powerful Muscle That Holds Up The Ponderous Head Of The Shaggy 
   Beast, A Narrow Strip Running Towards The Bump.  In summer The 
   Lower Edges Of The Skin Are Rolled up, And The Wind Blowing Through, 
   It Is A Cool, Shady Retreat.  In winter Everything Is Closed, And I 
   Know Of No More Comfortable Place Than A Well-Made Indian Lodge. 
   The Army Tent Known As The Sibley Is Modelled after It, And Is The 
   Best Winter Shelter For Troops In the Field That Can Be Made. 
   Many Times While The Military Post Where I Had Been Ordered was 
   In Process Of Building, I Have Chosen The Sibley Tent In preference 
   To Any Other Domicile. 
     
     
     
   When A Village Is To Be Moved, It Is An Interesting Sight.  The Young 
   And Unfledged boys Drive Up The Herd Of Ponies, And Then The Squaws 
   Catch Them.  The Women, Too, Take Down The Lodges, And, Tying The 
   Poles In two Bundles, Fasten Them On Each Side Of An Animal, The 
   Long Ends Dragging On The Ground.  Just Behind The Pony Or Mule, 
   As The Case May Be, A Basket Is Placed and Held There By Buffalo-Hide 
   Thongs, And Into These Novel Carriages The Little Children Are Put, 
   Besides Such Traps As Are Not Easily Packed on The Animal'S Back. 
     
     
     
   The Women Do All The Work Both In camp And When Moving.  They Are 
   Doomed to A Hopeless Bondage Of Slavery, The Fate Of Their Sex In 
   Every Savage Race; But They Accept Their Condition Stoically, And 
   There Is As Much Affection Among Them For Their Husbands And Children 
   As I Have Ever Witnessed among The White Race.  Here Are Two Instances 
   Of Their Devotion, Both Of Which Came Under My Personal Observation, 
   And I Could Give Hundreds Of Others. 
     
     
     
   Late In the Fall Of 1858, I Was One Of A Party On The Trail Of A Band 
   Of Indians Who Had Been Committing Some Horrible Murders In a 
   Mining-Camp In the Northern Portion Of Washington Territory.  On The 
   Fourth Day Out, Just About Dusk, We Struck Their Moccasin Tracks, 
   Which We Followed all Night, And Surprised their Camp In the Gray 
   Light Of The Early Morning.  In less Than Ten Minutes The Fight 
   Was Over, And Besides The Killed we Captured six Prisoners.  Then As 
   The Rising Sun Commenced to Gild The Peaks Of The Lofty Range On 
   The West, Having Granted our Captives Half An Hour To Take Leave 
   Of Their Families, The Ankles Of Each Were Bound; They Were Made 
   To Kneel On The Prairie, A Squad Of Soldiers, With Loaded rifles, 
   Were Drawn Up Eight Paces In front Of Them, And At The Instant 
   The Signal--A White Handkerchief--Was Dropped the Savages Tumbled 
   Over On The Sod A Heap Of Corpses.  The Parting Between The Condemned 
   Men And Their Young Wives And Children, I Shall Never Forget. 
   It Was The Most Perfect Exhibition Of Marital And Filial Love That 
   I Have Ever Witnessed.  Such Harsh Measures May Seem Cruel And 
   Heartless In the Light Of To-Day, But There Was None Other Than 
   Martial Law Then In the Wilderness Of The Northern Pacific Coast, 
   And The Execution Was A Stern Necessity. 
     
     
     
   The Other Instance Was Ten Years Later.  During The Indian Campaign 
   In The Winter Of 1868-69 I Was Riding With A Party Of Officers And 
   Enlisted men, South Of The Arkansas, About Fourty Miles From Fort Dodge. 
   We Were Watching Some Cavalrymen Unearth Three Or Four Dead Warriors 
   Who Had Been Killed by Two Scouts In a Fierce Unequal Fight A Few 
   Weeks Before, And As We Rode Into A Small Ravine Among The Sand Hills, 
   We Suddenly Came Upon A Rudely Constructed cheyenne Lodge.  Entering, 
   We Discovered on A Rough Platform, Fashioned of Green Poles, A Dead 
   Warrior In full War-Dress; His Shield Of Buffalo-Hide, Pipe Ornamented 
   With Eagles' Feathers, And Medicine Bag, Were Lying On The Ground 
   Beside Him.  At His Head, On Her Knees, With Hands Clasped in the 
   Attitude Of Prayer, Was A Squaw Frozen To Death.  Which Had First 
   Succumbed, The Wounded chief, Or The Devoted wife In the Awful Cold 
   Of That Winter Prairie, Will Never Be Known, But It Proved her Love 
   For The Man Who Had Perhaps Beaten Her A Hundred times.  Such Tender 
   And Sympathetic Affection Is Characteristic Of The Sex Everywhere, 
   No Less With The Poor Savage Than In the Dominant White Race. 
     
     
     
   To Return To Our Description Of The Average Indian Village: Each Lodge 
   At The Grand Encampment Of Big Timbers In the Era Of Traffic With 
   The Nomads Of The Great Plains, Owned its Separate Herd Of Ponies 
   And Mules.  In the Exodus To Some Other Favoured spot, Two Dozen Or 
   More Of These Individual Herds Travelled close To Each Other But 
   Never Mixed, Each Drove Devotedly Following Its Bell-Mare, As In 
   A Pack-Train.  This Useful Animal Is Generally The Most Worthless 
   And Wicked beast In the Entire Outfit. 
     
     
     
   The Animals With The Lodge-Pole Carriages Go As They Please, 
   No Special Care Being Taken To Guide Them, But They Too Instinctively 
   Keep Within Sound Of The Leader.  I Will Again Quote Garrard For 
   An Accurate Description Of The Moving Camp When He Was With The 
   Cheyennes In 1847:-- 
     
     
     
             The Young Squaws Take Much Care Of Their Dress And Horse 
             Equipments; They Dash Furiously Past On Wild Steeds, 
             Astrideof The High-Pommelled saddles.  A Fancifully 
             Coloured cover, Worked with Beads Or Porcupine Quills, 
             Making a Flashy, Striking appearance, Extended from Withers 
             To Rump Of The Horse, While The Riders Evinced an Admirable 
             Daring, Worthy Of Amazons.  Their Dresses Were Made Of 
             Buckskin, High At The Neck, With Short Sleeves, Or Rather 
             None At All, Fitting Loosely, And Reaching Obliquely To 
             Theknee, Giving a Diana Look To The Costume; The Edges 
             Scalloped, Worked with Beads, And Fringed.  From The Knee 
             Downward The Limb Was Encased in a Tightly Fitting Legging, 
             Terminating In a Neat Moccasin--Both Handsomely Wrought 
             With Beads.  On The Arms Were Bracelets Of Brass, Which 
             Glittered and Reflected in the Radiant Morning Sun, Adding 
             Much To Their Attractions. In their Pierced ears, Shells 
             From The Pacific Shore Were Pendent; And To Complete The 
             Picture Of Savage Taste And Profusion, Their Fine 
             Complexions Were Eclipsed by A Coat Of Flaming Vermilion. 
     
     
     
             Many Of The Largest Dogs Were Packed with A Small Quantity 
             Of Meat, Or Something Not Easily Injured.  They Looked 
             Queerly, Trotting Industriously Under Their Burdens; And, 
             Judging From A Small Stock Of Canine Physiological 
             Information, Not A Little Of The Wolf Was In their 
             Composition. 
     
     
     
             We Crossed the River On Our Way To The New Camp.  The Alarm 
             Manifested by The Children In the Lodge-Pole Drays, As They 
             Dipped in the Water, Was Amusing.  The Little Fellows, 
             Holding Their Breath, Not Daring To Cry, Looked imploringly 
             At Their Inexorable Mothers, And Were Encouraged by Words 
             Of Approbation From Their Stern Fathers. 
     
     
     
             After A Ride Of Two Hours We Stopped, And The Chiefs, 
             Fastening Their Horses, Collected in circles To Smoke Their 
             Pipe And Talk, Letting Their Squaws Unpack The Animals, 
             Pitch The Lodges, Build The Fires, And Arrange The Robes. 
             When All Was Ready, These Lords Of Creation Dispersed to 
             Their Several Homes, To Wait Until Their Patient And 
             Enduring Spouses Prepared some Food.  I Was Provoked, Nay, 
             Angry, To See The Lazy, Overgrown Men Do Nothing To Help 
             Their Wives; And When The Young Women Pulled off Their 
             Bracelets And Finery To Chop Wood, The Cup Of My Wrath Was 
             Full To Overflowing, And, In a Fit Of Honest Indignation, 
             I Pronounced them Ungallant And Savage In the True Sense 
             Of The Word. 
     
     
     
   The Treatment Of Indian Children, Particularly Boys, Is Something 
   Startling To The Gentle Sentiments Of Refined white Mothers. 
   The Girls Receive Hardly Any Attention From Their Fathers.  Implicit 
   Obedience Is The Watchword Of The Lodge With Them, And They Are 
   Constantly Taught To Appreciate Their Inferiority Of Sex.  The Daughter 
   Is A Mere Slave; Unnoticed and Neglected--A Mere Hewer Of Wood And 
   Drawer Of Water.  With A Son, It Is Entirely Different; The Father 
   From His Birth Dotes On Him And Manifests His Affection In the Most 
   Demonstrative Manner. 
     
     
     
   Garrard Tells Of Two Instances That Came Under His Observation While 
   Staying at The Chief'S Lodge, And At John Smith'S, In the Cheyenne 
   Village, Of The Discipline To Which The Boys Are Subjected. 
     
     
     
             In vi-Po-Nah'S Lodge Was His Grandson, A Boy Six Or Seven 
             Months Old.  Every Morning His Mother Washed him In cold 
             Water, And Set Him Out In the Air To Make Him Hardy; 
             He Would Come In, Perfectly Nude, From His Airing, About 
             Half-Frozen.  How He Would Laugh And Brighten Up, As He Felt 
             The Warmth Of The Fire! 
     
     
     
             Smith'S Son Jack Took A Crying Fit One Cold Night, Much To 
             The Annoyance Of Four Or Five Chiefs, Who Had Come To Our 
             Lodge To Talk And Smoke.  In vain Did The Mother Shake And 
             Scold Him With The Severest Cheyenne Words, Until Smith, 
             Provoked beyond Endurance, Took The Squalling Youngster In 
             His Hands; He Shu-ed and Shouted and Swore, But Jack Had 
             Gone Too Far To Be Easily Pacified.  He Then Sent For A 
             Bucket Of Water From The River And Poured cupful After 
             Cupful On Jack, Who Stamped and Screamed and Bit In his 
             Tiny Rage.  Notwithstanding, The Icy Stream Slowly Descended 
             Until The Bucket Was Emptied, Another Was Sent For, And 
             Again And Again The Cup Was Replenished and Emptied on The 
             Blubbering Youth.  At Last, Exhausted with Exertion And 
             Completely Cooled down, He Received the Remaining Water 
             In silence, And, With A Few Words Of Admonition, Was 
             Delivered over To His Mother, In whose Arms He Stifled his 
             Sobs, Until His Heartbreaking Grief And Cares Were Drowned 
             In sleep.  What A Devilish Mixture Indian And American 
             Blood Is! 
     
     
     
   The Indians Never Chastise A Boy, As They Think His Spirit Would Be 
   Broken And Cowed down; Instead Of A Warrior He Would Be A Squaw 
   --A Harsh Epithet Indicative Of Cowardice--And They Resort To Any Method 
   But Infliction Of Blows To Subdue A Refractory Scion. 
     
     
     
   Before Most Of The Lodges Is A Tripod Of Three Sticks, About Seven 
   Feet In length And An Inch In diameter, Fastened at The Top, And The 
   Lower Ends Brought Out, So That It Stands Alone.  On This Is Hung 
   The Shield And A Small Square Bag Of Parfleche, Containing Pipes, 
   With An Accompanying Pendent Roll Of Stems, Carefully Wrapped in 
   Blue Or Red cloth, And Decorated with Beads And Porcupine Quills. 
   This Collection Is Held In great Veneration, For The Pipe Is Their 
   Only Religion.  Through Its Agency They Invoke The Great Spirit; 
   Through It They Render Homage To The Winds, To The Earth, And To 
   The Sky. 
     
     
     
   Every One Has His Peculiar Notion On This Subject; And, In passing 
   The Pipe, One Must Have It Presented stem Downward, Another The 
   Reverse; Some With The Bowl Resting On The Ground; And As This Is 
   A Matter Of Great Solemnity, Their Several Fancies Are Respected. 
   Sometimes I Required them To Hand It To Me, When Smoking, In imitation 
   Of Their Custom; On This, A Faint Smile, Half Mingled with Respect 
   And Pity For My Folly In tampering With Their Sacred ceremony, Would 
   Appear On Their Faces, And With A Slow Negative Shake Of The Head, 
   They Would Ejaculate, "I-Sto-Met-Mah-Son-Ne-Wah-Hein"--"Pshaw! 
   That'S Foolish; Don'T Do So." 
     
     
     
   Religion The Cheyennes Have None, If, Indeed, We Except The Respect 
   Paid To The Pipe; Nor Do We See Any Sign Or Vestige Of Spiritual 
   Worship; Except One Remarkable Thing--In Offering The Pipe, Before 
   Every Fresh Filling, To The Sky, The Earth, And The Winds, The Motion 
   Made In so Doing Describes The Form Of A Cross; And, In blowing The 
   First Four Whiffs, The Smoke Is Invariably Sent In the Same Four 
   Directions.  It Is Undoubtedly Void Of Meaning In reference To 
   Christian Worship, Yet It Is A Superstition, Founded on Ancient 
   Tradition.  This Tribe Once Lived near The Head Waters Of The 
   Mississippi; And, As The Early Jesuit Missionaries Were Energetic 
   Zealots, In the Diffusion Of Their Religious Sentiments, Probably To 
   Make Their Faith More Acceptable To The Indians, The Roman Catholic 
   Rites Were Blended with The Homage Shown To The Pipe, Which Custom 
   Of Offering, In the Form Of A Cross, Is Still Retained by Them; 
   But As Every Custom Is Handed down By Tradition Merely, The True 
   Source Has Been Forgotten. 
     
     
     
   In Every Tribe In whose Country I Have Been Stationed, Which Comprises 
   Nearly All The Continent Excepting The Extreme Southwestern Portion, 
   His Pipe Is The Indian'S Constant Companion Through Life.  It Is His 
   Messenger Of Peace; He Pledges His Friends Through Its Stem And Its 
   Bowl, And When He Is Dead, It Has A Place In his Solitary Grave, 
   With His War-Club And Arrows--Companions On His Journey To His 
   Long-Fancied beautiful Hunting-Grounds.  The Pipe Of Peace Is A Sacred 
   Thing; So Held By All Indian Nations, And Kept In possession Of Chiefs, 
   To Be Smoked only At Times Of Peacemaking.  When The Terms Of Treaty 
   Have Been Agreed upon, This Sacred emblem, The Stem Of Which Is 
   Ornamented with Eagle'S Quills, Is Brought Forward, And The Solemn 
   Pledge To Keep The Peace Is Passed through The Sacred stem By Each 
   Chief And Warrior Drawing The Smoke Once Through It.  After The 
   Ceremony Is Over, The Warriors Of The Two Tribes Unite In the Dance, 
   With The Pipe Of Peace Held In the Left Hand Of The Chief And In his 
   Other A Rattle. 
     
     
     
   Thousands Of Years Ago, The Primitive Savage Of The American Continent 
   Carried masses Of Pipe-Stone From The Sacred quarry In minnesota 
   Across The Vast Wilderness Of Plains, To Trade With The People Of 
   The Far Southwest, Over The Same Route That Long Afterward Became 
   The Santa Fe Trail; Therefore, It Will Be Consistent With The Character 
   Of This Work To Relate The History Of The Quarry From Which All The 
   Tribes Procured their Material For Fashioning Their Pipes, And The 
   Curious Legends Connected with It.  I Have Met With The Red sandstone 
   Pipes On The Remotest Portions Of The Pacific Coast, And East, West, 
   North And South, In every Tribe That It Has Been My Fortune To Know. 
     
     
     
   The Word "Dakotah" Means Allied or Confederated, And Is The Family 
   Name Now Comprising Some Thirty Bands, Numbering about Thirty Thousand 
   Indians.  They Are Generally Designated sioux, But That Title Is 
   Seldom Willingly Acknowledged by Them.  It Was First Given To Them 
   By The French, Though Its Original Interpretation Is By No Means Clear. 
   The Accepted theory, Because It Is The Most Plausible, Is That It Is 
   A Corruption Or Rather An Abbreviation Of "Nadouessioux," A Chippewa 
   Word For Enemies. 
     
     
     
   Many Of The Sioux Are Semi-Civilized; Some Are "Blanket-Indians," 
   So Called, But There Are No Longer Any Murderous Or Predatory Bands, 
   And All Save A Few Stragglers Are On The Reservations.  From 1812 To 
   1876, More Than Half A Century, They Were The Scourge Of The West And 
   The Northwest, But Another Outbreak Is Highly Improbable.  They Once 
   Occupied the Vast Region Included between The Mississippi And The 
   Rocky Mountains, And Were Always Migratory In their Methods Of Living. 
   Over Fifty Years Ago, When The Whites First Became Acquainted with 
   Them, They Were Divided into Nearly Fifty Bands Of Families, Each With 
   Its Separate Chief, But All Acknowledging a Superior Chief To Whom 
   They Were Subordinate.  They Were At That Time The Happiest And Most 
   Wealthy Tribe On The Continent, Regarded from An Indian Standpoint; 
   But Then The Great Plains Were Stocked with Buffalo And Wild Horses, 
   And That Fact Alone Warrants The Assertion Of Contentment And Riches. 
   No Finer-Looking Tribe Existed; They Could Then Muster More Than 
   Ten Thousand Warriors, Every One Of Whom Would Measure Six Feet, And 
   All Their Movements Were Graceful And Elastic. 
     
     
     
   According To Their Legends, They Came From The Pacific And Encountered 
   The Algonquins About The Head Waters Of The Mississippi, Where They 
   Were Held In check, A Portion Of Them, However, Pushing On Through 
   Their Enemies And Securing a Foothold On The Shores Of Lake Michigan. 
   This Bold Band Was Called by The Chippewas Winnebagook (Men-From-The- 
   Salt-Water).  In their Original Habitat On The Great Northern Plains 
   Was Located the Celebrated "Red pipe-Stone Quarry," A Relatively 
   Limited area, Owned by All Tribes, But Occupied permanently By None; 
   A Purely Neutral Ground--So Designated by The Great Spirit--Where No 
   War Could Possibly Occur, And Where Mortal Enemies Might Meet To 
   Procure The Material For Their Pipes, But The Hatchet Was Invariably 
   Buried during That Time On The Consecrated spot. 
     
     
     
   The Quarry Has Long Since Passed out Of The Control And Jurisdiction 
   Of The Indians And Is Not Included in any Of Their Reservations, 
   Though Near The Sisseton Agency.  It Is Located on The Summit Of 
   The High Divide Between The Missouri And St. Peter'S Rivers In 
   Minnesota, At A Point Not Far From Where The Ninety-Seventh Meridian 
   Of Longitude (From Greenwich) Intersects The Forty-Fifth Parallel 
   Of Latitude.  The Divide Was Named by The French Coteau Des Prairies, 
   And The Quarry Is Near Its Southern Extremity.  Not A Tree Or Bush 
   Could Be Seen From The Majestic Mound When I Last Was There, Some 
   Twenty Years Ago--Nothing But The Apparently Interminable Plains, 
   Until They Were Lost In the Deep Blue Of The Horizon. 
     
     
     
   The Luxury Of Smoking appears To Have Been Known To All The Tribes 
   On The Continent In their Primitive State, And They Indulge In the 
   Habit To Excess; Any One Familiar With Their Life Can Assert That 
   The American Savage Smokes Half Of His Time.  Where So Much Attention 
   Is Given To A Mere Pleasure, It Naturally Follows That He Would Devote 
   His Leisure And Ingenuity To The Construction Of His Pipe.  The Bowls 
   Of These Were, From Time Immemorial, Made Of The Peculiar Red stone 
   From The Famous Quarry Referred to, Which, Until Only A Little Over 
   Fifty Years Ago, Was Never Visited by A White Man, Its Sanctity 
   Forbidding any Such Sacrilege. 
     
     
     
   That The Spot Should Have Been Visited for Untold Centuries By All 
   The Indian Nations, Who Hid Their Weapons As They Approached it, 
   Under Fear Of The Vengeance Of The Great Spirit, Will Not Seem Strange 
   When The Religion Of The Race Is Understood.  One Of The Principal 
   Features Of The Quarry Is A Perpendicular Wall Of Granite About 
   Thirty Feet High, Facing The West, And Nearly Two Miles Long.  At The 
   Base Of The Wall There Is A Level Prairie, Running Parallel To It, 
   Half A Mile Wide.  Under This Strip Of Land, After Digging Through 
   Several Slaty Layers Of Rock, The Red sandstone Is Found.  Old Graves, 
   Fortifications, And Excavations Abound, All Confirmatory Of The 
   Traditions Clustering around The Weird Place. 
     
     
     
   Within A Few Rods Of The Base Of The Wall Is A Group Of Immense Gneiss 
   Boulders, Five In number, Weighing Probably Many Hundred tons Each, 
   And Under These Are Two Holes In which Two Imaginary Old Women Reside 
   --The Guardian Spirits Of The Quarry--Who Were Always Consulted before 
   Any Pipe-Stone Could Be Dug Up.  The Veneration For This Group Of 
   Boulders Was Something Wonderful; Not A Spear Of Grass Was Broken Or 
   Bent By His Feet Within Sixty Or Seventy Paces From Them, Where The 
   Trembling Indian Halted, And Throwing Gifts To Them In humble 
   Supplication, Solicited permission To Dig And Take Away The Red stone 
   For His Pipes. 
     
     
     
   Near This Spot, Too, On A High Mound, Was The "Thunder'S Nest," Where 
   A Very Small Bird Sat Upon Her Eggs During Fair Weather.  When The 
   Skies Were Rent With Thunder At The Approach Of A Storm, She Was 
   Hatching Her Brood, Which Caused the Terrible Commotion In the Heavens. 
   The Bird Was Eternal.  The "Medicine Men" Claimed that They Had Often 
   Seen Her, And She Was About As Large As A Little Finger.  Her Mate 
   Was A Serpent Whose Fiery Tongue Destroyed the Young Ones As Soon As 
   They Were Born, And The Awful Noise Accompanying The Act Darted 
   Through The Clouds. 
     
     
     
   On The Wall Of Rocks At The Quarry Are Thousands Of Inscriptions And 
   Paintings, The Totems And Arms Of Various Tribes Who Have Visited 
   There; But No Idea Can Be Formed of Their Antiquity. 
     
     
     
   Of The Various Traditions Of The Many Tribes, I Here Present A Few. 
   The Great Spirit At A Remote Period Called all The Indian Nations 
   Together At This Place, And, Standing On The Brink Of The Precipice 
   Of Red-Stone Rock, Broke From Its Walls A Piece And Fashioned a Pipe 
   By Simply Turning It In his Hands.  He Then Smoked over Them To The 
   North, The South, The East, And The West, And Told Them The Stone 
   Was Red, That It Was Their Flesh, That They Must Use It For Their 
   Pipes Of Peace, That It Belonged to All Alike, And That The War-Club 
   And Scalping-Knife Must Never Be Raised on Its Ground.  At The Last 
   Whiff Of His Pipe His Head Went Into A Great Cloud, And The Whole 
   Surface Of The Ledge For Miles Was Melted and Glazed; Two Great Ovens 
   Were Opened beneath, And Two Women--The Guardian Spirits Of The Place-- 
   Entered them In a Blaze Of Fire, And They Are Heard There Yet 
   Answering To The Conjurations Of The Medicine Men, Who Consult Them 
   When They Visit The Sacred place. 
     
     
     
   The Legend Of The Knis-Te-Neu'S Tribe (Crees), A Very Small Band In 
   The British Possessions, In relation To The Quarry Is This: In the 
   Time Of A Great Freshet That Occurred years Ago And Destroyed all The 
   Nations Of The Earth, Every Tribe Of Indians Assembled on The Top 
   Of The Coteau Des Prairies To Get Out Of The Way Of The Rushing and 
   Seething Waters.  When They Had Arrived there From All Parts Of The 
   World, The Water Continued to Rise Until It Covered them Completely, 
   Forming One Solid Mass Of Drowned indians, And Their Flesh Was 
   Converted by The Great Spirit Into Red pipe-Stone; Therefore, It Was 
   Always Considered neutral Ground, Belonging To All Tribes Alike, And 
   All Were To Make Their Pipes Out Of It And Smoke Together.  While They 
   Were Drowning Together, A Young Woman, Kwaptan, A Virgin, Caught Hold 
   Of The Foot Of A Very Large Bird That Was Flying Over At The Time, 
   And Was Carried to The Top Of A Hill That Was Not Far Away And Above 
   The Water.  There She Had Twins, Their Father Being The War-Eagle 
   That Had Carried her Off, And Her Children Have Since Peopled the 
   Earth.  The Pipe-Stone, Which Is The Flesh Of Their Ancestors, 
   Is Smoked by Them As The Symbol Of Peace, And The Eagle Quills 
   Decorate The Heads Of Their Warriors. 
     
     
     
   Severed about Seven Or Eight Feet From The Main Wall Of The Quarry 
   By Some Convulsion Of Nature Ages Ago, There Is An Immense Column 
   Just Equal In height To The Wall, Seven Feet In diameter And 
   Beautifully Polished on Its Top And Sides.  It Is Called the Medicine, 
   Or Leaping Rock, And Considerable Nerve Is Required to Jump On It From 
   The Main Ledge And Back Again.  Many An Indian'S Heart, In the Past, 
   Has Sighed for The Honour Of The Feat Without Daring To Attempt It. 
   A Few, According To The Records Of The Tribes, Have Tried it With 
   Success, And Left Their Arrows Standing Up In its Crevice; Others 
   Have Made The Leap And Reached its Slippery Surface Only To Slide Off, 
   And Suffer Instant Death On The Craggy Rocks In the Awful Chasm Below. 
   Every Young Man Of The Many Tribes Was Ambitious To Perform The Feat, 
   And Those Who Had Successfully Accomplished it Were Permitted to 
   Boast Of It All Their Lives. 
     
   
   
   
   Chapter XIV (Trappers) 
   The Initial Opening Of The Trade With New Mexico From The Missouri 
   River, As Has Been Related, Was Not Direct To Santa Fe.  The Limited 
   Number Of Pack-Trains At First Passed to The North Of The Raton Range, 
   And Travelled to The Spanish Settlements In the Valley Of Taos. 
     
     
     
   On This Original Trail, Where Now Is Situated the Beautiful City 
   Of Pueblo, The Second Place Of Importance In colorado, There Was A 
   Little Indian Trading-Post Called "The Pueblo," From Which The Present 
   Thriving Place Derives Its Name.  The Atchison, Topeka, And Santa Fe 
   Railroad Practically Follows The Same Route That The Traders Did To 
   Reach Pueblo, As It Also Does That Which The Freight Caravans Later 
   Followed from The Missouri River Direct To Santa Fe. 
     
     
     
   The Old Pueblo Fort, As Nearly As Can Be Determined now, Was Built 
   As Early As 1840, Or Not Later Than 1842, And, As One Authority 
   Asserts, By George Simpson And His Associates, Barclay And Doyle. 
   Beckwourth Claims To Have Been The Original Projector Of The Fort, 
   And To Have Given The General Plan And Its Name, In which I Am 
   Inclined to Believe That He Is Correct; Perhaps Barclay, Doyle, And 
   Simpson Were Connected with Him, As He States That There Were Other 
   Trappers, Though He Mentions No Names.  It Was A Square Fort Of Adobe, 
   With Circular Bastions At The Corners, No Part Of The Walls Being 
   More Than Eight Feet High.  Around The Inside Of The Plaza, Or Corral, 
   Were Half A Dozen Small Rooms Inhabited by As Many Indian Traders And 
   Mountain-Men. 
     
     
     
   One Of The Earlier Indian Agents, Mr. Fitzpatrick, In writing From 
   Bent'S Fort In 1847, Thus Describes The Old Pueblo:-- 
     
     
     
             About Seventy-Five Miles Above This Place, And Immediately 
             On The Arkansas River, There Is A Small Settlement, Chiefly 
             Composed of Old Trappers And Hunters; The Male Part Of It 
             Are Mostly Americans (Missourians), French Canadians, And 
             Mexicans.  It Numbers About One Hundred and Fifty, And Of 
             This Number About Sixty Men Have Wives, And Some Have Two. 
             These Wives Are Of Various Indian Tribes, As Follows; Viz. 
             Blackfeet, Assiniboines, Sioux, Arapahoes, Cheyennes, 
             Snakes, And Comanches.  The American Women Are Mormons, 
             A Party Of Mormons Having Wintered there, And Then Departed 
             For California. 
     
     
     
   The Old Trappers And Hunters Of The Pueblo Fort Lived entirely Upon 
   Game, And A Greater Part Of The Year Without Bread.  As Soon As Their 
   Supply Of Meat Was Exhausted, They Started to The Mountains With Two 
   Or Three Pack-Animals, And Brought Back In two Or Three Days Loads 
   Of Venison And Buffalo. 
     
     
     
   The Arkansas At The Pueblo Is A Clear, Rapid River About A Hundred 
   Yards Wide.  The Bottom, Which Is Enclosed on Each Side By High Bluffs, 
   Is About A Quarter Of A Mile Across.  In the Early Days Of Which I 
   Write, The Margin Of The Stream Was Heavily Timbered with Cottonwood, 
   And The Tourist To-Day May See The Remnant Of The Primitive Great 
   Woods, In the Huge Isolated trees Scattered around The Bottom In the 
   Vicinity Of The Atchison, Topeka, And Santa Fe Railroad Station Of 
   The Charming Mountain City. 
     
     
     
   On Each Side Vast Rolling Prairies Stretch Away For Hundreds Of Miles, 
   Gradually Ascending On The Side Towards The Mountains, Where The 
   Highlands Are Sparsely Covered with Pinyon And Cedar.  The Lofty Banks 
   Through Which The Arkansas Occasionally Passes Are Of Shale And 
   Sandstone, Rising Precipitously From The Water.  Ascending The River 
   The Country Is Wild And Broken, Until It Enters The Mountain Region, 
   Where The Scenery Is Incomparably Grand And Imposing.  The Surrounding 
   Prairies Are Naturally Arid And Sterile, Producing But Little 
   Vegetation, And The Primitive Grass, Though Of Good Quality, Is Thin 
   And Scarce.  Now, However, Under A Competent System Of Irrigation, 
   The Whole Aspect Of The Landscape Is Changed from What It Was Thirty 
   Years Ago, And It Has All The Luxuriance Of A Garden. 
     
     
     
   The Whole Country, It Is Claimed, Was Once Possessed by The Shos-Shones, 
   Or Snake Indians, Of Whom The Comanches Of The Southern Plains Are 
   A Branch; And, Although Many Hundred miles Divide Their Hunting-Grounds, 
   They Were Once, If Not The Same People, Tribes Or Bands Of That Great 
   And Powerful Nation.  They Retain A Language In common, And There Is 
   Also A Striking analogy In many Of Their Religious Rites And Ceremonies, 
   In Their Folk-Lore, And In some Of Their Everyday Customs.  These 
   Facts Prove, At Least, That There Was At One Time A Very Close 
   Alliance Which Bound The Two Tribes Together.  Half A Century Ago They 
   Were, In point Of Numbers, The Two Most Powerful Nations In all The 
   Numerous Aggregations Of Indians In the West; The Comanches Ruling 
   Almost Supreme On The Eastern Plains, While The Shos-Shones Were The 
   Dominant Tribe In the Country Beyond The Rocky Mountains, And In the 
   Mountains Themselves.  Once, Many Years Ago, Before The Problem Of The 
   Relative Strength Of The Various Tribes Was As Well Solved as Now, 
   The Shos-Shones Were Supposed to Be The Most Powerful, And Numerically 
   The Most Populous, Tribe Of Indians On The North American Continent. 
     
     
     
   In The Immediate Vicinity Of The Old Pueblo Fort At The Time Of Its 
   Greatest Business Prosperity, Game Was Scarce; The Buffalo Had For 
   Some Years Deserted the Neighbouring Prairies, But They Were Always 
   To Be Found In the Mountain-Valleys, Particularly In one Known As 
   "Bayou Salado," Which Forty-Five Years Ago Abounded in elk, Bear, 
   Deer, And Antelope. 
     
     
     
   The Fort Was Situated a Few Hundred yards Above The Mouth Of The 
   "Fontaine Qui Bouille" River,[47] So Called from Two Springs Of 
   Mineral Water Near Its Head, Under Pike'S Peak, About Sixty Miles 
   Above Its Mouth. 
     
     
     
   As Is The Case With All The Savage Races Of The World, The American 
   Indians Possess Hereditary Legends, Accounting For All The Phenomena 
   Of Nature, Or Any Occurrence Which Is Beyond Their Comprehension. 
   The Shos-Shones Had The Following Story To Account For The Presence Of 
   These Wonderful Springs In the Midst Of Their Favourite Hunting-Ground. 
   The Two Fountains, One Pouring Forth The Sweetest Water Imaginable, 
   The Other A Stream As Bitter As Gall, Are Intimately Connected with 
   The Cause Of The Separation Of The Two Tribes.  Their Legend Thus Runs: 
   Many Hundreds Of Winters Ago, When The Cottonwoods On The Big River 
   Were No Higher Than Arrows, And The Prairies Were Crowded with Game, 
   The Red men Who Hunted the Deer In the Forests And The Buffalo On The 
   Plains All Spoke The Same Language, And The Pipe Of Peace Breathed its 
   Soothing Cloud Whenever Two Parties Of Hunters Met On The Boundless 
   Prairie. 
     
     
     
   It Happened one Day That Two Hunters Of Different Nations Met On The 
   Bank Of A Small Rivulet, To Which Both Had Resorted to Quench Their 
   Thirst.  A Small Stream Of Water, Rising From A Spring On A Rock 
   Within A Few Feet Of The Bank, Trickled over It And Fell Splashing 
   Into The River.  One Hunter Sought The Spring Itself; The Other, 
   Tired by His Exertions In the Chase, Threw Himself At Once To The 
   Ground, And Plunged his Face Into The Running Stream. 
     
     
     
   The Latter Had Been Unsuccessful In the Hunt, And Perhaps His Bad 
   Fortune, And The Sight Of The Fat Deer Which The Other Threw From His 
   Back Before He Drank At The Crystal Spring, Caused a Feeling Of 
   Jealousy And Ill-Humour To Take Possession Of His Mind.  The Other, 
   On The Contrary, Before He Satisfied his Thirst, Raised in the Hollow 
   Of His Hand A Portion Of The Water, And, Lifting It Toward The Sun, 
   Reversed his Hand, And Allowed it To Fall Upon The Ground, As A 
   Libation To The Great Spirit, Who Had Vouch-Safed him A Successful 
   Hunt And The Blessing Of The Refreshing Water With Which He Was About 
   To Quench His Thirst. 
     
     
     
   This Reminder That He Had Neglected the Usual Offering Only Increased 
   The Feeling Of Envy And Annoyance Which Filled the Unsuccessful 
   Hunter'S Heart.  The Evil Spirit At That Moment Entering His Body, 
   His Temper Fairly Flew Away, And He Sought Some Pretence To Provoke 
   A Quarrel With The Other Indian. 
     
     
     
   "Why Does A Stranger," He Asked, Rising From The Stream, "Drink At 
   The Spring-Head, When One To Whom The Fountain Belongs Contents 
   Himself With The Water That Runs From It?" 
     
     
     
   "The Great Spirit Places The Cool Water At The Spring," Answered the 
   Other Hunter, "That His Children May Drink It Pure And Undefiled. 
   The Running Water Is For The Beasts Which Scour The Plains.  Ausaqua 
   Is A Chief Of The Shos-Shones; He Drinks At The Head Water." 
     
     
     
   "The Shos-Shones Is But A Tribe Of The Comanches," Returned the Other: 
   "Wacomish Leads The Whole Nation.  Why Does A Shos-Shone Dare To 
   Drink Above Him?" 
     
     
     
   "When The Manitou Made His Children, Whether Shos-Shone Or Comanche, 
   Arapaho, Cheyenne, Or Pawnee, He Gave Them Buffalo To Eat, And The 
   Pure Water Of The Fountain To Quench Their Thirst.  He Said Not To 
   One, 'Drink Here,' And To Another, 'Drink There'; But Gave The Crystal 
   Spring To All, That All Might Drink." 
     
     
     
   Wacomish Almost Burst With Rage As The Other Spoke; But His Coward 
   Heart Prevented him From Provoking an Encounter With The Calm Shos-Shone. 
   The Latter, Made Thirsty By The Words He Had Spoken--For The Indian Is 
   Ever Sparing Of His Tongue--Again Stooped down To The Spring To Drink, 
   When The Subtle Warrior Of The Comanches Suddenly Threw Himself Upon 
   The Kneeling Hunter And, Forcing His Head Into The Bubbling Water, 
   Held Him Down With All His Strength Until His Victim No Longer 
   Struggled; His Stiffened limbs Relaxed, And He Fell Forward Over 
   The Spring, Drowned. 
     
     
     
   Mechanically The Comanche Dragged the Body A Few Paces From The Water, 
   And, As Soon As The Head Of The Dead Indian Was Withdrawn, The Spring 
   Was Suddenly And Strangely Disturbed.  Bubbles Sprang Up From The 
   Bottom, And, Rising To The Surface, Escaped in hissing Gas.  A Thin 
   Vapour Arose, And, Gradually Dissolving, Displayed to The Eyes Of The 
   Trembling Murderer The Figure Of An Aged indian, Whose Long, Snowy 
   Hair And Venerable Beard, Blown Aside From His Breast, Discovered the 
   Well-Known Totem Of The Great Wankanaga, The Father Of The Comanche 
   And Shos-Shone Nation. 
     
     
     
   Stretching Out A War-Club Toward The Comanche, The Figure Thus 
   Addressed him:-- 
     
     
     
   "Accursed murderer!  While The Blood Of The Brave Shos-Shone Cries To 
   The Great Spirit For Vengeance, May The Water Of Thy Tribe Be Rank 
   And Bitter In their Throats!"  Thus Saying, And Swinging His Ponderous 
   War-Club Round His Head, He Dashed out The Brains Of The Comanche, 
   Who Fell Headlong Into The Spring, Which From That Day To This Remains 
   Rank And Nauseous, So That Not Even When Half Dead With Thirst, Can 
   One Drink From It. 
     
     
     
   The Good Wankanaga, However, To Perpetuate The Memory Of The Shos-Shone 
   Warrior, Who Was Renowned in his Tribe For Valour And Nobleness Of 
   Heart, Struck With The Same Avenging Club A Hard, Flat Rock Which 
   Overhung The Rivulet, And Forthwith A Round Clear Basin Opened, Which 
   Instantly Filled with Bubbling, Sparkling Water, Sweet And Cool. 
     
     
     
   From That Day The Two Mighty Tribes Of The Shos-Shones And Comanches 
   Have Remained severed and Apart, Although A Long And Bloody War 
   Followed the Treacherous Murder. 
     
     
     
   The Indians Regarded these Wonderful Springs With Awe.  The Arapahoes, 
   Especially, Attributed to The Spirit Of The Springs The Power Of 
   Ordaining The Success Or Failure Of Their War Expeditions.  As Their 
   Warriors Passed by The Mysterious Pools When Hunting Their Hereditary 
   Enemies, The Utes, They Never Failed to Bestow Their Votive Offerings 
   Upon The Spring, In order To Propitiate The Manitou Of The Strange 
   Fountain, And Insure A Fortunate Issue To Their Path Of War.  As Late 
   As Twenty-Five Years Ago, The Visitor To The Place Could Always Find 
   The Basin Of The Spring Filled with Beads And Wampum, Pieces Of Red 
   Cloth And Knives, While The Surrounding Trees Were Hung With Strips 
   Of Deerskin, Cloth, And Moccasins.  Signs Were Frequently Observed 
   In The Vicinity Of The Waters Unmistakably Indicating That A War-Dance 
   Had Been Executed there By The Arapahoes On Their Way To The Valley 
   Of Salt, Occupied by The Powerful Utes. 
     
     
     
   Never Was There Such A Paradise For Hunters As This Lone And Solitary 
   Spot In the Days When The Region Was Known Only To Them And The 
   Trappers Of The Great Fur Companies.  The Shelving Prairie, At The 
   Bottom Of Which The Springs Are Situated, Is Entirely Surrounded by 
   Rugged mountains And Contained two Or Three Acres Of Excellent Grass, 
   Affording a Safe Pasture For Their Animals, Which Hardly Cared to 
   Wander From Such Feeding and The Salt They Loved to Lick. 
     
     
     
   The Trappers Of The Rocky Mountains Belonged to A Genus That Has 
   Disappeared.  Forty Years Ago There Was Not A Hole Or Corner In the 
   Vast Wilderness Of The Far West That Had Not Been Explored by These 
   Hardy Men.  From The Mississippi To The Mouth Of The Colorado Of The 
   West, From The Frozen Regions Of The North To The Gila In mexico, 
   The Beaver Hunter Has Set His Traps In every Creek And Stream. 
   The Mountains And Waters, In many Instances, Still Retain The Names 
   Assigned them By Those Rude Hunters, Who Were Veritable Pioneers 
   Paving The Way For The Settlement Of The Stern Country. 
     
     
     
   A Trapper'S Camp In the Old Days Was Quite A Picture, As Were All Its 
   Surroundings.  He Did Not Always Take The Trouble To Build A Shelter, 
   Unless In the Winter.  A Couple Of Deerskins Stretched over A Willow 
   Frame Was Considered sufficient To Protect Him From The Storm. 
   Sometimes He Contented himself With A Mere "Breakwind," The Rocky 
   Wall Of A Canyon, Or Large Ravine.  Near At Hand He Set Up Two Poles, 
   In The Crotch Of Which Another Was Laid, Where He Kept, Out Of Reach 
   Of The Hungry Wolf And Coyote, His Meat, Consisting Of Every Variety 
   Afforded by The Region In which He Had Pitched his Camp.  Under Cover 
   Of The Skins Of The Animals He Had Killed hung His Old-Fashioned 
   Powder-Horn And Bullet-Pouch, While His Trusty Rifle, Carefully 
   Defended from The Damp, Was Always Within Reach Of His Hand.  Round 
   His Blazing Fire At Night His Companions, If He Had Any, Were Other 
   Trappers On The Same Stream; And, While Engaged in cleaning Their 
   Arms, Making and Mending Moccasins, Or Running Bullets, They Told 
   Long Yarns, Until The Lateness Of The Hour Warned them To Crawl Under 
   Their Blankets. 
     
     
     
   Not Far From The Camp, His Animals, Well Hobbled, Fed in sight; 
   For Nothing Did A Hunter Dread More Than A Visit From Horse-Stealing 
   Indians, And To Be Afoot Was The Acme Of Misery. 
     
     
     
   Some Hunters Who Had Married squaws Carried about With Them Regular 
   Buffalo-Skin Lodges, Which Their Wives Took Care Of, According To 
   Indian Etiquette. 
     
     
     
   The Old-Time Trappers More Nearly Approximated the Primitive Savage, 
   Perhaps, Than Any Other Class Of Civilized men.  Their Lives Being 
   Spent In the Remote Wilderness Of The Mountains, Frequently With No 
   Other Companion Than Nature Herself, Their Habits And Character Often 
   Assumed a Most Singular Cast Of Simplicity, Mingled with Ferocity, 
   That Appeared to Take Its Colouring From The Scenes And Objects Which 
   Surrounded them.  Having No Wants Save Those Of Nature, Their Sole 
   Concern Was To Provide Sufficient Food To Support Life, And The 
   Necessary Clothing To Protect Them From The Sometimes Rigorous Climate. 
     
     
     
   The Costume Of The Average Trapper Was A Hunting-Shirt Of Dressed 
   Buckskin, With Long, Fringed trousers Of The Same Material, Decorated 
   With Porcupine Quills.  A Flexible Hat And Moccasins Covered his 
   Extremities, And Over His Left Shoulder And Under His Right Arm Hung 
   His Powder-Horn And Bullet-Pouch, In which He Also Carried flint, 
   Steel, And Other Odds And Ends.  Round His Waist He Wore A Belt, 
   In Which Was Stuck A Large Knife In a Sheath Of Buffalo-Hide, Made 
   Fast To The Belt By A Chain Or Guard Of Steel.  It Also Supported 
   A Little Buckskin Case, Which Contained a Whetstone, A Very Necessary 
   Article; For In taking Off The Hides Of The Beaver A Sharp Knife Was 
   Required.  His Pipe-Holder Hung Around His Neck, And Was Generally 
   A Gage D'Amour, A Triumph Of Squaw Workmanship, Wrought With Beads 
   And Porcupine Quills, Often Made In the Shape Of A Heart. 
     
     
     
   Necessarily Keen Observers Of Nature, They Rivalled the Beasts Of 
   Prey In discovering The Haunts And Habits Of Game, And In their Skill 
   And Cunning In capturing It Outwitted the Indian Himself.  Constantly 
   Exposed to Perils Of All Kinds, They Became Callous To Any Feeling 
   Of Danger, And Were Firm Friends Or Bitter Enemies.  It Was A "Word 
   And A Blow," The Blow Often Coming First.  Strong, Active, Hardy As 
   Bears, Expert In the Use Of Their Weapons, They Were Just What An 
   Uncivilized white Man Might Be Supposed to Be Under Conditions Where 
   He Must Depend Upon His Instincts For The Support Of Life. 
     
     
     
   Having Determined upon The Locality Of His Trapping-Ground, The Hunter 
   Started off, Sometimes Alone, Sometimes Three Or Four Of Them In 
   Company, As Soon As The Breaking Of The Ice In the Streams Would 
   Permit, If He Was To Go Very Far North.  Arriving On The Spot He Has 
   Selected for His Permanent Camp, The First Thing To Be Done, After 
   He Had Settled himself, Was To Follow The Windings Of The Creeks And 
   Rivers, Keeping a Sharp Lookout For "Signs."  If He Saw A Prostrate 
   Cottonwood Tree, He Carefully Examined it To Learn Whether It Was 
   The Work Of Beaver, And If So Whether Thrown For The Purpose Of Food, 
   Or To Dam The Stream.  The Track Of The Animal On The Mud Or Sand 
   Under The Banks Was Also Examined; If The Sign Was Fresh, He Set His 
   Trap In the Run Of The Animal, Hiding It Under Water, And Attaching 
   It By A Stout Chain To A Picket Driven In the Bank, Or To A Bush Or 
   Tree.  A Float-Stick Was Made Fast To The Trap By A Cord A Few Feet 
   Long, Which, If The Animal Carried away The Trap, Would Float On 
   The Water And Point Out Its Position.  The Trap Was Baited with 
   "Medicine," An Oily Substance Obtained from The Beaver.  A Stick Was 
   Dipped in this And Planted over The Trap, And The Beaver, Attracted 
   By The Smell, Put His Leg Into The Trap And Was Caught. 
     
     
     
   When A Beaver Lodge Was Discovered, The Trap Was Set At The Edge Of 
   The Dam, At A Point Where The Animal Passed from Deep To Shoal Water, 
   And Always Under The Surface.  Early In the Morning, The Hunter 
   Mounted his Mule And Examined all His Traps. 
     
     
     
   The Beaver Is Exceedingly Wily, And If By Scent Or Sound Or Sight He 
   Had Any Intimation Of The Presence Of A Trapper, He Put At Defiance 
   All Efforts To Capture Him, Consequently It Was Necessary To Practise 
   Great Caution When In the Neighbourhood Of One Of Their Lodges. 
   The Trapper Then Avoided riding For Fear The Sound Of His Horse'S 
   Feet Might Strike Dismay Among The Furry Inhabitants Under The Water, 
   And, Instead Of Walking On The Ground, He Waded in the Stream, Lest 
   He Should Leave A Scent Behind By Which He Might Be Discovered. 
     
     
     
   In The Days Of The Great Fur Companies, Trappers Were Of Two Kinds-- 
   The Hired hand And The Free Trapper.  The Former Was Hired by The 
   Company, Which Supplied him With Everything Necessary, And Paid Him 
   A Certain Price For His Furs And Peltries.  The Other Hunted on His 
   Own Hook, Owned his Animals And Traps, Went Where He Pleased, And 
   Sold To Whom He Chose. 
     
     
     
   During The Hunting Season, Regardless Of The Indians, The Fearless 
   Trapper Wandered far And Near In search Of Signs.  His Nerves Were 
   In A State Of Tension, His Mind Always Clear, And His Head Cool. 
   His Trained eye Scrutinized every Part Of The Country, And In an 
   Instant He Could Detect Anything That Was Strange.  A Turned leaf, 
   A Blade Of Grass Pressed down, The Uneasiness Of Wild Animals, 
   The Actions Of The Birds, Were All To Him Paragraphs Written In 
   Nature'S Legible Hand. 
     
     
     
   All The Wits Of The Wily Savage Were Called into Play To Gain An 
   Advantage Over The Plucky White Man; But With The Resources Natural 
   To A Civilized mind, The Hunter Seldom Failed, Under Equal Chance, 
   To Circumvent The Cunning Of The Red man.  Sometimes, Following His 
   Trail For Weeks, The Indian Watched him Set His Traps On Some Timbered 
   Stream, And Crawling Up The Bed of It, So That He Left No Tracks, 
   He Lay In the Bushes Until His Victim Came To Examine His Traps. 
   Then, When He Approached within A Few Feet Of The Ambush, Whiz! Flew 
   The Home-Drawn Arrow, Which Never Failed at Such Close Quarters To 
   Bring The Unsuspecting Hunter To The Ground.  But For One White Scalp 
   That Dangled in the Smoke Of An Indian'S Lodge, A Dozen Black Ones, 
   At The End Of The Season, Ornamented the Camp-Fires Of The Rendezvous 
   Where The Furs Were Sold. 
     
     
     
   In The Camp, If He Was A Very Successful Hunter, All The Appliances 
   For Preparing The Skins For Market Were At Hand; If He Had A Squaw 
   For A Wife, She Did All The Hard Work, As Usual.  Close To The 
   Entrance Of Their Skin Lodge Was The "Graining-Block," A Log Of Wood 
   With The Bark Stripped off And Perfectly Smooth, Set Obliquely In 
   The Ground, On Which The Hair Was Removed from The Deerskins Which 
   Furnished moccasins And Dresses For Both Herself And Her Husband. 
   Then There Were Stretching Frames On Which The Skins Were Placed to 
   Undergo The Process Of "Dubbing"; That Is, The Removal Of All Flesh 
   And Fatty Particles Adhering To The Skin.  The "Dubber" Was Made Of 
   The Stock Of An Elk'S Horn, With A Piece Of Iron Or Steel Inserted 
   In The End, Forming a Sharp Knife.  The Last Process The Deerskin 
   Underwent Before It Was Soft And Pliable Enough For Making Into 
   Garments, Was The "Smoking."  This Was Effected by Digging a Round 
   Hole In the Ground, And Lighting In it An Armful Of Rotten Wood Or 
   Punk; Then Sticks Were Planted around The Hole, And Their Tops Brought 
   Together And Tied.  The Skins Were Placed on This Frame, And All 
   Openings By Which The Smoke Might Escape Being Carefully Stopped, 
   In Ten Or Twelve Hours They Were Thoroughly Cured and Ready For 
   Immediate Use. 
     
     
     
   The Beaver Was The Main Object Of The Hunter'S Quest; Its Skins Were 
   Once Worth From Six To Eight Dollars A Pound; Then They Fell To Only 
   One Dollar, Which Hardly Paid The Expenses Of Traps, Animals, And 
   Equipment For The Hunt, And Was Certainly No Adequate Remuneration 
   For The Hardships, Toil, And Danger Undergone By The Trappers. 
     
     
     
   The Beaver Was Once Found In every Part Of North America, From Canada 
   To The Gulf Of Mexico, But Has So Retired from The Encroachments Of 
   Civilized man, That It Is Only To Be Met With Occasionally On Some 
   Tributary To The Remote Mountain Streams. 
     
     
     
   The Old Trappers Always Aimed to Set Their Traps So That The Beaver 
   Would Drown When Taken.  This Was Accomplished by Sinking The Trap 
   Several Inches Under Water, And Driving a Stake Through A Ring On The 
   End Of The Chain Into The Bottom Of The Creek.  When The Beaver Finds 
   Himself Caught, He Pitches And Plunges About Until His Strength Is 
   Exhausted, When He Sinks Down And Is Drowned, But If He Succeeds In 
   Getting To The Shore, He Always Extricates Himself By Gnawing Off 
   The Leg That Is In the Jaws Of The Trap. 
     
     
     
   The Captured animals Were Skinned, And The Tails, Which Are A Great 
   Dainty, Carefully Packed into Camp.  The Skin Was Then Stretched over 
   A Hoop Or Framework Of Willow Twigs And Allowed to Dry, The Flesh And 
   Fatty Substance Adhering Being First Carefully Scraped off.  When Dry, 
   It Was Folded into A Square Sheet, The Fur Turned inwards, And The 
   Bundle, Containing Twenty Skins, Tightly Pressed and Tied, Was Ready 
   For Transportation.  The Beaver After The Hide Is Taken Off Weighs 
   About Twelve Pounds, And Its Flesh, Although A Little Musky, Is Very 
   Fine.  Its Tail Which Is Flat And Oval In shape, Is Covered with 
   Scales About The Size Of Those Of A Salmon.  It Was A Great Delicacy 
   In The Estimation Of The Old Trapper; He Separated it From The Body, 
   Thrust A Stick In one End Of It, And Held It Before The Fire With The 
   Scales On.  In a Few Moments Large Blisters Rose On The Surface, 
   Which Were Very Easily Removed.  The Tail Was Then Perfectly White, 
   And Delicious.  Next To The Tail The Liver Was Another Favourite Of 
   The Trapper, And When Properly Cooked it Constituted a Delightful Repast. 
     
     
     
   After The Season Was Over, Or The Hunter Had Loaded all His Pack-Animals, 
   He Proceeded to The "Rendezvous," Where The Buyers Were To Congregate 
   For The Purchase Of The Fur, The Locality Of Which Had Been Agreed 
   Upon When The Hunters Started out On Their Expedition.  One Of These 
   Was At Bent'S Old Fort And One At Pueblo; Another At "Brown'S Hole" 
   On Green River, And There Were Many More On The Great Streams And In 
   The Mountains.  There The Agents Of The Fur Companies And Traders 
   Waited for The Arrival Of The Trappers, With Such An Assortment Of 
   Goods As The Hardy Men Required, Including, Of Course, An Immense 
   Supply Of Whiskey.  The Trappers Dropped in day After Day, In small 
   Bands, Packing Their Loads Of Beaver-Skins, Not Infrequently To The 
   Value Of A Thousand Dollars Each, The Result Of One Hunt. 
     
     
     
   The Rendezvous Was Frequently A Continuous Scene Of Gambling, Brawling, 
   And Fighting, So Long As The Improvident Trapper'S Money Lasted. 
   Seated around The Large Camp-Fires, Cross-Legged in indian Fashion, 
   With A Blanket Or Buffalo-Robe Spread Before Them, Groups Were Playing 
   Cards--Euchre, Seven-Up, And Poker, The Regular Mountain Games. 
   The Usual Stakes Were Beaver-Skins, Which Were Current As Coin. 
   When Their Fur Was All Gone, Their Horses, Mules, Rifles, Shirts, 
   Hunting Packs, And Trousers Were Staked.  Daring Professional Gamblers 
   Made The Rounds Of The Camps, Challenging Each Other To Play For The 
   Trapper'S Highest Stakes--His Horse, Or His Squaw, If He Had One--And 
   It Is Told Of One Great Time That Two Old Trappers Played for One 
   Another'S Scalps!  "There Goes Hoss And Beaver," Was A Common Mountain 
   Expression When Any Severe Loss Was Sustained, And Shortly "Hoss And 
   Beaver" Found Their Way Into The Pockets Of The Unconscionable Gamblers. 
     
     
     
   Frequently A Trapper Would Squander The Entire Product Of His Hunt, 
   Amounting To Hundreds Of Dollars, In a Couple Of Hours.  Then, 
   Supplied with Another Outfit, He Left The Rendezvous For Another 
   Expedition, Which Had The Same Result Time After Time, Although One 
   Good Hunt Would Have Enabled him To Return To The Settlements And 
   Live A Life Of Comparative Ease. 
     
     
     
   It Is Told Of One Old Canadian Trapper, Who Had Received as Much As 
   Fifteen Thousand Dollars For Beaver During His Life In the Mountains, 
   Extending Over Twenty Years, That Each Season He Had Resolved in his 
   Mind To Go Back To Canada, And With This Object In view Always 
   Converted his Furs Into Cash; But A Fortnight At The Rendezvous 
   Always "Cleaned him Out," And At The End Of The Twenty Years He Had 
   Not Even Enough Credit To Get A Plug Of Tobacco. 
     
     
     
   Trading With The Indians In the Primitive Days Of The Border Was Just 
   What The Word Signifies In its Radical Interpretation--A System Of 
   Barter Exclusively.  No Money Was Used in the Transaction, As It Was 
   Long Afterward Before The Savages Began To Learn Something Of The 
   Value Of Currency From Their Connection With The Sutler'S And Agency 
   Stores Established on Reservations And At Military Posts On The Plains 
   And In the Mountains.  In the Early Days, If An Indian By Any Chance 
   Happened to Get Possession Of A Piece Of Money (Only Gold Or Silver 
   Was Recognized as A Medium Of Exchange In the Remote West), He Would 
   Immediately Fashion It Into Some Kind Of An Ornament With Which To 
   Adorn His Person.  Some Tribes, However, Did Indulge In a Sort Of 
   Currency, Worthless Except Among Themselves.  This Consisted of Rare 
   Shells, Such As The Oligachuck, So Called, Of The Pacific Coast 
   Nations, Used by Them Within My Own Recollection, As Late As 1858. 
     
     
     
   The Poor Indian, As Might Have Been Expected, Was Generally 
   Outrageously Swindled; In fact, I Am Inclined to Believe, Always. 
   I Never Was Present On An Occasion When He Was Not. 
     
     
     
   The Savage'S Idea Of Values Was Very Crude Until The Government, 
   In Attempting To Civilize And Make A Gentleman Of Him, Has Transformed 
   Him Into A Bewildered child.  Very Soon After His Connection With 
   The White Trader, He Learned that A Gun Was More Valuable Than A Knife; 
   But Of Their Relative Cost To Manufacture He Had No Idea.  For These 
   Reasons, Obviously, He Was Always At The Mercy Of The Unscrupulous 
   Trader Who Came To His Village, Or Met Him At The Rendezvous To Barter 
   For His Furs.  I Know That The Price Of Every Article He Desired was 
   Fixed by The Trader, And Never By The Indian, Consequently He Rarely 
   Got The Best Of The Bargain. 
     
     
     
   Uncle John Smith, Kit Carson, L. B. Maxwell, Uncle Dick Wooton, And 
   A Host Of Other Well-Known Indian Traders, Long Since Dead, Have 
   Often Told Me That The First Thing They Did On Entering a Village 
   With A Pack-Load Of Trinkets To Barter, In the Earlier Days Before 
   The Whites Had Encroached to Any Great Extent, Was To Arrange A 
   Schedule Of Prices.  They Would Gather A Large Number Of Sticks, 
   Each One Representing an Article They Had Brought.  With These Crude 
   Symbols The Indian Made Himself Familiar In a Little While, And When 
   This Preliminary Arrangement Had Been Completed, The Trading Began. 
   The Indian, For Instance, Would Place A Buffalo-Robe On The Ground; 
   Then The Trader Commenced to Lay Down A Number Of The Sticks, 
   Representing What He Was Willing To Give For The Robe.  The Indian 
   Revolved the Transaction In his Mind Until He Thought He Was Getting 
   A Fair Equivalent According To His Ideas, Then The Bargain Was Made. 
   It Was Claimed by These Old Traders, When They Related this To Me, 
   That The Savage Generally Was Not Satisfied, Always Insisting Upon 
   Having More Sticks Placed on The Pile.  I Suspect, However, That The 
   Trader Was Ever Prepared for This, And Never Gave More Than He 
   Originally Intended.  The Price Of That Initial Robe Having Been 
   Determined on, It Governed the Price Of All The Rest For The Whole 
   Trade, Regardless Of Size Or Fineness, For That Day.  What Was Traded 
   For Was Then Placed by The Indian On One Side Of The Lodge, And The 
   Trader Put What He Was To Give On The Other.  After Prices Had Been 
   Agreed upon, Business Went On Very Rapidly, And Many Thousand Dollars' 
   Worth Of Valuable Furs Were Soon Collected by The Successful Trader, 
   Which He Shipped to St. Louis And Converted into Gold. 
     
     
     
   In A Few Years, Relatively, The Indian Began To Appreciate The Value 
   Of Our Medium Of Exchange And The Power It Gave Him To Secure At The 
   Stores In the Widely Scattered hamlets And At The Military Posts On 
   The Plains, Those Things He Coveted, At A Fairer Equivalent Than In 
   The Uncertain And Complicated method Of Direct Barter.  It Was Not 
   Very Long After The Advent Of The Overland Coaches On The Santa Fe 
   Trail, That Our Currency, Even The Greenbacks, Had Assumed a Value 
   To The Savage, Which He At Least Partially Understood.  Whenever The 
   Indians Successfully Raided the Stages The Mail Sacks Were No Longer 
   Torn To Pieces Or Thrown Aside As Worthless, But Every Letter Was 
   Carefully Scrutinized for Possible Bills. 
     
     
     
   I Well Remember, When The Small Copper Cent, With Its Spread Eagle 
   Upon It, Was First Issued, About The Year 1857, How The Soldiers Of 
   A Frontier Garrison Where I Was Stationed at The Time Palmed them Off 
   Upon The Simple Savages As Two Dollar And A Half Gold Pieces, Which 
   They Resembled as Long As They Retained their Brightness, And With 
   Which The Indians Were Familiar, As Many Were Received by The Troops 
   From The Paymaster Every Two Months, The Savages Receiving Them In 
   Turn For Horses And Other Things Purchased of Them By The Soldiers. 
     
     
     
   I Have Known Of Indians Who Gave Nuggets Of Gold For Common Calico 
   Shirts Costing Two Dollars In that Region And Seventy-Five Cents In 
   The States, While The Lump Of Precious Metal Was Worth, Perhaps, 
   Five Or Seven Dollars.  As Late As Twenty-Eight Years Ago, I Have 
   Traded for Beautifully Smoke-Tanned and Porcupine-Embroidered 
   Buffalo-Robes For My Own Use, Giving In exchange A Mere Loaf Of Bread 
   Or A Cupful Of Brown Sugar. 
     
     
     
   Very Early In the History Of The United states, In 1786, The Government, 
   Under The Authority Of Congress, Established a Plan Of Trade With 
   The Indians.  It Comprised supplying all Their Physical Wants Without 
   Profit; Factories, Or Stations As They Were Called, Were Erected at 
   Points That Were Then On The Remote Frontier; Where Factors, Clerks, 
   And Interpreters Were Stationed.  The Factors Furnished goods Of All 
   Kinds To The Indians, And Received from Them In exchange Furs And 
   Peltries.  There Was An Officer In charge Of All These Stations Called 
   The Superintendent Of Indian Trade, Appointed by The President. 
   As Far Back As 1821, There Were Stations At Prairie Du Chien, 
   Fort Edward, Fort Osage, With Branches At Chicago, Green Bay In 
   Arkansas, On The Red river, And Other Places In the Then Far West. 
   These Stations Were Movable, And Changed from Time To Time To Suit The 
   Convenience Of The Indians.  In 1822 The Whole System Was Abolished 
   By Act Of Congress, And Its Affairs Wound Up, The American Fur Company, 
   The Missouri Fur Company, And A Host Of Others Having By That Time 
   Become Powerful.  Like The Great Corporations Of To-Day, They 
   Succeeded in supplanting The Government Establishments.  Of Course, 
   The Indians Of The Remote Plains, Which Included all The Vast Region 
   West Of The Missouri River, Never Had The Benefits Of The Government 
   Trading Establishments, But Were Left To The Tender Mercies Of The 
   Old Plainsmen And Trappers. 
     
     
     
   Until The Railroad Reached the Mountains, When The March Of A Wonderful 
   Immigration Closely Followed, Usurping The Lands Claimed by The 
   Savages, And The Latter Were Driven, Perforce, Upon Reservations, 
   The Winter Camps Of The Kiowas, Arapahoes, And Cheyennes Were Strung 
   Along The Old Trail For Miles, Wherever A Belt Of Timber On The Margin 
   Of The Arkansas, Or Its Tributaries, Could Be Found Large Enough To 
   Furnish Fuel For Domestic Purposes And Cottonwood Bark For The Vast 
   Herds Of Ponies In the Severe Snow-Storms. 
     
     
     
   At These Various Points The Indians Congregated to Trade With The 
   Whites.  As Stated, Bent'S Fort, The Pueblo Fort, And Big Timbers 
   Were Favourite Resorts, And The Trappers And Old Hunters Passed a 
   Lively Three Or Four Months Every Year, Indulging In the Amusements 
   I Have Referred to.  They Were Also Wonderful Story-Tellers, And 
   Around Their Camp-Fires Many A Tale Of Terrible Adventure With Indians 
   And Vicious Animals Was Nightly Related. 
     
     
     
   Baptiste Brown Was One Of The Most Famous Trappers.  Few Men Had Seen 
   More Of Wild Life In the Great Prairie Wilderness.  He Had Hunted 
   With Nearly Every Tribe Of Indians On The Plains And In the Mountains, 
   Was Often At Bent'S Fort, And His Soul-Stirring Narratives Made Him 
   A Most Welcome Guest At The Camp-Fire. 
     
     
     
   He Lived most Of His Time In the Wind River Mountains, In a Beautiful 
   Little Valley Named after Him "Brown'S Hole."  It Has A Place On The 
   Maps To-Day, And Is On What Was Then Called prairie River, Or 
   Sheetskadee, By The Indians; It Is Now Known As Green River, And Is 
   The Source Of The Great Colorado. 
     
     
     
   The Valley, Which Is Several Thousand Feet Above The Sea-Level, 
   Is About Fifteen Miles In circumference, Surrounded by Lofty Hills, 
   And Is Aptly, Though Not Elegantly, Characterized as A "Hole." 
   The Mountain-Grass Is Of The Most Nutritious Quality; Groves Of 
   Cottonwood Trees And Willows Are Scattered through The Sequestered 
   Spot, And The River, Which Enters It From The North, Is A Magnificent 
   Stream; In fact, It Is The Very Ideal Of A Hunter'S Headquarters. 
     
     
     
   The Temperature Is Very Equable, And At One Time, Years Ago, Hundreds 
   Of Trappers Made It Their Winter Quarters.  Indians, Too, Of All The 
   Northern Tribes, But More Especially The Arapahoes, Frequented it To 
   Trade With The White Men. 
     
     
     
   Baptiste Brown Was A Canadian Who Spoke Villanous French And Worse 
   English; His Vocabulary Being Largely Interspersed with "Enfant De 
   Garce," "Sacre," "Sacre Enfant," And "Damn" Until It Was A Difficult 
   Matter To Tell What He Was Talking about. 
     
     
     
   He Was Married to An Arapahoe Squaw, And His Strange Wooing and 
   Winning Of The Dusky Maiden Is A Thrilling Love-Story. 
     
     
     
   Among The Maidens Who Came With The Arapahoes, When That Tribe Made 
   A Visit To "Brown'S Hole" One Winter For The Purpose Of Trading With 
   The Whites, Was A Young, Merry, And Very Handsome Girl, Named "Unami," 
   Who After A Few Interviews Completely Captured baptiste'S Heart. 
   Nothing Was More Common, As I Have Stated, Than Marriages Between 
   The Trappers And A Beautiful Redskin.  Isolated absolutely From Women 
   Of His Own Colour, The Poor Mountaineer Forgets He Is White, Which, 
   Considering The Embrowning Influence Of Constant Exposure And Sunlight, 
   Is Not So Marvellous After All.  For A Portion Of The Year There Is 
   No Hunting, And Then Idleness Is The Order Of The Day.  At Such Times 
   The Mountaineer Visits The Lodges Of His Dark Neighbours For Amusement, 
   And In the Spirited dance Many A Heart Is Lost To The Squaws. 
   The Young Trapper, Like Other Enamoured ones Of His Sex In civilization, 
   Lingers Around The House Of His Fair Sweetheart While She Transforms 
   The Soft Skin Of The Doe Into Moccasins, Ornamenting Them Richly 
   With Glittering Beads Or The Coloured quills Of The Porcupine, All 
   The Time Lightening The Long Hours With The Plain-Songs Of Their Tribe. 
   It Was Upon An Occasion Of This Character That Baptiste, Then In the 
   Prime Of His Youthful Manhood, First Loved the Dark-Eyed arapahoe. 
     
     
     
   The Course Open To Him Was To Woo And Win Her; But Alas! Savage Papas 
   Are Just Like Fathers In the Best Civilization--The Only Difference 
   Between Them Is That The Former Are More Open And Matter-Of-Fact, 
   Since In savage Etiquette A Consideration Is Required in exchange 
   For The Daughter, Which Belongs Exclusively To The Parent, And Must 
   Be Of Equal Marketable Value To The Girl. 
     
     
     
   The Usual Method Is To Select Your Best Horse, Take Him To The Lodge 
   Of Your Inamorata'S Parents, Tie Him To A Tree, And Walk Away. 
   If The Animal Is Considered a Fair Exchange, Matters Are Soon Settled 
   Satisfactorily; If Not, Other Gifts Must Be Added. 
     
     
     
   At This Juncture Poor Baptiste Was In a Bad Fix; He Had Disposed of 
   All His Season'S Earnings For His Winter'S Subsistence, Much Of Which 
   Consisted of An Ample Supply Of Whiskey And Tobacco; So He Had 
   Nothing Left Wherewith To Purchase The Indispensable Horse.  Without 
   The Animal No Wife Was To Be Had, And He Was In a Terrible Predicament; 
   For The Hunting Season Was Long Since Over, And It Wanted a Whole 
   Month Of The Time For A New Starting Out. 
     
     
     
   Baptiste Was A Very Determined man, However, And He Shouldered his 
   Rifle, Intent On Accomplishing By A Laborious Prosecution Of The 
   Chase The Means Of Winning His Loved one From Her Parents, 
   Notwithstanding That The Elements And The Times Were Against Him. 
   He Worked industriously, And After Many Days Was Rewarded by A Goodly 
   Supply Of Beavers, Otters, And Mink Which He Had Trapped, Besides 
   Many A Deerskin Whose Wearer He Had Shot.  Returning To His Lodge, 
   Where He Cached his Peltry, He Again Started out For The Forest With 
   Hope Filling His Heart.  Three Weeks Passed in indifferent Success, 
   When One Morning, Having Entered a Deep Canyon, Which Evidently Led 
   Out To An Open Prairie Where He Thought Game Might Be Found, While 
   Busy Cutting His Way Through A Thicket Of Briers With His Knife, 
   He Suddenly Came Upon A Little Valley, Where He Saw What Caused him 
   To Retrace His Footsteps Into The Thicket. 
     
     
     
   And Here It Is Necessary To Relate A Custom Peculiar To All Indian 
   Tribes.  No Young Man, Though His Father Were The Greatest Chief In 
   The Nation, Can Range Himself Among The Warriors, Be Entitled to 
   Enter The Marriage State, Or Enjoy Any Other Rights Of Savage 
   Citizenship Until He Shall Have Performed some Act Of Personal 
   Bravery And Daring, Or Be Sprinkled with The Blood Of His Enemies. 
   In The Early Springtime, Therefore, All The Young Men Who Are Of The 
   Proper Age Band Themselves Together And Take To The Forest In search 
   --Like The Knight-Errant Of Old--Of Adventure And Danger.  Having 
   Decided upon A Secluded and Secret Spot, They Collect A Number Of 
   Poles From Twenty To Thirty Feet In length, And, Lashing Them Together 
   At The Small Ends, Form A Huge Conical Lodge, Which They Cover With 
   Grass And Boughs.  Inside They Deposit Various Articles, With Which 
   To "Make Medicine," Or As A Propitiatory Offering To The Great Spirit; 
   Generally A Green Buffalo Head, Kettles, Scalps, Blankets, And Other 
   Things Of Value, Of Which The Most Prominent And Revered is The 
   Sacred pipe.  The Party Then Enters The Lodge And The First Ceremony 
   Is Smoking This Pipe.  One Of The Young Men Fills It With Tobacco And 
   Herbs, Places A Coal On It From The Fire That Has Been Already 
   Kindled in the Lodge, And, Taking The Stem In his Mouth, Inhales The 
   Smoke And Expels It Through His Nostrils.  The Ground Is Touched with 
   The Bowl, The Four Points Of The Compass Are In turn Saluted, And 
   With Various Ceremonies It Makes The Round Of The Lodge.  After Many 
   Days Of Feasting and Dancing The Party Is Ready For A Campaign, When 
   They Abandon The Lodge, And It Is Death For Any One Else To Enter, 
   Or By Any Means To Desecrate It While Its Projectors Are Absent. 
     
     
     
   It Was Upon One Of These Mystic Lodges That Baptiste Had Accidentally 
   Stumbled, And Strange Thoughts Flashed through His Mind; For Within 
   The Sacred place Were Articles, Doubtless, Of Value More Than 
   Sufficient To Purchase The Necessary Horse With Which He Could Win 
   The Fair Unami.  Baptiste Was Sorely Tempted, But There Was An 
   Instinctive Respect For Religion In the Minds Of The Old Trappers, 
   And Brown Had Too Much Honour To Think Of Robbing The Indian Temple, 
   Although He Distinctly Remembered a Time When A Poor White Trapper, 
   Having Been Robbed of His Poncho At The Beginning Of Winter, Made 
   Free With A Blanket He Had Found In one Of These Arapahoe Sacred 
   Lodges.  When He Was Brought Before The Medicine Men Of The Tribe, 
   Charged with The Sacrilege, His Defence, That, Having Been Robbed, 
   The Great Spirit Took Pity On Him And Pointed out The Blanket And 
   Ordered him To Clothe Himself, Was Considered good, On The Theory 
   That The Great Spirit Had An Undoubted right To Give Away His Own 
   Property; Consequently The Trapper Was Set Free. 
     
     
     
   Brown, After Considering The Case, Was About To Move Away, When A Hand 
   Was Laid On His Shoulder, And Turning Round There Stood Before Him 
   An Indian In full War-Paint. 
     
     
     
   The Greeting Was Friendly, For The Young Savage Was The Brother Of 
   Baptiste'S Love, To Whom He Had Given Many Valuable Presents During 
   The Past Season. 
     
     
     
   "My White Brother Is Very Wakeful; He Rises Early." 
     
     
     
   Baptiste Laughed, And Replied: "Yes, Because My Lodge Is Empty. 
   If I Had Unami For A Wife, I Would Not Have To Get Out Before The Sun; 
   And I Would Always Have A Soft Seat For Her Brother; He Will Be A 
   Great Warrior." 
     
     
     
   The Young Brave Shook His Head Gravely, As Be Pointed to His Belt, 
   Where Not A Scalp Was To Be Seen, And Said: "Five Moons Have Gone 
   To Sleep And The Arapahoe Hatchet Has Not Been Raised.  The Blackfeet 
   Are Dogs, And Hide In their Holes." 
     
     
     
   Without Adding anything To This Hint That None Of The Young Men Had 
   Been Able To Fulfil Their Vows, The Disconsolate Savage Led the Way 
   To The Camp Of The Other Arapahoes, His Companions In the Quest For 
   Scalps.  Baptiste Was Very Glad To See The Face Of A Fellow-Creature 
   Once More, And He Cheerfully Followed the Footsteps Of The Young Brave, 
   Which Were Directed away From The Medicine Lodge Toward The Rocky 
   Canyon Which He Had Already Travelled that Morning, Where In the Very 
   Centre Of The Dark Defile, And Within Twenty Feet Of Where He Had 
   Recently Passed, Was The Camp Of The Disappointed band.  Baptiste Was 
   Cordially Received, And Invited to Share The Meal Of Which The Party 
   Were About To Partake, After Which The Pipe Was Passed around. 
   In A Little While The Indians Began To Talk Among Themselves By Signs, 
   Which Made Baptiste Feel Somewhat Uncomfortable, For It Was Apparent 
   That He Was The Object Of Their Interest. 
     
     
     
   They Had Argued that Brown'S Skin Indicated that He Belonged to The 
   Great Tribe Of Their Natural Enemies, And With The Blood Of A White 
   On Their Garments, They Would Have Fulfilled the Terms Of Their Vow 
   To Their Friends And The Great Spirit. 
     
     
     
   Noticing The Trend Of The Debate, Which Would Lead His Friend Into 
   Trouble, The Brother Of Unami Arose, And Waving His Hand Said:-- 
     
     
     
   "The Arapahoe Is A Warrior; His Feet Outstrip The Fleetest Horse; 
   His Arrow Is As The Lightning Of The Great Spirit; He Is Very Brave. 
   But A Cloud Is Between Him And The Sun; He Cannot See His Enemy; 
   There Is Yet No Scalp In his Lodge.  The Great Spirit Is Good; 
   He Sends A Victim, A Man Whose Skin Is White, But His Heart Is Very 
   Red; The Pale-Face Is A Brother, And His Long Knife Is Turned from 
   His Friends, The Arapahoes; But The Great Spirit Is All-Powerful. 
   My Brother"--Pointing To Baptiste--"Is Very Full Of Blood; He Can Spare 
   A Little To Stain The Blankets Of The Young Men, And His Heart Shall 
   Still Be Warm; I Have Spoken." 
     
     
     
   As Baptiste Expressed it: "Sacre Enfant De Garce; Damn, De Ting Vas 
   Agin My Grain, But De Young Arapahoe He Have Saved my Life." 
     
     
     
   Loud Acclamation Followed the Speech Of Unami'S Brother, And Many Of 
   Those Most Clamorous Against The White Trapper, Being actuated by 
   The Earnest Desire Of Returning Home With Their Vow Accomplished, 
   When They Would Be Received into The List Of Warriors, And Have Wives 
   And Other Honours, Were Unanimous In agreeing To The Proposed plan. 
     
     
     
   A Flint Lancet Was Produced, Baptiste'S Arm Was Bared, And The Blood 
   Which Flowed from The Slight Wound Was Carefully Distributed, And 
   Scattered over The Robes Of The Delighted arapahoes. 
     
     
     
   The Scene Which Followed was Quite Unexpected to Baptiste, Who Was 
   Only Glad To Escape The Death To Which The Majority Had Doomed him. 
   The Indians, Perfectly Satisfied that Their Vow Of Shedding an Enemy'S 
   Blood Had Been Fulfilled, Were All Gratitude; And To Testify That 
   Gratitude In a Substantial Manner Each Man Sought His Pack, And Laid 
   At The Feet Of The Surprised baptiste A Rich Present.  One Gave An 
   Otter Skin, Another That Of A Buffalo, And So On Until His Wealth In 
   Furs Outstripped his Most Sanguine Expectations From His Hunt. 
   The Brother Of Unami Stood Passively Looking On Until All The Others 
   Had Successively Honoured his Guest, When He Advanced toward Baptiste, 
   Leading By Its Bridle A Magnificent Horse, Fully Caparisoned, And 
   A Large Pack-Mule.  To Refuse Would Have Been The Most Flagrant Breach 
   Of Indian Etiquette, And Beside, Brown Was Too Alive To The Advantage 
   That Would Accrue To Him To Be Other Than Very Thankful. 
     
     
     
   The Camp Was Then Broken Up, And The Kind Savages Were Soon Lost To 
   Baptiste'S Sight As They Passed down The Canyon; And He, As Soon As He 
   Had Gained a Little Strength, For He Was Weak From The Blood He Had 
   Shed in the Good Cause, Mounted his Horse, After Loading The Mule 
   With His Gifts, And Made The Best Of His Way To His Lonely Lodge, 
   Where He Remained several Days.  He Then Sold His Furs At A Good 
   Price, As It Was So Early In the Season, Bartered for A Large Quantity 
   Of Knives, Beads, Powder, And Balls, And Returned to The Arapahoe 
   Village, Where The Horse Was Considered a Fair Exchange For The 
   Pretty Unami; And From That Day, For Over Thirty Years, They Lived 
   As Happy As Any Couple In the Highest Civilization. 
     
     
     
   The Fate Of The Pueblo, Where The Trappers And Hunters Had Such Good 
   Times In the Halcyon Days Of The Border, Like That Which Befell 
   Nearly All The Trading-Posts And Ranches On The Old Santa Fe Trail, 
   Was To Be Partially Destroyed by The Savages.  During The Early 
   Months Of The Winter Of 1854, The Utes Swept Down Through The Arkansas 
   Valley, Leaving a Track Of Blood Behind Them, And Frightening The 
   Settlers So Thoroughly That Many Left The Country Never To Return. 
   The Outbreak Was As Sudden As It Was Devastating.  The Pueblo Was 
   Captured by The Savages, And Every Man, Woman, And Child In it 
   Murdered, With The Exception Of One Aged mexican, And He Was So Badly 
   Wounded that He Died in a Few Days. 
     
     
     
   His Story Was That The Utes Came To The Gates Of The Fort On Christmas 
   Morning, Professing The Greatest Friendship, And Asking Permission 
   To Be Allowed to Come Inside And Hold A Peace Conference.  All Who 
   Were In the Fort At The Time Were Mexicans, And As Their Cupidity 
   Led them To Believe That They Could Do Some Advantageous Trading 
   With The Indians, They Foolishly Permitted the Whole Band To Enter. 
   The Result Was That A Wholesale Massacre Followed.  There Were 
   Seventeen Persons In all Quartered there, Only One Of Whom Escaped 
   Death--The Old Man Referred to--And A Woman And Her Two Children, 
   Who Were Carried off As Captives; But Even She Was Killed before The 
   Savages Had Gone A Mile From The Place.  What Became Of The Children 
   Was Never Known; They Probably Met The Same Fate. 
     
   
   
   
   Chapter XV (Uncle John Smith) 
   Many Of The Men Of The Border Were Blunt In manners, Rude In speech, 
   Driven To The Absolute Liberty Of The Far West With Better Natures 
   Shattered and Hopes Blasted, To Seek In the Exciting Life Of The 
   Plainsman And Mountaineer Oblivion Of Some Incidents Of Their Youthful 
   Days, Which Were Better Forgotten.  Yet These Aliens From Society, 
   These Strangers To The Refinements Of Civilization, Who Would Tear Off 
   A Bloody Scalp Even With Grim Smiles Of Satisfaction, Were Fine 
   Fellows, Full Of The Milk Of Human Kindness, And Would Share Their 
   Last Slapjack With A Hungry Stranger. 
     
     
     
   Uncle John Smith, As He Was Known To Every Trapper, Trader, And 
   Hunter From The Yellowstone To The Gila, Was One Of The Most Famous 
   And Eccentric Men Of The Early Days.  In 1826, As A Boy, He Ran Away 
   From St. Louis With A Party Of Santa Fe Traders, And So Fascinated 
   Was He With The Desultory And Exciting Life, That He Chose To Sit 
   Cross-Legged, Smoking The Long Indian Pipe, In the Comfortable 
   Buffalo-Skin Teepee, Rather Than Cross Legs On The Broad Table Of 
   His Master, A Tailor To Whom He Had Been Apprenticed when He Took 
   French Leave From St. Louis. 
     
     
     
   He Spent His First Winter With The Blackfeet Indians, But Came Very 
   Near Losing His Scalp In their Continual Quarrels, And Therefore 
   Allied himself With The More Peaceable Sioux.  Once While On The 
   Trail Of A Horse-Stealing Band Of Arapahoes Near The Head Waters 
   Of The Arkansas, The Susceptible Young Hunter Fell In love With 
   A Very Pretty Cheyenne Squaw, Married her, And Remained true To The 
   Object Of His Early Affection During all His Long And Eventful Life, 
   Extending Over A Period Of Forty Years.  For Many Decades He Lived 
   With His Dusky Wife As The Indians Did, Having Been Adopted by The 
   Tribe.  He Owned a Large Number Of Horses, Which Constituted the 
   Wealth Of The Plains Indians, Upon The Sale Of Which He Depended 
   Almost Entirely For His Subsistence.  He Became Very Powerful In the 
   Cheyenne Nation; Was Regarded as A Chief, Taking an Active Part In 
   The Councils, And Exercising Much Authority.  His Excellent Judgment 
   As A Trader With The Various Bands Of Indians While He Was Employed 
   By The Great Fur Companies Made His Services Invaluable In the 
   Strange Business Complications Of The Remote Border.  Besides 
   Understanding The Cheyenne Language As Well As His Native Tongue, 
   He Also Spoke Three Other Indian Dialects, French, And Spanish, But 
   With Many Western Expressions That Sometimes Grated harshly Upon 
   The Grammatical Ear. 
     
     
     
   He Became A Sort Of Autocrat On The Plains And In the Mountains; And 
   For An Indian Or Mexican To Attempt To Effect A Trade Without Uncle 
   John Smith Having Something To Say About It, And Its Conditions, Was 
   Hardly Possible.  The New Mexicans Often Came In small Parties To His 
   Indian Village, Their Burros Packed with Dry Pumpkin, Corn, Etc., 
   To Trade For Buffalo-Robes, Bearskins, Meat, And Ponies; And Smith, 
   Who Knew His Power, Exacted tribute, Which Was Always Paid.  At One 
   Time, However, When For Some Reason A Party Of Strange Mexicans 
   Refused, Uncle John Harangued the People Of The Village, And Called 
   The Young Warriors Together, Who Emptied every Sack Of Goods Belonging 
   To The Cowering Mexicans On The Ground, Smith Ordering The Women And 
   Children To Help Themselves, An Order Which Was Obeyed with Alacrity. 
   The Frightened mexicans Left Hurriedly For El Valle De Taos, Whence 
   They Had Come, Crossing Themselves And Uttering Thanks To Heaven For 
   Having Retained their Scalps.  This And Other Similar Cases So 
   Intimidated the Poor Greasers, And Impressed them So Deeply With 
   A Sense Of Smith'S Power, That, Ever After, His Permission To Trade 
   Was Craved by A Special Deputation Of The Parties, Accompanied by 
   Peace-Offerings Of Corn, Pumpkin, And Pinole.  At One Time, When 
   Smith Was Journeying By Himself A Day'S Ride From The Cheyenne Village, 
   He Was Met By A Party Of Forty Or More Corn Traders, Who, Instead Of 
   Putting Such A Bane To Their Prospects Speedily Out Of The Way, 
   Gravely Asked him If They Could Proceed, And Offered him Every Third 
   Robe They Had To Accompany Them, Which He Did.  Indeed, He Became So 
   Regardless Of Justice, In his Condescension To The Natives Of 
   New Mexico, That The Governor Of That Province Offered a Reward Of 
   Five Hundred dollars For Him Alive Or Dead, But Fear Of The Cheyennes 
   Was So Prevalent That His Capture Was Never Even Attempted. 
     
     
     
   During Sheridan'S Memorable Winter Campaign Against The Allied tribes 
   In 1868-69, The Old Man, For He Was Then About Sixty, Was My Guide 
   And Interpreter.  He Shared my Tent And Mess, A Most Welcome Addition 
   To The Few Who Sat At My Table, And Beguiled many A Weary Hour At 
   Night, After Our Tedious Marches Through The Apparently Interminable 
   Sand Dunes And Barren Stretches Of Our Monotonous Route, With His 
   Tales Of That Period, More Than Half A Century Ago, When Our 
   Mid-Continent Region Was As Little Known As The Topography Of The 
   Planet Mars. 
     
     
     
   At The Close Of December, 1868, A Few Weeks After The Battle Of The 
   Washita, I Was Camping With My Command On The Bank Of That Historic 
   Stream In the Indian Territory, Waiting With An Immense Wagon-Train 
   Of Supplies For The Arrival Of General Custer'S Command, The Famous 
   Seventh Cavalry, And Also The Nineteenth Kansas, Which Were Supposed 
   To Be Lost, Or Wandering aimlessly Somewhere In the Region South Of Us. 
     
     
     
   I Had Been Ordered to That Point By General Sheridan, With Instructions 
   To Keep Fires Constantly Burning On Three Or Four Of The Highest 
   Peaks In the Vicinity Of Our Camp, Until The Lost Troops Should Be 
   Guided to The Spot By Our Signals.  These Signals Were Veritable 
   Pillars Of Fire By Night And Pillars Of Cloud By Day; For There Was 
   An Abundance Of Wood And Hundreds Of Men Ready To Feed the Hungry Flames. 
     
     
     
   It Was More Than Two Weeks Before General Custer And His Famished 
   Troopers Began To Straggle In.  During That Period Of Anxious Waiting 
   We Lived almost Exclusively On Wild Turkey, And Longed for Nature'S 
   Meat--The Buffalo; But There Were None Of The Shaggy Beasts At That 
   Time In the Vicinity, So We Had To Content Ourselves With The Birds, 
   Of Which We Became Heartily Tired. 
     
     
     
   For Several Days After Our Arrival On The Creek, The Men Had Been 
   Urging Uncle John To Tell Them Another Story Of His Early Adventures; 
   But The Old Trapper Was In one Of His Silent Moods--He Frequently Had 
   Them--And Could Not Be Persuaded to Emerge From His Shell Of Reticence 
   Despite Their Most Earnest Entreaties.  I Knew It Would Be Of No Use 
   For Me To Press Him.  I Could, Of Course, Order Him To Any Duty, And 
   He Would Promptly Obey; But His Tongue, Like The Hand Of Douglas, 
   Was His Own.  I Knew, Also, That When He Got Ready, Which Would Be 
   When Some Incident Of Camp-Life Inspired him, He Would Be As Garrulous 
   As Ever. 
     
     
     
   One Evening Just Before Supper, A Party Of Enlisted men Who Had Been 
   Up The Creek To Catch Fish, But Had Failed to Take Anything Owing To 
   The Frozen Condition Of The Stream, Returned with The Skeleton Of 
   A Cheyenne Indian Which They Had Picked up On The Battle-Ground Of 
   A Month Previously--One Of Custer'S Victims In his Engagement With 
   Black Kettle.  This Was The Incentive Uncle John Required.  As He 
   Gazed on The Bleached bones Of The Warrior, He Said: "Boys, I'M Going 
   To Tell You A Good Long Story To-Night.  Them Ingin'S Bones Has Put 
   Me In mind Of It.  After We'Ve Eat, If You Fellows Wants To Hear It, 
   Come Down To Headquarters Tent, And I'Ll Give It To You." 
     
     
     
   Of Course Word Was Rapidly Passed from One To Another, As The Whole 
   Camp Was Eager To Hear The Old Trapper Again.  In a Short Time, 
   Every Man Not On Guard Or Detailed to Keep Up The Signals On The 
   Hills Gathered around The Dying Embers Of The Cook'S Fire In front Of 
   My Tent; The Enlisted men And Teamsters In groups By Themselves, 
   The Officers A Little Closer In a Circle, In the Centre Of Which 
   Uncle John Sat. 
     
     
     
   The Night Was Cold, The Sky Covered with Great Fleecy Patches, 
   Through Which The Full Moon, Just Fairly Risen, Appeared to Be Racing, 
   Under The Effect Of That Optical Illusion Caused by The Rapidly 
   Moving Clouds.  The Coyotes Had Commenced their Nocturnal Concert 
   In The Timbered recesses Of The Creek Not Far Away, And On The 
   Battle-Field A Short Distance Beyond, As They Battened and Fought 
   Over The Dead Warriors And The Carcasses Of Twelve Hundred ponies 
   Killed in that Terrible Slaughter By The Intrepid Custer And His 
   Troopers.  The Signals On The Hills Leaped into The Crisp Air Like 
   The Tongues Of Dragons In the Myths Of The Ancients; In fact, 
   The Whole Aspect Of The Place, As We Sat Around The Blazing Logs Of 
   Our Camp-Fire, Was Weird And Uncanny. 
     
     
     
   Every One Was Eager For The Veteran Guide To Begin His Tale; But As 
   I Knew He Could Not Proceed without Smoking, I Passed him My Pouch 
   Of Lone Jack--The Brand Par Excellence In the Army At That Time. 
     
     
     
   Uncle John Loaded his Corn-Cob, Picked up A Live Coal, And, Pressing 
   It Down On The Tobacco With His Thumb, Commenced to Puff Vigorously. 
   As Soon As His Withered old Face Was Half Hidden In a Cloud Of Smoke, 
   He Opened his Story In his Stereotyped way.  I Relate It Just As He 
   Told It, But Divested of Much Of Its Dialect, So Difficult To Write:-- 
     
     
     
   "Well, Boys, It'S A Good Many Years Ago, In june, 1845, If I Don'T 
   Disremember.  I Was About Forty-Three, And Had Been In the Mountains 
   And On The Plains More Than Nineteen Seasons.  You See, I Went Out 
   There In 1826.  There Warn'T No Roads, Nuthin' But The Santa Fe Trail, 
   In Them Days, And Ingins And Varmints. 
     
     
     
   "There Was Four Of Us.  Me, Bill Comstock, Dick Curtis, And Al Thorpe. 
   Dick Was Took In by The Utes Two Years Afterwards At The Foot Of The 
   Spanish Peaks, And Al Was Killed by The Apaches At Pawnee Rock, In 1847. 
     
     
     
   "We'D Been Trapping Up On Medicine Bow For More Than Three Years 
   Together, And Had A Pile Of Beaver, Otter, Mink, And Other Varmint'S 
   Skins Cached in the Hills, Which We Know'D Was Worth A Heap Of Money; 
   So We Concluded to Take Them To The River That Summer.  We Started 
   From Our Trapping Camp In april, And 'Long 'Bout The Middle Of June 
   Reached the Arkansas, Near What Is Know'D As Point O' Rocks.  You All 
   Know Where Them Is On The Trail West Of Fort Dodge, And How Them 
   Rocks Rises Up Out Of The Prairie Sudden-Like.  We Was A Travelling 
   'Long Mighty Easy, For We Was All Afoot, And Had Hoofed it The Whole 
   Distance, More Than Six Hundred miles, Driving Five Good Mules Ahead 
   Of Us.  Our Furs Was Packed on Four Of Them, And The Other Carried 
   Our Blankets, Extry Ammunition, Frying-Pan, Coffee-Pot, And What 
   Little Grub We Had, For We Was Obliged to Depend Upon Buffalo, 
   Antelope, And Jack-Rabbits; But, Boys, I Tell You There Was Millions 
   Of 'Em In them Days. 
     
     
     
   "We Had Just Got Into Camp At Point O' Rocks.  It Was 'Bout Four 
   O'Clock In the Afternoon; None Of Us Carried watches, We Always 
   Reckoned time By The Sun, And Could Generally Guess Mighty Close, Too. 
   It Was Powerful Hot, I Remember.  We'D Hobbled our Mules Close To The 
   Ledge, Where The Grass Was Good, So They Couldn'T Be Stampeded, As 
   We Know'D We Was In the Pawnee Country, And They Was The Most Ornery 
   Ingins On The Plains.  We Know'D Nothing That Was White Ever Came By 
   That Part Of The Trail Without Having a Scrimmage With The Red devils. 
     
     
     
   "Well, We Hadn'T More Than Took Our Dinner, When Them Mules Give 
   A Terrible Snort, And Tried to Break And Run, Getting awful Oneasy 
   All To Once.  Them Critters Can Tell When Ingins Is Around.  They'S 
   Better Than A Dozen Dogs.  I Don'T Know How They Can Tell, But They 
   Just Naturally Do. 
     
     
     
   "In Less Than Five Minutes After Them Mules Began To Worry, Stopped 
   Eating, And Had Their Ears Pricked up A Trying To Look Over The Ledge 
   Towards The River, We Heard A Sharp Firing Down On The Trail, Which 
   Didn'T Appear To Be More Than A Hundred yards Off.  You Ought To Seen 
   Us Grab Our Rifles Sudden, And Run Out From Behind Them Rocks, Where 
   We Was A Camping, So Comfortable-Like, And Just Going To Light Our 
   Pipes For A Good Smoke.  It Didn'T Take Us No Time To Get Down On To 
   The Trail, Where We Seen A Mexican Bull Train, That We Know'D Must 
   Have Come From Santa Fe, And Which Had Stopped and Was Trying To Corral. 
   More Than Sixty Painted pawnees Was A Circling around The Outfit, 
   Howling as Only Them Can Howl, And Pouring a Shower Of Arrows Into 
   The Oxen.  Some Was Shaking Their Buffalo-Robes, Trying To Stampede 
   The Critters, So They Could Kill The Men Easier. 
     
     
     
   "We Lit Out Mighty Lively, Soon As We Seen What Was Going On, And 
   Reached the Head Of The Train Just As The Last Wagon, That Was 
   Furtherest Down The Trail, Nigh A Quarter Of A Mile Off, Was Cut Out 
   By Part Of The Band.  Then We Seen A Man, A Woman, And A Little Boy 
   Jump Out, And Run To Get Shet Of The Ingins What Had Cut Out The 
   Wagon From The Rest Of The Train.  One Of The Red devils Killed the 
   Man And Scalped him, While The Other Pulled the Woman Up In front 
   Of Him, And Rid Off Into The Sand Hills, And Out Of Sight In a Minute. 
   Then The One What Had Killed her Husband Started for The Boy, Who Was 
   A Running For The Train As Fast As His Little Legs Could Go.  But We 
   Was Nigh Enough Then; And Just As The Ingin Was Reaching Down From 
   His Pony For The Kid, Al Thorpe--He Was A Powerful Fine Shot--Draw'D Up 
   His Gun And Took The Red cuss Off His Critter Without The Paint-Bedaubed 
   Devil Know'N' What Struck Him. 
     
     
     
   "The Boy, Seeing Us, Broke And Run For Where We Was, And I Reckon 
   The Rest Of The Ingins Seen Us Then For The First Time, Too.  We Was 
   Up With The Train Now, Which Was Kind O' Halfway Corralled, And 
   Dick Curtis Picked up The Child--He Warn'T More Than Seven Years Old-- 
   And Throw'D Him Gently Into One Of The Wagons, Where He'D Be Out Of 
   The Way; For We Know'D There Was Going To Be Considerable More 
   Fighting Before Night.  We Know'D, Too, We Americans Would Have To Do 
   The Heft Of It, As Them Mexican Bull-Whackers Warn'T Much Account, 
   Nohow, Except To Cavort Around And Swear In spanish, Which They 
   Hadn'T Done Nothing Else Since We'D Come Up To The Train; Besides, 
   Their Miserable Guns Warn'T Much Better Than So Many Bows And Arrows. 
     
     
     
   "We Americans Talked together For A Few Moments As To What Was Best 
   To Be Did, While The Ingins All This Time Was Keeping Up A Lively 
   Fire For Them.  We Made As Strong A Corral Of The Wagons As We Could, 
   Driving Out What Oxen The Mexicans Had Put In the One They Had Made, 
   But You Can'T Do Much With Only Nine Wagons, Nohow.  Fortunately, 
   While We Was Fixing Things, The Red cusses Suddenly Retreated out Of 
   The Range Of Our Rifles, And We First Thought They Had Cleared out 
   For Good.  We Soon Discovered, However, They Were Only Holding a 
   Pow-Wow; For In a Few Minutes Back They Come, Mounted on Their Ponies, 
   With All Their Fixin'S And Fresh War-Paint On. 
     
     
     
   "Then They Commenced to Circle Around Us Again, Coming a Little 
   Nearer--Ingin Fashion--Every Time They Rid Off And Back.  It Wasn'T 
   Long Before They Got In easy Range, When They Slung Themselves On 
   The Off-Side Of Their Ponies And Let Fly Their Arrows And Balls From 
   Under Their Critters' Necks.  Their Guns Warn'T Much 'Count, Being 
   Only Old English Muskets What Had Come From The Hudson Bay Fur Company, 
   So They Didn'T Do No Harm That Round, Except To Scare The Mexicans, 
   Which Commenced to Cross Themselves And Pray And Swear. 
     
     
     
   "We Four Americans Warn'T Idle When Them Ingins Come A Charging Up; 
   We Kept Our Eye Skinned, And Whenever We Could Draw A Bead, One Of 
   Them Tumbled off His Pony, You Bet!  When They'D Come Back For Their 
   Dead--We'D Already Killed three Of Them--We Had A Big Advantage, Wasted 
   No Shots, And Dropped four Of Them; One Apiece, And You Never Heard 
   Ingins Howl So.  It Was Getting Kind O' Dark By This Time, And The 
   Varmints Didn'T Seem Anxious To Fight Any More, But Went Down To The 
   River And Scooted off Into The Sand Hills On The Other Side. 
   We Waited more Than Half An Hour For Them, But As They Didn'T Come 
   Back, Concluded we'D Better Light Out Too.  We Told The Mexicans To 
   Yoke Up, And As Good Luck Would Have It They Found All The Cattle 
   Close By, Excepting Them What Pulled the Wagon What The Ingins Had 
   Cut Out, And As It Was Way Down The Trail, We Had To Abandon It; 
   For It Was Too Dark To Hunt It Up, As We Had No Time To Fool Away. 
     
     
     
   "We Put All Our Outfit Into The Train; It Wasn'T Loaded, But Going 
   Empty To The Missouri, To Fetch Back A Sawmill For New Mexico. 
   Then We Made A Soft Bed in the Middle Wagon Out Of Blankets For The 
   Kid, And Rolled out 'Bout Ten O'Clock, Meaning To Put As Many Miles 
   Between Us And Them Ingins As The Oxen Could Stand.  We Four Hoofed it 
   Along For A While, Then Rid A Piece, Catching a Nap Now And Then As 
   Best We Could, For We Was Monstrous Tired.  By Daylight We'D Made 
   Fourteen Miles, And Was Obliged to Stop To Let The Cattle Graze. 
   We Boiled our Coffee, Fried some Meat, And By That Time The Little 
   Boy Waked.  He'D Slept Like A Top All Night And Hadn'T No Supper 
   Either; So When I Went To The Wagon Where He Was To Fetch Him Out, 
   He Just Put Them Baby Arms Of His'N Around My Neck, And Says, 
   'Where'S Mamma?' 
     
     
     
   "I Tell You, Boys, That Nigh Played me Out.  He Had No Idee, 'Cause 
   He Was Too Young To Realize What Had Happened; We Know'D His Pa Was 
   Killed, But Where His Ma Was, God Only Know'D!" 
     
     
     
   Here The Old Man Stopped short In his Narrative, Made Two Or Three 
   Efforts As If To Swallow Something That Would Not Go Down, While His 
   Eyes Had A Far-Away Look.  Presently He Picked up A Fresh Coal From 
   The Fire, Placed it On His Pipe, Which Had Gone Out, Then Puffing 
   Vigorously For A Few Seconds, Until His Head Was Again Enveloped in 
   Smoke, He Continued:-- 
     
     
     
   "After I'D Washed the Little Fellow'S Face And Hands, I Gave Him A 
   Tin Cup Of Coffee And Some Meat.  You'D Ought To Seen Him Eat; He Was 
   Hungrier Than A Coyote.  Then While The Others Was A Watering and 
   Picketing The Mules, I Sot Down On The Grass And Took The Kid Into 
   My Lap To Have A Good Look At Him; For Until Now None Of Us Had Had 
   A Chance. 
     
     
     
   "He Was The Purtiest Child I'D Ever Seen; Great Black Eyes, And 
   Eyelashes That Laid Right On To His Cheeks; His Hair, Too, Was Black, 
   And As Curly As A Young Big-Horn.  I Asked him What His Name Was, And 
   He Says, 'Paul.'  'Hain'T You Got No Other Name?' Says I To Him Again, 
   And He Answered, 'Yes, Sir,' For He Was Awful Polite; I Noticed that. 
   'Paul Dale,' Says He Prompt-Like, And Them Big Eyes Of His'N Looked 
   Up Into Mine, As He Says 'What Be Yourn?'  I Told Him He Must Call Me 
   'Uncle John,' And Then He Says Again, As He Put His Arms Around My 
   Neck, His Little Lips All A Quivering, And Looking So Sorrowful, 
   'Uncle John, Where'S Mamma; Why Don'T She Come?' 
     
     
     
   "Boys, I Don'T Really Know What I Did Say.  A Kind O' Mist Came 
   Before My Eyes, And For A Minute Or Two I Didn'T Know Nothing. 
   I Come To In a Little While, And Seeing Thorpe Bringing Up The Mules 
   From The River, Where He'D Been Watering Them, I Says To Paul, To Get 
   His Mind On To Something Else Besides His Mother, 'Don'T You Want To 
   Ride One Of Them Mules When We Pull Out Again?'  The Little Fellow 
   Jumped off My Lap, Clapped his Hands, Forgetting His Trouble All At 
   Once, Child-Like, And Replied, 'I Do, Uncle John, Can I?' 
     
     
     
   "After We'D Camped there 'Bout Three Hours, The Cattle Full Of Grass 
   And All Laying Down Chewing Their Cud, We Concluded to Move On And 
   Make A Few Miles Before It Grow'D Too Hot, And To Get Further From 
   The Ingins, Which We Expected would Tackle Us Again, As Soon As They 
   Could Get Back From Their Camp, Where We Felt Sure They Had Gone For 
   Reinforcements. 
     
     
     
   "While The Mexicans Was Yoking Up, Me And Thorpe Rigged an Easy 
   Saddle On One Of The Mules, Out Of Blankets, For The Kid To Ride On, 
   And When We Was All Ready To Pull Out, I Histed him On, And You Never 
   See A Youngster So Tickled. 
     
     
     
   "We Had To Travel Mighty Slow; Couldn'T Make More Than Eighteen Miles 
   A Day With Oxen, And That Was In two Drives, One Early In the Morning, 
   And One In the Evening When It Was Cool, A Laying By And Grazing When 
   It Was Hot.  We Americans Walked along The Trail, And Mighty Slow 
   Walking It Was; 'Bout Two And A Half Miles An Hour.  I Kept Close 
   To Paul, For I Began To Set A Good Deal Of Store By Him; He Seemed 
   To Cotton To Me More Than He Did To The Rest, Wanting To Stick Near 
   Me Most Of The Time As He Rid On The Mule.  I Wanted to Find Out 
   Something 'Bout His Folks, Where They'D Come From; So That When We 
   Got To Independence, Perhaps I Could Turn Him Over To Them As Ought 
   To Have Him; Though In my Own Mind I Was Ornery Enough To Wish I 
   Might Never Find Them, And He'D Be Obliged to Stay With Me.  The Boy 
   Was Too Young To Tell What I Wanted to Find Out; All I Could Get Out 
   Of Him Was They'D Been Living In santa Fe Since He Was A Baby, And 
   That His Papa Was A Preacher.  I 'Spect One Of Them Missionaries 
   'Mong The Heathenish Greasers.  He Said They Was Going Back To His 
   Grandma'S In the States, But He Could Not Tell Where.  I Couldn'T 
   Get Nothing Out Of Them Mexican Bull-Whackers Neither--What They 
   Know'D Wasn'T Half As Much As The Kid--And I Had To Give It Up. 
     
     
     
   "Well, We Kept Moving along Without Having any More Trouble For 
   A Week; Them Ingins Never Following Us As We 'Lowed they Would. 
   I Really Enjoyed the Trip Such As I Never Had Before.  Paul He Was 
   So 'Fectionate And Smart, That He 'Peared to Fill A Spot In my Heart 
   What Had Always Been Hollow Until Then.  When He'D Got Tired of 
   Riding The Mule Or In one Of The Wagons, He'D Come And Walk Along 
   The Trail With Me, A Picking Flowers, Chasing The Prairie-Owls And 
   Such, Until His Little Legs 'Bout Played out, When I'D Hist Him On 
   His Mule Again.  When We'D Go Into Camp, Paul, He'D Run And Pick Up 
   Buffalo-Chips For The Fire, And Wanted to Help All He Could. 
   Then When It Came Time To Go To Sleep, The Boy Would Always Get Under 
   My Blankets And Cuddle Up Close To Me.  He'D Be Sure To Say His 
   Prayers First, Though; But It Seemed so Strange To Me Who Hadn'T 
   Heard A Prayer For Thirty Years.  I Never Tried to Stop Him, You May 
   Be Certain Of That.  He'D Ask God To Bless His Pa And Ma, And Wind Up 
   With 'Bless Uncle John Too.'  Then I Couldn'T Help Hugging Him Right 
   Up Tighter; For It Carried me Back To Old Missouri, To The Log-Cabin 
   In The Woods Where I Was Born, And Used to Say 'Now I Lay Me,' And 
   'Our Father' At My Ma'S Knee, When I Was A Kid Like Him.  I Tell You, 
   Boys, There Ain'T Nothing That Will Take The Conceit Out Of A Man 
   Here On The Plains, Like The Company Of A Kid What Has Been 
   Brought Up Right. 
     
     
     
   "I Reckon We'D Been Travelling about Ten Days Since We Left Point O' 
   Rocks, And Was On The Other Side Of The Big Bend Of The Arkansas, 
   Near The Mouth Of The Walnut, Where Fort Zarah Is Now.  We Had Went 
   Into Camp At Sundown, Close To A Big Spring That'S There Yet. 
   We Drawed up The Wagons Into A Corral On The Edge Of The River Where 
   There Wasn'T No Grass For Quite A Long Stretch; We Done This To Kind 
   O' Fortify Ourselves, For We Expected to Have Trouble With The Ingins 
   There, If Anywhere, As We Warn'T But Seventeen Miles From Pawnee Rock, 
   The Worst Place On The Whole Trail For Them; So We Picked out That 
   Bare Spot Where They Couldn'T Set Fire To The Prairie.  It Was Long 
   After Dark When We Eat Our Supper; Then We Smoked our Pipes, Waiting 
   For The Oxen To Fill Themselves, Which Had Been Driven About A Mile 
   Off Where There Was Good Grass.  The Mexicans Was Herding Them, And 
   When They'D Eat All They Could Hold, And Was Commencing To Lay Down, 
   They Was Driven Into The Corral.  Then All Of Us, Except Comstock And 
   Curtis, Turned in; They Was To Stand Guard Until 'Bout One O'Clock, 
   When Me And Thorpe Was To Change Places With Them And Stay Up Until 
   Morning; For, You See, We Was Afraid To Trust Them Mexicans. 
     
     
     
   "It Seemed like We Hadn'T Been Asleep More Than An Hour When Me And 
   Thorpe Was Called to Take Our Turn On Guard.  We Got Out Of Our 
   Blankets, I Putting Paul Into One Of The Wagons, Then Me And Thorpe 
   Lighted our Pipes And Walked around, Keeping Our Eyes And Ears Open, 
   Watching The Heavy Fringe Of Timber On The Creek Mighty Close, I Tell 
   You.  Just As Daylight Was Coming, We Noticed that Our Mules, What 
   Was Tied to A Wagon In the Corral, Was Getting Uneasy, A Pawing and 
   Snorting, With Their Long Ears Cocked up And Looking Toward The Walnut. 
   Before I Could Finish Saying To Thorpe, 'Them Mules Smells Ingins,' 
   Half A Dozen Or More Of The Darned cusses Dashed out Of The Timber, 
   Yelling and Shaking Their Robes, Which, Of Course, Waked up The Whole 
   Camp.  Me And Thorpe Sent A Couple Of Shots After Them, That Scattered 
   The Devils For A Minute; But We Hadn'T Hit Nary One, Because It Was 
   Too Dark Yet To Draw A Bead On Them.  We Was Certain There Was A Good 
   Many More Of Them Behind The First That Had Charged us; So We Got All 
   The Men On The Side Of The Corral Next To The Trail.  The Ingins We 
   Know'D Couldn'T Get Behind Us, On Account Of The River, And We Was 
   Bound To Make Them Fight Where We Wanted them To, If They Meant To 
   Fight At All. 
     
     
     
   "In Less Than A Minute, Quicker Than I Can Tell You, Sure Enough, 
   Out They Came Again, Only There Was 'Bout Eighty Of Them This Time. 
   They Made A Dash At Once, And Their Arrows Fell Like A Shower Of Hail 
   On The Ground And Against The Wagon-Sheets As The Cusses Swept By On 
   Their Ponies.  There Wasn'T Anybody Hurt, And Our Turn Soon Came. 
   Just As They Circled back, We Poured it Into Them, Killing Six And 
   Wounding Two.  You See Them Mexican Guns Had Did Some Work That We 
   Didn'T Expect, And Then We Americans Felt Better.  Well, Boys, 
   Them Varmints Made Four Charges Like That On To Us Before We Could 
   Get Shet Of Them; But We Killed as Many As Sixteen Or Eighteen, And 
   They Got Mighty Sick Of It And Quit; They Had Only Knocked over One 
   Mexican, And Put An Arrow Into Thorpe'S Arm. 
     
     
     
   "I Was Amused at Little Paul All The Time The Scrimmage Was Going On. 
   He Stood Up In the Wagon Where I'D Put Him, A Looking Out Of The Hole 
   Behind Where The Sheet Was Drawed together, And Every Time An Ingin 
   Was Tumbled off His Pony, He Would Clap His Hands And Yell, 'There 
   Goes Another One, Uncle John!' 
     
     
     
   "After Their Last Charge, They Rode Off Out Of Range, Where They 
   Stood In little Bunches Talking To Each Other, Holding Some Sort Of 
   A Pow-Wow.  It Riled us To See The Darned cusses Keep So Far Away 
   From Our Rifles, Because We Wanted to Lay A Few More Of Them Out, But 
   Was Obliged to Keep Still And Watch Out For Some New Deviltry. 
   We Waited there Until It Was Plumb Night, Not Daring To Move Out Yet; 
   But We Managed to Boil Our Coffee And Fry Slap-Jacks And Meat. 
     
     
     
   "The Oxen Kept Up A Bellowing and Pawing around The Corral, For They 
   Was Desperate Hungry And Thirsty, Hadn'T Had Nothing Since The Night 
   Before; Yet We Couldn'T Help Them Any, As We Didn'T Know Whether We 
   Was Shet Of The Ingins Or Not.  We Staid, Patient-Like, For Two Or 
   Three Hours More After Dark To See What The Ingins Was Going To Do, 
   As While We Sot Round Our Little Fire Of Buffalo-Chips, Smoking Our 
   Pipes, We Could Still Hear The Red devils A Howling and Chanting, 
   While They Picked up Their Dead Laying along The River-Bottom. 
     
     
     
   "As Soon As Morning Broke--We'D Ketched a Nap Now And Then During 
   The Night--We Got Ready For Another Charge Of The Ingins, Their 
   Favourite Time Being Just 'Bout Daylight; But There Warn'T Hide Or 
   Hair Of An Ingin In sight.  They'D Sneaked off In the Darkness Long 
   Before The First Streak Of Dawn; Had Enough Of Fighting, I Expect. 
   As Soon As We Discovered they'D All Cleared out, We Told The Drivers 
   To Hitch Up, And While They Was Yoking and Watering, Me 'N' Curtis 
   And Comstock Buried the Dead Mexican On The Bank Of The River, As We 
   Didn'T Want To Leave His Bones To Be Picked by The Coyotes, Which 
   Was Already Setting On The Sand Hills Watching and Waiting For Us 
   To Break Camp.  By The Time We'D Finished our Job, And Piled some 
   Rocks On His Grave, So As The Varmints Couldn'T Dig Him Up, The Train 
   Was Strung Out On The Trail, And Then We Rolled out Mighty Lively 
   For Oxen; For The Critters Was Hungry, And We Had To Travel Three 
   Or Four Miles The Other Side Of The Walnut, Where The Grass Was Green, 
   Before They Could Feed.  The Oxen Seen It On The Hills And They 
   Lit Out Almost At A Trot.  It Was 'Bout Sun-Up When We Got There, 
   When We Turned the Animals Loose, Corralled, And Had Breakfast. 
     
     
     
   "After We'D Had Our Smoke, All We Had To Do Was To Put In the Time 
   Until Five O'Clock; For We Couldn'T Move Before Then, As It Would Be 
   Too Hot By The Time The Oxen Got Filled.  Paul And Me Went Down To 
   The Creek Fishing; There Was Tremendous Cat In the Walnut Them Days, 
   And By Noon We'D Ketched five Big Beauties, Which We Took To Camp And 
   Cooked for Dinner.  After I'D Had My Smoke, Paul And Me Went Back To 
   The Creek, Where We Stretched ourselves Under A Good-Sized box-Elder 
   Tree--There Wasn'T No Shade Nowhere Else--And Took A Sleep, While 
   Comstock And Curtis Went Jack-Rabbit Hunting across The River, As We 
   Was Getting Scarce Of Meat. 
     
     
     
   "Thorpe, Who Was Hit In the Arm With An Arrow, Couldn'T Do Much But 
   Nuss His Wound; So Him And The Mexicans Stood Guard, A Looking Out 
   For Ingins, As We Didn'T Know But What The Cusses Might Come Back And 
   Make Another Raid On Us, Though We Really Didn'T Expect They Would 
   Have The Gall To Bother Us Any More--Least Not The Same Outfit What 
   Had Fought Us The Day Before.  That Evening, 'Bout Six O'Clock, 
   We Rolled out Again And Went Into Camp Late, Having Made Twelve Miles, 
   And Didn'T See A Sign Of Ingins. 
     
     
     
   "In Ten Days More We Got To Independence Without Having No More 
   Trouble Of No Kind, And Was Surprised at Our Luck.  At Independence 
   We Americans Left The Train, Sold Our Furs, Got A Big Price, Too-- 
   Each Of Us Had A Shot-Bag Full Of Gold And Silver, More Money Than 
   We Know'D What To Do With.  Me, Curtis, And Thorpe Concluded we'D Buy 
   A New Outfit, Consisting Of Another Six-Mule Wagon, And Harness, 
   So We'D Have A Full Team, Meaning To Go Back To The Mountains With 
   The First Big Caravan What Left. 
     
     
     
   "All The Folks In the Settlement What Seen Paul Took A Great Fancy 
   To Him.  Some Wanted to Adopt Him, And Some Said I'D Ought To Take 
   Him To St. Louis And Place Him In an Orphan Asylum; But I 'Lowed if 
   There Was Going To Be Any Adopting Done, I'D Do It Myself, 'Cause 
   The Kid Seemed now Just As If He Was My Own; Besides The Little 
   Fellow I Know'D Loved me And Didn'T Want Me To Leave Him.  I Had 
   Kin-Folks In independence, An Old Aunt, And Me And Paul Staid There. 
   She Had A Young Gal With Her, And She Learned paul Out Of Books; 
   So He Picked up Considerable, As We Had To Wait More Than Two Months 
   Before Colonel St. Vrain'S Caravan Was Ready To Start For New Mexico. 
     
     
     
   "I Bought Paul A Coal-Black Pony, And Had A Suit Of Fine Buckskin 
   Made For Him Out Of The Pelt Of A Black-Tail Deer I'D Shot The Winter 
   Before On Powder River.  The Seams Of His Trousers Was Heavily 
   Fringed, And With His White Sombrero, A Riding around Town On His 
   Pony, He Looked like One Of Them Spanish Dons What The Papers 
   Nowadays Has Pictures Of; Only He Was Smarter-Looking Than Any Don 
   I Ever See In my Life. 
     
     
     
   "It Was 'Bout The Last Of August When We Pulled out From Independence. 
   Comstock Staid With Us Until We Got Ready To Go, And Then Lit Out 
   For St. Louis, And I Hain'T Never Seen Him Since.  The Caravan Had 
   Seventy-Five Six-Mule Teams In it, Without Counting Ours, Loaded with 
   Dry-Goods And Groceries For Mora, New Mexico, Where Colonel St. Vrain, 
   The Owner, Lived and Had A Big Store.  We Had No Trouble With The 
   Ingins Going Back Across The Plains; We Seen Lots, To Be Sure, 
   Hanging On Our Trail, But They Never Attacked us; We Was Too Strong 
   For Them. 
     
     
     
   "'Bout The Last Of September We Reached bent'S Old Fort, On The 
   Arkansas, Where The Santa Fe Trail Crosses The River Into New Mexico, 
   And We Camped there The Night We Got To It. 
     
     
     
   "I Know'D They Had Cows Up To The Fort; So Just Before We Was Ready 
   For Supper, I Took Paul And Started to See If We Couldn'T Get Some 
   Milk For Our Coffee.  It Wasn'T Far, And We Was Camped a Few Hundred 
   Yards From The Gate, Just Outside The Wall.  Well, We Went Into The 
   Kitchen, Paul Right Alongside Of Me, And There I Seen A White Woman 
   Leaning Over The Adobe Hearth A Cooking--They Had Always Only Been 
   Squaws Before.  She Naturally Looked up To Find Out Who Was Coming In, 
   And When She Seen The Kid, All At Once She Give A Scream, Dropped the 
   Dish-Cloth She Had In her Hand, Made A Break For Paul, Throw'D Her 
   Arms Around Him, Nigh Upsetting Me, And Says, While She Was A Sobbing 
   And Taking On Dreadful,-- 
     
     
     
   "'My Boy!  My Boy!  Then I Hain'T Prayed and Begged the Good Lord 
   All These Days And Nights For Nothing!'  Then She Kind O' Choked 
   Again, While Paul, He Says, As He Hung On To Her,-- 
     
     
     
   "'O Mamma!  O Mamma!  I Know'D You'D Come Back!  I Know'D You'D 
   Come Back!' 
     
     
     
   "Well, There, Boys, I Just Walked out Of That Kitchen A Heap Faster 
   Than I'D Come Into It, And Shut The Door.  When I Got Outside, For 
   A Few Minutes I Couldn'T See Nothing, I Was Worked up So.  As Soon 
   As I Come To, I Went Through The Gate Down To Camp As Quick As My 
   Legs Would Carry Me, To Tell Thorpe And Curtis That Paul Had Found 
   His Ma.  They Wanted to Know All About It, But I Couldn'T Tell Them 
   Nothing, I Was So Dumfounded at The Way Things Had Turned out. 
   We Talked among Ourselves A Moment, Then Reckoned it Was The Best 
   To Go Up To The Fort Together, And Ask The Woman How On Earth She'D 
   Got Shet Of The Ingins What Had Took Her Off, And How It Come She 
   Was Cooking There.  We Started out And When We Got Into The Kitchen, 
   There Was Paul And Mrs. Dale, And You Never See No People So Happy. 
   They Was Just As Wild As A Stampeded steer; She Seemed to Have Growed 
   Ten Years Younger Than When I First Went Up There, And As For Paul, 
   He Was In heaven For Certain. 
     
     
     
   "First We Had To Tell Her How We'D Got The Kid, And How We'D Learned 
   To Love Him.  All The Time We Was Telling Of It, And Our Scrimmages 
   With The Ingins, She Was A Crying and Hugging Paul As If Her Heart 
   Was Broke.  After We'D Told All We Know'D, We Asked her To Tell Us 
   Her Story, Which She Did, And It Showed she Was A Woman Of Grit And 
   Education. 
     
     
     
   "She Said The Ingins What Had Captured her Took Her Up To Their Camp 
   On The Saw Log, A Little Creek North Of Fort Dodge--You All Know Where 
   It Is--And There She Staid That Night.  Early In the Morning They All 
   Started for The North.  She Watched their Ponies Mighty Close As 
   They Rid Along That Day, So As To Find Out Which Was The Fastest; 
   For She Had Made Up Her Mind To Make Her Escape The First Chance 
   She Got.  She Looked at The Sun Once In a While, To Learn What Course 
   They Was Taking; So That She Could Go Back When She Got Ready, Strike 
   The Sante Fe Trail, And Get To Some Ranch, As She Had Seen Several 
   While Passing Through The Foot-Hills Of The Raton Range When She Was 
   With The Mexican Train. 
     
     
     
   "It Was On The Night Of The Fourth Day After They Had Left Saw Log, 
   And Had Rid A Long Distance--Was More Than A Hundred miles On Their 
   Journey--When She Determined to Try And Light Out.  The Whole Camp 
   Was Fast Asleep, For The Ingins Was Monstrous Tired.  She Crawled 
   Out Of The Lodge Where She'D Been Put With Some Old Squaws, And 
   Going To Where The Ponies Had Been Picketed, She Took A Little 
   Iron-Gray She'D Had Her Eye On, Jumped on His Back, With Only The 
   Lariat For A Bridle And Without Any Saddle, Not Even A Blanket, 
   Took Her Bearings From The North Star, And Cautiously Moved out. 
   She Started on A Walk, Until She'D Got 'Bout Four Miles From Camp, 
   And Then Struck A Lope, Keeping It Up All Night.  By Next Morning 
   She'D Made Some Forty Miles, And Then For The First Time Since She'D 
   Left Her Lodge, Pulled up And Looked back, To See If Any Of The Ingins 
   Was Following Her.  When She Seen There Wasn'T A Living Thing In sight, 
   She Got Off Her Pony, Watered him Out Of A Small Branch, Took A Drink 
   Herself, But Not Daring To Rest Yet, Mounted her Animal Again And 
   Rid On As Fast As She Could Without Wearing Him Out Too Quickly. 
     
     
     
   "Hour After Hour She Rid On, The Pony Appearing To Have Miraculous 
   Endurance, Until Sundown.  By That Time She'D Crossed the Saline, 
   The Smoky Hill, And Got To The Top Of The Divide Between That River 
   And The Arkansas, Or Not More Than Forty Miles From The Santa Fe Trail. 
   Then Her Wonderful Animal Seemed to Weaken; She Couldn'T Even Make 
   Him Trot, And She Was So Nearly Played out Herself, She Could Hardly 
   Set Steady.  What To Do, She Didn'T Know.  The Pony Was Barely Able 
   To Move At A Slow Walk.  She Was Afraid He Would Drop Dead Under Her, 
   And She Was Compelled to Dismount, And In almost A Minute, As Soon 
   As She Laid Down On The Prairie, Was Fast Asleep. 
     
     
     
   "She Had No Idee How Long She Had Slept When She Woke Up.  The Sun Was 
   Only 'Bout Two Hours High.  Then She Know'D She Had Been Unconscious 
   Since Sundown Of The Day Before, Or Nigh Twenty-Four Hours.  Rubbing 
   Her Eyes, For She Was Kind O' Bewildered, And Looking around, There 
   She Saw Her Pony As Fresh, Seemingly, As When She'D Started. 
   He'D Had Plenty To Eat, For The Grass Was Good, But She'D Had Nothing. 
   She Pulled a Little Piece Of Dried buffalo-Meat Out Of Her Bosom, 
   Which She'D Brought Along, All She Could Find At The Lodge, And Now 
   Nibbled at That, For She Was Mighty Hungry.  She Was Terribly Sore 
   And Stiff Too, But She Mounted at Once And Pushed on, Loping and 
   Walking Him By Spells.  Just At Daylight She Could Make Out The 
   Arkansas Right In front Of Her In the Dim Gray Of The Early Morning, 
   Not Very Far Off.  On The West, The Raton Mountains Loomed up Like 
   A Great Pile Of Blue Clouds, The Sight Of Which Cheered her; For She 
   Know'D She Would Soon Reach The Trail. 
     
     
     
   "It Wasn'T Quite Noon When She Struck The Santa Fe Trail.  When She 
   Got There, Looking To The East, She Saw In the Distance, Not More 
   Than Three Miles Away, A Large Caravan Coming, And Then, Almost Wild 
   With Delight, She Dismounted, Sot Down On The Grass, And Waited for 
   It To Arrive.  In less Than An Hour, The Train Come Up To Where She 
   Was, And As Good Luck Would Have It, It Happened to Be An American 
   Outfit, Going To Taos With Merchandise.  As Soon As The Master Of 
   The Caravan Seen Her Setting On The Prairie, He Rid Up Ahead Of The 
   Wagons, And She Told Him Her Story.  He Was A Kind-Hearted man; 
   Had The Train Stop Right There On The Bank Of The River, Though He 
   Wasn'T Half Through His Day'S Drive, So As To Make Her Comfortable 
   As Possible, And Give Her Something To Eat; For She Was 'Bout 
   Played out.  He Bought The Ingin Pony, Giving Her Thirty Dollars 
   For It, And After She Had Rested for Some Time, The Caravan Moved out. 
   She Rid In one Of The Wagons, On A Bed of Blankets, And The Next 
   Evening arrived at Bent'S Old Fort.  There She Found Women-Folks, 
   Who Cared for Her And Nussed her; For She Was Dreadfully Sore And 
   Tired after Her Long Ride.  Then She Was Hired to Cook, Meaning To 
   Work Until She'D Earned enough To Take Her Back To Pennsylvany, 
   To Her Mother'S, Where She Had Started for When The Ingins Attackted 
   The Train. 
     
     
     
   "That Night, After Listening To Her Mirac'Lous Escape, We Made Up 
   A 'Pot' For Her, Collecting 'Bout Eight Hundred dollars.  The Master 
   Of Colonel St. Vrain'S Caravan, What Had Come Out With Us, Told Her 
   He Was Going Back Again To The River In a Couple Of Weeks, And He'D 
   Take Her And Paul In without Costing Her A Cent; Besides, She'D Be 
   Safer Than With Any Other Outfit, As His Train Was A Big One, And 
   He Had All American Teamsters. 
     
     
     
   "Next Morning The Caravan Went On To Mora, And After We'D Bid Good-By 
   To Mrs. Dale And Paul, Before Which I Give The Boy Two Hundred dollars 
   For Himself, Me, Thorpe, And Curtis Pulled out With Our Team North 
   For Frenchman'S Creek, And I Never Felt So Miserable Before Nor Since 
   As I Did Parting With The Kid That Morning.  I Hain'T Never Seen Him 
   Since; But He Must Be Nigh Forty Now.  Mebby He Went Into The War And 
   Was Killed; Mebby He Got To Be A General, But I Hain'T Forgot Him." 
     
     
     
   Uncle John Knocked the Ashes Out Of His Pipe, And Without Saying 
   Another Word Went Into The Tent.  In a Few Moments The Camp Was As 
   Quiet As A Country Village On Sunday, Excepting The Occasional Howling 
   Of A Hungry Wolf Down In the Timbered recesses Of The Washita, Or The 
   Crackling and Sputtering Of The Signal Fires On The Hilltops. 
     
     
     
   In A Few Days Afterward, We Were Camping On Hackberry Creek, In the 
   Indian Territory.  We Had Been Living On Wild Turkey, As Before For 
   Some Time, And Still Longed for A Change.  At Last One Of My Hunters 
   Succeeded in bagging a Dozen Or More Quails.  Late That Evening, 
   When My Cook Brought The Delicious Little Birds, Beautifully Spitted 
   And Broiled on Peeled willow Twigs, Into My Tent, I Passed one To 
   Uncle John.  Much To The Surprise Of Every One, He Refused.  He Said, 
   "Boys, I Don'T Eat No Quail!" 
     
     
     
   We Looked at Him In astonishment; For He Was Somewhat Of A Gourmand, 
   And Prided himself Upon The "Faculty," As He Termed it, Of Being able 
   To Eat Anything, From A Piece Of Jerked buffalo-Hide To The Juiciest 
   Young Antelope Steak. 
     
     
     
   I Remonstrated with The Venerable Guide; Said To Him, "You Are Making 
   A Terrible Mistake, Uncle John.  Tomorrow I Expect To Leave Here, And 
   As We Are Going Directly Away From The Buffalo Country, We Don'T Know 
   When We Shall Strike Fresh Meat Again.  You'D Better Try One," And 
   I Again Proffered one Of The Birds. 
     
     
     
   "Boys," Said He Again, "I Don'T Tech Quail; I Hain'T Eat One For 
   More Than Twenty Years.  One Of The Little Cusses Saved my Life Once, 
   And I Swore Right Thar And Then That I Would Starve First; And I Have 
   Kept My Oath, Though I'Ve Seen The Time Mighty Often Sence I Could 
   A Killed 'Em With My Quirt, When All I Had To Chaw On For Four Days 
   Was The Soles Of A Greasy Pair Of Old Moccasins. 
     
     
     
   "Well, Boys, It'S A Good Many Years Ago--In June, If I Don'T Disremember, 
   1847.  We Was A Coming In from Way Up In cache Le Poudre And From 
   Yellowstone Lake, Whar We'D Been A Trapping For Two Seasons.  We Was 
   A Working Our Way Slowly Back To Independence, Missouri, Where We Was 
   A Going To Get A New Outfit.  Let'S See, There Was Me, And A Man By 
   The Name Of Boyd, And Lew Thorp--Lew Was A Working For Colonel Boone 
   At The Time--And Two More Men, Whose Names I Disremember Now, And A 
   Nigger Wench We Had For A Cook.  We Had Mighty Good Luck, And Had 
   A Big Pile Of Skins; And The Indians Never Troubled us Till We Got 
   Down On Pawnee Bottom, This Side Of Pawnee Rock.  We All Of Us Had 
   Mighty Good Ponies, But Thorp Had A Team And Wagon, Which He Was 
   Driving For Colonel Boone. 
     
     
     
   "We Had Went Into Camp On Pawnee Bottom Airly In the Afternoon, And 
   I Told The Boys To Look Out For Ingins--For I Knowed ef We Was To Have 
   Any Trouble With Them It Would Be Somewhere In that Vicinity.  But We 
   Didn'T See A Darned redskin That Night, Nor The Sign Of One. 
     
     
     
   "The Wolves Howled considerable, And Come Pretty Close To The Fire 
   For The Bacon Rinds We'D Throwed away After Supper. 
     
     
     
   "You See The Buffalo Was Scurse Right Thar Then--It Was The Wrong 
   Time O' Year.  They Generally Don'T Get Down On To The Arkansas 
   Till About September, And When They'Re Scurse The Wolves And Coyotes 
   Are Mighty Sassy, And Will Steal A Piece Of Bacon Rind Right Out Of 
   The Pan, If You Don'T Watch 'Em.  So We Picketed our Ponies A Little 
   Closer Before We Turned in, And We All Went To Sleep Except One, 
   Who Sort O' Kept Watch On The Stock. 
     
     
     
   "I Was Out O' My Blankets Mighty Airly Next Morning, For I Was Kind 
   O' Suspicious.  I Could Always Tell When Ingins Was Prowling around, 
   And I Had A Sort Of Present'Ment Something Was Going To Happen 
   --I Didn'T Like The Way The Coyotes Kept Yelling--So I Rested kind O' 
   Oneasy Like, And Was Out Among The Ponies By The First Streak O' 
   Daylight. 
     
     
     
   "About The Time I Could See Things, I Discovered three Or Four 
   Buffalo Grazing Off On The Creek Bottom, About A Half-Mile Away, 
   And I Started for My Rifle, Thinking I Would Examine Her. 
     
     
     
   "Pretty Soon I Seed thorp And Boyd Crawl Out O' Their Blankets, Too, 
   And I Called their Attention To The Buffalo, Which Was Still Feeding 
   Undisturbed. 
     
     
     
   "We'D Been Kind O' Scurse Of Fresh Meat For A Couple Of Weeks--Ever 
   Since We Left The Platte--Except A Jack-Rabbit Or Cottontail, And I 
   Knowed the Boys Would Be Wanting To Get A Quarter Or Two Of A Good 
   Fat Cow, If We Could Find One In the Herd, So That Was The Reason 
   I Pointed 'Em Out To 'Em. 
     
     
     
   "The Dew, You See, Was Mighty Heavy, And The Grass In the Bottom 
   Was As Wet As If It Had Been Raining For A Month, And I Didn'T Care 
   To Go Down Whar The Buffalo Was Just Then--I Knowed we Had Plenty 
   Of Time, And As Soon As The Sun Was Up It Would Dry Right Off.  So I 
   Got On To One Of The Ponies And Led the Others Down To The Spring 
   Near Camp To Water Them While The Wench Was A Getting Breakfast, And 
   Some O' The Rest O' The Outfit Was A Fixing The Saddles And Greasing 
   The Wagon. 
     
     
     
   "Just As I Was Coming Back--It Had Growed quite Light Then--I Seed boyd 
   And Thorp Start Out From Camp With Their Rifles And Make For The 
   Buffalo; So I Picketed the Ponies, Gets My Rifle, And Starts Off Too. 
     
     
     
   "By The Time I'D Reached the Edge Of The Bottom, Thorp And Boyd Was 
   A Crawling Up On To A Young Bull Way Off To The Right, And I Lit Out 
   For A Fat Cow I Seen Bunched up With The Rest Of The Herd On The Left. 
     
     
     
   "The Grass Was Mighty Tall On Some Parts Of The Arkansas Bottom In them 
   Days, And I Got Within Easy Shooting Range Without The Herd Seeing Me. 
     
     
     
   "The Buffalo Was Now Between Me And Thorp And Boyd, And They Was 
   Furtherest From Camp.  I Could See Them Over The Top Of The Grass 
   Kind O' Edging Up To The Bull, And I Kept A Crawling On My Hands And 
   Knees Toward The Cow, And When I Got About A Hundred and Fifty Yards 
   Of Her, I Pulled up My Rifle And Drawed a Bead. 
     
     
     
   "Just As I Was Running My Eyes Along The Bar'L, A Darned little Quail 
   Flew Right Out From Under My Feet And Lit Exactly On My Front Sight 
   And Of Course Cut Off My Aim--We Didn'T Shoot Reckless In those Days; 
   Every Shot Had To Tell, Or A Man Was The Laughing-Stock For A Month 
   If He Missed his Game. 
     
     
     
   "I Shook The Little Critter Off And Brought Up My Rifle Again When, 
   Durn My Skin, If The Bird Didn'T Light Right On To The Same Place; 
   At The Same Time My Eyes Grow'D Kind O' Hazy-Like And In a Minute 
   I Didn'T Know Nothing. 
     
     
     
   "When I Come To, The Quail Was Gone, I Heerd A Couple Of Rifle Shots, 
   And Right In front Of Where The Bull Had Stood And Close To Thorp And 
   Boyd, Half A Dozen Ingins Jumped up Out O' The Tall Grass And, Firing 
   Into The Two Men, Killed thorp Instantly And Wounded boyd. 
     
     
     
   "He And Me Got To Camp--Keeping Off The Ingins, Who Knowed i Was Loaded-- 
   When We, With The Rest Of The Outfit, Drove The Red devils Away. 
     
     
     
   "They Was Apaches, And The Fellow That Shot Thorp Was A Half-Breed 
   Nigger And Apache.  He Scalped thorp And Carred off The Whole Upper 
   Part Of His Skull With It.  He Got Thorp'S Rifle And Bullet-Pouch Too, 
   And His Knife. 
     
     
     
   "We Buried thorp In the Bottom There, And Some Of The Party Cut Their 
   Names On The Stones That They Covered his Body Up With, To Keep The 
   Coyotes From Eating Up His Bones. 
     
     
     
   "Boyd Got On To The River With Us All Right, And I Never Heerd Of Him 
   After We Separated at Booneville.  We Pulled out Soon After The 
   Indians Left, But We Didn'T Get No Buffalo-Meat. 
     
     
     
   "You See, Boys, If I'D A Fired into That Cow, The Devils Would A 
   Had Me Before I Could A Got A Patch On My Ball--Didn'T Have No 
   Breech-Loaders In them Days, And It Took As Much Judgment To Know 
   How To Load A Rifle Properly As It Did To Shoot It. 
     
     
     
   "Them Ingins Knowed all That--They Knowed i Hadn'T Fired, So They 
   Kept A Respectable Distance.  I Would A Fired, But The Quail Saved 
   My Life By Interfering With My Sight--And That'S The Reason I Don'T 
   Eat No Quail.  I Hain'T Superstitious, But I Don'T Believe They Was 
   Meant To Be Eat." 
     
     
     
   Uncle John Stuck To His Text, I Believe, Until He Died, And You 
   Could Never Disabuse His Mind Of The Idea That The Quail Lighting 
   On His Rifle Was Not A Special Interposition Of Providence. 
     
     
     
   Only Four Years After He Told His Story, In 1872, One Of The Newly 
   Established settlers, Living a Few Miles West Of Larned on Pawnee 
   Bottom, Having Observed in one Of His Fields A Singular Depression, 
   Resembling an Old Grave, Determined to Dig Down And See If There Was 
   Any Special Cause For The Strange Indentation On His Land. 
     
     
     
   A Couple Of Feet Below The Surface He Discovered several Flat Pieces 
   Of Stone, On One Of Which The Words "Washington" And "J. Hildreth" 
   Were Rudely Cut, Also A Line Separating Them, And Underneath: 
   "December Tenth" And "J. M., 1850."  On Another Was Carved the Name 
   "J. H. Shell," With Other Characters That Could Not Be Deciphered. 
   On A Third Stone Were The Initials "H. R., 1847"; Underneath Which 
   Was Plainly Cut "J. R. Boyd," And Still Beneath "J. R. Pring." 
   At The Very Bottom Of The Excavation Were Found The Lower Portion 
   Of The Skull, One Or Two Ribs, And One Of The Bones Of The Leg Of 
   A Human Being.  The Piece Of Skull Was Found Near The Centre Of The 
   Grave, For Such It Certainly Was. 
     
     
     
   At The Time Of The Discovery I Was In larned, And I Immediately 
   Consulted my Book Of Notes And Memoranda Taken Hurriedly At Intervals 
   On The Plains And In the Mountains, During More Than Half My Lifetime, 
   To See If I Could Find Anything That Would Solve The Mystery Attached 
   To The Quiet Prairie-Grave And Its Contents, And I Then Recalled 
   Uncle John Smith'S Story Of The Quail As Related to Me At My Camp. 
   I Also Met Colonel A. G. Boone That Winter In washington; He Remembered 
   The Circumstances Well.  Thorp Was Working For Him, As Smith Had 
   Said, And Was Killed by An Apache, Who, In scalping Him, Tore The 
   Half Of His Head Away, And It Was Thus Found Mutilated, So 
   Many Years Afterward. 
     
     
     
   Uncle John Was In one Of His Garrulous Moods That Night, And As We 
   Were Not By Any Means Tired of Hearing The Veteran Trapper Talk, 
   Without Much Urging He Told Us The Following Tale:-- 
     
     
     
   "Well, Boys, Thirty Years Ago, Beaver, Mink, And Otter Was Found In 
   Abundacious Quantities On All The Streams In the Rocky Mountains. 
   The Trade In them Furs Was A Paying Business, For The Little Army 
   Of Us Fellows Called trappers.  They Ain'T Any Of 'Em Left Now, 
   No Mor'N The Animals We Used to Hunt.  We Had To Move About From 
   Place To Place, Just As If We Was So Many Ingins.  Sometimes We'D 
   Construct Little Cabins In the Timber, Or A Dugout Where The Game 
   Was Plenty, Where We'D Stay Maybe For A Month Or Two, And Once In 
   A While--Though Not Often--A Whole Year. 
     
     
     
   "The Ingins Was Our Mortal Enemies; They'D Get A Scalp From Our 
   Fellows Occasionally, But For Every One They Had Of Ours We Had 
   A Dozen Of Theirs. 
     
     
     
   "In The Summer Of 1846, There Was A Little Half Dugout, Half Cabin, 
   Opposite The Mouth Of Frenchman'S Creek, Put Up By Bill Thorpe, 
   Al Boyd, And Rube Stevens.  Bill And Al Was Men Grown, And Know'D 
   More 'Bout The Prairies And Timber Than The Ingins Themselves. 
   They'D Hired out To The Northwest Fur Company When They Was Mere Kids, 
   And Kept On Trapping Ever Since.  Rube--'Little Rube' As All The 
   Old Men Called him--Was 'Bout Nineteen, And Plumb Dumb; He Could Hear 
   Well Enough Though, For He Wasn'T Born That Way.  When He Was Seventeen 
   His Father Moved from His Farm In pennsylvany, To Take Up A Claim 
   In Oregon, And The Whole Family Was Compelled to Cross The Plains 
   To Get There; For There Wasn'T No Other Way.  While They Was Camped 
   In The Bitter-Root Valley One Evening, Just 'Bout Sundown, A Party 
   Of Blackfeet Surprised the Outfit, And Massacred all Of Them But Rube. 
   They Carried him Off, Kept Him As A Slave, And, To Make Sure Of Him, 
   Cut Out His Tongue At The Roots.  But Some Of The Women Who Wasn'T 
   Quite So Devilish As Their Husbands, And Who Took Pity On Him, Went 
   To Work And Cured him Of His Awful Wound.  He Was Used mighty Mean 
   By The Bucks Of The Tribe, And Made Up His Mind To Get Away From Them 
   Or Kill Himself; For He Could Not Live Under Their Harsh Treatment. 
   After He'D Been With Them For Mor'N A Year, The Tribe Had A Terrible 
   Battle With The Sioux, And In the Scrimmage Rube Stole A Pony And 
   Lit Out.  He Rode On Night And Day Until He Came Across The Cabin 
   Of The Two Trappers I Have Told You 'Bout, And They, Of Course, 
   Took The Poor Boy In and Cared for Him. 
     
     
     
   "Rube Was A Splendid Shot With The Rifle, And He Swore To Himself 
   That He Would Never Leave The Prairies And Do Nothing For The Rest 
   Of His Life But Kill Ingins, Who Had Made Him A Homeless Orphan, 
   And So Mutilated him. 
     
     
     
   "After Rube Had Been With Boyd And Thorpe A Year, They Was All One 
   Day In the Winter Examining Their Traps Which Was Scattered 'Long 
   The Stream For Miles.  After Re-Baiting Them, They Concluded to Hunt 
   For Meat, Which Was Getting Scarce At The Cabin; They Let Rube Go 
   Down To The Creek Where It Widened out Lake-Like, To Fish Through 
   A Hole In the Ice, And Al And Bill Took Their Rifles And Hunted in 
   The Timber For Deer.  They All Got Separated of Course, Rube Being 
   Furtherest Away, While Al And Bill Did Not Wander So Far From Each 
   Other That They Could Not Be Heard If One Wanted his Companion. 
     
     
     
   "Al Shot A Fat Black-Tail Deer, And Just As He Was Going To Stoop 
   Down To Cut Its Throat, Bill Yelled out To Him:-- 
     
     
     
   "'Drop Everything al, For God'S Sake, And Let'S Make For The Dugout; 
   They'Re Coming, A Whole Band Of Sioux!' 
     
     
     
   "'If We Can Get To The Cabin,' Replied al, 'We Can Keep Off The Whole 
   Nation.  I Wonder Where Rube Is?  I Hope He'Ll Get Here And Save 
   His Scalp.' 
     
     
     
   "At This Instant, Poor Rube Dashed up To Them, An Ingin Close Upon 
   His Tracks; He Had Unfortunately Forgotten To Take His Rifle With 
   Him When He Went To The Creek, And Now He Was At The Mercy Of The 
   Savage; At Least Both He And His Pursuer So Thought.  But Before 
   The Ingin Had Fairly Uttered his Yell Of Exultation, Al Who With 
   Bill Had Held His Rifle In readiness For An Emergency, Lifted the 
   Red devil Off His Feet, And He Fell Dead Without Ever Knowing What 
   Had Struck Him. 
     
     
     
   "Rube, Thus Delivered from A Sudden Death, Ran At The Top Of His 
   Speed with His Two Friends For The Cabin, For, If They Could Reach It, 
   They Did Not Fear A Hundred paint-Bedaubed savages. 
     
     
     
   "Luckily They Arrived in time.  Where They Lived was Part Dugout And 
   Part Cabin.  It Was About Ten Feet High, And Right Back Of It Was 
   A Big Ledge Of Rock, Which Made It Impossible For Any One To Get 
   Into It From That Side.  The Place Had No Door; They Did Not Dare 
   To Put One There When It Was Built, For They Were Likely To Be 
   Surprised at Any Moment By A Prowling Band, So The Only Entrance Was 
   A Square Hole In the Roof, Through Which One At A Time Had To Crawl 
   To Enter. 
     
     
     
   "The Boys Got Inside All Right Just As The Ingins Came A Yelling Up. 
   Bill Looked out Of A Hole In the Wall And Counted thirty Of The 
   Devils, And Said At Once: 'Off With Your Coats; Don'T Let Them Have 
   Anything To Catch Hold Of But Our Naked bodies If They Get In, And 
   We Can Handle Ourselves Better.' 
     
     
     
   "'Thirty To Three,' Said Al.  'Whew! This Ain'T Going To Be Any 
   Boy'S Play; We'Ve Got To Fight For All There Is In it, And The 
   Chances Are Mightily Agin Us.' 
     
     
     
   "Rube He Took An Axe, And Stood Right Under The Hole In the Roof, 
   So That If Any Of The Devils Got In he Could Brain Them.  In a Minute 
   Five Rifles Cracked; For The Ingins Was Pretty Well Armed for Them 
   Times, And Their Bullets Rattled agin The Logs Like Hail Agin A Tent. 
   Some Of 'Em Was On Top The Roof By This Time, And Soon The Leader Of 
   The Party, A Big Painted devil, Thrust His Ugly Face Into The Hole; 
   But He Had Hardly Got A Good Look Before Bill Dropped him By A 
   Well-Directed shot And He Tumbled in on The Floor. 
     
     
     
   "'You Darned fool,' Said Bill, As He Saw The Effect Of His Shot; 
   'Did You Think We Was Asleep?' 
     
     
     
   "There Was One Opening That Served for Air, And A Savage, Seeing 
   The Boys Had Forgotten To Barricade It, Tried to Push Himself 
   Through, An' Not Succeeding, Tried to Back Out, But At That Instant 
   Bill Caught Him By The Wrist--Bill Was A Powerful Man--And Picking Up 
   A Beaver-Trap That Laid On The Floor, Actually Beat His Brains 
   Out With It. 
     
     
     
   "While This Circus Was Going On Inside, Three More Of The Ingins Got 
   On The Roof And Wrenched off A Couple Of The Logs That Covered it; 
   But In a Minute They Came Tumbling Down And Lay Dead On The Floor. 
     
     
     
   "'That Leaves Only Twenty-Five, Don'T It?' Inquired al, As He Mopped 
   His Face With His Shirt-Sleeve. 
     
     
     
   "'Howl, You Red devils,' Said Bill, As The Ingins Commenced their 
   Awful Yelling When They Saw Their Comrades Fall Into The Room. 
   'Don'T You Know, You Blame Fools, You'Ve Fell In with Experienced 
   Hands At The Shooting Business?' 
     
     
     
   "Spat!  Something Hit Al, And He Was The First Wounded, But It Was 
   Only A Scratch, And He Kept Right On Attending To Business. 
     
     
     
   "'By Gosh! Look At Rube, Will You?' Said Al.  The Dumb Boy Had In 
   His Grasp The Very Chief Of The Band, Who Had Just Then Discovered 
   The Hole In the Roof Made By The Three Ingins Who Had Passed in 
   Their Checks For Their Impudence, And Was Trying His Best To Push 
   Himself Down.  Rube Had Made A Strike At Him With An Axe, But The 
   Edge Was Turned aside, And The Savage Was Getting The Better Of 
   The Boy; He Had Grappled rube By The Hair And One Arm, And They Was 
   Flying 'Round Like A Wild Cat And A Hound.  Bill Tried three Times 
   To Sink His Knife Into The Old Chief, But There Was Such A Cavortin' 
   In The Wrastle Between Him And The Boy, He Was Afraid To Try Any More, 
   For Fear It Might Hit Rube Instead.  Suddenly The Ingin Fell To The 
   Floor As Dead As A Trapped beaver What'S Been Drowned; Rube Had 
   Struck His Buckhorn-Handled hunting-Knife Right Into The Heart Of 
   The Brute. 
     
     
     
   "'Set Him Agin The Hole In the Side Of The Building,' Said Bill; 
   'He Ain'T Fit For Nothing Else Than To Stop A Gap'; So Rube Set Him 
   Agin The Hole, And Pinned him There With Half A Dozen Knives What 
   Was Lying Round Loose. 
     
     
     
   "Just As They Had Fastened the Dead Body Of The Old Chief To The 
   Side Of The Cabin, A Perfect Shower Of Bullets Came Rattling Round 
   Like A Hailstorm.  'All Right, Let'S Have Your Waste Lead,' Said Bill. 
     
     
     
   "'A Few More Of These Dead Ingins And We Can Make A Regular Fort Of 
   This Old Cabin; We Want Two For That Chunk,' Said Al, As He Pointed 
   With His Rifle To A Large Gap On The West Side Of The Wall; But 
   Before He Had Fairly Got The Words Out Of His Mouth, Two Of The 
   Attacking Party Jumped down Into The Room.  Al, Being a Regular Giant, 
   As Soon As They Landed, Surprised them By Seizing One With Each Hand 
   By The Throat, And He Actually Held Them At Arm'S-Length Till He Had 
   Squeezed the Very Life Out Of Them, And They Both Fell Corpses. 
     
     
     
   "While Al Was Performing His Two-Ingin Act, A Great Light Burst Into 
   The Cabin, And By The Time He Had Choked his Enemies To Death, He Saw, 
   While The Ingins Outside Gave A Terrible Yell Of Exultation, That 
   They Had Fired the Place. 
     
     
     
   "'Damn 'Em,' Shouted bill, As He Pitched the Corpse Of The Chief 
   From The Gap Where Rube Had Set Him.  'Fellows, We'Ve Got To Get 
   Out Of Here Right Quick; Follow Me, Boys!' 
     
     
     
   "Holding Their Rifles In hand, And Clutching a Hunting-Knife Also, 
   They Stepped out Into The Brush Surrounding The Place, And Started 
   On A Run For The Heavy Timber On The Bank Of The Creek. 
     
     
     
   "They Had Reckoned onluckily; A Wild War-Whoop Greeted the Flying Men 
   As They Reached the Edge Of The Forest, And Without Being able To Use 
   Their Arms, They Were Taken Prisoners.  Bill And Al, Fastened with 
   Their Backs Against Each Other, And Little Rube By Himself, Were 
   Bound To Separate Trees, But Not So Far Apart That They Could Not 
   Speak To Each Other, And Some Of The Ingins Began To Gather Sticks 
   And Pile Them Around The Trees. 
     
     
     
   "'What Are They Going To Do With Us?' Anxiously Inquired bill Of Al. 
     
     
     
   "'Roast Us, You Bet,' Replied the Other.  'They'Ll Find Me Tough 
   Enough, Anyhow.' 
     
     
     
   "'It Must Be A Painful Death,' Soliloquized bill. 
     
     
     
   "'Well, It Isn'T The Most Pleasant One, You Can Gamble On That,' 
   Said Al, Turning His Looks Toward Bill; 'But See What The Devils 
   Are Doing To Poor Rube.' 
     
     
     
   "Bill Cast His Eyes In the Direction Of The Dumb Boy, Who Was Fastened 
   To A Small Pine, About A Hundred feet Distant.  Standing Directly 
   In Front Of It Was A Gigantic Ingin, Flourishing His Scalping-Knife 
   Within An Inch Of Rube'S Head, Trying To Make The Boy Flinch. 
   But The Young Fellow Merely Scowled at Him In a Rage, His Muscles 
   Never Quivering For An Instant. 
     
     
     
   "While The Men Were Trying To Console Each Other, Two Of The Savages, 
   Who Had Gone Away For A Short Time, Returned, Bearing The Carcass 
   Of The Deer That Al Had Killed in the Morning, And Commenced to Cut 
   It Up.  They Had Made Several Small Fires, And Roasting The Meat 
   Before Them, Began To Gorge Themselves, Indian Fashion, With The 
   Savoury Morsels.  The Men Were Awfully Hungry, Too, But Not A Mouthful 
   Did They Get Of Their Own Game. 
     
     
     
   "The Ingins Were More'N An Hour Feasting, While Their Prisoners Kept 
   A Looking For Some Help To Get 'Em Out Of The Scrape They Was In. 
     
     
     
   "'Bout A Mile Down The Creek, Me And Six Other Trappers Had A Camp, 
   And That Morning, Being Scarce Of Meat, We All Went A Hunting. 
   We Had Killed two Or Three Elk And Was 'Bout Going Back To Camp With 
   Our Game, When We Heard Firing, And Supposed it Was A Party Of Hunters, 
   Like Ourselves, So We Did Not Pay Any Attention To It At First; But 
   When It Kept Up So Long, And There Was Such A Constant Volley, I Told 
   Our Boys It Might Be A Scrimmage With A Party Of Red devils, And We 
   Concluded to Go And See. 
     
     
     
   "We Left Our Elk Where They Were, And Started in the Direction Of 
   The Shooting, Taking Mighty Good Care Not To Be Surprised ourselves. 
   We Crept Carefully On, And A Little Before Sundown Seen A Camp-Fire 
   Burning In the Timber Quite A Smart Piece Ahead Of Us.  We Stopped 
   Then, And Ike Pettet And Myself Crept On Cautiously On Our Hands And 
   Knees Through The Brush To Learn What The Fire Meant.  In a Little 
   While We Seen It Was An Ingin Camp, And We Counted twenty-Two 
   Warriors Seated 'Round Their Fires A Eating as Unconcernedly As If 
   We Warn'T Nowhere Near 'Em.  We Didn'T Feel Like Tackling So Many, 
   So Just As We Was 'Bout To Crawl Away And Leave 'Em In ondisturbed 
   Possession Of Their Camp, We Heard Some Parties Talking In english. 
   Then We Pricked up Our Ears And Listened mighty Interested i Tell You. 
   Looking 'Round, We Seen The Men Tied to The Trees And The Wood Piled 
   Against 'Em, And Then We Knowed what Was Up.  We Had To Be Mighty 
   Wary, For If We Snapped a Twig Even, It Was All Day With Us And 
   The Prisoners Too; So We Dragged ourselves Back, And After Getting 
   Out Of Sound Of The Ingins, We Just Got Up And Lit Out Mighty Lively 
   For The Place We'D Left Our Companions.  We Met Them Coming Slowly 
   On 'Bout Two Miles From The Ingin Camp, And Telling 'Em What Was Up 
   We Started to Help The Trappers What The Devils Was Agoing To Burn. 
   We Wasn'T Half So Long In getting at The Camp As Ike And Me Was 
   In Going, And We Soon Come Within Good Range For Our Rifles. 
     
     
     
   "The Ingins Was Still Unsuspicious, And We Spread Ourselves In a 
   Sort Of Half Circle So As To Kind O' Surround Them, And At A Signal 
   I Give, Seven Rifles Cracked at Once, And As Many Of The Injins Was 
   Dropped right In their Tracks; A Second Volley, For The Red devils 
   Had Not Got Their Senses Yet, Tumbled seven More Corpses Upon The 
   Pile, And Then We White Men Jumped in with Our Knives And Clubbed 
   Rifles, And There Was A Lively Scrimmage For A Few Minutes.  The Few 
   Ingins What Wasn'T Killed fought Like Devils, But As We Was Getting 
   The Best Of 'Em Every Second They Turned tail And Ran. 
     
     
     
   "We'D Heard The Firing Of The Fight At The Cabin Just In time; And 
   As We Cut The Rawhide Strings That Bound The Fellows To The Trees, 
   Ike, Who Was A Right Fine Shot And Had Killed three At One Time, 
   Said: 'I Always Like To Get Two Or Three Of The Red devils In a Line 
   Before I Pull The Trigger; It Saves Lead.' 
     
     
     
   "Then We All Went Back To Our Camp And Made A Night Of It, Feasting 
   On The Elk We Had Killed, And Talking Over The Wonderful Escape Of 
   The Boys And Little Rube." 
   
   
   
   Chapter XVI (Kit Carson) 
   Of The Famous Men Whose Lives Are So Interwoven With The History 
   Of The Old Santa Fe Trail That The Story Of The Great Highway Is 
   Largely Made Up Of Their Individual Exploits And Acts Of Bravery, 
   It Has Been My Fortune To Have Known Nearly All Intimately, During 
   More Than A Third Of A Century Passed on The Great Plains And In 
   The Rocky Mountains. 
     
     
     
   First Of All, Christopher, Or Kit, Carson, As He Is Familiarly Known 
   To The World, Stands At The Head And Front Of Celebrated frontiersmen, 
   Trappers, Scouts, Guides, And Indian Fighters. 
     
     
     
   I Knew Him Well Through A Series Of Years, To The Date Of His Death 
   In 1868, But I Shall Confine Myself To The Events Of His Remarkable 
   Career Along The Line Of The Trail And Its Immediate Environs. 
   In 1826 A Party Of Santa Fe Traders Passing Near His Father'S Home 
   In Howard County, Missouri, Young Kit, Who Was Then But Seventeen 
   Years Old, Joined the Caravan As Hunter.  He Was Already An Expert 
   With The Rifle, And Thus Commenced his Life Of Adventure On The 
   Great Plains And In the Rocky Mountains. 
     
     
     
   His First Exhibition Of That Nerve And Coolness In the Presence Of 
   Danger Which Marked his Whole Life Was In this Initial Trip Across 
   The Plains.  When The Caravan Had Arrived at The Arkansas River, 
   Somewhere In the Vicinity Of The Great Bend Of That Stream, One Of 
   The Teamsters, While Carelessly Pulling His Rifle Toward Him By The 
   Barrel, Discharged the Weapon And Received the Ball In his Arm, 
   Completely Crushing The Bones.  The Blood From The Wound Flowed so 
   Copiously That He Nearly Lost His Life Before It Could Be Arrested. 
   He Was Fixed up, However, And The Caravan Proceeded on Its Journey, 
   The Man Thinking No More Seriously Of His Injured arm.  In a Few Days, 
   However, The Wound Began To Indicate That Gangrene Had Set In, And 
   It Was Determined that Only By An Amputation Was It Possible For Him 
   To Live Beyond A Few Days.  Every One Of The Older Men Of The Caravan 
   Positively Declined to Attempt The Operation, As There Were No 
   Instruments Of Any Kind.  At This Juncture Kit, Realizing The Extreme 
   Necessity Of Prompt Action, Stepped forward And Offered to Do The Job. 
   He Told The Unfortunate Sufferer That He Had Had No Experience In 
   Such Matters, But That As No One Else Would Do It, He Would Take 
   The Chances.  All The Tools That Kit Could Find Were A Razor, A Saw, 
   And The King-Bolt Of A Wagon.  He Cut The Flesh With The Razor, 
   Sawed through The Bone As If It Had Been A Piece Of Joist, And Seared 
   The Horrible Wound With The King-Bolt, Which He Had Heated to A 
   White Glow, For The Purpose Of Stopping The Flow Of Blood That 
   Naturally Followed such Rude Surgery.  The Operation Was A Complete 
   Success; The Man Lived many Years Afterward, And Was With His Surgeon 
   In Many An Expedition. 
     
     
     
   In The Early Days Of The Commerce Of The Prairies, Carson Was The 
   Hunter At Bent'S Fort For A Period Of Eight Years.  There Were About 
   Forty Men Employed at The Place; And When The Game Was Found In 
   Abundance In the Mountains, It Was A Relatively Easy Task And Just 
   Suited to His Love Of Sport, But When It Grew Scarce, As It Often 
   Did, His Prowess Was Tasked to Its Utmost To Keep The Forty Mouths 
   From Crying For Food.  He Became Such An Unerring Shot With The 
   Rifle During That Time That He Was Called the "Nestor Of The Rocky 
   Mountains."  His Favourite Game Was The Buffalo, Although He Killed 
   Countless Numbers Of Other Animals. 
     
     
     
   All Of The Plains Tribes Of Indians, As Did The Powerful Utes Of 
   The Mountains, Knew Him Well; For He Had Often Visited in their 
   Camps, Sat In their Lodges, Smoked the Pipe, And Played with Their 
   Little Boys.  The Latter Fact May Not Appear Of Much Consequence, 
   But There Are No People On Earth Who Have A Greater Love For Their 
   Boy Children Than The Savages Of America.  The Indians All Feared 
   Him, Too, At The Same Time That They Respected his Excellent Judgment, 
   And Frequently Were Governed by His Wise Counsel.  The Following 
   Story Will Show His Power In this Direction.  The Sioux, One Of The 
   Most Numerous And Warlike Tribes At That Time, Had Encroached upon 
   The Hunting-Grounds Of The Southern Indians, And The Latter Had Many 
   A Skirmish With Them On The Banks Of The Arkansas Along The Line Of 
   The Trail.  Carson, Who Was In the Upper Valley Of The River, Was 
   Sent For To Come Down And Help Them Drive The Obnoxious Sioux Back 
   To Their Own Stamping-Ground.  He Left Fort Bent, And Went With The 
   Party Of Comanche Messengers To The Main Camp Of That Tribe And The 
   Arapahoes, With Whom They Had United.  Upon His Arrival, He Was Told 
   That The Sioux Had A Thousand Warriors And Many Rifles, And The 
   Comanches And Arapahoes Were Afraid Of Them On Account Of The Great 
   Disparity Of Numbers, But That If He Would Go With Them On The 
   War-Path, They Felt Assured they Could Overcome Their Enemies. 
   Carson, However, Instead Of Encouraging The Comanches And Arapahoes 
   To Fight, Induced them To Negotiate With The Sioux.  He Was Sent 
   As Mediator, And So Successfully Accomplished his Mission That The 
   Intruding Tribe Consented to Leave The Hunting-Grounds Of The 
   Comanches As Soon As The Buffalo Season Was Over; Which They Did, 
   And There Was No More Trouble. 
     
     
     
   After Many Adventures In california With Fremont, Carson, With His 
   Inseparable Friend, L. B. Maxwell, Embarked in the Wool-Raising 
   Industry.  Shortly After They Had Established themselves On Their 
   Ranch, The Apaches Made One Of Their Frequent Murdering and Plundering 
   Raids Through Northern New Mexico, Killing Defenceless Women And 
   Children, Running Off Stock Of All Kinds, And Laying Waste Every 
   Little Ranch They Came Across In their Wild Foray.  Not Very Far 
   From The City Of Santa Fe, They Ruthlessly Butchered a Mr. White 
   And His Son, Though Three Of Their Number Were Slain By The Brave 
   Gentlemen Before They Were Overpowered.  Other Of The Blood-Thirsty 
   Savages Carried away The Women And Children Of The Desolated home 
   And Took Them To Their Mountain Retreat In the Vicinity Of Las Vegas. 
   Mr. White Was A Highly Respected merchant, And News Of This Outrage 
   Spreading Rapidly Through The Settlements, It Was Determined that 
   The Savages Should Not Go Without Punishment This Time, At Least. 
   Carson'S Reputation As An Indian Fighter Was At Its Height, So The 
   Natives Of The Country Sent For Him, And Declined to Move Until 
   He Came.  For Some Unexplained reason, After He Arrived at Las Vegas, 
   He Was Not Placed in charge Of The Posse, That Position Having 
   Already Been Given To A Frenchman.  Carson, As Was Usual With Him, 
   Never Murmured because He Was Assigned to A Subordinate Position, 
   But Took His Place, Ready To Do His Part In whatever Capacity. 
     
     
     
   The Party Set Out For The Stronghold Of The Savages, And Rode Night 
   And Day On The Trail Of The Murderers, Hoping To Surprise Them And 
   Recapture The Women And Children; But So Much Time Had Been Wasted 
   In Delays, That Carson Feared they Would Only Find The Mutilated 
   Bodies Of The Poor Captives.  In a Few Days After Leaving Las Vegas, 
   The Retreat Of The Savages Was Discovered in the Fastness Of The 
   Mountains, Where They Had Fortified themselves In such A Manner That 
   They Could Resist Ten Times The Number Of Their Pursuers.  Carson, 
   As Soon As He Saw Them, Without A Second'S Hesitation, And Giving 
   A Characteristic Yell, Dashed in, Expecting, Of Course, That The Men 
   Would Follow Him; But They Only Stood In gaping Wonderment At His 
   Bravery, Not Daring To Venture After Him.  He Did Not Discover His 
   Dilemma Until He Had Advanced so Far Alone That Escape Seemed 
   Impossible.  But Here His Coolness, Which Always Served him In the 
   Moment Of Supreme Danger, Saved his Scalp.  As The Savages Turned 
   On Him, He Threw Himself On The Off Side Of His Horse, Indian Fashion, 
   For He Was As Expert In a Trick Of That Kind As The Savages Themselves, 
   And Rode Back To The Little Command.  He Had Six Arrows In his Horse 
   And A Bullet Through His Coat! 
     
     
     
   The Indians In those Days Were Poorly Armed, And Did Not Long 
   Follow Up The Pursuit After Carson; For, Observing The Squad Of 
   Mounted mexicans, They Retreated to The Top Of A Rocky Prominence, 
   From Which Point They Could Watch Every Movement Of The Whites. 
   Carson Was Raging at The Apathy, Not To Say Cowardice, Of The Men 
   Who Had Sent For Him To Join Them, But He Kept His Counsel To Himself; 
   For He Was Anxious To Save The Captured women And Children.  He Talked 
   To The Men Very Earnestly, However, Exhorting Them Not To Flinch 
   In The Duty They Had Come So Far To Perform, And For Which He Had 
   Come At Their Call.  This Had The Desired effect; For He Induced 
   Them To Make A Charge, Which Was Gallantly Performed, And In such 
   A Brave Manner That The Indians Fled, Scarcely Making an Effort To 
   Defend Themselves.  Five Of Their Number Were Killed at The Furious 
   Onset Of The Mexicans, But Unfortunately, As He Anticipated, Only 
   The Murdered corpses Of The Women And Children Were The Result Of 
   The Victory. 
     
     
     
   President Polk Appointed carson To A Second Lieutenancy,[48] And His 
   First Official Duty Was Conducting Fifty Soldiers Under His Command 
   Through The Country Of The Comanches, Who Were Then At War With The 
   Whites.  A Fight Occurred at A Place Known As Point Of Rocks,[49] 
   Where On Arriving, Carson Found A Company Of Volunteers For The 
   Mexican War, And Camped near Them.  About Dawn The Next Morning, 
   All The Animals Of The Volunteers Were Captured by A Band Of Indians, 
   While The Herders Were Conducting Them To The River-Bottom To Graze. 
   The Herders Had No Weapons, And Luckily, In the Confusion Attending 
   The Bold Theft, Ran Into Carson'S Camp; And As He, With His Men, 
   Were Ready With Their Rifles, They Recaptured the Oxen, But The 
   Horses Were Successfully Driven Off By Their Captors. 
     
     
     
   Several Of The Savages Were Mortally Wounded by Carson'S Prompt 
   Charge, As Signs After They Had Cleared out Proved; But The Indian 
   Custom Of Tying The Wounded on Their Ponies Precluded the Chance Of 
   Taking any Scalps.  The Wily Comanche, Like The Arab Of The Desert, 
   Is Generally Successful In his Sudden Assaults, But Carson, Who Was 
   Never Surprised, Was Always Equal To His Tactics. 
     
     
     
   One Of The Two Soldiers Whose Turn It Had Been To Stand Guard That 
   Morning Was Discovered to Have Been Asleep When The Alarm Of Indians 
   Was Given, And Carson At Once Administered the Indian Method Of 
   Punishment, Making The Man Wear The Dress Of A Squaw For That Day. 
   Then Going On, He Arrived at Santa Fe, Where He Turned over His 
   Little Command. 
     
     
     
   While There, He Heard That A Gang Of Those Desperadoes So Frequently 
   The Nuisance Of A New Country Had Formed a Conspiracy To Murder And 
   Rob Two Wealthy Citizens Whom They Had Volunteered to Accompany Over 
   The Trail To The States.  The Caravan Was Already Many Miles On Its 
   Way When Carson Was Informed of The Plot.  In less Than An Hour He 
   Had Hired sixteen Picked men And Was On His March To Intercept Them. 
   He Took A Short Cut Across The Mountains, Taking Especial Care To 
   Keep Out Of The Way Of The Indians, Who Were On The War-Path, But 
   As To Whose Movements He Was Always Posted.  In two Days He Came 
   Upon A Camp Of United states Recruits, En Route To The Military 
   Posts In new Mexico, Whose Commander Offered to Accompany Him With 
   Twenty Men.  Carson Accepted the Generous Proposal, By Forced marches 
   Soon Overtook The Caravan Of Traders, And At Once Placed one Fox, 
   The Leader Of The Gang, In irons, After Which He Informed the Owners 
   Of The Caravan Of The Escape They Had Made From The Wretches Whom 
   They Were Treating So Kindly.  At First The Gentlemen Were Astounded 
   At The Disclosures Made To Them, But Soon Admitted that They Had 
   Noticed many Things Which Convinced them That The Plot Really Existed, 
   And But For The Opportune Arrival Of The Brave Frontiersman It Would 
   Shortly Have Been Carried out. 
     
     
     
   The Members Of The Caravan Who Were Perfectly Trustworthy Were Then 
   Ordered to Corral The Rest Of The Conspirators, Thirty-Five In number, 
   And They Were Driven Out Of Camp, With The Exception Of Fox, The 
   Leader, Whom Carson Conveyed to Taos.  He Was Imprisoned for Several 
   Months, But As A Crime In intent Only Could Be Proved against Him, 
   And As The Adobe Walls Of The House Where He Was Confined were Not 
   Secure Enough To Retain A Man Who Desired to Release Himself, He Was 
   Finally Liberated, And Cleared out. 
     
     
     
   The Traders Were Profuse In their Thanks To Carson For His Timely 
   Interference, But He Refused every Offer Of Remuneration.  On Their 
   Return To Santa Fe From St. Louis, However, They Presented him With 
   A Magnificent Pair Of Pistols, Upon Whose Silver Mounting Was An 
   Inscription Commemorating His Brave Deed and The Gratitude Of The 
   Donors. 
     
     
     
   The Following Summer Was Spent In a Visit To St. Louis, And Early 
   In The Fall He Returned over The Trail, Arriving at The Cheyenne 
   Village On The Upper Arkansas Without Meeting With Any Incident 
   Worthy Of Note.  On Reaching That Point, He Learned that The Indians 
   Had Received a Terrible Affront From An Officer Commanding a Detachment 
   Of United states Troops, Who Had Whipped one Of Their Chiefs; And 
   That Consequently The Whole Tribe Was Enraged, And Burning For Revenge 
   Upon The Whites.  Carson Was The First White Man To Approach The 
   Place Since The Insult, And So Many Years Had Elapsed since He Was 
   The Hunter At Bent'S Fort, And So Grievously Had The Indians Been 
   Offended, That His Name No Longer Guaranteed safety To The Party 
   With Whom He Was Travelling, Nor Even Insured respect To Himself, 
   In The State Of Excitement Existing In the Village.  Carson, However, 
   Deliberately Pushed himself Into The Presence Of A War Council Which 
   Was Just Then In session To Consider The Question Of Attacking The 
   Caravan, Giving Orders To His Men To Keep Close Together, And Guard 
   Against A Surprise. 
     
     
     
   The Savages, Supposing That He Could Not Understand Their Language, 
   Talked without Restraint, And Unfolded their Plans To Capture His 
   Party And Kill Them All, Particularly The Leader.  After They Had 
   Reached this Decision, Carson Coolly Rose And Addressed the Council 
   In The Cheyenne Language, Informing The Indians Who He Was, Of His 
   Former Associations With And Kindness To Their Tribe, And That Now 
   He Was Ready To Render Them Any Assistance They Might Require; But 
   As To Their Taking His Scalp, He Claimed the Right To Say A Word. 
     
     
     
   The Indians Departed, And Carson Went On His Way; But There Were 
   Hundreds Of Savages In sight On The Sand Hills, And, Though They 
   Made No Attack, He Was Well Aware That He Was In their Power, Nor 
   Had They Abandoned the Idea Of Capturing His Train.  His Coolness 
   And Deliberation Kept His Men In spirit, And Yet Out Of The Whole 
   Fifteen, Which Was The Total Number Of His Force, There Were Only Two 
   Or Three On Whom He Could Place Any Reliance In case Of An Emergency. 
     
     
     
   When The Train Camped for The Night, The Wagons Were Corralled, And 
   The Men And Mules All Brought Inside The Circle.  Grass Was Cut With 
   Sheath-Knives And Fed to The Animals, Instead Of Their Being Picketed 
   Out As Usual, And As Large A Guard As Possible Detailed.  When The 
   Camp Had Settled down To Perfect Quiet, Carson Crawled outside It, 
   Taking With Him A Mexican Boy, And After Explaining To Him The Danger 
   Which Threatened them All, Told Him That It Was In his Power To Save 
   The Lives Of The Company.  Then He Sent Him On Alone To Rayedo, 
   A Journey Of Nearly Three Hundred miles, To Ask For An Escort Of 
   United states Troops To Be Sent Out To Meet The Train, Impressing 
   Upon The Brave Little Mexican The Importance Of Putting a Good Many 
   Miles Between Himself And The Camp Before Morning.  And So He Started 
   Him, With A Few Rations Of Food, Without Letting The Rest Of His 
   Party Know That Such Measures Were Necessary.  The Boy Had Been In 
   Carson'S Service For Some Time, And Was Known To Him As A Faithful 
   And Active Messenger, And In a Wild Country Like New Mexico, With 
   The Outdoor Life And Habits Of Its People, Such A Journey Was Not 
   An Unusual Occurrence. 
     
     
     
   Carson Now Returned to The Camp, To Watch All Night Himself, And 
   At Daybreak All Were On The Trail Again.  No Indians Made Their 
   Appearance Until Nearly Noon, When Five Warriors Came Galloping Up 
   Toward The Train.  As Soon As They Came Close Enough To Hear His 
   Voice, Carson Ordered them To Halt, And Going Up To Them, Told How 
   He Had Sent A Messenger To Rayedo The Night Before To Inform The 
   Troops That Their Tribe Were Annoying Him, And That If He Or His Men 
   Were Molested, Terrible Punishment Would Be Inflicted by Those Who 
   Would Surely Come To His Relief.  The Savages Replied that They 
   Would Look For The Moccasin Tracks, Which They Undoubtedly Found, 
   And The Whole Village Passed away Toward The Hills After A Little 
   While, Evidently Seeking a Place Of Safety From An Expected attack 
   By The Troops. 
     
     
     
   The Young Mexican Overtook The Detachment Of Soldiers Whose Officer 
   Had Caused all The Trouble With The Indians, To Whom He Told His 
   Story; But Failing To Secure Any Sympathy, He Continued his Journey 
   To Rayedo, And Procured from The Garrison Of That Place Immediate 
   Assistance.  Major Grier, Commanding The Post, At Once Despatched 
   A Troop Of His Regiment, Which, By Forced marches, Met Carson 
   Twenty-Five Miles Below Bent'S Fort, And Though It Encountered no 
   Indians, The Rapid Movement Had A Good Effect Upon The Savages, 
   Impressing Them With The Power And Promptness Of The Government. 
     
     
     
   Early In the Spring Of 1865, Carson Was Ordered, With Three Companies, 
   To Put A Stop To The Depredations Of Marauding Bands Of Cheyennes, 
   Kiowas, And Comanches Upon The Caravans And Emigrant Outfits Travelling 
   The Santa Fe Trail.  He Left Fort Union With His Command And Marched 
   Over The Dry Or Cimarron Route To The Arkansas River, For The Purpose 
   Of Establishing a Fortified camp At Cedar Bluffs, Or Cold Spring, 
   To Afford A Refuge For The Freight Trains On That Dangerous Part Of 
   The Trail.  The Indians Had For Some Time Been Harassing Not Only 
   The Caravans Of The Citizen Traders, But Also Those Of The Government, 
   Which Carried supplies To The Several Military Posts In the Territory 
   Of New Mexico.  An Expedition Was Therefore Planned by Carson To 
   Punish Them, And He Soon Found An Opportunity To Strike A Blow Near 
   The Adobe Fort On The Canadian River.  His Force Consisted of The 
   First Regiment Of New Mexican Volunteer Cavalry And Seventy-Five 
   Friendly Indians, His Entire Command Numbering Fourteen Commissioned 
   Officers And Three Hundred and Ninety-Six Enlisted men.  With These 
   He Attacked the Kiowa Village, Consisting Of About One Hundred and 
   Fifty Lodges.  The Fight Was A Very Severe One, And Lasted from 
   Half-Past Eight In the Morning Until After Sundown.  The Savages, 
   With More Than Ordinary Intrepidity And Boldness, Made Repeated 
   Stands Against The Fierce Onslaughts Of Carson'S Cavalrymen, But 
   Were At Last Forced to Give Way, And Were Cut Down As They Stubbornly 
   Retreated, Suffering a Loss Of Sixty Killed and Wounded.  In this 
   Battle Only Two Privates And One Noncommissioned officer Were Killed, 
   And One Non-Commissioned officer And Thirteen Privates, Four Of Whom 
   Were Friendly Indians, Wounded.  The Command Destroyed one Hundred 
   And Fifty Lodges, A Large Amount Of Dried meats, Berries, Buffalo-Robes, 
   Cooking Utensils, And Also A Buggy And Spring-Wagon, The Property 
   Of Sierrito,[50] The Kiowa Chief. 
     
     
     
   In His Official Account Of The Fight, Carson States That He Found 
   Ammunition In the Village, Which Had Been Furnished, No Doubt, By 
   Unscrupulous Mexican Traders. 
     
     
     
   He Told Me That He Never Was Deceived by Indian Tactics But Once 
   In His Life.  He Said That He Was Hunting With Six Others After 
   Buffalo, In the Summer Of 1835; That They Had Been Successful, And 
   Came Into Their Little Bivouac One Night Very Tired, Intending To 
   Start For The Rendezvous At Bent'S Fort The Next Morning.  They Had 
   A Number Of Dogs, Among Them Some Excellent Animals.  These Barked 
   A Good Deal, And Seemed restless, And The Men Heard Wolves. 
     
     
     
   "I Saw," Said Kit, "Two Big Wolves Sneaking about, One Of Them Quite 
   Close To Us.  Gordon, One Of My Men, Wanted to Fire His Rifle At It, 
   But I Did Not Let Him, For Fear He Would Hit A Dog.  I Admit That 
   I Had A Sort Of An Idea That Those Wolves Might Be Indians; But When 
   I Noticed one Of Them Turn Short Around, And Heard The Clashing Of 
   His Teeth As He Rushed at One Of The Dogs, I Felt Easy Then, And Was 
   Certain That They Were Wolves Sure Enough.  But The Red devil Fooled 
   Me, After All, For He Had Two Dried buffalo Bones In his Hands Under 
   The Wolfskin, And He Rattled them Together Every Time He Turned to 
   Make A Dash At The Dogs!  Well, By And By We All Dozed off, And It 
   Wasn'T Long Before I Was Suddenly Aroused by A Noise And A Big Blaze. 
   I Rushed out The First Thing For Our Mules, And Held Them.  If The 
   Savages Had Been At All Smart, They Could Have Killed us In a Trice, 
   But They Ran As Soon As They Fired at Us.  They Killed one Of My Men, 
   Putting Five Bullets In his Body And Eight In his Buffalo-Robe. 
   The Indians Were A Band Of Sioux On The War-Trail After A Band Of 
   Snakes, And Found Us By Sheer Accident.  They Endeavoured to Ambush 
   Us The Next Morning, But We Got Wind Of Their Little Game And Killed 
   Three Of Them, Including The Chief." 
     
     
     
   Carson'S Nature Was Made Up Of Some Very Noble Attributes.  He Was 
   Brave, But Not Reckless Like Custer; A Veritable Exponent Of Christian 
   Altruism, And As True To His Friends As The Needle To The Pole. 
   Under The Average Stature, And Rather Delicate-Looking In his Physical 
   Proportions, He Was Nevertheless A Quick, Wiry Man, With Nerves Of 
   Steel, And Possessing an Indomitable Will.  He Was Full Of Caution, 
   But Showed a Coolness In the Moment Of Supreme Danger That Was Good 
   To Witness. 
     
     
     
   During a Short Visit At Fort Lyon, Colorado, Where A Favourite Son 
   Of His Was Living, Early In the Morning Of May 23, 1868, While 
   Mounting His Horse In front Of His Quarters (He Was Still Fond Of 
   Riding), An Artery In his Neck Was Suddenly Ruptured, From The Effects 
   Of Which, Notwithstanding The Medical Assistance Rendered by The 
   Fort Surgeons, He Died in a Few Moments. 
     
     
     
   His Remains, After Reposing For Some Time At Fort Lyon, Were Taken 
   To Taos, So Long His Home In new Mexico, Where An Appropriate Monument 
   Was Erected over Them.  In the Plaza At Santa Fe, His Name Also 
   Appears Cut On A Cenotaph Raised to Commemorate The Services Of The 
   Soldiers Of The Territory.  As An Indian Fighter He Was Matchless. 
   The Identical Rifle Used by Him For More Than Thirty-Five Years, 
   And Which Never Failed him, He Bequeathed, Just Before His Death, 
   To Montezuma Lodge, A. F. & A. M., Santa Fe, Of Which He Was A Member. 
     
     
     
   James Bridger, "Major Bridger," Or "Old Jim Bridger," As We Was Called, 
   Another Of The Famous Coterie Of Pioneer Frontiersmen, Was Born In 
   Washington, District Of Columbia, In 1807.  When Very Young, A Mere 
   Boy In fact, He Joined the Great Trapping Expedition Under The 
   Leadership Of James Ashley, And With It Travelled to The Far West, 
   Remote From The Extreme Limit Of Border Civilization, Where He Became 
   The Compeer And Comrade Of Carson, And Certainly The Foremost 
   Mountaineer, Strictly Speaking, The United states Has Produced. 
     
     
     
   Having Left Behind Him All Possibilities Of Education At Such An 
   Early Age, He Was Illiterate In his Speech And As Ignorant Of The 
   Conventionalities Of Polite Society As An Indian; But He Possessed 
   A Heart Overflowing With The Milk Of Human Kindness, Was Generous 
   In The Extreme, And Honest And True As Daylight. 
     
     
     
   He Was Especially Distinguished for The Discovery Of A Defile Through 
   The Intricate Mazes Of The Rocky Mountains, Which Bears His Name, 
   Bridger'S Pass.  He Rendered important Services As Guide And Scout 
   During The Early Preliminary Surveys For A Transcontinental Railroad, 
   And For A Series Of Years Was In the Employ Of The Government, 
   In The Old Regular Army On The Great Plains And In the Mountains, 
   Long Before The Breaking Out Of The Civil War.  To Bridger Also 
   Belongs The Honour Of Having Seen, First Of All White Men, The Great 
   Salt Lake Of Utah, In the Winter Of 1824-25. 
     
     
     
   After A Series Of Adventures, Hairbreadth Escapes, And Terrible 
   Encounters With The Indians, In 1856 He Purchased a Farm Near Westport, 
   Missouri; But Soon Left It In his Hunger For The Mountains, To Return 
   To It Only When Worn-Out And Blind, To Be Buried there Without Even 
   The Rudest Tablet To Mark The Spot. 
     
     
     
   "I Would Rather Sleep In the Southern Corner Of A Little Country 
   Churchyard, Than In the Tomb Of The Capulets."  This Quotation Came 
   To My Mind One Sunday Morning Two Or Three Years Ago, As I Mused 
   Over Bridger'S Neglected grave Among The Low Hills Beyond The Quaint 
   Old Town Of Westport.  I Thought I Knew, As I Stood There, That He 
   Whose Bones Were Mouldering Beneath The Blossoming Clover At My Feet, 
   Would Have Wished for His Last Couch A More Perfect Solitude And 
   Isolation From The Wearisome World'S Busy Sound Than Even The 
   Immortal Burke. 
     
     
     
   The Grassy Mound, Over Which There Was No Stone To Record The Name 
   Of Its Occupant, Covered the Remains Of The Last Of His Class, A Type 
   Vanished forever, For The Border Is A Thing Of The Past; And Upon 
   The Gentle Breeze Of That Delightful Morning, Like The Droning Of 
   Bees In a Full Flowered orchard, Was Wafted to My Ears The Hum Of 
   Kansas City'S Civilization, Only Three Or Four Miles Distant, In all 
   Of Which I Was Sure There Was Nothing That Would Have Been Congenial 
   To The Old Frontiersman. 
     
     
     
   At One Time Early In the '60'S, While The Engineers Of The Proposed 
   Union Pacific Railway Were Temporarily In denver, Then An Insignificant 
   Mushroom-Hamlet, They Became Somewhat Confused as To The Most 
   Practicable Point In the Range Over Which To Run Their Line.  After 
   Debating The Question, They Determined, Upon A Suggestion From Some 
   Of The Old Settlers, To Send For Jim Bridger, Who Was Then Visiting 
   In St. Louis.  A Pass, Via The Overland Stage, Was Enclosed in a 
   Letter To Him, And He Was Urged to Start For Denver At Once, Though 
   Nothing Of The Business For Which His Presence Was Required was Told 
   Him In the Text. 
     
     
     
   In About Two Weeks The Old Man Arrived, And The Next Morning, After 
   He Had Rested, Asked why He Had Been Sent For From Such A Distance. 
     
     
     
   The Engineers Then Began To Explain Their Dilemma.  The Old Mountaineer 
   Waited patiently Until They Had Finished, When, With A Look Of Disgust 
   On His Withered countenance, He Demanded a Large Piece Of Paper, 
   Remarking at The Same Time,-- 
     
     
     
   "I Could A Told You Fellers All That In st. Louis, And Saved you 
   The Expense Of Bringing Me Out Here." 
     
     
     
   He Was Handed a Sheet Of Manilla Paper, Used for Drawing The Details 
   Of Bridge Plans.  The Veteran Pathfinder Spread It On The Ground 
   Before Him, Took A Dead Coal From The Ashes Of The Fire, Drew A Rough 
   Outline Map, And Pointing To A Certain Peak Just Visible On The 
   Serrated horizon, Said,-- 
     
     
     
   "There'S Where You Fellers Can Cross With Your Road, And Nowhere Else, 
   Without More Diggin' An' Cuttin' Than You Think Of." 
     
     
     
   That Crude Map Is Preserved, I Have Been Told, In the Archives Of 
   The Great Corporation, And Its Line Crosses The Main Spurs Of The 
   Rocky Mountains, Just Where Bridger Said It Could With The Least Work. 
     
     
     
   The Resemblance Of Old John Smith, Another Of The Coterie, To 
   President Andrew Johnson Was Absolutely Astonishing.  When That 
   Chief Magistrate, In his "Swinging around The Circle," Had Arrived 
   At St. Louis, And Was Riding Through The Streets Of That City In an 
   Open Barouche, He Was Pointed out To Bridger, Who Happened to Be 
   There.  But The Venerable Guide And Scout, With Supreme Disgust 
   Depicted on His Countenance At The Idea Of Any One Attempting To 
   Deceive Him, Said To His Informant,-- 
     
     
     
   "H---L!  Bill, You Can'T Fool Me!  That'S Old John Smith." 
     
     
     
   At One Time Many Years Ago, During Bridger'S First Visit To St. Louis, 
   Then A Relatively Small Place, A Friend Accidentally Came Across Him 
   Sitting On A Dry-Goods Box In one Of The Narrow Streets, Evidently 
   Disgusted with His Situation.  To The Inquiry As To What He Was Doing 
   There All Alone, The Old Man Replied,-- 
     
     
     
   "I'Ve Been Settin' In this Infernal Canyon Ever Sence Mornin', Waitin' 
   For Some One To Come Along An' Invite Me To Take A Drink.  Hundreds 
   Of Fellers Has Passed both Ways, But None Of 'Em Has Opened his Head. 
   I Never Seen Sich A Onsociable Crowd!" 
     
     
     
   Bridger Had A Fund Of Most Remarkable Stories, Which He Had Drawn 
   Upon So Often That He Really Believed them To Be True. 
     
     
     
   General Gatlin,[51] Who Was Graduated from West Point In the Early 
   '30'S, And Commanded fort Gibson In the Cherokee Nation Over Sixty 
   Years Ago, Told Me That He Remembered bridger Very Well; And Had 
   Once Asked the Old Guide Whether He Had Ever Been In the Great Canyon 
   Of The Colorado River. 
     
     
     
   "Yes, Sir," Replied the Mountaineer, "I Have, Many A Time.  There'S 
   Where The Oranges And Lemons Bear All The Time, And The Only Place 
   I Was Ever At Where The Moon'S Always Full!" 
     
     
     
   He Told Me And Also Many Others, At Various Times, That In the Winter 
   Of 1830 It Began To Snow In the Valley Of The Great Salt Lake, And 
   Continued for Seventy Days Without Cessation.  The Whole Country Was 
   Covered to A Depth Of Seventy Feet, And All The Vast Herds Of Buffalo 
   Were Caught In the Storm And Died, But Their Carcasses Were Perfectly 
   Preserved. 
     
     
     
   "When Spring Came, All I Had To Do," Declared he, "Was To Tumble 'Em 
   Into Salt Lake, An' I Had Pickled buffalo Enough For Myself And The 
   Whole Ute Nation For Years!" 
     
     
     
   He Said That On Account Of That Terrible Storm, Which Annihilated 
   Them, There Have Been No Buffalo In that Region Since. 
     
     
     
   Bridger Had Been The Guide, Interpreter, And Companion Of That 
   Distinguished irish Sportsman, Sir George Gore, Whose Strange Tastes 
   Led him In 1855 To Abandon Life In europe And Bury Himself For Over 
   Two Years Among The Savages In the Wildest And Most Unfrequented 
   Glens Of The Rocky Mountains. 
     
     
     
   The Outfit And Adventures Of This Titled nimrod, Conducted as They 
   Were On The Largest Scale, Exceeded anything Of The Kind Ever Before 
   Seen On This Continent, And The Results Of His Wanderings Will 
   Compare Favourably With Those Of Gordon Cumming In africa. 
     
     
     
   Some Idea May Be Formed of The Magnitude Of His Outfit When It Is 
   Stated that His Retinue Consisted of About Fifty Individuals, 
   Including Secretaries, Steward, Cooks, Fly-Makers, Dog-Tenders, 
   Servants, Etc.  He Was Borne Over The Country With A Train Of Thirty 
   Wagons, Besides Numerous Saddle-Horses And Dogs. 
     
     
     
   During His Lengthened hunt He Killed the Enormous Aggregate Of Forty 
   Grizzly Bears And Twenty-Five Hundred buffalo, Besides Numerous 
   Antelope And Other Small Game. 
     
     
     
   Bridger Said Of Sir George That He Was A Bold, Dashing, And Successful 
   Hunter, And An Agreeable Gentleman.  His Habit Was To Lie In bed until 
   About Ten Or Eleven O'Clock In the Morning, Then He Took A Bath, 
   Ate His Breakfast, And Set Out, Generally Alone, For The Day'S Hunt, 
   And It Was Not Unusual For Him To Remain Out Until Ten At Night, 
   Seldom Returning To The Tents Without Augmenting The Catalogue Of 
   His Beasts.  His Dinner Was Then Served, To Which He Generally 
   Extended an Invitation To Bridger, And After The Meal Was Over, And 
   A Few Glasses Of Wine Had Been Drunk, He Was In the Habit Of Reading 
   From Some Book, And Eliciting From Bridger His Comments Thereon. 
   His Favourite Author Was Shakespeare, Which Bridger "Reckin'D Was 
   Too Highfalutin" For Him; Moreover He Remarked, "Thet He Rather 
   Calcerlated that Thar Big Dutchman, Mr. Full-Stuff, Was A Leetle 
   Too Fond Of Lager Beer," And Thought It Would Have Been Better For 
   The Old Man If He Had "Stuck To Bourbon Whiskey Straight." 
     
     
     
   Bridger Seemed very Much Interested in the Adventures Of Baron 
   Munchausen, But Admitted after Sir George Had Finished reading Them, 
   That "He Be Dog'Oned ef He Swallered everything That Thar Baron 
   Munchausen Said," And Thought He Was "A Darned liar," Yet He 
   Acknowledged that Some Of His Own Adventures Among The Blackfeet 
   Woul Be Equally Marvellous "If Writ Down In a Book." 
     
     
     
   A Man Whose One Act Had Made Him Awe-Inspiring Was Belzy Dodd. 
   Uncle Dick Wooton, In relating The Story, Says: "I Don'T Know What 
   His First Name Was, But Belzy Was What We Called him.  His Head Was 
   As Bald As A Billiard Ball, And He Wore A Wig.  One Day While We 
   Were All At Bent'S Fort, While There Were A Great Number Of Indians 
   About, Belzy Concluded to Have A Bit Of Fun.  He Walked around, Eying 
   The Indians Fiercely For Some Time, And Finally, Dashing In among 
   Them, He Gave A Series Of War-Whoops Which Discounted a Comanche Yell, 
   And Pulling Off His Wig, Threw It Down At The Feet Of The Astonished 
   And Terror-Stricken Red men. 
     
     
     
   "The Savages Thought The Fellow Had Jerked off His Own Scalp, And Not 
   One Of Them Wanted to Stay And See What Would Happen Next.  They Left 
   The Fort, Running Like So Many Scared jack-Rabbits, And After That 
   None Of Them Could Be Induced to Approach Anywhere Near Dodd." 
     
     
     
   They Called him "The-White-Man-Who-Scalps-Himself," And Uncle Dick 
   Said That He Believed he Could Have Travelled across The Plains Alone 
   With Perfect Safety. 
     
     
     
   Jim Baker Was Another Noted mountaineer And Hunter Of The Same Era As 
   Carson, Bridger, Wooton, Hobbs, And Many Others.  Next To Kit Carson, 
   Baker Was General Fremont'S Most Valued scout. 
     
     
     
   He Was Born In illinois, And Lived at Home Until He Was Eighteen 
   Years Of Age, When He Enlisted in the Service Of The American Fur 
   Company, Went Immediately To The Rocky Mountains, And Remained there 
   Until His Death.  He Married a Wife According To The Indian Custom, 
   From The Snake Tribe, Living With Her Relatives Many Years And 
   Cultivating Many Of Their Habits, Ideas, And Superstitions.  He Firmly 
   Believed in the Efficacy Of The Charms And Incantations Of The 
   Medicine Men In curing Diseases, Divining Where Their Enemy Was To 
   Be Found, Forecasting The Result Of War Expeditions, And Other Such 
   Ridiculous Matters.  Unfortunately, Too, Baker Would Sometimes Take 
   A Little More Whiskey Than He Could Conveniently Carry, And Often 
   Made A Fool Of Himself, But He Was A Generous, Noble-Hearted fellow, 
   Who Would Risk His Life For A Friend At Any Time, Or Divide His Last 
   Morsel Of Food. 
     
     
     
   Like Mountaineers Generally, Baker Was Liberal To A Fault, And 
   Eminently Improvident.  He Made A Fortune By His Work, But At The 
   Annual Rendezvous Of The Traders, At Bent'S Fort Or The Old Pueblo, 
   Would Throw Away The Earnings Of Months In a Few Days' Jollification. 
     
     
     
   He Told General Marcy, Who Was A Warm Friend Of His, That After One 
   Season In which He Had Been Unusually Successful In accumulating a 
   Large Amount Of Valuable Furs, From The Sale Of Which He Had Realized 
   The Handsome Sum Of Nine Thousand Dollars, He Resolved to Abandon His 
   Mountain Life, Return To The Settlements, Buy A Farm, And Live 
   Comfortably During The Remainder Of His Days.  He Accordingly Made 
   Ready To Leave, And Was On The Eve Of Starting When A Friend Invited 
   Him To Visit A Monte-Bank Which Had Been Organized at The Rendezvous. 
   He Was Easily Led away, Determined to Take A Little Social Amusement 
   With His Old Comrade, Whom He Might Never See Again, And Followed him; 
   The Result Of Which Was That The Whiskey Circulated freely, And The 
   Next Morning Found Baker Without A Cent Of Money; He Had Lost 
   Everything.  His Entire Plans Were Thus Frustrated, And He Returned 
   To The Mountains, Hunting With The Indians Until He Died. 
     
     
     
   Jim Baker'S Opinions Of The Wild Indians Of The Great Plains And 
   The Mountains Were Very Decided: "That They Are The Most Onsartinist 
   Varmints In all Creation, An' I Reckon Thar Not More'N Half Human; 
   For You Never Seed a Human, Arter You'D Fed an' Treated him To The 
   Best Fixin'S In your Lodge, Jis Turn Round And Steal All Your Horses, 
   Or Ary Other Thing He Could Lay His Hands On.  No, Not Adzactly. 
   He Would Feel Kind O' Grateful, And Ask You To Spread A Blanket In 
   His Lodge Ef You Ever Came His Way.  But The Injin Don'T Care Shucks 
   For You, And Is Ready To Do You A Lot Of Mischief As Soon As He Quits 
   Your Feed.  No, Cap.," He Said To Marcy When Relating This, "It'S Not 
   The Right Way To Make 'Em Gifts To Buy A Peace; But Ef I War Gov'Nor 
   Of These United states, I'Ll Tell What I'D Do.  I'D Invite 'Em All 
   To A Big Feast, And Make 'Em Think I Wanted to Have A Talk; And As 
   Soon As I Got 'Em Together, I'D Light In and Raise The Har Of Half 
   Of 'Em, And Then T'Other Half Would Be Mighty Glad To Make Terms 
   That Would Stick.  That'S The Way I'D Make A Treaty With The Dog'Oned 
   Red-Bellied varmints; And As Sure As You'Re Born, Cap., That'S The 
   Only Way." 
     
     
     
   The General, When He First Met Baker, Inquired of Him If He Had 
   Travelled much Over The Settlements Of The United states Before He 
   Came To The Mountains; To Which He Said: "Right Smart, Right Smart, 
   Cap."  He Then Asked whether He Had Visited new York Or New Orleans. 
   "No, I Hasn'T, Cap., But I'Ll Tell You Whar I Have Been.  I'Ve Been 
   Mighty Nigh All Over Four Counties In the State Of Illinois!" 
     
     
     
   He Was Very Fond Of His Squaw And Children, And Usually Treated 
   Them Kindly; Only When He Was In liquor Did He At All Maltreat Them. 
     
     
     
   Once He Came Over Into New Mexico, Where General Marcy Was Stationed 
   At The Time, And Determined that For The Time Being He Would Cast 
   Aside His Leggings, Moccasins, And Other Mountain Dress, And Wear 
   A Civilized wardrobe.  Accordingly, He Fitted himself Out With One. 
   When Marcy Met Him Shortly After He Had Donned the Strange Clothes, 
   He Had Undergone Such An Entire Change That The General Remarked 
   He Should Hardly Have Known Him.  He Did Not Take Kindly To This, 
   And Said: "Consarn These Store Butes, Cap.; They Choke My Feet Like 
   H---L."  It Was The First Time In twenty Years That He Had Worn 
   Anything On His Feet But Moccasins, And They Were Not Ready For The 
   Torture Inflicted by Breaking In a New Pair Of Absurdly Fitting 
   Boots.  He Soon Threw Them Away, And Resumed the Softer Foot-Gear 
   Of The Mountains. 
     
     
     
   Baker Was A Famous Bear Hunter, And Had Been At The Death Of Many 
   A Grizzly.  On One Occasion He Was Setting His Traps With A Comrade 
   On The Head Waters Of The Arkansas, When They Suddenly Met Two Young 
   Grizzly Bears About The Size Of Full-Grown Dogs.  Baker Remarked 
   To His Friend That If They Could "Light In and Kill The Varmints" 
   With Their Knives, It Would Be A Big Thing To Boast Of.  They Both 
   Accordingly Laid Aside Their Rifles And "Lit In," Baker Attacking 
   One And His Comrade The Other.  The Bears Immediately Raised 
   Themselves On Their Haunches, And Were Ready For The Encounter. 
   Baker Ran Around, Endeavouring To Get In a Blow From Behind With His 
   Long Knife; But The Young Brute He Had Tackled was Too Quick For 
   Him, And Turned as He Went Around So As Always To Confront Him 
   Face To Face.  He Knew If He Came Within Reach Of His Claws, That 
   Although Young, He Could Inflict A Formidable Wound; Moreover, He Was 
   In Fear That The Howls Of The Cubs Would Bring The Infuriated mother 
   To Their Rescue, When The Hunters' Chances Of Getting away Would 
   Be Slim.  These Thoughts Floated hurriedly Through His Mind, And 
   Made Him Desirous To End The Fight As Soon As He Could.  He Made 
   Many Vicious Lunges At The Bear, But The Animal Invariably Warded 
   Them Off With His Strong Fore Legs Like A Boxer.  This Kind Of 
   Tactics, However, Cost The Lively Beast Several Severe Cuts On His 
   Shoulders, Which Made Him The More Furious.  At Length He Took The 
   Offensive, And With His Month Frothing With Rage, Bounded toward 
   Baker, Who Caught And Wrestled with Him, Succeeding In giving Him 
   A Death-Wound Under The Ribs. 
     
     
     
   While All This Was Going On, His Comrade Had Been Furiously Engaged 
   With The Other Bear, And By This Time Had Become Greatly Exhausted, 
   With The Odds Decidedly Against Him.  He Entreated baker To Come To 
   His Assistance At Once, Which He Did; But Much To His Astonishment, 
   As Soon As He Entered the Second Contest His Comrade Ran Off, Leaving 
   Him To Fight The Battle Alone.  He Was, However, Again Victorious, 
   And Soon Had The Satisfaction Of Seeing His Two Antagonists Stretched 
   Out In front Of Him, But As He Expressed it, "I Made My Mind Up I'D 
   Never Fight Nary Nother Grizzly Without A Good Shootin'-Iron In my Paws." 
     
     
     
   He Established a Little Store At The Crossing Of Green River, And 
   Had For Some Time Been Doing a Fair Business In trafficking With 
   The Emigrants And Trading With The Indians; But Shortly A Frenchman 
   Came To The Same Locality And Set Up A Rival Establishment, Which, 
   Of Course, Divided the Limited trade, And Naturally Reduced the 
   Income Of Baker'S Business. 
     
     
     
   This Engendered a Bitter Feeling Of Hostility, Which Soon Culminated 
   In A Cessation Of All Social Intercourse Between The Two Men.  About 
   This Time General Marcy Arrived there On His Way To California, And 
   He Describes The Situation Of Affairs Thus:-- 
     
     
     
   "I Found Baker Standing In his Door, With A Revolver Loaded and 
   Cocked in each Hand, Very Drunk And Immensely Excited.  I Dismounted 
   And Asked him The Cause Of All This Disturbance.  He Answered: 'That 
   Thar Yaller-Bellied, Toad-Eatin' Parly Voo, Over Thar, An' Me, We'Ve 
   Been Havin' A Small Chance Of A Scrimmage To-Day.  The Sneakin' 
   Pole-Cat, I'Ll Raise His Har Yet, Ef He Don'T Quit These Diggins'!' 
     
     
     
   "It Seems That They Had An Altercation In the Morning, Which Ended 
   In A Challenge, When They Ran To Their Cabins, Seized their Revolvers, 
   And From The Doors, Which Were Only About A Hundred yards From Each 
   Other, Fired.  Then They Retired to Their Cabins, Took A Drink Of 
   Whiskey, Reloaded their Revolvers, And Again Renewed the Combat. 
   This Strange Duel Had Been Going On For Several Hours When I Arrived, 
   But, Fortunately For Them, The Whiskey Had Such An Effect On Their 
   Nerves That Their Aim Was Very Unsteady, And None Of The Shots Had 
   As Yet Taken Effect. 
     
     
     
   "I Took Away Baker'S Revolvers, Telling Him How Ashamed i Was To 
   Find A Man Of His Usually Good Sense Making Such A Fool Of Himself. 
   He Gave In quietly, Saying That He Knew I Was His Friend, But Did Not 
   Think I Would Wish To Have Him Take Insults From A Cowardly Frenchman. 
     
     
     
   "The Following Morning at Daylight Jim Called at My Tent To Bid Me 
   Good-By, And Seemed very Sorry For What Had Occurred the Day Before. 
   He Stated that This Was The First Time Since His Return From 
   New Mexico That He Had Allowed himself To Drink Whiskey, And When 
   The Whiskey Was In him He Had 'Nary Sense.'" 
     
     
     
   Among The Many Men Who Have Distinguished themselves As Mountaineers, 
   Traders, And Indian Fighters Along The Line Of The Old Trail, Was 
   One Who Eventually Became The Head Chief Of One Of The Most Numerous 
   And Valorous Tribes Of North American Savages--James P. Beckwourth. 
   Estimates Of Him Vary Considerably.  Francis Parkman, The Historian, 
   Who I Think Never Saw Him And Writes Merely From Hearsay, Says: 
   "He Is A Ruffian Of The Worst Class; Bloody And Treacherous, Without 
   Honor Or Honesty; Such, At Least, Is The Character He Bears On The 
   Great Plains.  Yet In his Case The Standard Rules Of Character Fail; 
   For Though He Will Stab A Man In his Slumber, He Will Also Do The 
   Most Desperate And Daring acts." 
     
     
     
   I Never Saw Beckwourth, But I Have Heard Of Him From Those Of My 
   Mountaineer Friends Who Knew Him Intimately; I Think That He Died 
   Long Before Parkman Made His Tour To The Rocky Mountains.  Colonel 
   Boone, The Bents, Carson, Maxwell, And Others Ascribed to Him No 
   Such Traits As Those Given By Parkman, And As To His Honesty, It Is 
   An Unquestioned fact That Beckwourth Was The Most Honest Trader 
   Among The Indians Of All Who Were Then Engaged in the Business. 
   As Kit Carson And Colonel Boone Were The Only Indian Agents Whom 
   I Ever Knew Or Heard Of That Dealt Honestly With The Various Tribes, 
   As They Were Always Ready To Acknowledge, And The Withdrawal Of The 
   Former By The Government Was The Cause Of A Great War, So Also 
   Beckwourth Was An Honest Indian Trader. 
     
     
     
   He Was A Born Leader Of Men, And Was Known From The Yellowstone To 
   The Rio Grande, From Santa Fe To Independence, And In st. Louis. 
   From The Latter Town He Ran Away When A Boy With A Party Of Trappers, 
   And Himself Became One Of The Most Successful Of That Hardy Class. 
   The Woman Who Bore Him Had Played in her Childhood Beneath The Palm 
   Trees Of Africa; His Father Was A Native Of France, And Went To The 
   Banks Of The Wild Mississippi Of His Own Free Will, But Probably 
   Also From Reasons Of Political Interest To His Government. 
     
     
     
   In Person Beckwourth Was Of Medium Height And Great Muscular Power, 
   Quick Of Apprehension, And With Courage Of The Highest Order. 
   Probably No Man Ever Met With More Personal Adventures Involving 
   Danger To Life, Even Among The Mountaineers And Trappers Who Early 
   In The Century Faced the Perils Of The Remote Frontier.  From His 
   Neck He Always Wore Suspended a Perforated bullet, With A Large 
   Oblong Bead On Each Side Of It, Tied in place By A Single Thread 
   Of Sinew.  This Amulet He Obtained while Chief Of The Crows,[52] 
   And It Was His "Medicine," With Which He Excited the Superstition 
   Of His Warriors. 
     
     
     
   His Success As A Trader Among The Various Tribes Of Indians Has 
   Never Been Surpassed; For His Close Intimacy With Them Made Him 
   Know What Would Best Please Their Taste, And They Bought Of Him 
   When Other Traders Stood Idly At Their Stockades, Waiting almost 
   Hopelessly For Customers. 
     
     
     
   But Beckwourth Himself Said: "The Traffic In whiskey For Indian 
   Property Was One Of The Most Infernal Practices Ever Entered into By 
   Man.  Let The Most Casual Thinker Sit Down And Figure Up The Profits 
   On A Forty-Gallon Cask Of Alcohol, And He Will Be Thunderstruck, Or 
   Rather Whiskey-Struck.  When It Was To Be Disposed of, Four Gallons 
   Of Water Were Added to Each Gallon Of Alcohol.  In two Hundred gallons 
   There Are Sixteen Hundred pints, For Each One Of Which The Trader 
   Got A Buffalo-Robe Worth Five Dollars.  The Indian Women Toiled many 
   Long Weeks To Dress Those Sixteen Hundred robes.  The White Traders 
   Got Them For Worse Than Nothing; For The Poor Indian Mother Hid 
   Herself And Her Children Until The Effect Of The Poison Passed away 
   From The Husband And Father, Who Loved them When He Had No Whiskey, 
   And Abused and Killed them When He Had.  Six Thousand Dollars For 
   Sixty Gallons Of Alcohol!  Is It A Wonder With Such Profits That 
   Men Got Rich Who Were Engaged in the Fur Trade?  Or Was It A Miracle 
   That The Buffalo Were Gradually Exterminated?--Killed with So Little 
   Remorse That The Hides, Among The Indians Themselves, Were Known 
   By The Appellation Of 'A Pint Of Whiskey.'" 
     
     
     
   Beckwourth Claims To Have Established the Pueblo Where The Beautiful 
   City Of Pueblo, Colorado, Is Now Situated.  He Says: "On The 1St 
   Of October, 1842, On The Upper Arkansas, I Erected a Trading-Post 
   And Opened a Successful Business.  In a Very Short Time I Was Joined 
   By From Fifteen To Twenty Free Trappers, With Their Families. 
   We All United our Labour And Constructed an Adobe Fort Sixty Yards 
   Square.  By The Following Spring It Had Grown Into Quite A Little 
   Settlement, And We Gave It The Name Of Pueblo." 
   
   
   
   Chapter XVII (Uncle Dick Wooton) 
   Immediately After Kit Carson, The Second Wreath Of Pioneer Laurels, 
   For Bravery And Prowess As An Indian Fighter, And Trapper, Must Be 
   Conceded to Richens Lacy Wooton, Known First As "Dick," In his 
   Younger Days On The Plains, Then, When Age Had Overtaken Him, 
   As "Uncle Dick." 
     
     
     
   Born In virginia, His Father, When He Was But Seven Years Of Age, 
   Removed with His Family To Kentucky, Where He Cultivated a Tobacco 
   Plantation.  Like His Predecessor And Lifelong Friend Carson, 
   Young Wooton Tired of The Monotony Of Farming, And In the Summer 
   Of 1836 Made A Trip To The Busy Frontier Town Of Independence, 
   Missouri, Where He Found A Caravan Belonging To Colonel St. Vrain 
   And The Bents, Already Loaded, And Ready To Pull Out For The Fort 
   Built By The Latter, And Named for Them. 
     
     
     
   Wooton Had A Fair Business Education, And Was Superior In this 
   Respect To His Companions In the Caravan To Which He Had Attached 
   Himself.  It Was By Those Rough, But Kind-Hearted, Men That He Was 
   Called "Dick," As They Could Not Readily Master The More Complicated 
   Name Of "Richens." 
     
     
     
   When He Started from Independence On His Initial Trip Across The 
   Plains, He Was Only Nineteen, But, Like All Kentuckians, Perfectly 
   Familiar With A Rifle, And Could Shoot Out A Squirrel'S Eye With 
   The Certainty Which Long Practice And Hardened nerves Assures. 
     
     
     
   The Caravan, In which He Was Employed as A Teamster, Was Composed 
   Of Only Seven Wagons; But A Larger One, In which Were More Than Fifty, 
   Had Preceded it, And As That Was Heavily Laden, And The Smaller One 
   Only Lightly, It Was Intended to Overtake The Former Before The 
   Dangerous Portions Of The Trail Were Reached, Which It Did In a Few 
   Days And Was Assigned a Place In the Long Line. 
     
     
     
   Every Man Had To Take His Turn In standing Guard, And The First Night 
   That It Fell To Young Wooton Was At Little Cow Creek, In the Upper 
   Arkansas Valley.  Nothing Had Occurred thus Far During The Trip 
   To Imperil The Safety Of The Caravan, Nor Was Any Attack By The 
   Savages Looked for. 
     
     
     
   Wooton'S Post Comprehended the Whole Length Of One Side Of The Corral, 
   And His Instructions Were To Shoot Anything He Saw Moving Outside 
   Of The Line Of Mules Farthest From The Wagons.  The Young Sentry 
   Was Very Vigilant.  He Did Not Feel At All Sleepy, But Eagerly 
   Watched for Something That Might Possibly Come Within The Prescribed 
   Distance, Though Not Really Expecting Such A Contingency. 
     
     
     
   About Two O'Clock He Heard A Slight Noise, And Saw Something Moving 
   About, Sixty Or Seventy Yards From Where He Was Lying On The Ground, 
   To Which He Had Dropped the Moment The Strange Sound Reached his Ears. 
   Of Course, His First Thoughts Were Of Indians, And The More He Peered 
   Through The Darkness At The Slowly Moving Object, The More Convinced 
   He Was That It Must Be A Blood-Thirsty Savage. 
     
     
     
   He Rose To His Feet And Blazed away, The Shot Rousing Everbody, And 
   All Came Rushing With Their Guns To Learn What The Matter Was. 
     
     
     
   Wooton Told The Wagon-Master That He Had Seen What He Supposed was 
   An Indian Trying To Slip Up To The Mules, And That He Had Killed him. 
   Some Of The Men Crept Very Circumspectly To The Spot Where The 
   Supposed dead Savage Was Lying, While Young Wooton Remained at His 
   Post Eagerly Waiting For Their Report.  Presently He Heard A Voice 
   Cry Out: "I'Ll Be D---D Ef He Hain'T Killed 'Old Jack!'" 
     
     
     
   "Old Jack" Was One Of The Lead Mules Of One Of The Wagons.  He Had 
   Torn Up His Picket-Pin And Strayed outside Of The Lines, With The 
   Result That The Faithful Brute Met His Death At The Hands Of The 
   Sentry.  Wooton Declared that He Was Not To Be Blamed; For The Animal 
   Had Disobeyed orders, While He Had Strictly Observed them![53] 
     
     
     
   At Pawnee Fork, A Few Days Later, The Caravan Had A Genuine Tussle 
   With The Comanches.  It Was A Bright Moonlight Night, And About Two 
   Hundred of The Mounted savages Attacked them.  It Was A Rare Thing 
   For Indians To Begin A Raid After Dark, But They Swept Down On The 
   Unsuspecting Teamsters, Yelling Like A Host Of Demons.  They Were 
   Armed with Bows And Arrows Generally, Though A Few Of Them Had 
   Fusees.[54]  They Received a Warm Greeting, Although They Were Not 
   Expected, The Guard Noticing The Savages In time To Prevent A Stampede 
   Of The Animals, Which Evidently Was The Sole Purpose For Which They 
   Came, As They Did Not Attempt To Break Through The Corral To Get At 
   The Wagons.  It Was The Mules They Were After.  They Charged among 
   The Men, Vainly Endeavouring To Frighten The Animals And Make Them 
   Break Loose, Discharging Showers Of Arrows As They Rode By.  The Camp 
   Was Too Hot For Them, However, Defended as It Was By Old Teamsters 
   Who Had Made The Dangerous Passage Of The Plains Many Times Before, 
   And Were Up To All The Indian Tactics.  They Failed to Get A Single 
   Mule, But Paid For Their Temerity By Leaving Three Of Their Party 
   Dead, Just Where They Had Been Tumbled off Their Horses, Not Even 
   Having Time To Carry The Bodies Off, As They Usually Do. 
     
     
     
   Wooton Passed some Time During The Early Days Of His Career At 
   Bent'S Fort, In 1836-37.  He Was A Great Favourite With Both Of 
   The Proprietors, And With Them Went To The Several Indian Villages, 
   Where He Learned the Art Of Trading With The Savages. 
     
     
     
   The Winters Of The Years Mentioned were Noted for The Incursions 
   Of The Pawnees Into The Region Of The Fort.  They Always Pretended 
   Friendship For The Whites, When Any Of Them Were Inside Of Its Sacred 
   Precincts, But Their Whole Manner Changed when They By Some Stroke 
   Of Fortune Caught A Trapper Or Hunter Alone On The Prairie Or In 
   The Foot-Hills; He Was A Dead Man Sure, And His Scalp Was Soon 
   Dangling at The Belt Of His Cowardly Assassins.  Hardly A Day Passed 
   Without Witnessing Some Poor Fellow Running For The Fort With A Band 
   Of The Red devils After Him; Frequently He Escaped the Keen Edge Of 
   Their Scalping-Knife, But Every Once In a While A Man Was Killed. 
   At One Time, Two Herders Who Were With Their Animals Within Fifty 
   Yards Of The Fort, Going Out To The Grazing Ground, Were Killed and 
   Every Hoof Of Stock Run Off. 
     
     
     
   A Party From The Fort, Comprising Only Eight Men, Among Whom Was 
   Young Wooton, Made Up For Lost Time With The Indians, At The Crossing 
   Of Pawnee Fork, The Same Place Where He Had Had His First Fight. 
   The Men Had Set Out From The Fort For The Purpose Of Meeting a Small 
   Caravan Of Wagons From The East, Loaded with Supplies For The Bents' 
   Trading Post.  It Happened that A Band Of Sixteen Pawnees Were 
   Watching For The Arrival Of The Train, Too.[55]  Wooton'S Party Were 
   Well Mounted, While The Pawnees Were On Foot, And Although The Savages 
   Were Two To One, The Advantage Was Decidedly In favour Of The Whites. 
     
     
     
   The Indians Were Armed with Bows And Arrows Only, And While It Was 
   An Easy Matter For The Whites To Keep Out Of The Way Of The Shower 
   Of Missiles Which The Indians Commenced to Hurl At Them, The Latter 
   Became An Easy Prey To The Unerring Rifles Of Their Assailants, 
   Who Killed thirteen Out Of The Sixteen In a Very Short Time. 
   The Remaining Three Took French Leave Of Their Comrades At The 
   Beginning Of The Conflict, And Abandoning Their Arms Rushed up To 
   The Caravan, Which Was Just Appearing Over A Small Divide, And Gave 
   Themselves Up.  The Indian Custom Was Observed in their Case,[56] 
   Although It Was Rarely That Any Prisoners Were Taken In these 
   Conflicts On The Trail.  Another Curious Custom Was Also Followed.[57] 
   When The Party Encamped they Were Well Fed, And The Next Morning 
   Supplied with Rations Enough To Last Them Until They Could Reach One 
   Of Their Villages, And Sent Off To Tell Their Head Chief What Had 
   Become Of The Rest Of His Warriors. 
     
     
     
   Wooton Had An Adventure Once While He Was Stationed at Bent'S Fort 
   During a Trading Expedition With The Utes, On The Purgatoire, Or 
   Purgatory River,[58] About Ten Or Twelve Miles From Trinidad. 
   He Had Taken With Him, With Others, A Shawnee Indian.  Only A Short 
   Time Before Their Departure From The Fort, An Indian Of That Tribe 
   Had Been Murdered by A Ute, And One Day This Shawnee Who Was With 
   Wooton Spied a Ute, When Revenge Inspired him, And He Forthwith 
   Killed his Enemy.  Knowing That As Soon As The News Of The Shooting 
   Reached the Ute Village, Which Was Not A Great Distance Off, 
   The Whole Tribe Would Be Down Upon Him, Wooton Abandoned any Attempt 
   To Trade With Them And Tried to Get Out Of Their Country As Quickly 
   As He Could. 
     
     
     
   As He Expected, The Utes Followed on His Trail, And Came Up With His 
   Little Party On A Prairie Where There Was Not The Slightest Chance 
   To Ambush Or Hide.  They Had To Fight, Because They Could Not Help 
   It, But Resolved to Sell Their Lives As Dearly As Possible, As The 
   Utes Outnumbered them Twenty To One; Wooton Having Only Eight Men 
   With Him, Including The Shawnee. 
     
     
     
   The Pack-Animals, Of Which They Had A Great Many, Loaded with The 
   Goods Intended for The Savages, Were Corralled in a Circle, Inside 
   Of Which The Men Hurried themselves And Awaited the First Assault 
   Of The Foe.  In a Few Moments The Utes Began To Circle Around The 
   Trappers And Open Fire.  The Trappers Promptly Responded, And They 
   Made Every Shot Count; For All Of The Men, Not Even Excepting The 
   Shawnee, Were Experts With The Rifle.  They Did Not Mind The Arrows 
   Which The Utes Showered upon Them, As Few, If Any, Reached to Where 
   They Stood.  The Savages Had A Few Guns, But They Were Of The Poorest 
   Quality; Besides, They Did Not Know How To Handle Them Then As They 
   Learned to Do Later, So Their Bullets Were Almost As Harmless As 
   Their Arrows. 
     
     
     
   The Trappers Made Terrible Havoc Among The Utes' Horses, Killing 
   So Many Of Them That The Savages In despair Abandoned the Fight And 
   Gave Wooton And His Men An Opportunity To Get Away, Which They Did 
   As Rapidly As Possible. 
     
     
     
   The Raton Pass, Through Which The Old Trail Ran, Was A Relatively 
   Fair Mountain Road, But Originally It Was Almost Impossible For 
   Anything In the Shape Of A Wheeled vehicle To Get Over The Narrow 
   Rock-Ribbed barrier; Saddle Horses And Pack-Mules Could, However, 
   Make The Trip Without Much Difficulty.  It Was The Natural Highway To 
   Southeastern Colorado And Northeastern New Mexico, But The Overland 
   Coaches Could Not Get To Trinidad By The Shortest Route, And As The 
   Caravans Also Desired to Make The Same Line, It Occurred to Uncle 
   Dick That He Would Undertake To Hew Out A Road Through The Pass, 
   Which, Barring Grades, Should Be As Good As The Average Turnpike. 
   He Could See Money In it For Him, As He Expected to Charge Toll, 
   Keeping The Road In repair At His Own Expense, And He Succeeded in 
   Procuring From The Legislatures Of Colorado And New Mexico Charters 
   Covering The Rights And Privileges Which He Demanded for His Project. 
     
     
     
   In The Spring Of 1866, Uncle Dick Took Up His Abode On The Top Of 
   The Mountains, Built His Home, And Lived there Until Two Years Ago, 
   When He Died at A Very Ripe Old Age. 
     
     
     
   The Old Trapper Had Imposed on Himself Anything But An Easy Task In 
   Constructing His Toll-Road.  There Were Great Hillsides To Cut Out, 
   Immense Ledges Of Rocks To Blast, Bridges To Build By The Dozen, And 
   Huge Trees To Fell, Besides Long Lines Of Difficult Grading To Engineer. 
     
     
     
   Eventually Uncle Dick'S Road Was A Fact, But When It Was Completed, 
   How To Make It Pay Was A Question That Seriously Disturbed his Mind. 
   The Method He Employed to Solve The Problem I Will Quote In his 
   Own Words: "Such A Thing as A Toll-Road Was Unknown In the Country 
   At That Time.  People Who Had Come From The States Understood, 
   Of Course, That The Object Of Building a Turnpike Was To Enable 
   The Owner To Collect Toll From Those Who Travelled over It, But I 
   Had To Deal With A Great Many People Who Seemed to Think That They 
   Should Be As Free To Travel Over My Well-Graded and Bridged roadway 
   As They Were To Follow An Ordinary Cow Path. 
     
     
     
   "I May Say That I Had Five Classes Of Patrons To Do Business With. 
   There Was The Stage Company And Its Employees, The Freighters, The 
   Military Authorities, Who Marched troops And Transported supplies 
   Over The Road, The Mexicans, And The Indians. 
     
     
     
   "With The Stage Company, The Military Authorities, And The American 
   Freighters I Had No Trouble.  With The Indians, When A Band Came 
   Through Now And Then, I Didn'T Care To Have Any Controversy About 
   So Small A Matter As A Few Dollars Toll!  Whenever They Came Along, 
   The Toll-Gate Went Up, And Any Other Little Thing I Could Do To 
   Hurry Them On Was Done Promptly And Cheerfully.  While The Indians 
   Didn'T Understand Anything about The System Of Collecting Tolls, 
   They Seemed to Recognize The Fact That I Had A Right To Control 
   The Road, And They Would Generally Ride Up To The Gate And Ask 
   Permission To Go Through.  Once In a While The Chief Of A Band Would 
   Think Compensation For The Privilege Of Going Through In order, And 
   Would Make Me A Present Of A Buckskin Or Something Of That Sort. 
     
     
     
   "My Mexican Patrons Were The Hardest To Get Along With.  Paying For 
   The Privilege Of Travelling Over Any Road Was Something They Were 
   Totally Unused to, And They Did Not Take To It Kindly.  They Were 
   Pleased with My Road And Liked to Travel Over It, Until They Came 
   To The Toll-Gate.  This They Seemed to Look Upon As An Obstruction 
   That No Man Had A Right To Place In the Way Of A Free-Born Native 
   Of The Mountain Region.  They Appeared to Regard The Toll-Gate As 
   A New Scheme For Holding Up Travellers For The Purpose Of Robbery, 
   And Many Of Them Evidently Thought Me A Kind Of Freebooter, Who Ought 
   To Be Suppressed by Law. 
     
     
     
   "Holding These Views, When I Asked them For A Certain Amount Of Money, 
   Before Raising The Toll-Gate, They Naturally Differed with Me Very 
   Frequently About The Propriety Of Complying With The Request. 
     
     
     
   "In Other Words, There Would Be At Such Times Probably An Honest 
   Difference Of Opinion Between The Man Who Kept The Toll-Gate And 
   The Man Who Wanted to Get Through It.  Anyhow, There Was A Difference, 
   And Such Differences Had To Be Adjusted.  Sometimes I Did It Through 
   Diplomacy, And Sometimes I Did It With A Club.  It Was Always Settled 
   One Way, However, And That Was In accordance With The Toll Schedule, 
   So That I Could Never Have Been Charged with Unjust Discrimination 
   Of Rates." 
     
     
     
   Soon After The Road Was Opened a Company Composed of Californians 
   And Mexicans, Commanded by A Captain Haley, Passed uncle Dick'S 
   Toll-Gate And House, Escorting a Large Caravan Of About A Hundred 
   And Fifty Wagons.  While They Stopped there, A Non-Commissioned 
   Officer Of The Party Was Brutally Murdered by Three Soldiers, And 
   Uncle Dick Came Very Near Being a Witness To The Atrocious Deed. 
     
     
     
   The Murdered man Was A Mexican, And His Slayers Were Mexicans Too. 
   The Trouble Originated at Las Vegas, Where The Privates Had Been 
   Bound And Gagged, By Order Of The Corporal, For Creating a Disturbance 
   At A Fandango The Evening Before. 
     
     
     
   The Name Of The Corporal Was Juan Torres, And He Came Down To Uncle 
   Dick'S One Evening While The Command Was Encamped on The Top Of The 
   Mountain, Accompanied by The Three Privates, Who Had Already Plotted 
   To Kill Him, Though He Had Not The Slightest Suspicion Of It. 
     
     
     
   Uncle Dick, In telling The Story, Said: "They Left At An Early Hour, 
   Going In an Opposite Direction From Their Camp, And I Closed my Doors 
   Soon After, For The Night.  They Had Not Been Gone More Than Half 
   An Hour, When I Heard Them Talking Not Far From My House, And A Few 
   Seconds Later I Heard The Half-Suppressed cry Of A Man Who Has 
   Received his Death-Blow. 
     
     
     
   "I Had Gone To Bed, And Lay For A Minute Or Two Thinking Whether I 
   Should Get Up And Go To The Rescue Or Insure My Own Safety By 
   Remaining Where I Was. 
     
     
     
   "A Little Reflection Convinced me That The Murderers Were Undoubtedly 
   Watching My House, To Prevent Any Interference With The Carrying Out 
   Of Their Plot, And That If I Ventured out I Should Only Endanger 
   My Own Life, While There Was Scarcely A Possibility Of My Being 
   Able To Save The Life Of The Man Who Had Been Assailed. 
     
     
     
   "In The Morning, When I Got Up, I Found The Dead Body Of The Corporal 
   Stretched across Raton Creek, Not More Than A Hundred yards From My House. 
     
     
     
   "As I Surmised, He Had Been Struck With A Heavy Club Or Stone, And 
   It Was At That Time That I Heard His Cry.  After That His Brains 
   Had Been Beaten Out, And The Body Left Where I Had Found It. 
     
     
     
   "I At Once Notified captain Haley Of The Occurrence, And Identified 
   The Men Who Had Been In company With The Corporal, And Who Were 
   Undoubtedly His Murderers. 
     
     
     
   "They Were Taken Into Custody, And Made A Confession, In which They 
   Stated that One Of Their Number Had Stood At My Door On The Night 
   Of The Murder To Shoot Me If I Had Ventured out To Assist The 
   Corporal.  Two Of The Scoundrels Were Hung Afterward At Las Vegas, 
   And The Third Sent To Prison For Life." 
     
     
     
   The Corporal Was Buried near Where The Soldiers Were Encamped at 
   The Time Of The Tragedy, And It Is His Lonely Grave Which Frequently 
   Attracts The Attention Of The Passengers On The Atchison, Topeka, 
   And Santa Fe Trains, Just Before The Raton Tunnel Is Reached, As 
   They Travel Southward. 
     
     
     
   In 1866-67 The Indians Broke Out, Infesting all The Most Prominent 
   Points Of The Old Santa Fe Trail, And Watching an Opportunity To 
   Rob And Murder, So That The Government Freight Caravans And The 
   Stages Had To Be Escorted by Detachments Of Troops.  Fort Larned 
   Was The Western Limit Where These Escorts Joined the Outfits Going 
   Over Into New Mexico. 
     
     
     
   There Were Other Dangers Attending The Passage Of The Trail To 
   Travellers By The Stage Besides The Attacks Of The Savages.  These 
   Were The So-Called road Agents--Masked robbers Who Regarded life As 
   Of Little Worth In the Accomplishment Of Their Nefarious Purposes. 
   Particularly Were They Common After The Mines Of New Mexico Began 
   To Be Operated by Americans.  The Object Of The Bandits Was Generally 
   The Strong Box Of The Express Company, Which Contained money And 
   Other Valuables.  They Did Not, Of Course, Hesitate To Take What 
   Ready Cash And Jewelry The Passengers Might Happen To Have Upon 
   Their Persons, And Frequently Their Hauls Amounted to Large Sums. 
     
     
     
   When The Coaches Began To Travel Over Uncle Dick'S Toll-Road, His 
   House Was Made A Station, And He Had Many Stage Stories.  He Said:-- 
     
     
     
   "Tavern-Keepers In those Days Couldn'T Choose Their Guests, And We 
   Entertained them Just As They Came Along.  The Knights Of The Road 
   Would Come By Now And Then, Order A Meal, Eat It Hurriedly, Pay For 
   It, And Move On To Where They Had Arranged to Hold Up A Stage That 
   Night.  Sometimes They Did Not Wait For It To Get Dark, But Halted 
   The Stage, Went Through The Treasure Box In broad Daylight, And 
   Then Ordered the Driver To Move On In one Direction, While They 
   Went Off In another. 
     
     
     
   "One Of The Most Daring and Successful Stage Robberies That I Remember 
   Was Perpetrated by Two Men, When The East-Bound Coach Was Coming Up 
   On The South Side Of The Raton Mountains, One Day About Ten O'Clock 
   In The Forenoon. 
     
     
     
   "On The Morning Of The Same Day, A Little After Sunrise, Two Rather 
   Genteel-Looking Fellows, Mounted on Fine Horses, Rode Up To My 
   House And Ordered breakfast.  Being Informed that Breakfast Would 
   Be Ready In a Few Minutes, They Dismounted, Hitched their Horses 
   Near The Door, And Came Into The House. 
     
     
     
   "I Knew Then, Just As Well As I Do Now, They Were Robbers, But I 
   Had No Warrant For Their Arrest, And I Should Have Hesitated about 
   Serving It If I Had, Because They Looked like Very Unpleasant Men 
   To Transact That Kind Of Business With. 
     
     
     
   "Each Of Them Had Four Pistols Sticking In his Belt And A Repeating 
   Rifle Strapped on To His Saddle.  When They Dismounted, They Left 
   Their Rifles With The Horses, But Walked into The House And Sat Down 
   At The Table, Without Laying aside The Arsenal Which They Carried 
   In Their Belts. 
     
     
     
   "They Had Little To Say While Eating, But Were Courteous In their 
   Behaviour, And Very Polite To The Waiters.  When They Had Finished 
   Breakfast, They Paid Their Bills, And Rode Leisurely Up The Mountain. 
     
     
     
   "It Did Not Occur To Me That They Would Take Chances On Stopping 
   The Stage In daylight, Or I Should Have Sent Some One To Meet The 
   Incoming Coach, Which I Knew Would Be Along Shortly, To Warn The 
   Driver And Passengers To Be On The Lookout For Robbers. 
     
     
     
   "It Turned out, However, That A Daylight Robbery Was Just What They 
   Had In mind, And They Made A Success Of It. 
     
     
     
   "About Halfway Down The New Mexico Side Of The Mountain, Where The 
   Canyon Is Very Narrow, And Was Then Heavily Wooded on Either Side, 
   The Robbers Stopped and Waited for The Coach.  It Came Lumbering 
   Along By And By, Neither The Driver Nor The Passengers Dreaming Of 
   A Hold-Up. 
     
     
     
   "The First Intimation They Had Of Such A Thing Was When They Saw 
   Two Men Step Into The Road, One On Each Side Of The Stage, Each Of 
   Them Holding Two Cocked revolvers, One Of Which Was Brought To Bear 
   On The Passengers And The Other On The Driver, Who Were Politely 
   But Very Positively Told That They Must Throw Up Their Hands Without 
   Any Unnecessary Delay, And The Stage Came To A Standstill. 
     
     
     
   "There Were Four Passengers In the Coach, All Men, But Their Hands 
   Went Up At The Same Instant That The Driver Dropped his Reins And 
   Struck An Attitude That Suited the Robbers. 
     
     
     
   "Then, While One Of The Men Stood Guard, The Other Stepped up To 
   The Stage And Ordered the Treasure Box Thrown Off.  This Demand Was 
   Complied with, And The Box Was Broken And Rifled of Its Contents, 
   Which Fortunately Were Not Of Very Great Value. 
     
     
     
   "The Passengers Were Compelled to Hand Out Their Watches And Other 
   Jewelry, As Well As What Money They Had In their Pockets, And Then 
   The Driver Was Directed to Move Up The Road.  In a Minute After 
   This The Robbers Had Disappeared with Their Booty, And That Was 
   The Last Seen Of Them By That Particular Coach-Load Of Passengers. 
     
     
     
   "The Men Who Planned and Executed that Robbery Were Two Cool, 
   Level-Headed, And Daring Scoundrels, Known As 'Chuckle-Luck' And 
   'Magpie.'  They Were Killed soon After This Occurrence, By A Member 
   Of Their Own Band, Whose Name Was Seward.  A Reward Of A Thousand 
   Dollars Had Been Offered for Their Capture, An This Tempted seward 
   To Kill Them, One Night When They Were Asleep In camp. 
     
     
     
   "He Then Secured a Wagon, Into Which He Loaded the Dead Robbers, 
   And Hauled them To Cimarron City, Where He Turned them Over To The 
   Authorities And Received his Reward." 
     
     
     
   Among The Arapahoes Wooton Was Called "Cut Hand," From The Fact 
   That He Had Lost Two Fingers On His Left Hand By An Accident In his 
   Childhood.  The Tribe Had The Utmost Veneration For The Old Trapper, 
   And He Was Perfectly Safe At Any Time In their Villages Or Camps; 
   It Had Been The Request Of A Dying Chief, Who Was Once Greatly 
   Favoured by Wooton, That His Warriors Should Never Injure Him Although 
   The Nation Might Be At War With All The Rest Of The Whites In the World. 
     
     
     
   Uncle Dick Died a Few Seasons Ago, At The Age Of Nearly Ninety. 
   He Was Blind For Some Time, But A Surgical Operation Partly Restored 
   His Sight, Which Made The Old Man Happy, Because He Could Look Again 
   Upon The Beautiful Scenery Surrounding His Mountain Home, Really 
   The Grandest In the Entire Raton Range.  The Atchison, Topeka, And 
   Santa Fe Railroad Had One Of Its Freight Locomotives Named "Uncle 
   Dick," In honour Of The Veteran Mountaineer, Past Whose House It 
   Hauled the Heavy-Laden Trains Up The Steep Grade Crossing Into The 
   Valley Beyond.  At The Time Of Its Baptism, Now Fifteen Or Sixteen 
   Years Ago, It Was The Largest Freight Engine In the World. 
     
     
     
   Old Bill Williams Was Another Character Of The Early Days Of The 
   Trail, And Was Called so When Carson, Uncle Dick Wooton, And Maxwell 
   Were Comparatively Young In the Mountains.  He Was, At The Time Of 
   Their Advent In the Remote West, One Of The Best Known Men There, 
   And Had Been Famous For Years As A Hunter And Trapper.  Williams Was 
   Better Acquainted with Every Pass In the Rockies Than Any Other Man 
   Of His Time, And Only Surpassed by Jim Bridger Later.  He Was With 
   General Fremont On His Exploring Expedition Across The Continent; 
   But The Statement Of The Old Trappers, And That Of General Fremont, 
   In Relation To His Services Then, Differ Widely.  Fremont Admits 
   Williams' Knowledge Of The Country Over Which He Had Wandered to Have 
   Been Very Extensive, But When Put To The Test On The Expedition, 
   He Came Very Near Sacrificing The Lives Of All.  This Was Probably 
   Owing To Williams' Failing Intellect, For When He Joined the Great 
   Explorer He Was Past The Meridian Of Life.  Now The Old Mountaineers 
   Contend That If Fremont Had Profited by The Old Man'S Advice, He Would 
   Never Have Run Into The Deathtrap Which Cost Him Three Men, And 
   In Which He Lost All His Valuable Papers, His Instruments, And The 
   Animals Which He And His Party Were Riding.  The Expedition Had 
   Followed the Arkansas River To Its Source, And The General Had 
   Selected a Route Which He Desired to Pursue In crossing The Mountains. 
   It Was Winter, And Williams Explained to Him That It Was Perfectly 
   Impracticable To Get Over At That Season.  The General, However, 
   Ignoring The Statement, Listened to Another Of His Party, A Man Who 
   Had No Such Experience But Said That He Could Pilot The Expedition. 
   Before They Had Fairly Started, They Were Caught In one Of The Most 
   Terrible Snowstorms The Region Had Ever Witnessed, In which All Their 
   Horses And Mules Were Literally Frozen To Death.  Then, When It Was 
   Too Late, They Turned back, Abandoning Their Instruments, And Able 
   Only To Carry Along A Very Limited stock Of Food.  The Storm Continued 
   To Rage, So That Even Williams Failed to Prevent Them From Getting 
   Lost, And They Wandered about Aimlessly For Many Days Before They 
   Luckily Arrived at Taos, Suffering Seriously From Exhaustion And 
   Hunger.  Three Of The Men Were Frozen To Death On The Return Trip, 
   And The Remaining Fifteen Were Little Better Than Dead When Uncle 
   Dick Wooton Happened to Run Across Them And Piloted them Into The 
   Village.  It Was Immediately After This Disaster That The Three Most 
   Noted men In the Mountains--Carson, Maxwell, And Dick Owens--Became The 
   Guides Of The Pathfinder, With Whom He Had No Trouble, And To Whom 
   He Owed more Of His Success Than History Has Given Them Credit For. 
     
     
     
   At One Period Of His Eventful Career, While He Lived in missouri, 
   Before He Wandered to The Mountains, Old Bill Williams Was A Methodist 
   Preacher; Of Which Fact He Boasted frequently While He Trapped and 
   Hunted with Other Pioneers.  Whenever He Related that Portion Of His 
   Early Life, He Declared that He "Was So Well Known In his Circuit, 
   That The Chickens Recognized him As He Came Riding By The Scattered 
   Farmhouses, And The Old Roosters Would Crow 'Here Comes Parson 
   Williams!  One Of Us Must Be Made Ready For Dinner.'" 
     
     
     
   Upon Leaving The States, He Travelled very Extensively Among The 
   Various Tribes Of Indians Who Roamed over The Great Plains And In the 
   Mountains.  When Sojourning With A Certain Band, He Would Invariably 
   Adopt Their Manners And Customs.  Whenever He Grew Tired of That 
   Nation, He Would Seek Another And Live As They Lived.  He Had Been 
   So Long Among The Savages That He Looked and Talked like One, And 
   Had Imbibed many Of Their Strange Notions And Curious Superstitions. 
     
     
     
   To The Missionaries He Was Very Useful.  He Possessed the Faculty 
   Of Easily Acquiring Languages That Other White Men Failed to Learn, 
   And Could Readily Translate The Bible Into Several Indian Dialects. 
   His Own Conduct, However, Was In strange Contrast With The Precepts 
   Of The Holy Book With Which He Was So Familiar. 
     
     
     
   To The Native Mexicans He Was A Holy Terror And An Unsolvable Riddle. 
   They Thought Him Possessed of An Evil Spirit.  He At One Time Took Up 
   His Residence Among Them And Commenced to Trade.  Shortly After He 
   Had Established himself And Gathered in a Stock Of Goods, He Became 
   Involved in a Dispute With Some Of His Customers In relation To His 
   Prices.  Upon This He Apparently Took An Intense Dislike To The 
   People Whom He Had Begun To Traffic With, And In his Disgust Tossed 
   His Whole Mass Of Goods Into The Street, And, Taking Up His Rifle, 
   Left At Once For The Mountains. 
     
     
     
   Among The Many Wild Ideas He Had Imbibed from His Long Association 
   With The Indians, Was Faith In their Belief In the Transmigration 
   Of Souls.  He Used so To Worry His Brain For Hours Cogitating Upon 
   This Intricate Problem Concerning a Future State, That He Actually 
   Pretended to Know Exactly The Animal Whose Place He Was Destined to 
   Fill In the World After He Had Shaken Off This Mortal Human Coil. 
     
     
     
   Uncle Dick Wooton Told How Once, When He, Old Bill Williams, And 
   Many Other Trappers, Were Lying around The Camp-Fire One Night, 
   The Strange Fellow, In a Preaching Style Of Delivery, Related to Them 
   All How He Was To Be Changed into A Buck Elk And Intended to Make 
   His Pasture In the Very Region Where They Then Were.  He Described 
   Certain Peculiarities Which Would Distinguish Him From The Common 
   Run Of Elk, And Was Very Careful To Caution All Those Present Never 
   To Shoot Such An Animal, Should They Ever Run Across Him. 
     
     
     
   Williams Was Regarded as A Warm-Hearted, Brave, And Generous Man. 
   He Was At Last Killed by The Indians, While Trading With Them, But 
   Has Left His Name To Many Mountain Peaks, Rivers, And Passes 
   Discovered by Him. 
     
     
     
   Tom Tobin, One Of The Last Of The Famous Trappers, Hunters, And Indian 
   Fighters To Cross The Dark River, Flourished in the Early Days, When 
   The Rocky Mountains Were A Veritable Terra Incognita To Nearly All 
   Excepting The Hardy Employees Of The Several Fur Companies And The 
   Limited number Of United states Troops Stationed in their Remote Wilds. 
     
     
     
   Tom Was An Irishman, Quick-Tempered, And A Dead Shot With Either 
   Rifle, Revolver, Or The Formidable Bowie-Knife.  He Would Fight At 
   The Drop Of The Hat, But No Man Ever Went Away From His Cabin Hungry, 
   If He Had A Crust To Divide; Or Penniless, If There Was Anything 
   Remaining In his Purse. 
     
     
     
   He, Like Carson, Was Rather Under The Average Stature, Red-Faced, 
   And Lacking Much Of Being an Adonis, But Whole-Souled, And As Quick 
   In His Movements As An Antelope. 
     
     
     
   Tobin Played an Important Role In avenging The Death Of The Americans 
   Killed in the Taos Massacre, At The Storming Of The Indian Pueblo, 
   But His Greatest Achievement Was The Ending Of The Noted bandit 
   Espinosa'S Life, Who, At The Height Of His Career Of Blood, Was The 
   Terror Of The Whole Mountain Region. 
     
     
     
   At The Time Of The Acquisition Of New Mexico By The United states, 
   Espinosa, Who Was A Mexican, Owning Vast Herds Of Cattle And Sheep, 
   Resided upon His Ancestral Hacienda In a Sort Of Barbaric Luxury, 
   With A Host Of Semi-Serfs, Known As Peons, To Do His Bidding, As Did 
   The Other "Muy Ricos," The "Dons," So Called, Of His Class Of Natives. 
   These Self-Styled aristocrats Of The Wild Country All Boasted of 
   Their Castilian Blue Blood, Claiming Descent From The Nobles Of 
   Cortez' Army, But The Fact Is, However, With Rare Exceptions, That 
   Their Male Ancestors, The Rank And File Of That Army, Intermarried 
   With The Aztec Women, And They Were Really Only A Mixture Of Indian 
   And Spanish. 
     
     
     
   It So Happened that Espinosa Met An Adventurous American, Who, With 
   Hundreds Of Others, Had Been Attached to The "Army Of Occupation" 
   In The Mexican War, Or Had Emigrated from The States To Seek Their 
   Fortunes In the Newly Acquired and Much Over-Rated territory. 
     
     
     
   The Mexican Don And The American Became Fast Friends, The Latter 
   Making His Home With His Newly Found Acquaintance At The Beautiful 
   Ranch In the Mountains, Where They Played the Role Of A Modern Damon 
   And Pythias. 
     
     
     
   Now With Don Espinosa Lived his Sister, A Dark-Eyed, Bewitchingly 
   Beautiful Girl About Seventeen Years Old, With Whom The Susceptible 
   American Fell Deeply In love, And His Affection Was Reciprocated 
   By The Maiden, With A Fervour Of Which Only The Women Of The Race 
   From Which She Sprang Are Capable. 
     
     
     
   The Fascinating american Had Brought With Him From His Home In one 
   Of The New England States A Large Amount Of Money, For His Parents 
   Were Rich, And Spared no Indulgence To Their Only Son.  He Very Soon 
   Unwisely Made Espinosa His Confidant, And Told Him Of The Wealth 
   He Possessed. 
     
     
     
   One Night After The American Had Retired to His Chamber, Adjoining 
   That Of His Host, He Was Surprised, Shortly After He Had Gone To Bed, 
   By Discovering a Man Standing Over Him, Whose Hand Had Already Grasped 
   The Buckskin Bag Under His Pillow Which Contained a Considerable 
   Portion Of His Gold And Silver.  He Sprang From His Couch And Fired 
   His Pistol At Random In the Darkness At The Would-Be Robber. 
     
     
     
   Espinosa, For It Was He, Was Wounded slightly, And, Being Either 
   Enraged or Frightened, He Stabbed with His Keen-Pointed stiletto, 
   Which All Mexicans Then Carried, The Young Man Whom He Had Invited 
   To Become His Guest, And The Blade Entered the American'S Heart, 
   Killing Him Instantly. 
     
     
     
   The Report Of The Pistol-Shot Awakened the Other Members Of The 
   Household, Who Came Rushing Into The Room Just As The Victim Was 
   Breathing His Last.  Among Them Was The Sister Of The Murderer, 
   Who, Throwing Herself On The Body Of Her Dead Lover, Poured forth 
   The Most Bitter Curses Upon Her Brother. 
     
     
     
   Espinosa, Realizing The Terrible Position In which He Had Placed 
   Himself, Then And There Determined to Become An Outlaw, As He Could 
   Frame No Excuse For His Wicked deed.  He Therefore Hid Himself 
   At Once In the Mountains, Carrying With Him, Of Course, The Sack 
   Containing The Murdered american'S Money. 
     
     
     
   Some Time Necessarily Passed before He Could Get Together A Sufficient 
   Number Of Cut-Throats And Renegades From Justice To Enable Him Wholly 
   To Defy The Authorities; But At Last He Succeeded in rallying a 
   Strong Force To His Standard Of Blood, And Became The Terror Of The 
   Whole Region, Equalling In boldness And Audacity The Terrible Joaquin, 
   Of California Notoriety In after Years. 
     
     
     
   His Headquarters Were In the Almost Impregnable Fastnesses Of The 
   Sangre De Cristo Mountains, From Which He Made His Invariably 
   Successful Raids Into The Rich Valleys Below.  There Was Nothing 
   Too Bloody For Him To Shrink From; He Robbed indiscriminately The 
   Overland Coaches To Santa Fe, The Freight Caravans Of The Traders 
   And Government, The Ranches Of The Mexicans, Or Stole From The Poorer 
   Classes, Without Any Compunction.  He Ran Off Horses, Cattle, Sheep-- 
   In Fact, Anything That He Could Utilize.  If Murder Was Necessary 
   To The Completion Of His Work, He Never For A Moment Hesitated. 
   Kidnapping, Too, Was A Favourite Pastime; But He Rarely Carried 
   Away To His Rendezvous Any Other Than The Most Beautiful Of The 
   New Mexican Young Girls, Whom He Held In his Mountain Den Until 
   They Were Ransomed, Or Subjected to A Fate More Terrible. 
     
     
     
   In 1864 The Bandit, After Nearly Ten Years Of Unparalleled outlawry, 
   Was Killed by Tobin.  Tom Had Been On His Trail For Some Time, And 
   At Last Tracked him To A Temporary Camp In the Foot-Hills, Which 
   He Accidentally Discovered in a Grove Of Cottonwoods, By The Smoke 
   Of The Little Camp-Fire As It Curled in light Wreaths Above The Trees. 
     
     
     
   Tobin Knew That At The Time There Was But One Of Espinosa'S Followers 
   With Him, As He Had Watched them Both For Some Days, Waiting For An 
   Opportunity To Get The Drop On Them.  To Capture The Pair Of Outlaws 
   Alive Never Entered his Thoughts; He Was As Cautious As Brave, And 
   To Get Them Dead Was Much Safer And Easier; So He Crept Up To The 
   Grove On His Belly, Indian Fashion, And Lying Behind The Cover Of 
   A Friendly Log, Waited until The Noted desperado Stood Up, When He 
   Pulled the Trigger Of His Never-Erring Rifle, And Espinosa Fell Dead. 
   A Second Shot Quickly Disposed of His Companion, And The Old Trapper'S 
   Mission Was Accomplished. 
     
     
     
   To Be Able To Claim The Reward Offered by The Authorities, Tom Had 
   To Prove, Beyond The Possibility Of Doubt, That Those Whom He Had 
   Killed were The Dreaded bandit And One Of His Gang.  He Thought It 
   Best To Cut Off Their Heads, Which He Deliberately Did, And Packing 
   Them On His Mule In a Gunny-Sack, He Brought Them Into Old Fort 
   Massachusetts, Afterward Fort Garland, Where They Were Speedily 
   Recognized; But Whether Tom Ever Received the Reward, I Have My 
   Doubts, As He Never Claimed that He Did.  Tobin Died only A Short 
   Time Ago, Gray, Grizzled, And Venerable, His Memory Respected by All 
   Who Had Ever Met Him. 
     
     
     
   James Hobbs, Among All The Men Of Whom I Have Presented a Hurried 
   Sketch, Had Perhaps A More Varied experience Than Any Of His Colleagues. 
   During His Long Life On The Frontier, He Was In turn A Prisoner Among 
   The Savages, And Held For Years By Them; An Excellent Soldier In 
   The War With Mexico; An Efficient Officer In the Revolt Against 
   Maximilian, When The Attempt Of Napoleon To Establish An Empire On 
   This Continent, With That Unfortunate Prince At Its Head, Was Defeated; 
   An Indian Fighter; A Miner; A Trapper; A Trader, And A Hunter. 
     
     
     
   Hobbs Was Born In the Shawnee Nation, On The Big Blue, About 
   Twenty-Three Miles From Independence, Missouri.  His Early Childhood 
   Was Entrusted to One Of His Father'S Slaves.  Reared on The Eastern 
   Limit Of The Border, He Very Soon Became Familiar With The Use Of 
   The Rifle And Shot-Gun; In fact, He Was The Principal Provider Of 
   All The Meat Which The Family Consumed. 
     
     
     
   In 1835, When Only Sixteen, He Joined a Fur-Trading Expedition Under 
   Charles Bent, Destined for The Fort On The Arkansas River Built By 
   Him And His Brothers. 
     
     
     
   They Arrived at The Crossing Of The Santa Fe Trail Over Pawnee Fork 
   Without Special Adventure, But There They Had The Usual Tussle With 
   The Savages, And Hobbs Killed his First Indian.  Two Of The Traders 
   Were Pierced with Arrows, But Not Seriously Hurt, And The Pawnees 
   --The Tribe Which Had Attacked the Outfit--Were Driven Away Discomfited, 
   Not Having Been Successful In stampeding a Single Animal. 
     
     
     
   When The Party Reached the Caches, On The Upper Arkansas, A Smoke 
   Rising On The Distant Horizon, Beyond The Sand Hills South Of The 
   River, Made Them Proceed cautiously; For To The Old Plainsmen, That 
   Far-Off Wreath Indicated either The Presence Of The Savages, Or A 
   Signal To Others At A Greater Distance Of The Approach Of The Trappers. 
     
     
     
   The Next Morning, Nothing Having Occurred to Delay The March, Buffalo 
   Began To Appear, And Hobbs Killed three Of Them.  A Cow, Which He 
   Had Wounded, Ran Across The Trail In front Of The Train, And Hobbs 
   Dashed after Her, Wounding Her With His Pistol, And Then She Started 
   To Swim The River.  Hobbs, Mad At The Jeers Which Greeted him From 
   The Men At His Missing The Animal, Started for The Last Wagon, 
   In Which Was His Rifle, Determined to Kill The Brute That Had 
   Enraged him.  As He Was Riding along Rapidly, Bent Cried out To Him,-- 
     
     
     
   "Don'T Try To Follow That Cow; She Is Going Straight For That Smoke, 
   And It Means Injuns, And No Good In 'Em Either." 
     
     
     
   "But I'Ll Get Her," Answered hobbs, And He Called to His Closest 
   Comrade, John Baptiste, A Boy Of About His Own Age, To Go And Get 
   His Pack-Mule And Come Along.  "All Right," Responded john; And 
   Together The Two Inexperienced youngsters Crossed the River Against 
   The Protests Of The Veteran Leader Of The Party. 
     
     
     
   After A Chase Of About Three Miles, The Boys Came Up With The Cow, 
   But She Turned and Showed fight.  Finally Hobbs, By Riding around Her, 
   Got In a Good Shot, Which Killed her.  Jumping Off Their Animals, 
   Both Boys Busied themselves In cutting Out The Choice Pieces For 
   Their Supper, Packed them On The Mule, And Started back For The Train. 
   But It Had Suddenly Become Very Dark, And They Were In doubt As To 
   The Direction Of The Trail. 
     
     
     
   Soon Night Came On So Rapidly That Neither Could They See Their Own 
   Tracks By Which They Had Come, Nor The Thin Fringe Of Cottonwoods 
   That Lined the Bank Of The Stream.  Then They Disagreed as To Which 
   Was The Right Way.  John Succeeded in persuading Hobbs That He Was 
   Correct, And The Latter Gave In, Very Much Against His Own Belief 
   On The Subject. 
     
     
     
   They Travelled all Night, And When Morning Came, Were Bewilderingly 
   Lost.  Then Hobbs Resolved to Retrace The Tracks By Which, Now That 
   The Sun Was Up, He Saw That They Had Been Going South, Right Away 
   From The Arkansas.  Suddenly An Immense Herd Of Buffalo, Containing 
   At Least Two Thousand, Dashed by The Boys, Filling The Air With The 
   Dust Raised by Their Clattering Hoofs, And Right Behind Them Rode 
   A Hundred indians, Shooting at The Stampeded animals With Their Arrows. 
     
     
     
   "Get Into That Ravine!" Shouted hobbs To His Companion.  "Throw Away 
   That Meat, And Run For Your Life!" 
     
     
     
   It Was Too Late; Just As They Arrived at The Brink Of The Hollow, 
   They Looked back, And Close Behind Them Were A Dozen Comanches. 
     
     
     
   The Savages Rode Up, And One Of The Party Said In very Good English, 
   "How D' Do?" 
     
     
     
   "How D' Do?" Hobbs Replied, Thinking It Would Be Better To Be As 
   Polite As The Indian, Though The State Of The Latter'S Health Just 
   Then Was A Matter Of Small Concern. 
     
     
     
   "Texas?" Inquired the Indian.  The Comanches Had Good Reasons To 
   Hate The Citizens Of That Country, And It Was A Lucky Thing For 
   Hobbs That He Had Heard Of Their Prejudice From The Trappers, And 
   Possessed presence Of Mind To Remember It.  He Replied promptly: 
   "No, Friendly; Going To Establish A Trading-Post For The Comanches." 
     
     
     
   "Friendly?  Better Go With Us, Though.  Got Any Tobacco?" 
     
     
     
   Hobbs Had Some Of The Desired article, And He Was Not Long In handing 
   It Over To His Newly Found Friend. 
     
     
     
   Both Of The Boys Were Escorted to The Temporary Camp Of The Savages, 
   But The Original Number Of Their Captors Was Increased to Over A 
   Thousand Before They Arrived there.  They Were Supplied with Some 
   Dried buffalo-Meat, And Then Taken To The Lodge Of Old Wolf, The 
   Head Chief Of The Tribe. 
     
     
     
   A Council Was Called immediately To Consider What Disposition Should 
   Be Made Of Them, But Nothing Was Decided upon, And The Assembly Of 
   Warriors Adjourned until Morning.  Hobbs Told Me That It Was Because 
   Old Wolf Had Imbibed too Much Brandy, A Bottle Of Which Baptiste Had 
   Brought With Him From The Train, And Which The Thirsty Warrior Saw 
   Suspended from His Saddle-Bow As They Rode Up To The Chief'S Lodge; 
   The Aged rascal Got Beastly Drunk. 
     
     
     
   About Noon Of The Next Day, After The Dispersion Of The Council, 
   The Boys Were Informed that If They Were Not Texans, Would Behave 
   Themselves, And Not Attempt To Run Away, They Might Stay With The 
   Indians, Who Would Not Kill Them; But A String Of Dried scalps Was 
   Pointed out, Hanging On A Lodge Pole, Of Some Mexicans Whom They 
   Had Captured and Put To Herding Their Ponies, And Who Had Tried to 
   Get Away.  They Succeeded in making a Few Miles; The Indians Chased 
   Them, After Deciding In council, That, If Caught, Only Their Scalps 
   Were To Be Brought Back.  The Moral Of This Was That The Same Fate 
   Awaited the Boys If They Followed the Example Of The Foolish Mexicans. 
     
     
     
   Hobbs Had Excellent Sense And Judgment, And He Knew That It Would 
   Be The Height Of Folly For Him And Baptiste, Mere Boys, To Try And 
   Reach Either Bent'S Fort Or The Missouri River, Not Having The 
   Slightest Knowledge Of Where They Were Situated. 
     
     
     
   Hobbs Grew To Be A Great Favourite With The Comanches; Was Given 
   The Daughter Of Old Wolf In marriage, Became A Great Chief, Fought 
   Many Hard Battles With His Savage Companions, And At Last, Four Years 
   After, Was Redeemed by Colonel Bent, Who Paid Old Wolf A Small 
   Ransom For Him At The Fort, Where The Indians Had Come To Trade. 
   Baptiste, Whom The Indians Never Took A Great Fancy To, Because He 
   Did Not Develop Into A Great Warrior, Was Also Ransomed by Bent, 
   His Price Being Only An Antiquated mule. 
     
     
     
   At Bent'S Fort Hobbs Went Out Trapping Under The Leadership Of Kit 
   Carson, And They Became Lifelong Friends.  In a Short Time Hobbs 
   Earned the Reputation Of Being an Excellent Mountaineer, Trapper, 
   And As An Indian Fighter He Was Second To None, His Education Among 
   The Comanches Having Trained him In all The Strategy Of The Savages. 
     
     
     
   After Going Through The Mexican War With An Excellent Record, Hobbs 
   Wandered about The Country, Now Engaged in mining In old Mexico, Then 
   Fighting The Apaches Under The Orders Of The Governor Of Chihuahua, 
   And At The End Of The Campaign Going Back To The Pacific Coast, 
   Where He Entered into New Pursuits.  Sometimes He Was Rich, Then As 
   Poor As One Can Imagine.  He Returned to Old Mexico In time To Become 
   An Active Partisan In the Revolt Which Overthrew The Short-Lived 
   Dynasty Of Maximilian, And Was Present At The Execution Of That 
   Unfortunate Prince.  Finally He Retired to The Home Of His Childhood 
   In The States, Where He Died a Few Months Ago, Full Of Years And Honours. 
     
     
     
   William F. Cody, "Buffalo Bill," Is One Of The Famous Plainsmen, 
   Of Later Days, However, Than Carson, Bridger, John Smith, Maxwell, 
   And Others Whom I Have Mentioned.  The Mantle Of Kit Carson, Perhaps, 
   Fits More Perfectly The Shoulders Of Cody Than Those Of Any Other 
   Of The Great Frontiersman'S Successors, And He Has Had Some Experiences 
   That Surpassed anything Which Fell To Their Lot. 
     
     
     
   He Was Born In iowa, In 1845, And When Barely Seven Years Old His 
   Father Emigrated to Kansas, Then Far Remote From Civilization. 
     
     
     
   Thirty-Six Years Ago, He Was Employed as Guide And Scout In an 
   Expedition Against The Kiowas And Comanches, And His Line Of Duty 
   Took Him Along The Santa Fe Trail All One Summer When Not Out As 
   A Scout, Carrying Despatches Between Fort Lyon And Fort Larned, 
   The Most Important Military Posts On The Great Highway As Well As 
   To Far-Off Fort Leavenworth On The Missouri River, The Headquarters 
   Of The Department.  Fort Larned was The General Rendezvous Of All 
   The Scouts On The Kansas And Colorado Plains, The Chief Of Whom Was 
   A Veteran Interpreter And Guide, Named dick Curtis. 
     
     
     
   When Cody First Reported there For His Responsible Duty, A Large Camp 
   Of The Kiowas And Comanches Was Established within Sight Of The Fort, 
   Whose Warriors Had Not As Yet Put On Their War-Paint, But Were 
   Evidently Restless And Discontented under The Restraint Of Their 
   Chiefs.  Soon Those Leading Men, Satanta, Lone Wolf, Satank, And 
   Others Of Lesser Note, Grew Rather Impudent And Haughty In their 
   Deportment, And They Were Watched with Much Concern.  The Post Was 
   Garrisoned by Only Two Companies Of Infantry And One Of Cavalry. 
     
     
     
   General Hazen, Afterward Chief Of The Signal Service In washington, 
   Was At Fort Larned at The Time, Endeavouring To Patch Up A Peace With 
   The Savages, Who Seemed determined to Break Out.  Cody Was Special 
   Scout To The General, And One Morning He Was Ordered to Accompany Him 
   As Far As Fort Zarah, On The Arkansas, Near The Mouth Of Walnut Creek, 
   In What Is Now Barton County, Kansas, The General Intending To Go 
   On To Fort Harker, On The Smoky Hill.  In making These Trips Of 
   Inspection, With Incidental Collateral Duties, The General Usually 
   Travelled in an Ambulance, But On This Journey He Rode In a Six-Mule 
   Army-Wagon, Escorted by A Detachment Of A Score Of Infantry.  It Was 
   A Warm August Day, And An Early Start Was Made, Which Enabled them 
   To Reach Fort Zarah, Over Thirty Miles Distant, By Noon.  After Dinner, 
   The General Proposed to Go On To Fort Harker, Forty-One Miles Away, 
   Without Any Escort, Leaving Orders For Cody To Return To Fort Larned 
   The Next Day, With The Soldiers.  But Cody, Ever Impatient Of Delay 
   When There Was Work To Do, Notified the Sergeant In charge Of The 
   Men That He Was Going Back That Very Afternoon.  I Tell The Story 
   Of His Trip As He Has Often Told It To Me, And As He Has Written 
   It In his Autobiography. 
     
     
     
   "I Accordingly Saddled up My Mule And Set Out For Fort Larned. 
   I Proceeded on Uninterruptedly Until I Got About Halfway Between 
   The Two Posts, When, At Pawnee Rock, I Was Suddenly Jumped by About 
   Forty Indians, Who Came Dashing Up To Me, Extending Their Hands 
   And Saying, 'How!  How!'  They Were Some Of The Indians Who Had Been 
   Hanging around Fort Larned in the Morning.  I Saw They Had On Their 
   War-Paint, And Were Evidently Now Out On The War-Path. 
     
     
     
   "My First Impulse Was To Shake Hands With Them, As They Seemed so 
   Desirous Of It.  I Accordingly Reached out My Hand To One Of Them, 
   Who Grasped it With A Tight Grip, And Jerked me Violently Forward; 
   Then Pulled my Mule By The Bridle, And In a Moment I Was Completely 
   Surrounded.  Before I Could Do Anything at All, They Had Seized my 
   Revolvers From The Holsters, And I Received a Blow On The Head From 
   A Tomahawk Which Nearly Rendered me Senseless.  My Gun, Which Was 
   Lying across The Saddle, Was Snatched from Its Place, And Finally 
   The Indian Who Had Hold Of The Bridle Started off Toward The Arkansas 
   River, Leading The Mule, Which Was Being Lashed by The Other Indians, 
   Who Were Following.  The Savages Were All Singing, Yelling, And 
   Whooping, As Only Indians Can Do, When They Are Having Their Little 
   Game All Their Own Way.  While Looking Toward The River, I Saw On 
   The Opposite Side An Immense Village Moving along The Bank, And Then 
   I Became Convinced that The Indians Had Left The Post And Were Now 
   Starting Out On The War-Path.  My Captors Crossed the Stream With Me, 
   And As We Waded through The Shallow Water They Continued to Lash The 
   Mule And Myself.  Finally They Brought Me Before An Important-Looking 
   Body Of Indians, Who Proved to Be The Chiefs And Principal Warriors. 
   I Soon Recognized old Satanta Among Them, As Well As Others Whom 
   I Knew, And Supposed it Was All Over With Me. 
     
     
     
   "The Indians Were Jabbering away So Rapidly Among Themselves That 
   I Could Not Understand What They Were Saying.  Satanta At Last Asked 
   Me Where I Had Been.  As Good Luck Would Have It, A Happy Thought 
   Struck Me.  I Told Him I Had Been After A Herd Of Cattle, Or 
   'Whoa-Haws,' As They Called them.  It So Happened that The Indians 
   Had Been Out Of Meat For Several Weeks, As The Large Herd Of Cattle 
   Which Had Been Promised them Had Not Yet Arrived, Although They 
   Expected them. 
     
     
     
   "The Moment I Mentioned that I Had Been Searching For 'Whoa-Haws,' 
   Old Satanta Began Questioning Me In a Very Eager Manner.  He Asked me 
   Where The Cattle Were, And I Replied that They Were Back A Few Miles, 
   And That I Had Been Sent By General Hazen To Inform Him That The 
   Cattle Were Coming, And That They Were Intended for His People. 
   This Seemed to Please The Old Rascal, Who Also Wanted to Know If There 
   Were Any Soldiers With The Herd, And My Reply Was That There Were. 
   Thereupon The Chiefs Held A Consultation, And Presently Satanta Asked 
   Me If General Hazen Had Really Said That They Should Have The Cattle. 
   I Replied in the Affirmative, And Added that I Had Been Directed to 
   Bring The Cattle To Them.  I Followed this Up With A Very Dignified 
   Inquiry, Asking Why His Young Men Had Treated me So.  The Old Wretch 
   Intimated that It Was Only A 'Freak Of The Boys'; That The Young Men 
   Wanted to See If I Was Brave; In fact, They Had Only Meant To Test Me, 
   And The Whole Thing Was A Joke. 
     
     
     
   "The Veteran Liar Was Now Beating Me At My Own Game Of Lying, But 
   I Was Very Glad, As It Was In my Favour.  I Did Not Let Him Suspect 
   That I Doubted his Veracity, But I Remarked that It Was A Rough Way 
   To Treat Friends.  He Immediately Ordered his Young Men To Give 
   Back My Arms, And Scolded them For What They Had Done.  Of Course, 
   The Sly Old Dog Was Now Playing It Very Fine, As He Was Anxious 
   To Get Possession Of The Cattle, With Which He Believed there Was 
   A 'Heap' Of Soldiers Coming.  He Had Concluded it Was Not Best To 
   Fight The Soldiers If He Could Get The Cattle Peaceably. 
     
     
     
   "Another Council Was Held By The Chiefs, And In a Few Minutes Old 
   Satanta Came And Asked me If I Would Go To The River And Bring The 
   Cattle Down To The Opposite Side, So That They Could Get Them. 
   I Replied, 'Of Course; That'S My Instruction From General Hazen.' 
     
     
     
   "Satanta Said I Must Not Feel Angry At His Young Men, For They Had 
   Only Been Acting In fun.  He Then Inquired if I Wished any Of His Men 
   To Accompany Me To The Cattle Herd.  I Replied that It Would Be Better 
   For Me To Go Alone, And Then The Soldiers Could Keep Right On To 
   Fort Larned, While I Could Drive The Herd Down On The Bottom.  Then 
   Wheeling My Mule Around, I Was Soon Recrossing The River, Leaving Old 
   Satanta In the Firm Belief That I Had Told Him A Straight Story, And 
   That I Was Going For The Cattle Which Existed only In my Imagination. 
     
     
     
   "I Hardly Knew What To Do, But Thought That If I Could Get The River 
   Between The Indians And Myself, I Would Have A Good Three-Quarters Of 
   A Mile The Start Of Them, And Could Then Make A Run For Fort Larned, 
   As My Mule Was A Good One. 
     
     
     
   "Thus Far My Cattle Story Had Panned out All Right; But Just As I 
   Reached the Opposite Bank Of The River, I Looked behind Me And Saw 
   That Ten Or Fifteen Indians, Who Had Begun To Suspect Something 
   Crooked, Were Following Me.  The Moment That My Mule Secured a Good 
   Foothold On The Bank, I Urged him Into A Gentle Lope Toward The Place 
   Where, According To My Statement, The Cattle Were To Be Brought. 
   Upon Reaching a Little Ridge And Riding Down The Other Side Out Of 
   View, I Turned my Mule And Headed him Westward For Fort Larned. 
   I Let Him Out For All That He Was Worth, And When I Came Out On A 
   Little Rise Of Ground, I Looked back And Saw The Indian Village In 
   Plain Sight.  My Pursuers Were Now On The Ridge Which I Had Passed 
   Over, And Were Looking For Me In every Direction. 
     
     
     
   "Presently They Spied me, And Seeing That I Was Running away, They 
   Struck Out In swift Pursuit, And In a Few Minutes It Became Painfully 
   Evident They Were Gaining On Me.  They Kept Up The Chase As Far As 
   Ash Creek, Six Miles From Fort Larned.  I Still Led them Half A Mile, 
   As Their Horses Had Not Gained much During The Last Half Of The Race. 
   My Mule Seemed to Have Gotten His Second Wind, And As I Was On The 
   Old Road, I Played the Spurs And Whip On Him Without Much Cessation; 
   The Indians Likewise Urged their Steeds To The Utmost. 
     
     
     
   "Finally, Upon Reaching The Dividing Ridge Between Ash Creek And 
   Pawnee Fork, I Saw Fort Larned only Four Miles Away.  It Was Now 
   Sundown, And I Heard The Evening Gun.  The Troops Of The Small 
   Garrison Little Dreamed there Was A Man Flying For His Life And 
   Trying To Reach The Post.  The Indians Were Once More Gaining On Me, 
   And When I Crossed the Pawnee Fork Two Miles From The Post, Two Or 
   Three Of Them Were Only A Quarter Of A Mile Behind Me.  Just As I 
   Gained the Opposite Bank Of The Stream, I Was Overjoyed to See Some 
   Soldiers In a Government Wagon Only A Short Distance Off.  I Yelled 
   At The Top Of My Voice, And Riding Up To Them, Told Them That The 
   Indians Were After Me. 
     
     
     
   "'Denver Jim,' A Well-Known Scout, Asked me How Many There Were, And 
   Upon My Informing Him That There Were About A Dozen, He Said: 'Let'S 
   Drive The Wagon Into The Trees, And We'Ll Lay For 'Em.'  The Team 
   Was Hurriedly Driven Among The Trees And Low Box-Elder Bushes, And 
   There Secreted. 
     
     
     
   "We Did Not Have To Wait Long For The Indians, Who Came Dashing Up, 
   Lashing Their Ponies, Which Were Panting and Blowing.  We Let Two 
   Of Them Pass By, But We Opened a Lively Fire On The Next Three Or 
   Four, Killing Two Of Them At The First Crack.  The Others Following 
   Discovered that They Had Run Into An Ambush, And Whirling Off Into 
   The Brush, They Turned and Ran Back In the Direction Whence They 
   Had Come.  The Two Who Had Passed by Heard The Firing and Made Their 
   Escape.  We Scalped the Two That We Had Killed, And Appropriated 
   Their Arms And Equipments; Then, Catching Their Ponies, We Made Our 
   Way Into The Post." 
     
     
   
   
   
   Chapter XVIII (Maxwell'S Ranch) 
   One Of The Most Interesting and Picturesque Regions Of All New Mexico 
   Is The Immense Tract Of Nearly Two Million Acres Known As Maxwell'S 
   Ranch, Through Which The Old Trail Ran, And The Title To Which Was 
   Some Years Since Determined by The Supreme Court Of The United states 
   In Favour Of An Alien Company.[59]  Dead Long Ago, Maxwell Belonged 
   To A Generation And A Class Almost Completely Extinct, And The Like 
   Of Which Will, In all Probability, Never Be Seen Again; For There 
   Is No More Frontier To Develop Them. 
     
     
     
   Several Years Prior To The Acquisition Of The Territory By The 
   United states, The Immense Tract Comprised in the Geographical Limits 
   Of The Ranch Was Granted to Carlos Beaubien And Guadalupe Miranda, 
   Both Citizens Of The Province Of New Mexico, And Agents Of The 
   American Fur Company.  Attached to The Company As An Employer, 
   A Trapper, And Hunter, Was Lucien B. Maxwell, An Illinoisan By Birth, 
   Who Married a Daughter Of Beaubien.  After The Death Of The Latter 
   Maxwell Purchased all The Interest Of The Joint Proprietor, Miranda, 
   And That Of The Heirs Of Beaubien, Thus At Once Becoming The Largest 
   Landowner In the United states. 
     
     
     
   At The Zenith Of His Influence And Wealth, During The War Of The 
   Rebellion, When New Mexico Was Isolated and Almost Independent Of 
   Care Or Thought By The Government At Washington, He Lived in a 
   Sort Of Barbaric Splendour, Akin To That Of The Nobles Of England 
   At The Time Of The Norman Conquest. 
     
     
     
   The Thousands Of Arable Acres Comprised in the Many Fertile Valleys 
   Of His Immense Estate Were Farmed in a Primitive, Feudal Sort Of Way, 
   By Native Mexicans Principally, Under The System Of Peonage Then 
   Existing In the Territory.  He Employed about Five Hundred men, And 
   They Were As Much His Thralls As Were Gurth And Wamba Of Cedric Of 
   Rotherwood, Only They Wore No Engraved collars Around Their Necks 
   Bearing Their Names And That Of Their Master.  Maxwell Was Not A 
   Hard Governor, And His People Really Loved him, As He Was Ever Their 
   Friend And Adviser. 
     
     
     
   His House Was A Palace When Compared with The Prevailing Style Of 
   Architecture In that Country, And Cost An Immense Sum Of Money. 
   It Was Large And Roomy, Purely American In its Construction, But The 
   Manner Of Conducting It Was Strictly Mexican, Varying Between The 
   Customs Of The Higher And Lower Classes Of That Curious People. 
     
     
     
   Some Of Its Apartments Were Elaborately Furnished, Others Devoid Of 
   Everything Except A Table For Card-Playing and A Game'S Complement 
   Of Chairs.  The Principal Room, An Extended rectangular Affair, 
   Which Might Properly Have Been Termed the Baronial Hall, Was Almost 
   Bare Except For A Few Chairs, A Couple Of Tables, And An Antiquated 
   Bureau.  There Maxwell Received his Friends, Transacted business 
   With His Vassals, And Held High Carnival At Times. 
     
     
     
   I Have Slept On Its Hardwood Floor, Rolled up In my Blanket, With 
   The Mighty Men Of The Ute Nation Lying Heads And Points All Around Me, 
   As Close As They Could Possibly Crowd, After A Day'S Fatiguing Hunt 
   In The Mountains.  I Have Sat There In the Long Winter Evenings, 
   When The Great Room Was Lighted only By The Cheerful Blaze Of The 
   Crackling Logs Roaring Up The Huge Throats Of Its Two Fireplaces 
   Built Diagonally Across Opposite Corners, Watching Maxwell, Kit Carson, 
   And Half A Dozen Chiefs Silently Interchange Ideas In the Wonderful 
   Sign Language, Until The Glimmer Of Aurora Announced the Advent Of 
   Another Day.  But Not A Sound Had Been Uttered during The Protracted 
   Hours, Save An Occasional Grunt Of Satisfaction On The Part Of The 
   Indians, Or When We White Men Exchanged a Sentence. 
     
     
     
   Frequently Maxwell And Carson Would Play The Game Of Seven-Up For 
   Hours At A Time, Seated at One Of The Tables.  Kit Was Usually The 
   Victor, For He Was The Greatest Expert In that Old And Popular 
   Pastime I Have Ever Met.  Maxwell Was An Inveterate Gambler, But 
   Not By Any Means In a Professional Sense; He Indulged in the Hazard 
   Of The Cards Simply For The Amusement It Afforded him In his Rough 
   Life Of Ease, And He Could Very Well Afford The Losses Which The 
   Pleasure Sometimes Entailed.  His Special Penchant, However, Was 
   Betting On A Horse Race, And His Own Stud Comprised some Of The 
   Fleetest Animals In the Territory.  Had He Lived in england He Might 
   Have Ruled the Turf, But Many Jobs Were Put Up On Him By Unscrupulous 
   Jockeys, By Which He Was Outrageously Defrauded of Immense Sums. 
     
     
     
   He Was Fond Of Cards, As I Have Said, Both Of The Purely American 
   Game Of Poker, And Also Of Old Sledge, But Rarely Played except With 
   Personal Friends, And Never Without Stakes.  He Always Exacted the 
   Last Cent He Had Won, Though The Next Morning, Perhaps, He Would 
   Present Or Loan His Unsuccessful Opponent Of The Night Before Five 
   Hundred or A Thousand Dollars, If He Needed it; An Immensely Greater 
   Sum, In all Probability, Than Had Been Gained in the Game. 
     
     
     
   The Kitchen And Dining-Rooms Of His Princely Establishment Were 
   Detached from The Main Residence.  There Was One Of The Latter For 
   The Male Portion Of His Retinue And Guests Of That Sex, And Another 
   For The Female, As, In accordance With The Severe, And To Us Strange, 
   Mexican Etiquette, Men Rarely Saw A Woman About The Premises, Though 
   There Were Many.  Only The Quick Rustle Of A Skirt, Or A Hurried view 
   Of A Reboso, As Its Wearer Flashed for An Instant Before Some Window 
   Or Half-Open Door, Told Of Their Presence. 
     
     
     
   The Greater Portion Of His Table-Service Was Solid Silver, And At 
   His Hospitable Board There Were Rarely Any Vacant Chairs.  Covers 
   Were Laid Daily For About Thirty Persons; For He Had Always Many 
   Guests, Invited or Forced upon Him In consequence Of His Proverbial 
   Munificence, Or By The Peculiar Location Of His Manor-House Which 
   Stood Upon A Magnificently Shaded plateau At The Foot Of Mighty 
   Mountains, A Short Distance From A Ford On The Old Trail.  As There 
   Were No Bridges Over The Uncertain Streams Of The Great Overland 
   Route In those Days, The Ponderous Concord Coaches, With Their 
   Ever-Full Burden Of Passengers, Were Frequently Water-Bound, And 
   Maxwell'S The Only Asylum From The Storm And Flood; Consequently 
   He Entertained many. 
     
     
     
   At All Times, And In all Seasons, The Group Of Buildings, Houses, 
   Stables, Mill, Store, And Their Surrounding Grounds, Were A Constant 
   Resort And Loafing-Place Of Indians.  From The Superannuated chiefs, 
   Who Revelled lazily During The Sunny Hours In the Shady Peacefulness 
   Of The Broad Porches; The Young Men Of The Tribe, Who Gazed with 
   Covetous Eyes Upon The Sleek-Skinned, Blooded colts Sporting In the 
   Spacious Corrals; The Squaws, Fascinated by The Gaudy Calicoes, 
   Bright Ribbons, And Glittering Strings Of Beads On The Counters 
   Or Shelves Of The Large Store, To The Half-Naked, Chubby Little 
   Pappooses Around The Kitchen Doors, Waiting With Expectant Mouths 
   For Some Delicious Morsel Of Refuse To Be Thrown To Them--All Assumed, 
   In Bearing and Manner, A Vested right Of Proprietorship In their 
   Agreeable Environment. 
     
     
     
   To This Motley Group, Always Under His Feet, As It Were, Maxwell Was 
   Ever Passively Gracious, Although They Were Battening In idleness 
   On His Prodigal Bounty From Year To Year. 
     
     
     
   His Retinue Of Servants, Necessarily Large, Was Made Up Of A 
   Heterogeneous Mixture Of Indians, Mexicans, And Half-Breeds. 
   The Kitchens Were Presided over By Dusky Maidens Under The Tutelage 
   Of Experienced old Crones, And Its Precincts Were Sacred to Them; 
   But The Dining-Rooms Were Forbidden To Women During The Hours Of 
   Meals, Which Were Served by Boys. 
     
     
     
   Maxwell Was Rarely, As Far As My Observation Extended, Without A 
   Large Amount Of Money In his Possession.  He Had No Safe, However, 
   His Only Place Of Temporary Deposit For The Accumulated cash Being 
   The Bottom Drawer Of The Old Bureau In the Large Room To Which I 
   Have Referred, Which Was The Most Antiquated concern Of Common Pine 
   Imaginable.  There Were Only Two Other Drawers In this Old-Fashioned 
   Piece Of Furniture, And Neither Of Them Possessed a Lock.  The Third, 
   Or Lower, The One That Contained the Money, Did, But It Was Absolutely 
   Worthless, Being One Of The Cheapest Pattern And Affording Not The 
   Slightest Security; Besides, The Drawers Above It Could Be Pulled out, 
   Exposing The Treasure Immediately Beneath To The Cupidity Of Any One. 
     
     
     
   I Have Frequently Seen As Much As Thirty Thousand Dollars--Gold, 
   Silver, Greenbacks, And Government Checks--At One Time In that Novel 
   Depository.  Occasionally These Large Sums Remained there For Several 
   Days, Yet There Was Never Any Extra Precaution Taken To Prevent Its 
   Abstraction; Doors Were Always Open And The Room Free Of Access To 
   Every One, As Usual. 
     
     
     
   I Once Suggested to Maxwell The Propriety Of Purchasing a Safe For 
   The Better Security Of His Money, But He Only Smiled, While A Strange, 
   Resolute Look Flashed from His Dark Eyes, As He Said: "God Help The 
   Man Who Attempted to Rob Me And I Knew Him!" 
     
     
     
   The Sources Of His Wealth Were His Cattle, Sheep, And The Products 
   Of His Area Of Cultivated acres--Barley, Oats, And Corn Principally-- 
   Which He Disposed of To The Quartermaster And Commissary Departments 
   Of The Army, In the Large Military District Of New Mexico. 
   His Wool-Clip Must Have Been Enormous, Too; But I Doubt Whether He 
   Could Have Told The Number Of Animals That Furnished it Or The 
   Aggregate Of His Vast Herds.  He Had A Thousand Horses, Ten Thousand 
   Cattle, And Forty Thousand Sheep At The Time I Knew Him Well, 
   According To The Best Estimates Of His Mexican Relatives. 
     
     
     
   He Also Possessed a Large And Perfectly Appointed gristmill, Which 
   Was A Great Source Of Revenue, For Wheat Was One Of The Staple Crops 
   Of His Many Farms. 
     
     
     
   Maxwell Was Fond Of Travelling all Over The Territory, His Equipages 
   Comprising Everything In the Shape Of A Vehicle, Through All Their 
   Varieties, From The Most Plainly Constructed buckboard To The 
   Lumbering, But Comfortable And Expensive, Concord Coach, Mounted on 
   Thorough Braces Instead Of Springs, And Drawn By Four Or Six Horses. 
   He Was Perfectly Reckless In his Driving, Dashing Through Streams, 
   Over Irrigating Ditches, Stones, And Stumps Like A Veritable Jehu, 
   Regardless Of Consequences, But, As Is Usually The Fortune Of Such 
   Precipitate Horsemen, Rarely Coming To Grief. 
     
     
     
   The Headquarters Of The Ute Agency Were Established at Maxwell'S Ranch 
   In Early Days, And The Government Detailed a Company Of Cavalry To 
   Camp There, More, However, To Impress The Plains Tribes Who Roamed 
   Along The Old Trail East Of The Raton Range, Than For Any Effect On 
   The Utes, Whom Maxwell Could Always Control, And Who Regarded him 
   As A Father. 
     
     
     
   On The 4Th Of July, 1867, Maxwell, Who Owned an Antiquated and Rusty 
   Six-Pound Field Howitzer, Suggested to The Captain Of The Troop 
   Stationed there The Propriety Of Celebrating The Day.  So The Old 
   Piece Was Dragged from Its Place Under A Clump Of Elms, Where It Had 
   Been Hidden In the Grass And Weeds Ever Since The Mexican War Probably, 
   And Brought Near The House.  The Captain And Maxwell Acted the Role 
   Of Gunners, The Former At The Muzzle, The Latter At The Breech; 
   The Discharge Was Premature, Blowing Out The Captain'S Eye And Taking 
   Off His Arm, While Maxwell Escaped with A Shattered thumb.  As Soon 
   As The Accident Occurred, A Sergeant Was Despatched to Fort Union On 
   One Of The Fastest Horses On The Ranch, The Faithful Animal Falling 
   Dead The Moment He Stopped in front Of The Surgeon'S Quarters, Having 
   Made The Journey Of Fifty-Five Miles In little More Than Four Hours. 
     
     
     
   The Surgeon Left The Post Immediately, Arriving at Maxwell'S Late That 
   Night, But In time To Save The Officer'S Life, After Which He Dressed 
   Maxwell'S Apparently Inconsiderable Wound.  In a Few Days, However, 
   The Thumb Grew Angry-Looking; It Would Not Yield To The Doctor'S 
   Careful Treatment, So He Reluctantly Decided that Amputation Was 
   Necessary.  After An Operation Was Determined upon, I Prevailed upon 
   Maxwell To Come To The Fort And Remain With Me, Inviting Kit Carson 
   At The Same Time, That He Might Assist In catering To The Amusement 
   Of My Suffering Guest.  Maxwell And Carson Arrived at My Quarters 
   Late In the Day, After A Tedious Ride In the Big Coach, And The 
   Surgeon, In order To Allow A Prolonged rest On Account Of Maxwell'S 
   Feverish Condition, Postponed the Operation Until The Following Evening. 
     
     
     
   The Next Night, As Soon As It Grew Dark--We Waited for Coolness, 
   As The Days Were Excessively Hot--The Necessary Preliminaries Were 
   Arranged, And When Everything Was Ready The Surgeon Commenced. 
   Maxwell Declined the Anaesthetic Prepared for Him, And Sitting In a 
   Common Office Chair Put Out His Hand, While Carson And Myself Stood 
   On Opposite Sides, Each Holding an Ordinary Kerosene Lamp.  In a Few 
   Seconds The Operation Was Concluded, And After The Silver-Wire 
   Ligatures Were Twisted in their Places, I Offered maxwell, Who Had 
   Not As Yet Permitted a Single Sigh To Escape His Lips, Half A 
   Tumblerful Of Whiskey; But Before I Had Fairly Put It To His Mouth, 
   He Fell Over, Having Fainted dead Away, While Great Beads Of 
   Perspiration Stood On His Forehead, Indicative Of The Pain He Had 
   Suffered, As The Amputation Of The Thumb, The Surgeon Told Us Then, 
   Was As Bad As That Of A Leg. 
     
     
     
   He Returned to His Ranch As Soon As The Surgeon Pronounced him Well, 
   And Carson To His Home In taos.  I Saw The Latter But Once More At 
   Maxwell'S; But He Was En Route To Visit Me At Fort Harker, In kansas, 
   When He Was Taken Ill At Fort Lyon, Where He Died. 
     
     
     
             A Boy'S Will Is The Wind'S Will, 
             And The Thoughts Of Youth Are Long, Long Thoughts. 
     
     
     
   How True It Now Seems To Me, As The Recollections Of My Boyish Days, 
   When I Read Of The Exploits Of Kit Carson, Crowd Upon My Memory! 
   I Firmly Believed him To Be At Least Ten Feet Tall, Carrying a Rifle 
   So Heavy That, Like Bruce'S Sword, It Required two Men To Lift It. 
   I Imagined he Drank Out Of Nothing Smaller Than A River, And Picked 
   The Carcass Of A Whole Buffalo As Easily As A Lady Does The Wing Of 
   A Quail.  Ten Years Later I Made The Acquaintance Of The Foremost 
   Frontiersman, And Found Him A Delicate, Reticent, Under-Sized, 
   Wiry Man, As Perfectly The Opposite Of The Type My Childish Brain 
   Had Created as It Is Possible To Conceive. 
     
     
     
   At Fort Union Our Mail Arrived every Morning By Coach Over The Trail, 
   Generally Pulling Up At The Sutler'S Store, Whose Proprietor Was 
   Postmaster, About Daylight.  While Maxwell And Kit Were My Guests, 
   I Sauntered down After Breakfast One Morning To Get My Mail, And 
   While Waiting For The Letters To Be Distributed, Happened to Glance 
   At Some Papers Lying On The Counter, Among Which I Saw A New Periodical 
   --The _Day'S Doings_, I Think It Was--That Had A Full-Page Illustration 
   Of A Scene In a Forest.  In the Foreground Stood A Gigantic Figure 
   Dressed in the Traditional Buckskin; On One Arm Rested an Immense 
   Rifle; His Other Arm Was Around The Waist Of The Conventional Female 
   Of Such Sensational Journals, While In front, Lying Prone Upon The 
   Ground, Were Half A Dozen Indians, Evidently Slain By The Singular 
   Hero In defending The Impossibly Attired female.  The Legend Related 
   How All This Had Been Effected by The Famous Kit Carson.  I Purchased 
   The Paper, Returned with It To My Room, And After Showing It To 
   Several Officers Who Had Called upon Maxwell, I Handed it To Kit. 
   He Wiped his Spectacles, Studied the Picture Intently For A Few 
   Seconds, Turned round, And Said: "Gentlemen, That Thar May Be True, 
   But I Hain'T Got No Recollection Of It." 
     
     
     
   I Passed a Delightful Two Weeks With Maxwell, Late In the Summer Of 
   1867, At The Time That The Excitement Over The Discovery Of Gold On 
   His Ranch Had Just Commenced, And Adventurers Were Beginning To 
   Congregate In the Hills And Gulches From Everywhere.  The Discovery 
   Of The Precious Metal On His Estate Was The First Cause Of His 
   Financial Embarrassment.  It Was The Ruin Also Of Many Other Prominent 
   Men In new Mexico, Who Expended their Entire Fortune In the Construction 
   Of An Immense Ditch, Forty Miles In length--From The Little Canadian 
   Or Red river--To Supply The Placer Diggings In the Moreno Valley With 
   Water, When The Melted snow Of Old Baldy Range Had Exhausted itself 
   In The Late Summer.  The Scheme Was A Stupendous Failure; Its Ruins 
   May Be Seen To-Day In the Deserted valleys, A Monument To Man'S 
   Engineering Skill, But The Wreck Of His Hopes. 
     
     
     
   For Some Years Previous To The Discovery Of Gold In the Mountains And 
   Gulches Of Maxwell'S Ranch, It Was Known That Copper Existed in the 
   Region; Several Shafts Had Been Sunk And Tunnels Driven In various 
   Places, And Gold Had Been Found From Time To Time, But Was Kept A 
   Secret For Many Months.  Its Presence Was At Last Revealed to Maxwell 
   By A Party Of His Own Miners, Who Were Boring Into The Heart Of 
   Old Baldy For A Copper Lead That Had Cropped out And Was Then Lost. 
     
     
     
   Of Course, To Keep The Knowledge Of The Discovery Of Gold From The 
   World Is An Impossibility; Such Was The Case In this Instance, And 
   Soon Commenced that Squatter Immigration Out Of Which, After The 
   Ranch Was Sold And Maxwell Died, Grew That Litigation Which Has 
   Resulted in favour Of The Company Who Purchased from Or Through The 
   First Owners After Maxwell'S Death. 
     
     
     
   He Was A Representative Man Of The Border Of The Same Class As His 
   Compeers--"Wild-Civilized men," To Borrow An Expressive Term From 
   John Burroughs--Of Strong Local Attachments, And Overflowing With The 
   Milk Of Human Kindness.  To Such As He There Was An Unconquerable 
   Infatuation In life On The Remote Plains And In the Solitude Of The 
   Mountains.  There Was Never Anything Of The Desperado In their 
   Character, While The Adventurers Who At Times Have Made The Far West 
   Infamous, Since The Advent Of The Railroad, Were Bad Men Originally. 
     
     
     
   Occasionally Such Men Turn Up Everywhere, And Become A Terror To 
   The Community, But They Are Always Wound Up Sooner Or Later; They 
   Die With Their Boots On; Western Graveyards Are Full Of Them. 
     
     
     
   Maxwell, Under Contract With The Interior Department, Furnished 
   Live Beeves To The Ute Nation, The Issue Of Which Was Made Weekly 
   From His Own Vast Herds.  The Cattle, As Wild As Those From The 
   Texas Prairies, Were Driven By His Herders Into An Immense Enclosed 
   Field, And There Turned loose To Be Slaughtered by The Savages. 
     
     
     
   Once When At The Ranch I Told Maxwell I Should Like To Have A Horse 
   To Witness The Novel Sight.  He Immediately Ordered a Mexican Groom 
   To Procure One; But I Did Not See The Peculiar Smile That Lighted up 
   His Face, As He Whispered something To The Man Which I Did Not Catch. 
   Presently The Groom Returned leading a Magnificent Gray, Which I 
   Mounted, Maxwell Suggesting That I Should Ride Down To The Large 
   Field And Wait There Until The Herd Arrived.  I Entered the Great 
   Corral, Patting My Horse On The Neck Now And Then, To Make Him 
   Familiar With My Touch, And Attempted to Converse With Some Of The 
   Chiefs, Who Were Dressed in their Best, Painted as If For The 
   War-Path, Gaily Bedecked with Feathers And Armed with Rifles And 
   Gaudily Appointed bows And Arrows; But I Did Not Succeed very Well 
   In Drawing Them From Their Normal Reticence.  The Squaws, A Hundred 
   Of Them, Were Sitting On The Ground, Their Knives In hand Ready For 
   The Labour Which Is The Fate Of Their Sex In all Savage Tribes, 
   While Their Lords' Portion Of The Impending Business Was To End With 
   The More Manly Efforts Of The Chase. 
     
     
     
   Suddenly A Great Cloud Of Dust Rose On The Trail From The Mountains, 
   And On Came The Maddened animals, Fairly Shaking The Earth With 
   Their Mighty Tread.  As Soon As The Gate Was Closed behind Them, 
   And Uttering a Characteristic Yell That Was Blood-Curdling In its 
   Ferocity, The Indians Charged upon The Now Doubly Frightened herd, 
   And Commenced to Discharge Their Rifles, Regardless Of The Presence 
   Of Any One But Themselves.  My Horse Became Paralyzed for An Instant 
   And Stood Poised on His Hind Legs, Like The Steed represented in 
   That Old Lithographic Print Of Napoleon Crossing The Alps; Then Taking 
   The Bit In his Teeth, He Rushed aimlessly Into The Midst Of The 
   Flying Herd, While The Bullets From The Guns Of The Excited savages 
   Rained around My Head.  I Had Always Boasted of My Equestrian 
   Accomplishments--I Was Never Thrown But Once In my Life, And That Was 
   Years Afterward--But In this Instance It Taxed all My Powers To Keep 
   My Seat.  In less Than Twenty Minutes The Last Beef Had Fallen; And 
   The Warriors, Inflated with The Pride Of Their Achievement, Rode 
   Silently Out Of The Field, Leaving The Squaws To Cut Up And Carry 
   Away The Meat To Their Lodges, More Than Three Miles Distant, Which 
   They Soon Accomplished, To The Last Quivering Morsel. 
     
     
     
   As I Rode Leisurely Back To The House, I Saw Maxwell And Kit Standing 
   On The Broad Porch, Their Sides Actually Shaking With Laughter At 
   My Discomfiture, They Having Been Watching Me From The Very Moment 
   The Herd Entered the Corral.  It Appeared that The Horse Maxwell 
   Ordered the Groom To Bring Me Was A Recent Importation From St. Louis, 
   Had Never Before Seen An Indian, And Was As Unused to The Prairies 
   And Mountains As A Street-Car Mule.  Kit Said That My Mount Reminded 
   Him Of One That His Antagonist In a Duel Rode A Great Many Years Ago 
   When He Was Young.  If The Animal Had Not Been Such "A Fourth-Of-July" 
   Brute, His Opponent Would In all Probability Have Finished him, As He 
   Was A Splendid Shot; But Kit Fortunately Escaped, The Bullet Merely 
   Grazing Him Under The Ear, Leaving a Scar Which He Then Showed me. 
     
     
     
   One Night Kit Carson, Maxwell, And I Were Up In the Raton Mountains 
   Above The Old Trail, And Having Lingered too Long, Were Caught Above 
   The Clouds Against Our Will, Darkness Having Overtaken Us Before We 
   Were Ready To Descend Into The Valley.  It Was Dangerous To Undertake 
   The Trip Over Such A Precipitous And Rocky Trail, So We Were Compelled 
   To Make The Best Of Our Situation.  It Was Awfully Cold, And As We 
   Had Brought No Blankets, We Dared not Go To Sleep For Fear Our Fire 
   Might Go Out, And We Should Freeze.  We Therefore Determined to Make 
   A Night Of It By Telling Yarns, Smoking Our Pipes, And Walking around 
   At Times.  After Sitting awhile, Maxwell Pointed toward The Spanish 
   Peaks, Whose Snow-White Tops Cast A Diffused light In the Heavens 
   Above Them, And Remarked that In the Deep Canyon Which Separates Them, 
   He Had Had One Of The "Closest Calls" Of His Life, Willingly Complying 
   When I Asked him To Tell Us The Story. 
     
     
     
   "It Was In 1847.  I Came Down From Taos With A Party To Go To The 
   Cimarron Crossing Of The Santa Fe Trail To Pick Up A Large Herd Of 
   Horses For The United states Quartermaster'S Department.  We Succeeded 
   In Gathering about A Hundred and Started back With Them, Letting 
   Them Graze Slowly Along, As We Were In no Hurry.  When We Arrived 
   At The Foot-Hills North Of Bent'S Fort, We Came Suddenly Upon The 
   Trail Of A Large War-Band Of Utes, None Of Whom We Saw, But From 
   Subsequent Developments The Savages Must Have Discovered us Days 
   Before We Reached the Mountains.  I Knew We Were Not Strong Enough 
   To Cope With The Whole Ute Nation, And Concluded the Best Thing For 
   Us To Do Under The Ticklish Circumstances Was To Make A Detour, 
   And Put Them Off Our Trail.  So We Turned abruptly Down The Arkansas, 
   Intending To Try And Get To Taos In that Direction, More Than One 
   Hundred and Fifty Miles Around.  It Appeared afterward That The 
   Indians Had Been Following Us All The Way.  When We Found This Out, 
   Some Of The Men Believed they Were Another Party, And Not The Same 
   Whose Trail We Came Upon When We Turned down The River, But I Always 
   Insisted they Were.  When We Arrived within A Few Days' Drive Of Taos, 
   We Were Ambushed in one Of The Narrow Passes Of The Range, And Had 
   The Bloodiest Fight With The Utes On Record.  There Were Thirteen 
   Of Us, All Told, And Two Little Children Whom We Were Escorting To 
   Their Friends At Taos, Having Received them At The Cimarron Crossing. 
     
     
     
   "While We Were Quietly Taking Our Breakfast One Morning, And Getting 
   Ready To Pull Out For The Day'S March, Perfectly Unsuspicious Of The 
   Proximity Of Any Indians, They Dashed in upon Us, And In less Than 
   A Minute Stampeded all Our Stock--Loose Animals As Well As Those We 
   Were Riding.  While Part Of The Savages Were Employed in running Off 
   The Animals, Fifty Of Their Most Noted warriors, Splendidly Mounted 
   And Horribly Painted, Rushed into The Camp, Around The Fire Of Which 
   The Men And The Little Children Were Peacefully Sitting, And, 
   Discharging Their Guns As They Rode Up, Killed one Man And Wounded 
   Another. 
     
     
     
   "Terribly Surprised as We Were, It Did Not Turn The Heads Of The Old 
   Mountaineers, And I Immediately Told Them To Make A Break For A Clump 
   Of Timber Near By, And That We Would Fight Them As Long As One Of Us 
   Could Stand Up.  There We Fought And Fought Against Fearful Odds, 
   Until All Were Wounded except Two.  The Little Children Were Captured 
   At The Beginning Of The Trouble And Carried off At Once.  After A 
   While The Savages Got Tired of The Hard Work, And, As Is Frequently 
   The Case, Went Away Of Their Own Free Will; But They Left Us In a 
   Terrible Plight.  All Were Sore, Stiff, And Weak From Their Many Wounds; 
   On Foot, And Without Any Food Or Ammunition To Procure Game With, 
   Having Exhausted our Supply In the Awfully Unequal Battle; Besides, 
   We Were Miles From Home, With Every Prospect Of Starving To Death. 
     
     
     
   "We Could Not Remain Where We Were, So As Soon As Darkness Came On, 
   We Started out To Walk To Some Settlement.  We Dared not Show 
   Ourselves By Daylight, And All Through The Long Hours When The Sun 
   Was Up, We Were Obliged to Hide In the Brush And Ravines Until Night 
   Overtook Us Again, And We Could Start On Our Painful March. 
     
     
     
   "We Had Absolutely Nothing To Eat, And Our Wounds Began To Fester, 
   So That We Could Hardly Move At All.  We Should Undoubtedly Have 
   Perished, If, On The Third Day, A Band Of Friendly Indians Of Another 
   Tribe Had Not Gone To Taos And Reported the Fight To The Commanding 
   Officer Of The Troops There.  These Indians Had Heard Of Our Trouble 
   With The Utes, And Knowing How Strong They Were, And Our Weakness, 
   Surmised our Condition, And So Hastened to Convey The Bad News. 
     
     
     
   "A Company Of Dragoons Was Immediately Sent To Our Rescue, Under The 
   Guidance Of Dick Wooton, Who Was And Has Ever Been A Warm Personal 
   Friend Of Mine.  They Came Upon Us About Forty Miles From Taos, And 
   Never Were We More Surprised; We Had Become So Starved and Emaciated 
   That We Had Abandoned all Hope Of Escaping What Seemed to Be Our 
   Inevitable Fate. 
     
     
     
   "When The Troops Found Us, We Had Only A Few Rags, Our Clothes Having 
   Been Completely Stripped from Our Bodies While Struggling Through 
   The Heavy Underbrush On Our Trail, And We Were So Far Exhausted that 
   We Could Not Stand On Our Feet.  One More Day, And We Would Have Been 
   Laid Out. 
     
     
     
   "The Little Children Were, Fortunately, Saved from The Horror Of 
   That Terrible March After The Fight, As The Indians Carried them To 
   Their Winter Camp, Where, If Not Absolutely Happy, They Were Under 
   Shelter And Fed; Escaping The Starvation Which Would Certainly Have 
   Been Their Fate If They Had Remained with Us.  They Were Eventually 
   Ransomed for A Cash Payment By The Government, And Altogether Had Not 
   Been Very Harshly Treated." 
     
   
   
   
   Chapter XIX (Bent'S Forts) 
   The Famous Bent Brothers, William, George, Robert, And Charles, Were 
   French-Canadian Hunters And Trappers, And Had Been Employed almost 
   From Boyhood, In the Early Days Of The Border, By The American Fur 
   Company In the Mountains Of The Northwest. 
     
     
     
   In 1826, Almost Immediately After The Transference Of The Fur Trade 
   To The Valley Of The Arkansas, When The Commerce Of The Prairies 
   Was Fairly Initiated, The Three Bents And Ceran St. Vrain, Also A 
   French-Canadian And Trapper, Settled on The Upper Arkansas, Where 
   They Erected a Stockade.  It Was, Of Course, A Rude Affair, Formed of 
   Long Stakes Or Pickets Driven Into The Ground, After The Mexican 
   Style Known As Jacal.  The Sides Were Then Ceiled and Roofed, And 
   It Served its Purpose Of A Trading-Post.  This Primitive Fort Was 
   Situated on The Left Or North Bank Of The River, About Halfway Between 
   Pueblo And Canyon City, Those Beautiful Mountain Towns Of To-Day. 
     
     
     
   Two Years Afterward, In 1828, The Proprietors Of The Primitive 
   Stockade In the Remote Wilderness Found It Necessary To Move Closer 
   To The Great Hunting-Grounds Lower Down The Valley.  There, About 
   Twelve Miles Northeast Of The Now Thriving Town Of Las Animas, 
   The Bents Commenced the Construction Of A Relatively Large And More 
   Imposing-Looking Structure Than The First.  The Principal Material 
   Used in the New Building, Or Rather In its Walls, Was Adobe, Or 
   Sun-Dried brick, So Common Even To-Day In new Mexican Architecture. 
   Four Years Elapsed before The New Fort Was Completed, During Which 
   Period Its Owners, Like Other Trappers, Lived in tents Or Teepees 
   Fashioned of Buffalo-Skins, After The Manner Of The Indians. 
     
     
     
   When At Last The New Station Was Completed, It Was Named fort William, 
   In Honour Of Colonel William Bent, Who Was The Leader Of The Family 
   And The Most Active Trader Among The Four Partners In the Concern. 
   The Colonel Frequently Made Long Trips To The Remote Villages Of The 
   Arapahoes, Cheyennes, Kiowas, And Comanches, Which Were Situated far 
   To The South And East, On The Canadian River And Its Large Tributaries. 
   His Miscellaneous Assortment Of Merchandise He Transported upon 
   Pack-Mules To The Indian Rendezvous, Bringing Back To The Fort The 
   Valuable Furs He Had Exchanged for The Goods So Eagerly Coveted by 
   The Savages.  It Was While On One Of His Trading Expeditions To The 
   Cheyenne Nation That The Colonel Married a Young Squaw Of That Tribe, 
   The Daughter Of The Principal Chief. 
     
     
     
   William Bent For His Day And Time Was An Exceptionally Good Man. 
   His Integrity, His Truthfulness On All Occasions, And His Remarkable 
   Courage Endeared him To The Red and White Man Alike, And Fort William 
   Prospered wonderfully Under His Careful And Just Management.  Both 
   His Brothers And St. Vrain Had Taken Up Their Residence In taos, And 
   Upon The Colonel Devolved the Entire Charge Of The Busy Establishment. 
   It Soon Became The Most Popular Rendezvous Of The Mountaineers And 
   Trappers, And In its Immediate Vicinity Several Tribes Of Indians 
   Took Up Their Temporary Encampment. 
     
     
     
   In 1852 Fort William Was Destroyed under The Following Strange 
   Circumstances: It Appears That The United states Desired to Purchase 
   It.  Colonel Bent Had Decided upon A Price--Sixteen Thousand Dollars-- 
   But The Representatives Of The War Department Offered only Twelve 
   Thousand, Which, Of Course, Bent Refused.  Negotiations Were Still 
   Pending, When The Colonel, Growing Tired of The Red-Tape And 
   Circumlocution Of The Authorities, And While In a Mad Mood, Removed 
   All His Valuables From The Structure, Excepting Some Barrels Of 
   Gunpowder, And Then Deliberately Set Fire To The Old Landmark. 
   When The Flames Reached the Powder, There Was An Explosion Which 
   Threw Down Portions Of The Walls, But Did Not Wholly Destroy Them. 
   The Remains Of The Once Noted buildings Stand To-Day, Melancholy 
   Relics Of A Past Epoch. 
     
     
     
   In The Same Year The Indefatigable And Indomitable Colonel Determined 
   Upon Erecting a Much More Important Structure.  He Selected a Site 
   On The Same Side Of The Arkansas, In the Locality Known As Big Timbers. 
   Regarding This New Venture, Colonel Or Judge Moore Of Las Animas, 
   A Son-In-Law Of William Bent, Tells In a Letter To The Author Of 
   The History Of Colorado The Following Facts:-- 
     
     
     
             Leaving Ten Men In camp To Get Out Stone For The New Post, 
             Colonel Bent Took A Part Of His Outfit And Went To A Kiowa 
             Village, About Two Hundred miles Southwest, And Remained 
             There All Winter, Trading With The Kiowas And Comanches. 
             In the Spring Of 1853 He Returned to Big Timbers, When 
             The Construction Of The New Post Was Begun, And The Work 
             Continued until Completed in the Summer Of 1854; And It 
             Was Used as A Trading-Post Until The Owner Leased it To 
             The Government In the Autumn Of 1859.  Colonel Sedgwick Had 
             Been Sent Out To Fight The Kiowas That Year, And In the Fall 
             A Large Quantity Of Commissary Stores Had Been Sent Him. 
             Colonel Bent Then Moved up The River To A Point Just Above 
             The Mouth Of The Purgatoire, And Built Several Rooms Of 
             Cottonwood Pickets, And There Spent The Winter.  In the 
             Spring Of 1860, Colonel Sedgwick Began The Construction Of 
             Officers' Buildings, Company Quarters, Corrals, And Stables, 
             All Of Stone, And Named the Place Fort Wise, In honour Of 
             Governor Wise Of Virginia.  In 1861 The Name Was Changed to 
             Fort Lyon, In honour Of General Lyon, Who Was Killed at The 
             Battle Of Wilson Creek, Missouri.  In the Spring Of 1866, 
             The Arkansas River Overflowed its Banks, Swept Up Into The 
             Fort, And, Undermining The Walls, Rendered it Untenable For 
             Military Purposes.  The Camp Was Moved to A Point Twenty 
             Miles Below, And The New Fort Lyon Established.  The Old 
             Post Was Repaired, And Used as A Stage Station By Barlow, 
             Sanderson, And Company, Who Ran A Mail, Express, And 
             Passenger Line Between Kansas City And Santa Fe. 
     
     
     
   The Contiguous Region To Fort William Was In the Early Days A Famous 
   Hunting-Ground.  It Abounded in nearly Every Variety Of Animal 
   Indigenous To The Mountains And Plains, Among Which Were The Panther 
   --The So-Called california Lion Of To-Day--The Lynx, Erroneously Termed 
   Wild Cat, White Wolf, Prairie Wolf, Silver-Gray Fox, Prairie Fox, 
   Antelope, Buffalo, Gray, Grizzly And Cinnamon Bears, Together With 
   The Common Brown And Black Species, The Red deer And The Black-Tail, 
   The Latter The Finest Venison In the World.  Of Birds There Were 
   Wild Turkeys, Quail, And Grouse, Besides An Endless Variety Of The 
   Smaller-Sized families, Not Regarded as Belonging To The Domain Of 
   Game In a Hunter'S Sense.  It Was A Veritable Paradise, Too, For The 
   Trappers.  Its Numerous Streams And Creeks Were Famous For Beaver, 
   Otter, And Mink. 
     
     
     
   Scarcely An Acre Of The Surrounding area Within The Radius Of 
   Hundreds Of Miles But Has Been The Scene Of Many Deadly Encounters 
   With The Wily Red man, Stories Of Which Are Still Current Among The 
   Few Old Mountaineers Yet Living. 
     
     
     
   The Fort Was Six Hundred and Fifty Miles West Of Fort Leavenworth, 
   In Latitude Thirty-Eight Degrees And Two Minutes North, And Longitude 
   One Hundred and Three Degrees And Three Minutes West, From Greenwich. 
   The Exterior Walls Of The Fort, Whose Figure Was That Of A Parallelogram, 
   Were Fifteen Feet High And Four Feet Thick.  It Was A Hundred and 
   Thirty-Five Feet Wide And Divided into Various Compartments.  On The 
   Northwest And Southeast Corners Were Hexagonal Bastions, In which 
   Were Mounted a Number Of Cannon.  The Walls Of The Building Served 
   As The Walls Of The Rooms, All Of Which Faced inwards On A Plaza, 
   After The General Style Of Mexican Architecture.  The Roofs Of The 
   Rooms Were Made Of Poles, On Which Was A Heavy Layer Of Dirt, As In 
   The Houses Of Native Mexicans To-Day.  The Fort Possessed a Billiard 
   Table, That Visitors Might Amuse Themselves, And In the Office Was 
   A Small Telescope With A Fair Range Of Seven Miles. 
     
     
     
   The Occupants Of The Far-Away Establishment, In its Palmy Days 
   (For Years It Was The Only Building Between Council Grove And The 
   Mountains), Were Traders, Indians, Hunters, And French Trappers, 
   Who Were The Employees Of The Great Fur Companies.  Many Of The Latter 
   Had Indian Wives.  Later, After A Stage Line Had Been Put In operation 
   Across The Plains To Santa Fe, The Fort Was Relegated to A Mere 
   Station For The Overland Route, And With The March Of Civilization 
   In Its Course Westward, The Trappers, Hunters, And Traders Vanished 
   From The Once Famous Rendezvous. 
     
     
     
   The Walls Were Loopholed for Musketry, And The Entrance To The Plaza, 
   Or Corral, Was Guarded by Large Wooden Gates.  During The War With 
   Mexico, The Fort Was Headquarters For The Commissary Department, 
   And Many Supplies Were Stored there, Though The Troops Camped below 
   On The Beautiful River-Bottom.  In the Centre Of The Corral, In the 
   Early Days When The Place Was A Rendezvous Of The Trappers, A Large 
   Buffalo-Robe Press Was Erected.  When The Writer First Saw The Famous 
   Fort, Now Over A Third Of A Century Ago, One Of The Cannon, That 
   Burst In firing a Salute To General Kearney, Could Be Seen Half 
   Buried in the Dirt Of The Plaza. 
     
     
     
   By Barometrical Measurements Taken By The Engineer Officers Of The 
   Army At Different Times, The Height Of Bent'S Fort Above The Ocean 
   Level Is Approximately Eight Thousand Nine Hundred and Fifty-Eight 
   Feet, And The Fall Of The Arkansas River From The Fort To The Great 
   Bend Of That Stream, About Three Hundred and Eleven Miles East, 
   Is Seven Feet And Four-Tenths Per Mile. 
     
     
     
   It Was In a Relatively Fair State Of Preservation Thirty-Three Years 
   Ago, But Now Not A Vestige Of It Remains, Excepting Perhaps A Mound 
   Of Dirt, The Disintegration Of The Mud Bricks Of Which The Historical 
   Structure Was Built. 
     
     
     
   The Indians Whose Villages Were Located a Few Miles Below The Fort, 
   Or At Least The Chief Men Of The Various Tribes, Passed much Of Their 
   Time Within The Shelter Of The Famous Structure.  They Were Bountifully 
   Fed, And Everything They Needed furnished them.  This Was Purely From 
   Policy, However; For If Their Wishes Were Not Gratified, Their 
   Hunters Would Not Bring In their Furs To Trade.  The Principal Chiefs 
   Never Failed to Be Present When A Meal Was Announced as Ready, And 
   However Scarce Provisions Might Be, The Indians Must Be Fed. 
     
     
     
   The First Farm In the Fertile And Now Valuable Lands Of The Valley Of 
   The Rio De Las Animas[60] Was Opened by The Bents.  The Area Selected 
   For Cultivation Was In the Beautiful Bottom Between The Fort And The 
   Ford, A Strip About A Mile In length, And From One Hundred and Fifty 
   To Six Hundred feet In width.  Nothing Could Be Grown Without Irrigation, 
   And To That End An Acequia, As The Mexicans Call The Ditch Through 
   Which The Water Flows, Was Constructed, And A Crop Put In.  Before 
   The Enterprising Projectors Of The Scheme Could Reap A Harvest, 
   The Hostile Savages Dashed in and Destroyed everything. 
     
     
     
   Uncle John Smith Was One Of The Principal Traders Back In the '30'S, 
   And He Was Very Successful, Perhaps Because He Was Undoubtedly The 
   Most Perfect Master Of The Cheyenne Language At That Time In the 
   Whole Mountain Region. 
     
     
     
   Among Those Who Frequently Came To The Fort Were Kit Carson, 
   L. B. Maxwell, Uncle Dick Wooton, Baptiste Brown, Jim Bridger, 
   Old Bill Williams, James Beckwourth, Shawnee Spiebuck, Shawnee Jake 
   --The Latter Two, Noted indian Trappers--Besides A Host Of Others. 
     
     
     
   The Majority Of The Old Trappers, To A Stranger, Until He Knew Their 
   Peculiar Characteristics, Were Seemingly Of An Unsociable Disposition. 
   It Was An Erroneous Idea, However; For They Were The Most Genial 
   Companions Imaginable, Generous To A Fault, And To Fall Into One Of 
   Their Camps Was Indeed a Lucky Thing For The Lost Traveller. 
   Everything The Host Had Was At His Guest'S Disposal, And Though 
   Coffee And Sugar Were The Dearest Of His Luxuries, Often Purchased 
   With A Whole Season'S Trapping, The Black Fluid Was Offered with 
   Genuine Free-Heartedness, And The Last Plug Of Tobacco Placed at The 
   Disposition Of His Chance Visitor, As Though It Could Be Picked up 
   On The Ground Anywhere. 
     
     
     
   Goods Brought By The Traders To The Rendezvous For Sale To The 
   Trappers And Hunters, Although Of The Most Inferior Quality, Were 
   Sold At Enormously High Prices. 
     
     
     
   Coffee, By The Pint-Cup, Which Was The Usual Measure For Everything, 
   Cost From A Dollar And Twenty Cents To Three Dollars; Tobacco A Dollar 
   And A Half A Plug; Alcohol From Two Dollars To Five Dollars A Pint; 
   Gunpowder One Dollar And Sixty Cents A Pint-Cup, And All Other 
   Articles At Proportionably Exorbitant Rates. 
     
     
     
   The Annual Gatherings Of The Trappers At The Rendezvous Were Often 
   The Scene Of Bloody Duels; For Over Their Cups And Cards No Men Were 
   More Quarrelsome Than The Old-Time Mountaineers.  Rifles At Twenty 
   Paces Settled all Difficulties, And, As May Be Imagined, The Fall 
   Of One Or The Other Of The Combatants Was Certain, Or, As Sometimes 
   Happened, Both Fell At The Word "Fire!" 
     
     
     
   The Trapper'S Visits To The Mexican Settlements, Or To The Lodges 
   Of A Tribe Of Indians, For The Purpose Of Trading, Often Resulted 
   In His Returning To His Quiet Camp With A Woman To Grace His Solitary 
   Home, The Loving and Lonely Couple As Devoted to Each Other In the 
   Midst Of Blood-Thirsty Enemies, Howling Wolves, And Panthers, As If 
   They Were In some Quiet Country Village. 
     
     
     
   The Easy Manners Of The Harum-Scarum, Reckless Trappers At The 
   Rendezvous, And The Simple, Unsuspecting Hearts Of Those Nymphs Of 
   The Mountains, The Squaws, Caused their Husbands To Be Very Jealous 
   Of The Attentions Bestowed upon Them By Strangers.  Often Serious 
   Difficulties Arose, In the Course Of Which The Poor Wife Received 
   A Severe Whipping With The Knot Of A Lariat, Or No Very Light 
   Lodge-Poling at The Hands Of Her Imperious Sovereign.  Sometimes 
   The Affair Ended in a More Tragical Way Than A Mere Beating, Not 
   Infrequently The Gallant Paying The Penalty Of His Interference With 
   His Life. 
     
     
     
   Garrard, A Traveller On The Great Plains And In the Rocky Mountains 
   Half A Century Ago, From Whose Excellent Diary I Have Frequently 
   Quoted, Passed many Days And Nights At Bent'S Fort Fifty Years Ago, 
   And His Quaint Description Of Life There In that Remote Period Of 
   The Extreme Frontier Is Very Amusing.  Its Truth Has Often Been 
   Confirmed by Uncle John Smith, Who Was My Guide And Interpreter In 
   The Indian Expedition Of 1868-69, Only Two Decades After Garrard'S 
   Experience. 
     
     
     
   Rosalie, A Half-Breed french And Indian Squaw, Wife Of The Carpenter, 
   And Charlotte, The Culinary Divinity, Were, As A Missouri Teamster 
   Remarked, "The Only Female Women Here."  They Were Nightly Led to 
   The Floor To Trip The Light Fantastic Toe, And Swung Rudely Or Gently 
   In The Mazes Of The Contra-Dance, But Such A Medley Of Steps Is 
   Seldom Seen Out Of The Mountains--The Halting, Irregular March Of The 
   War-Dance, The Slipping Gallopade, The Boisterous Pitching Of The 
   Missouri Backwoodsman, And The More Nice Gyrations Of The Frenchman; 
   For All, Irrespective Of Rank, Age, Or Colour, Went Pell-Mell Into 
   The Excitement, In a Manner That Would Have Rendered a Leveller Of 
   Aristocracies And Select Companies Frantic With Delight.  And The 
   Airs Assumed by The Fair Ones, More Particularly Charlotte, Who Took 
   Pattern From Life In the States, Were Amusing.  She Acted her Part 
   To Perfection; She Was The Centre Of Attraction, The Belle Of The 
   Evening.  She Treated the Suitors For The Pleasure Of The Next Set 
   With Becoming Ease And Suavity Of Manner; She Knew Her Worth, And 
   Managed accordingly.  When The Favoured gallant Stood By Her Side 
   Waiting For The Rudely Scraped tune From A Screeching Fiddle, 
   Satisfaction, Joy, And Triumph Over His Rivals Were Pictured on His 
   Radiant Face. 
     
     
     
   James Hobbs, Of Whom I Have Already Spoken, Once Gave Me A Graphic 
   Description Of The Annual Feast Of The Comanches, Cheyennes, And 
   Arapahoes, Which Always Took Place At Big Timbers, Near Fort William. 
     
     
     
   Hobbs Was Married to The Daughter Of Old Wolf, The Chief Of The 
   Comanches, A Really Beautiful Indian Girl, With Whom He Lived 
   Faithfully Many Years.  In the Early Summer Of 1835, He Went With His 
   Father-In-Law And The Rest Of The Tribe To The Great Feast Of That 
   Season.  He Stated that On That Occasion There Were Forty Thousand 
   Indians Assembled, And Consequently Large Hunting Parties Were Sent 
   Out Daily To Procure Food For Such A Vast Host.  The Entertainment 
   Was Kept Up For Fifteen Days, Enlivened by Horse Races, Foot Races, 
   And Playing Ball.  In these Races The Tribes Would Bet Their Horses 
   On The Result, The Comanches Generally Winning, For They Are The Best 
   Riders In the World.  By The Time The Feast Was Ended, The Arapahoes 
   And Cheyennes Usually Found Themselves Afoot, But Old Wolf, Who Was A 
   Generous Fellow, Always Gave Them Back Enough Animals To Get Home With. 
     
     
     
   The Game Of Ball Was Played with Crooked sticks, And Is Very Much 
   Like The American Boys' "Shinny."  The Participants Are Dressed in 
   A Simple Breech-Cloth And Moccasins.  It Is Played with Great 
   Enthusiasm And Affords Much Amusement. 
     
     
     
   At These Annual Feasts A Council Of The Great Chiefs Of The Three 
   Tribes Is Always Held, And At The One During The Season Referred to, 
   Hobbs Said The Cheyenne Chiefs Wanted old Wolf To Visit Bent'S Fort, 
   Where He Had Never Been.  Upon The Arrival Of The Delegation There, 
   It Was Heartily Welcomed by All The Famous Men Who Happened to Be At 
   The Place, Among Whom Were Kit Carson, Old John Smith, And Several 
   Noted trappers.  Whiskey Occupied a Prominent Place In the Rejoicing, 
   And "I Found It Hard Work," Said Hobbs, "To Stand The Many Toasts 
   Drank To My Good Health."  The Whole Party, Including Old Wolf And 
   His Companion The Cheyenne Chief, Got Very Much Elated, And Every 
   Person In the Fort Smelt Whiskey, If They Did Not Get Their Feet 
   Tangled with It. 
     
     
     
   About Midnight A Messenger Came Inside, Reporting That A Thousand 
   Comanche Warriors Were Gathering around The Fort.  They Demanded 
   Their Leaders, Fearing Treachery, And Desired to Know Why Their Chief 
   Had Not Returned.  Hobbs Went Out And Explained that He Was Safe; 
   But They Insisted on Seeing Him, So He And Hobbs Showed themselves 
   To The Assembled indians, And Old Wolf Made A Speech, Telling Them 
   That He And The Cheyenne Chief Were Among Good Friends To The Indians, 
   And Presents Would Be Given To Them The Next Morning.  The Warriors 
   Were Pacified with These Assurances, Though They Did Not Leave The 
   Vicinity Of The Fort. 
     
     
     
   It Was At This Time That Hobbs Was Ransomed by Colonel Bent, Who Gave 
   Old Wolf, For Him, Six Yards Of Red flannel, A Pound Of Tobacco, And 
   An Ounce Of Beads. 
     
     
     
   The Chief Was Taken In charge By A Lieutenant, Who Showed him All 
   Over The Fort, Letting Him See The Rifle Port-Holes, And Explaining 
   How The Place Could Stand A Siege Against A Thousand Indians.  Finally, 
   He Was Taken Out On The Parapet, Where There Was A Six-Pounder At 
   Each Angle.  The Old Savage Inquired how They Could Shoot Such A Thing, 
   And At Hobbs' Request, A Blank Cartridge Was Put In the Piece And 
   Fired.  Old Wolf Sprang Back In amazement, And The Indians On The 
   Outside, Under The Walls, Knowing Nothing Of What Was Going On, 
   Ran Away As Fast As Their Legs Could Carry Them, Convinced that 
   Their Chief Must Be Dead Now And Their Own Safety Dependent Upon 
   Flight.  Old Wolf And Hobbs Sprang Upon The Wall And Signalled and 
   Shouted to Them, And They Returned, Asking In great Astonishment 
   What Kind Of A Monstrous Gun It Was. 
     
     
     
   About Noon Trading Commenced.  The Indians Wished to Come Into The 
   Fort, But Bent Would Not Let Any Enter But The Chiefs.  At The Back 
   Door The Colonel Displayed his Goods, And The Indians Brought Forward 
   Their Ponies, Buffalo-Robes, Deer And Other Skins, Which They Traded 
   For Tobacco, Beads, Calico, Flannel, Knives, Spoons, Whistles, 
   Jews'-Harps, Etc. 
     
     
     
   Whiskey Was Sold To Them The First Day, But As It Caused several 
   Fights Among Them Before Night, Bent Stopped its Sale, At Hobbs' 
   Suggestion And With Old Wolf'S Consent.  Indians, When They Get Drunk, 
   Do Not Waste Time By Fighting With Fists, Like White Men, But Use 
   Knives And Tomahawks; So That A General Scrimmage Is A Serious Affair. 
   Two Or Three Deaths Resulted the First Day, And There Would Have Been 
   Many More If The Sale Of Whiskey Had Not Been Stopped. 
     
     
     
   The Trading Continued for Eight Days, And Colonel Bent Reaped a Rich 
   Harvest Of What He Could Turn Into Gold At St. Louis.  Old Wolf Slept 
   In The Fort Each Night Except One During That Time, And Every Time 
   His Warriors Aroused him About Twelve O'Clock And Compelled him To 
   Show Himself On The Walls To Satisfy Them Of His Safety. 
     
     
     
   About A Hundred trappers Were In the Employ Of Bent And His Partners. 
   Sometimes One-Half Of The Company Were Off On A Hunt, Leaving But 
   A Small Force At The Fort For Its Protection, But With The Small 
   Battery There Its Defence Was Considered sufficient. 
     
     
     
   One Day A Trapping Party, Consisting Of Kit Carson, "Peg-Leg" Smith, 
   And James Hobbs, Together With Some Shawnee Indians, All Under The 
   Lead Of Carson, Started out From Bent'S Fort For The Picketwire To 
   Trap Beaver. 
     
     
     
   Grizzlies Were Very Abundant In that Region Then, And One Of The 
   Party, Named mcintire, Having Killed an Elk The Evening Before, Said 
   To Hobbs That They Might Stand A Good Chance To Find A Grizzly By 
   The Elk He Had Shot But Had Not Brought In.  Hobbs Said That He Was 
   Willing To Go With Him, But As Mcintire Was A Very Green Man In the 
   Mountains, Hobbs Had Some Doubts Of Depending On Him In case Of An 
   Attack By A Grizzly Bear. 
     
     
     
   The Two Men Left For The Ravine In which Mcintire Had Killed the Elk 
   Very Early In the Morning, Taking With Them Tomahawks, Hunting-Knives, 
   Rifles, And A Good Dog.  On Arriving at The Ravine, Hobbs Told 
   Mcintire To Cross Over To The Other Side And Climb The Hill, But On 
   No Account To Go Down Into The Ravine, As A Grizzly Is More Dangerous 
   When He Has A Man On The Downhill Side.  Hobbs Then Went To Where He 
   Thought The Elk Might Be If He Had Died by The Bank Of The Stream; 
   But As Soon As He Came Near The Water, He Saw That A Large Grizzly 
   Had Got There Before Him, Having Scented the Animal, And Was Already 
   Making His Breakfast. 
     
     
     
   The Bear Was In thick, Scrubby Oak Brush, And Hobbs, Making His Dog 
   Lie Down, Crawled behind A Rock To Get A Favourable Shot At The Beast. 
   He Drew A Bead On Him And Fired, But The Bear Only Snarled at The 
   Wound Made By The Ball And Started tearing Through The Brush, Biting 
   Furiously At It As He Went.  Hobbs Reloaded his Rifle Carefully, 
   And As Quickly As He Could, In order To Get A Second Shot; But, 
   To His Amazement, He Saw The Bear Rushing Down The Ravine Chasing 
   Mcintire, Who Was Only About Ten Feet In advance Of The Enraged beast, 
   Running For His Life, And Making as Much Noise As A Mad Bull.  He Was 
   Terribly Scared, And Hobbs Hastened to His Rescue, First Sending His 
   Dog Ahead. 
     
     
     
   Just As The Dog Reached the Bear, Mcintire Darted behind A Tree And 
   Flung His Hat In the Bear'S Face, At The Same Time Sticking His 
   Rifle Toward Him.  The Old Grizzly Seized the Muzzle Of The Gun In 
   His Teeth, And, As It Was Loaded and Cocked, It Either Went Off 
   Accidentally Or Otherwise And Blew The Bear'S Head Open, Just As The 
   Dog Had Fastened on His Hindquarters.  Hobbs Ran To The Assistance 
   Of His Comrade With All Haste, But He Was Out Of Danger And Had Sat 
   Down A Few Rods Away, With His Face As White As A Sheet, A Badly 
   Frightened man. 
     
     
     
   After That Fearful Scare, Mcintire Would Cook Or Do Anything, But 
   Said He Never Intended to Make A Business Of Bear-Hunting; He Had 
   Only Wished for One Adventure, And This One Had Satisfied him. 
   
   
   
   Chapter XX (Pawnee Rock) 
   That Portion Of The Great Central Plains Which Radiates From 
   Pawnee Rock, Including The Big Bend Of The Arkansas, Thirteen Miles 
   Distant, Where That River Makes A Sudden Sweep To The Southeast, 
   And The Beautiful Valley Of The Walnut, In all Its Vast Area Of 
   More Than A Million Square Acres, Was From Time Immemorial A Sort Of 
   Debatable Land, Occupied by None Of The Indian Tribes, But Claimed 
   By All To Hunt In; For It Was A Famous Pasturage Of The Buffalo. 
     
     
     
   None Of The Various Bands Had The Temerity To Attempt Its Permanent 
   Occupancy; For Whenever Hostile Tribes Met There, Which Was Of 
   Frequent Occurrence, In their Annual Hunt For Their Winter'S Supply 
   Of Meat, A Bloody Battle Was Certain To Ensue.  The Region Referred 
   To Has Been The Scene Of More Sanguinary Conflicts Between The 
   Different Indians Of The Plains, Perhaps, Than Any Other Portion 
   Of The Continent.  Particularly Was It The Arena Of War To The Death, 
   When The Pawnees Met Their Hereditary Enemies, The Cheyennes. 
     
     
     
   Pawnee Rock Was A Spot Well Calculated by Nature To Form, As It 
   Has Done, An Important Rendezvous And Ambuscade For The Prowling 
   Savages Of The Prairies, And Often Afforded them, Especially The 
   Once Powerful And Murderous Pawnees Whose Name It Perpetuates, 
   A Pleasant Little Retreat Or Eyrie From Which To Watch The Passing 
   Santa Fe Traders, And Dash Down Upon Them Like Hawks, To Carry Off 
   Their Plunder And Their Scalps. 
     
     
     
   Through This Once Dangerous Region, Close To The Silent Arkansas, 
   And Running Under The Very Shadow Of The Rock, The Old Trail Wound 
   Its Course.  Now, At This Point, It Is The Actual Road-Bed of The 
   Atchison, Topeka, And Santa Fe Railroad, So Strangely Are The Past 
   And Present Transcontinental Highways Connected here. 
     
     
     
   Who, Among Bearded and Grizzled old Fellows Like Myself, Has Forgotten 
   That Most Sensational Of All The Miserably Executed illustrations 
   In The Geographies Of Fifty Years Ago, "The Santa Fe Traders Attacked 
   By Indians"?  The Picture Located the Scene Of The Fight At Pawnee 
   Rock, Which Formed a Sort Of Nondescript Shadow In the Background 
   Of A Crudely Drawn Representation Of The Dangers Of The Trail. 
     
     
     
   If This Once Giant Sentinel[61] Of The Plains Might Speak, What A 
   Story It Could Tell Of The Events That Have Happened on The Beautiful 
   Prairie Stretching Out For Miles At Its Feet! 
     
     
     
   In The Early Fall, When The Rock Was Wrapped in the Soft Amber Haze 
   Which Is A Distinguishing Characteristic Of The Incomparable Indian 
   Summer On The Plains; Or In the Spring, When The Mirage Weaves Its 
   Mysterious Shapes, It Loomed up In the Landscape As If It Were A Huge 
   Mountain, And To The Inexperienced eye Appeared as If It Were The 
   Abrupt Ending Of A Well-Defined range.  But When The Frost Came, 
   And The Mists Were Dispelled; When The Thin Fringe Of Timber On The 
   Walnut, A Few Miles Distant, Had Doffed its Emerald Mantle, And 
   The Grass Had Grown Yellow And Rusty, Then In the Golden Sunlight 
   Of Winter, The Rock Sank Down To Its Normal Proportions, And Cut 
   The Clear Blue Of The Sky With Sharply Marked lines. 
     
     
     
   In The Days When The Santa Fe Trade Was At Its Height, The Pawnees 
   Were The Most Formidable Tribe On The Eastern Central Plains, And 
   The Freighters And Trappers Rarely Escaped a Skirmish With Them 
   Either At The Crossing Of The Walnut, Pawnee Rock, The Fork Of The 
   Pawnee, Or At Little And Big Coon Creeks.  To-Day What Is Left Of 
   The Historic Hill Looks Down Only Upon Peaceful Homes And Fruitful 
   Fields, Whereas For Hundreds Of Years It Witnessed nothing But Battle 
   And Death, And Almost Every Yard Of Brown Sod At Its Base Covered 
   A Skeleton.  In place Of The Horrid Yell Of The Infuriated savage, 
   As He Wrenched off The Reeking Scalp Of His Victim, The Whistle Of 
   The Locomotive And The Pleasant Whirr Of The Reaping-Machine Is Heard; 
   Where The Death-Cry Of The Painted warrior Rang Mournfully Over 
   The Silent Prairie, The Waving Grain Is Singing In beautiful Rhythm 
   As It Bows To The Summer Breeze. 
     
     
     
   Pawnee Rock Received its Name In a Baptism Of Blood, But There Are 
   Many Versions As To The Time And Sponsors.  It Was There That Kit 
   Carson Killed his First Indian, And From That Fight, As He Told Me 
   Himself, The Broken Mass Of Red sandstone Was Given Its Distinctive 
   Title. 
     
     
     
   It Was Late In the Spring Of 1826; Kit Was Then A Mere Boy, Only 
   Seventeen Years Old, And As Green As Any Boy Of His Age Who Had Never 
   Been Forty Miles From The Place Where He Was Born.  Colonel Ceran 
   St. Vrain, Then A Prominent Agent Of One Of The Great Fur Companies, 
   Was Fitting Out An Expedition Destined for The Far-Off Rocky Mountains, 
   The Members Of Which, All Trappers, Were To Obtain The Skins Of The 
   Buffalo, Beaver, Otter, Mink, And Other Valuable Fur-Bearing animals 
   That Then Roamed in immense Numbers On The Vast Plains Or In the 
   Hills, And Were Also To Trade With The Various Tribes Of Indians On 
   The Borders Of Mexico. 
     
     
     
   Carson Joined this Expedition, Which Was Composed of Twenty-Six 
   Mule Wagons, Some Loose Stock, And Forty-Two Men.  The Boy Was Hired 
   To Help Drive The Extra Animals, Hunt Game, Stand Guard, And To Make 
   Himself Generally Useful, Which, Of Course, Included fighting Indians 
   If Any Were Met With On The Long Route. 
     
     
     
   The Expedition Left Fort Osage One Bright Morning In may In excellent 
   Spirits, And In a Few Hours Turned abruptly To The West On The Broad 
   Trail To The Mountains.  The Great Plains In those Early Days Were 
   Solitary And Desolate Beyond The Power Of Description; The Arkansas 
   River Sluggishly Followed the Tortuous Windings Of Its Treeless Banks 
   With A Placidness That Was Awful In its Very Silence; And Whoso 
   Traced the Wanderings Of That Stream With No Companion But His Own 
   Thoughts, Realized in all Its Intensity The Depth Of Solitude From 
   Which Robinson Crusoe Suffered on His Lonely Island.  Illimitable As 
   The Ocean, The Weary Waste Stretched away Until Lost In the Purple Of 
   The Horizon, And The Mirage Created weird Pictures In the Landscape, 
   Distorted distances And Objects Which Continually Annoyed and Deceived. 
   Despite Its Loneliness, However, There Was Then, And Ever Has Been 
   For Many Men, An Infatuation For Those Majestic Prairies That Once 
   Experienced is Never Lost, And It Came To The Boyish Heart Of Kit, 
   Who Left Them But With Life, And Full Of Years. 
     
     
     
   There Was Not Much Variation In the Eternal Sameness Of Things During 
   The First Two Weeks, As The Little Train Moved day After Day Through 
   The Wilderness Of Grass, Its Ever-Rattling Wheels Only Intensifying 
   The Surrounding Monotony.  Occasionally, However, A Herd Of Buffalo 
   Was Discovered in the Distance, Their Brown, Shaggy Sides Contrasting 
   With The Never-Ending Sea Of Verdure Around Them.  Then Young Kit, 
   And Two Or Three Others Of The Party Who Were Detailed to Supply 
   The Teamsters And Trappers With Meat, Would Ride Out After Them On 
   The Best Of The Extra Horses Which Were Always Kept Saddled and Tied 
   Together Behind The Last Wagon For Services Of This Kind.  Kit, Who 
   Was Already An Excellent Horseman And A Splendid Shot With The Rifle, 
   Would Soon Overtake Them, And Topple One After Another Of Their Huge 
   Fat Carcasses Over On The Prairie Until Half A Dozen Or More Were 
   Lying Dead.  The Tender Humps, Tongues, And Other Choice Portions 
   Were Then Cut Out And Put In a Wagon Which Had By That Time Reached 
   Them From The Train, And The Expedition Rolled on. 
     
     
     
   So They Marched for About Three Weeks, When They Arrived at The 
   Crossing Of The Walnut, Where They Saw The First Signs Of Indians. 
   They Had Halted for That Day; The Mules Were Unharnessed, The 
   Camp-Fires Lighted, And The Men Just About To Indulge In their 
   Refreshing Coffee, When Suddenly Half A Dozen Pawnees, Mounted on 
   Their Ponies, Hideously Painted and Uttering The Most Demoniacal 
   Yells, Rushed out Of The Tall Grass On The River-Bottom, Where They 
   Had Been Ambushed, And Swinging Their Buffalo-Robes, Attempted to 
   Stampede The Herd Picketed near The Camp.  The Whole Party Were On 
   Their Feet In an Instant With Rifles In hand, And All The Savages 
   Got For Their Trouble Were A Few Well-Deserved shots As They Hurriedly 
   Scampered back To The River And Over Into The Sand Hills On The Other 
   Side, Soon To Be Out Of Sight. 
     
     
     
   The Expedition Travelled sixteen Miles Next Day, And Camped at 
   Pawnee Rock, Where, After The Experience Of The Evening Before, 
   Every Precaution Was Taken To Prevent A Surprise By The Savages. 
   The Wagons Were Formed into A Corral, So That The Animals Could Be 
   Secured in the Event Of A Prolonged fight; The Guards Were Drilled 
   By The Colonel, And Every Man Slept With His Rifle For A Bed-Fellow, 
   For The Old Trappers Knew That The Indians Would Never Remain 
   Satisfied with Their Defeat On The Walnut, But Would Seize The First 
   Favourable Opportunity To Renew Their Attack. 
     
     
     
   At Dark The Sentinels Were Placed in position, And To Young Kit Fell 
   The Important Post Immediately In front Of The South Face Of The 
   Rock, Nearly Two Hundred yards From The Corral; The Others Being at 
   Prominent Points On Top, And On The Open Prairie On Either Side. 
   All Who Were Not On Duty Had Long Since Been Snoring Heavily, 
   Rolled up In their Blankets And Buffalo-Robes, When At About Half-Past 
   Eleven, One Of The Guard Gave The Alarm, "Indians!" And Ran The Mules 
   That Were Nearest Him Into The Corral.  In a Moment The Whole Company 
   Turned out At The Report Of A Rifle Ringing On The Clear Night Air, 
   Coming From The Direction Of The Rock.  The Men Had Gathered at 
   The Opening To The Corral, Waiting For Developments, When Kit Came 
   Running In, And As Soon As He Was Near Enough, The Colonel Asked him 
   Whether He Had Seen Any Indians.  "Yes," Kit Replied, "I Killed one 
   Of The Red devils; I Saw Him Fall!" 
     
     
     
   The Alarm Proved to Be False; There Was No Further Disturbance That 
   Night, So The Party Returned to Their Beds, And The Sentinels To 
   Their Several Posts, Kit Of Course To His Place In front Of The Rock. 
     
     
     
   Early The Next Morning, Before Breakfast Even, All Were So Anxious 
   To See Kit'S Dead Indian, That They Went Out En Masse To Where He Was 
   Still Stationed, And Instead Of Finding a Painted pawnee, As Was 
   Expected, They Found The Boy'S Riding Mule Dead, Shot Right Through 
   The Head. 
     
     
     
   Kit Felt Terribly Mortified over His Ridiculous Blunder, And It Was 
   A Long Time Before He Heard The Last Of His Midnight Adventure And 
   His Raid On His Own Mule.  But He Always Liked to Tell The "Balance 
   Of The Story," As He Termed it, And This Is His Version: "I Had Not 
   Slept Any The Night Before, For I Stayed awake Watching To Get A 
   Shot At The Pawnees That Tried to Stampede Our Animals, Expecting 
   They Would Return; And I Hadn'T Caught A Wink All Day, As I Was Out 
   Buffalo Hunting, So I Was Awfully Tired and Sleepy When We Arrived 
   At Pawnee Rock That Evening, And When I Was Posted at My Place At 
   Night, I Must Have Gone To Sleep Leaning against The Rocks; At Any 
   Rate, I Was Wide Enough Awake When The Cry Of Indians Was Given By 
   One Of The Guard.  I Had Picketed my Mule About Twenty Steps From 
   Where I Stood, And I Presume He Had Been Lying Down; All I Remember 
   Is That The First Thing I Saw After The Alarm Was Something Rising Up 
   Out Of The Grass, Which I Thought Was An Indian.  I Pulled the Trigger; 
   It Was A Centre Shot, And I Don'T Believe The Mule Ever Kicked after 
   He Was Hit!" 
     
     
     
   The Next Morning about Daylight, A Band Of Pawnees Attacked the Train 
   In Earnest, And Kept The Little Command Busy All That Day, The Next 
   Night, And Until The Following Midnight, Nearly Three Whole Days, 
   The Mules All The Time Being Shut In the Corral Without Food Or Water. 
   At Midnight Of The Second Day The Colonel Ordered the Men To Hitch Up 
   And Attempt To Drive On To The Crossing Of Pawnee Fork, Thirteen Miles 
   Distant.[62]  They Succeeded in getting There, Fighting Their Way 
   Without The Loss Of Any Of Their Men Or Animals.  The Trail Crossed 
   The Creek In the Shape Of A Horseshoe, Or Rather, In consequence Of 
   The Double Bend Of The Stream As It Empties Into The Arkansas, The 
   Road Crossed it Twice.  In making This Passage, Dangerous On Account 
   Of Its Crookedness, Kit Said Many Of The Wagons Were Badly Mashed up; 
   For The Mules Were So Thirsty That Their Drivers Could Not Control 
   Them.  The Train Was Hardly Strung Out On The Opposite Bank When 
   The Indians Poured in a Volley Of Bullets And A Shower Of Arrows 
   From Both Sides Of The Trail; But Before They Could Load And Fire 
   Again, A Terrific Charge Was On Them, Led by Colonel St. Vrain And 
   Carson.  It Required only A Few Moments More To Clean Out The 
   Persistent Savages, And The Train Went On.  During The Whole Fight 
   The Little Party Lost Four Men Killed and Seven Wounded, And Eleven 
   Mules Killed (Not Counting Kit'S), And Twenty Badly Wounded. 
     
     
     
   A Great Many Years Ago, Very Early In the Days Of The Trade With 
   New Mexico, Seven Americans Were Surprised by A Large Band Of Pawnees 
   In The Vicinity Of The Rock And Were Compelled to Retreat To It For 
   Safety.  There, Without Water, And With But A Small Quantity Of 
   Provisions, They Were Besieged by Their Blood-Thirsty Foes For Two 
   Days, When A Party Of Traders Coming On The Trail Relieved them From 
   Their Perilous Situation And The Presence Of Their Enemy.  There Were 
   Several Graves On Its Summit When I First Saw Pawnee Rock; But 
   Whether They Contained the Bones Of Savages Or Those Of White Men, 
   I Do Not Know. 
     
     
     
   Carson Related to Me Another Terrible Fight That Took Place At The 
   Rock, When He First Became A Trapper.  He Was Not A Participant, 
   But Knew The Parties Well.  About Twenty-Nine Years Ago, Kit, Jack 
   Henderson, Who Was Agent For The Ute Indians, Lucien B. Maxwell, 
   General Carleton And Myself Were Camped halfway Up The Rugged sides 
   Of Old Baldy, In the Raton Range.  The Night Was Intensely Cold, 
   Although In midsummer, And We Were Huddled around A Little Fire Of 
   Pine Knots, More Than Seven Thousand Feet Above The Level Of The Sea, 
   Close To The Snow Limit. 
     
     
     
   Kit, Or "The General," As Every One Called him, Was In a Good Humour 
   For Talking, And We Naturally Took Advantage Of This To Draw Him Out; 
   For Usually He Was The Most Reticent Of Men In relating His Own 
   Exploits.  A Casual Remark Made By Maxwell Opened carson'S Mouth, 
   And He Said He Remembered one Of The "Worst Difficults" A Man Ever 
   Got Into.[63]  So He Made A Fresh Corn-Shuck Cigarette, And Related 
   The Following; But The Names Of The Old Trappers Who Were The 
   Principals In the Fight I Have Unfortunately Forgotten. 
     
     
     
   Two Men Had Been Trapping In the Powder River Country During One 
   Winter With Unusually Good Luck, And They Got An Early Start With 
   Their Furs, Which They Were Going To Take To Weston, On The Missouri, 
   One Of The Principal Trading Points In those Days.  They Walked the 
   Whole Distance, Driving Their Pack-Mules Before Them, And Experienced 
   No Trouble Until They Struck The Arkansas Valley At Pawnee Rock. 
   There They Were Intercepted by A War-Party Of About Sixty Pawnees. 
   Both Of The Trappers Were Notoriously Brave And Both Dead Shots. 
   Before They Arrived at The Rock, To Which They Were Finally Driven, 
   They Killed two Of The Indians, And Had Not Themselves Received a 
   Scratch.  They Had Plenty Of Powder, A Pouch Full Of Balls Each, 
   And Two Good Rifles.  They Also Had A Couple Of Jack-Rabbits For 
   Food In case Of A Siege, And The Perpendicular Walls Of The Front 
   Of The Rock Made Them A Natural Fortification, An Almost Impregnable 
   One Against Indians. 
     
     
     
   They Succeeded in securely Picketing Their Animals At The Side Of 
   The Rock, Where They Could Protect Them By Their Unerring Rifles 
   From Being Stampeded.  After The Pawnees Had "Treed" The Two Trappers 
   On The Rock, They Picked up Their Dead, And Packed them Off To Their 
   Camp At The Mouth Of A Little Ravine A Short Distance Away.  In a Few 
   Moments Back They All Came, Mounted on Fast Ponies, With Their 
   War-Paint And Other Fixings On, Ready To Renew The Fight.  They 
   Commenced to Circle Around The Place, Coming Closer, Indian Fashion, 
   Every Time, Until They Got Within Easy Rifle-Range, When They Slung 
   Themselves On The Opposite Sides Of Their Horses, And In that Position 
   Opened fire.  Their Arrows Fell Like A Hailstorm, But As Good Luck 
   Would Have It, None Of Them Struck, And The Balls From Their Rifles 
   Were Wild, As The Indians In those Days Were Not Very Good Shots; 
   The Rifle Was A New Weapon To Them.  The Trappers At First Were 
   Afraid The Savages Would Surely Try To Kill The Mules, But Soon 
   Reflected that The Indians Believed they Had The "Dead-Wood" On Them, 
   And The Mules Would Come Handy After They Had Been Scalped; So They 
   Felt Satisfied their Animals Were Safe For A While Anyhow.  The Men 
   Were Taking In all The Chances, However; Both Kept Their Eyes Skinned, 
   And Whenever One Of Them Saw A Stray Leg Or Head, He Drew A Bead 
   On It And When He Pulled the Trigger, Its Owner Tumbled over With 
   A Yell Of Rage From His Companions. 
     
     
     
   Whenever The Savages Attempted to Carry Off Their Dead,[64] The Two 
   Trappers Took Advantage Of The Opportunity, And Poured in their 
   Shots Every Time With Telling Effect. 
     
     
     
   By This Time Night Had Fallen, And The Indians Did Not Seem Anxious 
   To Renew The Fight After Dark; But They Kept Their Mounted patrols 
   On Every Side Of The Rock, At A Respectable Distance From Such Dead 
   Shots, Watching To Prevent The Escape Of The Besieged.  As They Were 
   Hungry, One Of The Men Went Down Under Cover Of The Darkness To Get 
   A Few Buffalo-Chips With Which To Cook Their Rabbit, And To Change 
   The Animals To Where They Could Get Fresh Grass.  He Returned safely 
   To The Summit Of The Rock, Where A Little Fire Was Made And Their 
   Supper Prepared.  They Had To Go Without Water All The Time, And So 
   Did The Mules; The Men Did Not Mind The Want Of It Themselves, But 
   They Could Not Help Pitying Their Poor Animals That Had Had None 
   Since They Left Camp Early That Morning.  It Was No Use To Worry, 
   Though; The Nearest Water Was At The River, And It Would Have Been 
   Certain Death To Have Attempted to Go There Unless The Savages 
   Cleared out, And From All Appearances They Had No Idea Of Doing That. 
     
     
     
   What Gave The Trappers More Cause For Alarm Than Anything Else, 
   Was The Fear That The Indians Would Fire The Prairie In the Morning, 
   And Endeavour To Smoke Them Out Or Burn Them Up.  The Grass Was In 
   Just The Condition To Make A Lively Blaze, And They Might Escape 
   The Flames, And Then They Might Not.  It Can Well Be Imagined how 
   Eagerly They Watched for The Dawn Of Another Day, Perhaps The Last 
   For Them. 
     
     
     
   The First Gray Streaks Of Light Had Hardly Peeped above The Horizon, 
   When, With An Infernal Yell, The Indians Broke For The Rock, And 
   The Trappers Were Certain That Some New Project Had Entered their 
   Heads.  The Wind Was Springing Up Pretty Freshly, And Nature Seemed 
   To Conspire With The Red devils, If They Really Meant To Burn The 
   Trappers Out; And From The Movements Of The Savages, That Was What 
   They Expected.  The Indians Kept At A Respectful Distance From The 
   Range Of The Trappers' Rifles, Who Chafed because They Could Not 
   Stop Some Of The Infernal Yelling With A Few Well-Directed bullets, 
   But They Had To Choke Their Rage, And Watch Events Closely.  During 
   A Temporary Lull In hostilities, One Of The Trappers Took Occasion 
   To Crawl Down To Where The Mules Were, And Shift Them To The West 
   Side Of The Rock, Where The Wall Was The Highest; So That The Flame 
   And Smoke Might Possibly Pass By Them Without So Much Danger As Where 
   They Were Picketed before.  He Had Just Succeeded in doing This, 
   And, Tearing Up The Long Grass For Several Yards Around The Animals, 
   Was In the Act Of Going Back, When His Partner Yelled out To Him: 
   "Look Out!  D---N 'Em, They'Ve Fired the Prairie!"  He Was Back On 
   The Top Of The Rock In another Moment, And Took In at A Glance What 
   Was Coming. 
     
     
     
   The Spectacle For A Short Interval Was Indescribably Grand; The Sun 
   Was Shining With All The Power Of Its Rays On The Huge Clouds Of Smoke 
   As They Rolled down From The North, Tinting Them A Glorious Crimson. 
   The Two Trappers Had Barely Time To Get Under The Shelter Of A Large 
   Projecting Point Of The Rocky Wall, When The Wind And Smoke Swept 
   Down To The Ground, And Instantly They Were Enveloped in the Darkness 
   Of Midnight.  They Could Not Discern A Single Object; Neither Indians, 
   Horses, The Prairie, Nor The Sun; And What A Terrible Wind! 
     
     
     
   The Trappers Stood Breathless, Clinging To The Projections Of Rock, 
   And Did Not Realize The Fire Was So Near Them Until They Were Struck 
   In The Face By Pieces Of Burning Buffalo-Chips That Were Carried 
   Toward Them With The Rapidity Of The Awful Wind.  They Were Now Badly 
   Scared, For It Seemed as If They Were To Be Suffocated.  They Were 
   Saved, However, Almost Miraculously; The Sheet Of Flame Passed them 
   Twenty Yards Away, As The Wind Fortunately Shifted at The Moment 
   The Fire Reached the Foot Of The Rock.  The Darkness Was So Intense 
   That They Did Not Discover The Flame; They Only Knew That They Were 
   Saved as The Clear Sky Greeted them From Behind The Dense Smoke-Cloud. 
     
     
     
   Two Of The Indians And Their Horses Were Caught In their Own Trap, 
   And Perished miserably.  They Had Attempted to Reach The East Side 
   Of The Rock, So As To Steal Around To The Other Side Where The Mules 
   Were, And Either Cut Them Loose Or Crawl Up On The Trappers While 
   Bewildered in the Smoke And Kill Them, If They Were Not Already Dead. 
   But They Had Proceeded only A Few Rods On Their Little Expedition, 
   When The Terrible Darkness Of The Smoke-Cloud Overtook Them And Soon 
   The Flames, From Which There Was No Possible Escape. 
     
     
     
   All The Game On The Prairie Which The Fire Swept Over Was Killed too. 
   Only A Few Buffalo Were Visible In that Region Before The Fire, But 
   Even They Were Killed.  The Path Of The Flames, As Was Discovered by 
   The Caravans That Passed over The Trail A Few Days Afterward, Was 
   Marked with The Crisp And Blackened carcasses Of Wolves, Coyotes, 
   Turkeys, Grouse, And Every Variety Of Small Birds Indigenous To The 
   Region.  Indeed, It Seemed as If No Living Thing It Had Met Escaped 
   Its Fury.  The Fire Assumed such Gigantic Proportions, And Moved 
   With Such Rapidity Before The Wind, That Even The Arkansas River 
   Did Not Check Its Path For A Moment; It Was Carried as Readily Across 
   As If The Stream Had Not Been In its Way. 
     
     
     
   The First Thought Of The Trappers On The Rock Was For Their Poor 
   Mules.   One Crawled to Where They Were, And Found Them Badly Singed, 
   But Not Seriously Injured.  The Men Began To Brighten Up Again When 
   They Knew That Their Means Of Transportation Were Relatively All 
   Right, And Themselves Also, And They Took Fresh Courage, Beginning 
   To Believe They Should Get Out Of Their Bad Scrape After All. 
     
     
     
   In The Meantime The Indians, With The Exception Of Three Or Four 
   Left To Guard The Rock, So As To Prevent The Trappers From Getting 
   Away, Had Gone Back To Their Camp In the Ravine, And Were Evidently 
   Concocting Some New Scheme For The Discomfort Of The Besieged 
   Trappers.  The Latter Waited patiently Two Or Three Hours For The 
   Development Of Events, Snatching a Little Sleep By Turns, Which They 
   Needed much; For Both Were Worn Out By Their Constant Watching. 
   At Last When The Sun Was About Three Hours High, The Indians Commenced 
   Their Infernal Howling again, And Then The Trappers Knew They Had 
   Decided upon Something; So They Were On The Alert In a Moment To 
   Discover What It Was, And Euchre Them If Possible. 
     
     
     
   The Devils This Time Had Tied all Their Ponies Together, Covered 
   Them With Branches Of Trees That They Had Gone Up On The Walnut For, 
   Packed some Lodge-Skins On These, And Then, Driving The Living 
   Breastworks Before Them, Moved toward The Rock.  They Proceeded 
   Cautiously But Surely, And Matters Began To Look Very Serious For 
   The Trappers.  As The Strange Cavalcade Approached, A Trapper Raised 
   His Rifle, And A Masked pony Tumbled over On The Scorched sod Dead. 
   As One Of The Indians Ran To Cut Him Loose, The Other Trapper Took 
   Him Off His Feet By A Well-Directed shot; He Never Uttered a Groan. 
   The Besieged now Saw Their Only Salvation Was To Kill The Ponies 
   And So Demoralize The Indians That They Would Have To Abandon Such 
   Tactics, And Quicker Than I Can Tell It, They Had Stretched four 
   More Out On The Prairie, And Made It So Hot For The Savages That 
   They Ran Out Of Range And Began To Hold A Council Of War. 
     
     
     
   Finding That Their Plan Would Not Work--For As The Last Pony Was Shot, 
   The Rest Stampeded and Were Running Wild Over The Prairie--The Indians 
   Soon Went Back To Their Camp Again, And The Trappers Now Had A Few 
   Spare Moments In which To Take An Account Of Stock.  They Discovered, 
   Much To Their Chagrin, That They Had Used up All Their Ammunition 
   Except Three Or Four Loads, And Despair Hovered over Them Once More. 
     
     
     
   The Indians Did Not Reappear That Evening, And The Cause Was Apparent; 
   For In the Distance Could Be Seen A Long Line Of Wagons, One Of The 
   Large American Caravans En Route To Santa Fe.  The Savages Had Seen 
   It Before The Trappers, And Had Cleared out.  When The Train Arrived 
   Opposite The Rock, The Relieved men Came Down From Their Little 
   Fortress, Joined the Caravan, And Camped with The Americans That 
   Night On The Walnut.  While They Were Resting around Their Camp-Fire, 
   Smoking and Telling Of Their Terrible Experience On The Top Of The 
   Rock, The Indians Could Be Heard Chanting The Death-Song While They 
   Were Burying Their Warriors Under The Blackened sod Of The Prairie. 
     
     
     
   I Witnessed a Spirited encounter Between A Small Band Of Cheyennes 
   And Pawnees In the Fall Of 1867.  It Occurred on The Open Prairie 
   North Of The Mouth Of The Walnut, And Not A Great Distance From 
   Pawnee Rock.  Both Tribes Were Hunting Buffalo, And When They, 
   By Accident, Discovered the Presence Of Each Other, With A Yell 
   That Fairly Shook The Sand Dunes On The Arkansas, They Rushed at Once 
   Into The Shock Of Battle. 
     
     
     
   That Night, In a Timbered bend Of The Walnut, The Victors Had A Grand 
   Dance, In which Scalps, Ears, And Fingers Of Their Enemies, Suspended 
   By Strings To Long Poles, Were Important Accessories To Their Weird 
   Orgies Around Their Huge Camp-Fires.[65] 
     
     
     
   One Of The Most Horrible Massacres In the History Of The Trail 
   Occurred at Little Cow Creek In the Summer Of 1864.  In july Of That 
   Year A Government Caravan, Loaded with Military Stores For Fort Union 
   In New Mexico, Left Fort Leavenworth For The Long And Dangerous 
   Journey Of More Than Seven Hundred miles Over The Great Plains, 
   Which That Season Were Infested by Indians To A Degree Almost Without 
   Precedent In the Annals Of Freight Traffic. 
     
     
     
   The Train Was Owned by A Mr. H. C. Barret, A Contractor With The 
   Quartermaster'S Department; But He Declined to Take The Chances Of 
   The Trip Unless The Government Would Lease The Outfit In its Entirety, 
   Or Give Him An Indemnifying Bond As Assurance Against Any Loss. 
   The Chief Quartermaster Executed the Bond As Demanded, And Barret 
   Hired his Teamsters For The Hazardous Journey; But He Found It A 
   Difficult Matter To Induce Men To Go Out That Season. 
     
     
     
   Among Those Whom He Persuaded to Enter His Employ Was A Mere Boy, 
   Named mcgee, Who Came Wandering Into Leavenworth A Few Weeks Before 
   The Train Was Ready To Leave, Seeking Work Of Any Description. 
   His Parents Had Died on Their Way To Kansas, And On His Arrival At 
   Westport Landing, The Emigrant Outfit That Had Extended to Him 
   Shelter And Protection In his Utter Loneliness Was Disbanded; So The 
   Youthful Orphan Was Thrown On His Own Resources.  At That Time The 
   Indians Of The Great Plains, Especially Along The Line Of The Santa Fe 
   Trail, Were Very Hostile, And Continually Harassing The Freight 
   Caravans And Stage-Coaches Of The Overland Route.  Companies Of Men 
   Were Enlisting and Being Mustered into The United states Service To 
   Go Out After The Savages, And Young Robert Mcgee Volunteered with 
   Hundreds Of Others For The Dangerous Duty.  The Government Needed 
   Men Badly, But Mcgee'S Youth Militated against Him, And He Was Below 
   The Required stature; So He Was Rejected by The Mustering Officer. 
     
     
     
   Mr. Barret, In hunting For Teamsters To Drive His Caravan, Came 
   Across Mcgee, Who, Supposing That He Was Hiring as A Government 
   Employee, Accepted mr. Barret'S Offer. 
     
     
     
   By The Last Day Of June The Caravan Was All Ready, And On The Morning 
   Of The Next Day, July 1, The Wagons Rolled out Of The Fort, Escorted 
   By A Company Of United states Troops, From The Volunteers Referred to. 
     
     
     
   The Caravan Wound Its Weary Way Over The Lonesome Trail With Nothing 
   To Relieve The Monotony Save A Few Skirmishes With The Indians; But 
   No Casualties Occurred in these Insignificant Battles, The Savages 
   Being afraid To Venture Too Near On Account Of The Presence Of The 
   Military Escort. 
     
     
     
   On The 18Th Of July, The Caravan Arrived in the Vicinity Of Fort 
   Larned.  There It Was Supposed that The Proximity Of That Military 
   Post Would Be A Sufficient Guarantee From Any Attack Of The Savages; 
   So The Men Of The Train Became Careless, And As The Day Was Excessively 
   Hot, They Went Into Camp Early In the Afternoon, The Escort Remaining 
   In Bivouac About A Mile In the Rear Of The Train. 
     
     
     
   About Five O'Clock, A Hundred and Fifty Painted savages, Under The 
   Command Of Little Turtle Of The Brule Sioux, Swooped down On The 
   Unsuspecting Caravan While The Men Were Enjoying Their Evening Meal. 
   Not A Moment Was Given Them To Rally To The Defence Of Their Lives, 
   And Of All Belonging To The Outfit, With The Exception Of One Boy, 
   Not A Soul Came Out Alive. 
     
     
     
   The Teamsters Were Every One Of Them Shot Dead And Their Bodies 
   Horribly Mutilated.  After Their Successful Raid, The Savages 
   Destroyed everything They Found In the Wagons, Tearing The Covers 
   Into Shreds, Throwing The Flour On The Trail, And Winding Up By 
   Burning Everything That Was Combustible. 
     
     
     
   On The Same Day The Commanding Officer Of Fort Larned had Learned 
   From Some Of His Scouts That The Brule Sioux Were On The War-Path, 
   And The Chief Of The Scouts With A Handful Of Soldiers Was Sent Out 
   To Reconnoitre.  They Soon Struck The Trail Of Little Turtle And 
   Followed it To The Scene Of The Massacre On Cow Creek, Arriving 
   There Only Two Hours After The Savages Had Finished their Devilish 
   Work.  Dead Men Were Lying about In the Short Buffalo-Grass Which 
   Had Been Stained and Matted by Their Flowing Blood, And The Agonized 
   Posture Of Their Bodies Told Far More Forcibly Than Any Language 
   The Tortures Which Had Come Before A Welcome Death.  All Had Been 
   Scalped; All Had Been Mutilated in that Nameless Manner Which Seems 
   To Delight The Brutal Instincts Of The North American Savage. 
     
     
     
   Moving Slowly From One To The Other Of The Lifeless Forms Which 
   Still Showed the Agony Of Their Death-Throes, The Chief Of The Scouts 
   Came Across The Bodies Of Two Boys, Both Of Whom Had Been Scalped 
   And Shockingly Wounded, Besides Being Mutilated, Yet, Strange To Say, 
   Both Of Them Were Alive.  As Tenderly As The Men Could Lift Them, 
   They Were Conveyed at Once Back To Fort Larned and Given In charge 
   Of The Post Surgeon.  One Of The Boys Died in a Few Hours After His 
   Arrival In the Hospital, But The Other, Robert Mcgee, Slowly Regained 
   His Strength, And Came Out Of The Ordeal In fairly Good Health. 
     
     
     
   The Story Of The Massacre Was Related by Young Mcgee, After He Was 
   Able To Talk, While In the Hospital At The Fort; For He Had Not 
   Lost Consciousness During The Suffering To Which He Was Subjected 
   By The Savages. 
     
     
     
   He Was Compelled to Witness The Tortures Inflicted on His Wounded and 
   Captive Companions, After Which He Was Dragged into The Presence Of 
   The Chief, Little Turtle, Who Determined that He Would Kill The Boy 
   With His Own Hands.  He Shot Him In the Back With His Own Revolver, 
   Having First Knocked him Down With A Lance Handle.  He Then Drove 
   Two Arrows Through The Unfortunate Boy'S Body, Fastening Him To The 
   Ground, And Stooping Over His Prostrate Form Ran His Knife Around 
   His Head, Lifting Sixty-Four Square Inches Of His Scalp, Trimming 
   It Off Just Behind His Ears. 
     
     
     
   Believing Him Dead By That Time, Little Turtle Abandoned his Victim; 
   But The Other Savages, As They Went By His Supposed corpse, Could Not 
   Resist Their Infernal Delight In blood, So They Thrust Their Knives 
   Into Him, And Bored great Holes In his Body With Their Lances. 
     
     
     
   After The Savages Had Done All That Their Devilish Ingenuity Could 
   Contrive, They Exultingly Rode Away, Yelling as They Bore Off The 
   Reeking Scalps Of Their Victims, And Drove Away The Hundreds Of Mules 
   They Had Captured. 
     
     
     
   When The Tragedy Was Ended, The Soldiers, Who Had From Their 
   Vantage-Ground Witnessed the Whole Diabolical Transaction, Came Up 
   To The Bloody Camp By Order Of Their Commander, To Learn Whether 
   The Teamsters Had Driven Away Their Assailants, And Saw Too Late 
   What Their Cowardice Had Allowed to Take Place.  The Officer In 
   Command Of The Escort Was Dismissed the Service, As He Could Not 
   Give Any Satisfactory Reason For Not Going To The Rescue Of The 
   Caravan He Had Been Ordered to Guard. 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
   
   
   
   Chapter XXI (Fooling Stage Robbers) 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
   The Wagon Mound, So Called from Its Resemblance To A Covered army-Wagon, 
   Is A Rocky Mesa Forty Miles From Point Of Rocks, Westwardly. 
   The Stretch Of The Trail From The Latter To The Mound Has Been 
   The Scene Of Some Desperate Encounters, Only Exceeded in number 
   And Sanguinary Results By Those Which Have Occurred in the Region Of 
   Pawnee Rock, The Crossing Of The Walnut, Pawnee Fork, And Cow Creek. 
     
     
     
   One Of The Most Remarkable Stories Of This Wagon Mound Country Dealt 
   With The Nerve And Bravery Exhibited by John L. Hatcher In defence 
   Of His Life, And Those Of The Men In his Caravan, About 1858. 
     
     
     
   Hatcher Was A Noted trader And Merchant Of New Mexico.  He Was Also 
   Celebrated as An Indian Fighter, And His Name Was A Terror To The 
   Savages Who Infested the Settlements Of New Mexico And Raided the Trail. 
     
     
     
   He Left Taos, Where He Then Resided, In the Summer, With His Caravan 
   Loaded with Furs And Pelts Destined for Westport Landing; To Be 
   Forwarded from There To St. Louis, The Only Market For Furs In the 
   Far West.  His Train Was A Small One, Comprising about Fifteen Wagons 
   And Handled by About As Many Men, Including Himself.  At The Date 
   Of His Adventure The Indians Were Believed to Be At Peace With 
   Everybody; A False Idea, As Hatcher Well Knew, For There Never Was 
   Such A Condition Of Affairs As Absolute Immunity From Their Attacks. 
   While It Might Be True That The Old Men Refrained for A Time From 
   Starting Out On The War-Path, There Were Ever The Vastly Greater 
   Number Of Restless Young Warriors Who Had Not Yet Earned their Eagle 
   Feathers, Who Could Not Be Controlled by Their Chiefs, And Who Were 
   Always Engaged in marauding, Either Among The Border Settlements 
   Or Along The Line Of The Trail. 
     
     
     
   When Hatcher Was Approaching The Immediate Vicinity Of Wagon Mound,[66] 
   With His Train Strung Out In single Column, To His Great Astonishment 
   There Suddenly Charged on Him From Over The Hill About Three Hundred 
   Savages, All Feather-Bedecked and Painted in the Highest Style Of 
   Indian Art.  As They Rode Toward The Caravan, They Gave The Sign 
   Of Peace, Which Hatcher Accepted for The Time As True, Although He 
   Knew Them Well.  However, He Invited the Head Men To Some Refreshment, 
   As Was Usual On Such Occasions In those Days, Throwing a Blanket 
   On The Ground, On Which Sugar In abundance Was Served out. 
   The Sweet-Toothed warriors Helped themselves Liberally, And Affected 
   Much Delight At The Way They Were Being Treated; But Hatcher, With 
   His Knowledge Of The Savage Character, Was Firm In the Belief That 
   They Came For No Other Purpose Than To Rob The Caravan And Kill Him 
   And His Men. 
     
     
     
   They Were Comanches, And One Of The Most Noted chiefs Of The Tribe 
   Was In command Of The Band, With Some Inferior Chiefs Under Him. 
   I Think It Was Old Wolf, A Very Old Man Then, Whose Raids Into Texas 
   Had Made His Name A Terror To The Mexicans Living On The Border. 
     
     
     
   While The Chiefs Were Eating Their Saccharine Lunch, Hatcher Was 
   Losing No Time In forming His Wagons Into A Corral, But He Told His 
   Friends Afterward That He Had No Idea That Either He Or Any Of His 
   Men Would Escape; Only Fifteen Or Sixteen Men Against Over Three 
   Hundred merciless Savages, And Those The Worst On The Continent, 
   And A Small Corral--The Chances Were Totally Hopeless!  Nothing But 
   A Desperate Action Could Avail, And Maybe Not Even That.[67]  Hatcher, 
   After The Other Head Men Had Finished eating, Asked the Old Chief 
   To Send His Young Warriors Away Over The Hill.  They Were All Sitting 
   Close To One Of The Wagons, Old Wolf, In fact, Leaning against The 
   Wheel Resting On His Blanket, With Hatcher Next Him On His Right. 
   Hatcher Was So Earnest In his Appeal To Have The Young Men Sent Away, 
   That Both The Venerable Villain And His Other Chiefs Rose And Were 
   Standing.  Without A Moment'S Notice Or The Slightest Warning, 
   Hatcher Reached with His Left Hand And Grabbed old Wolf By His 
   Scalp-Lock, And With His Right Drew His Butcher-Knife From Its 
   Scabbard And Thrust It At The Throat Of The Chief.  All This Was 
   Done In an Instant, As Quick As Lightning; No One Had Time To Move. 
   The Situation Was Remarkable.  The Little, Wiry Man, Surrounded by 
   Eight Or Nine Of The Most Renowned warriors Of The Dreaded comanches, 
   Stood Firm; Everybody Was Breathless; Not A Word Did The Savages Say. 
   Hatcher Then Said Again To Old Wolf, In the Most Determined manner: 
   "Send Your Young Men Over The Hill At Once, Or I'Ll Kill You Right 
   Where You Are!" Holding On To The Hair Of The Savage With His Left 
   Hand And Keeping The Knife At His Throat. 
     
     
     
   The Other Indians Did Not Dare To Make A Move; They Knew What Kind Of 
   A Man Hatcher Was; They Knew He Would Do As He Had Said, And That If 
   They Attempted a Rescue He Would Kill Their Favourite Chief In a Second. 
     
     
     
   Old Wolf Shook His Head Defiantly In the Negative.  Hatcher Repeated 
   His Order, Getting Madder All The Time: "Send Your Young Men Over 
   The Hill; I Tell You!"  Old Wolf Was Still Stubborn; He Shook His 
   Head Again.  Hatcher Gave Him Another Chance: "Send Your Young Men 
   Over The Hill, I Tell You, Or I'Ll Scalp You Alive As You Are!" 
   Again The Chief Shook His Head.  Then Hatcher, Still Holding On The 
   Hair Of His Stubborn Victim, Commenced to Make An Incision In the 
   Head Of Old Wolf, For The Determined man Was Bound To Carry Out His 
   Threat; But He Began Very Slowly. 
     
     
     
   As The Chief Felt The Blood Trickle Down His Forehead, He Weakened. 
   He Ordered his Next In command To Send The Young Men Over The Hill 
   And Out Of Sight.  The Order Was Repeated immediately To The Warriors, 
   Who Were Astonished spectators Of The Strange Scene, And They Quickly 
   Mounted their Horses And Rode Away Over The Hill As Fast As They 
   Could Thump Their Animals' Sides With Their Legs, Leaving Only Five 
   Or Six Chiefs With Old Wolf And Hatcher. 
     
     
     
   Hatcher Held On Like Grim Death To The Old Chief'S Head, And Immediately 
   Ordered his Men To Throw The Robes Out Of The Wagons As Quickly As 
   They Could, And Get Inside Themselves.  This Was Promptly Obeyed, 
   And When They Were All Under The Cover Of The Wagon Sheets, Hatcher 
   Let Go Of His Victim'S Hair, And, With A Last Kick, Told Him And His 
   Friends That They Could Leave.  They Went Off, And Did Not Return. 
     
     
     
   Some Laughable Incidents Have Enlivened the Generally Sanguinary 
   History Of The Old Santa Fe Trail, But They Were Very Serious At 
   The Time To Those Who Were The Actors, And Their Ludicrousness Came 
   After All Was Over. 
     
     
     
   In The Late Summer Of 1866, A Thieving Band Of Apaches Came Into The 
   Vicinity Of Fort Union, New Mexico, And After Carefully Reconnoitring 
   The Whole Region And Getting at The Manner In which The Stock 
   Belonging To The Fort Was Herded, They Secreted themselves In the 
   Turkey Mountains Overlooking The Entire Reservation, And Lay In wait 
   For Several Days, Watching For A Favourable Moment To Make A Raid 
   Into The Valley And Drive Off The Herd. 
     
     
     
   Selecting an Occasion When The Guard Was Weak And Not Very Alert, 
   They In broad Daylight Crawled under The Cover Of A Hill, And, 
   Mounting Their Horses, Dashed out With The Most Unearthly Yells And 
   Down Among The Animals That Were Quietly Grazing Close To The Fort, 
   Which Terrified these So Greatly That They Broke Away From The Herders, 
   And Started at Their Best Gait Toward The Mountains, Closely Followed 
   By The Savages. 
     
     
     
   The Astonished soldiers Used every Effort To Avert The Evident Loss 
   Of Their Charge, And Many Shots Were Exchanged in the Running Fight 
   That Ensued; But The Indians Were Too Strong For Them, And They Were 
   Forced to Abandon The Chase. 
     
     
     
   Among The Herders Was A Bugler Boy, Who Was Remarkable For His Bravery 
   In The Skirmish And For His Untiring Endeavours To Turn The Animals 
   Back Toward The Fort, But All Without Avail; On They Went, With The 
   Savages, Close To Their Heels, Giving Vent To The Most Vociferous 
   Shouts Of Exultation, And Directing The Most Obscene And Insulting 
   Gesticulations To The Soldiers That Were After Them. 
     
     
     
   While This Exciting Contest For The Mastery Was Going On, An Old 
   Apache Chief Dashed in the Rear Of The Bold Bugler Boy, And Could, 
   Without Doubt, Easily Have Killed the Little Fellow; But Instead Of 
   Doing This, From Some Idea Of A Good Joke, Or For Some Other 
   Incomprehensible Reason, His Natural Blood-Thirsty Instinct Was 
   Changed, And He Merely Knocked the Bugler'S Hat From His Head With 
   The Flat Of His Hand, And At The Same Time Encouragingly Stroked his 
   Hair, As Much As To Say: "You Are A Brave Boy," And Then Rode Off 
   Without Doing Him Any Harm. 
     
     
     
   Thirty Years Ago Last August, I Was Riding From Fort Larned to Fort 
   Union, New Mexico, In the Overland Coach.  I Had One Of My Clerks 
   With Me; We Were The Only Passengers, And Arrived at Fort Dodge, 
   Which Was The Commencement Of The "Long Route," At Midnight. 
   There We Changed drivers, And At The Break Of Day Were Some 
   Twenty-Four Miles On Our Lonely Journey.  The Coach Was Rattling 
   Along At A Breakneck Gait, And I Saw That Something Was Evidently 
   Wrong.  Looking Out Of One Of The Doors, I Noticed that Our Jehu Was 
   In A Beastly State Of Intoxication.  It Was A Most Dangerous Portion 
   Of The Trail; The Indians Were Not In the Best Of Humours, And An 
   Attack Was Not At All Improbable Before We Arrived at The Next 
   Station, Fort Lyon. 
     
     
     
   I Said To My Clerk That Something Must Be Done; So I Ordered the 
   Driver To Halt, Which He Did Willingly, Got Out, And Found That, 
   Notwithstanding His Drunken Mood, He Was Very Affable And Disposed 
   To Be Full Of Fun.  I Suggested that He Get Inside The Coach And 
   Lie Down To Sleep Off His Potations, To Which He Readily Assented, 
   While I And My Clerk, After Snugly Fixing Him On The Cushions, 
   Got On The Boot, I Taking The Lines, He Seizing an Old Trace-Chain, 
   With Which He Pounded the Mules Along; For We Felt Ourselves In a 
   Ticklish Predicament Should We Come Across Any Of The Brigands Of 
   The Plains, On That Lonely Route, With The Animals To Look Out For, 
   And Only Two Of Us To Do The Fighting. 
     
     
     
   Suddenly We Saw Sitting On The Bank Of The Arkansas River, About 
   A Dozen Rods From The Trail, An Antiquated-Looking Savage With His 
   War-Bonnet On, And Armed with A Long Lance And His Bow And Arrows. 
   We Did Not Care A Cent For Him, But I Thought He Might Be One Of 
   The Tribe'S Runners, Lying In wait To Discover The Condition Of The 
   Coach--Whether It Had An Escort, And How Many Were Riding In it, And 
   That Then He Would Go And Tell How Ridiculously Small The Outfit Was, 
   And Swoop Down On Us With A Band Of His Colleagues, That Were Hidden 
   Somewhere In the Sand Hills South Of The River.  He Rose As We Came 
   Near, And Made The Sign, After He Had Given Vent To A Series Of 
   "How'S!" That He Wanted to Talk; But We Were Not Anxious For Any 
   General Conversation With His Savage Majesty Just Then, So My Clerk 
   Applied the Trace-Chain More Vigorously To The Tired mules, In order 
   To Get As Many Miles Between Him And The Coach As We Could Before 
   He Could Get Over Into The Sand Hills And Back. 
     
     
     
   It Was, Fortunately, A False Alarm; The Old Warrior Perhaps Had No 
   Intentions Of Disturbing Us.  We Arrived at Fort Lyon In good Season, 
   With Our Valorous Driver Absolutely Sobered, Requesting Me To Say 
   Nothing about His Accident, Which, Of Course, I Did Not. 
     
     
     
   As Has Been Stated, The Caravans Bound For Santa Fe And The Various 
   Forts Along The Line Of The Old Trail Did Not Leave The Eastern End 
   Of The Route Until The Grass On The Plains, On Which The Animals 
   Depended solely For Subsistence The Whole Way, Grew Sufficiently To 
   Sustain Them, Which Was Usually About The Middle Of May.  But A Great 
   Many Years Ago, One Of The High Officials Of The Quartermaster'S 
   Department At Washington, Who Had Never Been For A Moment On Duty 
   On The Frontier In his Life, Found A Good Deal Of Fault With What He 
   Thought The Dilatoriness Of The Officer In charge At Fort Leavenworth, 
   Who Controlled the Question Of Transportation For The Several Forts 
   Scattered all Over The West, For Not Getting The Freight Caravans 
   Started earlier, Which The Functionary At The Capital Said Must And 
   Should Be Done.  He Insisted that They Must Leave The Missouri River 
   By The Middle Of April, A Month Earlier Than Usual, And Came Out 
   Himself To Superintend The Matter.  He Made The Contracts Accordingly, 
   Easily Finding Contractors That Suited him.  He Then Wrote To 
   Headquarters In a Triumphant Manner That He Had Revolutionized the 
   Whole System Of Army Transportation Of Supplies To The Military Posts. 
   Delighted with His Success, He Rode Out About The Second Week Of May 
   To Salt Creek, Only Three Miles From The Fort, And, Very Much To His 
   Astonishment, Found His Teams, Which He Had Believed to Be On The 
   Way To Santa Fe A Month Ago, Snugly Encamped.  They Had "Started," 
   Just As Was Agreed. 
     
     
     
   There Are, Or Rather Were, Hundreds Of Stories Current Thirty-Five 
   Years Ago Of Stage-Coach Adventures On The Trail; A Volume Could Be 
   Filled with Them, But I Must Confine Myself To A Few. 
     
     
     
   John Chisholm Was A Famous Ranchman A Long While Ago, Who Had So Many 
   Cattle That It Was Said He Did Not Know Their Number Himself.  At One 
   Time He Had A Large Contract To Furnish Beef To An Indian Agency 
   In Arizona; He Had Just Delivered an Immense Herd There, And Very 
   Wisely, After Receiving His Cash For Them, Sent Most Of It On To 
   Santa Fe In advance Of His Own Journey.  When He Arrived there, 
   He Started for The Missouri River With A Thousand Dollars And 
   Sufficient Small Change To Meet His Current Expenses On The Road. 
     
     
     
   The Very First Night Out From Santa Fe, The Coach Was Halted by A 
   Band Of Men Who Had Been Watching Chisholm'S Movements From The Time 
   He Left The Agency In arizona.  The Instant The Stage Came To A 
   Standstill, Chisholm Divined what It Meant, And Had Time To Thrust 
   A Roll Of Money Down One Of The Legs Of His Trousers Before The Door 
   Was Thrown Back And He Was Ordered to Fork Over What He Had. 
     
     
     
   He Invited the Robbers To Search Him, And To Take What They Might 
   Find, But Said He Was Not In a Financial Condition At That Juncture 
   To Turn Over Much.  The Thieves Found His Watch, Took That, And Then 
   Began To Search Him.  As Luck Would Have It, They Entirely Missed 
   The Roll That Was Down His Leg, And Discovered but A Two-Dollar Bill 
   In His Vest.  When He Told Them It Was All He Had To Buy Grub On 
   The Road, One Of The Robbers Handed him A Silver Dollar, Remarking 
   As He Did So: "That A Man Who Was Mean Enough To Travel With Only 
   Two Dollars Ought To Starve, But He Would Give Him The Dollar Just 
   To Let Him Know That He Was Dealing With Gentlemen!" 
     
     
     
   One Of The Essentials To The Comfort Of The Average Soldier Is 
   Tobacco.  He Must Have It; He Would Sooner Forego Any Component Part 
   Of His Ration Than Give It Up. 
     
     
     
   In November, 1865, A Detachment Of Company L, Of The Eleventh Kansas 
   Volunteers, And Of The Second Colorado Were Ordered from Fort Larned 
   To Fort Lyon On A Scouting Expedition Along The Line Of The Trail, 
   The Savages Having Been Very Active In their Raids On The Freight Caravans. 
     
     
     
   In A Short Time Their Tobacco Began To Run Low, And As There Was No 
   Settlement Of Any Kind Between The Two Military Posts, There Was No 
   Chance To Replenish Their Stock.  One Night, While Encamped on The 
   Arkansas, The Only Piece That Was Left In the Whole Command, About 
   Half A Plug, Was Unfortunately Lost, And There Was Dismay In the 
   Camp When The Fact Was Announced.  Hours Were Spent In searching For 
   The Missing Treasure.  The Next Morning The March Was Delayed for 
   Some Time, While Further Diligent Search Was Instituted by All Hands, 
   But Without Result, And The Command Set Out On Its Weary Tramp, 
   As Disconsolate As May Well Be Imagined by Those Who Are Victims To 
   The Habit Of Chewing The Weed. 
     
     
     
   Arriving at Fort Lyon, To Their Greater Discomfort It Was Learned 
   That The Sutler At That Post Was Entirely Out Of The Coveted article, 
   And The Troops Began Their Return Journey More Disconsolate Than Ever. 
   Dry Leaves, Grass, And Even Small Bits Of Twigs, Were Chewed as A 
   Substitute, Until, Reaching The Spot Where They Had Lost The Part Of 
   A Plug, They Determined to Remain There That Night And Begin A More 
   Vigorous Hunt For The Missing Piece.  Just Before Dark Their Efforts 
   Were Rewarded; One Of The Men Found It, And Such A Scramble Occurred 
   For Even The Smallest Nibble At It!  Enormous Prices Were Given For 
   A Single Chew.  It Opened at One Dollar For A Mere Sliver, Rose To 
   Five, And Closed at Ten Dollars When The Last Morsel Was Left. 
     
     
   
   
   
   Chapter XXII (A Desperate Ride) 
   In The Rocky Mountains And On The Great Plains Along The Line Of The 
   Old Trail Are Many Rude And Widely Separated graves.  The Sequestered 
   Little Valleys, The Lonely Gulches, And The Broad Prairies Through 
   Which The Highway To New Mexico Wound Its Course, Hide The Bones Of 
   Hundreds Of Whom The World Will Never Have Any More Knowledge. 
   The Number Of These Solitary, And Almost Obliterated mounds Is Small 
   When Compared with The Vast Multitude In the Cemeteries Of Our Towns, 
   Though If The Host Of Those Whose Bones Are Mouldering Under The 
   Short Buffalo-Grass And Tall Blue-Stem Of The Prairies Between The 
   Missouri And The Mountains Were Tabulated, The List Would Be Appalling. 
   Their Aggregate Will Never Be Known; For The Once Remote Region Of 
   The Mid-Continent, Like The Ocean, Rarely Gave Up Its Victims. 
   Lives Went Out There As Goes An Expiring Candle, Suddenly, Swiftly, 
   And Silently; No Record Was Kept Of Time Or Place.  All Those Who 
   Thus Died are Graveless And Monumentless, The Great Circle Of The 
   Heavens Is The Dome Of Their Sepulchre, And The Recurring Blossoms 
   Of Springtime Their Only Epitaph. 
     
     
     
   Sometimes The Traveller Over The Old Trail Will Suddenly, In the Most 
   Unexpected places, Come Across A Little Mound, Perhaps Covered with 
   Stones, Under Which Lie The Mouldering Bones Of Some Unfortunate 
   Adventurer.  Above, Now On A Rude Board, Then On A Detached rock, Or 
   Maybe On The Wall Of A Beetling Canyon, He May Frequently Read, In crude 
   Pencilling Or Rougher Carving, The Legend Of The Dead Man'S Ending. 
     
     
     
   The Line Of The Atchison, Topeka, And Santa Fe Railroad, Which 
   Practically Runs Over The Old Trail For Nearly Its Whole Length To 
   The Mountains, Is A Fertile Field Of Isolated graves.  The Savage 
   And Soldier, The Teamster And Scout, The Solitary Trapper Or Hunter, 
   And Many Others Who Have Gone Down To Their Death Fighting With The 
   Relentless Nomad Of The Plains, Or Have Been Otherwise Ruthlessly 
   Cut Off, Mark With Their Last Resting-Places That Well-Worn Pathway 
   Across The Continent. 
     
     
     
   The Tourist, Looking From His Car-Window As He Is Whirled with The 
   Speed of A Tornado Toward The Snow-Capped peaks Of The "Great Divide," 
   May See As He Approaches Walnut Creek, Three Miles East Of The Town 
   Of Great Bend In kansas, On The Beautiful Ranch Of Hon. D. Heizer, 
   Not Far From The Stream, And Close To The House, A Series Of Graves, 
   Numbering, Perhaps, A Score.  These Have Been Most Religiously 
   Cared for By The Patriotic Proprietor Of The Place During all The 
   Long Years Since 1864, As He Believes Them To Be The Last Resting-Place 
   Of Soldiers Who Were Once A Portion Of The Garrison Of Fort Zarah, 
   The Ruins Of Which (Now A Mere Hole In the Earth) Are But A Few 
   Hundred yards Away, On The Opposite Side Of The Railroad Track, 
   Plainly Visible From The Train. 
     
     
     
   The Walnut Debouches Into The Arkansas A Short Distance From Where 
   The Railroad Crosses The Creek, And At This Point, Too, The Trail 
   From Fort Leavenworth Merges Into The Old Santa Fe.  The Broad Pathway 
   Is Very Easily Recognized here; For It Runs Over A Hard, Flinty, 
   Low Divide, That Has Never Been Disturbed by The Plough, And The 
   Traveller Has Only To Cast His Eyes In a Northeasterly Direction 
   In Order To See It Plainly. 
     
     
     
   The Creek Is Fairly Well Timbered to-Day, As It Has Been Ever Since 
   The First Caravan Crossed the Clear Water Of The Little Stream. 
   It Was Always A Favourite Place Of Ambush By The Indians, And Many 
   A Conflict Has Occurred in the Beautiful Bottom Bounded by A Margin 
   Of Trees On Two Sides, Between The Traders, Trappers, Troops, And 
   The Indians, And Also Between The Several Tribes That Were Hereditary 
   Enemies, Particularly The Pawnees And The Cheyennes.  It Is Only 
   About Sixteen Miles East Of Pawnee Rock, And Included in that Region 
   Of Debatable Ground Where No Band Of Indians Dared establish A 
   Permanent Village; For It Was Claimed by All The Tribes, But Really 
   Owned by None. 
     
     
     
   In 1864 The Commerce Of The Great Plains Had Reached enormous 
   Proportions, And Immense Caravans Rolled day After Day Toward The 
   Blue Hills Which Guard The Portals Of New Mexico, And The Precious 
   Freight Constantly Tempted the Wily Savages To Plunder. 
     
     
     
   To Protect The Caravans On Their Monotonous Route Through The "Desert," 
   As This Portion Of The Plains Was Then Termed, Troops Were Stationed, 
   A Mere Handful Relatively, At Intervals On The Trail, To Escort The 
   Freighters And Mail Coaches Over The Most Exposed and Dangerous 
   Portions Of The Way. 
     
     
     
   On The Bank Of The Walnut, At This Time, Were Stationed three Hundred 
   Unassigned recruits Of The Third Wisconsin Cavalry, Under The Command 
   Of Captain Conkey.  This Point Was Rightly Regarded as One Of The 
   Most Important On The Whole Overland Route; For Near It Passed the 
   Favourite Highway Of The Indians On Their Yearly Migrations North 
   And South, In the Wake Of The Strange Elliptical March Of The Buffalo 
   Far Beyond The Platte, And Back To The Sunny Knolls Of The Canadian. 
     
     
     
   This Primitive Cantonment Which Grew Rapidly In strategical Importance, 
   Was Two Years Later Made Quite Formidable Defensively, And Named 
   Fort Zarah, In memory Of The Youngest Son Of Major General Curtis, 
   Who Was Killed by Guerillas Somewhere South Of Fort Scott, Kansas, 
   While Escorting General James G. Blunt, Of Frontier Fame During 
   The Civil War. 
     
     
     
   Captain Henry Booth, During The Year Above Mentioned, Was Chief Of 
   Cavalry And Inspecting Officer Of The Military District Of The Upper 
   Arkansas, The Western Geographical Limits Of Which Extended to The 
   Foot-Hills Of The Mountains. 
     
     
     
   One Day He Received an Order From The Head-Quarters Of The Department 
   To Make A Special Inspection Of All The Outposts On The Santa Fe Trail. 
   He Was Stationed at Fort Riley At The Time, And The Evening The Order 
   Arrived, Active Preparations Were Immediately Commenced for His 
   Extended and Hazardous Trip Across The Plains.  Lieutenant Hallowell, 
   Of The Ninth Wisconsin Battery, Was To Accompany Him, And Both 
   Officers Went At Once To Their Quarters, Took Down From The Walls, 
   Where They Had Been Hanging Idly For Weeks, Their Rifles And Pistols, 
   And Carefully Examined and Brushed them Up For Possible Service In 
   The Dreary Arkansas Bottom.  Camp-Kettles, Until Late In the Night, 
   Sizzled and Sputtered over Crackling Log-Fires; For Their Proposed 
   Ride Beyond The Settlements Demanded cooked rations For Many A 
   Weary Day.  All The Preliminaries Arranged, The Question Of The Means 
   Of Transportation Was Determined, And, Curiously Enough, It Saved 
   The Lives Of The Two Officers In the Terrible Gauntlet They Were 
   Destined to Run. 
     
     
     
   Hallowell Was A Famous Whip, And Prided himself Upon The Exceptionally 
   Fine Turnout Which He Daily Drove Among The Picturesque Hills Around 
   The Fort. 
     
     
     
   "Booth," Said He In the Evening, "Let'S Not Take A Great Lumbering 
   Ambulance On This Trip; If You Will Get A Good Way-Up Team Of Mules 
   From The Quartermaster, We'Ll Use My Light Rig, And We'Ll Do Our 
   Own Driving." 
     
     
     
   To This Proposition Booth Readily Assented, Procured the Mules, And, 
   As It Turned out, They Were A "Good Way-Up Team." 
     
     
     
   Hallowell Had A Set Of Bows Fitted to His Light Wagon, Over Which 
   Was Thrown An Army-Wagon-Sheet, Drawn Up Behind With A Cord, Similar 
   To Those Of The Ordinary Emigrant Outfit To Be Seen Daily On The 
   Roads Of The Western Prairies.  A Round Hole Was Necessarily Left 
   In The Rear End, Serving The Purpose Of A Lookout. 
     
     
     
   Two Grip-Sacks, Containing Their Dress Uniforms, A Box Of Crackers 
   And Cheese, Meat And Sardines, Together With A Bottle Of Anti-Snake 
   Bite, Made Up The Principal Freight For The Long Journey, And In the 
   Clear Cold Of The Early Morning They Rolled out Of The Gates Of The 
   Fort, Escorted by Company L, Of The Eleventh Kansas, Commanded by 
   Lieutenant Van Antwerp. 
     
     
     
   The Company Of One Hundred mounted men Acting as Escort Was Too 
   Formidable A Number For The Indians, And Not A Sign Of One Was Seen 
   As The Dangerous Flats Of Plum Creek And The Rolling Country Beyond 
   Were Successively Passed, And Early In the Afternoon The Cantonment 
   On Walnut Creek Was Reached.  At This Important Outpost Captain 
   Conkey'S Command Was Living In a Rude But Comfortable Sort Of A Way, 
   In The Simplest Of Dugouts, Constructed along The Right Bank Of The 
   Stream; The Officers, A Little More In accordance With Military 
   Dignity, In tents A Few Rods In rear Of The Line Of Huts. 
     
     
     
   A Stockade Stable Had Been Built, With A Capacity For Two Hundred 
   And Fifty Horses, And Sufficient Hay Had Been Put Up By The Men In 
   The Fall To Carry The Animals Through The Winter. 
     
     
     
   Captain Conkey Was A Brusque But Kind-Hearted man, And With Him Were 
   Stationed other Officers, One Of Whom Was A Son Of Admiral Goldsborough. 
   The Morning after The Arrival Of The Inspecting Officers A Rigid 
   Examination Of All The Appointments And Belongings Of The Place Was 
   Made, And, As An Immense Amount Of Property Had Accumulated for 
   Condemnation, When Evening Came The Books And Papers Were Still 
   Untouched; So That Branch Of The Inspection Had To Be Postponed 
   Until The Next Morning. 
     
     
     
   After Dark, While Sitting around The Camp-Fire, Discussing The War, 
   Telling Stories, Etc., Captain Conkey Said To Booth: "Captain, 
   It Won'T Require More Than Half An Hour In the Morning To Inspect 
   The Papers And Finish Up What You Have To Do; Why Don'T You Start 
   Your Escort Out Very Early, So It Won'T Be Obliged to Trot After 
   The Ambulance, Or You To Poke Along With It?  You Can Then Move Out 
   Briskly And Make Time." 
     
     
     
   Booth, Acting Upon What He Thought At The Time An Excellent Suggestion, 
   In A Few Moments Went Over The Creek To Lieutenant Van Antwerp'S Camp, 
   To Tell Him That He Need not Wait For The Wagon In the Morning, But 
   To Start Out Early, At Half-Past Six, In advance. 
     
     
     
   According To Instructions, The Escort Marched out Of Camp At Daylight 
   Next Morning, While Booth And Hallowell Remained to Finish Their 
   Inspection.  It Was Soon Discovered, However, That Either Captain 
   Conkey Had Underrated the Amount Of Work To Be Done, Or Misjudged 
   The Inspecting Officers' Ability To Complete It In a Certain Time; 
   So Almost Three Hours Elapsed after The Cavalry Had Departed before 
   The Task Ended. 
     
     
     
   At Last Everything Was Closed up, Much To Hallowell'S Satisfaction, 
   Who Had Been Chafing Under The Vexatious Delay Ever Since The Escort 
   Left.  When All Was In readiness, The Little Wagon Drawn Up In front 
   Of The Commanding Officer'S Quarters, And Farewells Said, Hallowell 
   Suggested to Booth The Propriety Of Taking a Few Of The Troops 
   Stationed there To Go With Them Until They Overtook Their Own Escort, 
   Which Must Now Be Several Miles On The Trail To Fort Larned. 
   Booth Asked captain Conkey What He Thought Of Hallowell'S Suggestion. 
   Captain Conkey Replied: "Oh! There'S Not The Slightest Danger; 
   There Hasn'T Been An Indian Seen Around Here For Over Ten Days." 
     
     
     
   If Either Booth Or Hallowell Had Been As Well Acquainted with The 
   Methods And Character Of The Plains Indians Then As They Afterward 
   Became, They Would Have Insisted upon An Escort; But Both Were 
   Satisfied that Captain Conkey Knew What He Was Talking about, 
   So They Concluded to Push On. 
     
     
     
   Jumping Into Their Wagon, Lieutenant Hallowell Took The Reins And 
   Away They Went Rattling Over The Old Log Bridge That Used to Span 
   The Walnut At The Crossing Of The Old Santa Fe Trail, As Light Of 
   Heart As If Riding To A Dance. 
     
     
     
   The Morning Was Bright And Clear With A Stiff Breeze Blowing From 
   The Northwest, And The Trail Was Frozen Hard In places, Which Made 
   It Very Rough, As It Had Been Cut Up By The Travel Of The Heavily 
   Laden Caravans When It Was Wet.  Booth Sat On The Left Side Of 
   Hallowell With The Whip In his Hand, Now And Then Striking The Mules, 
   To Keep Up Their Speed.  Hallowell Started up A Tune--He Was A Good 
   Singer--And Booth Joined in as They Rolled along, As Oblivious Of Any 
   Danger As Though They Were In their Quarters At Fort Riley. 
     
     
     
   After They Had Proceeded some Distance, Hallowell Remarked to Booth: 
   "The Buffalo Are Grazing a Long Way From The Road To-Day; A Circumstance 
   That I Think Bodes No Good."  He Had Been On The Plains The Summer 
   Before, And Was Better Acquainted with The Indians And Their 
   Peculiarities Than Captain Booth; But The Latter Replied that He 
   Thought It Was Because Their Escort Had Gone On Ahead, And Had 
   Probably Frightened them Off. 
     
     
     
   The Next Mile Or Two Was Passed, And Still They Saw No Buffalo Between 
   The Trail And The Arkansas, Though Nothing More Was Said By Either 
   Regarding The Suspicious Circumstance, And They Rode Rapidly On. 
     
     
     
   When They Had Gone About Five Or Six Miles From The Walnut, Booth, 
   Happening To Glance Toward The River, Saw Something That Looked 
   Strangely Like A Flock Of Turkeys.  He Watched them Intently For A 
   Moment, When The Objects Rose Up And He Discovered they Were Horsemen. 
   He Grasped hallowell By The Arm, Directing His Attention To Them, And 
   Said, "What Are They?"  Hallowell Gave A Hasty Look Toward The Point 
   Indicated, And Replied, "Indians! By George!" And Immediately Turning 
   The Mules Around On The Trail, Started them Back Toward The Cantonment 
   On The Walnut At A Full Gallop.[68] 
     
     
     
   "Hold On!" Said Booth To Hallowell When He Understood The Latter'S 
   Movement; "Maybe It'S Part Of Our Escort." 
     
     
     
   "No! No!" Replied hallowell.  "I Know They Are Indians; I'Ve Seen 
   Too Many Of Them To Be Mistaken." 
     
     
     
   "Well," Rejoined booth, "I'M Going To Know For Certain"; So, Stepping 
   Out On The Foot-Board, And With One Hand Holding On To The Front Bow, 
   He Looked back Over The Top Of The Wagon-Sheet.  They Were Indians, 
   Sure Enough; They Had Fully Emerged from The Ravine In which They Had 
   Hidden, And While He Was Looking at Them They Were Slipping Off Their 
   Buffalo Robes From Their Shoulders, Taking arrows Out Of Their Quivers, 
   Drawing Up Their Spears, And Making Ready Generally For A Red-Hot Time. 
     
     
     
   While Booth Was Intently Regarding The Movements Of The Savages, 
   Hallowell Inquired of Him: "They'Re Indians, Aren'T They, Booth?" 
     
     
     
   "Yes," Was Booth'S Answer, "And They'Re Coming Down On Us Like A 
   Whirlwind." 
     
     
     
   "Then I Shall Never See Poor Lizzie Again!" Said Hallowell.  He Had 
   Been Married only A Few Weeks Before Starting Out On This Trip, And 
   His Young Wife'S Name Came To His Lips. 
     
     
     
   "Never Mind Lizzie," Responded booth; "Let'S Get Out Of Here!"  He Was 
   As Badly Frightened as Hallowell, But Had No Bride At Riley, And, 
   As He Tells It, "Was Selfishly Thinking Of Himself Only, And Escape." 
     
     
     
   In Answer To Booth'S Remark, Hallowell, In a Firm, Clear Voice, Said: 
   "All Right!  You Do The Shooting, And I'Ll Do The Driving," And 
   Suiting The Action To The Words, He Snatched the Whip Out Of Booth'S 
   Hand, Slipped from The Seat To The Front Of The Wagon, And Commenced 
   Lashing The Mules Furiously. 
     
     
     
   Booth Then Crawled back, Pulled out One Of His Revolvers, Crept, Or 
   Rather Fell, Over The "Lazy-Back" Of The Seat, And Reaching The Hole 
   Made By Puckering The Wagon-Sheet, Looked out Of It, And Counted 
   The Indians; Thirty-Four Feather-Bedecked, Paint-Bedaubed savages, 
   As Vicious A Set As Ever Scalped a White Man, Swooping Down On Them 
   Like A Hawk Upon A Chicken. 
     
     
     
   Hallowell, Between His Yells At The Mules, Cried out, "How Far Are 
   They Off Now, Booth?" For Of Course He Could See Nothing Of What 
   Was Going On In his Rear. 
     
     
     
   Booth Replied as Well As He Could Judge Of The Distance, While 
   Hallowell Renewed his Yelling at The Animals And Redoubled his 
   Efforts With The Lash. 
     
     
     
   Noiselessly The Indians Gained on The Little Wagon, For They Had Not 
   As Yet Uttered a Whoop, And The Determined driver, Anxious To Know 
   How Far The Red devils Were From Him, Again Asked booth.  The Latter 
   Told Him How Near They Were, Guessing at The Distance, From Which 
   Hallowell Gathered inspiration For Fresh Cries And Still More Vigorous 
   Blows With His Whip. 
     
     
     
   Booth, All This Time, Was Sitting On The Box Containing The Crackers 
   And Sardines, Watching The Rapid Approach Of The Cut-Throats, And 
   Seeing With Fear And Trembling The Ease With Which They Gained upon 
   The Little Mules. 
     
     
     
   Once More Hallowell Made His Stereotyped inquiry Of Booth; But Before 
   The Latter Could Reply, Two Shots Were Fired from The Rifles Of The 
   Indians, Accompanied by A Yell That Was Demoniacal Enough To Cause 
   The Blood To Curdle In one'S Veins.  Hallowell Yelled at The Mules, 
   And Booth Yelled too; For What Reason He Could Not Tell, Unless To 
   Keep Company With His Comrade, Who Plied the Whip More Mercilessly 
   Than Ever Upon The Poor Animals' Backs, And The Wagon Flew Over 
   The Rough Road, Nearly Upsetting at Every Jump. 
     
     
     
   In Another Moment The Bullets From Two Of The Indians' Rifles Passed 
   Between Booth And Hallowell, Doing No Damage, And Almost Instantly 
   The Savages Charged upon Them, At The Same Time Dividing Into Two 
   Parties, One Going On One Side And One On The Other, Both Delivering 
   A Volley Of Arrows Into The Wagon As They Rode By. 
     
     
     
   Just As The Savages Rushed past The Wagon, Hallowell Cried out To 
   Booth, "Cap, I'M Hit!" And Turning around To Look, Booth Saw An Arrow 
   Sticking In hallowell'S Head Above His Right Ear.  His Arm Was Still 
   Plying The Whip, Which Was Going On Unceasingly As The Sails Of A 
   Windmill, And His Howling at The Mules Only Stopped long Enough To 
   Answer, "Not Much!" In response To Booth'S Inquiry Of "Does It Hurt?" 
   As He Grabbed the Arrow And Pulled it Out Of His Head. 
     
     
     
   The Indians Had By This Time Passed on, And Then, Circling Back, 
   Prepared for Another Charge.  Down They Came, Again Dividing as Before 
   Into Two Bands, And Delivering another Shower Of Arrows.  Hallowell 
   Ceased his Yelling Long Enough To Cry Out, "I'M Hit Once More, Cap!" 
   Looking at The Plucky Driver, Booth Saw This Time An Arrow Sticking 
   Over His Left Ear, And Hanging Down His Back.  He Snatched it Out, 
   Inquiring If It Hurt, But Received the Same Answer: "No, Not Much." 
     
     
     
   Both Men Were Now Yelling at The Top Of Their Voices; And The Mules 
   Were Jerking The Wagon Along The Rough Trail At A Fearful Rate, 
   Frightened nearly Out Of Their Wits At The Sight Of The Indians And 
   The Terrible Shouting and Whipping Of The Driver. 
     
     
     
   Booth Crawled to The Back End Of The Wagon Again, Looked out Of The 
   Hole In the Cover, And Saw The Indians Moving across The Trail, 
   Preparing For Another Charge.  One Old Fellow, Mounted on A Black 
   Pony, Was Jogging along In the Centre Of The Road Behind Them, But 
   Near Enough And Evidently Determined to Send An Arrow Through The 
   Puckered hole Of The Sheet.  In a Moment The Savage Stopped his Pony 
   And Let Fly.  Booth Dodged sideways--The Arrow Sped on Its Course, And 
   Whizzing Through The Opening, Struck The Black-Walnut "Lazy-Back" 
   Of The Seat, The Head Sticking Out On The Other Side, And The Sudden 
   Check Causing The Feathered end To Vibrate Rapidly With A Vro-O-O-Ing 
   Sound.  With A Quick Blow Booth Struck It, And Broke The Shaft From 
   The Head, Leaving The Latter Embedded in the Wood. 
     
     
     
   As Quickly As Possible, Booth Rushed to The Hole And Fired his 
   Revolver At The Old Devil, But Failed to Hit Him.  While He Was 
   Trying To Get In another Shot, An Arrow Came Flying Through From 
   The Left Side Of The Trail, And Striking Him On The Inside Of The 
   Elbow, Or "Crazy-Bone," So Completely Benumbed his Hand That He 
   Could Not Hold On To The Pistol, And It Dropped into The Road With 
   One Load Still In its Chamber.  Just Then The Mules Gave An 
   Extraordinary Jump To One Side, Which Jerked the Wagon Nearly From 
   Under Him, And He Fell Sprawling On The End-Gate, Evenly Balanced, 
   With His Hands On The Outside, Attempting To Clutch At Something To 
   Save Himself!  Seeing His Predicament, The Indians Thought They Had 
   Him Sure, So They Gave A Yell Of Exultation, Supposing He Must 
   Tumble Out, But He Didn'T; He Fortunately Succeeded in grabbing 
   One Of The Wagon-Bows With His Right Hand And Pulled himself In; 
   But It Was A Close Call. 
     
     
     
   While All This Was Going On, Hallowell Had Not Been Neglected by 
   The Indians; About A Dozen Of Them Had Devoted their Time To Him, 
   But He Never Flinched.  Just As Booth Had Regained his Equilibrium 
   And Drawn His Second Revolver From Its Holster, Hallowell Yelled 
   To Him: "Right Off To Your Right, Cap, Quick!" 
     
     
     
   Booth Tumbled over The Back Of The Seat, And, Clutching at A Wagon-Bow 
   To Steady Himself, He Saw, "Off To The Right," An Indian Who Was In 
   The Act Of Letting an Arrow Drive At Hallowell; It Struck The Side Of 
   The Box, And At The Same Instant Booth Fired, Scaring The Red devil Badly. 
     
     
     
   Back Over The Seat Again He Rushed to Guard The Rear, Only To Find 
   A Young Buck Riding Close To The Side Of The Wagon, His Pony Running 
   In The Deep Path Made By The Ox-Drivers In walking alongside Of Their 
   Teams.  Putting His Left Arm Around One Of The Wagon-Bows To Prevent 
   His Being Jerked out, Booth Quietly Stuck His Revolver Through The 
   Hole In the Sheet; But Before He Could Pull The Trigger, The Indian 
   Flopped over On The Off Side Of His Pony, And Nothing Could Be Seen 
   Of Him Excepting One Arm Around His Animal'S Neck And From The Knee 
   To The Toes Of One Leg.  Booth Did Not Wait For Him To Ride Up; 
   He Could Almost Hit The Pony'S Head With His Hand, So Close Was He 
   To The Wagon.  Booth Struck At The Beast Several Times, But The 
   Indian Kept Him Right Up In his Place By Whipping Him On The Opposite 
   Of His Neck.  Presently The Plucky Savage'S Arm Began To Move. 
   Booth Watched him Intently, And Saw That He Had Fixed an Arrow In 
   His Bow Under The Pony'S Shoulder; Just As He Was On The Point Of 
   Letting Go The Bowstring, With The Head Of The Arrow Not Three Feet 
   From Booth'S Breast As He Leaned out Of The Hole, The Latter Struck 
   Frantically At The Weapon, Dodged back Into The Wagon, And Up Came 
   The Indian.  Whenever Booth Looked out, Down Went The Indian On 
   The Other Side Of His Pony, To Rise Again In a Moment, And Booth, 
   Afraid To Risk Himself With His Head And Breast Exposed at This Game 
   Of Hide And Seek, Drew Suddenly Back As The Indian Went Down The 
   Third Time, And In a Second Came Up; But This Was Once Too Often. 
   Booth Had Not Dodged completely Into The Wagon, Nor Dropped his 
   Revolver, And As The Indian Rose He Fired. 
     
     
     
   The Savage Was Naked to The Waist; The Ball Struck Him In the Left 
   Nipple, The Blood Spirted out Of The Wound, His Bow And Arrows And 
   Lariat, With Himself, Rolled off The Pony, Falling Heavily On The 
   Ground, And With One Convulsive Contraction Of His Legs And An "Ugh!" 
   He Was As Dead As A Stone. 
     
     
     
   "I'Ve Killed one Of 'Em!" Called out Booth To Hallowell, As He Saw 
   His Victim Tumble From His Pony. 
     
     
     
   "Bully For You, Cap!" Came Hallowell'S Response As He Continued his 
   Shouting, And The Blows Of That Tireless Whip Fell Incessantly On 
   The Backs Of The Poor Mules. 
     
     
     
   After He Had Killed the Warrior, Booth Kept His Seat On The Cracker Box, 
   Watching To See What The Indians Were Going To Do Next, When He Was 
   Suddenly Interrupted by Hallowell'S Crying Out To Him: "Off To The 
   Right Again, Cap, Quick!" And, Whirling around Instantly, He Saw An 
   Indian Within Three Feet Of The Wagon, With His Bow And Arrow Almost 
   Ready To Shoot; There Was No Time To Get Over The Seat, And As He 
   Could Not Fire So Close To Hallowell, He Cried to The Latter: 
   "Hit Him With The Whip!  Hit Him With The Whip!"  The Lieutenant 
   Diverted one Of The Blows Intended for The Mules, And Struck The 
   Savage Fairly Across The Face.  The Whip Had A Knot In the End Of It 
   To Prevent Its Unravelling, And This Knot Must Have Hit The Indian 
   Squarely In the Eye; For He Dropped his Bow, Put Both Hands Up To 
   His Face, Rubbed his Eyes, And Digging His Heels Into His Pony'S 
   Sides Was Soon Out Of Range Of A Revolver; But, Nevertheless, He Was 
   Given A Parting Shot As A Sort Of Salute. 
     
     
     
   A Terrific Yell From The Rear At This Moment Caused both Booth And 
   Hallowell To Look Around, And The Latter To Inquire: "What'S The 
   Matter Now, Booth?"  "They Are Coming Down On Us Like Lightning," 
   Said He; And, Sure Enough, Those Who Had Been Prancing around Their 
   Dead Comrade Were Tearing along The Trail Toward The Wagon With A 
   More Hideous Noise Than When They Began. 
     
     
     
   Hallowell Yelled louder Than Ever And Lashed the Mules More Furiously 
   Still, But The Indians Gained upon Them As Easily As A Blooded racer 
   On A Common Farm Plug.  Separating as Before, And Passing On Each 
   Side Of The Wagon, They Delivered another Volley Of Bullets And 
   Arrows As They Rushed on. 
     
     
     
   When This Charge Was Made, Booth Drew Away From The Hole In the Rear 
   And Turned toward The Indians, But Forgot That As He Was Sitting, 
   With His Back Pressed against The Sheet, His Body Was Plainly Outlined 
   On The Canvas. 
     
     
     
   When The Indians Dashed by Hallowell Cried out, "I'M Hit Again, Cap!" 
   And Booth, In turning around To Go To His Relief, Felt Something 
   Pulling at Him; And Glancing Over His Left Shoulder He Discovered 
   An Arrow Sticking Into Him And Out Through The Wagon-Sheet.  With A 
   Jerk Of His Body, He Tore Himself Loose, And Going To Hallowell, 
   Asked him Where He Was Hit.  "In The Back," Was The Reply; Where 
   Booth Saw An Arrow Extending Under The "Lazy-Back" Of The Seat. 
   Taking Hold Of It, Booth Gave A Pull, But Hallowell Squirmed so That 
   He Desisted.  "Pull It Out!" Cried the Plucky Driver.  Booth Thereupon 
   Took Hold Of It Again, And Giving a Jerk Or Two, Out It Came.  He Was 
   Thoroughly Frightened as He Saw It Leave The Lieutenant'S Body; 
   It Seemed to Have Entered at Least Six Inches, And The Wound Appeared 
   To Be A Dangerous One.  Hallowell, However, Did Not Cease For A Moment 
   Belabouring The Mules, And His Yells Rang Out As Clear And Defiant 
   As Before. 
     
     
     
   After Extracting The Arrow From Hallowell'S Back, Booth Turned again 
   To The Opening In the Rear Of The Wagon To See What New Tricks The 
   Devils Were Up To, When Hallowell Again Called out, "Off To The Left, 
   Cap, Quick!" 
     
     
     
   Rushing To The Front As Soon As Possible, Booth Saw One Of The Savages 
   In The Very Act Of Shooting at Hallowell From The Left Side Of The 
   Wagon, Not Ten Feet Away.  The Last Revolver Was Empty, But Something 
   Had To Be Done At Once; So, Levelling The Weapon At Him, Booth Shouted 
   "Bang! You Son-Of-A-Gun!"  Down The Indian Ducked his Head; Rap, Rap, 
   Went His Knees Against His Pony'S Sides, And Away He Flew Over 
   The Prairie! 
     
     
     
   Back To His Old Place In the Rear Tumbled booth, To Load His Revolver. 
   The Cartridges They Used in the Army In those Days Were The 
   Old-Fashioned kind Made Of Paper.  Biting Off One End, He Endeavoured 
   To Pour The Powder Into The Chamber Of The Pistol; But As The Wagon 
   Was Tumbling From Side To Side, And Jumping Up And Down, As It Fairly 
   Flew Over The Rough Trail, More Fell Into The Bottom Of The Wagon 
   Than Into The Revolver.  Just As He Was Inserting a Ball, Hallowell 
   Yelled, "To The Left, Cap, Quick!" 
     
     
     
   Over The Seat Booth Piled once More, And There Was Another Indian 
   With His Bow And Arrow All Ready To Pinion The Brave Lieutenant. 
   Pointing His Revolver At Him, Booth Yelled as He Had At The Other, 
   But This Savage Had Evidently Noticed the First Failure, And Concluded 
   There Were No More Loads Left; So, Instead Of Taking a Hasty Departure, 
   He Grinned demoniacally And Endeavoured to Fix The Arrow In his Bow. 
   Booth Rose Up In the Wagon, And Grasping Hold Of One Of Its Bows 
   With His Left Hand, Seized the Revolver By The Muzzle, And With All 
   The Force He Could Muster Hurled it At The Impudent Brute.  It Was 
   A Remington, Its Barrel Octagon-Shaped, With Sharp Corners, And When 
   It Was Thrown, It Turned in the Air, And Striking The Indian 
   Muzzle-First On The Ribs, Cut A Long Gash. 
     
     
     
   "Ugh!" He Grunted, As, Dropping His Bow And Spear, He Flung Himself 
   Over The Side Of His Pony, And Away He Went Across The Prairie. 
     
     
     
   Only One Revolver Remaining Now, And That Empty, With The Savages 
   Still Howling around The Apparently Doomed men Like So Many Demons! 
   Booth Fell Over The Seat, As Was His Usual Fate Whenever He Attempted 
   To Get To The Back Of The Wagon, Picked up The Empty Revolver, And 
   Tried to Load It; But Before He Could Bite The End Of A Cartridge, 
    Hallowell Yelled, "Cap, I'M Hit Again!" 
     
     
     
   "Where This Time?" Inquired booth, Anxiously.  "In The Hand," Replied 
   Hallowell; And, Looking around, Booth Noticed that Although His Right 
   Arm Was Still Thrashing at The Now Lagging Mules With As Much Energy 
   As Ever, Through The Fleshy Part Of The Thumb Was An Arrow, Which Was 
   Flopping Up And Down As He Raised and Lowered his Hand In ceaseless 
   Efforts To Keep Up The Speed of The Almost Exhausted animals. 
     
     
     
   "Let Me Pull It Out," Said Booth, As He Came Forward To Do So. 
     
     
     
   "No, Never Mind," Replied hallowell; "Can'T Stop! Can'T Stop!" And Up 
   And Down Went The Arm, And Flip, Flap, Went The Arrow With It, Until 
   Finally It Tore Through The Flesh And Fell To The Ground. 
     
     
     
   Along They Bowled, The Indians Yelling, And The Occupants Of The 
   Little Wagon Defiantly Answering Them, While Booth Continued to 
   Struggle Desperately With That Empty Pistol, In his Vain Efforts 
   To Load It.  In another Moment Hallowell Shouted, "Booth, They Are 
   Trying To Crowd The Mules Into The Sunflowers!" 
     
     
     
   Alongside Of The Trail Huge Sunflowers Had Grown The Previous Summer, 
   And Now Their Dry Stalks Stood As Thick As A Cane-Brake; If The Wagon 
   Once Got Among Them, It Would Be Impossible For The Mules To Keep Up 
   Their Gallop.  The Savages Seemed to Realize This; For One Huge Old 
   Fellow Kept Riding alongside The Off Mule, Throwing His Spear At Him 
   And Then Jerking It Back With The Thong, One End Of Which Was Fastened 
   To His Wrist.  The Near Mule Was Constantly Pushed further And Further 
   From The Trail By His Mate, Which Was Jumping Frantically, Scared out 
   Of His Senses By The Indian. 
     
     
     
   At This Perilous Juncture, Booth Stepped out On The Foot-Board Of 
   The Wagon, And, Holding On By A Bow, Commenced to Kick The Frightened 
   Mule Vigorously, While Hallowell Pulled on One Line, Whipping and 
   Yelling at The Same Time; So Together They Succeeded in forcing The 
   Animals Back Into The Trail. 
     
     
     
   The Indians Kept Close To The Mules In their Efforts To Force Them 
   Into The Sunflowers, And Booth Made Several Attempts To Scare The 
   Old Fellow That Was Nearest By Pointing His Empty Revolver At Him, 
   But He Would Not Scare; So In his Desperation Booth Threw It At Him. 
   He Missed the Old Brute, But Hit His Pony Just Behind Its Rider'S Leg, 
   Which Started the Animal Into A Sort Of A Stampede; His Ugly Master 
   Could Not Control Him, And Thus The Immediate Peril From The 
   Persistent Cuss Was Delayed. 
     
     
     
   Now The Pair Were Absolutely Without Firearms Of Any Kind, With 
   Nothing Left Except Their Sabres And Valises, And The Savages Came 
   Closer And Closer.  In turn The Two Swords Were Thrown At Them As They 
   Came Almost Within Striking Distance; Then Followed the Scabbards, 
   As The Howling Fiends Surrounded the Wagon And Attempted to Spear 
   The Mules.  Fortunately Their Arrows Were Exhausted. 
     
     
     
   The Cantonment On The Walnut Was Still A Mile And A Half Away, And 
   There Was Nothing For Our Luckless Travellers To Do But Whip And Kick, 
   Both Of Which They Did Most Vigorously.  Hallowell Sat As Immovable 
   As The Sphinx, Excepting His Right Arm, Which From The Moment They 
   Had Started on The Back Trail Had Not Once Ceased its Incessant Motion. 
     
     
     
   Happening To Cast His Eyes Back On The Trail, Booth Saw To His Dismay 
   Twelve Or Fifteen Of The Savages Coming Up On The Run With Fresh 
   Energy, Their Spears Poised ready For Action, And He Felt That 
   Something Must Be Done Very Speedily To Divert Them; For If These 
   Added their Number To Those Already Surrounding The Wagon, The Chances 
   Were They Would Succeed in forcing The Mules Into The Sunflowers, 
   And His Scalp And Hallowell'S Would Dangle At The Belt Of The Leader. 
     
     
     
   Glancing around In the Bottom Of The Wagon For Some Kind Of Weapon, 
   His Eye Fell On The Two Valises Containing The Dress-Suits. 
   He Snatched up His Own, And Threw It Out While The Pursuers Were Yet 
   Five Or Six Rods In the Rear.  The Indians Noticed this New Trick 
   With A Great Yell Of Satisfaction, And The Moment They Arrived at 
   The Spot Where The Valise Lay, All Dismounted; One Of Them, Seizing 
   It By The Two Handles, Pulled with All His Strength To Open It, And 
   When He Failed, Another Drew A Long Knife From Under His Blanket And 
   Ripped it Apart.  He Then Put His Hand In, Pulling Out A Sash, Which 
   He Began To Wind Around His Head, Like A Negress With A Bandanna, 
   Letting The Tassels Hang Down His Back.  While He Was Thus Amusing 
   Himself, One Of The Others Had Taken Out A Dress-Coat, A Third A Pair 
   Of Drawers, And Still Another A Shirt, Which They Proceeded to Put On, 
   Meanwhile Dancing around And Howling. 
     
     
     
   Booth Told Hallowell Of The Sacrifice Of The Valise, And Said, 
   "I'M Going To Throw Out Yours."  "All Right," Replied hallowell; 
   "All We Want Is Time."  So Out It Went On The Trail, And Shared 
   The Same Fate As The Other. 
     
     
     
   The Lull In hostilities Caused by Their Outstripping Their Pursuers 
   Gave The Almost Despairing Men Time To Talk Over Their Situation. 
   Hallowell Said He Did Not Propose To Be Captured and Then Butchered 
   Or Burned at The Pleasure Of The Indians.  He Said To Booth: "If They 
   Kill One Of The Mules, And So Stop Us, Let'S Kick, Strike, Throw Dirt 
   Or Anything, And Compel Them To Kill Us On The Spot."  So It Was Agreed, 
   If The Worst Came To The Worst, To Stand Back To Back And Fight. 
     
     
     
   During This Discussion The Arm Of Hallowell Still Plied the Effective 
   Lash, And They Drew Perceptibly Nearer The Camp, And As They Caught 
   The First Glimpse Of Its Tents And Dugouts, Hope Sprang Up Within Them. 
   The Mules Were Panting Like A Hound After A Deer; Wherever The 
   Harness Touched them, It Was White With Lather, And It Was Evident 
   They Could Keep On Their Feet But A Short Time Longer.  Would They 
   Hold Out Until The Bridge Was Reached?  The Whipping and The Kicking 
   Had But Little Effect On Them Now.  They Still Continued their Gallop, 
   But It Was Slower And More Laboured than Before. 
     
     
     
   The Indians Who Had Torn Open The Valises Had Not Returned to The 
   Chase, And Although There Were Still A Sufficient Number Of The 
   Fiends Pursuing To Make It Interesting, They Did Not Succeed in 
   Spearing The Mules, As At Every Attempt The Plucky Animals Would 
   Jump Sideways Or Forward And Evade The Impending Blow. 
     
     
     
   The Little Log Bridge Was Reached; The Savages Had All Retreated, 
   But The Valorous Hallowell Kept The Mules At Their Fastest Pace. 
   The Bridge Was Constructed of Half-Round Logs, And Of Course Was 
   Extremely Rough; The Wagon Bounded up And Down Enough To Shake The 
   Teeth Out Of One'S Head As The Little Animals Went Flying Over It. 
   Booth Called out To Hallowell, "No Need to Drive So Fast Now, 
   The Indians Have All Left Us"; But He Replied, "I Ain'T Going To Stop 
   Until I Get Across"; And Down Came The Whip, On Sped the Mules, 
   Not Breaking Their Short Gallop Until They Were Pulled up In front 
   Of Captain Conkey'S Quarters. 
     
     
     
   The Rattling Of The Wagon On The Bridge Was The First Intimation 
   The Garrison Had Of Its Return. 
     
     
     
   The Officers Came Running Out Of Their Tents, The Enlisted men Poured 
   Out Of Their Dugouts Like A Lot Of Ants, And Booth And Hallowell Were 
   Surrounded by Their Friends In a Moment.  Captain Conkey Ordered his 
   Bugler To Sound "Boots And Saddles," And In less Than Ten Minutes 
   Ninety Troopers Were Mounted, And With The Captain At Their Head 
   Started after The Indians. 
     
     
     
   When Hallowell Tried to Rise From His Seat So As To Get Out Every 
   Effort Only Resulted in his Falling Back.  Some One Stepped around 
   To The Other Side To Assist Him, When It Was Discovered that The 
   Skirt Of His Overcoat Had Worked outside Of The Wagon-Sheet And 
   Hung Over The Edge, And That Three Or Four Of The Arrows Fired at Him 
   By The Savages Had Struck The Side Of The Wagon, And, Passing Through 
   The Flap Of His Coat, Had Pinned him Down.  Booth Pulled the Arrows 
   Out And Helped him Up; He Was Pretty Stiff From Sitting In his Cramped 
   Position So Long, And His Right Arm Dropped by His Side As If Paralysed. 
     
     
     
   Booth Stood Looking On While His Comrade'S Wounds Were Being Dressed, 
   When The Adjutant Asked him: "What Makes You Shrug Your Shoulder So?" 
   He Answered, "I Don'T Know; Something Makes It Smart."  The Officer 
   Looked at Him And Said, "Well, I Don'T Wonder; I Should Think It 
   Would Smart; Here'S An Arrow-Head Sticking Into You," And He Tried 
   To Pull It Out, But It Would Not Come.  Captain Goldsborough Then 
   Attempted it, But Was Not Any More Successful.  The Doctor Then Told 
   Them To Let It Alone, And He Would Attend To Booth After He Had Done 
   With Hallowell.  When He Examined booth'S Shoulder, He Found That 
   The Arrow-Head Had Struck The Thick Portion Of The Shoulder-Blade, 
   And Had Made Two Complete Turns, Wrapping Itself Around The Muscles, 
   Which Had To Be Cut Apart Before The Sharp Point Could Be Withdrawn. 
     
     
     
   Booth Was Not Seriously Hurt.  Hallowell, However, Had Received two 
   Severe Wounds; The Arrow That Had Lodged in his Back Had Penetrated 
   Almost To His Kidneys, And The Wound In his Thumb Was Very Painful, 
   Not So Much From The Simple Impact Of The Arrow As From The Tearing 
   Away Of The Muscle By The Shaft While He Was Whipping His Mules; 
   His Right Arm, Too, Was Swollen Terribly, And So Stiff From The 
   Incessant Use Of It During The Drive That For More Than A Month 
   He Required assistance In dressing and Undressing. 
     
     
     
   The Mules Who Had Saved their Lives Were Of Small Account After 
   Their Memorable Trip; They Remained stiff And Sore From The Rough 
   Road And Their Continued forced speed.  Booth And Hallowell Went Out 
   To Look At Them The Next Morning, As They Hobbled around The Corral, 
   And From The Bottom Of Their Hearts Wished them Well. 
     
     
     
   Captain Conkey'S Command Returned to The Cantonment About Midnight. 
   But One Indian Had Been Seen, And He Was South Of The Arkansas In 
   The Sand Hills. 
     
     
     
   The Next Morning a Scouting-Party Of Forty Men, Under Command Of A 
   Sergeant, Started out To Scour The Country Toward Cow Creek, 
   Northeast From The Walnut. 
     
     
     
   As I Have Stated, The Troopers Stationed at The Cantonment On The 
   Walnut Were Mostly Recruits.  Now The Cavalry Recruit Of The Old 
   Regular Army On The Frontier, Thirty Or Forty Years Ago, Mounted on 
   A Great Big American Horse And Sent Out With Well-Trained comrades 
   On A Scout After The Hostile Savages Of The Plains, Was The Most 
   Helpless Individual Imaginable.  Coming Fresh From Some Large City 
   Probably, As Soon As He Arrived at His Station He Was Placed on The 
   Back Of An Animal Of Whose Habits He Knew As Little As He Did Of The 
   Differential Calculus; Loaded down With A Carbine, The Muzzle Of Which 
   He Could Hardly Distinguish From The Breech; A Sabre Buckled around 
   His Waist; A Couple Of Enormous Pistols Stuck In his Holsters; 
   His Blankets Strapped to The Cantle Of His Saddle, And, To Complete 
   The Hopelessness Of His Condition In a Possible Encounter With A 
   Savage Enemy Who Was Ever On The Alert, He Was Often Handicapped by 
   A Camp-Kettle Or Two, A Frying-Pan, And Ten Days' Rations.  No Wonder 
   This Doughty Representative Of Uncle Sam'S Power Was An Easy Prey For 
   "Poor Lo," Who, When He Caught The Unfortunate Soldier Away From His 
   Command And Started after Him, Must Have Laughed at The Ridiculous 
   Appearance Of His Enemy, With Both Hands Glued to The Pommel Of His 
   Saddle, His Hair On End, His Sabre Flying and Striking His Horse At 
   Every Jump As The Animal Tore Down The Trail Toward Camp, While The 
   Indian, Rapidly Gaining, In a Few Minutes Had The Scalp Of The Hapless 
   Rider Dangling at His Belt, And Another Of The "Boys In blue" Had 
   Joined the Majority. 
     
     
     
   The Scouting-Party Had Proceeded about Four Or Five Miles, When One 
   Of The Corporals Asked permission For Himself And A Recruit To Go 
   Over To The Upper Walnut To Find Out Whether They Could Discover 
   Any Signs Of Indians. 
     
     
     
   While They Were Carelessly Riding along The Big Curve Which The 
   Northern Branch Of The Walnut Makes At That Point, There Suddenly 
   Sprang From Their Ambush In the Timber On The Margin Of The Stream 
   About Three Hundred indians, Whooping and Yelling.  The Two Troopers 
   Of Course, Immediately Whirled their Horses And Started down The 
   Creek Toward The Camp, Hotly Pursued by The Howling Savages. 
     
     
     
   The Corporal Was An Excellent Rider; A Well-Trained and Disciplined 
   Soldier, Having Seen Much Service On The Plains.  He Led in the Flight, 
   Closely Followed by The Unfortunate Recruit, Who Had Been Enlisted 
   But A Short Time.  Not More Than An Eighth Of A Mile Had Been Covered, 
   When The Corporal Heard His Companion Exclaim,-- 
     
     
     
   "Don'T Leave Me!  Don'T Leave Me!" 
     
     
     
   Looking Back, The Corporal Saw That The Poor Recruit Was Losing Ground 
   Rapidly; His Horse Was Rearing and Plunging, Making Very Little 
   Headway, While His Rider Was Jerking and Pulling On The Bit, A Curb 
   Of The Severest Kind.  Perceiving The Strait His Comrade Was In, 
   The Corporal Reined up For A Moment And Called out,-- 
     
     
     
   "Let Him Go!  Let Him Go!  Don'T Jerk On The Bit So!" 
     
     
     
   The Indians Were Gaining Ground Rapidly, And In another Moment The 
   Corporal Heard The Recruit Again Cry Out,-- 
     
     
     
   "Oh!  Don'T--" 
     
     
     
   Realizing That It Would Be Fatal To Delay, And That He Could Be Of 
   No Assistance To His Companion, Already Killed and Scalped, He Leaned 
   Forward On His Horse, And Sinking His Spurs Deep In the Animal'S 
   Flanks Fairly Flew Down The Valley, With The Three Hundred savages 
   Close In his Wake. 
     
     
     
   The Officers At The Camp Were Sitting In their Tents When The Sentinel 
   On Post No. 1 Fired his Piece, Upon Which All Rushed out To Learn 
   The Cause Of The Alarm; For There Was No Random Shooting In those 
   Days Allowed around Camp Or In garrison.  Looking Up The Valley Of 
   The Walnut, They Could See The Lucky Corporal, With His Long Hair 
   Streaming In the Wind, And His Heels Rapping His Horse'S Sides, As He 
   Dashed over The Brown Sod Of The Winter Prairie. 
     
     
     
   The Corporal Now Slackened his Pace, Rode Up To The Commanding 
   Officer'S Tent, Reported the Affair, And Then Was Allowed to Go To 
   His Own Quarters For The Rest He So Much Needed. 
     
     
     
   Captain Conkey Immediately Ordered a Mounted squad, Accompanied by An 
   Ambulance, To Go Up The Creek To Recover The Body Of The Unfortunate 
   Recruit.  The Party Were Absent A Little Over An Hour, And Brought 
   Back With Them The Remains Of The Dead Soldier.  He Had Been Shot 
   With An Arrow, The Point Of Which Was Still Sticking Out Through His 
   Breast-Bone.  His Scalp Had Been Torn Completely Off, And The Lapels 
   Of His Coat And The Legs Of His Trousers Carried away By The Savages. 
   He Was Buried the Next Morning With Military Honours, In the Little 
   Graveyard On The Bank Of The Walnut, Where His Body Still Rests In 
   The Dooryard Of The Ranch. 
   
   
   
   Chapter XXIII (Hancock'S Expedition) 
   In The Spring Of 1867, General Hancock, Who Then Commanded the Military 
   Division Of The Missouri, With Headquarters At Fort Leavenworth, 
   Kansas, Organized an Expedition Against The Indians Of The Great 
   Plains, Which He Led in person.  With Him Was General Custer, Second 
   Ranking Officer, From Whom I Quote The Story Of The March And Some 
   Of The Incidents Of The Raid. 
     
     
     
   General Hancock, With The Artillery And Six Companies Of Infantry, 
   Arrived at Fort Riley, Kansas, The Last Week In march, Where He Was 
   Joined by Four Companies Of The Seventh Cavalry, Commanded by The 
   Intrepid Custer. 
     
     
     
   From Fort Riley The Expedition Marched to Fort Harker, Seventy-Two 
   Miles Farther West, On The Smoky Hill, Where The Force Was Increased 
   By The Addition Of Two More Troops Of Cavalry.  Remaining There Only 
   Long Enough To Replenish Their Commissary Supplies, The March Was 
   Directed to Fort Larned on The Old Santa Fe Trail.  On The 7Th Of 
   April The Command Reached the Latter Post, Accompanied by The Agent 
   Of The Comanches And Kiowas; At The Fort The Agent Of The Cheyennes, 
   Arapahoes, And Apaches Was Waiting For The Arrival Of The General. 
   The Agent Of The Three Last-Mentioned tribes Had Already Sent Runners 
   To The Head Chiefs, Inviting Them To A Grand Council Which Was To 
   Assemble Near The Fort On The 10Th Of The Month, And He Requested 
   General Hancock To Remain At The Fort With His Command Until That Date. 
     
     
     
   On The 9Th Of April A Terrible Snow-Storm Came On While The Troops 
   Were Encamped waiting For The Head Men Of The Various Tribes To Arrive. 
   Custer Says: 
     
     
     
             It Was Our Good Fortune To Be In camp Rather Than On The 
             March; Had It Been Otherwise, We Could Not Well Have Escaped 
             Without Loss Of Life.  The Cavalry Horses Suffered severely, 
             And Were Only Preserved by Doubling Their Rations Of Oats, 
             While To Prevent Their Being Frozen During The Intensely 
             Cold Night Which Followed, The Guards Were Instructed to 
             Pass Along The Picket Lines With A Whip, And Keep The 
             Horses Moving Constantly.  The Snow Was Eight Inches Deep. 
             The Council, Which Was To Take Place The Next Day, Had To Be 
             Postponed until The Return Of Good Weather.  Now Began The 
             Display Of A Kind Of Diplomacy For Which The Indian Is 
             Peculiar.  The Cheyennes And A Band Of Sioux Were Encamped 
             On Pawnee Fork, About Thirty Miles Above Fort Larned. 
             They Neither Desired to Move Nearer To Us Or Have Us 
             Approach Nearer To Them.  On The Morning Of The 11Th, 
             They Sent Us Word That They Had Started to Visit Us, But, 
             Discovering a Large Herd Of Buffalo Near Their Camp, 
             They Had Stopped to Procure A Supply Of Meat.  This Message 
             Was Not Received with Much Confidence, Nor Was A Buffalo 
             Hunt Deemed of Sufficient Importance To Justify The Indians 
             In breaking Their Engagement.  General Hancock Decided, 
             However, To Delay Another Day, When, If The Indians Still 
             Failed to Come In, He Would Move His Command To The Vicinity 
             Of Their Village And Hold The Conference There. 
     
     
     
             Orders Were Issued on The Evening Of The 12Th For The March 
             To Be Resumed on The Following Day.  Late In the Evening 
             Two Chiefs Of The "Dog-Soldiers," A Band Composed of The 
             Most Warlike And Troublesome Indians On The Plains, 
             Chiefly Made Up Of Cheyennes, Visited our Camp.  They Were 
             Accompanied by A Dozen Warriors, And Expressed a Desire To 
             Hold A Conference With General Hancock, To Which He Assented. 
             A Large Council-Fire Was Built In front Of The General'S 
             Tent, And All The Officers Of His Command Assembled there. 
             A Tent Had Been Erected for The Accommodation Of The Chiefs 
             A Short Distance From The General'S.  Before They Could 
             Feel Equal To The Occasion, And In order To Obtain Time To 
             Collect Their Thoughts, They Desired that Supper Might Be 
             Prepared for Them, Which Was Done.  When Finally Ready, 
             They Advanced from Their Tent To The Council-Fire In single 
             File, Accompanied by Their Agent And An Interpreter. 
             Arrived at The Fire, Another Brief Delay Ensued.  No Matter 
             How Pressing Or Momentous The Occasion, An Indian Invariably 
             Declines To Engage In a Council Until He Has Filled his Pipe 
             And Gone Through With The Important Ceremony Of A Smoke. 
             This Attended to, The Chiefs Announced that They Were Ready 
             "To Talk."  They Were Then Introduced to The Principal 
             Officers Of The Group, And Seemed much Struck With The 
             Flashy Uniforms Of The Few Artillery Officers, Who Were 
             Present In all The Glory Of Red horsehair Plumes, 
             Aiguillettes, Etc.  The Chiefs Seemed puzzled to Determine 
             Whether These Insignia Designated chieftains Or Medicine Men. 
             General Hancock Began The Conference By A Speech, In which 
             He Explained to The Indians His Purpose In coming To See 
             Them, And What He Expected of Them In the Future. 
             He Particularly Informed them That He Was Not There To Make 
             War, But To Promote Peace.  Then, Expressing His Regrets 
             That More Of The Chiefs Had Not Visited him, He Announced 
             His Intention Of Proceeding On The Morrow With His Command 
             To The Vicinity Of Their Village, And There Holding a 
             Council With All The Chiefs.  Tall Bull, A Fine, Warlike-Looking 
             Chieftain, Replied to General Hancock, But His Speech 
             Contained nothing Important, Being Made Up Of Allusions To 
             The Growing Scarcity Of The Buffalo, His Love For The White 
             Man, And The Usual Hint That A Donation In the Way Of 
             Refreshments Would Be Highly Acceptable; He Added that He 
             Would Have Nothing New To Say At The Village. 
     
     
     
             Rightly Concluding That The Indians Did Not Intend To Come 
             To Our Camp, As They Had At First Agreed to, It Was Decided 
             To Move Nearer Their Village.  On The Morning Following The 
             Conference Our Entire Force, Therefore, Marched from 
             Fort Larned up Pawnee Fork In the Direction Of The Main 
             Village, Encamping The First Night About Twenty-One Miles 
             From Larned.  Several Parties Of Indians Were Seen In our 
             Advance During The Day, Evidently Watching Our Movements, 
             While A Heavy Smoke, Seen To Rise In the Direction Of The 
             Indian Village, Indicated that Something More Than Usual 
             Was Going On.  The Smoke, We Afterward Learned, Arose From 
             Burning Grass.  The Indians, Thinking To Prevent Us From 
             Encamping In their Vicinity, Had Set Fire To And Burned all 
             The Grass For Miles In the Direction From Which They 
             Expected us.  Before We Arrived at Our Camping-Ground, 
             We Were Met By Several Chiefs And Warriors Belonging To The 
             Cheyennes And Sioux.  Among The Chiefs Were Pawnee Killer, 
             Of The Sioux, And White Horse, Of The Cheyennes.  It Was 
             Arranged that These Chiefs Should Accept Our Hospitality 
             And Remain With Us During The Night, And In the Morning all 
             The Chiefs Of The Two Tribes Then In the Village Were To 
             Come To General Hancock'S Head-Quarters And Hold A Council. 
             On The Morning Of The 14Th, Pawnee Killer Left Our Camp At 
             An Early Hour, As He Said For The Purpose Of Going To The 
             Village To Bring In the Other Chiefs To The Council. 
             Nine O'Clock Had Been Agreed upon As The Time At Which The 
             Council Should Assemble.  The Hour Came, But The Chiefs 
             Did Not.  Now An Indian Council Is Not Only Often An 
             Important, But Always An Interesting, Occasion.  At This 
             Juncture, Bull Bear, An Influential Chief Among The 
             Cheyennes, Came In and Reported that The Chiefs Were On 
             Their Way To Our Camp, But Would Not Be Able To Reach It 
             For Some Time.  This Was A Mere Artifice To Secure Delay. 
             General Hancock Informed bull Bear That, As The Chiefs 
             Could Not Arrive For Some Time, He Would Move His Forces 
             Up The Stream Nearer The Village, And The Council Could Be 
             Held At Our Camp That Night.  To This Proposition Bull Bear 
             Gave His Consent. 
     
     
     
             At 11 A.M. We Resumed the March, And Had Proceeded but A Few 
             Miles When We Witnessed one Of The Finest And Most Imposing 
             Military Displays, According To The Indian Art Of War, 
             Which It Has Been My Lot To Behold.  It Was Nothing More 
             Nor Less Than An Indian Line Of Battle Drawn Directly 
             Across Our Line Of March, As If To Say, "Thus Far And No 
             Further."  Most Of The Indians Were Mounted; All Were 
             Bedecked in their Brightest Colours, Their Heads Crowned 
             With The Brilliant War-Bonnet, Their Lances Bearing The 
             Crimson Pennant, Bows Strung, And Quivers Full Of Barbed 
             Arrows.  In addition To These Weapons, Which, With The 
             Hunting-Knife And Tomahawk, Are Considered as Forming The 
             Armament Of The Warrior, Each One Was Supplied with Either 
             A Breech-Loading Rifle Or Revolver, Sometimes With Both-- 
             The Latter Obtained through The Wise Forethought And Strong 
             Love Of Fair Play Which Prevails In the Indian Department, 
             Which, Seeing That Its Wards Are Determined to Fight, 
             Is Equally Determined that There Shall Be No Advantage Taken, 
             But That The Two Sides Shall Be Armed alike; Proving, Too, 
             In this Manner, The Wonderful Liberality Of Our Government, 
             Which Is Not Only Able To Furnish Its Soldiers With The 
             Latest Style Of Breech-Loaders To Defend It And Themselves, 
             But Is Equally Able And Willing To Give The Same Pattern 
             Of Arms To The Common Foe.  The Only Difference Is, That If 
             The Soldier Loses His Weapon, He Is Charged double Price 
             For It, While To Avoid Making any Such Charge Against The 
             Indian, His Weapons Are Given Him Without Conditions Attached. 
     
     
     
             In the Line Of Battle Before Us There Were Several Hundred 
             Indians, While Further To The Rear And At Different 
             Distances Were Other Organized bodies, Acting apparently 
             As Reserves.  Still Further Behind Were Small Detachments 
             Who Seemed to Perform The Duty Of Couriers, And Were Held 
             In readiness To Convey Messages To The Village.  The Ground 
             Beyond Was Favourable For An Extended view, And As Far As 
             The Eye Could Reach, Small Groups Of Individuals Could Be 
             Seen In the Direction Of The Village; These Were Evidently 
             Parties Of Observation, Whose Sole Object Was To Learn The 
             Result Of Our Meeting With The Main Body And Hasten With 
             The News To The Village. 
     
     
     
             For A Few Moments Appearances Seemed to Foreshadow Anything 
             But A Peaceable Issue.  The Infantry Was In the Advance, 
             Followed closely By The Artillery, While My Command, 
             The Cavalry, Was Marching On The Flank.  General Hancock, 
             Who Was Riding With His Staff At The Head Of The Column, 
             Coming Suddenly In view Of The Wild, Fantastic Battle Array, 
             Which Extended far To Our Right And Left, And Was Not More 
             Than Half A Mile In our Front, Hastily Sent Orders To The 
             Infantry, Artillery, And Cavalry To Form In line Of Battle, 
             Evidently Determined that, If War Was Intended, We Should Be 
             Prepared.  The Cavalry Being The Last To Form On The Right, 
             Came Into Line On A Gallop, And Without Waiting To Align 
             The Ranks Carefully, The Command Was Given To "Draw Sabre." 
             As The Bright Blades Flashed from Their Scabbards Into The 
             Morning Sunlight, And The Infantry Brought Their Muskets 
             To A Carry, A Contrast Was Presented which, To A Military 
             Eye, Could But Be Striking.  Here In battle Array, Facing 
             Each Other, Were The Representatives Of Civilized and 
             Barbarous Warfare.  The One, With Few Modifications, Stood 
             Clothed in the Same Rude Style Of Dress, Bearing The Same 
             Patterned shield And Weapon That His Ancestors Had Borne 
             Centuries Before; The Other Confronted him In the Dress 
             And Supplied with The Implements Of War Which An Advanced 
             Stage Of Civilization Had Pronounced the Most Perfect. 
             Was The Comparative Superiority Of These Two Classes To Be 
             Subjected to The Mere Test Of War Here?  All Was Eager 
             Anxiety And Expectation.  Neither Side Seemed to Comprehend 
             The Object Or Intentions Of The Other; Each Was Waiting 
             For The Other To Deliver The First Blow.  A More Beautiful 
             Battle-Ground Could Not Have Been Chosen.  Not A Bush Or 
             Even The Slightest Irregularity Of Ground Intervened between 
             The Two Lines, Which Now Stood Frowning and Facing Each Other. 
             Chiefs Could Be Seen Riding along The Line, As If Directing 
             And Exhorting Their Braves To Deeds Of Heroism. 
     
     
     
             After A Few Moments Of Painful Suspense, General Hancock, 
             Accompanied by General A. J. Smith And Other Officers, 
             Rode Forward, And Through An Interpreter Invited the Chiefs 
             To Meet Us Midway For The Purpose Of An Interview. 
             In response To This Invitation, Roman Nose, Bearing a White 
             Flag, Accompanied by Bull Bear, White Horse, Gray Beard, 
             And Medicine Wolf, On The Part Of The Cheyennes, And Pawnee 
             Killer, Bad Wound, Tall-Bear-That-Walks-Under-The-Ground, 
             Left Hand, Little Bear, And Little Bull, On The Part Of The 
             Sioux, Rode Forward To The Middle Of The Open Space Between 
             The Two Lines.  Here We Shook Hands With All The Chiefs, 
             Most Of Them Exhibiting Unmistakable Signs Of Gratification 
             At This Apparently Peaceful Termination Of Our Rencounter. 
             General Hancock Very Naturally Inquired the Object Of The 
             Hostile Attitude Displayed before Us, Saying To The Chiefs 
             That If War Was Their Object, We Were Ready Then And There 
             To Participate.  Their Immediate Answer Was That They Did 
             Not Desire War, But Were Peacefully Disposed.  They Were 
             Then Told That We Would Continue Our March Toward The 
             Village, And Encamp Near It, But Would Establish Such 
             Regulations That None Of The Soldiers Would Be Permitted 
             To Approach Or Disturb Them.  An Arrangement Was Then 
             Effected by Which The Chiefs Were To Assemble At General 
             Hancock'S Headquarters As Soon As Our Camp Was Pitched. 
             The Interview Then Terminated, And The Indians Moved off 
             In the Direction Of Their Village, We Following Leisurely 
             In the Rear. 
     
     
     
             A March Of A Few Miles Brought Us In sight Of The Village, 
             Which Was Situated in a Beautiful Grove On The Bank Of The 
             Stream Up Which We Had Been Marching.  It Consisted of 
             Upwards Of Three Hundred lodges, A Small Fraction Over Half 
             Belonging To The Cheyennes, The Remainder To The Sioux. 
             Like All Indian Encampments, The Ground Chosen Was A Most 
             Romantic Spot, And At The Same Time Fulfilled in every 
             Respect The Requirements Of A Good Camping-Ground; Wood, 
             Water, And Grass Were Abundant.  The Village Was Placed on 
             A Wide, Level Plateau, While On The North And West, At A 
             Short Distance Off, Rose High Bluffs, Which Admirably Served 
             As A Shelter Against The Cold Winds Which At That Season Of 
             The Year Prevail From Those Directions.  Our Tents Were 
             Pitched within A Mile Of The Village.  Guards Were Placed 
             Between To Prevent Intrusion Upon Our Part.  We Had Scarcely 
             Pitched our Tents When Roman Nose, Bull Bear, Gray Beard, 
             And Medicine Wolf, All Prominent Chiefs Of The Cheyenne 
             Nation, Came Into Camp With The Information That Upon Our 
             Approach Their Women And Children Had All Fled from The 
             Village, Alarmed by The Presence Of So Many Soldiers, And 
             Imagining a Second Chivington Massacre To Be Intended. 
             General Hancock Insisted that They Should All Return, 
             Promising Protection And Good Treatment To All; That If 
             The Camp Was Abandoned, He Would Hold It Responsible. 
             The Chiefs Then Stated their Belief In their Ability To 
             Recall The Fugitives, Could They Be Furnished with Horses 
             To Overtake Them.  This Was Accordingly Done, And Two Of 
             Them Set Out Mounted on Two Of Our Horses.  An Agreement 
             Was Also Entered into At The Same Time, That One Of Our 
             Interpreters, ed gurrier, A Half-Breed cheyenne, Who Was In 
             The Employ Of The Government, Should Remain In the Village 
             And Report Every Two Hours As To Whether Any Indians Were 
             Leaving There.  This Was About Seven O'Clock In the Evening. 
             At Half-Past Nine The Half-Breed returned to Head-Quarters 
             With The Intelligence That All The Chiefs And Warriors Were 
             Saddling Up To Leave, Under Circumstances Showing That They 
             Had No Intention Of Returning, Such As Packing Up Every 
             Article That Could Be Carried with Them, And Cutting and 
             Destroying Their Lodges--This Last Being Done To Obtain 
             Small Pieces For Temporary Shelter. 
     
     
     
             I Had Retired to My Tent, Which Was Some Few Hundred yards 
             From That Of General Hancock, When A Messenger From The 
             Latter Awakened me With The Information That The General 
             Desired my Presence In his Tent.  He Briefly Stated the 
             Situation Of Affairs, And Directed me To Mount My Command 
             As Quickly And As Silently As Possible, Surround The Indian 
             Village, And Prevent The Departure Of Its Inhabitants. 
             Easily Said, But Not So Easily Done.  Under Ordinary 
             Circumstances, Silence Not Being Necessary, I Could Have 
             Returned to My Camp, And By A Few Blasts From The Trumpet, 
             Placed every Soldier On His Saddle Almost As Quickly As It 
             Has Taken Time To Write This Short Sentence.  No Bugle Calls 
             Must Be Sounded; We Were To Adopt Some Of The Stealth Of The 
             Indians--How Successfully Remained to Be Seen.  By This Time 
             Every Soldier And Officer Was In his Tent Sound Asleep. 
             First Going To The Tent Of The Adjutant And Arousing Him, 
             I Procured an Experienced assistant In my Labours.  Next The 
             Captains Of Companies Were Awakened and Orders Imparted 
             To Them.  They In turn Transmitted the Order To The First 
             Sergeant, Who Similarly Aroused the Men.  It Has Often 
             Surprised me To Observe The Alacrity With Which Disciplined 
             Soldiers, Experienced in campaigning, Will Hasten To Prepare 
             Themselves For The March In an Emergency Like This. 
             No Questions Are Asked, No Time Is Wasted.  A Soldier'S 
             Toilet, On An Indian Campaign, Is A Simple Affair, And 
             Requires Little Time For Arranging.  His Clothes Are 
             Gathered up Hurriedly, No Matter How, So Long As He Retains 
             Possession Of Them.  The First Object Is To Get His Horse 
             Saddled and Bridled, And Until This Is Done His Own Dress 
             Is A Matter Of Secondary Importance, And One Button Or Hook 
             Must Do The Duty Of Half A Dozen.  When His Horse Is Ready 
             For The Mount, The Rider Will Be Seen Completing His Own 
             Equipment; Stray Buttons Will Receive Attention, Arms Will 
             Be Overhauled, Spurs Restrapped; Then, If There Still Remain 
             A Few Spare Moments, The Homely Black Pipe Is Filled and 
             Lighted, And The Soldier'S Preparation Is Complete. 
     
     
     
             The Night Was All That Could Be Desired for The Success Of 
             Our Enterprise.  The Air Was Mild And Pleasant; The Moon, 
             Although Nearly Full, Kept Almost Constantly Behind The 
             Clouds, As If To Screen Us In our Hazardous Undertaking. 
             I Say Hazardous, Because None Of Us Imagined for One Moment 
             That If The Indians Discovered us In our Attempt To Surround 
             Them And Their Village, We Should Escape Without A Fight-- 
             A Fight, Too, In which The Indians, Sheltered behind The 
             Trunks Of The Stately Forest Trees Under Which Their Lodges 
             Were Pitched, Would Possess All The Advantage.  General 
             Hancock, Anticipating That The Indians Would Discover Our 
             Approach, And That A Fight Would Ensue, Ordered the 
             Artillery And Infantry Under Arms, To Await The Result Of 
             Our Moonlight Adventure.  My Command Was Soon In the Saddle, 
             And Silently Making Its Way Toward The Village. 
             Instructions Had Been Given Forbidding all Conversation 
             Except In a Whisper.  Sabres Were Disposed of To Prevent 
             Clanging.  Taking a Camp-Fire Which We Could See In the 
             Village As Our Guiding Point, We Made A Detour So As To 
             Place The Village Between Ourselves And The Infantry. 
             Occasionally The Moon Would Peep Out From The Clouds And 
             Enable Us To Catch A Hasty Glance At The Village.  Here And 
             There Under The Thick Foliage We Could See The White, 
             Conical-Shaped lodges.  Were The Inmates Slumbering, 
             Unaware Of Our Close Proximity, Or Were Their Dusky Defenders 
             Concealed, As Well They Might Have Been, Along The Banks Of 
             The Pawnee, Quietly Awaiting Our Approach, And Prepared to 
             Greet Us With Their Well-Known War-Whoop?  These Were 
             Questions That Were Probably Suggested to The Mind Of Each 
             Individual Of My Command.  If We Were Discovered approaching 
             In the Stealthy, Suspicious Manner Which Characterized our 
             Movements, The Hour Being Midnight, It Would Require A More 
             Confiding Nature Than That Of The Indian To Assign A 
             Friendly Or Peaceful Motive To Our Conduct.  The Same 
             Flashes Of Moonlight Which Gave Us Hurried glimpses Of The 
             Village Enabled us To See Our Own Column Of Horsemen 
             Stretching Its Silent Length Far Into The Dim Darkness, And 
             Winding Its Course, Like Some Huge Anaconda About To Envelop 
             Its Victim. 
     
     
     
             The Method By Which It Was Determined to Establish A Cordon 
             Of Armed troopers About The Fated village, Was To Direct 
             The March In a Circle, With The Village In the Centre, 
             The Commanding Officer Of Each Rear Troop Halting His 
             Command At The Proper Point, And Deploying His Men Similarly 
             To A Line Of Skirmishers--The Entire Circle, When Thus Formed, 
             Facing Toward The Village, And, Distant From It Perhaps A 
             Few Hundred yards.  No Sooner Was Our Line Completely Formed 
             Than The Moon, As If Deeming Darkness No Longer Essential 
             To Our Success, Appeared from Behind Her Screen And Lighted 
             Up The Entire Scene.  And Beautiful It Was!  The Great 
             Circle Of Troops, Each Individual Of Which Sat On His Steed 
             Silent As A Statue, The Dense Foliage Of The Cotton Trees 
             Sheltering The Bleached, Skin-Clad Lodges Of The Red men, 
             The Little Stream In the Midst Murmuring Undisturbedly In 
             Its Channel, All Combined to Produce An Artistic Effect, 
             As Striking as It Was Interesting.  But We Were Not There 
             To Study Artistic Effects.  The Next Step Was To Determine 
             Whether We Had Captured an Inhabited village, Involving 
             Almost Necessarily A Severe Conflict With Its Savage 
             Occupants, Or Whether The Red man Had Again Proven Too 
             Wily And Crafty For His More Civilized brothers. 
     
     
     
             Directing The Entire Line Of Troopers To Remain Mounted 
             With Carbines Held At The "Advance," I Dismounted, And 
             Taking With Me Gurrier, The Half-Breed, Dr. Coates, One Of 
             Our Medical Staff, And Lieutenant Moylan, The Adjutant, 
             We Proceeded on Our Hands And Knees Toward The Village. 
             The Prevailing Opinion Was That The Indians Were Still 
             Asleep.  I Desired to Approach Near Enough To The Lodges 
             To Enable The Half-Breed to Hail The Village In the Indian 
             Tongue, And If Possible Establish Friendly Relations At Once. 
             It Became A Question Of Prudence With Us, Which We Discussed 
             In whispers As We Proceeded on Our "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, 
             The Boys Are Creeping," How Far From Our Horses And How 
             Near To The Village We Dared to Go.  If So Few Of Us Were 
             Discovered entering The Village In this Questionable Manner, 
             It Was More Than Probable That, Like The Returners Of Stolen 
             Property, We Should Be Suitably Rewarded and No Questions 
             Asked.  The Opinion Of Gurrier, The Half-Breed, Was Eagerly 
             Sought For And Generally Deferred to.  His Wife, 
             A Full-Blooded cheyenne, Was A Resident Of The Village. 
             This With Him Was An Additional Reason For Wishing a Peaceful 
             Termination To Our Efforts.  When We Had Passed over 
             Two-Thirds Of The Distance Between Our Horses And The 
             Village, It Was Thought Best To Make Our Presence Known. 
             Thus Far Not A Sound Had Been Heard To Disturb The Stillness 
             Of The Night.  Gurrier Called out At The Top Of His Voice 
             In the Cheyenne Tongue.  The Only Response Came From The 
             Throats Of A Score Or More Of Indian Dogs Which Set Up A 
             Fierce Barking.  At The Same Time One Or Two Of Our Party 
             Asserted that They Saw Figure Moving Beneath The Trees. 
             Gurrier Repeated his Summons, But With No Better Results 
             Than Before. 
     
     
     
             A Hurried consultation Ensued.  The Presence Of So Many Dogs 
             In the Village Was Regarded by The Half-Breed as Almost 
             Positive Assurance That The Indians Were Still There. 
             Yet It Was Difficult To Account For Their Silence.  Gurrier 
             In a Loud Tone Repeated who He Was, And That Our Mission Was 
             Friendly.  Still No Answer.  He Then Gave It As His Opinion 
             That The Indians Were On The Alert, And Were Probably 
             Waiting In the Shadow Of The Trees For Us To Approach Nearer, 
             When They Would Pounce Upon Us.  This Comforting Opinion 
             Induced another Conference.  We Must Ascertain The Truth Of 
             The Matter; Our Party Could Do This As Well As A Larger 
             Number, And To Go Back And Send Another Party In our Stead 
             Could Not Be Thought Of. 
     
     
     
             Forward! Was The Verdict.  Each One Grasped his Revolver, 
             Resolved to Do His Best, Whether It Was In running Or 
             Fighting.  I Think Most Of Us Would Have Preferred to Take 
             Our Own Chances At Running.  We Had Approached near Enough 
             To See That Some Of The Lodges Were Detached some Distance 
             From The Main Encampment.  Selecting The Nearest Of These, 
             We Directed our Advance On It.  While All Of Us Were Full 
             Of The Spirit Of Adventure, And Were Further Encouraged 
             With The Idea That We Were In the Discharge Of Our Duty, 
             There Was Scarcely One Of Us Who Would Not Have Felt More 
             Comfortable If We Could Have Got Back To Our Horses Without 
             Loss Of Pride.  Yet Nothing, Under The Circumstances, But 
             A Positive Order Would Have Induced any One To Withdraw. 
     
     
     
             Cautiously Approaching, On All Fours, To Within A Few Yards 
             Of The Nearest Lodge, Occasionally Halting and Listening To 
             Discover Whether The Village Was Deserted or Not, We Finally 
             Decided that The Indians Had Fled before The Arrival Of The 
             Cavalry, And That None But Empty Lodges Were Before Us. 
             This Conclusion Somewhat Emboldened as Well As Accelerated 
             Our Progress.  Arriving at The First Lodge, One Of Our Party 
             Raised the Curtain Or Mat Which Served as A Door, And The 
             Doctor And Myself Entered.  The Interior Of The Lodge Was 
             Dimly Lighted by The Dying Embers Of A Small Fire Built In 
             The Centre.  All Around Us Were To Be Seen The Usual 
             Adornments And Articles Which Constitute The Household 
             Effects Of An Indian Family.  Buffalo-Robes Were Spread Like 
             Carpets Over The Floor; Head-Mats, Used to Recline On, Were 
             Arranged as If For The Comfort Of Their Owners; Parfleches, 
             A Sort Of Indian Band-Box, With Their Contents Apparently 
             Undisturbed, Were Carefully Stowed away Under The Edges Or 
             Borders Of The Lodge.  These, With The Door-Mats, Paint-Bags, 
             Rawhide Ropes, And Other Articles Of Indian Equipment, 
             Were Left As If The Owners Had Only Absented themselves For 
             A Brief Period.  To Complete The Picture Of An Indian Lodge, 
             Over The Fire Hung A Camp-Kettle, In which, By Means Of The 
             Dim Light Of The Fire, We Could See What Had Been Intended 
             For The Supper Of The Late Occupants Of The Lodge. 
             The Doctor, Ever On The Alert To Discover Additional Items 
             Of Knowledge, Whether Pertaining To History Or Science, 
             Snuffed the Savoury Odours Which Arose From The Dark 
             Recesses Of The Mysterious Kettle.  Casting about The Lodge 
             For Some Instrument To Aid Him In his Pursuit Of Knowledge, 
             He Found A Horn Spoon, With Which He Began His Investigation 
             Of The Contents, Finally Succeeding In getting Possession 
             Of A Fragment Which Might Have Been The Half Of A Duck Or 
             Rabbit, Judging From Its Size Merely.  "Ah!" Said The Doctor, 
             In his Most Complacent Manner, "Here Is The Opportunity I 
             Have Long Been Waiting For.  I Have Often Desired to Test 
             The Indian Mode Of Cooking.  What Do You Suppose This Is?" 
             Holding Up The Dripping Morsel.  Unable To Obtain The 
             Desired information, The Doctor, Whose Naturally Good 
             Appetite Had Been Sensibly Sharpened by His Recent Exercise, 
             Set To With A Will And Ate Heartily Of The Mysterious 
             Contents Of The Kettle.  He Was Only Satisfied on One Point, 
             That It Was Delicious--A Dish Fit For A King.  Just Then 
             Gurrier, The Half-Breed, Entered the Lodge.  He Could Solve 
             The Mystery, Having Spent Years Among The Indians.  To Him 
             The Doctor Appealed for Information.  Fishing Out A Huge 
             Piece, And Attacking It With The Voracity Of A Hungry Wolf, 
             He Was Not Long In determining What The Doctor Had Supped 
             Heartily Upon.  His First Words Settled the Mystery: "Why, 
             This Is Dog."  I Will Not Attempt To Repeat The Few But 
             Emphatic Words Uttered by The Heartily Disgusted member Of 
             The Medical Fraternity As He Rushed from The Lodge. 
     
     
     
             Other Members Of Our Small Party Had Entered other Lodges, 
             Only To Find Them, Like The First, Deserted.  But Little Of 
             The Furniture Belonging To The Lodges Had Been Taken, 
             Showing How Urgent And Hasty Had Been The Flight Of The 
             Owners.  To Aid In the Examination Of The Village, 
             Reinforcements Were Added to Our Party, And An Exploration 
             Of Each Lodge Was Determined upon.  At The Same Time A 
             Messenger Was Despatched to General Hancock, Informing Him 
             Of The Flight Of The Indians.  Some Of The Lodges Were 
             Closed by Having Brush Or Timber Piled up Against The 
             Entrance, As If To Preserve The Contents.  Others Had Huge 
             Pieces Cut From Their Sides, These Pieces Evidently Being 
             Carried away To Furnish Temporary Shelter For The Fugitives. 
             In most Of The Lodges The Fires Were Still Burning.  I Had 
             Entered several Without Discovering anything Important. 
             Finally, In company With The Doctor, I Arrived at One The 
             Interior Of Which Was Quite Dark, The Fire Having almost 
             Died out.  Procuring a Lighted fagot, I Prepared to Explore It, 
             As I Had Done The Others; But No Sooner Had I Entered the 
             Lodge Than My Fagot Failed me, Leaving Me In total Darkness. 
             Handing It To The Doctor To Be Relighted, I Began To Feel 
             My Way About The Interior Of The Lodge.  I Had Almost Made 
             The Circuit When My Hand Came In contact With A Human Foot; 
             At The Same Time A Voice Unmistakably Indian, And Which 
             Evidently Came From The Owner Of The Foot, Convinced me That 
             I Was Not Alone.  My First Impressions Were That In their 
             Hasty Flight The Indians Had Gone Off, Leaving This One 
             Asleep.  My Next, Very Naturally, Related to Myself. 
             I Would Gladly Have Placed myself On The Outside Of The 
             Lodge, And There Matured plans For Interviewing Its Occupant; 
             But Unfortunately To Reach The Entrance Of The Lodge, I Must 
             Either Pass Over Or Around The Owner Of The Before-Mentioned 
             Foot And Voice.  Could I Have Been Convinced that Among 
             Its Other Possessions There Was Neither Tomahawk Nor 
             Scalping-Knife, Pistol Nor War-Club, Or Any Similar Article 
             Of The Noble Red-Man'S Toilet, I Would Have Risked an Attempt 
             To Escape Through The Low Narrow Opening Of The Lodge; 
             But Who Ever Saw An Indian Without One Or All Of These 
             Interesting Trinkets?  Had I Made The Attempt, I Should 
             Have Expected to Encounter Either The Keen Edge Of The 
             Scalping-Knife Or The Blow Of The Tomahawk, And To Have 
             Engaged in a Questionable Struggle For Life.  This Would 
             Not Do.  I Crouched in silence For A Few Moments, Hoping 
             The Doctor Would Return With The Lighted fagot.  I Need not 
             Say That Each Succeeding Moment Spent In the Darkness Of 
             That Lodge Seemed an Age.  I Could Hear A Slight Movement 
             On The Part Of My Unknown Neighbour, Which Did Not Add To 
             My Comfort.  Why Does Not The Doctor Return?  At Last I 
             Discovered the Approach Of A Light On The Outside.  When It 
             Neared the Entrance, I Called the Doctor And Informed him 
             That An Indian Was In the Lodge, And That He Had Better 
             Have His Weapons Ready For A Conflict.  I Had, Upon 
             Discovering The Foot, Drawn My Hunting-Knife From Its 
             Scabbard, And Now Stood Waiting The Denouement.  With His 
             Lighted fagot In one Hand And Cocked revolver In the Other, 
             The Doctor Cautiously Entered the Lodge.  And There Directly 
             Between Us, Wrapped in a Buffalo-Robe, Lay The Cause Of My 
             Anxiety--A Little Indian Girl, Probably Ten Years Old; 
             Not A Full-Blood, But A Half-Breed.  She Was Terribly 
             Frightened at Finding Herself In our Hands, With None Of 
             Her People Near.  Other Parties In exploring The Deserted 
             Village Found An Old, Decrepit Indian Of The Sioux Tribe, 
             Who Had Also Been Deserted, Owing To His Infirmities And 
             Inability To Travel With The Tribe.  Nothing Was Gleaned 
             From Our Search Of The Village Which Might Indicate The 
             Direction Of The Flight.  General Hancock, On Learning The 
             Situation Of Affairs, Despatched some Companies Of Infantry 
             With Orders To Replace The Cavalry And Protect The Village 
             And Its Contents From Disturbance Until Its Final Disposition 
             Could Be Determined upon, And It Was Decided that With Eight 
             Troops Of Cavalry I Should Start In pursuit Of The Indians 
             At Early Dawn On The Following Morning. 
     
     
     
             The Indians, After Leaving Their Village, Went Up On The 
             Smoky Hill, And Committed the Most Horrible Depredations 
             Upon The Scattered settlers In that Region.  Upon This News, 
             General Hancock Issued the Following Order:-- 
     
     
     
             "As A Punishment Of The Bad Faith Practised by The Cheyennes 
             And Sioux Who Occupied the Indian Village At This Place, And 
             As A Chastisement For Murders And Depredations Committed 
             Since The Arrival Of The Command At This Point, By The 
             People Of These Tribes, The Village Recently Occupied by 
             Them, Which Is Now In our Hands, Will Be Utterly Destroyed." 
     
     
     
             The Cheyennes, Arapahoes, And Apaches Had Been United under 
             One Agency; The Kiowas And Comanches Under Another. 
             As General Hancock'S Expedition Had Reference To All These 
             Tribes, He Had Invited both The Agents To Accompany Him 
             Into The Indian Country And Be Present At All Interviews 
             With The Representatives Of These Tribes, For The Purpose, 
             As The Invitation Stated, Of Showing The Indians "That The 
             Officers Of The Government Are Acting In harmony." 
     
     
     
             In conversation With The General The Agents Admitted that 
             Indians Had Been Guilty Of All The Outrages Charged against 
             Them, But Each Asserted the Innocence Of The Particular 
             Tribes Under His Charge, And Endeavoured to Lay Their Crimes 
             At The Door Of Their Neighbours. 
     
     
     
             Here Was Positive Evidence From The Agents Themselves That 
             The Indians Against Whom We Were Operating Were Deserving 
             Of Severe Punishment.  The Only Conflicting Portion Of The 
             Testimony Was As To Which Tribe Was Most Guilty.  Subsequent 
             Events Proved, However, That All Of The Five Tribes Named, 
             As Well As The Sioux, Had Combined for A General War 
             Throughout The Plains And Along Our Frontier.  Such A War 
             Had Been Threatened to Our Post Commanders Along The 
             Arkansas On Many Occasions During The Winter.  The Movement 
             Of The Sioux And Cheyennes Toward The North Indicated that 
             The Principal Theatre Of Military Operations During The 
             Summer Would Be Between The Smoky Hill And Platte Rivers. 
             General Hancock Accordingly Assembled the Principal Chiefs 
             Of The Kiowas And Arapahoes In council At Fort Dodge, 
             Hoping To Induce Them To Remain At Peace And Observe Their 
             Treaty Obligations. 
     
     
     
             The Most Prominent Chiefs In council Were Satanta, Lone Wolf, 
             And Kicking Bird Of The Kiowas, And Little Raven And Yellow 
             Bear Of The Arapahoes.  During The Council Extravagant 
             Promises Of Future Good Behaviour Were Made By These Chiefs. 
             So Effective And Convincing Was The Oratorical Effort Of 
             Satanta, That At The Termination Of His Address, The 
             Department Commander And His Staff Presented him With The 
             Uniform Coat, Sash, And Hat Of A Major-General.  In return 
             For This Compliment, Satanta, Within A Few Weeks, Attacked 
             The Post At Which The Council Was Held, Arrayed in his 
             New Uniform. 
     
     
     
   In The Spring Of 1878, The Indians Commenced a Series Of Depredations 
   Along The Santa Fe Trail And Against The Scattered settlers Of The 
   Frontier, That Were Unparalleled in their Barbarity.  General Alfred 
   Sully, A Noted indian Fighter, Who Commanded the District Of The 
   Upper Arkansas, Early Concentrated a Portion Of The Seventh And Tenth 
   Cavalry And Third Infantry Along The Line Of The Old Santa Fe Trail, 
   And Kept Out Small Expeditions Of Scouting Parties To Protect The 
   Overland Coaches And Freight Caravans; But The Troops Effected very 
   Little In stopping The Devilish Acts Of The Indians, Who Were Now 
   Fully Determined to Carry Out Their Threats Of A General War, Which 
   Culminated in the Winter Expedition Of General Sheridan, Who Completely 
   Subdued them, And Forced all The Tribes On Reservations; Since Which 
   Time There Has Never Been Any Trouble With The Plains Indians Worthy 
   Of Mention.[69] 
     
     
     
   General Sully, About The 1St Of September, With Eight Companies Of 
   The Seventh Cavalry And Five Companies Of Infantry, Left Fort Dodge, 
   On The Arkansas, On A Hurried expedition Against The Kiowas, Arapahoes, 
   And Cheyennes.  The Command Marched in a General Southeasterly 
   Direction, And Reached the Sand Hills Of The Beaver And Wolf Rivers, 
   By A Circuitous Route, On The Fifth Day.  When Nearly Through That 
   Barren Region, They Were Attacked by A Force Of Eight Hundred of The 
   Allied tribes Under The Leadership Of The Famous Kiowa Chief, Satanta. 
   A Running Fight Was Kept Up With The Savages On The First Day, 
   In Which Two Of The Cavalry Were Killed and One Wounded. 
     
     
     
   That Night The Savages Came Close Enough To Camp To Fire Into It 
   (An Unusual Proceeding In indian Warfare, As They Rarely Molest 
   Troops During The Night), I Now Quote From Custer Again: 
             The Next Day General Sully Directed his March Down The 
             Valley Of The Beaver; But Just As His Troops Were Breaking 
             Camp, The Long Wagon-Train Having already "Pulled out," And 
             The Rear Guard Of The Command Having Barely Got Into Their 
             Saddles, A Party Of Between Two And Three Hundred warriors, 
             Who Had Evidently In some Inexplicable Manner Contrived to 
             Conceal Themselves Until The Proper Moment, Dashed into The 
             Deserted camp Within A Few Yards Of The Rear Of The Troops, 
             And Succeeded in cutting Off A Few Led horses And Two Of 
             The Cavalrymen Who, As Is Often The Case, Had Lingered a 
             Moment Behind The Column. 
     
     
     
             Fortunately, The Acting adjutant Of The Cavalry, Brevet 
             Captain A. E. Smith, Was Riding at The Rear Of The Column 
             And Witnessed the Attack Of The Indians.  Captain Hamilton,[70] 
             Of The Seventh Cavalry, Was Also Present In command Of The 
             Rear Guard.  Wheeling To The Rightabout, He At Once Prepared 
             To Charge The Indians And Attempt The Rescue Of The Two 
             Troopers Who Were Being Carried off Before His Very Eyes. 
             At The Same Time, Captain Smith, As Representative Of The 
             Commanding Officer Of The Cavalry, Promptly Took The 
             Responsibility Of Directing a Squadron Of The Cavalry To 
             Wheel Out Of Column And Advance In support Of Captain 
             Hamilton'S Guard.  With This Hastily Formed detachment, 
             The Indians, Still Within Pistol-Range, But Moving Off With 
             Their Prisoners, Were Gallantly Charged and So Closely 
             Pressed that They Were Forced to Relinquish One Of Their 
             Prisoners, But Not Before Shooting Him Through The Body And 
             Leaving Him On The Ground, As They Supposed, Mortally Wounded. 
             The Troops Continued to Charge The Retreating Indians, 
             Upon Whom They Were Gaining, Determined, If Possible, 
             To Effect The Rescue Of Their Remaining Comrade.  They Were 
             Advancing Down One Slope While The Indians, Just Across 
             A Ravine, Were Endeavouring To Escape With Their Prisoner 
             Up The Opposite Ascent, When A Peremptory Order Reached the 
             Officers Commanding The Pursuing Force To Withdraw Their Men 
             And Reform The Column At Once.  The Terrible Fate Awaiting 
             The Unfortunate Trooper Carried off By The Indians Spread 
             A Deep Gloom Throughout The Command.  All Were Too Familiar 
             With The Horrid Customs Of The Savages To Hope For A Moment 
             That The Captive Would Be Reserved for Aught But A Slow, 
             Lingering Death, From Tortures The Most Horrible And Painful 
             Which Blood-Thirsty Minds Could Suggest.  Such Was The Truth 
             In his Case, As We Learned afterwards When Peace (?) Was 
             Established with The Tribes Then Engaged in war. 
     
     
     
             The Expedition Proceeded down The Valley Of The Beaver, 
             The Indians Contesting Every Step Of The Way.  In the 
             Afternoon, About Three O'Clock, The Troops Arrived at 
             A Ridge Of Sand Hills A Few Miles Southeast Of The 
             Presentsite Of Camp Supply, Where Quite A Determined 
             Engagement Took Place Between The Command And The Three 
             Tribes, Cheyennes, Arapahoes, And Kiowas, The Indians 
             Being The Assailants.  The Indians Seemed to Have Reserved 
             Their Strongest Efforts Until The Troops And Train Had 
             Advanced well Into The Sand Hills, When A Most Obstinate 
             Resistance--And Well Conducted, Too--Was Offered the 
             Farther Advance Of The Troops.  It Was Evident That The 
             Troops Were Probably Nearing The Indian Villages, And That 
             This Opposition To Further Advance Was To Save Them.  The 
             Character Of The Country Immediately About The Troops Was 
             Not Favourable To The Operations Of Cavalry; The Surface 
             Of The Rolling Plain Was Cut Up By Irregular And Closely 
             Located sand Hills, Too Steep And Sandy To Allow Cavalry 
             To Move With Freedom, Yet Capable Of Being Easily Cleared 
             Of Savages By Troops Fighting On Foot.  The Indians Took 
             Post On The Hilltops And Began A Harassing Fire On The 
             Troops And Train. Captain Yates, With A Single Troop Of 
             Cavalry, Was Ordered forward To Drive Them Away.  This Was 
             A Proceeding Which Did Not Seem To Meet With Favour From 
             The Savages. Captain Yates Could Drive Them Wherever He 
             Encountered them, But They Appeared in increased numbers 
             At Some Other Threatened point.  After Contending In this 
             Non-Effective Manner For A Couple Of Hours, The Impression 
             Arose In the Minds Of Some That The Train Could Not Be 
             Conducted through The Sand Hills In the Face Of The Strong 
             Opposition Offered by The Indians.  The Order Was Issued 
             To Turn About And Withdraw.  The Order Was Executed, And 
             The Troop And Train, Followed by The Exultant Indians, 
             Retired a Few Miles To The Beaver, And Encamped for The 
             Night On The Ground Afterward Known As Camp Supply. 
     
     
     
             Captain Yates Had Caused to Be Brought Off The Field, When 
             His Troop Was Ordered to Retire, The Body Of One Of His Men, 
             Who Had Been Slain In the Fight.  As The Troops Were To 
             Continue Their Backward March Next Day, And It Was Impossible 
             To Transport The Dead Body Further, Captain Yates Ordered 
             Preparations Made For Interring It In camp That Night. 
             Knowing That The Indians Would Thoroughly Search The Deserted 
             Camp-Ground Almost Before The Troops Should Get Out Of Sight, 
             And Would Be Quick, With Their Watchful Eyes, To Detect A 
             Grave, And, If Successful In discovering It, Would Unearth 
             The Body In order To Get The Scalp, Directions Were Given 
             To Prepare The Grave After Nightfall; And The Spot Selected 
             Would Have Baffled any One But An Indian.  The Grave Was 
             Dug Under The Picket Line To Which The Seventy Or Eighty 
             Horses Of The Troop Would Be Tethered during The Night, 
             So That Their Constant Tramping and Pawing Should Completely 
             Cover Up And Obliterate All Traces.  The Following Morning, 
             Even Those Who Had Performed the Sad Rites Of Burial To 
             Their Fallen Comrade Could Scarcely Have Indicated the Exact 
             Location Of The Grave.  Yet When We Returned to That Point 
             A Few Weeks Later, It Was Discovered that The Wily Savages 
             Had Found The Place, Unearthed the Body, And Removed the 
             Scalp Of Their Victim On The Day Following The Interment.[71] 
     
     
     
   After Leaving The Camp At Supply, The Indians Gradually Increased 
   Their Force, Until They Mustered about Two Thousand Warriors. 
   For Four Days And Nights They Hovered around The Command, And By The 
   Time It Reached mulberry Creek There Were Not One Thousand Rounds Of 
   Ammunition Left In the Whole Force Of Troopers And Infantrymen. 
   At The Creek, The Incessant Charges Of The Now Infuriated savages 
   Compelled the Troops To Use This Small Amount Held In reserve, And 
   They Found Themselves Almost At The Mercy Of The Indians.  But Before 
   They Were Absolutely Defenceless, Colonel Keogh Had Sent A Trusty 
   Messenger In the Night To Fort Dodge For A Supply Of Cartridges To 
   Meet The Command At The Creek, Which Fortunately Arrived there 
   In Time To Save That Spot From Being a Veritable "Last Ditch." 
     
     
     
   The Savages, In the Little But Exciting Encounter At The Creek Before 
   The Ammunition Arrived, Would Ride Up Boldly Toward The Squadrons Of 
   Cavalry, Discharge The Shots From Their Revolvers, And Then, In their 
   Rage, Throw Them At The Skirmishers On The Flanks Of The Supply-Train, 
   While The Latter, Nearly Out Of Ammunition, Were Compelled to Sit 
   Quietly In their Saddles, Idle Spectators Of The Extraordinary Scene.[72] 
     
     
     
   Many Of The Indians Were Killed on Their Ponies, However, By Those 
   Who Were Fortunate Enough To Have A Few Cartridges Left; But None 
   Were Captured, As The Savages Had Taken Their Usual Precaution To 
   Tie Themselves To Their Animals, And As Soon As Dead Were Dragged 
   Away By Them. 
     
   
   
   
   Chapter XXIV (Invasion Of The Railroad) 
   The Tourist Who To-Day, In a Palace Car, Surrounded by All The 
   Conveniences Of Our American Railway Service, Commences His Tour Of 
   The Prairies At The Missouri River, Enters Classic Ground The Moment 
   The Train Leaves The Muddy Flood Of That Stream On Its Swift Flight 
   Toward The Golden Shores Of The Pacific. 
     
     
     
   He Finds A Large City At The Very Portals Of The Once Far West, 
   With All The Bustle And Energy Which Is So Characteristic Of American 
   Enterprise. 
     
     
     
   Gradually, As He Is Whirled along The Iron Trail, The Woods Lessen; 
   He Catches Views Of Beautiful Intervales; A Bright Little Stream 
   Flashes And Foams In the Sunlight As The Trees Grow Fewer, And Soon 
   He Emerges On The Broad Sea Of Prairie, Shut In only By The Great 
   Circle Of The Heavens. 
     
     
     
   Dotting This Motionless Ocean Everywhere, Like Whitened sails, Are 
   Quiet Homes, Real Argosies Ventured by The Sturdy And Industrious 
   People Who Have Fought Their Way Through Almost Insurmountable 
   Difficulties To The Tranquillity Which Now Surrounds Them. 
     
     
     
   A Few Miles West Of Topeka, The Capital Of Kansas, When The Train 
   Reaches The Little Hamlet Of Wakarusa, The Track Of The Railroad 
   Commences To Follow The Route Of The Old Santa Fe Trail.  At That 
   Point, Too, The Oregon Trail Branches Off For The Heavily Timbered 
   Regions Of The Columbia.  Now Begins The Classic Ground Of The Once 
   Famous Highway To New Mexico; Nearly Every Stream, Hill, And Wooded 
   Dell Has Its Story Of Adventure In those Days When The Railroad Was 
   Regarded as An Impossibility, And The Region Beyond The Missouri As 
   A Veritable Desert. 
     
     
     
   After Some Hours' Rapid Travelling, If Our Tourist Happens To Be A 
   Passenger On The "California Limited," The Swift Train That Annihilates 
   Distance, He Will Pass By Towns, Hamlets, And Immense Cattle Ranches, 
   Stopping Only At County-Seats, And Enter The Justly Famous Arkansas 
   Valley At The City Of Hutchinson.  The Old Trail Now Passes A Few 
   Miles North Of This Busy Place, Which Is Noted for Its Extensive 
   Salt Works, Nor Does The Railroad Again Meet With It Until The Site 
   Of Old Fort Zarah Is Reached, Forty-Seven Miles West Of Hutchinson, 
   Though It Runs Nearly Parallel To The Once Great Highway At Varying 
   Distances For The Whole Detour. 
     
     
     
   The Ruins Of The Once Important Military Post May Be Seen From The 
   Car-Windows On The Right, As The Train Crosses The Iron Bridge 
   Spanning The Walnut, And Here The Old Trail Exactly Coincides With 
   The Railroad, The Track Of The Latter Running Immediately On The 
   Old Highway. 
     
     
     
   Three Miles Westward From The Classic Little Walnut The Old Trail Ran 
   Through What Is Now The Court House Square Of The Town Of Great Bend; 
   It May Be Seen From The Station, And On That Very Spot Occurred the 
   Terrible Fight Of Captains Booth And Hallowell In 1864. 
     
     
     
   Thirteen Miles Further Mountainward, On The Right Of The Railroad, 
   Not Far From The Track, Stands All That Remains Of The Once Dreaded 
   Pawnee Rock.  It Lies Just Beyond The Limits Of The Little Hamlet 
   Bearing Its Name.  It Would Not Be Recognized by Any Of The Old 
   Plainsmen Were They To Come Out Of Their Isolated graves; For It Is 
   Only A Disintegrated, Low Mass Of Sandstone Now, Utilized for The Base 
   Purposes Of A Corral, In which The Village Herd Of Milch Cows Lie Down 
   At Night And Chew Their Cuds, Such Peaceful Transformation Has That 
   Great Civilizer, The Locomotive, Wrought In less Than Two Decades. 
     
     
     
   Another Five Or Six Miles, And The Train Crosses Ash Creek, Which, 
   Too, Was Once One Of The Favourite Haunts Of The Pawnee And Comanche 
   On Their Predatory Excursions, In the Days When The Mules And Horses 
   Of Passing Freight Caravans Excited their Cupidity.  A Short Whirl 
   Again, And The Town Of Larned, Lying Peacefully On The Arkansas And 
   Pawnee Fork, Is Reached.  Immediately Opposite The Centre Of The 
   Street Through Which The Railroad Runs, And Which Was Also The Course 
   Of The Old Trail, Lying In the Arkansas River, Close To Its Northern 
   Bank, Is A Small Thickly-Wooded island, Now Reached by A Bridge, That 
   Is Famous As The Battle-Ground Of A Terrible Conflict Thirty Years Ago, 
   Between The Pawnees And Cheyennes, Hereditary Enemies, In which The 
   Latter Tribe Was Cruelly Defeated. 
     
     
     
   The Railroad Bridge Crosses Pawnee Fork At The Precise Spot Where 
   The Old Trail Did.  This Locality Has Been The Scene Of Some Of The 
   Bloodiest Encounters Between The Various Tribes Of Savages Themselves, 
   And Between Them And The Freight Caravans, The Overland Coaches, 
   And Every Other Kind Of Outfit That Formerly Attempted the Passage Of 
   The Now Peaceful Stream.  In fact, The Whole Region From Walnut Creek 
   To The Mouth Of The Pawnee, Which Includes In its Area Ash Creek 
   And Pawnee Rock, Seemed to Be The Greatest Resort For The Indians, 
   Who Hovered about The Santa Fe Trail For The Sole Purpose Of Robbery 
   And Murder; It Was A Very Lucky Caravan Or Coach, Indeed, That Passed 
   Through That Portion Of The Route Without Being attacked. 
     
     
     
   All The Once Dangerous Points Of The Old Trail Having Been Successively 
   Passed--Cow Creek, Big And Little Coon, And Ash Creek, Fort Dodge, 
   Fort Aubrey,[73] And Point Of Rocks--The Tourist Arrives At Last At 
   The Foot-Hills.  At La Junta The Railroad Separates Into Two Branches; 
   One Going To Denver, The Other On To New Mexico.  Here, A Relatively 
   Short Distance To The Northwest, On The Right Of The Train, May Be 
   Seen The Ruins Of Bent'S Fort, The Tourist Having already Passed the 
   Site Of The Once Famous Big Timbers, A Favourite Winter Camping-Ground 
   Of The Cheyennes And Arapahoes; But Everywhere Around Him There Reigns 
   Such Perfect Quiet And Pastoral Beauty, He Might Imagine That The 
   Peaceful Landscape Upon Which He Looks Had Never Been A Bloody Arena. 
     
     
     
   I Suggest To The Lover Of Nature That He Should Cross The Raton Range 
   In The Early Morning, Or Late In the Afternoon; For Then The 
   Magnificent Scenery Of The Trail Over The High Divide Into New Mexico 
   Assumes Its Most Beautiful Aspect. 
     
     
     
   In Approaching The Range From The Old Trail, Or Now From The Railroad, 
   Their Snow-Clad Peaks May Be Seen At A Distance Of Sixty Miles. 
   In The Era Of Caravans And Pack-Trains, For Hour After Hour, As They 
   Moved slowly Toward The Goal Of Their Ambition, The Summit Of The 
   Fearful Pathway On The Divide, The Huge Forms Of The Mountains Seemed 
   To Recede, And Yet Ascend Higher.  On The Next Day'S Journey Their 
   Outlines Appeared more Irregular And Ragged.  Drawing Still Nearer, 
   Their Base Presented a Long, Dark Strip Stretching Throughout Their 
   Whole Course, Ever Widening Until It Seemed like A Fathomless Gulf, 
   Separating The World Of Reality From The Realms Of Imagination Beyond. 
     
     
     
   Another Weary Twenty Miles Of Dusty Travel, And The Black Void Slowly 
   Dissolved, And Out Of The Shadows Lines Of Broken, Sterile, 
   Ferruginous Buttes And Detached masses Of Rocks, Whose Soilless 
   Surface Refuses Sustenance, Save To A Few Scattered, Stunted pines 
   And Lifeless Mosses, Emerged to View. 
     
     
     
   The Progress Of The Weary-Footed mules Or Oxen Was Now Through Ravines 
   And Around Rocks; Up Narrow Paths Which The Melting Snows Have 
   Washed out; Sometimes Between Beetling Cliffs, Often To Their Very 
   Edge, Where Hundreds Of Feet Below The Trail The Tall Trees Seemed 
   Diminished into Shrubs.  Then Again The Road Led over An Immense Broad 
   Terrace, For Thousands Of Yards Around, With A Bright Lake Gleaming 
   In The Refracted light, And Brilliant Alpine Plants Waving Their 
   Beautiful Flowers On Its Margin.  Still The Coveted summit Appeared 
   So Far Off As To Be Beyond The Range Of Vision, And It Seemed as If, 
   Instead Of Ascending, The Entire Mass Underneath Had Been Receding, 
   Like The Mountains Of Ice Over Which Arctic Explorers Attempt To Reach 
   The Pole.  Now The Tortuous Trail Passed through Snow-Wreaths Which 
   The Winds Had Eddied into Indentations; Then Over Bright, Glassy 
   Surfaces Of Ice And Fragments Of Rocks, Until The Pinnacle Was Reached. 
   Nearer, Along The Broad Successive Terraces Of The Opposite Mountains, 
   The Evergreen Pine, The Cedar, With Its Stiff, Angular Branches, And 
   The Cottonwood, With Its Varied curves And Bright Colours, Were 
   Crowded into Bunches Or Strung Into Zigzag Lines, Interspersed with 
   Shrubs And Mountain Plants, Among Which The Flaming Cactus Was 
   Conspicuous.  To The Right And Left, The Bare Cones Of The Barren 
   Peaks Rose In multitude, With Their Calm, Awful Forms Shrouded in snow, 
   And Their Dark Shadows Reflected far Into The Valleys, Like Spectres 
   From A Chaotic World. 
     
     
     
   In Going Through The Raton Pass, The Old Santa Fe Trail Meandered up 
   A Steep Valley, Enclosed on Either Side By Abrupt Hills Covered with 
   Pine And Masses Of Gray Rock.  The Road Ran Along The Points Of 
   Varying Elevations, Now In the Stony Bed of Raton Creek, Which It 
   Crossed fifty-Three Times, The Sparkling, Flitting Waters Of The 
   Bubbling Stream Leaping and Foaming against The Animals' Feet As They 
   Hauled the Great Wagons Of The Freight Caravans Over The Tortuous 
   Passage.  The Creek Often Rushed rapidly Under Large Flat Stones, 
   Lost To Sight For A Moment, Then Reappearing With A Fresh Impetus And 
   Dashing Over Its Flinty, Uneven Bed until It Mingled with The Pure 
   Waters Of Le Purgatoire. 
     
     
     
   Still Ascending, The Scenery Assumed a Bolder, Rougher Cast; Then 
   Sudden Turns Gave You Hurried glimpses Of The Great Valley Below. 
   A Gentle Dell Sloped to The Summit Of The Pass On The West, Then, 
   Rising On The East By A Succession Of Terraces, The Bald, Bare Cliff 
   Was Reached, Overlooking The Whole Region For Many Miles, And This Is 
   Raton Peak.[74] 
     
     
     
   The Extreme Top Of This Famous Peak Was Only Reached after More Than 
   An Hour'S Arduous Struggle.  On The Lofty Plateau The Caravans And 
   Pack-Trains Rested their Tired animals.  Here, Too, The Lonely Trapper, 
   When Crossing The Range In quest Of Beaver, Often Chose This Lofty 
   Spot On Which To Kindle His Little Fire And Broil Juicy Steaks Of The 
   Black-Tail Deer, The Finest Venison In the World; But Before He 
   Indulged in the Savoury Morsels, If He Was In the Least Superstitious 
   Or Devout, Or Inspired by The Sublime Scene Around Him, He Lighted 
   His Pipe, And After Saluting The Elevated ridge On Which He Sat By The 
   First Whiff Of The Fragrant Kinnikinick, Indian-Fashion, He In turn 
   Offered homage In the Same Manner To The Sky Above Him, The Earth 
   Beneath, And To The Cardinal Points Of The Compass, And Was Then 
   Prepared to Eat His Solitary Meal In a Spirit Of Thankfulness. 
     
     
     
   Far Below This Magnificent Vantage-Ground Lies The Valley Of The 
   Rio Las Animas Perdidas.  On The Other Verge Of The Great Depression 
   Rise The Peerless, Everlastingly Snow-Wreathed spanish Peaks,[75] 
   Whose Giant Summits Are Grim Sentinels That For Untold Ages Have 
   Witnessed hundreds Of Sanguinary Conflicts Between The Wily Nomads 
   Of The Vast Plains Watered by The Silent Arkansas. 
     
     
     
   All Around You Snow-Clad Mountains Lift Their Serrated crowns Above 
   The Horizon, Dim, White, And Indistinct, Like Icebergs Seen At Sea 
   By Moonlight; Others, Nearer, More Rugged, Naked of Verdure, And 
   Irregular In contour, Seem To Lose Their Lofty Summits In the Intense 
   Blue Of The Sky. 
     
     
     
   Fisher'S Peak, Which Is In full View From The Train, Was Named from 
   The Following Circumstance: Captain Fisher Was A German Artillery 
   Officer Commanding a Battery In general Kearney'S Army Of The West In 
   The Conquest Of New Mexico And Was Encamped at The Base Of The Peak 
   To Which He Involuntarily Gave His Name.  He Was Intently Gazing at 
   The Lofty Summit Wrapped in the Early Mist, And Not Being Familiar 
   With The Illusory Atmospheric Effects Of The Region, He Thought That 
   To Go There Would Be Merely A Pleasant Promenade.  So, Leaving Word 
   That He Would Return To Breakfast, He Struck Out At A Brisk Walk For 
   The Crest.  That Whole Day, The Following Night, And The Succeeding 
   Day, Dragged their Weary Hours On, But No Tidings Of The Commanding 
   Officer Were Received at The Battery, And Ill Rumours Were Current 
   Of His Death By Indians Or Bears, When, Just As His Mess Were About 
   To Take Their Seats At The Table For The Evening Meal, Their Captain 
   Put In an Appearance, A Very Tired but A Wiser Man.  He Started to Go 
   To The Peak, And He Went There! 
     
     
     
   On The Summit Of Another Rock-Ribbed elevation Close By, The Tourist 
   Will Notice The Shaft Of An Obelisk.  It Is Over The Grave Of George 
   Simpson, Once A Noted mountaineer In the Days Of The Great Fur 
   Companies.  For A Long Time He Made His Home There, And It Was His 
   Dying Request That The Lofty Peak He Loved so Well While Living Should 
   Be His Last Resting-Place.  The Peak Is Known As "Simpson'S Rest," 
   And Is One Of The Notable Features Of The Rugged landscape. 
     
     
     
   Pike'S Peak, Far Away To The North, Intensely White And Silvery In the 
   Clear Sky, Hangs Like A Great Dome High In the Region Of The Clouds, 
   A Marked object, Worthy To Commemorate The Indefatigable Efforts Of 
   The Early Voyageur Whose Name It Bears. 
     
     
     
   In This Wonderful Locality, Both Pike'S Peak And The Snowy Range Over 
   Two Hundred miles From Our Point Of Observation Really Seem To The 
   Uninitiated as If A Brisk Walk Of An Hour Or Two Would Enable One To 
   Reach Them, So Deceptive Is The Atmosphere Of These Elevated regions. 
     
     
     
   About Two Miles From The Crest Of The Range, Yet Over Seven Thousand 
   Feet Above The Sea-Level, In a Pretty Little Depression About As 
   Large As A Medium-Sized corn-Field In the Eastern States, Uncle 
   Dick Wooton Lived, And Here, Too, Was His Toll-Gate.  The Veteran 
   Mountaineer Erected a Substantial House Of Adobe, After The Style 
   Of One Of The Old-Time Southern Plantation Residences, A Memory, 
   Perhaps, Of His Youth, When He Raised tobacco In his Father'S Fields 
   In Kentucky.[76] 
     
     
     
   The Most Charming Hour In which To Be On The Crest Of Raton Range Is 
   In The Afternoon, When The Weather Is Clear And Calm.  As The Night 
   Comes On Apace In the Distant Valley Beneath, The Evening Shadows 
   Drop Down, Pencilled with Broad Bands Of Rosy Light As They Creep 
   Slowly Across The Beautiful Landscape, While The Rugged vista Below 
   Is Enveloped in a Diffused haze Like That Which Marks The Season Of 
   The Indian Summer In the Lower Great Plains.  Above, The Sky Curves 
   Toward The Relatively Restricted horizon, With Not A Cloud To Dim 
   Its Intense Blue, Nowhere So Beautiful As In these Lofty Altitudes. 
     
     
     
   The Sun, However, Does Not Always Shine Resplendently; There Are 
   Times When The Most Terrific Storms Of Wind, Hail, And Rain Change 
   The Entire Aspect Of The Scene.  Fortunately, These Violent Bursts 
   Never Last Long; They Vanish As Rapidly As They Come, Leaving In 
   Their Wake The Most Phenomenally Beautiful Rainbows, Whose Trailing 
   Splendours Which They Owe To The Dry And Rare Air Of The Region, And 
   Its High Refractory Power, Are Gorgeous In the Extreme. 
     
     
     
   In 1872 The Atchison, Topeka, And Santa Fe Railroad Entered the 
   Valley Of The Upper Arkansas.  Twenty-Four Years Ago, On A Delicious 
   October Afternoon, I Stood On The Absolutely Level Plateau At The 
   Mouth Of Pawnee Fork Where That Historic Creek Debouches Into The 
   Great River.  The Remembrance Of That View Will Never Pass From My 
   Memory, For It Showed a Curious Temporary Blending Of Two Distinct 
   Civilizations.  One, The New, Marking The Course Of Empire In its 
   Restless March Westward; The Other, That Of The Aboriginal, Which, 
   Like A Dissolving View, Was Soon To Fade Away And Be Forgotten. 
     
     
     
   The Box-Elders And Cottonwoods Thinly Covering The Creek-Bottom Were 
   Gradually Donning Their Autumn Dress Of Russet, And The Mirage Had 
   Already Commenced its Fantastic Play With The Landscape.  On The Sides 
   And Crests Of The Sparsely Grassed sand Hills South Of The Arkansas 
   A Few Buffaloes Were Grazing In company With Hundreds Of Texas Cattle, 
   While In the Broad Valley Beneath, Small Flocks Of Graceful Antelope 
   Were Lying Down, Quietly Ruminating Their Midday Meal. 
     
     
     
   In The Distance, Far Eastwardly, A Train Of Cars Could Be Seen 
   Approaching; As Far As The Eye Could Reach, On Either Side Of The 
   Track, The Virgin Sod Had Been Turned to The Sun; The "Empire Of 
   The Plough" Was Established, And The March Of Immigration In its 
   Hunger For The Horizon Had Begun. 
     
     
     
   Half A Mile Away From The Bridge Spanning The Fork, Under The Grateful 
   Shade Of The Largest Trees, About Twenty Skin Lodges Were Irregularly 
   Grouped; On The Brown Sod Of The Sun-Cured grass A Herd Of A Hundred 
   Ponies Were Lazily Feeding, While A Troop Of Dusky Little Children 
   Were Chasing The Yellow Butterflies From The Dried and Withered 
   Sunflower Stalks Which Once So Conspicuously Marked the Well-Worn 
   Highway To The Mountains.  These Indians, The Remnant Of A Tribe 
   Powerful In the Years Of Savage Sovereignty, Were On Their Way, 
   In Charge Of Their Agent, To Their New Homes, On The Reservation 
   Just Allotted to Them By The Government, A Hundred miles South Of 
   The Arkansas. 
     
     
     
   Their Primitive Lodges Contrasted strangely With The Peaceful Little 
   Sod-Houses, Dugouts, And White Cottages Of The Incoming Settlers On 
   The Public Lands, With The Villages Struggling Into Existence, And 
   Above All With The Rapidly Moving Cars; Unmistakable Evidences That 
   The New Civilization Was Soon To Sweep The Red men Before It Like 
   Chaff Before The Wind. 
     
     
     
   Farther To The West, A Caravan Of White-Covered wagons Loaded with 
   Supplies For Some Remote Military Post, The Last That Would Ever 
   Travel The Old Trail, Was Slowly Crawling Toward The Setting Sun. 
   I Watched it Until Only A Cloud Of Dust Marked its Place Low Down 
   On The Horizon, And It Was Soon Lost Sight Of In the Purple Mist 
   That Was Rapidly Overspreading The Far-Reaching Prairie. 
     
     
     
   It Was The Beginning Of The End; On The 9Th Of February, 1880, The 
   First Train Over The Atchison, Topeka, And Santa Fe Railroad Arrived 
   At Santa Fe And The Old Trail As A Route Of Commerce Was Closed 
   Forever.  The Once Great Highway Is Now Only A Picture In the Memory 
   Of The Few Who Have Travelled its Weary Course, Following The Windings 
   Of The Silent Arkansas, On To The Portals That Guard The Rugged 
   Pathway Leading To The Shores Of The Blue Pacific. 
     
     
   
   
   
   Chapter XXIV (Footnotes) 
   [1] The Whole Country Watered by The Mississippi And Missouri Was 
   Called florida At That Time. 
     
     
     
   [2] The Celebrated jesuit, Author Of _The History Of New France_, 
   _Journals Of A Voyage To North America_, _Letters To The Duchess_, Etc. 
     
     
     
   [3] Otoes. 
     
     
     
   [4] Iowas. 
     
     
     
   [5] Boulevard, Promenade. 
     
     
     
   [6] Notes Of A Military Reconnoissance From Fort Leavenworth, 
   In Missouri, To San Diego, In california, Including Parts Of The 
   Arkansas, Del Norte, And Gila Rivers.  Brevet Major W. H. Emory, 
   Corps Of Topographical Engineers, United states Army, 1846. 
     
     
     
   [7] Hon. W. F. Arny, In his Centennial Celebration Address At Santa Fe, 
   July 4, 1876. 
     
     
     
   [8] Edwards, _Conquest Of New Mexico_. 
     
     
     
   [9] I Think This Is Bancroft'S Idea. 
     
     
     
   [10] _Historical Sketches Of New Mexico_, L. Bradford Prince, Late 
   Chief Justice Of New Mexico, 1883. 
     
     
     
   [11] D. H. Coyner, 1847. 
     
     
     
   [12] He Was Travelling Parallel To The Old Santa Fe Trail All The Time, 
   But Did Not Know It Until He Was Overtaken By A Band Of Kaw Indians. 
     
     
     
   [13] Mcknight Was Murdered south Of The Arkansas By The Comanches 
   In The Winter Of 1822. 
   
   
   
   Chapter XXIV (Footnotes) 
   [14] Chouteau'S Island. 
     
     
     
   [15] _Hennepin'S Journal_. 
     
     
     
   [16] The Line Between The United states And Mexico (Or New Spain, 
   As It Was Called) Was Defined by A Treaty Negotiated in 1819, 
   Between The Chevalier De Onis, Then Spanish Minister At Washington, 
   And John Quincy Adams, Secretary Of State.  According To Its 
   Provisions, The Boundary Between Mexico And Louisiana, Which Had Been 
   Added to The Union, Commenced with The River Sabine At Its Entrance 
   Into The Gulf Of Mexico, At About The Twenty-Ninth Degree Of North 
   Latitude And The Ninety-Fourth Degree Of Longitude, West From 
   Greenwich, And Followed it As Far As Its Junction With The Red river 
   Of Natchitoches, Which Then Served to Mark The Frontier Up To The 
   One Hundredth Degree Of West Longitude, Where The Line Ran Directly 
   North To The Arkansas, Which It Followed to Its Source At The 
   Forty-Second Degree Of North Latitude, Whence Another Straight Line 
   Was Drawn Up The Same Parallel To The Pacific Coast. 
     
     
     
   [17] This Tribe Kept Up Its Reputation Under The Dreaded satanta, 
   Until 1868--A Period Of Forty Years--When It Was Whipped into 
   Submission By The Gallant Custer.  Satanta Was Its War Chief, 
   One Of The Most Cruel Savages The Great Plains Ever Produced. 
   He Died a Few Years Ago In the State Prison Of Texas. 
     
     
     
   [18] Mcness Creek Is On The Old Cimarron Trail To Santa Fe, A Little 
   East Of A Line Drawn South From Bent'S Fort. 
     
     
     
   [19] Mr. Bryant, Of Kansas, Who Died a Few Years Ago, Was One Of 
   The Pioneers In the Trade With Santa Fe.  Previous To His Decease 
   He Wrote For A Kansas Newspaper A Narrative Of His First Trip Across 
   The Great Plains; An Interesting Monograph Of Hardship And Suffering. 
   For The Use Of This Document I Am Indebted to Hon. Sol. Miller, 
   The Editor Of The Journal In which It Originally Appeared.  I Have 
   Also Used very Extensively The Notes Of Mr. William Y. Hitt, One Of 
   The Bryant Party, Whose Son Kindly Placed them At My Disposal, And 
   Copied liberally From The Official Report Of Major Bennett Riley-- 
   Afterward The Celebrated general Of Mexican War Fame, And For Whom 
   The Cavalry Depot In kansas Is Named; As Also From The Journal Of 
   Captain Philip St. George Cooke, Who Accompanied major Riley On 
   His Expedition. 
   
   
   
   Chapter XXIV (Footnotes) 
   [20] Chouteau'S Island, At The Mouth Of Sand Creek. 
     
     
     
   [21] Valley Of The Upper Arkansas. 
     
     
     
   [22] About Three Miles East Of The Town Of Great Bend, Barton County, 
   Kansas. 
     
     
     
   [23] The Old Santa Fe Trail Crosses The Creek Some Miles North Of 
   Hutchinson, And Coincides With The Track Again At The Mouth Of 
   Walnut Creek, Three Miles East Of Great Bend. 
     
     
     
   [24] There Are Many Conflicting accounts In regard To The Sum 
   Don Antonio Carried with Him On That Unfortunate Trip.  Some 
   Authorities Put It As High As Sixty Thousand; I Have Taken A Mean 
   Of The Various Sums, And As This Method Will Suffice In mathematics, 
   Perhaps We Can Approximate The Truth In this Instance. 
     
     
     
   [25] General Emory Of The Union Army During The Civil War.  He Made 
   An Official Report Of The Country Through Which The Army Of The West 
   Passed, Accompanied by Maps, And His _Reconnoissance In new Mexico 
   And California_, Published by The Government In 1848, Is The First 
   Authentic Record Of The Region, Considered topographically And 
   Geologically. 
     
     
     
   [26] _Doniphan'S Expedition, Containing an Account Of The Conquest 
   Of New Mexico_, Etc.  John T. Hughes, A.B., Of The First Regiment 
   Of Missouri Cavalry.  1850. 
     
     
     
   [27] Deep Gorge. 
     
     
     
   [28] Colonel Leavenworth, For Whom Fort Leavenworth Is Named, And 
   Who Built Several Army Posts In the Far West. 
   
   
   
   Chapter XXIV (Footnotes) 
   [29] Colonel A. G. Boone, A Grandson Of The Immortal Daniel, Was One 
   Of The Grandest Old Mountaineers I Ever Knew.  He Was As Loyal As 
   Anybody, But Honest In his Dealings With The Indians, And That Was 
   Often A Fault In the Eyes Of Those At Washington Who Controlled 
   These Agents.  Kit Carson Was Of The Same Honest Class As Boone, 
   And He, Too, Was Removed for The Same Cause. 
     
     
     
   [30] A Narrow Defile On The Trail, About Ninety Miles East Of 
   Fort Union.  It Is Called the "Canyon Of The Canadian, Or Red, River," 
   And Is Situated between High Walls Of Earth And Rock.  It Was Once 
   A Very Dangerous Spot On Account Of The Ease And Rapidity With Which 
   The Savages Could Ambush Themselves. 
     
     
     
   [31] Carson, Wooton, And All Other Expert Mountaineers, When Following 
   A Trail, Could Always Tell Just What Time Had Elapsed since It Was 
   Made.  This May Seem Strange To The Uninitiated, But It Was Part 
   Of Their Necessary Education.  They Could Tell What Kind Of A Track 
   It Was, Which Way The Person Or Animal Had Walked, And Even The Tribe 
   To Which The Savage Belonged, Either By The Shape Of The Moccasin 
   Or The Arrows Which Were Occasionally Dropped. 
     
     
     
   [32] Lieutenant Bell Belonged to The Second Dragoons.  He Was 
   Conspicuous In extraordinary Marches And In action, And Also An 
   Accomplished horseman And Shot, Once Running and Killing Five Buffalo 
   In A Quarter Of A Mile.  He Died early In 1861, And His Death Was 
   A Great Loss To The Service. 
     
     
     
   [33] Known To This Day As "The Cheyenne Bottoms." 
     
     
     
   [34] Lone Wolf Was Really The Head Chief Of The Kiowas. 
     
     
     
   [35] The Battle Lasted three Days. 
     
     
     
   [36] Kicking Bird Was Ever Afterward So Regarded by The Authorities 
   Of The Indian Department. 
     
     
     
   [37] Lorenzo Thomas, Adjutant-General Of The United states Army. 
     
   
   
   
   Chapter XXIV (Footnotes) 
   [38] Kendall'S _Santa Fe Expedition_ May Be Found In all The Large 
   Libraries. 
     
     
     
   [39] A Summer-House, Bower, Or Arbour. 
     
     
     
   [40] Frank Hall, Chicago, 1885. 
     
     
     
   [41] The Greater Portion Of This Chapter I Originally Wrote For 
   _Harper'S Weekly_.  By The Kind Permission Of The Publishers, I Am 
   Permitted to Use It Here. 
     
     
     
   [42] These Statistics I Have Carefully Gathered from The Freight 
   Departments Of The Railroads, Which Kept A Record Of All The Bones 
   That Were Shipped, And From The Purchasers Of The Carbon Works, 
   Who Paid Out The Money At Various Points.  Some Of The Bones, However, 
   May Have Been On The Ground For A Longer Time, As Decay Is Very Slow 
   In The Dry Air Of The Plains. 
     
     
     
   [43] La Jeunesse Was One Of The Bravest Of The Old French Canadian 
   Trappers.  He Was A Warm Friend Of Kit Carson And Was Killed by The 
   Indians In the Following Manner.  They Were Camping One Night In the 
   Mountains; Kit, La Jeunesse, And Others Had Wrapped themselves Up 
   In Their Blankets Near The Fire, And Were Sleeping Soundly; Fremont 
   Sat Up Until After Midnight Reading Letters He Had Received from 
   The United states, After Finishing Which, He, Too, Turned in and 
   Fell Asleep.  Everything Was Quiet For A While, When Kit Was Awakened 
   By A Noise That Sounded like The Stroke Of An Axe.  Rising Cautiously, 
   He Discovered indians In the Camp; He Gave The Alarm At Once, 
   But Two Of His Companions Were Dead.  One Of Them Was La Jeunesse, 
   And The Noise He Had Heard Was The Tomahawk As It Buried itself 
   In The Brave Fellow'S Head. 
     
     
     
   [44] This Black Is Made From A Species Of Plumbago Found On The Hills 
   Of The Region. 
     
     
     
   [45] The Pawnees And Cheyennes Were Hereditary Enemies, And They 
   Frequently Met In sanguinary Conflict. 
     
   
   
   
   Chapter XXIV (Footnotes) 
   [46] A French Term Anglicised, As Were Many Other Foreign Words By 
   The Trappers In the Mountains.  Its Literal Meaning Is, Arrow Fender, 
   For From It The Plains Indians Construct Their Shields; It Is 
   Buffalo-Hide Prepared in a Certain Manner. 
     
     
     
   [47] Boiling Spring River. 
     
     
     
   [48] For Some Reason The Senate Refused to Confirm The Appointment, 
   And He Had Consequently No Connection With The Regular Army. 
     
     
     
   [49] Point Of Rocks Is Six Hundred and Forty Seven Miles From 
   Independence, And Was Always A Favourite Place Of Resort For The 
   Indians Of The Great Plains; Consequently It Was One Of The Most 
   Dangerous Camping-Spots For The Freight Caravans On The Trail. 
   It Comprises A Series Of Continuous Hills, Which Project Far Out On 
   The Prairie In bold Relief.  They End Abruptly In a Mass Of Rocks, 
   Out Of Which Gushes A Cold, Refreshing Spring, Which Is, Of Course, 
   The Main Attraction Of The Place.  The Trail Winds About Near This 
   Point, And Many Encounters With The Various Tribes Have Occurred there. 
     
     
     
   [50] "Little Mountain." 
     
     
     
   [51] General Gatlin Was A North Carolinian, And Seceded with His 
   State At The Breaking Out Of The Rebellion, But Refused to Leave 
   His Native Heath To Fight, So Indelibly Was He Impressed with The 
   Theory Of State Rights.  He Was Willing To Defend The Soil Of 
   North Carolina, But Declined to Step Across Its Boundary To Repel 
   Invasion In other States. 
     
     
     
   [52] The Name Of "Crow," As Applied to The Once Powerful Nation 
   Of Mountain Indians, Is A Misnomer, The Fault Of Some Early 
   Interpreter.  The Proper Appellation Is "Sparrowhawks," But They 
   Are Officially Recognized as "Crows." 
     
     
     
   [53] Kit Carson, Ten Years Before, When On His First Journey, Met 
   With The Same Adventure While On Post At Pawnee Rock. 
     
     
   
   
   
   Chapter XXIV (Footnotes) 
   [54] The Fusee Was A Fire-Lock Musket With An Immense Bore, From 
   Which Either Slugs Or Balls Could Be Shot, Although Not With Any 
   Great Degree Of Accuracy. 
     
     
     
   [55] The Indians Always Knew When The Caravans Were To Pass Certain 
   Points On The Trail, By Their Runners Or Spies Probably. 
     
     
     
   [56] It Was One Of The Rigid Laws Of Indian Hospitality Always To 
   Respect The Person Of Any One Who Voluntarily Entered their Camps 
   Or Temporary Halting-Places.  As Long As The Stranger, Red or White, 
   Remained with Them, He Enjoyed perfect Immunity From Harm; But After 
   He Had Left, Although He Had Progressed but Half A Mile, It Was Just 
   As Honourable To Follow And Kill Him. 
     
     
     
   [57] In their Own Fights With Their Enemies One Or Two Of The 
   Defeated party Are Always Spared, And Sent Back To Their Tribe To 
   Carry The News Of The Slaughter. 
     
     
     
   [58] The Story Of The Way In which This Name Became Corrupted into 
   "Picketwire," By Which It Is Generally Known In new Mexico, Is This: 
   When Spain Owned all Mexico And Florida, As The Vast Region Of The 
   Mississippi Valley Was Called, Long Before The United states Had 
   An Existence As A Separate Government, The Commanding Officer At 
   Santa Fe Received an Order To Open Communication With The Country 
   Of Florida.  For This Purpose An Infantry Regiment Was Selected. 
   It Left Santa Fe Rather Late In the Season, And Wintered at A Point 
   On The Old Trail Now Known As Trinidad.  In the Spring, The Colonel, 
   Leaving all Camp-Followers Behind Him, Both Men And Women, Marched 
   Down The Stream, Which Flows For Many Miles Through A Magnificent 
   Canyon.  Not One Of The Regiment Returned or Was Ever Heard Of. 
   When All Hope Had Departed from The Wives, Children, And Friends 
   Left Behind At Trinidad, Information Was Sent To Santa Fe, And A Wail 
   Went Up Through The Land.  The Priests And People Then Called this 
   Stream "El Rio De Las Animas Perditas" ("The River Of Lost Souls"). 
   Years After, When The Spanish Power Was Weakened, And French Trappers 
   Came Into The Country Under The Auspices Of The Great Fur Companies, 
   They Adopted a More Concise Name; They Called the River "Le Purgatoire." 
   Then Came The Great American Bull-Whacker.  Utterly Unable To Twist 
   His Tongue Into Any Such Frenchified expression, He Called the Stream 
   With Its Sad Story "Picketwire," And By That Name It Is Known To All 
   Frontiersmen, Trappers, And The Settlers Along Its Banks. 
   
   
   
   Chapter XXIV (Footnotes) 
   [59] The Ranch Is Now In charge Of Mr. Harry Whigham, An English 
   Gentleman, Who Keeps Up The Old Hospitality Of The Famous Place. 
     
     
     
   [60] "River Of Souls."  The Stream Is Also Called le Purgatoire, 
   Corrupted by The Americans Into Picketwire. 
     
     
     
   [61] Pawnee Rock Is No Longer Conspicuous.  Its Material Has Been 
   Torn Away By Both The Railroad And The Settlers In the Vicinity, 
   To Build Foundations For Water-Tanks, In the One Instance, And For 
   The Construction Of Their Houses, Barns, And Sheds, In the Other. 
   Nothing Remains Of The Once Famous Landmark; Its Site Is Occupied 
   As A Cattle Corral By The Owner Of The Claim In which It Is Included. 
     
     
     
   [62] The Crossing Of The Old Santa Fe Trail At Pawnee Fork Is Now 
   Within The Corporate Limits Of The Pretty Little Town Of Larned, 
   The County-Seat Of Pawnee County.  The Tourist From His Car-Window 
   May Look Right Down Upon One Of The Worst Places For Indians That 
   There Was In those Days Of The Commerce Of The Prairies, As The Road 
   Crosses The Stream At The Exact Spot Where The Trail Crossed it. 
     
     
     
   [63] This Was A Favourite Expression Of His Whenever He Referred 
   To Any Trouble With The Indians. 
     
     
     
   [64] Indians Will Risk The Lives Of A Dozen Of Their Best Warriors 
   To Prevent The Body Of Any One Of Their Number From Falling Into 
   The White Man'S Possession.  The Reason For This Is The Belief, 
   Which Prevails Among All Tribes, That If A Warrior Loses His Scalp 
   He Forfeits His Hope Of Ever Reaching The Happy Hunting-Ground. 
     
     
     
   [65] It Was In this Fight That The Infamous Charles Bent Received 
   His Death-Wound. 
     
     
     
   [66] The Atchison, Topeka, And Santa Fe Railroad Track Runs Very 
   Close To The Mound, And There Is A Station Named for The Great Mesa. 
     
     
     
   [67] The Venerable Colonel A. S. Johnson, Of Topeka, Kansas, 
   The First White Child Born On The Great State'S Soil, Who Related 
   To Me This Adventure Of Hatcher'S, Knew Him Well.  He Says That He 
   Was A Small Man, Full Of Muscle, And As Fearless As Can Be Conceived. 
   
   
   
   Chapter XXIV (Footnotes) 
   [68] The Place Where They Turned is About A Hundred yards East Of 
   The Court House Square, In the Present Town Of Great Bend; It May 
   Be Seen From The Cars. 
     
     
     
   [69] See Sheridan'S _Memoirs_, Custer'S _Life On The Plains_, And 
   Buffalo Bill'S Book, In which All The Stirring Events Of That 
   Campaign--Nearly Every Fight Of Which Was North Or Far South Of The 
   Santa Fe Trail--Are Graphically Told. 
     
     
     
   [70] A Grandson Of Alexander Hamilton; Killed at The Battle Of The 
   Washita, In the Charge On Black Kettle'S Camp Under Custer. 
     
     
     
   [71] This Ends Custer'S Narrative.  The Following Fight, Which 
   Occurred a Few Days Afterward, At The Mouth Of Mulberry Creek, 
   Twelve Miles Below Fort Dodge, And Within A Stone'S Throw Of The 
   Old Trail, Was Related to Me Personally By Colonel Keogh, Who Was 
   Killed at The Rosebud, In custer'S Disastrous Battle With Sitting Bull. 
   We Were Both Attached to General Sully'S Staff. 
     
     
     
   [72] It Was In this Fight That Colonel Keogh'S Celebrated horse 
   Comanche Received his First Wound.  It Will Be Remembered that 
   Comanche And A Crow Indian Were The Only Survivors Of That Unequal 
   Contest In the Valley Of The Big Horn, Commonly Called the Battle 
   Of The Rosebud, Where Custer And His Command Was Massacred. 
     
     
     
   [73] Now Kendall, A Little Village In hamilton County, Kansas. 
     
     
     
   [74] Raton Is The Name Given By The Early Spaniards To This Range, 
   Meaning Both Mouse And Squirrel.  It Had Its Origin Either In the 
   Fact That One Of Its Several Peaks Bore A Fanciful Resemblance To 
   A Squirrel, Or Because Of The Immense Numbers Of That Little Rodent 
   Always To Be Found In its Pine Forests. 
     
     
     
   [75] In the Beautiful Language Of The Country'S Early Conquerors, 
   "Las Cumbres Espanolas," Or "Las Dos Hermanas" (The Two Sisters), 
   And In the Ute Tongue, "Wahtoya" (The Twins). 
   
   
   
   Chapter XXIV (Footnotes) 
   [76] The House Was Destroyed by Fire Two Or Three Years Ago. 
     
     
   
   
   Publication Date: August 13th 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-tj5a887cd663e35