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The Oregon Trail

by Francis Parkman, Jr.

August, 1997  [Etext #1015]


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This etext was prepared by Donald Lainson, Toronto, Canada.





THE OREGON TRAIL

by Francis Parkman, Jr.




CONTENTS


I  THE FRONTIER

II  BREAKING THE ICE

III  FORT LEAVENWORTH

IV  "JUMPING OFF"

V  "THE BIG BLUE"

VI  THE PLATTE AND THE DESERT

VII  THE BUFFALO

VIII  TAKING FRENCH LEAVE

IX  SCENES AT FORT LARAMIE

X  THE WAR PARTIES

XI  SCENES AT THE CAMP

XII  ILL LUCK

XIII  HUNTING INDIANS

XIV  THE OGALLALLA VILLAGR

XV  THE HUNTING CAMP

XVI  THE TRAPPERS

XVII  THE BLACK HILLS

XVIII  A MOUNTAIN HUNT

XIX  PASSAGE OF THE MOUNTAINS

XX  THE LONELY JOURNEY

XXI  THE PUEBLO AND BENT'S FORT

XXII  TETE ROUGE, THE VOLUNTEER

XXIII  INDIAN ALARMS

XXIV  THE CHASE

XXV  THE BUFFALO CAMP

XXVI  DOWN THE ARKANSAS

XXVII  THE SETTLEMENTS




CHAPTER I

THE FRONTIER


Last spring, 1846, was a busy season in the City of St. Louis.  Not 
only were emigrants from every part of the country preparing for the 
journey to Oregon and California, but an unusual number of traders 
were making ready their wagons and outfits for Santa Fe.  Many of the 
emigrants, especially of those bound for California, were persons of 
wealth and standing.  The hotels were crowded, and the gunsmiths and 
saddlers were kept constantly at work in providing arms and 
equipments for the different parties of travelers.  Almost every day 
steamboats were leaving the levee and passing up the Missouri, 
crowded with passengers on their way to the frontier.

In one of these, the Radnor, since snagged and lost, my friend and 
relative, Quincy A. Shaw, and myself, left St. Louis on the 28th of 
April, on a tour of curiosity and amusement to the Rocky Mountains.  
The boat was loaded until the water broke alternately over her 
guards.  Her upper deck was covered with large weapons of a peculiar 
form, for the Santa Fe trade, and her hold was crammed with goods for 
the same destination.  There were also the equipments and provisions 
of a party of Oregon emigrants, a band of mules and horses, piles of 
saddles and harness, and a multitude of nondescript articles, 
indispensable on the prairies.  Almost hidden in this medley one 
might have seen a small French cart, of the sort very appropriately 
called a "mule-killer" beyond the frontiers, and not far distant a 
tent, together with a miscellaneous assortment of boxes and barrels.  
The whole equipage was far from prepossessing in its appearance; yet, 
such as it was, it was destined to a long and arduous journey, on 
which the persevering reader will accompany it.

The passengers on board the Radnor corresponded with her freight.  In 
her cabin were Santa Fe traders, gamblers, speculators, and 
adventurers of various descriptions, and her steerage was crowded 
with Oregon emigrants, "mountain men," negroes, and a party of Kansas 
Indians, who had been on a visit to St. Louis.

Thus laden, the boat struggled upward for seven or eight days against 
the rapid current of the Missouri, grating upon snags, and hanging 
for two or three hours at a time upon sand-bars.  We entered the 
mouth of the Missouri in a drizzling rain, but the weather soon 
became clear, and showed distinctly the broad and turbid river, with 
its eddies, its sand-bars, its ragged islands, and forest-covered 
shores.  The Missouri is constantly changing its course; wearing away 
its banks on one side, while it forms new ones on the other.  Its 
channel is shifting continually.  Islands are formed, and then washed 
away; and while the old forests on one side are undermined and swept 
off, a young growth springs up from the new soil upon the other.  
With all these changes, the water is so charged with mud and sand 
that it is perfectly opaque, and in a few minutes deposits a sediment 
an inch thick in the bottom of a tumbler.  The river was now high; 
but when we descended in the autumn it was fallen very low, and all 
the secrets of its treacherous shallows were exposed to view.  It was 
frightful to see the dead and broken trees, thick-set as a military 
abatis, firmly imbedded in the sand, and all pointing down stream, 
ready to impale any unhappy steamboat that at high water should pass 
over that dangerous ground.

In five or six days we began to see signs of the great western 
movement that was then taking place.  Parties of emigrants, with 
their tents and wagons, would be encamped on open spots near the 
bank, on their way to the common rendezvous at Independence.  On a 
rainy day, near sunset, we reached the landing of this place, which 
is situated some miles from the river, on the extreme frontier of 
Missouri.  The scene was characteristic, for here were represented at 
one view the most remarkable features of this wild and enterprising 
region.  On the muddy shore stood some thirty or forty dark slavish-
looking Spaniards, gazing stupidly out from beneath their broad hats.  
They were attached to one of the Santa Fe companies, whose wagons 
were crowded together on the banks above.  In the midst of these, 
crouching over a smoldering fire, was a group of Indians, belonging 
to a remote Mexican tribe.  One or two French hunters from the 
mountains with their long hair and buckskin dresses, were looking at 
the boat; and seated on a log close at hand were three men, with 
rifles lying across their knees.  The foremost of these, a tall, 
strong figure, with a clear blue eye and an open, intelligent face, 
might very well represent that race of restless and intrepid pioneers 
whose axes and rifles have opened a path from the Alleghenies to the 
western prairies.  He was on his way to Oregon, probably a more 
congenial field to him than any that now remained on this side the 
great plains.

Early on the next morning we reached Kansas, about five hundred miles 
from the mouth of the Missouri.  Here we landed and leaving our 
equipments in charge of my good friend Colonel Chick, whose log-house 
was the substitute for a tavern, we set out in a wagon for Westport, 
where we hoped to procure mules and horses for the journey.

It was a remarkably fresh and beautiful May morning.  The rich and 
luxuriant woods through which the miserable road conducted us were 
lighted by the bright sunshine and enlivened by a multitude of birds.  
We overtook on the way our late fellow-travelers, the Kansas Indians, 
who, adorned with all their finery, were proceeding homeward at a 
round pace; and whatever they might have seemed on board the boat, 
they made a very striking and picturesque feature in the forest 
landscape.

Westport was full of Indians, whose little shaggy ponies were tied by 
dozens along the houses and fences.  Sacs and Foxes, with shaved 
heads and painted faces, Shawanoes and Delawares, fluttering in 
calico frocks, and turbans, Wyandottes dressed like white men, and a 
few wretched Kansas wrapped in old blankets, were strolling about the 
streets, or lounging in and out of the shops and houses.

As I stood at the door of the tavern, I saw a remarkable looking 
person coming up the street.  He had a ruddy face, garnished with the 
stumps of a bristly red beard and mustache; on one side of his head 
was a round cap with a knob at the top, such as Scottish laborers 
sometimes wear; his coat was of a nondescript form, and made of a 
gray Scotch plaid, with the fringes hanging all about it; he wore 
pantaloons of coarse homespun, and hob-nailed shoes; and to complete 
his equipment, a little black pipe was stuck in one corner of his 
mouth.  In this curious attire, I recognized Captain C. of the 
British army, who, with his brother, and Mr. R., an English 
gentleman, was bound on a hunting expedition across the continent.  I 
had seen the captain and his companions at St. Louis.  They had now 
been for some time at Westport, making preparations for their 
departure, and waiting for a re-enforcement, since they were too few 
in number to attempt it alone.  They might, it is true, have joined 
some of the parties of emigrants who were on the point of setting out 
for Oregon and California; but they professed great disinclination to 
have any connection with the "Kentucky fellows."

The captain now urged it upon us, that we should join forces and 
proceed to the mountains in company.  Feeling no greater partiality 
for the society of the emigrants than they did, we thought the 
arrangement an advantageous one, and consented to it.  Our future 
fellow-travelers had installed themselves in a little log-house, 
where we found them all surrounded by saddles, harness, guns, 
pistols, telescopes, knives, and in short their complete appointments 
for the prairie.  R., who professed a taste for natural history, sat 
at a table stuffing a woodpecker; the brother of the captain, who was 
an Irishman, was splicing a trail-rope on the floor, as he had been 
an amateur sailor.  The captain pointed out, with much complacency, 
the different articles of their outfit.  "You see," said he, "that we 
are all old travelers.  I am convinced that no party ever went upon 
the prairie better provided."  The hunter whom they had employed, a 
surly looking Canadian, named Sorel, and their muleteer, an American 
from St. Louis, were lounging about the building.  In a little log 
stable close at hand were their horses and mules, selected by the 
captain, who was an excellent judge.

The alliance entered into, we left them to complete their 
arrangements, while we pushed our own to all convenient speed.  The 
emigrants for whom our friends professed such contempt were encamped 
on the prairie about eight or ten miles distant, to the number of a 
thousand or more, and new parties were constantly passing out from 
Independence to join them.  They were in great confusion, holding 
meetings, passing resolutions, and drawing up regulations, but unable 
to unite in the choice of leaders to conduct them across the prairie.  
Being at leisure one day, I rode over to Independence.  The town was 
crowded.  A multitude of shops had sprung up to furnish the emigrants 
and Santa Fe traders with necessaries for their journey; and there 
was an incessant hammering and banging from a dozen blacksmiths' 
sheds, where the heavy wagons were being repaired, and the horses and 
oxen shod.  The streets were thronged with men, horses, and mules.  
While I was in the town, a train of emigrant wagons from Illinois 
passed through, to join the camp on the prairie, and stopped in the 
principal street.  A multitude of healthy children's faces were 
peeping out from under the covers of the wagons.  Here and there a 
buxom damsel was seated on horseback, holding over her sunburnt face 
an old umbrella or a parasol, once gaudy enough but now miserably 
faded.  The men, very sober-looking countrymen, stood about their 
oxen; and as I passed I noticed three old fellows, who, with their 
long whips in their hands, were zealously discussing the doctrine of 
regeneration.  The emigrants, however, are not all of this stamp.  
Among them are some of the vilest outcasts in the country.  I have 
often perplexed myself to divine the various motives that give 
impulse to this strange migration; but whatever they may be, whether 
an insane hope of a better condition in life, or a desire of shaking 
off restraints of law and society, or mere restlessness, certain it 
is that multitudes bitterly repent the journey, and after they have 
reached the land of promise are happy enough to escape from it.

In the course of seven or eight days we had brought our preparations 
near to a close.  Meanwhile our friends had completed theirs, and 
becoming tired of Westport, they told us that they would set out in 
advance and wait at the crossing of the Kansas till we should come 
up.  Accordingly R. and the muleteers went forward with the wagon and 
tent, while the captain and his brother, together with Sorel, and a 
trapper named Boisverd, who had joined them, followed with the band 
of horses.  The commencement of the journey was ominous, for the 
captain was scarcely a mile from Westport, riding along in state at 
the head of his party, leading his intended buffalo horse by a rope, 
when a tremendous thunderstorm came on, and drenched them all to the 
skin.  They hurried on to reach the place, about seven miles off, 
where R. was to have had the camp in readiness to receive them.  But 
this prudent person, when he saw the storm approaching, had selected 
a sheltered glade in the woods, where he pitched his tent, and was 
sipping a comfortable cup of coffee, while the captain galloped for 
miles beyond through the rain to look for him.  At length the storm 
cleared away, and the sharp-eyed trapper succeeded in discovering his 
tent: R. had by this time finished his coffee, and was seated on a 
buffalo robe smoking his pipe.  The captain was one of the most easy-
tempered men in existence, so he bore his ill-luck with great 
composure, shared the dregs of the coffee with his brother, and lay 
down to sleep in his wet clothes.

We ourselves had our share of the deluge.  We were leading a pair of 
mules to Kansas when the storm broke.  Such sharp and incessant 
flashes of lightning, such stunning and continuous thunder, I have 
never known before.  The woods were completely obscured by the 
diagonal sheets of rain that fell with a heavy roar, and rose in 
spray from the ground; and the streams rose so rapidly that we could 
hardly ford them.  At length, looming through the rain, we saw the 
log-house of Colonel Chick, who received us with his usual bland 
hospitality; while his wife, who, though a little soured and 
stiffened by too frequent attendance on camp-meetings, was not behind 
him in hospitable feeling, supplied us with the means of repairing 
our drenched and bedraggled condition.  The storm, clearing away at 
about sunset, opened a noble prospect from the porch of the colonel's 
house, which stands upon a high hill.  The sun streamed from the 
breaking clouds upon the swift and angry Missouri, and on the immense 
expanse of luxuriant forest that stretched from its banks back to the 
distant bluffs.

Returning on the next day to Westport, we received a message from the 
captain, who had ridden back to deliver it in person, but finding 
that we were in Kansas, had intrusted it with an acquaintance of his 
named Vogel, who kept a small grocery and liquor shop.  Whisky by the 
way circulates more freely in Westport than is altogether safe in a 
place where every man carries a loaded pistol in his pocket.  As we 
passed this establishment, we saw Vogel's broad German face and 
knavish-looking eyes thrust from his door.  He said he had something 
to tell us, and invited us to take a dram.  Neither his liquor nor 
his message was very palatable.  The captain had returned to give us 
notice that R., who assumed the direction of his party, had 
determined upon another route from that agreed upon between us; and 
instead of taking the course of the traders, to pass northward by 
Fort Leavenworth, and follow the path marked out by the dragoons in 
their expedition of last summer.  To adopt such a plan without 
consulting us, we looked upon as a very high-handed proceeding; but 
suppressing our dissatisfaction as well as we could, we made up our 
minds to join them at Fort Leavenworth, where they were to wait for 
us.

Accordingly, our preparation being now complete, we attempted one 
fine morning to commence our journey.  The first step was an 
unfortunate one.  No sooner were our animals put in harness, than the 
shaft mule reared and plunged, burst ropes and straps, and nearly 
flung the cart into the Missouri.  Finding her wholly uncontrollable, 
we exchanged her for another, with which we were furnished by our 
friend Mr. Boone of Westport, a grandson of Daniel Boone, the 
pioneer.  This foretaste of prairie experience was very soon followed 
by another.  Westport was scarcely out of sight, when we encountered 
a deep muddy gully, of a species that afterward became but too 
familiar to us; and here for the space of an hour or more the car 
stuck fast.



CHAPTER II

BREAKING THE ICE


Both Shaw and myself were tolerably inured to the vicissitudes of 
traveling.  We had experienced them under various forms, and a birch 
canoe was as familiar to us as a steamboat.  The restlessness, the 
love of wilds and hatred of cities, natural perhaps in early years to 
every unperverted son of Adam, was not our only motive for 
undertaking the present journey.  My companion hoped to shake off the 
effects of a disorder that had impaired a constitution originally 
hardy and robust; and I was anxious to pursue some inquiries relative 
to the character and usages of the remote Indian nations, being 
already familiar with many of the border tribes.

Emerging from the mud-hole where we last took leave of the reader, we 
pursued our way for some time along the narrow track, in the 
checkered sunshine and shadow of the woods, till at length, issuing 
forth into the broad light, we left behind us the farthest outskirts 
of that great forest, that once spread unbroken from the western 
plains to the shore of the Atlantic.  Looking over an intervening 
belt of shrubbery, we saw the green, oceanlike expanse of prairie, 
stretching swell over swell to the horizon.

It was a mild, calm spring day; a day when one is more disposed to 
musing and reverie than to action, and the softest part of his nature 
is apt to gain the ascendency.  I rode in advance of the party, as we 
passed through the shrubbery, and as a nook of green grass offered a 
strong temptation, I dismounted and lay down there.  All the trees 
and saplings were in flower, or budding into fresh leaf; the red 
clusters of the maple-blossoms and the rich flowers of the Indian 
apple were there in profusion; and I was half inclined to regret 
leaving behind the land of gardens for the rude and stern scenes of 
the prairie and the mountains.

Meanwhile the party came in sight from out of the bushes.  Foremost 
rode Henry Chatillon, our guide and hunter, a fine athletic figure, 
mounted on a hardy gray Wyandotte pony.  He wore a white blanket-
coat, a broad hat of felt, moccasins, and pantaloons of deerskin, 
ornamented along the seams with rows of long fringes.  His knife was 
stuck in his belt; his bullet-pouch and powder-horn hung at his side, 
and his rifle lay before him, resting against the high pommel of his 
saddle, which, like all his equipments, had seen hard service, and 
was much the worse for wear.  Shaw followed close, mounted on a 
little sorrel horse, and leading a larger animal by a rope.  His 
outfit, which resembled mine, had been provided with a view to use 
rather than ornament.  It consisted of a plain, black Spanish saddle, 
with holsters of heavy pistols, a blanket rolled up behind it, and 
the trail-rope attached to his horse's neck hanging coiled in front.  
He carried a double-barreled smooth-bore, while I boasted a rifle of 
some fifteen pounds' weight.  At that time our attire, though far 
from elegant, bore some marks of civilization, and offered a very 
favorable contrast to the inimitable shabbiness of our appearance on 
the return journey.  A red flannel shirt, belted around the waist 
like a frock, then constituted our upper garment; moccasins had 
supplanted our failing boots; and the remaining essential portion of 
our attire consisted of an extraordinary article, manufactured by a 
squaw out of smoked buckskin.  Our muleteer, Delorier, brought up the 
rear with his cart, waddling ankle-deep in the mud, alternately 
puffing at his pipe, and ejaculating in his prairie patois: 'Sacre 
enfant de garce!" as one of the mules would seem to recoil before 
some abyss of unusual profundity.  The cart was of the kind that one 
may see by scores around the market-place in Montreal, and had a 
white covering to protect the articles within.  These were our 
provisions and a tent, with ammunition, blankets, and presents for 
the Indians.

We were in all four men with eight animals; for besides the spare 
horses led by Shaw and myself, an additional mule was driven along 
with us as a reserve in case of accident.

After this summing up of our forces, it may not be amiss to glance at 
the characters of the two men who accompanied us.

Delorier was a Canadian, with all the characteristics of the true 
Jean Baptiste.  Neither fatigue, exposure, nor hard labor could ever 
impair his cheerfulness and gayety, or his obsequious politeness to 
his bourgeois; and when night came he would sit down by the fire, 
smoke his pipe, and tell stories with the utmost contentment.  In 
fact, the prairie was his congenial element.  Henry Chatillon was of 
a different stamp.  When we were at St. Louis, several gentlemen of 
the Fur Company had kindly offered to procure for us a hunter and 
guide suited for our purposes, and on coming one afternoon to the 
office, we found there a tall and exceedingly well-dressed man with a 
face so open and frank that it attracted our notice at once.  We were 
surprised at being told that it was he who wished to guide us to the 
mountains.  He was born in a little French town near St. Louis, and 
from the age of fifteen years had been constantly in the neighborhood 
of the Rocky Mountains, employed for the most part by the Company to 
supply their forts with buffalo meat.  As a hunter he had but one 
rival in the whole region, a man named Cimoneau, with whom, to the 
honor of both of them, he was on terms of the closest friendship.  He 
had arrived at St. Louis the day before, from the mountains, where he 
had remained for four years; and he now only asked to go and spend a 
day with his mother before setting out on another expedition.  His 
age was about thirty; he was six feet high, and very powerfully and 
gracefully molded.  The prairies had been his school; he could 
neither read nor write, but he had a natural refinement and delicacy 
of mind such as is rarely found, even in women.  His manly face was a 
perfect mirror of uprightness, simplicity, and kindness of heart; he 
had, moreover, a keen perception of character and a tact that would 
preserve him from flagrant error in any society.  Henry had not the 
restless energy of an Anglo-American.  He was content to take things 
as he found them; and his chief fault arose from an excess of easy 
generosity, impelling him to give away too profusely ever to thrive 
in the world.  Yet it was commonly remarked of him, that whatever he 
might choose to do with what belonged to himself, the property of 
others was always safe in his hands.  His bravery was as much 
celebrated in the mountains as his skill in hunting; but it is 
characteristic of him that in a country where the rifle is the chief 
arbiter between man and man, Henry was very seldom involved in 
quarrels.  Once or twice, indeed, his quiet good-nature had been 
mistaken and presumed upon, but the consequences of the error were so 
formidable that no one was ever known to repeat it.  No better 
evidence of the intrepidity of his temper could be wished than the 
common report that he had killed more than thirty grizzly bears.  He 
was a proof of what unaided nature will sometimes do.  I have never, 
in the city or in the wilderness, met a better man than my noble and 
true-hearted friend, Henry Chatillon.

We were soon free of the woods and bushes, and fairly upon the broad 
prairie.  Now and then a Shawanoe passed us, riding his little shaggy 
pony at a "lope"; his calico shirt, his gaudy sash, and the gay 
handkerchief bound around his snaky hair fluttering in the wind.  At 
noon we stopped to rest not far from a little creek replete with 
frogs and young turtles.  There had been an Indian encampment at the 
place, and the framework of their lodges still remained, enabling us 
very easily to gain a shelter from the sun, by merely spreading one 
or two blankets over them.  Thus shaded, we sat upon our saddles, and 
Shaw for the first time lighted his favorite Indian pipe; while 
Delorier was squatted over a hot bed of coals, shading his eyes with 
one hand, and holding a little stick in the other, with which he 
regulated the hissing contents of the frying-pan.  The horses were 
turned to feed among the scattered bushes of a low oozy meadow.  A 
drowzy springlike sultriness pervaded the air, and the voices of ten 
thousand young frogs and insects, just awakened into life, rose in 
varied chorus from the creek and the meadows.

Scarcely were we seated when a visitor approached.  This was an old 
Kansas Indian; a man of distinction, if one might judge from his 
dress.  His head was shaved and painted red, and from the tuft of 
hair remaining on the crown dangled several eagles' feathers, and the 
tails of two or three rattlesnakes.  His cheeks, too, were daubed 
with vermilion; his ears were adorned with green glass pendants; a 
collar of grizzly bears' claws surrounded his neck, and several large 
necklaces of wampum hung on his breast.  Having shaken us by the hand 
with a cordial grunt of salutation, the old man, dropping his red 
blanket from his shoulders, sat down cross-legged on the ground.  In 
the absence of liquor we offered him a cup of sweetened water, at 
which he ejaculated "Good!" and was beginning to tell us how great a 
man he was, and how many Pawnees he had killed, when suddenly a 
motley concourse appeared wading across the creek toward us.  They 
filed past in rapid succession, men, women, and children; some were 
on horseback, some on foot, but all were alike squalid and wretched.  
Old squaws, mounted astride of shaggy, meager little ponies, with 
perhaps one or two snake-eyed children seated behind them, clinging 
to their tattered blankets; tall lank young men on foot, with bows 
and arrows in their hands; and girls whose native ugliness not all 
the charms of glass beads and scarlet cloth could disguise, made up 
the procession; although here and there was a man who, like our 
visitor, seemed to hold some rank in this respectable community.  
They were the dregs of the Kansas nation, who, while their betters 
were gone to hunt buffalo, had left the village on a begging 
expedition to Westport.

When this ragamuffin horde had passed, we caught our horses, saddled, 
harnessed, and resumed our journey.  Fording the creek, the low roofs 
of a number of rude buildings appeared, rising from a cluster of 
groves and woods on the left; and riding up through a long lane, amid 
a profusion of wild roses and early spring flowers, we found the log-
church and school-houses belonging to the Methodist Shawanoe Mission.  
The Indians were on the point of gathering to a religious meeting.  
Some scores of them, tall men in half-civilized dress, were seated on 
wooden benches under the trees; while their horses were tied to the 
sheds and fences.  Their chief, Parks, a remarkably large and 
athletic man, was just arrived from Westport, where he owns a trading 
establishment.  Beside this, he has a fine farm and a considerable 
number of slaves.  Indeed the Shawanoes have made greater progress in 
agriculture than any other tribe on the Missouri frontier; and both 
in appearance and in character form a marked contrast to our late 
acquaintance, the Kansas.

A few hours' ride brought us to the banks of the river Kansas.  
Traversing the woods that lined it, and plowing through the deep 
sand, we encamped not far from the bank, at the Lower Delaware 
crossing.  Our tent was erected for the first time on a meadow close 
to the woods, and the camp preparations being complete we began to 
think of supper.  An old Delaware woman, of some three hundred 
pounds' weight, sat in the porch of a little log-house close to the 
water, and a very pretty half-breed girl was engaged, under her 
superintendence, in feeding a large flock of turkeys that were 
fluttering and gobbling about the door.  But no offers of money, or 
even of tobacco, could induce her to part with one of her favorites; 
so I took my rifle, to see if the woods or the river could furnish us 
anything.  A multitude of quails were plaintively whistling in the 
woods and meadows; but nothing appropriate to the rifle was to be 
seen, except three buzzards, seated on the spectral limbs of an old 
dead sycamore, that thrust itself out over the river from the dense 
sunny wall of fresh foliage.  Their ugly heads were drawn down 
between their shoulders, and they seemed to luxuriate in the soft 
sunshine that was pouring from the west.  As they offered no 
epicurean temptations, I refrained from disturbing their enjoyment; 
but contented myself with admiring the calm beauty of the sunset, for 
the river, eddying swiftly in deep purple shadows between the 
impending woods, formed a wild but tranquillizing scene.

When I returned to the camp I found Shaw and an old Indian seated on 
the ground in close conference, passing the pipe between them.  The 
old man was explaining that he loved the whites, and had an especial 
partiality for tobacco.  Delorier was arranging upon the ground our 
service of tin cups and plates; and as other viands were not to be 
had, he set before us a repast of biscuit and bacon, and a large pot 
of coffee.  Unsheathing our knives, we attacked it, disposed of the 
greater part, and tossed the residue to the Indian.  Meanwhile our 
horses, now hobbled for the first time, stood among the trees, with 
their fore-legs tied together, in great disgust and astonishment.  
They seemed by no means to relish this foretaste of what was before 
them.  Mine, in particular, had conceived a moral aversion to the 
prairie life.  One of them, christened Hendrick, an animal whose 
strength and hardihood were his only merits, and who yielded to 
nothing but the cogent arguments of the whip, looked toward us with 
an indignant countenance, as if he meditated avenging his wrongs with 
a kick.  The other, Pontiac, a good horse, though of plebeian 
lineage, stood with his head drooping and his mane hanging about his 
eyes, with the grieved and sulky air of a lubberly boy sent off to 
school.  Poor Pontiac! his forebodings were but too just; for when I 
last heard from him, he was under the lash of an Ogallalla brave, on 
a war party against the Crows.

As it grew dark, and the voices of the whip-poor-wills succeeded the 
whistle of the quails, we removed our saddles to the tent, to serve 
as pillows, spread our blankets upon the ground, and prepared to 
bivouac for the first time that season.  Each man selected the place 
in the tent which he was to occupy for the journey.  To Delorier, 
however, was assigned the cart, into which he could creep in wet 
weather, and find a much better shelter than his bourgeois enjoyed in 
the tent.

The river Kansas at this point forms the boundary line between the 
country of the Shawanoes and that of the Delawares.  We crossed it on 
the following day, rafting over our horses and equipage with much 
difficulty, and unloading our cart in order to make our way up the 
steep ascent on the farther bank.  It was a Sunday moming; warm, 
tranquil and bright; and a perfect stillness reigned over the rough 
inclosures and neglected fields of the Delawares, except the 
ceaseless hum and chirruping of myriads of insects.  Now and then, an 
Indian rode past on his way to the meeting-house, or through the 
dilapidated entrance of some shattered log-house an old woman might 
be discerned, enjoying all the luxury of idleness.  There was no 
village bell, for the Delawares have none; and yet upon that forlorn 
and rude settlement was the same spirit of Sabbath repose and 
tranquillity as in some little New England village among the 
mountains of New Hampshire or the Vermont woods.

Having at present no leisure for such reflections, we pursued our 
journey.  A military road led from this point to Fort Leavenworth, 
and for many miles the farms and cabins of the Delawares were 
scattered at short intervals on either hand.  The little rude 
structures of logs, erected usually on the borders of a tract of 
woods, made a picturesque feature in the landscape.  But the scenery 
needed no foreign aid.  Nature had done enough for it; and the 
alteration of rich green prairies and groves that stood in clusters 
or lined the banks of the numerous little streams, had all the 
softened and polished beauty of a region that has been for centuries 
under the hand of man.  At that early season, too, it was in the 
height of its freshness and luxuriance.  The woods were flushed with 
the red buds of the maple; there were frequent flowering shrubs 
unknown in the east; and the green swells of the prairies were 
thickly studded with blossoms.

Encamping near a spring by the side of a hill, we resumed our journey 
in the morning, and early in the afternoon had arrived within a few 
miles of Fort Leavenworth.  The road crossed a stream densely 
bordered with trees, and running in the bottom of a deep woody 
hollow.  We were about to descend into it, when a wild and confused 
procession appeared, passing through the water below, and coming up 
the steep ascent toward us.  We stopped to let them pass.  They were 
Delawares, just returned from a hunting expedition.  All, both men 
and women, were mounted on horseback, and drove along with them a 
considerable number of pack mules, laden with the furs they had 
taken, together with the buffalo robes, kettles, and other articles 
of their traveling equipment, which as well as their clothing and 
their weapons, had a worn and dingy aspect, as if they had seen hard 
service of late.  At the rear of the party was an old man, who, as he 
came up, stopped his horse to speak to us.  He rode a little tough 
shaggy pony, with mane and tail well knotted with burrs, and a rusty 
Spanish bit in its mouth, to which, by way of reins, was attached a 
string of raw hide.  His saddle, robbed probably from a Mexican, had 
no covering, being merely a tree of the Spanish form, with a piece of 
grizzly bear's skin laid over it, a pair of rude wooden stirrups 
attached, and in the absence of girth, a thong of hide passing around 
the horse's belly.  The rider's dark features and keen snaky eyes 
were unequivocally Indian.  He wore a buckskin frock, which, like his 
fringed leggings, was well polished and blackened by grease and long 
service; and an old handkerchief was tied around his head.  Resting 
on the saddle before him lay his rifle; a weapon in the use of which 
the Delawares are skillful; though from its weight, the distant 
prairie Indians are too lazy to carry it.

"Who's your chief?" he immediately inquired.

Henry Chatillon pointed to us.  The old Delaware fixed his eyes 
intently upon us for a moment, and then sententiously remarked:

"No good!  Too young!"  With this flattering comment he left us, and 
rode after his people.

This tribe, the Delawares, once the peaceful allies of William Penn, 
the tributaries of the conquering Iroquois, are now the most 
adventurous and dreaded warriors upon the prairies.  They make war 
upon remote tribes the very names of which were unknown to their 
fathers in their ancient seats in Pennsylvania; and they push these 
new quarrels with true Indian rancor, sending out their little war 
parties as far as the Rocky Mountains, and into the Mexican 
territories.  Their neighbors and former confederates, the Shawanoes, 
who are tolerable farmers, are in a prosperous condition; but the 
Delawares dwindle every year, from the number of men lost in their 
warlike expeditions.

Soon after leaving this party, we saw, stretching on the right, the 
forests that follow the course of the Missouri, and the deep woody 
channel through which at this point it runs.  At a distance in front 
were the white barracks of Fort Leavenworth, just visible through the 
trees upon an eminence above a bend of the river.  A wide green 
meadow, as level as a lake, lay between us and the Missouri, and upon 
this, close to a line of trees that bordered a little brook, stood 
the tent of the captain and his companions, with their horses feeding 
around it, but they themselves were invisible.  Wright, their 
muleteer, was there, seated on the tongue of the wagon, repairing his 
harness.  Boisverd stood cleaning his rifle at the door of the tent, 
and Sorel lounged idly about.  On closer examination, however, we 
discovered the captain's brother, Jack, sitting in the tent, at his 
old occupation of splicing trail-ropes.  He welcomed us in his broad 
Irish brogue, and said that his brother was fishing in the river, and 
R. gone to the garrison.  They returned before sunset.  Meanwhile we 
erected our own tent not far off, and after supper a council was 
held, in which it was resolved to remain one day at Fort Leavenworth, 
and on the next to bid a final adieu to the frontier: or in the 
phraseology of the region, to "jump off."  Our deliberations were 
conducted by the ruddy light from a distant swell of the prairie, 
where the long dry grass of last summer was on fire.



CHAPTER III

FORT LEAVENWORTH


On the next morning we rode to Fort Leavenworth.  Colonel, now 
General, Kearny, to whom I had had the honor of an introduction when 
at St. Louis, was just arrived, and received us at his headquarters 
with the high-bred courtesy habitual to him.  Fort Leavenworth is in 
fact no fort, being without defensive works, except two block-houses.  
No rumors of war had as yet disturbed its tranquillity.  In the 
square grassy area, surrounded by barracks and the quarters of the 
officers, the men were passing and repassing, or lounging among the 
trees; although not many weeks afterward it presented a different 
scene; for here the very off-scourings of the frontier were 
congregated, to be marshaled for the expedition against Santa Fe.

Passing through the garrison, we rode toward the Kickapoo village, 
five or six miles beyond.  The path, a rather dubious and uncertain 
one, led us along the ridge of high bluffs that bordered the 
Missouri; and by looking to the right or to the left, we could enjoy 
a strange contrast of opposite scenery.  On the left stretched the 
prairie, rising into swells and undulations, thickly sprinkled with 
groves, or gracefully expanding into wide grassy basins of miles in 
extent; while its curvatures, swelling against the horizon, were 
often surmounted by lines of sunny woods; a scene to which the 
freshness of the season and the peculiar mellowness of the atmosphere 
gave additional softness.  Below us, on the right, was a tract of 
ragged and broken woods.  We could look down on the summits of the 
trees, some living and some dead; some erect, others leaning at every 
angle, and others still piled in masses together by the passage of a 
hurricane.  Beyond their extreme verge, the turbid waters of the 
Missouri were discernible through the boughs, rolling powerfully 
along at the foot of the woody declivities of its farther bank.

The path soon after led inland; and as we crossed an open meadow we 
saw a cluster of buildings on a rising ground before us, with a crowd 
of people surrounding them.  They were the storehouse, cottage, and 
stables of the Kickapoo trader's establishment.  Just at that moment, 
as it chanced, he was beset with half the Indians of the settlement.  
They had tied their wretched, neglected little ponies by dozens along 
the fences and outhouses, and were either lounging about the place, 
or crowding into the trading house.  Here were faces of various 
colors; red, green, white, and black, curiously intermingled and 
disposed over the visage in a variety of patterns.  Calico shirts, 
red and blue blankets, brass ear-rings, wampum necklaces, appeared in 
profusion.  The trader was a blue-eyed open-faced man who neither in 
his manners nor his appearance betrayed any of the roughness of the 
frontier; though just at present he was obliged to keep a lynx eye on 
his suspicious customers, who, men and women, were climbing on his 
counter and seating themselves among his boxes and bales.

The village itself was not far off, and sufficiently illustrated the 
condition of its unfortunate and self-abandoned occupants.  Fancy to 
yourself a little swift stream, working its devious way down a woody 
valley; sometimes wholly hidden under logs and fallen trees, 
sometimes issuing forth and spreading into a broad, clear pool; and 
on its banks in little nooks cleared away among the trees, miniature 
log-houses in utter ruin and neglect.  A labyrinth of narrow, 
obstructed paths connected these habitations one with another.  
Sometimes we met a stray calf, a pig or a pony, belonging to some of 
the villagers, who usually lay in the sun in front of their 
dwellings, and looked on us with cold, suspicious eyes as we 
approached.  Farther on, in place of the log-huts of the Kickapoos, 
we found the pukwi lodges of their neighbors, the Pottawattamies, 
whose condition seemed no better than theirs.

Growing tired at last, and exhausted by the excessive heat and 
sultriness of the day, we returned to our friend, the trader.  By 
this time the crowd around him had dispersed, and left him at 
leisure.  He invited us to his cottage, a little white-and-green 
building, in the style of the old French settlements; and ushered us 
into a neat, well-furnished room.  The blinds were closed, and the 
heat and glare of the sun excluded; the room was as cool as a cavern.  
It was neatly carpeted too and furnished in a manner that we hardly 
expected on the frontier.  The sofas, chairs, tables, and a well-
filled bookcase would not have disgraced an Eastern city; though 
there were one or two little tokens that indicated the rather 
questionable civilization of the region.  A pistol, loaded and 
capped, lay on the mantelpiece; and through the glass of the 
bookcase, peeping above the works of John Milton glittered the handle 
of a very mischievous-looking knife.

Our host went out, and returned with iced water, glasses, and a 
bottle of excellent claret; a refreshment most welcome in the extreme 
heat of the day; and soon after appeared a merry, laughing woman, who 
must have been, a year of two before, a very rich and luxuriant 
specimen of Creole beauty.  She came to say that lunch was ready in 
the next room.  Our hostess evidently lived on the sunny side of 
life, and troubled herself with none of its cares.  She sat down and 
entertained us while we were at table with anecdotes of fishing 
parties, frolics, and the officers at the fort.  Taking leave at 
length of the hospitable trader and his friend, we rode back to the 
garrison.

Shaw passed on to the camp, while I remained to call upon Colonel 
Kearny.  I found him still at table.  There sat our friend the 
captain, in the same remarkable habiliments in which we saw him at 
Westport; the black pipe, however, being for the present laid aside.  
He dangled his little cap in his hand and talked of steeple-chases, 
touching occasionally upon his anticipated exploits in buffalo-
hunting.  There, too, was R., somewhat more elegantly attired.  For 
the last time we tasted the luxuries of civilization, and drank 
adieus to it in wine good enough to make us almost regret the leave-
taking.  Then, mounting, we rode together to the camp, where 
everything was in readiness for departure on the morrow.



CHAPTER IV

"JUMPING OFF"


The reader need not be told that John Bull never leaves home without 
encumbering himself with the greatest possible load of luggage.  Our 
companions were no exception to the rule.  They had a wagon drawn by 
six mules and crammed with provisions for six months, besides 
ammunition enough for a regiment; spare rifles and fowling-pieces, 
ropes and harness; personal baggage, and a miscellaneous assortment 
of articles, which produced infinite embarrassment on the journey.  
They had also decorated their persons with telescopes and portable 
compasses, and carried English double-barreled rifles of sixteen to 
the pound caliber, slung to their saddles in dragoon fashion.

By sunrise on the 23d of May we had breakfasted; the tents were 
leveled, the animals saddled and harnessed, and all was prepared.  
"Avance donc! get up!" cried Delorier from his seat in front of the 
cart.  Wright, our friend's muleteer, after some swearing and 
lashing, got his insubordinate train in motion, and then the whole 
party filed from the ground.  Thus we bade a long adieu to bed and 
board, and the principles of Blackstone's Commentaries.  The day was 
a most auspicious one; and yet Shaw and I felt certain misgivings, 
which in the sequel proved but too well founded.  We had just learned 
that though R. had taken it upon him to adopt this course without 
consulting us, not a single man in the party was acquainted with it; 
and the absurdity of our friend's high-handed measure very soon 
became manifest.  His plan was to strike the trail of several 
companies of dragoons, who last summer had made an expedition under 
Colonel Kearny to Fort Laramie, and by this means to reach the grand 
trail of the Oregon emigrants up the Platte.

We rode for an hour or two when a familiar cluster of buildings 
appeared on a little hill.  "Hallo!" shouted the Kickapoo trader from 
over his fence.  "Where are you going?"  A few rather emphatic 
exclamations might have been heard among us, when we found that we 
had gone miles out of our way, and were not advanced an inch toward 
the Rocky Mountains.  So we turned in the direction the trader 
indicated, and with the sun for a guide, began to trace a "bee line" 
across the prairies.  We struggled through copses and lines of wood; 
we waded brooks and pools of water; we traversed prairies as green as 
an emerald, expanding before us for mile after mile; wider and more 
wild than the wastes Mazeppa rode over:


    "Man nor brute,
     Nor dint of hoof, nor print of foot,
     Lay in the wild luxuriant soil;
     No sign of travel; none of toil;
     The very air was mute."


Riding in advance, we passed over one of these great plains; we 
looked back and saw the line of scattered horsemen stretching for a 
mile or more; and far in the rear against the horizon, the white 
wagons creeping slowly along.  "Here we are at last!" shouted the 
captain.  And in truth we had struck upon the traces of a large body 
of horse.  We turned joyfully and followed this new course, with 
tempers somewhat improved; and toward sunset encamped on a high swell 
of the prairie, at the foot of which a lazy stream soaked along 
through clumps of rank grass.  It was getting dark.  We turned the 
horses loose to feed.  "Drive down the tent-pickets hard," said Henry 
Chatillon, "it is going to blow."  We did so, and secured the tent as 
well as we could; for the sky had changed totally, and a fresh damp 
smell in the wind warned us that a stormy night was likely to succeed 
the hot clear day.  The prairie also wore a new aspect, and its vast 
swells had grown black and somber under the shadow of the clouds.  
The thunder soon began to growl at a distance.  Picketing and 
hobbling the horses among the rich grass at the foot of the slope, 
where we encamped, we gained a shelter just as the rain began to 
fall; and sat at the opening of the tent, watching the proceedings of 
the captain.  In defiance of the rain he was stalking among the 
horses, wrapped in an old Scotch plaid.  An extreme solicitude 
tormented him, lest some of his favorites should escape, or some 
accident should befall them; and he cast an anxious eye toward three 
wolves who were sneaking along over the dreary surface of the plain, 
as if he dreaded some hostile demonstration on their part.

On the next morning we had gone but a mile or two, when we came to an 
extensive belt of woods, through the midst of which ran a stream, 
wide, deep, and of an appearance particularly muddy and treacherous.  
Delorier was in advance with his cart; he jerked his pipe from his 
mouth, lashed his mules, and poured forth a volley of Canadian 
ejaculations.  In plunged the cart, but midway it stuck fast.  
Delorier leaped out knee-deep in water, and by dint of sacres and a 
vigorous application of the whip, he urged the mules out of the 
slough.  Then approached the long team and heavy wagon of our 
friends; but it paused on the brink.

"Now my advice is--" began the captain, who had been anxiously 
contemplating the muddy gulf.

"Drive on!" cried R.

But Wright, the muleteer, apparently had not as yet decided the point 
in his own mind; and he sat still in his seat on one of the shaft-
mules, whistling in a low contemplative strain to himself.

"My advice is," resumed the captain, "that we unload; for I'll bet 
any man five pounds that if we try to go through, we shall stick 
fast."

"By the powers, we shall stick fast!" echoed Jack, the captain's 
brother, shaking his large head with an air of firm conviction.

"Drive on! drive on!" cried R. petulantly.

"Well," observed the captain, turning to us as we sat looking on, 
much edified by this by-play among our confederates, "I can only give 
my advice and if people won't be reasonable, why, they won't; that's 
all!"

Meanwhile Wright had apparently made up his mind; for he suddenly 
began to shout forth a volley of oaths and curses, that, compared 
with the French imprecations of Delorier, sounded like the roaring of 
heavy cannon after the popping and sputtering of a bunch of Chinese 
crackers.  At the same time he discharged a shower of blows upon his 
mules, who hastily dived into the mud and drew the wagon lumbering 
after them.  For a moment the issue was dubious.  Wright writhed 
about in his saddle, and swore and lashed like a madman; but who can 
count on a team of half-broken mules?  At the most critical point, 
when all should have been harmony and combined effort, the perverse 
brutes fell into lamentable disorder, and huddled together in 
confusion on the farther bank.  There was the wagon up to the hub in 
mud, and visibly settling every instant.  There was nothing for it 
but to unload; then to dig away the mud from before the wheels with a 
spade, and lay a causeway of bushes and branches.  This agreeable 
labor accomplished, the wagon at last emerged; but if I mention that 
some interruption of this sort occurred at least four or five times a 
day for a fortnight, the reader will understand that our progress 
toward the Platte was not without its obstacles.

We traveled six or seven miles farther, and "nooned" near a brook.  
On the point of resuming our journey, when the horses were all driven 
down to water, my homesick charger, Pontiac, made a sudden leap 
across, and set off at a round trot for the settlements.  I mounted 
my remaining horse, and started in pursuit.  Making a circuit, I 
headed the runaway, hoping to drive him back to camp; but he 
instantly broke into a gallop, made a wide tour on the prairie, and 
got past me again.  I tried this plan repeatedly, with the same 
result; Pontiac was evidently disgusted with the prairie; so I 
abandoned it, and tried another, trotting along gently behind him, in 
hopes that I might quietly get near enough to seize the trail-rope 
which was fastened to his neck, and dragged about a dozen feet behind 
him.  The chase grew interesting.  For mile after mile I followed the 
rascal, with the utmost care not to alarm him, and gradually got 
nearer, until at length old Hendrick's nose was fairly brushed by the 
whisking tail of the unsuspecting Pontiac.  Without drawing rein, I 
slid softly to the ground; but my long heavy rifle encumbered me, and 
the low sound it made in striking the horn of the saddle startled 
him; he pricked up his ears, and sprang off at a run.  "My friend," 
thought I, remounting, "do that again, and I will shoot you!"

Fort Leavenworth was about forty miles distant, and thither I 
determined to follow him.  I made up my mind to spend a solitary and 
supperless night, and then set out again in the morning.  One hope, 
however, remained.  The creek where the wagon had stuck was just 
before us; Pontiac might be thirsty with his run, and stop there to 
drink.  I kept as near to him as possible, taking every precaution 
not to alarm him again; and the result proved as I had hoped: for he 
walked deliberately among the trees, and stooped down to the water.  
I alighted, dragged old Hendrick through the mud, and with a feeling 
of infinite satisfaction picked up the slimy trail-rope and twisted 
it three times round my hand.  "Now let me see you get away again!" I 
thought, as I remounted.  But Pontiac was exceedingly reluctant to 
turn back; Hendrick, too, who had evidently flattered himself with 
vain hopes, showed the utmost repugnance, and grumbled in a manner 
peculiar to himself at being compelled to face about.  A smart cut of 
the whip restored his cheerfulness; and dragging the recovered truant 
behind, I set out in search of the camp.  An hour or two elapsed, 
when, near sunset, I saw the tents, standing on a rich swell of the 
prairie, beyond a line of woods, while the bands of horses were 
feeding in a low meadow close at hand.  There sat Jack C., cross-
legged, in the sun, splicing a trail-rope, and the rest were lying on 
the grass, smoking and telling stories.  That night we enjoyed a 
serenade from the wolves, more lively than any with which they had 
yet favored us; and in the morning one of the musicians appeared, not 
many rods from the tents, quietly seated among the horses, looking at 
us with a pair of large gray eyes; but perceiving a rifle leveled at 
him, he leaped up and made off in hot haste.

I pass by the following day or two of our journey, for nothing 
occurred worthy of record.  Should any one of my readers ever be 
impelled to visit the prairies, and should he choose the route of the 
Platte (the best, perhaps, that can be adopted), I can assure him 
that he need not think to enter at once upon the paradise of his 
imagination.  A dreary preliminary, protracted crossing of the 
threshold awaits him before he finds himself fairly upon the verge of 
the "great American desert," those barren wastes, the haunts of the 
buffalo and the Indian, where the very shadow of civilization lies a 
hundred leagues behind him.  The intervening country, the wide and 
fertile belt that extends for several hundred miles beyond the 
extreme frontier, will probably answer tolerably well to his 
preconceived ideas of the prairie; for this it is from which 
picturesque tourists, painters, poets, and novelists, who have seldom 
penetrated farther, have derived their conceptions of the whole 
region.  If he has a painter's eye, he may find his period of 
probation not wholly void of interest.  The scenery, though tame, is 
graceful and pleasing.  Here are level plains, too wide for the eye 
to measure green undulations, like motionless swells of the ocean; 
abundance of streams, followed through all their windings by lines of 
woods and scattered groves.  But let him be as enthusiastic as he 
may, he will find enough to damp his ardor.  His wagons will stick in 
the mud; his horses will break loose; harness will give way, and 
axle-trees prove unsound.  His bed will be a soft one, consisting 
often of black mud, of the richest consistency.  As for food, he must 
content himself with biscuit and salt provisions; for strange as it 
may seem, this tract of country produces very little game.  As he 
advances, indeed, he will see, moldering in the grass by his path, 
the vast antlers of the elk, and farther on, the whitened skulls of 
the buffalo, once swarming over this now deserted region.  Perhaps, 
like us, he may journey for a fortnight, and see not so much as the 
hoof-print of a deer; in the spring, not even a prairie hen is to be 
had.

Yet, to compensate him for this unlooked-for deficiency of game, he 
will find himself beset with "varmints" innumerable.  The wolves will 
entertain him with a concerto at night, and skulk around him by day, 
just beyond rifle shot; his horse will step into badger-holes; from 
every marsh and mud puddle will arise the bellowing, croaking, and 
trilling of legions of frogs, infinitely various in color, shape and 
dimensions.  A profusion of snakes will glide away from under his 
horse's feet, or quietly visit him in his tent at night; while the 
pertinacious humming of unnumbered mosquitoes will banish sleep from 
his eyelids.  When thirsty with a long ride in the scorching sun over 
some boundless reach of prairie, he comes at length to a pool of 
water, and alights to drink, he discovers a troop of young tadpoles 
sporting in the bottom of his cup.  Add to this, that all the morning 
the hot sun beats upon him with sultry, penetrating heat, and that, 
with provoking regularity, at about four o'clock in the afternoon, a 
thunderstorm rises and drenches him to the skin.  Such being the 
charms of this favored region, the reader will easily conceive the 
extent of our gratification at learning that for a week we had been 
journeying on the wrong track!  How this agreeable discovery was made 
I will presently explain.

One day, after a protracted morning's ride, we stopped to rest at 
noon upon the open prairie.  No trees were in sight; but close at 
hand, a little dribbling brook was twisting from side to side through 
a hollow; now forming holes of stagnant water, and now gliding over 
the mud in a scarcely perceptible current, among a growth of sickly 
bushes, and great clumps of tall rank grass.  The day was excessively 
hot and oppressive.  The horses and mules were rolling on the prairie 
to refresh themselves, or feeding among the bushes in the hollow.  We 
had dined; and Delorier, puffing at his pipe, knelt on the grass, 
scrubbing our service of tin plate.  Shaw lay in the shade, under the 
cart, to rest for a while, before the word should be given to "catch 
up."  Henry Chatillon, before lying down, was looking about for signs 
of snakes, the only living things that he feared, and uttering 
various ejaculations of disgust, at finding several suspicious-
looking holes close to the cart.  I sat leaning against the wheel in 
a scanty strip of shade, making a pair of hobbles to replace those 
which my contumacious steed Pontiac had broken the night before.  The 
camp of our friends, a rod or two distant, presented the same scene 
of lazy tranquillity.

"Hallo!" cried Henry, looking up from his inspection of the snake-
holes, "here comes the old captain!"

The captain approached, and stood for a moment contemplating us in 
silence.

"I say, Parkman," he began, "look at Shaw there, asleep under the 
cart, with the tar dripping off the hub of the wheel on his 
shoulder!"

At this Shaw got up, with his eyes half opened, and feeling the part 
indicated, he found his hand glued fast to his red flannel shirt.

"He'll look well when he gets among the squaws, won't he?" observed 
the captain, with a grin.

He then crawled under the cart, and began to tell stories of which 
his stock was inexhaustible.  Yet every moment he would glance 
nervously at the horses.  At last he jumped up in great excitement.  
"See that horse!  There--that fellow just walking over the hill!  By 
Jove; he's off.  It's your big horse, Shaw; no it isn't, it's Jack's!  
Jack!  Jack! hallo, Jack!"  Jack thus invoked, jumped up and stared 
vacantly at us.

"Go and catch your horse, if you don't want to lose him!" roared the 
captain.

Jack instantly set off at a run through the grass, his broad 
pantaloons flapping about his feet.  The captain gazed anxiously till 
he saw that the horse was caught; then he sat down, with a 
countenance of thoughtfulness and care.

"I tell you what it is," he said, "this will never do at all.  We 
shall lose every horse in the band someday or other, and then a 
pretty plight we should be in!  Now I am convinced that the only way 
for us is to have every man in the camp stand horse-guard in rotation 
whenever we stop.  Supposing a hundred Pawnees should jump up out of 
that ravine, all yelling and flapping their buffalo robes, in the way 
they do?  Why, in two minutes not a hoof would be in sight."  We 
reminded the captain that a hundred Pawnees would probably demolish 
the horse-guard, if he were to resist their depredations.

"At any rate," pursued the captain, evading the point, "our whole 
system is wrong; I'm convinced of it; it is totally unmilitary.  Why, 
the way we travel, strung out over the prairie for a mile, an enemy 
might attack the foremost men, and cut them off before the rest could 
come up."

"We are not in an enemy's country, yet," said Shaw; "when we are, 
we'll travel together."

"Then," said the captain, "we might be attacked in camp.  We've no 
sentinels; we camp in disorder; no precautions at all to guard 
against surprise.  My own convictions are that we ought to camp in a 
hollow square, with the fires in the center; and have sentinels, and 
a regular password appointed for every night.  Besides, there should 
be vedettes, riding in advance, to find a place for the camp and give 
warning of an enemy.  These are my convictions.  I don't want to 
dictate to any man.  I give advice to the best of my judgment, that's 
all; and then let people do as they please."

We intimated that perhaps it would be as well to postpone such 
burdensome precautions until there should be some actual need of 
them; but he shook his head dubiously.  The captain's sense of 
military propriety had been severely shocked by what he considered 
the irregular proceedings of the party; and this was not the first 
time he had expressed himself upon the subject.  But his convictions 
seldom produced any practical results.  In the present case, he 
contented himself, as usual, with enlarging on the importance of his 
suggestions, and wondering that they were not adopted.  But his plan 
of sending out vedettes seemed particularly dear to him; and as no 
one else was disposed to second his views on this point, he took it 
into his head to ride forward that afternoon, himself.

"Come, Parkman," said he, "will you go with me?"

We set out together, and rode a mile or two in advance.  The captain, 
in the course of twenty years' service in the British army, had seen 
something of life; one extensive side of it, at least, he had enjoyed 
the best opportunities for studying; and being naturally a pleasant 
fellow, he was a very entertaining companion.  He cracked jokes and 
told stories for an hour or two; until, looking back, we saw the 
prairie behind us stretching away to the horizon, without a horseman 
or a wagon in sight.

"Now," said the captain, "I think the vedettes had better stop till 
the main body comes up."

I was of the same opinion.  There was a thick growth of woods just 
before us, with a stream running through them.  Having crossed this, 
we found on the other side a fine level meadow, half encircled by the 
trees; and fastening our horses to some bushes, we sat down on the 
grass; while, with an old stump of a tree for a target, I began to 
display the superiority of the renowned rifle of the back woods over 
the foreign innovation borne by the captain.  At length voices could 
be heard in the distance behind the trees.

"There they come!" said the captain: "let's go and see how they get 
through the creek."

We mounted and rode to the bank of the stream, where the trail 
crossed it.  It ran in a deep hollow, full of trees; as we looked 
down, we saw a confused crowd of horsemen riding through the water; 
and among the dingy habiliment of our party glittered the uniforms of 
four dragoons.

Shaw came whipping his horse up the back, in advance of the rest, 
with a somewhat indignant countenance.  The first word he spoke was a 
blessing fervently invoked on the head of R., who was riding, with a 
crest-fallen air, in the rear.  Thanks to the ingenious devices of 
the gentleman, we had missed the track entirely, and wandered, not 
toward the Platte, but to the village of the Iowa Indians.  This we 
learned from the dragoons, who had lately deserted from Fort 
Leavenworth.  They told us that our best plan now was to keep to the 
northward until we should strike the trail formed by several parties 
of Oregon emigrants, who had that season set out from St. Joseph's in 
Missouri.

In extremely bad temper, we encamped on this ill-starred spot; while 
the deserters, whose case admitted of no delay rode rapidly forward.  
On the day following, striking the St. Joseph's trail, we turned our 
horses' heads toward Fort Laramie, then about seven hundred miles to 
the westward.



CHAPTER V

"THE BIG BLUE"


The great medley of Oregon and California emigrants, at their camps 
around Independence, had heard reports that several additional 
parties were on the point of setting out from St. Joseph's farther to 
the northward.  The prevailing impression was that these were 
Mormons, twenty-three hundred in number; and a great alarm was 
excited in consequence.  The people of Illinois and Missouri, who 
composed by far the greater part of the emigrants, have never been on 
the best terms with the "Latter Day Saints"; and it is notorious 
throughout the country how much blood has been spilt in their feuds, 
even far within the limits of the settlements.  No one could predict 
what would be the result, when large armed bodies of these fanatics 
should encounter the most impetuous and reckless of their old enemies 
on the broad prairie, far beyond the reach of law or military force.  
The women and children at Independence raised a great outcry; the men 
themselves were seriously alarmed; and, as I learned, they sent to 
Colonel Kearny, requesting an escort of dragoons as far as the 
Platte.  This was refused; and as the sequel proved, there was no 
occasion for it.  The St. Joseph's emigrants were as good Christians 
and as zealous Mormon-haters as the rest; and the very few families 
of the "Saints" who passed out this season by the route of the Platte 
remained behind until the great tide of emigration had gone by; 
standing in quite as much awe of the "gentiles" as the latter did of 
them.

We were now, as I before mentioned, upon this St. Joseph's trail.  It 
was evident, by the traces, that large parties were a few days in 
advance of us; and as we too supposed them to be Mormons, we had some 
apprehension of interruption.

The journey was somewhat monotonous.  One day we rode on for hours, 
without seeing a tree or a bush; before, behind, and on either side, 
stretched the vast expanse, rolling in a succession of graceful 
swells, covered with the unbroken carpet of fresh green grass.  Here 
and there a crow, or a raven, or a turkey-buzzard, relieved the 
uniformity.

"What shall we do to-night for wood and water?" we began to ask of 
each other; for the sun was within an hour of setting.  At length a 
dark green speck appeared, far off on the right; it was the top of a 
tree, peering over a swell of the prairie; and leaving the trail, we 
made all haste toward it.  It proved to be the vanguard of a cluster 
of bushes and low trees, that surrounded some pools of water in an 
extensive hollow; so we encamped on the rising ground near it.

Shaw and I were sitting in the tent, when Delorier thrust his brown 
face and old felt hat into the opening, and dilating his eyes to 
their utmost extent, announced supper.  There were the tin cups and 
the iron spoons, arranged in military order on the grass, and the 
coffee-pot predominant in the midst.  The meal was soon dispatched; 
but Henry Chatillon still sat cross-legged, dallying with the remnant 
of his coffee, the beverage in universal use upon the prairie, and an 
especial favorite with him.  He preferred it in its virgin flavor, 
unimpaired by sugar or cream; and on the present occasion it met his 
entire approval, being exceedingly strong, or, as he expressed it, 
"right black."

It was a rich and gorgeous sunset--an American sunset; and the ruddy 
glow of the sky was reflected from some extensive pools of water 
among the shadowy copses in the meadow below.

"I must have a bath to-night," said Shaw.  "How is it, Delorier?  Any 
chance for a swim down here?"

"Ah! I cannot tell; just as you please, monsieur," replied Delorier, 
shrugging his shoulders, perplexed by his ignorance of English, and 
extremely anxious to conform in all respects to the opinion and 
wishes of his bourgeois.

"Look at his moccasion," said I.  "It has evidently been lately 
immersed in a profound abyss of black mud."

"Come," said Shaw; "at any rate we can see for ourselves."

We set out together; and as we approached the bushes, which were at 
some distance, we found the ground becoming rather treacherous.  We 
could only get along by stepping upon large clumps of tall rank 
grass, with fathomless gulfs between, like innumerable little quaking 
islands in an ocean of mud, where a false step would have involved 
our boots in a catastrophe like that which had befallen Delorier's 
moccasins.  The thing looked desperate; we separated, so as to search 
in different directions, Shaw going off to the right, while I kept 
straight forward.  At last I came to the edge of the bushes: they 
were young waterwillows, covered with their caterpillar-like 
blossoms, but intervening between them and the last grass clump was a 
black and deep slough, over which, by a vigorous exertion, I 
contrived to jump.  Then I shouldered my way through the willows, 
tramping them down by main force, till I came to a wide stream of 
water, three inches deep, languidly creeping along over a bottom of 
sleek mud.  My arrival produced a great commotion.  A huge green 
bull-frog uttered an indignant croak, and jumped off the bank with a 
loud splash: his webbed feet twinkled above the surface, as he jerked 
them energetically upward, and I could see him ensconcing himself in 
the unresisting slime at the bottom, whence several large air bubbles 
struggled lazily to the top.  Some little spotted frogs instantly 
followed the patriarch's example; and then three turtles, not larger 
than a dollar, tumbled themselves off a broad "lily pad," where they 
had been reposing.  At the same time a snake, gayly striped with 
black and yellow, glided out from the bank, and writhed across to the 
other side; and a small stagnant pool into which my foot had 
inadvertently pushed a stone was instantly alive with a congregation 
of black tadpoles.

"Any chance for a bath, where you are?" called out Shaw, from a 
distance.

The answer was not encouraging.  I retreated through the willows, and 
rejoining my companion, we proceeded to push our researches in 
company.  Not far on the right, a rising ground, covered with trees 
and bushes, seemed to sink down abruptly to the water, and give hope 
of better success; so toward this we directed our steps.  When we 
reached the place we found it no easy matter to get along between the 
hill and the water, impeded as we were by a growth of stiff, 
obstinate young birch-trees, laced together by grapevines.  In the 
twilight, we now and then, to support ourselves, snatched at the 
touch-me-not stem of some ancient sweet-brier.  Shaw, who was in 
advance, suddenly uttered a somewhat emphatic monosyllable; and 
looking up I saw him with one hand grasping a sapling, and one foot 
immersed in the water, from which he had forgotten to withdraw it, 
his whole attention being engaged in contemplating the movements of a 
water-snake, about five feet long, curiously checkered with black and 
green, who was deliberately swimming across the pool.  There being no 
stick or stone at hand to pelt him with, we looked at him for a time 
in silent disgust; and then pushed forward.  Our perseverence was at 
last rewarded; for several rods farther on, we emerged upon a little 
level grassy nook among the brushwood, and by an extraordinary 
dispensation of fortune, the weeds and floating sticks, which 
elsewhere covered the pool, seemed to have drawn apart, and left a 
few yards of clear water just in front of this favored spot.  We 
sounded it with a stick; it was four feet deep; we lifted a specimen 
in our cupped hands; it seemed reasonably transparent, so we decided 
that the time for action was arrived.  But our ablutions were 
suddenly interrupted by ten thousand punctures, like poisoned 
needles, and the humming of myriads of over-grown mosquitoes, rising 
in all directions from their native mud and slime and swarming to the 
feast.  We were fain to beat a retreat with all possible speed.

We made toward the tents, much refreshed by the bath which the heat 
of the weather, joined to our prejudices, had rendered very 
desirable.

"What's the matter with the captain? look at him!" said Shaw.  The 
captain stood alone on the prairie, swinging his hat violently around 
his head, and lifting first one foot and then the other, without 
moving from the spot.  First he looked down to the ground with an air 
of supreme abhorrence; then he gazed upward with a perplexed and 
indignant countenance, as if trying to trace the flight of an unseen 
enemy.  We called to know what was the matter; but he replied only by 
execrations directed against some unknown object.  We approached, 
when our ears were saluted by a droning sound, as if twenty bee-hives 
had been overturned at once.  The air above was full of large black 
insects, in a state of great commotion, and multitudes were flying 
about just above the tops of the grass blades.

"Don't be afraid," called the captain, observing us recoil.  "The 
brutes won't sting."

At this I knocked one down with my hat, and discovered him to be no 
other than a "dorbug"; and looking closer, we found the ground 
thickly perforated with their holes.

We took a hasty leave of this flourishing colony, and walking up the 
rising ground to the tents, found Delorier's fire still glowing 
brightly.  We sat down around it, and Shaw began to expatiate on the 
admirable facilities for bathing that we had discovered, and 
recommended the captain by all means to go down there before 
breakfast in the morning.  The captain was in the act of remarking 
that he couldn't have believed it possible, when he suddenly 
interrupted himself, and clapped his hand to his cheek, exclaiming 
that "those infernal humbugs were at him again."  In fact, we began 
to hear sounds as if bullets were humming over our heads.  In a 
moment something rapped me sharply on the forehead, then upon the 
neck, and immediately I felt an indefinite number of sharp wiry claws 
in active motion, as if their owner were bent on pushing his 
explorations farther.  I seized him, and dropped him into the fire.  
Our party speedily broke up, and we adjourned to our respective 
tents, where, closing the opening fast, we hoped to be exempt from 
invasion.  But all precaution was fruitless.  The dorbugs hummed 
through the tent, and marched over our faces until day-light; when, 
opening our blankets, we found several dozen clinging there with the 
utmost tenacity.  The first object that met our eyes in the morning 
was Delorier, who seemed to be apostrophizing his frying-pan, which 
he held by the handle at arm's length.  It appeared that he had left 
it at night by the fire; and the bottom was now covered with dorbugs, 
firmly imbedded.  Multitudes beside, curiously parched and shriveled, 
lay scattered among the ashes.

The horses and mules were turned loose to feed.  We had just taken 
our seats at breakfast, or rather reclined in the classic mode, when 
an exclamation from Henry Chatillon, and a shout of alarm from the 
captain, gave warning of some casualty, and looking up, we saw the 
whole band of animals, twenty-three in number, filing off for the 
settlements, the incorrigible Pontiac at their head, jumping along 
with hobbled feet, at a gait much more rapid than graceful.  Three or 
four of us ran to cut them off, dashing as best we might through the 
tall grass, which was glittering with myriads of dewdrops.  After a 
race of a mile or more, Shaw caught a horse.  Tying the trail-rope by 
way of bridle round the animal's jaw, and leaping upon his back, he 
got in advance of the remaining fugitives, while we, soon bringing 
them together, drove them in a crowd up to the tents, where each man 
caught and saddled his own.  Then we heard lamentations and curses; 
for half the horses had broke their hobbles, and many were seriously 
galled by attempting to run in fetters.

It was late that morning before we were on the march; and early in 
the afternoon we were compelled to encamp, for a thunder-gust came up 
and suddenly enveloped us in whirling sheets of rain.  With much ado, 
we pitched our tents amid the tempest, and all night long the thunder 
bellowed and growled over our heads.  In the morning, light peaceful 
showers succeeded the cataracts of rain, that had been drenching us 
through the canvas of our tents.  About noon, when there were some 
treacherous indications of fair weather, we got in motion again.

Not a breath of air stirred over the free and open prairie; the 
clouds were like light piles of cotton; and where the blue sky was 
visible, it wore a hazy and languid aspect.  The sun beat down upon 
us with a sultry penetrating heat almost insupportable, and as our 
party crept slowly along over the interminable level, the horses hung 
their heads as they waded fetlock deep through the mud, and the men 
slouched into the easiest position upon the saddle.  At last, toward 
evening, the old familiar black heads of thunderclouds rose fast 
above the horizon, and the same deep muttering of distant thunder 
that had become the ordinary accompaniment of our afternoon's journey 
began to roll hoarsely over the prairie.  Only a few minutes elapsed 
before the whole sky was densely shrouded, and the prairie and some 
clusters of woods in front assumed a purple hue beneath the inky 
shadows.  Suddenly from the densest fold of the cloud the flash 
leaped out, quivering again and again down to the edge of the 
prairie; and at the same instant came the sharp burst and the long 
rolling peal of the thunder.  A cool wind, filled with the smell of 
rain, just then overtook us, leveling the tall grass by the side of 
the path.

"Come on; we must ride for it!" shouted Shaw, rushing past at full 
speed, his led horse snorting at his side.  The whole party broke 
into full gallop, and made for the trees in front.  Passing these, we 
found beyond them a meadow which they half inclosed.  We rode pell-
mell upon the ground, leaped from horseback, tore off our saddles; 
and in a moment each man was kneeling at his horse's feet.  The 
hobbles were adjusted, and the animals turned loose; then, as the 
wagons came wheeling rapidly to the spot, we seized upon the tent-
poles, and just as the storm broke, we were prepared to receive it.  
It came upon us almost with the darkness of night; the trees, which 
were close at hand, were completely shrouded by the roaring torrents 
of rain.

We were sitting in the tent, when Delorier, with his broad felt hat 
hanging about his ears, and his shoulders glistening with rain, 
thrust in his head.

"Voulez-vous du souper, tout de suite?  I can make a fire, sous la 
charette--I b'lieve so--I try."

"Never mind supper, man; come in out of the rain."

Delorier accordingly crouched in the entrance, for modesty would not 
permit him to intrude farther.

Our tent was none of the best defense against such a cataract.  The 
rain could not enter bodily, but it beat through the canvas in a fine 
drizzle, that wetted us just as effectively.  We sat upon our saddles 
with faces of the utmost surliness, while the water dropped from the 
vizors of our caps, and trickled down our cheeks.  My india-rubber 
cloak conducted twenty little rapid streamlets to the ground; and 
Shaw's blanket-coat was saturated like a sponge.  But what most 
concerned us was the sight of several puddles of water rapidly 
accumulating; one in particular, that was gathering around the tent-
pole, threatened to overspread the whole area within the tent, 
holding forth but an indifferent promise of a comfortable night's 
rest.  Toward sunset, however, the storm ceased as suddenly as it 
began.  A bright streak of clear red sky appeared above the western 
verge of the prairie, the horizontal rays of the sinking sun streamed 
through it and glittered in a thousand prismatic colors upon the 
dripping groves and the prostrate grass.  The pools in the tent 
dwindled and sunk into the saturated soil.

But all our hopes were delusive.  Scarcely had night set in, when the 
tumult broke forth anew.  The thunder here is not like the tame 
thunder of the Atlantic coast.  Bursting with a terrific crash 
directly above our heads, it roared over the boundless waste of 
prairie, seeming to roll around the whole circle of the firmament 
with a peculiar and awful reverberation.  The lightning flashed all 
night, playing with its livid glare upon the neighboring trees, 
revealing the vast expanse of the plain, and then leaving us shut in 
as by a palpable wall of darkness.

It did not disturb us much.  Now and then a peal awakened us, and 
made us conscious of the electric battle that was raging, and of the 
floods that dashed upon the stanch canvas over our heads.  We lay 
upon india-rubber cloths, placed between our blankets and the soil.  
For a while they excluded the water to admiration; but when at length 
it accumulated and began to run over the edges, they served equally 
well to retain it, so that toward the end of the night we were 
unconsciously reposing in small pools of rain.

On finally awaking in the morning the prospect was not a cheerful 
one.  The rain no longer poured in torrents; but it pattered with a 
quiet pertinacity upon the strained and saturated canvas.  We 
disengaged ourselves from our blankets, every fiber of which 
glistened with little beadlike drops of water, and looked out in vain 
hope of discovering some token of fair weather.  The clouds, in lead-
colored volumes, rested upon the dismal verge of the prairie, or hung 
sluggishly overhead, while the earth wore an aspect no more 
attractive than the heavens, exhibiting nothing but pools of water, 
grass beaten down, and mud well trampled by our mules and horses.  
Our companions' tent, with an air of forlorn and passive misery, and 
their wagons in like manner, drenched and woe-begone, stood not far 
off.  The captain was just returning from his morning's inspection of 
the horses.  He stalked through the mist and rain, with his plaid 
around his shoulders; his little pipe, dingy as an antiquarian relic, 
projecting from beneath his mustache, and his brother Jack at his 
heels.

"Good-morning, captain."

"Good-morning to your honors," said the captain, affecting the 
Hibernian accent; but at that instant, as he stooped to enter the 
tent, he tripped upon the cords at the entrance, and pitched forward 
against the guns which were strapped around the pole in the center.

"You are nice men, you are!" said he, after an ejaculation not 
necessary to be recorded, "to set a man-trap before your door every 
morning to catch your visitors."

Then he sat down upon Henry Chatillon's saddle.  We tossed a piece of 
buffalo robe to Jack, who was looking about in some embarrassment.  
He spread it on the ground, and took his seat, with a stolid 
countenance, at his brother's side.

"Exhilarating weather, captain!"

"Oh, delightful, delightful!" replied the captain.  "I knew it would 
be so; so much for starting yesterday at noon!  I knew how it would 
turn out; and I said so at the time."

"You said just the contrary to us.  We were in no hurry, and only 
moved because you insisted on it."

"Gentlemen," said the captain, taking his pipe from his mouth with an 
air of extreme gravity, "it was no plan of mine.  There is a man 
among us who is determined to have everything his own way.  You may 
express your opinion; but don't expect him to listen.  You may be as 
reasonable as you like: oh, it all goes for nothing!  That man is 
resolved to rule the roost and he'll set his face against any plan 
that he didn't think of himself."

The captain puffed for a while at his pipe, as if meditating upon his 
grievances; then he began again:

"For twenty years I have been in the British army; and in all that 
time I never had half so much dissension, and quarreling, and 
nonsense, as since I have been on this cursed prairie.  He's the most 
uncomfortable man I ever met."

"Yes," said Jack; "and don't you know, Bill, how he drank up all the 
coffee last night, and put the rest by for himself till the morning!"

"He pretends to know everything," resumed the captain; "nobody must 
give orders but he!  It's, oh! we must do this; and, oh! we must do 
that; and the tent must be pitched here, and the horses must be 
picketed there; for nobody knows as well as he does."

We were a little surprised at this disclosure of domestic dissensions 
among our allies, for though we knew of their existence, we were not 
aware of their extent.  The persecuted captain seeming wholly at a 
loss as to the course of conduct that he should pursue, we 
recommended him to adopt prompt and energetic measures; but all his 
military experience had failed to teach him the indispensable lesson 
to be "hard," when the emergency requires it.

"For twenty years," he repeated, "I have been in the British army, 
and in that time I have been intimately acquainted with some two 
hundred officers, young and old, and I never yet quarreled with any 
man.  Oh, 'anything for a quiet life!' that's my maxim."

We intimated that the prairie was hardly the place to enjoy a quiet 
life, but that, in the present circumstances, the best thing he could 
do toward securing his wished-for tranquillity, was immediately to 
put a period to the nuisance that disturbed it.  But again the 
captain's easy good-nature recoiled from the task.  The somewhat 
vigorous measures necessary to gain the desired result were utterly 
repugnant to him; he preferred to pocket his grievances, still 
retaining the privilege of grumbling about them.  "Oh, anything for a 
quiet life!" he said again, circling back to his favorite maxim.

But to glance at the previous history of our transatlantic 
confederates.  The captain had sold his commission, and was living in 
bachelor ease and dignity in his paternal halls, near Dublin.  He 
hunted, fished, rode steeple-chases, ran races, and talked of his 
former exploits.  He was surrounded with the trophies of his rod and 
gun; the walls were plentifully garnished, he told us, with moose-
horns and deer-horns, bear-skins, and fox-tails; for the captain's 
double-barreled rifle had seen service in Canada and Jamaica; he had 
killed salmon in Nova Scotia, and trout, by his own account, in all 
the streams of the three kingdoms.  But in an evil hour a seductive 
stranger came from London; no less a person than R., who, among other 
multitudinous wanderings, had once been upon the western prairies, 
and naturally enough was anxious to visit them again.  The captain's 
imagination was inflamed by the pictures of a hunter's paradise that 
his guest held forth; he conceived an ambition to add to his other 
trophies the horns of a buffalo, and the claws of a grizzly bear; so 
he and R. struck a league to travel in company.  Jack followed his 
brother, as a matter of course.  Two weeks on board the Atlantic 
steamer brought them to Boston; in two weeks more of hard traveling 
they reached St. Louis, from which a ride of six days carried them to 
the frontier; and here we found them, in full tide of preparation for 
their journey.

We had been throughout on terms of intimacy with the captain, but R., 
the motive power of our companions' branch of the expedition, was 
scarcely known to us.  His voice, indeed, might be heard incessantly; 
but at camp he remained chiefly within the tent, and on the road he 
either rode by himself, or else remained in close conversation with 
his friend Wright, the muleteer.  As the captain left the tent that 
morning, I observed R. standing by the fire, and having nothing else 
to do, I determined to ascertain, if possible, what manner of man he 
was.  He had a book under his arm, but just at present he was 
engrossed in actively superintending the operations of Sorel, the 
hunter, who was cooking some corn-bread over the coals for breakfast.  
R. was a well-formed and rather good-looking man, some thirty years 
old; considerably younger than the captain.  He wore a beard and 
mustache of the oakum complexion, and his attire was altogether more 
elegant than one ordinarily sees on the prairie.  He wore his cap on 
one side of his head; his checked shirt, open in front, was in very 
neat order, considering the circumstances, and his blue pantaloons, 
of the John Bull cut, might once have figured in Bond Street.

"Turn over that cake, man! turn it over, quick!  Don't you see it 
burning?"

"It ain't half done," growled Sorel, in the amiable tone of a whipped 
bull-dog.

"It is.  Turn it over, I tell you!"

Sorel, a strong, sullen-looking Canadian, who from having spent his 
life among the wildest and most remote of the Indian tribes, had 
imbibed much of their dark, vindictive spirit, looked ferociously up, 
as if he longed to leap upon his bourgeois and throttle him; but he 
obeyed the order, coming from so experienced an artist.

"It was a good idea of yours," said I, seating myself on the tongue 
of a wagon, "to bring Indian meal with you."

"Yes, yes" said R. "It's good bread for the prairie--good bread for 
the prairie.  I tell you that's burning again."

Here he stooped down, and unsheathing the silver-mounted hunting-
knife in his belt, began to perform the part of cook himself; at the 
same time requesting me to hold for a moment the book under his arm, 
which interfered with the exercise of these important functions.  I 
opened it; it was "Macaulay's Lays"; and I made some remark, 
expressing my admiration of the work.

"Yes, yes; a pretty good thing.  Macaulay can do better than that 
though.  I know him very well.  I have traveled with him.  Where was 
it we first met--at Damascus?  No, no; it was in Italy."

"So," said I, "you have been over the same ground with your 
countryman, the author of 'Eothen'?  There has been some discussion 
in America as to who he is.  I have heard Milne's name mentioned."

"Milne's?  Oh, no, no, no; not at all.  It was Kinglake; Kinglake's 
the man.  I know him very well; that is, I have seen him."

Here Jack C., who stood by, interposed a remark (a thing not common 
with him), observing that he thought the weather would become fair 
before twelve o'clock.

"It's going to rain all day," said R., "and clear up in the middle of 
the night."

Just then the clouds began to dissipate in a very unequivocal manner; 
but Jack, not caring to defend his point against so authoritative a 
declaration, walked away whistling, and we resumed our conversation.

"Borrow, the author of 'The Bible in Spain,' I presume you know him 
too?"

"Oh, certainly; I know all those men.  By the way, they told me that 
one of your American writers, Judge Story, had died lately.  I edited 
some of his works in London; not without faults, though."

Here followed an erudite commentary on certain points of law, in 
which he particularly animadverted on the errors into which he 
considered that the judge had been betrayed.  At length, having 
touched successively on an infinite variety of topics, I found that I 
had the happiness of discovering a man equally competent to enlighten 
me upon them all, equally an authority on matters of science or 
literature, philosphy or fashion.  The part I bore in the 
conversation was by no means a prominent one; it was only necessary 
to set him going, and when he had run long enough upon one topic, to 
divert him to another and lead him on to pour out his heaps of 
treasure in succession.

"What has that fellow been saying to you?" said Shaw, as I returned 
to the tent.  "I have heard nothing but his talking for the last 
half-hour."

R. had none of the peculiar traits of the ordinary "British snob"; 
his absurdities were all his own, belonging to no particular nation 
or clime.  He was possessed with an active devil that had driven him 
over land and sea, to no great purpose, as it seemed; for although he 
had the usual complement of eyes and ears, the avenues between these 
organs and his brain appeared remarkably narrow and untrodden.  His 
energy was much more conspicuous than his wisdom; but his predominant 
characteristic was a magnanimous ambition to exercise on all 
occasions an awful rule and supremacy, and this propensity equally 
displayed itself, as the reader will have observed, whether the 
matter in question was the baking of a hoe-cake or a point of 
international law.  When such diverse elements as he and the easy-
tempered captain came in contact, no wonder some commotion ensued; R. 
rode roughshod, from morning till night, over his military ally.

At noon the sky was clear and we set out, trailing through mud and 
slime six inches deep.  That night we were spared the customary 
infliction of the shower bath.

On the next afternoon we were moving slowly along, not far from a 
patch of woods which lay on the right.  Jack C. rode a little in 
advance;


     The livelong day he had not spoke;


when suddenly he faced about, pointed to the woods, and roared out to 
his brother:

"O Bill! here's a cow!"

The captain instantly galloped forward, and he and Jack made a vain 
attempt to capture the prize; but the cow, with a well-grounded 
distrust of their intentions, took refuge among the trees.  R. joined 
them, and they soon drove her out.  We watched their evolutions as 
they galloped around here, trying in vain to noose her with their 
trail-ropes, which they had converted into lariettes for the 
occasion.  At length they resorted to milder measures, and the cow 
was driven along with the party.  Soon after the usual thunderstorm 
came up, the wind blowing with such fury that the streams of rain 
flew almost horizontally along the prairie, roaring like a cataract.  
The horses turned tail to the storm, and stood hanging their heads, 
bearing the infliction with an air of meekness and resignation; while 
we drew our heads between our shoulders, and crouched forward, so as 
to make our backs serve as a pent-house for the rest of our persons.  
Meanwhile the cow, taking advantage of the tumult, ran off, to the 
great discomfiture of the captain, who seemed to consider her as his 
own especial prize, since she had been discovered by Jack.  In 
defiance of the storm, he pulled his cap tight over his brows, jerked 
a huge buffalo pistol from his holster, and set out at full speed 
after her.  This was the last we saw of them for some time, the mist 
and rain making an impenetrable veil; but at length we heard the 
captain's shout, and saw him looming through the tempest, the picture 
of a Hibernian cavalier, with his cocked pistol held aloft for 
safety's sake, and a countenance of anxiety and excitement.  The cow 
trotted before him, but exhibited evident signs of an intention to 
run off again, and the captain was roaring to us to head her.  But 
the rain had got in behind our coat collars, and was traveling over 
our necks in numerous little streamlets, and being afraid to move our 
heads, for fear of admitting more, we sat stiff and immovable, 
looking at the captain askance, and laughing at his frantic 
movements.  At last the cow made a sudden plunge and ran off; the 
captain grasped his pistol firmly, spurred his horse, and galloped 
after, with evident designs of mischief.  In a moment we heard the 
faint report, deadened by the rain, and then the conqueror and his 
victim reappeared, the latter shot through the body, and quite 
helpless.  Not long after the storm moderated and we advanced again.  
The cow walked painfully along under the charge of Jack, to whom the 
captain had committed her, while he himself rode forward in his old 
capacity of vedette.  We were approaching a long line of trees, that 
followed a stream stretching across our path, far in front, when we 
beheld the vedette galloping toward us, apparently much excited, but 
with a broad grin on his face.

"Let that cow drop behind!" he shouted to us; "here's her owners!"  
And in fact, as we approached the line of trees, a large white 
object, like a tent, was visible behind them.  On approaching, 
however, we found, instead of the expected Mormon camp, nothing but 
the lonely prairie, and a large white rock standing by the path.  The 
cow therefore resumed her place in our procession.  She walked on 
until we encamped, when R. firmly approaching with his enormous 
English double-barreled rifle, calmly and deliberately took aim at 
her heart, and discharged into it first one bullet and then the 
other.  She was then butchered on the most approved principles of 
woodcraft, and furnished a very welcome item to our somewhat limited 
bill of fare.

In a day or two more we reached the river called the "Big Blue."  By 
titles equally elegant, almost all the streams of this region are 
designated.  We had struggled through ditches and little brooks all 
that morning; but on traversing the dense woods that lined the banks 
of the Blue, we found more formidable difficulties awaited us, for 
the stream, swollen by the rains, was wide, deep, and rapid.

No sooner were we on the spot than R. had flung off his clothes, and 
was swimming across, or splashing through the shallows, with the end 
of a rope between his teeth.  We all looked on in admiration, 
wondering what might be the design of this energetic preparation; but 
soon we heard him shouting: "Give that rope a turn round that stump!  
You, Sorel: do you hear?  Look sharp now, Boisverd!  Come over to 
this side, some of you, and help me!"  The men to whom these orders 
were directed paid not the least attention to them, though they were 
poured out without pause or intermission.  Henry Chatillon directed 
the work, and it proceeded quietly and rapidly.  R.'s sharp brattling 
voice might have been heard incessantly; and he was leaping about 
with the utmost activity, multiplying himself, after the manner of 
great commanders, as if his universal presence and supervision were 
of the last necessity.  His commands were rather amusingly 
inconsistent; for when he saw that the men would not do as he told 
them, he wisely accommodated himself to circumstances, and with the 
utmost vehemence ordered them to do precisely that which they were at 
the time engaged upon, no doubt recollecting the story of Mahomet and 
the refractory mountain.  Shaw smiled significantly; R. observed it, 
and, approaching with a countenance of lofty indignation, began to 
vapor a little, but was instantly reduced to silence.

The raft was at length complete.  We piled our goods upon it, with 
the exception of our guns, which each man chose to retain in his own 
keeping.  Sorel, Boisverd, Wright and Delorier took their stations at 
the four corners, to hold it together, and swim across with it; and 
in a moment more, all our earthly possessions were floating on the 
turbid waters of the Big Blue.  We sat on the bank, anxiously 
watching the result, until we saw the raft safe landed in a little 
cove far down on the opposite bank.  The empty wagons were easily 
passed across; and then each man mounting a horse, we rode through 
the stream, the stray animals following of their own accord.



CHAPTER VI

THE PLATTE AND THE DESERT


We were now arrived at the close of our solitary journeyings along 
the St. Joseph's trail.  On the evening of the 23d of May we encamped 
near its junction with the old legitimate trail of the Oregon 
emigrants.  We had ridden long that afternoon, trying in vain to find 
wood and water, until at length we saw the sunset sky reflected from 
a pool encircled by bushes and a rock or two.  The water lay in the 
bottom of a hollow, the smooth prairie gracefully rising in oceanlike 
swells on every side.  We pitched our tents by it; not however before 
the keen eye of Henry Chatillon had discerned some unusual object 
upon the faintly-defined outline of the distant swell.  But in the 
moist, hazy atmosphere of the evening, nothing could be clearly 
distinguished.  As we lay around the fire after supper, a low and 
distant sound, strange enough amid the loneliness of the prairie, 
reached our ears--peals of laughter, and the faint voices of men and 
women.  For eight days we had not encountered a human being, and this 
singular warning of their vicinity had an effect extremely wild and 
impressive.

About dark a sallow-faced fellow descended the hill on horseback, and 
splashing through the pool rode up to the tents.  He was enveloped in 
a huge cloak, and his broad felt hat was weeping about his ears with 
the drizzling moisture of the evening.  Another followed, a stout, 
square-built, intelligent-looking man, who announced himself as 
leader of an emigrant party encamped a mile in advance of us.  About 
twenty wagons, he said, were with him; the rest of his party were on 
the other side of the Big Blue, waiting for a woman who was in the 
pains of child-birth, and quarreling meanwhile among themselves.

These were the first emigrants that we had overtaken, although we had 
found abundant and melancholy traces of their progress throughout the 
whole course of the journey.  Sometimes we passed the grave of one 
who had sickened and died on the way.  The earth was usually torn up, 
and covered thickly with wolf-tracks.  Some had escaped this 
violation.  One morning a piece of plank, standing upright on the 
summit of a grassy hill, attracted our notice, and riding up to it we 
found the following words very roughly traced upon it, apparently by 
a red-hot piece of iron:


         MARY ELLIS

     DIED MAY 7TH, 1845.

       Aged two months.


Such tokens were of common occurrence, nothing could speak more for 
the hardihood, or rather infatuation, of the adventurers, or the 
sufferings that await them upon the journey.

We were late in breaking up our camp on the following morning, and 
scarcely had we ridden a mile when we saw, far in advance of us, 
drawn against the horizon, a line of objects stretching at regular 
intervals along the level edge of the prairie.  An intervening swell 
soon hid them from sight, until, ascending it a quarter of an hour 
after, we saw close before us the emigrant caravan, with its heavy 
white wagons creeping on in their slow procession, and a large drove 
of cattle following behind.  Half a dozen yellow-visaged Missourians, 
mounted on horseback, were cursing and shouting among them; their 
lank angular proportions enveloped in brown homespun, evidently cut 
and adjusted by the hands of a domestic female tailor.  As we 
approached, they greeted us with the polished salutation: "How are 
ye, boys?  Are ye for Oregon or California?"

As we pushed rapidly past the wagons, children's faces were thrust 
out from the white coverings to look at us; while the care-worn, 
thin-featured matron, or the buxom girl, seated in front, suspended 
the knitting on which most of them were engaged to stare at us with 
wondering curiosity.  By the side of each wagon stalked the 
proprietor, urging on his patient oxen, who shouldered heavily along, 
inch by inch, on their interminable journey.  It was easy to see that 
fear and dissension prevailed among them; some of the men--but these, 
with one exception, were bachelors--looked wistfully upon us as we 
rode lightly and swiftly past, and then impatiently at their own 
lumbering wagons and heavy-gaited oxen.  Others were unwilling to 
advance at all until the party they had left behind should have 
rejoined them.  Many were murmuring against the leader they had 
chosen, and wished to depose him; and this discontent was fermented 
by some ambitious spirits, who had hopes of succeeding in his place.  
The women were divided between regrets for the homes they had left 
and apprehension of the deserts and the savages before them.

We soon left them far behind, and fondly hoped that we had taken a 
final leave; but unluckily our companions' wagon stuck so long in a 
deep muddy ditch that, before it was extricated, the van of the 
emigrant caravan appeared again, descending a ridge close at hand.  
Wagon after wagon plunged through the mud; and as it was nearly noon, 
and the place promised shade and water, we saw with much 
gratification that they were resolved to encamp.  Soon the wagons 
were wheeled into a circle; the cattle were grazing over the meadow, 
and the men with sour, sullen faces, were looking about for wood and 
water.  They seemed to meet with but indifferent success.  As we left 
the ground, I saw a tall slouching fellow with the nasal accent of 
"down east," contemplating the contents of his tin cup, which he had 
just filled with water.

"Look here, you," he said; "it's chock full of animals!"

The cup, as he held it out, exhibited in fact an extraordinary 
variety and profusion of animal and vegetable life.

Riding up the little hill and looking back on the meadow, we could 
easily see that all was not right in the camp of the emigrants.  The 
men were crowded together, and an angry discussion seemed to be going 
forward.  R. was missing from his wonted place in the line, and the 
captain told us that he had remained behind to get his horse shod by 
a blacksmith who was attached to the emigrant party.  Something 
whispered in our ears that mischief was on foot; we kept on, however, 
and coming soon to a stream of tolerable water, we stopped to rest 
and dine.  Still the absentee lingered behind.  At last, at the 
distance of a mile, he and his horse suddenly appeared, sharply 
defined against the sky on the summit of a hill; and close behind, a 
huge white object rose slowly into view.

"What is that blockhead bringing with him now?"

A moment dispelled the mystery.  Slowly and solemnly one behind the 
other, four long trains of oxen and four emigrant wagons rolled over 
the crest of the declivity and gravely descended, while R. rode in 
state in the van.  It seems that, during the process of shoeing the 
horse, the smothered dissensions among the emigrants suddenly broke 
into open rupture.  Some insisted on pushing forward, some on 
remaining where they were, and some on going back.  Kearsley, their 
captain, threw up his command in disgust.  "And now, boys," said he, 
"if any of you are for going ahead, just you come along with me."

Four wagons, with ten men, one woman, and one small child, made up 
the force of the "go-ahead" faction, and R., with his usual 
proclivity toward mischief, invited them to join our party.  Fear of 
the Indians--for I can conceive of no other motive--must have induced 
him to court so burdensome an alliance.  As may well be conceived, 
these repeated instances of high-handed dealing sufficiently 
exasperated us.  In this case, indeed, the men who joined us were all 
that could be desired; rude indeed in manner, but frank, manly, and 
intelligent.  To tell them we could not travel with them was of 
course out of the question.  I merely reminded Kearsley that if his 
oxen could not keep up with our mules he must expect to be left 
behind, as we could not consent to be further delayed on the journey; 
but he immediately replied, that his oxen "SHOULD keep up; and if 
they couldn't, why he allowed that he'd find out how to make 'em!"  
Having availed myself of what satisfaction could be derived from 
giving R. to understand my opinion of his conduct, I returned to our 
side of the camp.

On the next day, as it chanced, our English companions broke the 
axle-tree of their wagon, and down came the whole cumbrous machine 
lumbering into the bed of a brook!  Here was a day's work cut out for 
us.  Meanwhile, our emigrant associates kept on their way, and so 
vigorously did they urge forward their powerful oxen that, with the 
broken axle-tree and other calamities, it was full a week before we 
overtook them; when at length we discovered them, one afternoon, 
crawling quietly along the sandy brink of the Platte.  But meanwhile 
various incidents occurred to ourselves.

It was probable that at this stage of our journey the Pawnees would 
attempt to rob us.  We began therefore to stand guard in turn, 
dividing the night into three watches, and appointing two men for 
each.  Delorier and I held guard together.  We did not march with 
military precision to and fro before the tents; our discipline was by 
no means so stringent and rigid.  We wrapped ourselves in our 
blankets, and sat down by the fire; and Delorier, combining his 
culinary functions with his duties as sentinel, employed himself in 
boiling the head of an antelope for our morning's repast.  Yet we 
were models of vigilance in comparison with some of the party; for 
the ordinary practice of the guard was to establish himself in the 
most comfortable posture he could; lay his rifle on the ground, and 
enveloping his nose in the blanket, meditate on his mistress, or 
whatever subject best pleased him.  This is all well enough when 
among Indians who do not habitually proceed further in their 
hostility than robbing travelers of their horses and mules, though, 
indeed, a Pawnee's forebearance is not always to be trusted; but in 
certain regions farther to the west, the guard must beware how he 
exposes his person to the light of the fire, lest perchance some 
keen-eyed skulking marksman should let fly a bullet or an arrow from 
amid the darkness.

Among various tales that circulated around our camp fire was a rather 
curious one, told by Boisverd, and not inappropriate here.  Boisverd 
was trapping with several companions on the skirts of the Blackfoot 
country.  The man on guard, well knowing that it behooved him to put 
forth his utmost precaution, kept aloof from the firelight, and sat 
watching intently on all sides.  At length he was aware of a dark, 
crouching figure, stealing noiselessly into the circle of the light.  
He hastily cocked his rifle, but the sharp click of the lock caught 
the ear of Blackfoot, whose senses were all on the alert.  Raising 
his arrow, already fitted to the string, he shot in the direction of 
the sound.  So sure was his aim that he drove it through the throat 
of the unfortunate guard, and then, with a loud yell, bounded from 
the camp.

As I looked at the partner of my watch, puffing and blowing over his 
fire, it occurred to me that he might not prove the most efficient 
auxiliary in time of trouble.

"Delorier," said I, "would you run away if the Pawnees should fire at 
us?"

"Ah! oui, oui, monsieur!" he replied very decisively.

I did not doubt the fact, but was a little surprised at the frankness 
of the confession.

At this instant a most whimsical variety of voices--barks, howls, 
yelps, and whines--all mingled as it were together, sounded from the 
prairie, not far off, as if a whole conclave of wolves of every age 
and sex were assembled there.  Delorier looked up from his work with 
a laugh, and began to imitate this curious medley of sounds with a 
most ludicrous accuracy.  At this they were repeated with redoubled 
emphasis, the musician being apparently indignant at the successful 
efforts of a rival.  They all proceeded from the throat of one little 
wolf, not larger than a spaniel, seated by himself at some distance.  
He was of the species called the prairie wolf; a grim-visaged, but 
harmless little brute, whose worst propensity is creeping among 
horses and gnawing the ropes of raw hide by which they are picketed 
around the camp.  But other beasts roam the prairies, far more 
formidable in aspect and in character.  These are the large white and 
gray wolves, whose deep howl we heard at intervals from far and near.

At last I fell into a doze, and, awakening from it, found Delorier 
fast asleep.  Scandalized by this breach of discipline, I was about 
to stimulate his vigilance by stirring him with the stock of my 
rifle; but compassion prevailing, I determined to let him sleep 
awhile, and then to arouse him, and administer a suitable reproof for 
such a forgetfulness of duty.  Now and then I walked the rounds among 
the silent horses, to see that all was right.  The night was chill, 
damp, and dark, the dank grass bending under the icy dewdrops.  At 
the distance of a rod or two the tents were invisible, and nothing 
could be seen but the obscure figures of the horses, deeply 
breathing, and restlessly starting as they slept, or still slowly 
champing the grass.  Far off, beyond the black outline of the 
prairie, there was a ruddy light, gradually increasing, like the glow 
of a conflagration; until at length the broad disk of the moon, 
blood-red, and vastly magnified by the vapors, rose slowly upon the 
darkness, flecked by one or two little clouds, and as the light 
poured over the gloomy plain, a fierce and stern howl, close at hand, 
seemed to greet it as an unwelcome intruder.  There was something 
impressive and awful in the place and the hour; for I and the beasts 
were all that had consciousness for many a league around.

Some days elapsed, and brought us near the Platte.  Two men on 
horseback approached us one morning, and we watched them with the 
curiosity and interest that, upon the solitude of the plains, such an 
encounter always excites.  They were evidently whites, from their 
mode of riding, though, contrary to the usage of that region, neither 
of them carried a rifle.

"Fools!" remarked Henry Chatillon, "to ride that way on the prairie; 
Pawnee find them--then they catch it!"

Pawnee HAD found them, and they had come very near "catching it"; 
indeed, nothing saved them from trouble but the approach of our 
party.  Shaw and I knew one of them; a man named Turner, whom we had 
seen at Westport.  He and his companion belonged to an emigrant party 
encamped a few miles in advance, and had returned to look for some 
stray oxen, leaving their rifles, with characteristic rashness or 
ignorance behind them.  Their neglect had nearly cost them dear; for 
just before we came up, half a dozen Indians approached, and seeing 
them apparently defenseless, one of the rascals seized the bridle of 
Turner's fine horse, and ordered him to dismount.  Turner was wholly 
unarmed; but the other jerked a little revolving pistol out of his 
pocket, at which the Pawnee recoiled; and just then some of our men 
appearing in the distance, the whole party whipped their rugged 
little horses, and made off.  In no way daunted, Turner foolishly 
persisted in going forward.

Long after leaving him, and late this afternoon, in the midst of a 
gloomy and barren prairie, we came suddenly upon the great Pawnee 
trail, leading from their villages on the Platte to their war and 
hunting grounds to the southward.  Here every summer pass the motley 
concourse; thousands of savages, men, women, and children, horses and 
mules, laden with their weapons and implements, and an innumerable 
multitude of unruly wolfish dogs, who have not acquired the civilized 
accomplishment of barking, but howl like their wild cousins of the 
prairie.

The permanent winter villages of the Pawnees stand on the lower 
Platte, but throughout the summer the greater part of the inhabitants 
are wandering over the plains, a treacherous cowardly banditti, who 
by a thousand acts of pillage and murder have deserved summary 
chastisement at the hands of government.  Last year a Dakota warrior 
performed a signal exploit at one of these villages.  He approached 
it alone in the middle of a dark night, and clambering up the outside 
of one of the lodges which are in the form of a half-sphere, he 
looked in at the round hole made at the top for the escape of smoke.  
The dusky light from the smoldering embers showed him the forms of 
the sleeping inmates; and dropping lightly through the opening, he 
unsheathed his knife, and stirring the fire coolly selected his 
victims.  One by one he stabbed and scalped them, when a child 
suddenly awoke and screamed.  He rushed from the lodge, yelled a 
Sioux war-cry, shouted his name in triumph and defiance, and in a 
moment had darted out upon the dark prairie, leaving the whole 
village behind him in a tumult, with the howling and baying of dogs, 
the screams of women and the yells of the enraged warriors.

Our friend Kearsley, as we learned on rejoining him, signalized 
himself by a less bloody achievement.  He and his men were good 
woodsmen, and well skilled in the use of the rifle, but found 
themselves wholly out of their element on the prairie.  None of them 
had ever seen a buffalo and they had very vague conceptions of his 
nature and appearance.  On the day after they reached the Platte, 
looking toward a distant swell, they beheld a multitude of little 
black specks in motion upon its surface.

"Take your rifles, boys," said Kearslcy, "and we'll have fresh meat 
for supper."  This inducement was quite sufficient.  The ten men left 
their wagons and set out in hot haste, some on horseback and some on 
foot, in pursuit of the supposed buffalo.  Meanwhile a high grassy 
ridge shut the game from view; but mounting it after half an hour's 
running and riding, they found themselves suddenly confronted by 
about thirty mounted Pawnees!  The amazement and consternation were 
mutual.  Having nothing but their bows and arrows, the Indians 
thought their hour was come, and the fate that they were no doubt 
conscious of richly deserving about to overtake them.  So they began, 
one and all, to shout forth the most cordial salutations of 
friendship, running up with extreme earnestness to shake hands with 
the Missourians, who were as much rejoiced as they were to escape the 
expected conflict.

A low undulating line of sand-hills bounded the horizon before us.  
That day we rode ten consecutive hours, and it was dusk before we 
entered the hollows and gorges of these gloomy little hills.  At 
length we gained the summit, and the long expected valley of the 
Platte lay before us.  We all drew rein, and, gathering in a knot on 
the crest of the hill, sat joyfully looking down upon the prospect.  
It was right welcome; strange too, and striking to the imagination, 
and yet it had not one picturesque or beautiful feature; nor had it 
any of the features of grandeur, other than its vast extent, its 
solitude, and its wilderness.  For league after league a plain as 
level as a frozen lake was outspread beneath us; here and there the 
Platte, divided into a dozen threadlike sluices, was traversing it, 
and an occasional clump of wood, rising in the midst like a shadowy 
island, relieved the monotony of the waste.  No living thing was 
moving throughout the vast landscape, except the lizards that darted 
over the sand and through the rank grass and prickly-pear just at our 
feet.  And yet stern and wild associations gave a singular interest 
to the view; for here each man lives by the strength of his arm and 
the valor of his heart.  Here society is reduced to its original 
elements, the whole fabric of art and conventionality is struck 
rudely to pieces, and men find themselves suddenly brought back to 
the wants and resources of their original natures.

We had passed the more toilsome and monotonous part of the journey; 
but four hundred miles still intervened between us and Fort Laramie; 
and to reach that point cost us the travel of three additional weeks.  
During the whole of this time we were passing up the center of a long 
narrow sandy plain, reaching like an outstretched belt nearly to the 
Rocky Mountains.  Two lines of sand-hills, broken often into the 
wildest and most fantastic forms, flanked the valley at the distance 
of a mile or two on the right and left; while beyond them lay a 
barren, trackless waste--The Great American Desert--extending for 
hundreds of miles to the Arkansas on the one side, and the Missouri 
on the other.  Before us and behind us, the level monotony of the 
plain was unbroken as far as the eye could reach.  Sometimes it 
glared in the sun, an expanse of hot, bare sand; sometimes it was 
veiled by long coarse grass.  Huge skulls and whitening bones of 
buffalo were scattered everywhere; the ground was tracked by myriads 
of them, and often covered with the circular indentations where the 
bulls had wallowed in the hot weather.  From every gorge and ravine, 
opening from the hills, descended deep, well-worn paths, where the 
buffalo issue twice a day in regular procession down to drink in the 
Platte.  The river itself runs through the midst, a thin sheet of 
rapid, turbid water, half a mile wide, and scarce two feet deep.  Its 
low banks for the most part without a bush or a tree, are of loose 
sand, with which the stream is so charged that it grates on the teeth 
in drinking.  The naked landscape is, of itself, dreary and 
monotonous enough, and yet the wild beasts and wild men that frequent 
the valley of the Platte make it a scene of interest and excitement 
to the traveler.  Of those who have journeyed there, scarce one, 
perhaps, fails to look back with fond regret to his horse and his 
rifle.

Early in the morning after we reached the Platte, a long procession 
of squalid savages approached our camp.  Each was on foot, leading 
his horse by a rope of bull-hide.  His attire consisted merely of a 
scanty cincture and an old buffalo robe, tattered and begrimed by 
use, which hung over his shoulders.  His head was close shaven, 
except a ridge of hair reaching over the crown from the center of the 
forehead, very much like the long bristles on the back of a hyena, 
and he carried his bow and arrows in his hand, while his meager 
little horse was laden with dried buffalo meat, the produce of his 
hunting.  Such were the first specimens that we met--and very 
indifferent ones they were--of the genuine savages of the prairie.

They were the Pawnees whom Kearsley had encountered the day before, 
and belonged to a large hunting party known to be ranging the prairie 
in the vicinity.  They strode rapidly past, within a furlong of our 
tents, not pausing or looking toward us, after the manner of Indians 
when meditating mischief or conscious of ill-desert.  I went out and 
met them; and had an amicable conference with the chief, presenting 
him with half a pound of tobacco, at which unmerited bounty he 
expressed much gratification.  These fellows, or some of their 
companions had committed a dastardly outrage upon an emigrant party 
in advance of us.  Two men, out on horseback at a distance, were 
seized by them, but lashing their horses, they broke loose and fled.  
At this the Pawnees raised the yell and shot at them, transfixing the 
hindermost through the back with several arrows, while his companion 
galloped away and brought in the news to his party.  The panic-
stricken emigrants remained for several days in camp, not daring even 
to send out in quest of the dead body.

The reader will recollect Turner, the man whose narrow escape was 
mentioned not long since.  We heard that the men, whom the entreaties 
of his wife induced to go in search of him, found him leisurely 
driving along his recovered oxen, and whistling in utter contempt of 
the Pawnee nation.  His party was encamped within two miles of us; 
but we passed them that morning, while the men were driving in the 
oxen, and the women packing their domestic utensils and their 
numerous offspring in the spacious patriarchal wagons.  As we looked 
back we saw their caravan dragging its slow length along the plain; 
wearily toiling on its way, to found new empires in the West.

Our New England climate is mild and equable compared with that of the 
Platte.  This very morning, for instance, was close and sultry, the 
sun rising with a faint oppressive heat; when suddenly darkness 
gathered in the west, and a furious blast of sleet and hail drove 
full in our faces, icy cold, and urged with such demoniac vehemence 
that it felt like a storm of needles.  It was curious to see the 
horses; they faced about in extreme displeasure, holding their tails 
like whipped dogs, and shivering as the angry gusts, howling louder 
than a concert of wolves, swept over us.  Wright's long train of 
mules came sweeping round before the storm like a flight of brown 
snowbirds driven by a winter tempest.  Thus we all remained 
stationary for some minutes, crouching close to our horses' necks, 
much too surly to speak, though once the captain looked up from 
between the collars of his coat, his face blood-red, and the muscles 
of his mouth contracted by the cold into a most ludicrous grin of 
agony.  He grumbled something that sounded like a curse, directed as 
we believed, against the unhappy hour when he had first thought of 
leaving home.  The thing was too good to last long; and the instant 
the puffs of wind subsided we erected our tents, and remained in camp 
for the rest of a gloomy and lowering day.  The emigrants also 
encamped near at hand.  We, being first on the ground, had 
appropriated all the wood within reach; so that our fire alone blazed 
cheerfully.  Around it soon gathered a group of uncouth figures, 
shivering in the drizzling rain.  Conspicuous among them were two or 
three of the half-savage men who spend their reckless lives in 
trapping among the Rocky Mountains, or in trading for the Fur Company 
in the Indian villages.  They were all of Canadian extraction; their 
hard, weather-beaten faces and bushy mustaches looked out from 
beneath the hoods of their white capotes with a bad and brutish 
expression, as if their owner might be the willing agent of any 
villainy.  And such in fact is the character of many of these men.

On the day following we overtook Kearsley's wagons, and 
thenceforward, for a week or two, we were fellow-travelers.  One good 
effect, at least, resulted from the alliance; it materially 
diminished the serious fatigue of standing guard; for the party being 
now more numerous, there were longer intervals between each man's 
turns of duty.



CHAPTER VII

THE BUFFALO


Four days on the Platte, and yet no buffalo!  Last year's signs of 
them were provokingly abundant; and wood being extremely scarce, we 
found an admirable substitute in bois de vache, which burns exactly 
like peat, producing no unpleasant effects.  The wagons one morning 
had left the camp; Shaw and I were already on horseback, but Henry 
Chatillon still sat cross-legged by the dead embers of the fire, 
playing pensively with the lock of his rifle, while his sturdy 
Wyandotte pony stood quietly behind him, looking over his head.  At 
last he got up, patted the neck of the pony (whom, from an 
exaggerated appreciation of his merits, he had christened "Five 
Hundred Dollar"), and then mounted with a melancholy air.

"What is it, Henry?"

"Ah, I feel lonesome; I never been here before; but I see away yonder 
over the buttes, and down there on the prairie, black--all black with 
buffalo!"

In the afternoon he and I left the party in search of an antelope; 
until at the distance of a mile or two on the right, the tall white 
wagons and the little black specks of horsemen were just visible, so 
slowly advancing that they seemed motionless; and far on the left 
rose the broken line of scorched, desolate sand-hills.  The vast 
plain waved with tall rank grass that swept our horses' bellies; it 
swayed to and fro in billows with the light breeze, and far and near 
antelope and wolves were moving through it, the hairy backs of the 
latter alternately appearing and disappearing as they bounded 
awkwardly along; while the antelope, with the simple curiosity 
peculiar to them, would often approach as closely, their little horns 
and white throats just visible above the grass tops, as they gazed 
eagerly at us with their round black eyes.

I dismounted, and amused myself with firing at the wolves.  Henry 
attentively scrutinized the surrounding landscape; at length he gave 
a shout, and called on me to mount again, pointing in the direction 
of the sand-hills.  A mile and a half from us, two minute black 
specks slowly traversed the face of one of the bare glaring 
declivities, and disappeared behind the summit.  "Let us go!" cried 
Henry, belaboring the sides of Five Hundred Dollar; and I following 
in his wake, we galloped rapidly through the rank grass toward the 
base of the hills.

From one of their openings descended a deep ravine, widening as it 
issued on the prairie.  We entered it, and galloping up, in a moment 
were surrounded by the bleak sand-hills.  Half of their steep sides 
were bare; the rest were scantily clothed with clumps of grass, and 
various uncouth plants, conspicuous among which appeared the reptile-
like prickly-pear.  They were gashed with numberless ravines; and as 
the sky had suddenly darkened, and a cold gusty wind arisen, the 
strange shrubs and the dreary hills looked doubly wild and desolate.  
But Henry's face was all eagerness.  He tore off a little hair from 
the piece of buffalo robe under his saddle, and threw it up, to show 
the course of the wind.  It blew directly before us.  The game were 
therefore to windward, and it was necessary to make our best speed to 
get around them.

We scrambled from this ravine, and galloping away through the 
hollows, soon found another, winding like a snake among the hills, 
and so deep that it completely concealed us.  We rode up the bottom 
of it, glancing through the shrubbery at its edge, till Henry 
abruptly jerked his rein, and slid out of his saddle.  Full a quarter 
of a mile distant, on the outline of the farthest hill, a long 
procession of buffalo were walking, in Indian file, with the utmost 
gravity and deliberation; then more appeared, clambering from a 
hollow not far off, and ascending, one behind the other, the grassy 
slope of another hill; then a shaggy head and a pair of short broken 
horns appeared issuing out of a ravine close at hand, and with a 
slow, stately step, one by one, the enormous brutes came into view, 
taking their way across the valley, wholly unconscious of an enemy.  
In a moment Henry was worming his way, lying flat on the ground, 
through grass and prickly-pears, toward his unsuspecting victims.  He 
had with him both my rifle and his own.  He was soon out of sight, 
and still the buffalo kept issuing into the valley.  For a long time 
all was silent.  I sat holding his horse, and wondering what he was 
about, when suddenly, in rapid succession, came the sharp reports of 
the two rifles, and the whole line of buffalo, quickening their pace 
into a clumsy trot, gradually disappeared over the ridge of the hill.  
Henry rose to his feet, and stood looking after them.

"You have missed them," said I.

"Yes," said Henry; "let us go."  He descended into the ravine, loaded 
the rifles, and mounted his horse.

We rode up the hill after the buffalo.  The herd was out of sight 
when we reached the top, but lying on the grass not far off, was one 
quite lifeless, and another violently struggling in the death agony.

"You see I miss him!" remarked Henry.  He had fired from a distance 
of more than a hundred and fifty yards, and both balls had passed 
through the lungs--the true mark in shooting buffalo.

The darkness increased, and a driving storm came on.  Tying our 
horses to the horns of the victims, Henry began the bloody work of 
dissection, slashing away with the science of a connoisseur, while I 
vainly endeavored to imitate him.  Old Hendrick recoiled with horror 
and indignation when I endeavored to tie the meat to the strings of 
raw hide, always carried for this purpose, dangling at the back of 
the saddle.  After some difficulty we overcame his scruples; and 
heavily burdened with the more eligible portions of the buffalo, we 
set out on our return.  Scarcely had we emerged from the labyrinth of 
gorges and ravines, and issued upon the open prairie, when the 
pricking sleet came driving, gust upon gust, directly in our faces.  
It was strangely dark, though wanting still an hour of sunset.  The 
freezing storm soon penetrated to the skin, but the uneasy trot of 
our heavy-gaited horses kept us warm enough, as we forced them 
unwillingly in the teeth of the sleet and rain, by the powerful 
suasion of our Indian whips.  The prairie in this place was hard and 
level.  A flourishing colony of prairie dogs had burrowed into it in 
every direction, and the little mounds of fresh earth around their 
holes were about as numerous as the hills in a cornfield; but not a 
yelp was to be heard; not the nose of a single citizen was visible; 
all had retired to the depths of their burrows, and we envied them 
their dry and comfortable habitations.  An hour's hard riding showed 
us our tent dimly looming through the storm, one side puffed out by 
the force of the wind, and the other collapsed in proportion, while 
the disconsolate horses stood shivering close around, and the wind 
kept up a dismal whistling in the boughs of three old half-dead trees 
above.  Shaw, like a patriarch, sat on his saddle in the entrance, 
with a pipe in his mouth, and his arms folded, contemplating, with 
cool satisfaction, the piles of meat that we flung on the ground 
before him.  A dark and dreary night succeeded; but the sun rose with 
heat so sultry and languid that the captain excused himself on that 
account from waylaying an old buffalo bull, who with stupid gravity 
was walking over the prairie to drink at the river.  So much for the 
climate of the Platte!

But it was not the weather alone that had produced this sudden 
abatement of the sportsmanlike zeal which the captain had always 
professed.  He had been out on the afternoon before, together with 
several members of his party; but their hunting was attended with no 
other result than the loss of one of their best horses, severely 
injured by Sorel, in vainly chasing a wounded bull.  The captain, 
whose ideas of hard riding were all derived from transatlantic 
sources, expressed the utmost amazement at the feats of Sorel, who 
went leaping ravines, and dashing at full speed up and down the sides 
of precipitous hills, lashing his horse with the recklessness of a 
Rocky Mountain rider.  Unfortunately for the poor animal he was the 
property of R., against whom Sorel entertained an unbounded aversion.  
The captain himself, it seemed, had also attempted to "run" a 
buffalo, but though a good and practiced horseman, he had soon given 
over the attempt, being astonished and utterly disgusted at the 
nature of the ground he was required to ride over.

Nothing unusual occurred on that day; but on the following morning 
Henry Chatillon, looking over the oceanlike expanse, saw near the 
foot of the distant hills something that looked like a band of 
buffalo.  He was not sure, he said, but at all events, if they were 
buffalo, there was a fine chance for a race.  Shaw and I at once 
determined to try the speed of our horses.

"Come, captain; we'll see which can ride hardest, a Yankee or an 
Irishman."

But the captain maintained a grave and austere countenance.  He 
mounted his led horse, however, though very slowly; and we set out at 
a trot.  The game appeared about three miles distant.  As we 
proceeded the captain made various remarks of doubt and indecision; 
and at length declared he would have nothing to do with such a 
breakneck business; protesting that he had ridden plenty of steeple-
chases in his day, but he never knew what riding was till he found 
himself behind a band of buffalo day before yesterday.  "I am 
convinced," said the captain, "that, 'running' is out of the 
question.*  Take my advice now and don't attempt it.  It's dangerous, 
and of no use at all."


*The method of hunting called "running" consists in attacking the 
buffalo on horseback and shooting him with bullets or arrows when at 
full-speed.  In "approaching," the hunter conceals himself and crawls 
on the ground toward the game, or lies in wait to kill them.


"Then why did you come out with us?  What do you mean to do?"

"I shall 'approach,'" replied the captain.

"You don't mean to 'approach' with your pistols, do you?  We have all 
of us left our rifles in the wagons."

The captain seemed staggered at the suggestion.  In his 
characteristic indecision, at setting out, pistols, rifles, "running" 
and "approaching" were mingled in an inextricable medley in his 
brain.  He trotted on in silence between us for a while; but at 
length he dropped behind and slowly walked his horse back to rejoin 
the party.  Shaw and I kept on; when lo! as we advanced, the band of 
buffalo were transformed into certain clumps of tall bushes, dotting 
the prairie for a considerable distance.  At this ludicrous 
termination of our chase, we followed the example of our late ally, 
and turned back toward the party.  We were skirting the brink of a 
deep ravine, when we saw Henry and the broad-chested pony coming 
toward us at a gallop.

"Here's old Papin and Frederic, down from Fort Laramie!" shouted 
Henry, long before he came up.  We had for some days expected this 
encounter.  Papin was the bourgeois of Fort Laramie.  He had come 
down the river with the buffalo robes and the beaver, the produce of 
the last winter's trading.  I had among our baggage a letter which I 
wished to commit to their hands; so requesting Henry to detain the 
boats if he could until my return, I set out after the wagons.  They 
were about four miles in advance.  In half an hour I overtook them, 
got the letter, trotted back upon the trail, and looking carefully, 
as I rode, saw a patch of broken, storm-blasted trees, and moving 
near them some little black specks like men and horses.  Arriving at 
the place, I found a strange assembly.  The boats, eleven in number, 
deep-laden with the skins, hugged close to the shore, to escape being 
borne down by the swift current.  The rowers, swarthy ignoble 
Mexicans, turned their brutish faces upward to look, as I reached the 
bank.  Papin sat in the middle of one of the boats upon the canvas 
covering that protected the robes.  He was a stout, robust fellow, 
with a little gray eye, that had a peculiarly sly twinkle.  
"Frederic" also stretched his tall rawboned proportions close by the 
bourgeois, and "mountain-men" completed the group; some lounging in 
the boats, some strolling on shore; some attired in gayly painted 
buffalo robes, like Indian dandies; some with hair saturated with red 
paint, and beplastered with glue to their temples; and one bedaubed 
with vermilion upon his forehead and each cheek.  They were a mongrel 
race; yet the French blood seemed to predominate; in a few, indeed, 
might be seen the black snaky eye of the Indian half-breed, and one 
and all, they seemed to aim at assimilating themselves to their 
savage associates.

I shook hands with the bourgeois, and delivered the letter; then the 
boats swung round into the stream and floated away.  They had reason 
for haste, for already the voyage from Fort Laramie had occupied a 
full month, and the river was growing daily more shallow.  Fifty 
times a day the boats had been aground, indeed; those who navigate 
the Platte invariably spend half their time upon sand-bars.  Two of 
these boats, the property of private traders, afterward separating 
from the rest, got hopelessly involved in the shallows, not very far 
from the Pawnee villages, and were soon surrounded by a swarm of the 
inhabitants.  They carried off everything that they considered 
valuable, including most of the robes; and amused themselves by tying 
up the men left on guard and soundly whipping them with sticks.

We encamped that night upon the bank of the river.  Among the 
emigrants there was an overgrown boy, some eighteen years old, with a 
head as round and about as large as a pumpkin, and fever-and-ague 
fits had dyed his face of a corresponding color.  He wore an old 
white hat, tied under his chin with a handkerchief; his body was 
short and stout, but his legs of disproportioned and appalling 
length.  I observed him at sunset, breasting the hill with gigantic 
strides, and standing against the sky on the summit, like a colossal 
pair of tongs.  In a moment after we heard him screaming frantically 
behind the ridge, and nothing doubting that he was in the clutches of 
Indians or grizzly bears, some of the party caught up their rifles 
and ran to the rescue.  His outcries, however, proved but an 
ebullition of joyous excitement; he had chased two little wolf pups 
to their burrow, and he was on his knees, grubbing away like a dog at 
the mouth of the hole, to get at them.

Before morning he caused more serious disquiet in the camp.  It was 
his turn to hold the middle guard; but no sooner was he called up, 
than he coolly arranged a pair of saddle-bags under a wagon, laid his 
head upon them, closed his eyes, opened his mouth and fell asleep.  
The guard on our side of the camp, thinking it no part of his duty to 
look after the cattle of the emigrants, contented himself with 
watching our own horses and mules; the wolves, he said, were 
unusually noisy; but still no mischief was anticipated until the sun 
rose, and not a hoof or horn was in sight!  The cattle were gone!  
While Tom was quietly slumbering, the wolves had driven them away.

Then we reaped the fruits of R.'s precious plan of traveling in 
company with emigrants.  To leave them in their distress was not to 
be thought of, and we felt bound to wait until the cattle could be 
searched for, and, if possible, recovered.  But the reader may be 
curious to know what punishment awaited the faithless Tom.  By the 
wholesome law of the prairie, he who falls asleep on guard is 
condemned to walk all day leading his horse by the bridle, and we 
found much fault with our companions for not enforcing such a 
sentence on the offender.  Nevertheless had he been of our party, I 
have no doubt he would in like manner have escaped scot-free.  But 
the emigrants went farther than mere forebearance; they decreed that 
since Tom couldn't stand guard without falling asleep, he shouldn't 
stand guard at all, and henceforward his slumbers were unbroken.  
Establishing such a premium on drowsiness could have no very 
beneficial effect upon the vigilance of our sentinels; for it is far 
from agreeable, after riding from sunrise to sunset, to feel your 
slumbers interrupted by the butt of a rifle nudging your side, and a 
sleepy voice growling in your ear that you must get up, to shiver and 
freeze for three weary hours at midnight.

"Buffalo! buffalo!"  It was but a grim old bull, roaming the prairie 
by himself in misanthropic seclusion; but there might be more behind 
the hills.  Dreading the monotony and languor of the camp, Shaw and I 
saddled our horses, buckled our holsters in their places, and set out 
with Henry Chatillon in search of the game.  Henry, not intending to 
take part in the chase, but merely conducting us, carried his rifle 
with him, while we left ours behind as incumbrances.  We rode for 
some five or six miles, and saw no living thing but wolves, snakes, 
and prairie dogs.

"This won't do at all," said Shaw.

"What won't do?"

"There's no wood about here to make a litter for the wounded man; I 
have an idea that one of us will need something of the sort before 
the day is over."

There was some foundation for such an apprehension, for the ground 
was none of the best for a race, and grew worse continually as we 
proceeded; indeed it soon became desperately bad, consisting of 
abrupt hills and deep hollows, cut by frequent ravines not easy to 
pass.  At length, a mile in advance, we saw a band of bulls.  Some 
were scattered grazing over a green declivity, while the rest were 
crowded more densely together in the wide hollow below.  Making a 
circuit to keep out of sight, we rode toward them until we ascended a 
hill within a furlong of them, beyond which nothing intervened that 
could possibly screen us from their view.  We dismounted behind the 
ridge just out of sight, drew our saddle-girths, examined our 
pistols, and mounting again rode over the hill, and descended at a 
canter toward them, bending close to our horses' necks.  Instantly 
they took the alarm; those on the hill descended; those below 
gathered into a mass, and the whole got in motion, shouldering each 
other along at a clumsy gallop.  We followed, spurring our horses to 
full speed; and as the herd rushed, crowding and trampling in terror 
through an opening in the hills, we were close at their heels, half 
suffocated by the clouds of dust.  But as we drew near, their alarm 
and speed increased; our horses showed signs of the utmost fear, 
bounding violently aside as we approached, and refusing to enter 
among the herd.  The buffalo now broke into several small bodies, 
scampering over the hills in different directions, and I lost sight 
of Shaw; neither of us knew where the other had gone.  Old Pontiac 
ran like a frantic elephant up hill and down hill, his ponderous 
hoofs striking the prairie like sledge-hammers.  He showed a curious 
mixture of eagerness and terror, straining to overtake the panic-
stricken herd, but constantly recoiling in dismay as we drew near.  
The fugitives, indeed, offered no very attractive spectacle, with 
their enormous size and weight, their shaggy manes and the tattered 
remnants of their last winter's hair covering their backs in 
irregular shreds and patches, and flying off in the wind as they ran.  
At length I urged my horse close behind a bull, and after trying in 
vain, by blows and spurring, to bring him alongside, I shot a bullet 
into the buffalo from this disadvantageous position.  At the report, 
Pontiac swerved so much that I was again thrown a little behind the 
game.  The bullet, entering too much in the rear, failed to disable 
the bull, for a buffalo requires to be shot at particular points, or 
he will certainly escape.  The herd ran up a hill, and I followed in 
pursuit.  As Pontiac rushed headlong down on the other side, I saw 
Shaw and Henry descending the hollow on the right, at a leisurely 
gallop; and in front, the buffalo were just disappearing behind the 
crest of the next hill, their short tails erect, and their hoofs 
twinkling through a cloud of dust.

At that moment, I heard Shaw and Henry shouting to me; but the 
muscles of a stronger arm than mine could not have checked at once 
the furious course of Pontiac, whose mouth was as insensible as 
leather.  Added to this, I rode him that morning with a common 
snaffle, having the day before, for the benefit of my other horse, 
unbuckled from my bridle the curb which I ordinarily used.  A 
stronger and hardier brute never trod the prairie; but the novel 
sight of the buffalo filled him with terror, and when at full speed 
he was almost incontrollable.  Gaining the top of the ridge, I saw 
nothing of the buffalo; they had all vanished amid the intricacies of 
the hills and hollows.  Reloading my pistols, in the best way I 
could, I galloped on until I saw them again scuttling along at the 
base of the hill, their panic somewhat abated.  Down went old Pontiac 
among them, scattering them to the right and left, and then we had 
another long chase.  About a dozen bulls were before us, scouring 
over the hills, rushing down the declivities with tremendous weight 
and impetuosity, and then laboring with a weary gallop upward.  Still 
Pontiac, in spite of spurring and beating, would not close with them.  
One bull at length fell a little behind the rest, and by dint of much 
effort I urged my horse within six or eight yards of his side.  His 
back was darkened with sweat; he was panting heavily, while his 
tongue lolled out a foot from his jaws.  Gradually I came up abreast 
of him, urging Pontiac with leg and rein nearer to his side, then 
suddenly he did what buffalo in such circumstances will always do; he 
slackened his gallop, and turning toward us, with an aspect of 
mingled rage and distress, lowered his huge shaggy head for a charge.  
Pontiac with a snort, leaped aside in terror, nearly throwing me to 
the ground, as I was wholly unprepared for such an evolution.  I 
raised my pistol in a passion to strike him on the head, but thinking 
better of it fired the bullet after the bull, who had resumed his 
flight, then drew rein and determined to rejoin my companions.  It 
was high time.  The breath blew hard from Pontiac's nostrils, and the 
sweat rolled in big drops down his sides; I myself felt as if 
drenched in warm water.  Pledging myself (and I redeemed the pledge) 
to take my revenge at a future opportunity, I looked round for some 
indications to show me where I was, and what course I ought to 
pursue; I might as well have looked for landmarks in the midst of the 
ocean.  How many miles I had run or in what direction, I had no idea; 
and around me the prairie was rolling in steep swells and pitches, 
without a single distinctive feature to guide me.  I had a little 
compass hung at my neck; and ignorant that the Platte at this point 
diverged considerably from its easterly course, I thought that by 
keeping to the northward I should certainly reach it.  So I turned 
and rode about two hours in that direction.  The prairie changed as I 
advanced, softening away into easier undulations, but nothing like 
the Platte appeared, nor any sign of a human being; the same wild 
endless expanse lay around me still; and to all appearance I was as 
far from my object as ever.  I began now to consider myself in danger 
of being lost; and therefore, reining in my horse, summoned the 
scanty share of woodcraft that I possessed (if that term he 
applicable upon the prairie) to extricate me.  Looking round, it 
occurred to me that the buffalo might prove my best guides.  I soon 
found one of the paths made by them in their passage to the river; it 
ran nearly at right angles to my course; but turning my horse's head 
in the direction it indicated, his freer gait and erected ears 
assured me that I was right.

But in the meantime my ride had been by no means a solitary one.  The 
whole face of the country was dotted far and wide with countless 
hundreds of buffalo.  They trooped along in files and columns, bulls 
cows, and calves, on the green faces of the declivities in front.  
They scrambled away over the hills to the right and left; and far 
off, the pale blue swells in the extreme distance were dotted with 
innumerable specks.  Sometimes I surprised shaggy old bulls grazing 
alone, or sleeping behind the ridges I ascended.  They would leap up 
at my approach, stare stupidly at me through their tangled manes, and 
then gallop heavily away.  The antelope were very numerous; and as 
they are always bold when in the neighborhood of buffalo, they would 
approach quite near to look at me, gazing intently with their great 
round eyes, then suddenly leap aside, and stretch lightly away over 
the prairie, as swiftly as a racehorse.  Squalid, ruffianlike wolves 
sneaked through the hollows and sandy ravines.  Several times I 
passed through villages of prairie dogs, who sat, each at the mouth 
of his burrow, holding his paws before him in a supplicating 
attitude, and yelping away most vehemently, energetically whisking 
his little tail with every squeaking cry he uttered.  Prairie dogs 
are not fastidious in their choice of companions; various long, 
checkered snakes were sunning themselves in the midst of the village, 
and demure little gray owls, with a large white ring around each eye, 
were perched side by side with the rightful inhabitants.  The prairie 
teemed with life.  Again and again I looked toward the crowded 
hillsides, and was sure I saw horsemen; and riding near, with a 
mixture of hope and dread, for Indians were abroad, I found them 
transformed into a group of buffalo.  There was nothing in human 
shape amid all this vast congregation of brute forms.

When I turned down the buffalo path, the prairie seemed changed; only 
a wolf or two glided past at intervals, like conscious felons, never 
looking to the right or left.  Being now free from anxiety, I was at 
leisure to observe minutely the objects around me; and here, for the 
first time, I noticed insects wholly different from any of the 
varieties found farther to the eastward.  Gaudy butterflies fluttered 
about my horse's head; strangely formed beetles, glittering with 
metallic luster, were crawling upon plants that I had never seen 
before; multitudes of lizards, too, were darting like lightning over 
the sand.

I had run to a great distance from the river.  It cost me a long ride 
on the buffalo path before I saw from the ridge of a sand-hill the 
pale surface of the Platte glistening in the midst of its desert 
valleys, and the faint outline of the hills beyond waving along the 
sky.  From where I stood, not a tree nor a bush nor a living thing 
was visible throughout the whole extent of the sun-scorched 
landscape.  In half an hour I came upon the trail, not far from the 
river; and seeing that the party had not yet passed, I turned 
eastward to meet them, old Pontiac's long swinging trot again 
assuring me that I was right in doing so.  Having been slightly ill 
on leaving camp in the morning six or seven hours of rough riding had 
fatigued me extremely.  I soon stopped, therefore; flung my saddle on 
the ground, and with my head resting on it, and my horse's trail-rope 
tied loosely to my arm, lay waiting the arrival of the party, 
speculating meanwhile on the extent of the injuries Pontiac had 
received.  At length the white wagon coverings rose from the verge of 
the plain.  By a singular coincidence, almost at the same moment two 
horsemen appeared coming down from the hills.  They were Shaw and 
Henry, who had searched for me a while in the morning, but well 
knowing the futility of the attempt in such a broken country, had 
placed themselves on the top of the highest hill they could find, and 
picketing their horses near them, as a signal to me, had laid down 
and fallen asleep.  The stray cattle had been recovered, as the 
emigrants told us, about noon.  Before sunset, we pushed forward 
eight miles farther.


JUNE 7, 1846.--Four men are missing; R., Sorel and two emigrants.  
They set out this morning after buffalo, and have not yet made their 
appearance; whether killed or lost, we cannot tell.


I find the above in my notebook, and well remember the council held 
on the occasion.  Our fire was the scene of it; or the palpable 
superiority of Henry Chatillon's experience and skill made him the 
resort of the whole camp upon every question of difficulty.  He was 
molding bullets at the fire, when the captain drew near, with a 
perturbed and care-worn expression of countenance, faithfully 
reflected on the heavy features of Jack, who followed close behind.  
Then emigrants came straggling from their wagons toward the common 
center; various suggestions were made to account for the absence of 
the four men, and one or two of the emigrants declared that when out 
after the cattle they had seen Indians dogging them, and crawling 
like wolves along the ridges of the hills.  At this time the captain 
slowly shook his head with double gravity, and solemnly remarked:

"It's a serious thing to be traveling through this cursed 
wilderness"; an opinion in which Jack immediately expressed a 
thorough coincidence.  Henry would not commit himself by declaring 
any positive opinion.

"Maybe he only follow the buffalo too far; maybe Indian kill him; 
maybe he got lost; I cannot tell!"

With this the auditors were obliged to rest content; the emigrants, 
not in the least alarmed, though curious to know what had become of 
their comrades, walked back to their wagons and the captain betook 
himself pensively to his tent.  Shaw and I followed his example.

"It will be a bad thing for our plans," said he as we entered, "if 
these fellows don't get back safe.  The captain is as helpless on the 
prairie as a child.  We shall have to take him and his brother in 
tow; they will hang on us like lead."

"The prairie is a strange place," said I.  "A month ago I should have 
thought it rather a startling affair to have an acquaintance ride out 
in the morning and lose his scalp before night, but here it seems the 
most natural thing in the world; not that I believe that R. has lost 
his yet."

If a man is constitutionally liable to nervous apprehensions, a tour 
on the distant prairies would prove the best prescription; for though 
when in the neighborhood of the Rocky Mountains he may at times find 
himself placed in circumstances of some danger, I believe that few 
ever breathe that reckless atmosphere without becoming almost 
indifferent to any evil chance that may befall themselves or their 
friends.

Shaw had a propensity for luxurious indulgence.  He spread his 
blanket with the utmost accuracy on the ground, picked up the sticks 
and stones that he thought might interfere with his comfort, adjusted 
his saddle to serve as a pillow, and composed himself for his night's 
rest.  I had the first guard that evening; so, taking my rifle, I 
went out of the tent.  It was perfectly dark.  A brisk wind blew down 
from the hills, and the sparks from the fire were streaming over the 
prairie.  One of the emigrants, named Morton, was my companion; and 
laying our rifles on the grass, we sat down together by the fire.  
Morton was a Kentuckian, an athletic fellow, with a fine intelligent 
face, and in his manners and conversation he showed the essential 
characteristics of a gentleman.  Our conversation turned on the 
pioneers of his gallant native State.  The three hours of our watch 
dragged away at last, and we went to call up the relief.

R.'s guard succeeded mine.  He was absent; but the captain, anxious 
lest the camp should be left defenseless, had volunteered to stand in 
his place; so I went to wake him up.  There was no occasion for it, 
for the captain had been awake since nightfall.  A fire was blazing 
outside of the tent, and by the light which struck through the 
canvas, I saw him and Jack lying on their backs, with their eyes wide 
open.  The captain responded instantly to my call; he jumped up, 
seized the double-barreled rifle, and came out of the tent with an 
air of solemn determination, as if about to devote himself to the 
safety of the party.  I went and lay down, not doubting that for the 
next three hours our slumbers would be guarded with sufficient 
vigilance.



CHAPTER VIII

TAKING FRENCH LEAVE


On the 8th of June, at eleven o'clock, we reached the South Fork of 
the Platte, at the usual fording place.  For league upon league the 
desert uniformity of the prospect was almost unbroken; the hills were 
dotted with little tufts of shriveled grass, but betwixt these the 
white sand was glaring in the sun; and the channel of the river, 
almost on a level with the plain, was but one great sand-bed, about 
half a mile wide.  It was covered with water, but so scantily that 
the bottom was scarcely hidden; for, wide as it is, the average depth 
of the Platte does not at this point exceed a foot and a half.  
Stopping near its bank, we gathered bois de vache, and made a meal of 
buffalo meat.  Far off, on the other side, was a green meadow, where 
we could see the white tents and wagons of an emigrant camp; and just 
opposite to us we could discern a group of men and animals at the 
water's edge.  Four or five horsemen soon entered the river, and in 
ten minutes had waded across and clambered up the loose sand-bank.  
They were ill-looking fellows, thin and swarthy, with care-worn, 
anxious faces and lips rigidly compressed.  They had good cause for 
anxiety; it was three days since they first encamped here, and on the 
night of their arrival they had lost 123 of their best cattle, driven 
off by the wolves, through the neglect of the man on guard.  This 
discouraging and alarming calamity was not the first that had 
overtaken them.  Since leaving the settlements, they had met with 
nothing but misfortune.  Some of their party had died; one man had 
been killed by the Pawnees; and about a week before, they had been 
plundered by the Dakotas of all their best horses, the wretched 
animals on which our visitors were mounted being the only ones that 
were left.  They had encamped, they told us, near sunset, by the side 
of the Platte, and their oxen were scattered over the meadow, while 
the band of horses were feeding a little farther off.  Suddenly the 
ridges of the hills were alive with a swarm of mounted Indians, at 
least six hundred in number, who, with a tremendous yell, came 
pouring down toward the camp, rushing up within a few rods, to the 
great terror of the emigrants; but suddenly wheeling, they swept 
around the band of horses, and in five minutes had disappeared with 
their prey through the openings of the hills.

As these emigrants were telling their story, we saw four other men 
approaching.  They proved to be R. and his companions, who had 
encountered no mischance of any kind, but had only wandered too far 
in pursuit of the game.  They said they had seen no Indians, but only 
"millions of buffalo"; and both R. and Sorel had meat dangling behind 
their saddles.

The emigrants re-crossed the river, and we prepared to follow.  First 
the heavy ox-wagons plunged down the bank, and dragged slowly over 
the sand-beds; sometimes the hoofs of the oxen were scarcely wetted 
by the thin sheet of water; and the next moment the river would be 
boiling against their sides, and eddying fiercely around the wheels.  
Inch by inch they receded from the shore, dwindling every moment, 
until at length they seemed to be floating far in the very middle of 
the river.  A more critical experiment awaited us; for our little 
mule-cart was but ill-fitted for the passage of so swift a stream.  
We watched it with anxiety till it seemed to be a little motionless 
white speck in the midst of the waters; and it WAS motionless, for it 
had stuck fast in a quicksand.  The little mules were losing their 
footing, the wheels were sinking deeper and deeper, and the water 
began to rise through the bottom and drench the goods within.  All of 
us who had remained on the hither bank galloped to the rescue; the 
men jumped into the water, adding their strength to that of the 
mules, until by much effort the cart was extricated, and conveyed in 
safety across.

As we gained the other bank, a rough group of men surrounded us.  
They were not robust, nor large of frame, yet they had an aspect of 
hardy endurance.  Finding at home no scope for their fiery energies, 
they had betaken themselves to the prairie; and in them seemed to be 
revived, with redoubled force, that fierce spirit which impelled 
their ancestors, scarce more lawless than themselves, from the German 
forests, to inundate Europe and break to pieces the Roman empire.  A 
fortnight afterward this unfortunate party passed Fort Laramie, while 
we were there.  Not one of their missing oxen had been recovered, 
though they had remained encamped a week in search of them; and they 
had been compelled to abandon a great part of their baggage and 
provisions, and yoke cows and heifers to their wagons to carry them 
forward upon their journey, the most toilsome and hazardous part of 
which lay still before them.

It is worth noticing that on the Platte one may sometimes see the 
shattered wrecks of ancient claw-footed tables, well waxed and 
rubbed, or massive bureaus of carved oak.  These, many of them no 
doubt the relics of ancestral prosperity in the colonial time, must 
have encountered strange vicissitudes.  Imported, perhaps, originally 
from England; then, with the declining fortunes of their owners, 
borne across the Alleghenies to the remote wilderness of Ohio or 
Kentucky; then to Illinois or Missouri; and now at last fondly stowed 
away in the family wagon for the interminable journey to Oregon.  But 
the stern privations of the way are little anticipated.  The 
cherished relic is soon flung out to scorch and crack upon the hot 
prairie.

We resumed our journey; but we had gone scarcely a mile, when R. 
called out from the rear:

"We'll camp here."

"Why do you want to camp?  Look at the sun.  It is not three o'clock 
yet."

"We'll camp here!"

This was the only reply vouchsafed.  Delorier was in advance with his 
cart.  Seeing the mule-wagon wheeling from the track, he began to 
turn his own team in the same direction.

"Go on, Delorier," and the little cart advanced again.  As we rode 
on, we soon heard the wagon of our confederates creaking and jolting 
on behind us, and the driver, Wright, discharging a furious volley of 
oaths against his mules; no doubt venting upon them the wrath which 
he dared not direct against a more appropriate object.

Something of this sort had frequently occurred.  Our English friend 
was by no means partial to us, and we thought we discovered in his 
conduct a deliberate intention to thwart and annoy us, especially by 
retarding the movements of the party, which he knew that we, being 
Yankees, were anxious to quicken.  Therefore, he would insist on 
encamping at all unseasonable hours, saying that fifteen miles was a 
sufficient day's journey.  Finding our wishes systematically 
disregarded, we took the direction of affairs into our own hands.  
Keeping always in advance, to the inexpressible indignation of R., we 
encamped at what time and place we thought proper, not much caring 
whether the rest chose to follow or not.  They always did so, 
however, pitching their tents near ours, with sullen and wrathful 
countenances.

Traveling together on these agreeable terms did not suit our tastes; 
for some time we had meditated a separation.  The connection with 
this party had cost us various delays and inconveniences; and the 
glaring want of courtesy and good sense displayed by their virtual 
leader did not dispose us to bear these annoyances with much 
patience.  We resolved to leave camp early in the morning, and push 
forward as rapidly as possible for Fort Laramie, which we hoped to 
reach, by hard traveling, in four or five days.  The captain soon 
trotted up between us, and we explained our intentions.

"A very extraordinary proceeding, upon my word!" he remarked.  Then 
he began to enlarge upon the enormity of the design.  The most 
prominent impression in his mind evidently was that we were acting a 
base and treacherous part in deserting his party, in what he 
considered a very dangerous stage of the journey.  To palliate the 
atrocity of our conduct, we ventured to suggest that we were only 
four in number while his party still included sixteen men; and as, 
moreover, we were to go forward and they were to follow, at least a 
full proportion of the perils he apprehended would fall upon us.  But 
the austerity of the captain's features would not relax.  "A very 
extraordinary proceeding, gentlemen!" and repeating this, he rode off 
to confer with his principal.

By good luck, we found a meadow of fresh grass, and a large pool of 
rain-water in the midst of it.  We encamped here at sunset.  Plenty 
of buffalo skulls were lying around, bleaching in the sun; and 
sprinkled thickly among the grass was a great variety of strange 
flowers.  I had nothing else to do, and so gathering a handful, I sat 
down on a buffalo skull to study them.  Although the offspring of a 
wilderness, their texture was frail and delicate, and their colors 
extremely rich; pure white, dark blue, and a transparent crimson.  
One traveling in this country seldom has leisure to think of anything 
but the stern features of the scenery and its accompaniments, or the 
practical details of each day's journey.  Like them, he and his 
thoughts grow hard and rough.  But now these flowers suddenly 
awakened a train of associations as alien to the rude scene around me 
as they were themselves; and for the moment my thoughts went back to 
New England.  A throng of fair and well-remembered faces rose, 
vividly as life, before me.  "There are good things," thought I, "in 
the savage life, but what can it offer to replace those powerful and 
ennobling influences that can reach unimpaired over more than three 
thousand miles of mountains, forests and deserts?"

Before sunrise on the next morning our tent was down; we harnessed 
our best horses to the cart and left the camp.  But first we shook 
hands with our friends the emigrants, who sincerely wished us a safe 
journey, though some others of the party might easily have been 
consoled had we encountered an Indian war party on the way.  The 
captain and his brother were standing on the top of a hill, wrapped 
in their plaids, like spirits of the mist, keeping an anxious eye on 
the band of horses below.  We waved adieu to them as we rode off the 
ground.  The captain replied with a salutation of the utmost dignity, 
which Jack tried to imitate; but being little practiced in the 
gestures of polite society, his effort was not a very successful one.

In five minutes we had gained the foot of the hills, but here we came 
to a stop.  Old Hendrick was in the shafts, and being the very 
incarnation of perverse and brutish obstinacy, he utterly refused to 
move.  Delorier lashed and swore till he was tired, but Hendrick 
stood like a rock, grumbling to himself and looking askance at his 
enemy, until he saw a favorable opportunity to take his revenge, when 
he struck out under the shaft with such cool malignity of intention 
that Delorier only escaped the blow by a sudden skip into the air, 
such as no one but a Frenchman could achieve.  Shaw and he then 
joined forces, and lashed on both sides at once.  The brute stood 
still for a while till he could bear it no longer, when all at once 
he began to kick and plunge till he threatened the utter demolition 
of the cart and harness.  We glanced back at the camp, which was in 
full sight.  Our companions, inspired by emulation, were leveling 
their tents and driving in their cattle and horses.

"Take the horse out," said I.

I took the saddle from Pontiac and put it upon Hendrick; the former 
was harnessed to the cart in an instant.  "Avance donc!" cried 
Delorier.  Pontiac strode up the hill, twitching the little cart 
after him as if it were a feather's weight; and though, as we gained 
the top, we saw the wagons of our deserted comrades just getting into 
motion, we had little fear that they could overtake us.  Leaving the 
trail, we struck directly across the country, and took the shortest 
cut to reach the main stream of the Platte.  A deep ravine suddenly 
intercepted us.  We skirted its sides until we found them less 
abrupt, and then plunged through the best way we could.  Passing 
behind the sandy ravines called "Ash Hollow," we stopped for a short 
nooning at the side of a pool of rain-water; but soon resumed our 
journey, and some hours before sunset were descending the ravines and 
gorges opening downward upon the Platte to the west of Ash Hollow.  
Our horses waded to the fetlock in sand; the sun scorched like fire, 
and the air swarmed with sand-flies and mosquitoes.

At last we gained the Platte.  Following it for about five miles, we 
saw, just as the sun was sinking, a great meadow, dotted with 
hundreds of cattle, and beyond them an emigrant encampment.  A party 
of about a dozen came out to meet us, looking upon us at first with 
cold and suspicious faces.  Seeing four men, different in appearance 
and equipment from themselves, emerging from the hills, they had 
taken us for the van of the much-dreaded Mormons, whom they were very 
apprehensive of encountering.  We made known our true character, and 
then they greeted us cordially.  They expressed much surprise that so 
small a party should venture to traverse that region, though in fact 
such attempts are not unfrequently made by trappers and Indian 
traders.  We rode with them to their camp.  The wagons, some fifty in 
number, with here and there a tent intervening, were arranged as 
usual in a circle; in the area within the best horses were picketed, 
and the whole circumference was glowing with the dusky light of the 
fires, displaying the forms of the women and children who were 
crowded around them.  This patriarchal scene was curious and striking 
enough; but we made our escape from the place with all possible 
dispatch, being tormented by the intrusive curiosity of the men who 
crowded around us.  Yankee curiosity was nothing to theirs.  They 
demanded our names, where we came from, where we were going, and what 
was our business.  The last query was particularly embarrassing; 
since traveling in that country, or indeed anywhere, from any other 
motive than gain, was an idea of which they took no cognizance.  Yet 
they were fine-looking fellows, with an air of frankness, generosity, 
and even courtesy, having come from one of the least barbarous of the 
frontier counties.

We passed about a mile beyond them, and encamped.  Being too few in 
number to stand guard without excessive fatigue, we extinguished our 
fire, lest it should attract the notice of wandering Indians; and 
picketing our horses close around us, slept undisturbed till morning.  
For three days we traveled without interruption, and on the evening 
of the third encamped by the well-known spring on Scott's Bluff.

Henry Chatillon and I rode out in the morning, and descending the 
western side of the Bluff, were crossing the plain beyond.  Something 
that seemed to me a file of buffalo came into view, descending the 
hills several miles before us.  But Henry reined in his horse, and 
keenly peering across the prairie with a better and more practiced 
eye, soon discovered its real nature.  "Indians!" he said.  "Old 
Smoke's lodges, I b'lieve.  Come! let us go!  Wah! get up, now, Five 
Hundred Dollar!"  And laying on the lash with good will, he galloped 
forward, and I rode by his side.  Not long after, a black speck 
became visible on the prairie, full two miles off.  It grew larger 
and larger; it assumed the form of a man and horse; and soon we could 
discern a naked Indian, careering at full gallop toward us.  When 
within a furlong he wheeled his horse in a wide circle, and made him 
describe various mystic figures upon the prairie; and Henry 
immediately compelled Five Hundred Dollar to execute similar 
evolutions.  "It IS Old Smoke's village," said he, interpreting these 
signals; "didn't I say so?"

As the Indian approached we stopped to wait for him, when suddenly he 
vanished, sinking, as it were, into the earth.  He had come upon one 
of the deep ravines that everywhere intersect these prairies.  In an 
instant the rough head of his horse stretched upward from the edge 
and the rider and steed came scrambling out, and hounded up to us; a 
sudden jerk of the rein brought the wild panting horse to a full 
stop.  Then followed the needful formality of shaking hands.  I 
forget our visitor's name.  He was a young fellow, of no note in his 
nation; yet in his person and equipments he was a good specimen of a 
Dakota warrior in his ordinary traveling dress.  Like most of his 
people, he was nearly six feet high; lithely and gracefully, yet 
strongly proportioned; and with a skin singularly clear and delicate.  
He wore no paint; his head was bare; and his long hair was gathered 
in a clump behind, to the top of which was attached transversely, 
both by way of ornament and of talisman, the mystic whistle, made of 
the wingbone of the war eagle, and endowed with various magic 
virtues.  From the back of his head descended a line of glittering 
brass plates, tapering from the size of a doubloon to that of a half-
dime, a cumbrous ornament, in high vogue among the Dakotas, and for 
which they pay the traders a most extravagant price; his chest and 
arms were naked, the buffalo robe, worn over them when at rest, had 
fallen about his waist, and was confined there by a belt.  This, with 
the gay moccasins on his feet, completed his attire.  For arms he 
carried a quiver of dogskin at his back, and a rude but powerful bow 
in his hand.  His horse had no bridle; a cord of hair, lashed around 
his jaw, served in place of one.  The saddle was of most singular 
construction; it was made of wood covered with raw hide, and both 
pommel and cantle rose perpendicularly full eighteen inches, so that 
the warrior was wedged firmly in his seat, whence nothing could 
dislodge him but the bursting of the girths.

Advancing with our new companion, we found more of his people seated 
in a circle on the top of a hill; while a rude procession came 
straggling down the neighboring hollow, men, women, and children, 
with horses dragging the lodge-poles behind them.  All that morning, 
as we moved forward, tall savages were stalking silently about us.  
At noon we reached Horse Creek; and as we waded through the shallow 
water, we saw a wild and striking scene.  The main body of the 
Indians had arrived before us.  On the farther bank stood a large and 
strong man, nearly naked, holding a white horse by a long cord, and 
eyeing us as we approached.  This was the chief, whom Henry called 
"Old Smoke."  Just behind him his youngest and favorite squaw sat 
astride of a fine mule; it was covered with caparisons of whitened 
skins, garnished with blue and white beads, and fringed with little 
ornaments of metal that tinkled with every movement of the animal.  
The girl had a light clear complexion, enlivened by a spot of 
vermilion on each cheek; she smiled, not to say grinned, upon us, 
showing two gleaming rows of white teeth.  In her hand, she carried 
the tall lance of her unchivalrous lord, fluttering with feathers; 
his round white shield hung at the side of her mule; and his pipe was 
slung at her back.  Her dress was a tunic of deerskin, made 
beautifully white by means of a species of clay found on the prairie, 
and ornamented with beads, arrayed in figures more gay than tasteful, 
and with long fringes at all the seams.  Not far from the chief stood 
a group of stately figures, their white buffalo robes thrown over 
their shoulders, gazing coldly upon us; and in the rear, for several 
acres, the ground was covered with a temporary encampment; men, 
women, and children swarmed like bees; hundreds of dogs, of all sizes 
and colors, ran restlessly about; and, close at hand, the wide 
shallow stream was alive with boys, girls, and young squaws, 
splashing, screaming, and laughing in the water.  At the same time a 
long train of emigrant wagons were crossing the creek, and dragging 
on in their slow, heavy procession, passed the encampment of the 
people whom they and their descendants, in the space of a century, 
are to sweep from the face of the earth.

The encampment itself was merely a temporary one during the heat of 
the day.  None of the lodges were erected; but their heavy leather 
coverings, and the long poles used to support them, were scattered 
everywhere around, among weapons, domestic utensils, and the rude 
harness of mules and horses.  The squaws of each lazy warrior had 
made him a shelter from the sun, by stretching a few buffalo robes, 
or the corner of a lodge-covering upon poles; and here he sat in the 
shade, with a favorite young squaw, perhaps, at his side, glittering 
with all imaginable trinkets.  Before him stood the insignia of his 
rank as a warrior, his white shield of bull-hide, his medicine bag, 
his bow and quiver, his lance and his pipe, raised aloft on a tripod 
of three poles.  Except the dogs, the most active and noisy tenants 
of the camp were the old women, ugly as Macbeth's witches, with their 
hair streaming loose in the wind, and nothing but the tattered 
fragment of an old buffalo robe to hide their shriveled wiry limbs.  
The day of their favoritism passed two generations ago; now the 
heaviest labors of the camp devolved upon them; they were to harness 
the horses, pitch the lodges, dress the buffalo robes, and bring in 
meat for the hunters.  With the cracked voices of these hags, the 
clamor of dogs, the shouting and laughing of children and girls, and 
the listless tranquillity of the warriors, the whole scene had an 
effect too lively and picturesque ever to be forgotten.

We stopped not far from the Indian camp, and having invited some of 
the chiefs and warriors to dinner, placed before them a sumptuous 
repast of biscuit and coffee.  Squatted in a half circle on the 
ground, they soon disposed of it.  As we rode forward on the 
afternoon journey, several of our late guests accompanied us.  Among 
the rest was a huge bloated savage of more than three hundred pounds' 
weight, christened La Cochon, in consideration of his preposterous 
dimensions and certain corresponding traits of his character.  "The 
Hog" bestrode a little white pony, scarce able to bear up under the 
enormous burden, though, by way of keeping up the necessary stimulus, 
the rider kept both feet in constant motion, playing alternately 
against his ribs.  The old man was not a chief; he never had ambition 
enough to become one; he was not a warrior nor a hunter, for he was 
too fat and lazy: but he was the richest man in the whole village.  
Riches among the Dakotas consist in horses, and of these The Hog had 
accumulated more than thirty.  He had already ten times as many as he 
wanted, yet still his appetite for horses was insatiable.  Trotting 
up to me he shook me by the hand, and gave me to understand that he 
was a very devoted friend; and then he began a series of most earnest 
signs and gesticulations, his oily countenance radiant with smiles, 
and his little eyes peeping out with a cunning twinkle from between 
the masses of flesh that almost obscured them.  Knowing nothing at 
that time of the sign language of the Indians, I could only guess at 
his meaning.  So I called on Henry to explain it.

The Hog, it seems, was anxious to conclude a matrimonial bargain.  He 
said he had a very pretty daughter in his lodge, whom he would give 
me, if I would give him my horse.  These flattering overtures I chose 
to reject; at which The Hog, still laughing with undiminished good 
humor, gathered his robe about his shoulders, and rode away.

Where we encamped that night, an arm of the Platte ran between high 
bluffs; it was turbid and swift as heretofore, but trees were growing 
on its crumbling banks, and there was a nook of grass between the 
water and the hill.  Just before entering this place, we saw the 
emigrants encamping at two or three miles' distance on the right; 
while the whole Indian rabble were pouring down the neighboring hill 
in hope of the same sort of entertainment which they had experienced 
from us.  In the savage landscape before our camp, nothing but the 
rushing of the Platte broke the silence.  Through the ragged boughs 
of the trees, dilapidated and half dead, we saw the sun setting in 
crimson behind the peaks of the Black Hills; the restless bosom of 
the river was suffused with red; our white tent was tinged with it, 
and the sterile bluffs, up to the rocks that crowned them, partook of 
the same fiery hue.  It soon passed away; no light remained, but that 
from our fire, blazing high among the dusky trees and bushes.  We lay 
around it wrapped in our blankets, smoking and conversing until a 
late hour, and then withdrew to our tent.

We crossed a sun-scorched plain on the next morning; the line of old 
cotton-wood trees that fringed the bank of the Platte forming its 
extreme verge.  Nestled apparently close beneath them, we could 
discern in the distance something like a building.  As we came 
nearer, it assumed form and dimensions, and proved to be a rough 
structure of logs.  It was a little trading fort, belonging to two 
private traders; and originally intended, like all the forts of the 
country, to form a hollow square, with rooms for lodging and storage 
opening upon the area within.  Only two sides of it had been 
completed; the place was now as ill-fitted for the purposes of 
defense as any of those little log-houses, which upon our constantly 
shifting frontier have been so often successfully maintained against 
overwhelming odds of Indians.  Two lodges were pitched close to the 
fort; the sun beat scorching upon the logs; no living thing was 
stirring except one old squaw, who thrust her round head from the 
opening of the nearest lodge, and three or four stout young pups, who 
were peeping with looks of eager inquiry from under the covering.  In 
a moment a door opened, and a little, swarthy black-eyed Frenchman 
came out.  His dress was rather singular; his black curling hair was 
parted in the middle of his head, and fell below his shoulders; he 
wore a tight frock of smoked deerskin, very gayly ornamented with 
figures worked in dyed porcupine quills.  His moccasins and leggings 
were also gaudily adorned in the same manner; and the latter had in 
addition a line of long fringes, reaching down the seams.  The small 
frame of Richard, for by this name Henry made him known to us, was in 
the highest degree athletic and vigorous.  There was no superfluity, 
and indeed there seldom is among the active white men of this 
country, but every limb was compact and hard; every sinew had its 
full tone and elasticity, and the whole man wore an air of mingled 
hardihood and buoyancy.

Richard committed our horses to a Navahoe slave, a mean looking 
fellow taken prisoner on the Mexican frontier; and, relieving us of 
our rifles with ready politeness, led the way into the principal 
apartment of his establishment.  This was a room ten feet square.  
The walls and floor were of black mud, and the roof of rough timber; 
there was a huge fireplace made of four flat rocks, picked up on the 
prairie.  An Indian bow and otter-skin quiver, several gaudy articles 
of Rocky Mountain finery, an Indian medicine bag, and a pipe and 
tobacco pouch, garnished the walls, and rifles rested in a corner.  
There was no furniture except a sort of rough settle covered with 
buffalo robes, upon which lolled a tall half-breed, with his hair 
glued in masses upon each temple, and saturated with vermilion.  Two 
or three more "mountain men" sat cross-legged on the floor.  Their 
attire was not unlike that of Richard himself; but the most striking 
figure of the group was a naked Indian boy of sixteen, with a 
handsome face, and light, active proportions, who sat in an easy 
posture in the corner near the door.  Not one of his limbs moved the 
breadth of a hair; his eye was fixed immovably, not on any person 
present, but, as it appeared, on the projecting corner of the 
fireplace opposite to him.

On these prairies the custom of smoking with friends is seldom 
omitted, whether among Indians or whites.  The pipe, therefore, was 
taken from the wall, and its great red bowl crammed with the tobacco 
and shongsasha, mixed in suitable proportions.  Then it passed round 
the circle, each man inhaling a few whiffs and handing it to his 
neighbor.  Having spent half an hour here, we took our leave; first 
inviting our new friends to drink a cup of coffee with us at our 
camp, a mile farther up the river.  By this time, as the reader may 
conceive, we had grown rather shabby; our clothes had burst into rags 
and tatters; and what was worse, we had very little means of 
renovation.  Fort Laramie was but seven miles before us.  Being 
totally averse to appearing in such plight among any society that 
could boast an approximation to the civilized, we soon stopped by the 
river to make our toilet in the best way we could.  We hung up small 
looking-glasses against the trees and shaved, an operation neglected 
for six weeks; we performed our ablutions in the Platte, though the 
utility of such a proceeding was questionable, the water looking 
exactly like a cup of chocolate, and the banks consisting of the 
softest and richest yellow mud, so that we were obliged, as a 
preliminary, to build a cause-way of stout branches and twigs.  
Having also put on radiant moccasins, procured from a squaw of 
Richard's establishment, and made what other improvements our narrow 
circumstances allowed, we took our seats on the grass with a feeling 
of greatly increased respectability, to wait the arrival of our 
guests.  They came; the banquet was concluded, and the pipe smoked.  
Bidding them adieu, we turned our horses' heads toward the fort.

An hour elapsed.  The barren hills closed across our front, and we 
could see no farther; until having surmounted them, a rapid stream 
appeared at the foot of the descent, running into the Platte; beyond 
was a green meadow, dotted with bushes, and in the midst of these, at 
the point where the two rivers joined, were the low clay walls of a 
fort.  This was not Fort Laramie, but another post of less recent 
date, which having sunk before its successful competitor was now 
deserted and ruinous.  A moment after the hills, seeming to draw 
apart as we advanced, disclosed Fort Laramie itself, its high 
bastions and perpendicular walls of clay crowning an eminence on the 
left beyond the stream, while behind stretched a line of arid and 
desolate ridges, and behind these again, towering aloft seven 
thousand feet, arose the grim Black Hills.

We tried to ford Laramie Creek at a point nearly opposite the fort, 
but the stream, swollen with the rains in the mountains, was too 
rapid.  We passed up along its bank to find a better crossing place.  
Men gathered on the wall to look at us.  "There's Bordeaux!" called 
Henry, his face brightening as he recognized his acquaintance; "him 
there with the spyglass; and there's old Vaskiss, and Tucker, and 
May; and, by George! there's Cimoneau!"  This Cimoneau was Henry's 
fast friend, and the only man in the country who could rival him in 
hunting.

We soon found a ford.  Henry led the way, the pony approaching the 
bank with a countenance of cool indifference, bracing his feet and 
sliding into the stream with the most unmoved composure.


     At the first plunge the horse sunk low,
     And the water broke o'er the saddle-bow


We followed; the water boiled against our saddles, but our horses 
bore us easily through.  The unfortunate little mules came near going 
down with the current, cart and all; and we watched them with some 
solicitude scrambling over the loose round stones at the bottom, and 
bracing stoutly against the stream.  All landed safely at last; we 
crossed a little plain, descended a hollow, and riding up a steep 
bank found ourselves before the gateway of Fort Laramie, under the 
impending blockhouse erected above it to defend the entrance.



CHAPTER IX

SCENES AT FORT LARAMIE


Looking back, after the expiration of a year, upon Fort Laramie and 
its inmates, they seem less like a reality than like some fanciful 
picture of the olden time; so different was the scene from any which 
this tamer side of the world can present.  Tall Indians, enveloped in 
their white buffalo robes, were striding across the area or reclining 
at full length on the low roofs of the buildings which inclosed it.  
Numerous squaws, gayly bedizened, sat grouped in front of the 
apartments they occupied; their mongrel offspring, restless and 
vociferous, rambled in every direction through the fort; and the 
trappers, traders, and ENGAGES of the establishment were busy at 
their labor or their amusements.

We were met at the gate, but by no means cordially welcomed.  Indeed, 
we seemed objects of some distrust and suspicion until Henry 
Chatillon explained that we were not traders, and we, in 
confirmation, handed to the bourgeois a letter of introduction from 
his principals.  He took it, turned it upside down, and tried hard to 
read it; but his literary attainments not being adequate to the task, 
he applied for relief to the clerk, a sleek, smiling Frenchman, named 
Montalon.  The letter read, Bordeaux (the bourgeois) seemed gradually 
to awaken to a sense of what was expected of him.  Though not 
deficient in hospitable intentions, he was wholly unaccustomed to act 
as master of ceremonies.  Discarding all formalities of reception, he 
did not honor us with a single word, but walked swiftly across the 
area, while we followed in some admiration to a railing and a flight 
of steps opposite the entrance.  He signed to us that we had better 
fasten our horses to the railing; then he walked up the steps, 
tramped along a rude balcony, and kicking open a door displayed a 
large room, rather more elaborately finished than a barn.  For 
furniture it had a rough bedstead, but no bed; two chairs, a chest of 
drawers, a tin pail to hold water, and a board to cut tobacco upon.  
A brass crucifix hung on the wall, and close at hand a recent scalp, 
with hair full a yard long, was suspended from a nail.  I shall again 
have occasion to mention this dismal trophy, its history being 
connected with that of our subsequent proceedings.

This apartment, the best in Fort Laramie, was that usually occupied 
by the legitimate bourgeois, Papin; in whose absence the command 
devolved upon Bordeaux.  The latter, a stout, bluff little fellow, 
much inflated by a sense of his new authority, began to roar for 
buffalo robes.  These being brought and spread upon the floor formed 
our beds; much better ones than we had of late been accustomed to.  
Our arrangements made, we stepped out to the balcony to take a more 
leisurely survey of the long looked-for haven at which we had arrived 
at last.  Beneath us was the square area surrounded by little rooms, 
or rather cells, which opened upon it.  These were devoted to various 
purposes, but served chiefly for the accommodation of the men 
employed at the fort, or of the equally numerous squaws, whom they 
were allowed to maintain in it.  Opposite to us rose the blockhouse 
above the gateway; it was adorned with a figure which even now haunts 
my memory; a horse at full speed, daubed upon the boards with red 
paint, and exhibiting a degree of skill which might rival that 
displayed by the Indians in executing similar designs upon their 
robes and lodges.  A busy scene was enacting in the area.  The wagons 
of Vaskiss, an old trader, were about to set out for a remote post in 
the mountains, and the Canadians were going through their 
preparations with all possible bustle, while here and there an Indian 
stood looking on with imperturbable gravity.

Fort Laramie is one of the posts established by the American Fur 
Company, who well-nigh monopolize the Indian trade of this whole 
region.  Here their officials rule with an absolute sway; the arm of 
the United States has little force; for when we were there, the 
extreme outposts of her troops were about seven hundred miles to the 
eastward.  The little fort is built of bricks dried in the sun, and 
externally is of an oblong form, with bastions of clay, in the form 
of ordinary blockhouses, at two of the corners.  The walls are about 
fifteen feet high, and surmounted by a slender palisade.  The roofs 
of the apartments within, which are built close against the walls, 
serve the purpose of a banquette.  Within, the fort is divided by a 
partition; on one side is the square area surrounded by the 
storerooms, offices, and apartments of the inmates; on the other is 
the corral, a narrow place, encompassed by the high clay walls, where 
at night, or in presence of dangerous Indians, the horses and mules 
of the fort are crowded for safe-keeping.  The main entrance has two 
gates, with an arched passage intervening.  A little square window, 
quite high above the ground, opens laterally from an adjoining 
chamber into this passage; so that when the inner gate is closed and 
barred, a person without may still hold communication with those 
within through this narrow aperture.  This obviates the necessity of 
admitting suspicious Indians, for purposes of trading, into the body 
of the fort; for when danger is apprehended, the inner gate is shut 
fast, and all traffic is carried on by means of the little window.  
This precaution, though highly necessary at some of the company's 
posts, is now seldom resorted to at Fort Laramie; where, though men 
are frequently killed in its neighborhood, no apprehensions are now 
entertained of any general designs of hostility from the Indians.

We did not long enjoy our new quarters undisturbed.  The door was 
silently pushed open, and two eyeballs and a visage as black as night 
looked in upon us; then a red arm and shoulder intruded themselves, 
and a tall Indian, gliding in, shook us by the hand, grunted his 
salutation, and sat down on the floor.  Others followed, with faces 
of the natural hue; and letting fall their heavy robes from their 
shoulders, they took their seats, quite at ease, in a semicircle 
before us.  The pipe was now to be lighted and passed round from one 
to another; and this was the only entertainment that at present they 
expected from us.  These visitors were fathers, brothers, or other 
relatives of the squaws in the fort, where they were permitted to 
remain, loitering about in perfect idleness.  All those who smoked 
with us were men of standing and repute.  Two or three others dropped 
in also; young fellows who neither by their years nor their exploits 
were entitled to rank with the old men and warriors, and who, abashed 
in the presence of their superiors, stood aloof, never withdrawing 
their eyes from us.  Their cheeks were adorned with vermilion, their 
ears with pendants of shell, and their necks with beads.  Never yet 
having signalized themselves as hunters, or performed the honorable 
exploit of killing a man, they were held in slight esteem, and were 
diffident and bashful in proportion.  Certain formidable 
inconveniences attended this influx of visitors.  They were bent on 
inspecting everything in the room; our equipments and our dress alike 
underwent their scrutiny; for though the contrary has been carelessly 
asserted, few beings have more curiosity than Indians in regard to 
subjects within their ordinary range of thought.  As to other 
matters, indeed, they seemed utterly indifferent.  They will not 
trouble themselves to inquire into what they cannot comprehend, but 
are quite contented to place their hands over their mouths in token 
of wonder, and exclaim that it is "great medicine."  With this 
comprehensive solution, an Indian never is at a loss.  He never 
launches forth into speculation and conjecture; his reason moves in 
its beaten track.  His soul is dormant; and no exertions of the 
missionaries, Jesuit or Puritan, of the Old World or of the New, have 
as yet availed to rouse it.

As we were looking, at sunset, from the wall, upon the wild and 
desolate plains that surround the fort, we observed a cluster of 
strange objects like scaffolds rising in the distance against the red 
western sky.  They bore aloft some singular looking burdens; and at 
their foot glimmered something white like bones.  This was the place 
of sepulture of some Dakota chiefs, whose remains their people are 
fond of placing in the vicinity of the fort, in the hope that they 
may thus be protected from violation at the hands of their enemies.  
Yet it has happened more than once, and quite recently, that war 
parties of the Crow Indians, ranging through the country, have thrown 
the bodies from the scaffolds, and broken them to pieces amid the 
yells of the Dakotas, who remained pent up in the fort, too few to 
defend the honored relics from insult.  The white objects upon the 
ground were buffalo skulls, arranged in the mystic circle commonly 
seen at Indian places of sepulture upon the prairie.

We soon discovered, in the twilight, a band of fifty or sixty horses 
approaching the fort.  These were the animals belonging to the 
establishment; who having been sent out to feed, under the care of 
armed guards, in the meadows below, were now being driven into the 
corral for the night.  A little gate opened into this inclosure; by 
the side of it stood one of the guards, an old Canadian, with gray 
bushy eyebrows, and a dragoon pistol stuck into his belt; while his 
comrade, mounted on horseback, his rifle laid across the saddle in 
front of him, and his long hair blowing before his swarthy face, rode 
at the rear of the disorderly troop, urging them up the ascent.  In a 
moment the narrow corral was thronged with the half-wild horses, 
kicking, biting, and crowding restlessly together.

The discordant jingling of a bell, rung by a Canadian in the area, 
summoned us to supper.  This sumptuous repast was served on a rough 
table in one of the lower apartments of the fort, and consisted of 
cakes of bread and dried buffalo meat--an excellent thing for 
strengthening the teeth.  At this meal were seated the bourgeois and 
superior dignitaries of the establishment, among whom Henry Chatillon 
was worthily included.  No sooner was it finished, than the table was 
spread a second time (the luxury of bread being now, however, 
omitted), for the benefit of certain hunters and trappers of an 
inferior standing; while the ordinary Canadian ENGAGES were regaled 
on dried meat in one of their lodging rooms.  By way of illustrating 
the domestic economy of Fort Laramie, it may not be amiss to 
introduce in this place a story current among the men when we were 
there.

There was an old man named Pierre, whose duty it was to bring the 
meat from the storeroom for the men.  Old Pierre, in the kindness of 
his heart, used to select the fattest and the best pieces for his 
companions.  This did not long escape the keen-eyed bourgeois, who 
was greatly disturbed at such improvidence, and cast about for some 
means to stop it.  At last he hit on a plan that exactly suited him.  
At the side of the meat-room, and separated from it by a clay 
partition, was another compartment, used for the storage of furs.  It 
had no other communication with the fort, except through a square 
hole in the partition; and of course it was perfectly dark.  One 
evening the bourgeois, watching for a moment when no one observed 
him, dodged into the meat-room, clambered through the hole, and 
ensconced himself among the furs and buffalo robes.  Soon after, old 
Pierre came in with his lantern; and, muttering to himself, began to 
pull over the bales of meat, and select the best pieces, as usual.  
But suddenly a hollow and sepulchral voice proceeded from the inner 
apartment: "Pierre!  Pierre!  Let that fat meat alone!  Take nothing 
but lean!"  Pierre dropped his lantern, and bolted out into the fort, 
screaming, in an agony of terror, that the devil was in the 
storeroom; but tripping on the threshold, he pitched over upon the 
gravel, and lay senseless, stunned by the fall.  The Canadians ran 
out to the rescue.  Some lifted the unlucky Pierre; and others, 
making an extempore crucifix out of two sticks, were proceeding to 
attack the devil in his stronghold, when the bourgeois, with a crest-
fallen countenance, appeared at the door.  To add to the bourgeois' 
mortification, he was obliged to explain the whole stratagem to 
Pierre, in order to bring the latter to his senses.

We were sitting, on the following morning, in the passage-way between 
the gates, conversing with the traders Vaskiss and May.  These two 
men, together with our sleek friend, the clerk Montalon, were, I 
believe, the only persons then in the fort who could read and write.  
May was telling a curious story about the traveler Catlin, when an 
ugly, diminutive Indian, wretchedly mounted, came up at a gallop, and 
rode past us into the fort.  On being questioned, he said that 
Smoke's village was close at hand.  Accordingly only a few minutes 
elapsed before the hills beyond the river were covered with a 
disorderly swarm of savages, on horseback and on foot.  May finished 
his story; and by that time the whole array had descended to Laramie 
Creek, and commenced crossing it in a mass.  I walked down to the 
bank.  The stream is wide, and was then between three and four feet 
deep, with a very swift current.  For several rods the water was 
alive with dogs, horses, and Indians.  The long poles used in 
erecting the lodges are carried by the horses, being fastened by the 
heavier end, two or three on each side, to a rude sort of pack 
saddle, while the other end drags on the ground.  About a foot behind 
the horse, a kind of large basket or pannier is suspended between the 
poles, and firmly lashed in its place on the back of the horse are 
piled various articles of luggage; the basket also is well filled 
with domestic utensils, or, quite as often, with a litter of puppies, 
a brood of small children, or a superannuated old man.  Numbers of 
these curious vehicles, called, in the bastard language of the 
country travaux were now splashing together through the stream.  
Among them swam countless dogs, often burdened with miniature 
travaux; and dashing forward on horseback through the throng came the 
superbly formed warriors, the slender figure of some lynx-eyed boy, 
clinging fast behind them.  The women sat perched on the pack 
saddles, adding not a little to the load of the already overburdened 
horses.  The confusion was prodigious.  The dogs yelled and howled in 
chorus; the puppies in the travaux set up a dismal whine as the water 
invaded their comfortable retreat; the little black-eyed children, 
from one year of age upward, clung fast with both hands to the edge 
of their basket, and looked over in alarm at the water rushing so 
near them, sputtering and making wry mouths as it splashed against 
their faces.  Some of the dogs, encumbered by their loads, were 
carried down by the current, yelping piteously; and the old squaws 
would rush into the water, seize their favorites by the neck, and 
drag them out.  As each horse gained the bank, he scrambled up as he 
could.  Stray horses and colts came among the rest, often breaking 
away at full speed through the crowd, followed by the old hags, 
screaming after their fashion on all occasions of excitement.  Buxom 
young squaws, blooming in all the charms of vermilion, stood here and 
there on the bank, holding aloft their master's lance, as a signal to 
collect the scattered portions of his household.  In a few moments 
the crowd melted away; each family, with its horses and equipage, 
filing off to the plain at the rear of the fort; and here, in the 
space of half an hour, arose sixty or seventy of their tapering 
lodges.  Their horses were feeding by hundreds over the surrounding 
prairie, and their dogs were roaming everywhere.  The fort was full 
of men, and the children were whooping and yelling incessantly under 
the walls.

These newcomers were scarcely arrived, when Bordeaux was running 
across the fort, shouting to his squaw to bring him his spyglass.  
The obedient Marie, the very model of a squaw, produced the 
instrument, and Bordeaux hurried with it up to the wall.  Pointing it 
to the eastward, he exclaimed, with an oath, that the families were 
coming.  But a few moments elapsed before the heavy caravan of the 
emigrant wagons could be seen, steadily advancing from the hills.  
They gained the river, and without turning or pausing plunged in; 
they passed through, and slowly ascending the opposing bank, kept 
directly on their way past the fort and the Indian village, until, 
gaining a spot a quarter of a mile distant, they wheeled into a 
circle.  For some time our tranquillity was undisturbed.  The 
emigrants were preparing their encampment; but no sooner was this 
accomplished than Fort Laramie was fairly taken by storm.  A crowd of 
broad-brimmed hats, thin visages, and staring eyes appeared suddenly 
at the gate.  Tall awkward men, in brown homespun; women with 
cadaverous faces and long lank figures came thronging in together, 
and, as if inspired by the very demon of curiosity, ransacked every 
nook and corner of the fort.  Dismayed at this invasion, we withdrew 
in all speed to our chamber, vainly hoping that it might prove an 
inviolable sanctuary.  The emigrants prosecuted their investigations 
with untiring vigor.  They penetrated the rooms or rather dens, 
inhabited by the astonished squaws.  They explored the apartments of 
the men, and even that of Marie and the bourgeois.  At last a 
numerous deputation appeared at our door, but were immediately 
expelled.  Being totally devoid of any sense of delicacy or 
propriety, they seemed resolved to search every mystery to the 
bottom.

Having at length satisfied their curiosity, they next proceeded to 
business.  The men occupied themselves in procuring supplies for 
their onward journey; either buying them with money or giving in 
exchange superfluous articles of their own.

The emigrants felt a violent prejudice against the French Indians, as 
they called the trappers and traders.  They thought, and with some 
justice, that these men bore them no good will.  Many of them were 
firmly persuaded that the French were instigating the Indians to 
attack and cut them off.  On visiting the encampment we were at once 
struck with the extraordinary perplexity and indecision that 
prevailed among the emigrants.  They seemed like men totally out of 
their elements; bewildered and amazed, like a troop of school-boys 
lost in the woods.  It was impossible to be long among them without 
being conscious of the high and bold spirit with which most of them 
were animated.  But the FOREST is the home of the backwoodsman.  On 
the remote prairie he is totally at a loss.  He differs much from the 
genuine "mountain man," the wild prairie hunter, as a Canadian 
voyageur, paddling his canoe on the rapids of the Ottawa, differs 
from an American sailor among the storms of Cape Horn.  Still my 
companion and I were somewhat at a loss to account for this perturbed 
state of mind.  It could not be cowardice; these men were of the same 
stock with the volunteers of Monterey and Buena Vista.  Yet, for the 
most part, they were the rudest and most ignorant of the frontier 
population; they knew absolutely nothing of the country and its 
inhabitants; they had already experienced much misfortune, and 
apprehended more; they had seen nothing of mankind, and had never put 
their own resources to the test.

A full proportion of suspicion fell upon us.  Being strangers we were 
looked upon as enemies.  Having occasion for a supply of lead and a 
few other necessary articles, we used to go over to the emigrant 
camps to obtain them.  After some hesitation, some dubious glances, 
and fumbling of the hands in the pockets, the terms would be agreed 
upon, the price tendered, and the emigrant would go off to bring the 
article in question.  After waiting until our patience gave out, we 
would go in search of him, and find him seated on the tongue of his 
wagon.

"Well, stranger," he would observe, as he saw us approach, "I reckon 
I won't trade!"

Some friend of his followed him from the scene of the bargain and 
suggested in his ear, that clearly we meant to cheat him, and he had 
better have nothing to do with us.

This timorous mood of the emigrants was doubly unfortunate, as it 
exposed them to real danger.  Assume, in the presence of Indians a 
bold bearing, self-confident yet vigilant, and you will find them 
tolerably safe neighbors.  But your safety depends on the respect and 
fear you are able to inspire.  If you betray timidity or indecision, 
you convert them from that moment into insidious and dangerous 
enemies.  The Dakotas saw clearly enough the perturbation of the 
emigrants and instantly availed themselves of it.  They became 
extremely insolent and exacting in their demands.  It has become an 
established custom with them to go to the camp of every party, at it 
arrives in succession at the fort, and demand a feast.  Smoke's 
village had come with the express design, having made several days' 
journey with no other object than that of enjoying a cup of coffee 
and two or three biscuits.  So the "feast" was demanded, and the 
emigrants dared not refuse it.

One evening, about sunset, the village was deserted.  We met old men, 
warriors, squaws, and children in gay attire, trooping off to the 
encampment, with faces of anticipation; and, arriving here, they 
seated themselves in a semicircle.  Smoke occupied the center, with 
his warriors on either hand; the young men and boys next succeeded, 
and the squaws and children formed the horns of the crescent.  The 
biscuit and coffee were most promptly dispatched, the emigrants 
staring open-mouthed at their savage guests.  With each new emigrant 
party that arrived at Fort Laramie this scene was renewed; and every 
day the Indians grew more rapacious and presumptuous.  One evening 
they broke to pieces, out of mere wantonness, the cups from which 
they had been feasted; and this so exasperated the emigrants that 
many of them seized their rifles and could scarcely be restrained 
from firing on the insolent mob of Indians.  Before we left the 
country this dangerous spirit on the part of the Dakota had mounted 
to a yet higher pitch.  They began openly to threaten the emigrants 
with destruction, and actually fired upon one or two parties of 
whites.  A military force and military law are urgently called for in 
that perilous region; and unless troops are speedily stationed at 
Fort Laramie, or elsewhere in the neighborhood, both the emigrants 
and other travelers will be exposed to most imminent risks.

The Ogallalla, the Brules, and other western bands of the Dakota, are 
thorough savages, unchanged by any contact with civilization.  Not 
one of them can speak a European tongue, or has ever visited an 
American settlement.  Until within a year or two, when the emigrants 
began to pass through their country on the way to Oregon, they had 
seen no whites except the handful employed about the Fur Company's 
posts.  They esteemed them a wise people, inferior only to 
themselves, living in leather lodges, like their own, and subsisting 
on buffalo.  But when the swarm of MENEASKA, with their oxen and 
wagons, began to invade them, their astonishment was unbounded.  They 
could scarcely believe that the earth contained such a multitude of 
white men.  Their wonder is now giving way to indignation; and the 
result, unless vigilantly guarded against, may be lamentable in the 
extreme.

But to glance at the interior of a lodge.  Shaw and I used often to 
visit them.  Indeed, we spent most of our evenings in the Indian 
village; Shaw's assumption of the medical character giving us a fair 
pretext.  As a sample of the rest I will describe one of these 
visits.  The sun had just set, and the horses were driven into the 
corral.  The Prairie Cock, a noted beau, came in at the gate with a 
bevy of young girls, with whom he began to dance in the area, leading 
them round and round in a circle, while he jerked up from his chest a 
succession of monotonous sounds, to which they kept time in a rueful 
chant.  Outside the gate boys and young men were idly frolicking; and 
close by, looking grimly upon them, stood a warrior in his robe, with 
his face painted jet-black, in token that he had lately taken a 
Pawnee scalp.  Passing these, the tall dark lodges rose between us 
and the red western sky.  We repaired at once to the lodge of Old 
Smoke himself.  It was by no means better than the others; indeed, it 
was rather shabby; for in this democratic community, the chief never 
assumes superior state.  Smoke sat cross-legged on a buffalo robe, 
and his grunt of salutation as we entered was unusually cordial, out 
of respect no doubt to Shaw's medical character.  Seated around the 
lodge were several squaws, and an abundance of children.  The 
complaint of Shaw's patients was, for the most part, a severe 
inflammation of the eyes, occasioned by exposure to the sun, a 
species of disorder which he treated with some success.  He had 
brought with him a homeopathic medicine chest, and was, I presume, 
the first who introduced that harmless system of treatment among the 
Ogallalla.  No sooner had a robe been spread at the head of the lodge 
for our accommodation, and we had seated ourselves upon it, than a 
patient made her appearance; the chief's daughter herself, who, to do 
her justice, was the best-looking girl in the village.  Being on 
excellent terms with the physician, she placed herself readily under 
his hands, and submitted with a good grace to his applications, 
laughing in his face during the whole process, for a squaw hardly 
knows how to smile.  This case dispatched, another of a different 
kind succeeded.  A hideous, emaciated old woman sat in the darkest 
corner of the lodge rocking to and fro with pain and hiding her eyes 
from the light by pressing the palms of both hands against her face.  
At Smoke's command, she came forward, very unwillingly, and exhibited 
a pair of eyes that had nearly disappeared from excess of 
inflammation.  No sooner had the doctor fastened his grips upon her 
than she set up a dismal moaning, and writhed so in his grasp that he 
lost all patience, but being resolved to carry his point, he 
succeeded at last in applying his favorite remedies.

"It is strange," he said, when the operation was finished, "that I 
forgot to bring any Spanish flies with me; we must have something 
here to answer for a counter-irritant!"

So, in the absence of better, he seized upon a red-hot brand from the 
fire, and clapped it against the temple of the old squaw, who set up 
an unearthly howl, at which the rest of the family broke out into a 
laugh.

During these medical operations Smoke's eldest squaw entered the 
lodge, with a sort of stone mallet in her hand.  I had observed some 
time before a litter of well-grown black puppies, comfortably nestled 
among some buffalo robes at one side; but this newcomer speedily 
disturbed their enjoyment; for seizing one of them by the hind paw, 
she dragged him out, and carrying him to the entrance of the lodge, 
hammered him on the head till she killed him.  Being quite conscious 
to what this preparation tended, I looked through a hole in the back 
of the lodge to see the next steps of the process.  The squaw, 
holding the puppy by the legs, was swinging him to and fro through 
the blaze of a fire, until the hair was singed off.  This done, she 
unsheathed her knife and cut him into small pieces, which she dropped 
into a kettle to boil.  In a few moments a large wooden dish was set 
before us, filled with this delicate preparation.  We felt conscious 
of the honor.  A dog-feast is the greatest compliment a Dakota can 
offer to his guest; and knowing that to refuse eating would be an 
affront, we attacked the little dog and devoured him before the eyes 
of his unconscious parent.  Smoke in the meantime was preparing his 
great pipe.  It was lighted when we had finished our repast, and we 
passed it from one to another till the bowl was empty.  This done, we 
took our leave without further ceremony, knocked at the gate of the 
fort, and after making ourselves known were admitted.

One morning, about a week after reaching Fort Laramie, we were 
holding our customary Indian levee, when a bustle in the area below 
announced a new arrival; and looking down from our balcony, I saw a 
familiar red beard and mustache in the gateway.  They belonged to the 
captain, who with his party had just crossed the stream.  We met him 
on the stairs as he came up, and congratulated him on the safe 
arrival of himself and his devoted companions.  But he remembered our 
treachery, and was grave and dignified accordingly; a tendency which 
increased as he observed on our part a disposition to laugh at him.  
After remaining an hour or two at the fort he rode away with his 
friends, and we have heard nothing of him since.  As for R., he kept 
carefully aloof.  It was but too evident that we had the unhappiness 
to have forfeited the kind regards of our London fellow-traveler.



CHAPTER X

THE WAR PARTIES


The summer of 1846 was a season of much warlike excitement among all 
the western bands of the Dakota.  In 1845 they encountered great 
reverses.  Many war parties had been sent out; some of them had been 
totally cut off, and others had returned broken and disheartened, so 
that the whole nation was in mourning.  Among the rest, ten warriors 
had gone to the Snake country, led by the son of a prominent 
Ogallalla chief, called The Whirlwind.  In passing over Laramie 
Plains they encountered a superior number of their enemies, were 
surrounded, and killed to a man.  Having performed this exploit the 
Snakes became alarmed, dreading the resentment of the Dakota, and 
they hastened therefore to signify their wish for peace by sending 
the scalp of the slain partisan, together with a small parcel of 
tobacco attached, to his tribesmen and relations.  They had employed 
old Vaskiss, the trader, as their messenger, and the scalp was the 
same that hung in our room at the fort.  But The Whirlwind proved 
inexorable.  Though his character hardly corresponds with his name, 
he is nevertheless an Indian, and hates the Snakes with his whole 
soul.  Long before the scalp arrived he had made his preparations for 
revenge.  He sent messengers with presents and tobacco to all the 
Dakota within three hundred miles, proposing a grand combination to 
chastise the Snakes, and naming a place and time of rendezvous.  The 
plan was readily adopted and at this moment many villages, probably 
embracing in the whole five or six thousand souls, were slowly 
creeping over the prairies and tending towards the common center at 
La Bonte's Camp, on the Platte.  Here their war-like rites were to be 
celebrated with more than ordinary solemnity, and a thousand 
warriors, as it was said, were to set out for the enemy country.  The 
characteristic result of this preparation will appear in the sequel.

I was greatly rejoiced to hear of it.  I had come into the country 
almost exclusively with a view of observing the Indian character.  
Having from childhood felt a curiosity on this subject, and having 
failed completely to gratify it by reading, I resolved to have 
recourse to observation.  I wished to satisfy myself with regard to 
the position of the Indians among the races of men; the vices and the 
virtues that have sprung from their innate character and from their 
modes of life, their government, their superstitions, and their 
domestic situation.  To accomplish my purpose it was necessary to 
live in the midst of them, and become, as it were, one of them.  I 
proposed to join a village and make myself an inmate of one of their 
lodges; and henceforward this narrative, so far as I am concerned, 
will be chiefly a record of the progress of this design apparently so 
easy of accomplishment, and the unexpected impediments that opposed 
it.

We resolved on no account to miss the rendezvous at La Bonte's Camp.  
Our plan was to leave Delorier at the fort, in charge of our equipage 
and the better part of our horses, while we took with us nothing but 
our weapons and the worst animals we had.  In all probability 
jealousies and quarrels would arise among so many hordes of fierce 
impulsive savages, congregated together under no common head, and 
many of them strangers, from remote prairies and mountains.  We were 
bound in common prudence to be cautious how we excited any feeling of 
cupidity.  This was our plan, but unhappily we were not destined to 
visit La Bonte's Camp in this manner; for one morning a young Indian 
came to the fort and brought us evil tidings.  The newcomer was a 
dandy of the first water.  His ugly face was painted with vermilion; 
on his head fluttered the tail of a prairie cock (a large species of 
pheasant, not found, as I have heard, eastward of the Rocky 
Mountains); in his ears were hung pendants of shell, and a flaming 
red blanket was wrapped around him.  He carried a dragoon sword in 
his hand, solely for display, since the knife, the arrow, and the 
rifle are the arbiters of every prairie fight; but no one in this 
country goes abroad unarmed, the dandy carried a bow and arrows in an 
otter-skin quiver at his back.  In this guise, and bestriding his 
yellow horse with an air of extreme dignity, The Horse, for that was 
his name, rode in at the gate, turning neither to the right nor the 
left, but casting glances askance at the groups of squaws who, with 
their mongrel progeny, were sitting in the sun before their doors.  
The evil tidings brought by The Horse were of the following import: 
The squaw of Henry Chatillon, a woman with whom he had been connected 
for years by the strongest ties which in that country exist between 
the sexes, was dangerously ill.  She and her children were in the 
village of The Whirlwind, at the distance of a few days' journey.  
Henry was anxious to see the woman before she died, and provide for 
the safety and support of his children, of whom he was extremely 
fond.  To have refused him this would have been gross inhumanity.  We 
abandoned our plan of joining Smoke's village, and of proceeding with 
it to the rendezvous, and determined to meet The Whirlwind, and go in 
his company.

I had been slightly ill for several weeks, but on the third night 
after reaching Fort Laramie a violent pain awoke me, and I found 
myself attacked by the same disorder that occasioned such heavy 
losses to the army on the Rio Grande.  In a day and a half I was 
reduced to extreme weakness, so that I could not walk without pain 
and effort.  Having within that time taken six grains of opium, 
without the least beneficial effect, and having no medical adviser, 
nor any choice of diet, I resolved to throw myself upon Providence 
for recovery, using, without regard to the disorder, any portion of 
strength that might remain to me.  So on the 20th of June we set out 
from Fort Laramie to meet The Whirlwind's village.  Though aided by 
the high-bowed "mountain saddle," I could scarcely keep my seat on 
horseback.  Before we left the fort we hired another man, a long-
haired Canadian, with a face like an owl's, contrasting oddly enough 
with Delorier's mercurial countenance.  This was not the only re-
enforcement to our party.  A vagrant Indian trader, named Reynal, 
joined us, together with his squaw Margot, and her two nephews, our 
dandy friend, The Horse, and his younger brother, The Hail Storm.  
Thus accompanied, we betook ourselves to the prairie, leaving the 
beaten trail, and passing over the desolate hills that flank the 
bottoms of Laramie Creek.  In all, Indians and whites, we counted 
eight men and one woman.

Reynal, the trader, the image of sleek and selfish complacency, 
carried The Horse's dragoon sword in his hand, delighting apparently 
in this useless parade; for, from spending half his life among 
Indians, he had caught not only their habits but their ideas.  
Margot, a female animal of more than two hundred pounds' weight, was 
couched in the basket of a travail, such as I have before described; 
besides her ponderous bulk, various domestic utensils were attached 
to the vehicle, and she was leading by a trail-rope a packhorse, who 
carried the covering of Reynal's lodge.  Delorier walked briskly by 
the side of the cart, and Raymond came behind, swearing at the spare 
horses, which it was his business to drive.  The restless young 
Indians, their quivers at their backs, and their bows in their hand, 
galloped over the hills, often starting a wolf or an antelope from 
the thick growth of wild-sage bushes.  Shaw and I were in keeping 
with the rest of the rude cavalcade, having in the absence of other 
clothing adopted the buckskin attire of the trappers.  Henry 
Chatillon rode in advance of the whole.  Thus we passed hill after 
hill and hollow after hollow, a country arid, broken and so parched 
by the sun that none of the plants familiar to our more favored soil 
would flourish upon it, though there were multitudes of strange 
medicinal herbs, more especially the absanth, which covered every 
declivity, and cacti were hanging like reptiles at the edges of every 
ravine.  At length we ascended a high hill, our horses treading upon 
pebbles of flint, agate, and rough jasper, until, gaining the top, we 
looked down on the wild bottoms of Laramie Creek, which far below us 
wound like a writhing snake from side to side of the narrow interval, 
amid a growth of shattered cotton-wood and ash trees.  Lines of tall 
cliffs, white as chalk, shut in this green strip of woods and meadow 
land, into which we descended and encamped for the night.  In the 
morning we passed a wide grassy plain by the river; there was a grove 
in front, and beneath its shadows the ruins of an old trading fort of 
logs.  The grove bloomed with myriads of wild roses, with their sweet 
perfume fraught with recollections of home.  As we emerged from the 
trees, a rattlesnake, as large as a man's arm, and more than four 
feet long, lay coiled on a rock, fiercely rattling and hissing at us; 
a gray hare, double the size of those in New England, leaped up from 
the tall ferns; curlew were screaming over our heads, and a whole 
host of little prairie dogs sat yelping at us at the mouths of their 
burrows on the dry plain beyond.  Suddenly an antelope leaped up from 
the wild-sage bushes, gazed eagerly at us, and then, erecting his 
white tail, stretched away like a greyhound.  The two Indian boys 
found a white wolf, as large as a calf in a hollow, and giving a 
sharp yell, they galloped after him; but the wolf leaped into the 
stream and swam across.  Then came the crack of a rifle, the bullet 
whistling harmlessly over his head, as he scrambled up the steep 
declivity, rattling down stones and earth into the water below.  
Advancing a little, we beheld on the farther bank of the stream, a 
spectacle not common even in that region; for, emerging from among 
the trees, a herd of some two hundred elk came out upon the meadow, 
their antlers clattering as they walked forward in dense throng.  
Seeing us, they broke into a run, rushing across the opening and 
disappearing among the trees and scattered groves.  On our left was a 
barren prairie, stretching to the horizon; on our right, a deep gulf, 
with Laramie Creek at the bottom.  We found ourselves at length at 
the edge of a steep descent; a narrow valley, with long rank grass 
and scattered trees stretching before us for a mile or more along the 
course of the stream.  Reaching the farther end, we stopped and 
encamped.  An old huge cotton-wood tree spread its branches 
horizontally over our tent.  Laramie Creek, circling before our camp, 
half inclosed us; it swept along the bottom of a line of tall white 
cliffs that looked down on us from the farther bank.  There were 
dense copses on our right; the cliffs, too, were half hidden by 
shrubbery, though behind us a few cotton-wood trees, dotting the 
green prairie, alone impeded the view, and friend or enemy could be 
discerned in that direction at a mile's distance.  Here we resolved 
to remain and await the arrival of The Whirlwind, who would certainly 
pass this way in his progress toward La Bonte's Camp.  To go in 
search of him was not expedient, both on account of the broken and 
impracticable nature of the country and the uncertainty of his 
position and movements; besides, our horses were almost worn out, and 
I was in no condition to travel.  We had good grass, good water, 
tolerable fish from the stream, and plenty of smaller game, such as 
antelope and deer, though no buffalo.  There was one little drawback 
to our satisfaction--a certain extensive tract of bushes and dried 
grass, just behind us, which it was by no means advisable to enter, 
since it sheltered a numerous brood of rattlesnakes.  Henry Chatillon 
again dispatched The Horse to the village, with a message to his 
squaw that she and her relatives should leave the rest and push on as 
rapidly as possible to our camp.

Our daily routine soon became as regular as that of a well-ordered 
household.  The weather-beaten old tree was in the center; our rifles 
generally rested against its vast trunk, and our saddles were flung 
on the ground around it; its distorted roots were so twisted as to 
form one or two convenient arm-chairs, where we could sit in the 
shade and read or smoke; but meal-times became, on the whole, the 
most interesting hours of the day, and a bountiful provision was made 
for them.  An antelope or a deer usually swung from a stout bough, 
and haunches were suspended against the trunk.  That camp is 
daguerreotyped on my memory; the old tree, the white tent, with Shaw 
sleeping in the shadow of it, and Reynal's miserable lodge close by 
the bank of the stream.  It was a wretched oven-shaped structure, 
made of begrimed and tattered buffalo hides stretched over a frame of 
poles; one side was open, and at the side of the opening hung the 
powder horn and bullet pouch of the owner, together with his long red 
pipe, and a rich quiver of otterskin, with a bow and arrows; for 
Reynal, an Indian in most things but color, chose to hunt buffalo 
with these primitive weapons.  In the darkness of this cavern-like 
habitation, might be discerned Madame Margot, her overgrown bulk 
stowed away among her domestic implements, furs, robes, blankets, and 
painted cases of PAR' FLECHE, in which dried meat is kept.  Here she 
sat from sunrise to sunset, a bloated impersonation of gluttony and 
laziness, while her affectionate proprietor was smoking, or begging 
petty gifts from us, or telling lies concerning his own achievements, 
or perchance engaged in the more profitable occupation of cooking 
some preparation of prairie delicacies.  Reynal was an adept at this 
work; he and Delorier have joined forces and are hard at work 
together over the fire, while Raymond spreads, by way of tablecloth, 
a buffalo hide, carefully whitened with pipeclay, on the grass before 
the tent.  Here, with ostentatious display, he arranges the teacups 
and plates; and then, creeping on all fours like a dog, he thrusts 
his head in at the opening of the tent.  For a moment we see his 
round owlish eyes rolling wildly, as if the idea he came to 
communicate had suddenly escaped him; then collecting his scattered 
thoughts, as if by an effort, he informs us that supper is ready, and 
instantly withdraws.

When sunset came, and at that hour the wild and desolate scene would 
assume a new aspect, the horses were driven in.  They had been 
grazing all day in the neighboring meadow, but now they were picketed 
close about the camp.  As the prairie darkened we sat and conversed 
around the fire, until becoming drowsy we spread our saddles on the 
ground, wrapped our blankets around us and lay down.  We never placed 
a guard, having by this time become too indolent; but Henry Chatillon 
folded his loaded rifle in the same blanket with himself, observing 
that he always took it to bed with him when he camped in that place.  
Henry was too bold a man to use such a precaution without good cause.  
We had a hint now and then that our situation was none of the safest; 
several Crow war parties were known to be in the vicinity, and one of 
them, that passed here some time before, had peeled the bark from a 
neighboring tree, and engraved upon the white wood certain 
hieroglyphics, to signify that they had invaded the territories of 
their enemies, the Dakota, and set them at defiance.  One morning a 
thick mist covered the whole country.  Shaw and Henry went out to 
ride, and soon came back with a startling piece of intelligence; they 
had found within rifle-shot of our camp the recent trail of about 
thirty horsemen.  They could not be whites, and they could not be 
Dakota, since we knew no such parties to be in the neighborhood; 
therefore they must be Crows.  Thanks to that friendly mist, we had 
escaped a hard battle; they would inevitably have attacked us and our 
Indian companions had they seen our camp.  Whatever doubts we might 
have entertained, were quite removed a day or two after, by two or 
three Dakota, who came to us with an account of having hidden in a 
ravine on that very morning, from whence they saw and counted the 
Crows; they said that they followed them, carefully keeping out of 
sight, as they passed up Chugwater; that here the Crows discovered 
five dead bodies of Dakota, placed according to the national custom 
in trees, and flinging them to the ground, they held their guns 
against them and blew them to atoms.

If our camp were not altogether safe, still it was comfortable 
enough; at least it was so to Shaw, for I was tormented with illness 
and vexed by the delay in the accomplishment of my designs.  When a 
respite in my disorder gave me some returning strength, I rode out 
well-armed upon the prairie, or bathed with Shaw in the stream, or 
waged a petty warfare with the inhabitants of a neighborhood prairie-
dog village.  Around our fire at night we employed ourselves in 
inveighing against the fickleness and inconstancy of Indians, and 
execrating The Whirlwind and all his village.  At last the thing grew 
insufferable.

"To-morrow morning," said I, "I will start for the fort, and see if I 
can hear any news there."  Late that evening, when the fire had sunk 
low, and all the camp were asleep, a loud cry sounded from the 
darkness.  Henry started up, recognized the voice, replied to it, and 
our dandy friend, The Horse, rode in among us, just returned from his 
mission to the village.  He coolly picketed his mare, without saying 
a word, sat down by the fire and began to eat, but his imperturbable 
philosophy was too much for our patience.  Where was the village? 
about fifty miles south of us; it was moving slowly and would not 
arrive in less than a week; and where was Henry's squaw? coming as 
fast as she could with Mahto-Tatonka, and the rest of her brothers, 
but she would never reach us, for she was dying, and asking every 
moment for Henry.  Henry's manly face became clouded and downcast; he 
said that if we were willing he would go in the morning to find her, 
at which Shaw offered to accompany him.

We saddled our horses at sunrise.  Reynal protested vehemently 
against being left alone, with nobody but the two Canadians and the 
young Indians, when enemies were in the neighborhood.  Disregarding 
his complaints, we left him, and coming to the mouth of Chugwater, 
separated, Shaw and Henry turning to the right, up the bank of the 
stream, while I made for the fort.

Taking leave for a while of my friend and the unfortunate squaw, I 
will relate by way of episode what I saw and did at Fort Laramie.  It 
was not more than eighteen miles distant, and I reached it in three 
hours; a shriveled little figure, wrapped from head to foot in a 
dingy white Canadian capote, stood in the gateway, holding by a cord 
of bull's hide a shaggy wild horse, which he had lately caught.  His 
sharp prominent features, and his little keen snakelike eyes, looked 
out from beneath the shadowy hood of the capote, which was drawn over 
his head exactly like the cowl of a Capuchin friar.  His face was 
extremely thin and like an old piece of leather, and his mouth spread 
from ear to ear.  Extending his long wiry hand, he welcomed me with 
something more cordial than the ordinary cold salute of an Indian, 
for we were excellent friends.  He had made an exchange of horses to 
our mutual advantage; and Paul, thinking himself well-treated, had 
declared everywhere that the white man had a good heart.  He was a 
Dakota from the Missouri, a reputed son of the half-breed 
interpreter, Pierre Dorion, so often mentioned in Irving's "Astoria."  
He said that he was going to Richard's trading house to sell his 
horse to some emigrants who were encamped there, and asked me to go 
with him.  We forded the stream together, Paul dragging his wild 
charge behind him.  As we passed over the sandy plains beyond, he 
grew quite communicative.  Paul was a cosmopolitan in his way; he had 
been to the settlements of the whites, and visited in peace and war 
most of the tribes within the range of a thousand miles.  He spoke a 
jargon of French and another of English, yet nevertheless he was a 
thorough Indian; and as he told of the bloody deeds of his own people 
against their enemies, his little eye would glitter with a fierce 
luster.  He told how the Dakota exterminated a village of the Hohays 
on the Upper Missouri, slaughtering men, women, and children; and how 
an overwhelming force of them cut off sixteen of the brave Delawares, 
who fought like wolves to the last, amid the throng of their enemies.  
He told me also another story, which I did not believe until I had it 
confirmed from so many independent sources that no room was left for 
doubt.  I am tempted to introduce it here.

Six years ago a fellow named Jim Beckwith, a mongrel of French, 
American, and negro blood, was trading for the Fur Company, in a very 
large village of the Crows.  Jim Beckwith was last summer at St. 
Louis.  He is a ruffian of the first stamp; bloody and treacherous, 
without honor or honesty; such at least is the character he bears 
upon the prairie.  Yet in his case all the standard rules of 
character fail, for though he will stab a man in his sleep, he will 
also perform most desperate acts of daring; such, for instance, as 
the following: While he was in the Crow village, a Blackfoot war 
party, between thirty and forty in number came stealing through the 
country, killing stragglers and carrying off horses.  The Crow 
warriors got upon their trail and pressed them so closely that they 
could not escape, at which the Blackfeet, throwing up a semicircular 
breastwork of logs at the foot of a precipice, coolly awaited their 
approach.  The logs and sticks, piled four or five high, protected 
them in front.  The Crows might have swept over the breastwork and 
exterminated their enemies; but though out-numbering them tenfold, 
they did not dream of storming the little fortification.  Such a 
proceeding would be altogether repugnant to their notions of warfare.  
Whooping and yelling, and jumping from side to side like devils 
incarnate, they showered bullets and arrows upon the logs; not a 
Blackfoot was hurt, but several Crows, in spite of their leaping and 
dodging, were shot down.  In this childish manner the fight went on 
for an hour or two.  Now and then a Crow warrior in an ecstasy of 
valor and vainglory would scream forth his war song, boasting himself 
the bravest and greatest of mankind, and grasping his hatchet, would 
rush up and strike it upon the breastwork, and then as he retreated 
to his companions, fall dead under a shower of arrows; yet no 
combined attack seemed to be dreamed of.  The Blackfeet remained 
secure in their intrenchment.  At last Jim Beckwith lost patience.

"You are all fools and old women," he said to the Crows; "come with 
me, if any of you are brave enough, and I will show you how to 
fight."

He threw off his trapper's frock of buckskin and stripped himself 
naked like the Indians themselves.  He left his rifle on the ground, 
and taking in his hand a small light hatchet, he ran over the prairie 
to the right, concealed by a hollow from the eyes of the Blackfeet.  
Then climbing up the rocks, he gained the top of the precipice behind 
them.  Forty or fifty young Crow warriors followed him.  By the cries 
and whoops that rose from below he knew that the Blackfeet were just 
beneath him; and running forward, he leaped down the rock into the 
midst of them.  As he fell he caught one by the long loose hair and 
dragging him down tomahawked him; then grasping another by the belt 
at his waist, he struck him also a stunning blow, and gaining his 
feet, shouted the Crow war-cry.  He swung his hatchet so fiercely 
around him that the astonished Blackfeet bore back and gave him room.  
He might, had he chosen, have leaped over the breastwork and escaped; 
but this was not necessary, for with devilish yells the Crow warriors 
came dropping in quick succession over the rock among their enemies.  
The main body of the Crows, too, answered the cry from the front and 
rushed up simultaneously.  The convulsive struggle within the 
breastwork was frightful; for an instant the Blackfeet fought and 
yelled like pent-up tigers; but the butchery was soon complete, and 
the mangled bodies lay piled up together under the precipice.  Not a 
Blackfoot made his escape.

As Paul finished his story we came in sight of Richard's Fort.  It 
stood in the middle of the plain; a disorderly crowd of men around 
it, and an emigrant camp a little in front.

"Now, Paul," said I, "where are your Winnicongew lodges?"

"Not come yet," said Paul, "maybe come to-morrow."

Two large villages of a band of Dakota had come three hundred miles 
from the Missouri, to join in the war, and they were expected to 
reach Richard's that morning.  There was as yet no sign of their 
approach; so pushing through a noisy, drunken crowd, I entered an 
apartment of logs and mud, the largest in the fort; it was full of 
men of various races and complexions, all more or less drunk.  A 
company of California emigrants, it seemed, had made the discovery at 
this late day that they had encumbered themselves with too many 
supplies for their journey.  A part, therefore, they had thrown away 
or sold at great loss to the traders, but had determined to get rid 
of their copious stock of Missouri whisky, by drinking it on the 
spot.  Here were maudlin squaws stretched on piles of buffalo robes; 
squalid Mexicans, armed with bows and arrows; Indians sedately drunk; 
long-haired Canadians and trappers, and American backwoodsmen in 
brown homespun, the well-beloved pistol and bowie knife displayed 
openly at their sides.  In the middle of the room a tall, lank man, 
with a dingy broadcloth coat, was haranguing the company in the style 
of the stump orator.  With one hand he sawed the air, and with the 
other clutched firmly a brown jug of whisky, which he applied every 
moment to his lips, forgetting that he had drained the contents long 
ago.  Richard formally introduced me to this personage, who was no 
less a man than Colonel R., once the leader of the party.  Instantly 
the colonel seizing me, in the absence of buttons by the leather 
fringes of my frock, began to define his position.  His men, he said, 
had mutinied and deposed him; but still he exercised over them the 
influence of a superior mind; in all but the name he was yet their 
chief.  As the colonel spoke, I looked round on the wild assemblage, 
and could not help thinking that he was but ill qualified to conduct 
such men across the desert to California.  Conspicuous among the rest 
stood three tail young men, grandsons of Daniel Boone.  They had 
clearly inherited the adventurous character of that prince of 
pioneers; but I saw no signs of the quiet and tranquil spirit that so 
remarkably distinguished him.

Fearful was the fate that months after overtook some of the members 
of that party.  General Kearny, on his late return from California, 
brought in the account how they were interrupted by the deep snows 
among the mountains, and maddened by cold and hunger fed upon each 
other's flesh.

I got tired of the confusion.  "Come, Paul," said I, "we will be 
off."  Paul sat in the sun, under the wall of the fort.  He jumped 
up, mounted, and we rode toward Fort Laramie.  When we reached it, a 
man came out of the gate with a pack at his back and a rifle on his 
shoulder; others were gathering about him, shaking him by the hand, as 
if taking leave.  I thought it a strange thing that a man should set 
out alone and on foot for the prairie.  I soon got an explanation.  
Perrault--this, if I recollect right was the Canadian's name--had 
quarreled with the bourgeois, and the fort was too hot to hold him.  
Bordeaux, inflated with his transient authority, had abused him, and 
received a blow in return.  The men then sprang at each other, and 
grappled in the middle of the fort.  Bordeaux was down in an instant, 
at the mercy of the incensed Canadian; had not an old Indian, the 
brother of his squaw, seized hold of his antagonist, he would have 
fared ill.  Perrault broke loose from the old Indian, and both the 
white men ran to their rooms for their guns; but when Bordeaux, 
looking from his door, saw the Canadian, gun in hand, standing in the 
area and calling on him to come out and fight, his heart failed him; 
he chose to remain where he was.  In vain the old Indian, scandalized 
by his brother-in-law's cowardice, called upon him to go upon the 
prairie and fight it out in the white man's manner; and Bordeaux's 
own squaw, equally incensed, screamed to her lord and master that he 
was a dog and an old woman.  It all availed nothing.  Bordeaux's 
prudence got the better of his valor, and he would not stir.  
Perrault stood showering approbrious epithets at the recent 
bourgeois.  Growing tired of this, he made up a pack of dried meat, 
and slinging it at his back, set out alone for Fort Pierre on the 
Missouri, a distance of three hundred miles, over a desert country 
full of hostile Indians.

I remained in the fort that night.  In the morning, as I was coming 
out from breakfast, conversing with a trader named McCluskey, I saw a 
strange Indian leaning against the side of the gate.  He was a tall, 
strong man, with heavy features.

"Who is he?" I asked.  "That's The Whirlwind," said McCluskey.  "He 
is the fellow that made all this stir about the war.  It's always the 
way with the Sioux; they never stop cutting each other's throats; 
it's all they are fit for; instead of sitting in their lodges, and 
getting robes to trade with us in the winter.  If this war goes on, 
we'll make a poor trade of it next season, I reckon."

And this was the opinion of all the traders, who were vehemently 
opposed to the war, from the serious injury that it must occasion to 
their interests.  The Whirlwind left his village the day before to 
make a visit to the fort.  His warlike ardor had abated not a little 
since he first conceived the design of avenging his son's death.  The 
long and complicated preparations for the expedition were too much 
for his fickle, inconstant disposition.  That morning Bordeaux 
fastened upon him, made him presents and told him that if he went to 
war he would destroy his horses and kill no buffalo to trade with the 
white men; in short, that he was a fool to think of such a thing, and 
had better make up his mind to sit quietly in his lodge and smoke his 
pipe, like a wise man.  The Whirlwind's purpose was evidently shaken; 
he had become tired, like a child, of his favorite plan.  Bordeaux 
exultingly predicted that he would not go to war.  My philanthropy at 
that time was no match for my curiosity, and I was vexed at the 
possibility that after all I might lose the rare opportunity of 
seeing the formidable ceremonies of war.  The Whirlwind, however, had 
merely thrown the firebrand; the conflagration was become general.  
All the western bands of the Dakota were bent on war; and as I heard 
from McCluskey, six large villages already gathered on a little 
stream, forty miles distant, were daily calling to the Great Spirit 
to aid them in their enterprise.  McCluskey had just left and 
represented them as on their way to La Bonte's Camp, which they would 
reach in a week, UNLESS THEY SHOULD LEARN THAT THERE WERE NO BUFFALO 
THERE.  I did not like this condition, for buffalo this season were 
rare in the neighborhood.  There were also the two Minnicongew 
villages that I mentioned before; but about noon, an Indian came from 
Richard's Fort with the news that they were quarreling, breaking up, 
and dispersing.  So much for the whisky of the emigrants!  Finding 
themselves unable to drink the whole, they had sold the residue to 
these Indians, and it needed no prophet to foretell the results; a 
spark dropped into a powder magazine would not have produced a 
quicker effect.  Instantly the old jealousies and rivalries and 
smothered feuds that exist in an Indian village broke out into 
furious quarrels.  They forgot the warlike enterprise that had 
already brought them three hundred miles.  They seemed like 
ungoverned children inflamed with the fiercest passions of men.  
Several of them were stabbed in the drunken tumult; and in the 
morning they scattered and moved back toward the Missouri in small 
parties.  I feared that, after all, the long-projected meeting and 
the ceremonies that were to attend it might never take place, and I 
should lose so admirable an opportunity of seeing the Indian under 
his most fearful and characteristic aspect; however, in foregoing 
this, I should avoid a very fair probability of being plundered and 
stripped, and, it might be, stabbed or shot into the bargain.  
Consoling myself with this reflection, I prepared to carry the news, 
such as it was, to the camp.

I caught my horse, and to my vexation found he had lost a shoe and 
broken his tender white hoof against the rocks.  Horses are shod at 
Fort Laramie at the moderate rate of three dollars a foot; so I tied 
Hendrick to a beam in the corral, and summoned Roubidou, the 
blacksmith.  Roubidou, with the hoof between his knees, was at work 
with hammer and file, and I was inspecting the process, when a 
strange voice addressed me.

Two more gone under!  Well, there is more of us left yet.  Here's 
Jean Gars and me off to the mountains to-morrow.  Our turn will come 
next, I suppose.  It's a hard life, anyhow!"

I looked up and saw a little man, not much more than five feet high, 
but of very square and strong proportions.  In appearance he was 
particularly dingy; for his old buckskin frock was black and polished 
with time and grease, and his belt, knife, pouch, and powder-horn 
appeared to have seen the roughest service.  The first joint of each 
foot was entirely gone, having been frozen off several winters 
before, and his moccasins were curtailed in proportion.  His whole 
appearance and equipment bespoke the "free trapper."  He had a round 
ruddy face, animated with a spirit of carelessness and gayety not at 
all in accordance with the words he had just spoken.

"Two more gone," said I; "what do you mean by that?"

"Oh," said he, "the Arapahoes have just killed two of us in the 
mountains.  Old Bull-Tail has come to tell us.  They stabbed one 
behind his back, and shot the other with his own rifle.  That's the 
way we live here!  I mean to give up trapping after this year.  My 
squaw says she wants a pacing horse and some red ribbons; I'll make 
enough beaver to get them for her, and then I'm done!  I'll go below 
and live on a farm."

"Your bones will dry on the prairie, Rouleau!" said another trapper, 
who was standing by; a strong, brutal-looking fellow, with a face as 
surly as a bull-dog's.

Rouleau only laughed, and began to hum a tune and shuffle a dance on 
his stumps of feet.

"You'll see us, before long, passing up our way," said the other man.  
"Well," said I, "stop and take a cup of coffee with us"; and as it 
was quite late in the afternoon, I prepared to leave the fort at 
once.

As I rode out, a train of emigrant wagons was passing across the 
stream.  "Whar are ye goin' stranger?"  Thus I was saluted by two or 
three voices at once.

"About eighteen miles up the creek."

"It's mighty late to be going that far!  Make haste, ye'd better, and 
keep a bright lookout for Indians!"

I thought the advice too good to be neglected.  Fording the stream, I 
passed at a round trot over the plains beyond.  But "the more haste, 
the worse speed."  I proved the truth in the proverb by the time I 
reached the hills three miles from the fort.  The trail was faintly 
marked, and riding forward with more rapidity than caution, I lost 
sight of it.  I kept on in a direct line, guided by Laramie Creek, 
which I could see at intervals darkly glistening in the evening sun, 
at the bottom of the woody gulf on my right.  Half an hour before 
sunset I came upon its banks.  There was something exciting in the 
wild solitude of the place.  An antelope sprang suddenly from the 
sagebushes before me.  As he leaped gracefully not thirty yards 
before my horse, I fired, and instantly he spun round and fell.  
Quite sure of him, I walked my horse toward him, leisurely reloading 
my rifle, when to my surprise he sprang up and trotted rapidly away 
on three legs into the dark recesses of the hills, whither I had no 
time to follow.  Ten minutes after, I was passing along the bottom of 
a deep valley, and chancing to look behind me, I saw in the dim light 
that something was following.  Supposing it to be wolf, I slid from 
my seat and sat down behind my horse to shoot it; but as it came up, 
I saw by its motions that it was another antelope.  It approached 
within a hundred yards, arched its graceful neck, and gazed intently.  
I leveled at the white spot on its chest, and was about to fire when 
it started off, ran first to one side and then to the other, like a 
vessel tacking against a wind, and at last stretched away at full 
speed.  Then it stopped again, looked curiously behind it, and 
trotted up as before; but not so boldly, for it soon paused and stood 
gazing at me.  I fired; it leaped upward and fell upon its tracks.  
Measuring the distance, I found it 204 paces.  When I stood by his 
side, the antelope turned his expiring eye upward.  It was like a 
beautiful woman's, dark and rich.  "Fortunate that I am in a hurry," 
thought I; "I might be troubled with remorse, if I had time for it."

Cutting the animal up, not in the most skilled manner, I hung the 
meat at the back of my saddle, and rode on again.  The hills (I could 
not remember one of them) closed around me.  "It is too late," 
thought I, "to go forward.  I will stay here to-night, and look for 
the path in the morning."  As a last effort, however, I ascended a 
high hill, from which, to my great satisfaction, I could see Laramie 
Creek stretching before me, twisting from side to side amid ragged 
patches of timber; and far off, close beneath the shadows of the 
trees, the ruins of the old trading fort were visible.  I reached 
them at twilight.  It was far from pleasant, in that uncertain light, 
to be pushing through the dense trees and shrubbery of the grove 
beyond.  I listened anxiously for the footfall of man or beast.  
Nothing was stirring but one harmless brown bird, chirping among the 
branches.  I was glad when I gained the open prairie once more, where 
I could see if anything approached.  When I came to the mouth of 
Chugwater, it was totally dark.  Slackening the reins, I let my horse 
take his own course.  He trotted on with unerring instinct, and by 
nine o'clock was scrambling down the steep ascent into the meadows 
where we were encamped.  While I was looking in vain for the light of 
the fire, Hendrick, with keener perceptions, gave a loud neigh, which 
was immediately answered in a shrill note from the distance.  In a 
moment I was hailed from the darkness by the voice of Reynal, who had 
come out, rifle in hand, to see who was approaching.

He, with his squaw, the two Canadians and the Indian boys, were the 
sole inmates of the camp, Shaw and Henry Chatillon being still 
absent.  At noon of the following day they came back, their horses 
looking none the better for the journey.  Henry seemed dejected.  The 
woman was dead, and his children must henceforward be exposed, 
without a protector, to the hardships and vicissitudes of Indian 
life.  Even in the midst of his grief he had not forgotten his 
attachment to his bourgeois, for he had procured among his Indian 
relatives two beautifully ornamented buffalo robes, which he spread 
on the ground as a present to us.

Shaw lighted his pipe, and told me in a few words the history of his 
journey.  When I went to the fort they left me, as I mentioned, at 
the mouth of Chugwater.  They followed the course of the little 
stream all day, traversing a desolate and barren country.  Several 
times they came upon the fresh traces of a large war party--the same, 
no doubt, from whom we had so narrowly escaped an attack.  At an hour 
before sunset, without encountering a human being by the way, they 
came upon the lodges of the squaw and her brothers, who, in 
compliance with Henry's message, had left the Indian village in order 
to join us at our camp.  The lodges were already pitched, five in 
number, by the side of the stream.  The woman lay in one of them, 
reduced to a mere skeleton.  For some time she had been unable to 
move or speak.  Indeed, nothing had kept her alive but the hope of 
seeing Henry, to whom she was strongly and faithfully attached.  No 
sooner did he enter the lodge than she revived, and conversed with 
him the greater part of the night.  Early in the morning she was 
lifted into a travail, and the whole party set out toward our camp.  
There were but five warriors; the rest were women and children.  The 
whole were in great alarm at the proximity of the Crow war party, who 
would certainly have destroyed them without mercy had they met.  They 
had advanced only a mile or two, when they discerned a horseman, far 
off, on the edge of the horizon.  They all stopped, gathering 
together in the greatest anxiety, from which they did not recover 
until long after the horseman disappeared; then they set out again.  
Henry was riding with Shaw a few rods in advance of the Indians, when 
Mahto-Tatonka, a younger brother of the woman, hastily called after 
them.  Turning back, they found all the Indians crowded around the 
travail in which the woman was lying.  They reached her just in time 
to hear the death-rattle in her throat.  In a moment she lay dead in 
the basket of the vehicle.  A complete stillness succeeded; then the 
Indians raised in concert their cries of lamentation over the corpse, 
and among them Shaw clearly distinguished those strange sounds 
resembling the word "Halleluyah," which together with some other 
accidental coincidences has given rise to the absurd theory that the 
Indians are descended from the ten lost tribes of Israel.

The Indian usage required that Henry, as well as the other relatives 
of the woman, should make valuable presents, to be placed by the side 
of the body at its last resting place.  Leaving the Indians, he and 
Shaw set out for the camp and reached it, as we have seen, by hard 
pushing, at about noon.  Having obtained the necessary articles, they 
immediately returned.  It was very late and quite dark when they 
again reached the lodges.  They were all placed in a deep hollow 
among the dreary hills.  Four of them were just visible through the 
gloom, but the fifth and largest was illuminated by the ruddy blaze 
of a fire within, glowing through the half-transparent covering of 
raw hides.  There was a perfect stillness as they approached.  The 
lodges seemed without a tenant.  Not a living thing was stirring--
there was something awful in the scene.  They rode up to the entrance 
of the lodge, and there was no sound but the tramp of their horses.  
A squaw came out and took charge of the animals, without speaking a 
word.  Entering, they found the lodge crowded with Indians; a fire 
was burning in the midst, and the mourners encircled it in a triple 
row.  Room was made for the newcomers at the head of the lodge, a 
robe spread for them to sit upon, and a pipe lighted and handed to 
them in perfect silence.  Thus they passed the greater part of the 
night.  At times the fire would subside into a heap of embers, until 
the dark figures seated around it were scarcely visible; then a squaw 
would drop upon it a piece of buffalo-fat, and a bright flame, 
instantly springing up, would reveal of a sudden the crowd of wild 
faces, motionless as bronze.  The silence continued unbroken.  It was 
a relief to Shaw when daylight returned and he could escape from this 
house of mourning.  He and Henry prepared to return homeward; first, 
however, they placed the presents they had brought near the body of 
the squaw, which, most gaudily attired, remained in a sitting posture 
in one of the lodges.  A fine horse was picketed not far off, 
destined to be killed that morning for the service of her spirit, for 
the woman was lame, and could not travel on foot over the dismal 
prairies to the villages of the dead.  Food, too, was provided, and 
household implements, for her use upon this last journey.

Henry left her to the care of her relatives, and came immediately 
with Shaw to the camp.  It was some time before he entirely recovered 
from his dejection.



CHAPTER XI

SCENES AT THE CAMP


Reynal heard guns fired one day, at the distance of a mile or two 
from the camp.  He grew nervous instantly.  Visions of Crow war 
parties began to haunt his imagination; and when we returned (for we 
were all absent), he renewed his complaints about being left alone 
with the Canadians and the squaw.  The day after, the cause of the 
alarm appeared.  Four trappers, one called Moran, another Saraphin, 
and the others nicknamed "Rouleau" and "Jean Gras," came to our camp 
and joined us.  They it was who fired the guns and disturbed the 
dreams of our confederate Reynal.  They soon encamped by our side.  
Their rifles, dingy and battered with hard service, rested with ours 
against the old tree; their strong rude saddles, their buffalo robes, 
their traps, and the few rough and simple articles of their traveling 
equipment, were piled near our tent.  Their mountain horses were 
turned to graze in the meadow among our own; and the men themselves, 
no less rough and hardy, used to lie half the day in the shade of our 
tree lolling on the grass, lazily smoking, and telling stories of 
their adventures; and I defy the annals of chivalry to furnish the 
record of a life more wild and perilous than that of a Rocky Mountain 
trapper.

With this efficient re-enforcement the agitation of Reynal's nerves 
subsided.  He began to conceive a sort of attachment to our old 
camping ground; yet it was time to change our quarters, since 
remaining too long on one spot must lead to certain unpleasant 
results not to be borne with unless in a case of dire necessity.  The 
grass no longer presented a smooth surface of turf; it was trampled 
into mud and clay.  So we removed to another old tree, larger yet, 
that grew by the river side at a furlong's distance.  Its trunk was 
full six feet in diameter; on one side it was marked by a party of 
Indians with various inexplicable hieroglyphics, commemorating some 
warlike enterprise, and aloft among the branches were the remains of 
a scaffolding, where dead bodies had once been deposited, after the 
Indian manner.

"There comes Bull-Bear," said Henry Chatillon, as we sat on the grass 
at dinner.  Looking up, we saw several horsemen coming over the 
neighboring hill, and in a moment four stately young men rode up and 
dismounted.  One of them was Bull-Bear, or Mahto-Tatonka, a compound 
name which he inherited from his father, the most powerful chief in 
the Ogallalla band.  One of his brothers and two other young men 
accompanied him.  We shook hands with the visitors, and when we had 
finished our meal--for this is the orthodox manner of entertaining 
Indians, even the best of them--we handed to each a tin cup of coffee 
and a biscuit, at which they ejaculated from the bottom of their 
throats, 'How! how!" a monosyllable by which an Indian contrives to 
express half the emotions that he is susceptible of.  Then we lighted 
the pipe, and passed it to them as they squatted on the ground.

"Where is the village?"

"There," said Mahto-Tatonka, pointing southward; "it will come in two 
days."

"Will they go to the war?"

"Yes."

No man is a philanthropist on the prairie.  We welcomed this news 
most cordially, and congratulated ourselves that Bordeaux's 
interested efforts to divert The Whirlwind from his congenial 
vocation of bloodshed had failed of success, and that no additional 
obstacles would interpose between us and our plan of repairing to the 
rendezvous at La Bonte's Camp.

For that and several succeeding days, Mahto-Tatonka and his friends 
remained our guests.  They devoured the relics of our meals; they 
filled the pipe for us and also helped us to smoke it.  Sometimes 
they stretched themselves side by side in the shade, indulging in 
raillery and practical jokes ill becoming the dignity of brave and 
aspiring warriors, such as two of them in reality were.

Two days dragged away, and on the morning of the third we hoped 
confidently to see the Indian village.  It did not come; so we rode 
out to look for it.  In place of the eight hundred Indians we 
expected, we met one solitary savage riding toward us over the 
prairie, who told us that the Indians had changed their plans, and 
would not come within three days; still he persisted that they were 
going to the war.  Taking along with us this messenger of evil 
tidings, we retraced our footsteps to the camp, amusing ourselves by 
the way with execrating Indian inconstancy.  When we came in sight of 
our little white tent under the big tree, we saw that it no longer 
stood alone.  A huge old lodge was erected close by its side, 
discolored by rain and storms, rotted with age, with the uncouth 
figures of horses and men, and outstretched hands that were painted 
upon it, well-nigh obliterated.  The long poles which supported this 
squalid habitation thrust themselves rakishly out from its pointed 
top, and over its entrance were suspended a "medicine-pipe" and 
various other implements of the magic art.  While we were yet at a 
distance, we observed a greatly increased population of various 
colors and dimensions, swarming around our quiet encampment.  Moran, 
the trapper, having been absent for a day or two, had returned, it 
seemed, bringing all his family with him.  He had taken to himself a 
wife for whom he had paid the established price of one horse.  This 
looks cheap at first sight, but in truth the purchase of a squaw is a 
transaction which no man should enter into without mature 
deliberation, since it involves not only the payment of the first 
price, but the formidable burden of feeding and supporting a 
rapacious horde of the bride's relatives, who hold themselves 
entitled to feed upon the indiscreet white man.  They gather round 
like leeches, and drain him of all he has.

Moran, like Reynal, had not allied himself to an aristocratic circle.  
His relatives occupied but a contemptible position in Ogallalla 
society; for among those wild democrats of the prairie, as among us, 
there are virtual distinctions of rank and place; though this great 
advantage they have over us, that wealth has no part in determining 
such distinctions.  Moran's partner was not the most beautiful of her 
sex, and he had the exceedingly bad taste to array her in an old 
calico gown bought from an emigrant woman, instead of the neat and 
graceful tunic of whitened deerskin worn ordinarily by the squaws.  
The moving spirit of the establishment, in more senses than one, was 
a hideous old hag of eighty.  Human imagination never conceived 
hobgoblin or witch more ugly than she.  You could count all her ribs 
through the wrinkles of the leathery skin that covered them.  Her 
withered face more resembled an old skull than the countenance of a 
living being, even to the hollow, darkened sockets, at the bottom of 
which glittered her little black eyes.  Her arms had dwindled away 
into nothing but whipcord and wire.  Her hair, half black, half gray, 
hung in total neglect nearly to the ground, and her sole garment 
consisted of the remnant of a discarded buffalo robe tied round her 
waist with a string of hide.  Yet the old squaw's meager anatomy was 
wonderfully strong.  She pitched the lodge, packed the horses, and 
did the hardest labor of the camp.  From morning till night she 
bustled about the lodge, screaming like a screech-owl when anything 
displeased her.  Then there was her brother, a "medicine-man," or 
magician, equally gaunt and sinewy with herself.  His mouth spread 
from ear to ear, and his appetite, as we had full occasion to learn, 
was ravenous in proportion.  The other inmates of the lodge were a 
young bride and bridegroom; the latter one of those idle, good-for 
nothing fellows who infest an Indian village as well as more 
civilized communities.  He was fit neither for hunting nor for war; 
and one might infer as much from the stolid unmeaning expression of 
his face.  The happy pair had just entered upon the honeymoon.  They 
would stretch a buffalo robe upon poles, so as to protect them from 
the fierce rays of the sun, and spreading beneath this rough canopy a 
luxuriant couch of furs, would sit affectionately side by side for 
half the day, though I could not discover that much conversation 
passed between them.  Probably they had nothing to say; for an 
Indian's supply of topics for conversation is far from being copious.  
There were half a dozen children, too, playing and whooping about the 
camp, shooting birds with little bows and arrows, or making miniature 
lodges of sticks, as children of a different complexion build houses 
of blocks.

A day passed, and Indians began rapidly to come in.  Parties of two 
or three or more would ride up and silently seat themselves on the 
grass.  The fourth day came at last, when about noon horsemen 
suddenly appeared into view on the summit of the neighboring ridge.  
They descended, and behind them followed a wild procession, hurrying 
in haste and disorder down the hill and over the plain below; horses, 
mules, and dogs, heavily burdened travaux, mounted warriors, squaws 
walking amid the throng, and a host of children.  For a full half-
hour they continued to pour down; and keeping directly to the bend of 
the stream, within a furlong of us, they soon assembled there, a dark 
and confused throng, until, as if by magic, 150 tall lodges sprung 
up.  On a sudden the lonely plain was transformed into the site of a 
miniature city.  Countless horses were soon grazing over the meadows 
around us, and the whole prairie was animated by restless figures 
careening on horseback, or sedately stalking in their long white 
robes.  The Whirlwind was come at last!  One question yet remained to 
be answered: "Will he go to the war, in order that we, with so 
respectable an escort, may pass over to the somewhat perilous 
rendezvous at La Bonte's Camp?"

Still this remained in doubt.  Characteristic indecision perplexed 
their councils.  Indians cannot act in large bodies.  Though their 
object be of the highest importance, they cannot combine to attain it 
by a series of connected efforts.  King Philip, Pontiac, and Tecumseh 
all felt this to their cost.  The Ogallalla once had a war chief who 
could control them; but he was dead, and now they were left to the 
sway of their own unsteady impulses.

This Indian village and its inhabitants will hold a prominent place 
in the rest of the narrative, and perhaps it may not be amiss to 
glance for an instant at the savage people of which they form a part.  
The Dakota (I prefer this national designation to the unmeaning 
French name, Sioux) range over a vast territory, from the river St. 
Peter's to the Rocky Mountains themselves.  They are divided into 
several independent bands, united under no central government, and 
acknowledge no common head.  The same language, usages, and 
superstitions form the sole bond between them.  They do not unite 
even in their wars.  The bands of the east fight the Ojibwas on the 
Upper Lakes; those of the west make incessant war upon the Snake 
Indians in the Rocky Mountains.  As the whole people is divided into 
bands, so each band is divided into villages.  Each village has a 
chief, who is honored and obeyed only so far as his personal 
qualities may command respect and fear.  Sometimes he is a mere 
nominal chief; sometimes his authority is little short of absolute, 
and his fame and influence reach even beyond his own village; so that 
the whole band to which he belongs is ready to acknowledge him as 
their head.  This was, a few years since, the case with the 
Ogallalla.  Courage, address, and enterprise may raise any warrior to 
the highest honor, especially if he be the son of a former chief, or 
a member of a numerous family, to support him and avenge his 
quarrels; but when he has reached the dignity of chief, and the old 
men and warriors, by a peculiar ceremony, have formally installed 
him, let it not be imagined that he assumes any of the outward 
semblances of rank and honor.  He knows too well on how frail a 
tenure he holds his station.  He must conciliate his uncertain 
subjects.  Many a man in the village lives better, owns more squaws 
and more horses, and goes better clad than he.  Like the Teutonic 
chiefs of old, he ingratiates himself with his young men by making 
them presents, thereby often impoverishing himself.  Does he fail in 
gaining their favor, they will set his authority at naught, and may 
desert him at any moment; for the usages of his people have provided 
no sanctions by which he may enforce his authority.  Very seldom does 
it happen, at least among these western bands, that a chief attains 
to much power, unless he is the head of a numerous family.  
Frequently the village is principally made up of his relatives and 
descendants, and the wandering community assumes much of the 
patriarchal character.  A people so loosely united, torn, too, with 
ranking feuds and jealousies, can have little power or efficiency.

The western Dakota have no fixed habitations.  Hunting and fighting, 
they wander incessantly through summer and winter.  Some are 
following the herds of buffalo over the waste of prairie; others are 
traversing the Black Hills, thronging on horseback and on foot 
through the dark gulfs and somber gorges beneath the vast splintering 
precipices, and emerging at last upon the "Parks," those beautiful 
but most perilous hunting grounds.  The buffalo supplies them with 
almost all the necessaries of life; with habitations, food, clothing, 
and fuel; with strings for their bows, with thread, cordage, and 
trail-ropes for their horses, with coverings for their saddles, with 
vessels to hold water, with boats to cross streams, with glue, and 
with the means of purchasing all that they desire from the traders.  
When the buffalo are extinct, they too must dwindle away.

War is the breath of their nostrils.  Against most of the neighboring 
tribes they cherish a deadly, rancorous hatred, transmitted from 
father to son, and inflamed by constant aggression and retaliation.  
Many times a year, in every village, the Great Spirit is called upon, 
fasts are made, the war parade is celebrated, and the warriors go out 
by handfuls at a time against the enemy.  This fierce and evil spirit 
awakens their most eager aspirations, and calls forth their greatest 
energies.  It is chiefly this that saves them from lethargy and utter 
abasement.  Without its powerful stimulus they would be like the 
unwarlike tribes beyond the mountains, who are scattered among the 
caves and rocks like beasts, living on roots and reptiles.  These 
latter have little of humanity except the form; but the proud and 
ambitious Dakota warrior can sometimes boast of heroic virtues.  It 
is very seldom that distinction and influence are attained among them 
by any other course than that of arms.  Their superstition, however, 
sometimes gives great power, to those among them who pretend to the 
character of magicians.  Their wild hearts, too, can feel the power 
of oratory, and yield deference to the masters of it.

But to return.  Look into our tent, or enter, if you can bear the 
stifling smoke and the close atmosphere.  There, wedged close 
together, you will see a circle of stout warriors, passing the pipe 
around, joking, telling stories, and making themselves merry, after 
their fashion.  We were also infested by little copper-colored naked 
boys and snake-eyed girls.  They would come up to us, muttering 
certain words, which being interpreted conveyed the concise 
invitation, "Come and eat."  Then we would rise, cursing the 
pertinacity of Dakota hospitality, which allowed scarcely an hour of 
rest between sun and sun, and to which we were bound to do honor, 
unless we would offend our entertainers.  This necessity was 
particularly burdensome to me, as I was scarcely able to walk, from 
the effects of illness, and was of course poorly qualified to dispose 
of twenty meals a day.  Of these sumptuous banquets I gave a specimen 
in a former chapter, where the tragical fate of the little dog was 
chronicled.  So bounteous an entertainment looks like an outgushing 
of good will; but doubtless one-half at least of our kind hosts, had 
they met us alone and unarmed on the prairie, would have robbed us of 
our horses, and perchance have bestowed an arrow upon us beside.  
Trust not an Indian.  Let your rifle be ever in your hand.  Wear next 
your heart the old chivalric motto SEMPER PARATUS.

One morning we were summoned to the lodge of an old man, in good 
truth the Nestor of his tribe.  We found him half sitting, half 
reclining on a pile of buffalo robes; his long hair, jet-black even 
now, though he had seen some eighty winters, hung on either side of 
his thin features.  Those most conversant with Indians in their homes 
will scarcely believe me when I affirm that there was dignity in his 
countenance and mien.  His gaunt but symmetrical frame, did not more 
clearly exhibit the wreck of bygone strength, than did his dark, 
wasted features, still prominent and commanding, bear the stamp of 
mental energies.  I recalled, as I saw him, the eloquent metaphor of 
the Iroquois sachem: "I am an aged hemlock; the winds of a hundred 
winters have whistled through my branches, and I am dead at the top!"  
Opposite the patriarch was his nephew, the young aspirant Mahto-
Tatonka; and besides these, there were one or two women in the lodge.

The old man's story is peculiar, and singularly illustrative of a 
superstitious custom that prevails in full force among many of the 
Indian tribes.  He was one of a powerful family, renowned for their 
warlike exploits.  When a very young man, he submitted to the 
singular rite to which most of the tribe subject themselves before 
entering upon life.  He painted his face black; then seeking out a 
cavern in a sequestered part of the Black Hills, he lay for several 
days, fasting and praying to the Great Spirit.  In the dreams and 
visions produced by his weakened and excited state, he fancied like 
all Indians, that he saw supernatural revelations.  Again and again 
the form of an antelope appeared before him.  The antelope is the 
graceful peace spirit of the Ogallalla; but seldom is it that such a 
gentle visitor presents itself during the initiatory fasts of their 
young men.  The terrible grizzly bear, the divinity of war, usually 
appears to fire them with martial ardor and thirst for renown.  At 
length the antelope spoke.  He told the young dreamer that he was not 
to follow the path of war; that a life of peace and tranquillity was 
marked out for him; that henceforward he was to guide the people by 
his counsels and protect them from the evils of their own feuds and 
dissensions.  Others were to gain renown by fighting the enemy; but 
greatness of a different kind was in store for him.

The visions beheld during the period of this fast usually determine 
the whole course of the dreamer's life, for an Indian is bound by 
iron superstitions.  From that time, Le Borgne, which was the only 
name by which we knew him, abandoned all thoughts of war and devoted 
himself to the labors of peace.  He told his vision to the people.  
They honored his commission and respected him in his novel capacity.

A far different man was his brother, Mahto-Tatonka, who had 
transmitted his names, his features, and many of his characteristic 
qualities to his son.  He was the father of Henry Chatillon's squaw, 
a circumstance which proved of some advantage to us, as securing for 
us the friendship of a family perhaps the most distinguished and 
powerful in the whole Ogallalla band.  Mahto-Tatonka, in his rude 
way, was a hero.  No chief could vie with him in warlike renown, or 
in power over his people.  He had a fearless spirit, and a most 
impetuous and inflexible resolution.  His will was law.  He was 
politic and sagacious, and with true Indian craft he always 
befriended the whites, well knowing that he might thus reap great 
advantages for himself and his adherents.  When he had resolved on 
any course of conduct, he would pay to the warriors the empty 
compliment of calling them together to deliberate upon it, and when 
their debates were over, he would quietly state his own opinion, 
which no one ever disputed.  The consequences of thwarting his 
imperious will were too formidable to be encountered.  Woe to those 
who incurred his displeasure!  He would strike them or stab them on 
the spot; and this act, which, if attempted by any other chief, would 
instantly have cost him his life, the awe inspired by his name 
enabled him to repeat again and again with impunity.  In a community 
where, from immemorial time, no man has acknowledged any law but his 
own will, Mahto-Tatonka, by the force of his dauntless resolution, 
raised himself to power little short of despotic.  His haughty career 
came at last to an end.  He had a host of enemies only waiting for 
their opportunity of revenge, and our old friend Smoke, in 
particular, together with all his kinsmen, hated him most cordially.  
Smoke sat one day in his lodge in the midst of his own village, when 
Mahto-Tatonka entered it alone, and approaching the dwelling of his 
enemy, called on him in a loud voice to come out, if he were a man, 
and fight.  Smoke would not move.  At this, Mahto-Tatonka proclaimed 
him a coward and an old woman, and striding close to the entrance of 
the lodge, stabbed the chief's best horse, which was picketed there.  
Smoke was daunted, and even this insult failed to call him forth.  
Mahto-Tatonka moved haughtily away; all made way for him, but his 
hour of reckoning was near.

One hot day, five or six years ago, numerous lodges of Smoke's 
kinsmen were gathered around some of the Fur Company's men, who were 
trading in various articles with them, whisky among the rest.  Mahto-
Tatonka was also there with a few of his people.  As he lay in his 
own lodge, a fray arose between his adherents and the kinsmen of his 
enemy.  The war-whoop was raised, bullets and arrows began to fly, 
and the camp was in confusion.  The chief sprang up, and rushing in a 
fury from the lodge shouted to the combatants on both sides to cease.  
Instantly--for the attack was preconcerted--came the reports of two 
or three guns, and the twanging of a dozen bows, and the savage hero, 
mortally wounded, pitched forward headlong to the ground.  Rouleau 
was present, and told me the particulars.  The tumult became general, 
and was not quelled until several had fallen on both sides.  When we 
were in the country the feud between the two families was still 
rankling, and not likely soon to cease.

Thus died Mahto-Tatonka, but he left behind him a goodly army of 
descendants, to perpetuate his renown and avenge his fate.  Besides 
daughters he had thirty sons, a number which need not stagger the 
credulity of those who are best acquainted with Indian usages and 
practices.  We saw many of them, all marked by the same dark 
complexion and the same peculiar cast of features.  Of these our 
visitor, young Mahto-Tatonka, was the eldest, and some reported him 
as likely to succeed to his father's honors.  Though he appeared not 
more than twenty-one years old, he had oftener struck the enemy, and 
stolen more horses and more squaws than any young man in the village.  
We of the civilized world are not apt to attach much credit to the 
latter species of exploits; but horse-stealing is well known as an 
avenue to distinction on the prairies, and the other kind of 
depredation is esteemed equally meritorious.  Not that the act can 
confer fame from its own intrinsic merits.  Any one can steal a 
squaw, and if he chooses afterward to make an adequate present to her 
rightful proprietor, the easy husband for the most part rests 
content, his vengeance falls asleep, and all danger from that quarter 
is averted.  Yet this is esteemed but a pitiful and mean-spirited 
transaction.  The danger is averted, but the glory of the achievement 
also is lost.  Mahto-Tatonka proceeded after a more gallant and 
dashing fashion.  Out of several dozen squaws whom he had stolen, he 
could boast that he had never paid for one, but snapping his fingers 
in the face of the injured husband, had defied the extremity of his 
indignation, and no one yet had dared to lay the finger of violence 
upon him.  He was following close in the footsteps of his father.  
The young men and the young squaws, each in their way, admired him.  
The one would always follow him to war, and he was esteemed to have 
unrivaled charm in the eyes of the other.  Perhaps his impunity may 
excite some wonder.  An arrow shot from a ravine, a stab given in the 
dark, require no great valor, and are especially suited to the Indian 
genius; but Mahto-Tatonka had a strong protection.  It was not alone 
his courage and audacious will that enabled him to career so 
dashingly among his compeers.  His enemies did not forget that he was 
one of thirty warlike brethren, all growing up to manhood.  Should 
they wreak their anger upon him, many keen eyes would be ever upon 
them, many fierce hearts would thirst for their blood.  The avenger 
would dog their footsteps everywhere.  To kill Mahto-Tatonka would be 
no better than an act of suicide.

Though he found such favor in the eyes of the fair, he was no dandy.  
As among us those of highest worth and breeding are most simple in 
manner and attire, so our aspiring young friend was indifferent to 
the gaudy trappings and ornaments of his companions.  He was content 
to rest his chances of success upon his own warlike merits.  He never 
arrayed himself in gaudy blanket and glittering necklaces, but left 
his statue-like form, limbed like an Apollo of bronze, to win its way 
to favor.  His voice was singularly deep and strong.  It sounded from 
his chest like the deep notes of an organ.  Yet after all, he was but 
an Indian.  See him as he lies there in the sun before our tent, 
kicking his heels in the air and cracking jokes with his brother.  
Does he look like a hero?  See him now in the hour of his glory, when 
at sunset the whole village empties itself to behold him, for to-
morrow their favorite young partisan goes out against the enemy.  His 
superb headdress is adorned with a crest of the war eagle's feathers, 
rising in a waving ridge above his brow, and sweeping far behind him.  
His round white shield hangs at his breast, with feathers radiating 
from the center like a star.  His quiver is at his back; his tall 
lance in his hand, the iron point flashing against the declining sun, 
while the long scalp-locks of his enemies flutter from the shaft.  
Thus, gorgeous as a champion in his panoply, he rides round and round 
within the great circle of lodges, balancing with a graceful buoyancy 
to the free movements of his war horse, while with a sedate brow he 
sings his song to the Great Spirit.  Young rival warriors look 
askance at him; vermilion-cheeked girls gaze in admiration, boys 
whoop and scream in a thrill of delight, and old women yell forth his 
name and proclaim his praises from lodge to lodge.

Mahto-Tatonka, to come back to him, was the best of all our Indian 
friends.  Hour after hour and day after day, when swarms of savages 
of every age, sex, and degree beset our camp, he would lie in our 
tent, his lynx eye ever open to guard our property from pillage.

The Whirlwind invited us one day to his lodge.  The feast was 
finished, and the pipe began to circulate.  It was a remarkably large 
and fine one, and I expressed my admiration of its form and 
dimensions.

"If the Meneaska likes the pipe," asked The Whirlwind, "why does he 
not keep it?"

Such a pipe among the Ogallalla is valued at the price of a horse.  A 
princely gift, thinks the reader, and worthy of a chieftain and a 
warrior.  The Whirlwind's generosity rose to no such pitch.  He gave 
me the pipe, confidently expecting that I in return should make him a 
present of equal or superior value.  This is the implied condition of 
every gift among the Indians as among the Orientals, and should it 
not be complied with the present is usually reclaimed by the giver.  
So I arranged upon a gaudy calico handkerchief, an assortment of 
vermilion, tobacco, knives, and gunpowder, and summoning the chief to 
camp, assured him of my friendship and begged his acceptance of a 
slight token of it.  Ejaculating HOW! HOW! he folded up the offerings 
and withdrew to his lodge.

Several days passed and we and the Indians remained encamped side by 
side.  They could not decide whether or not to go to war.  Toward 
evening, scores of them would surround our tent, a picturesque group.  
Late one afternoon a party of them mounted on horseback came suddenly 
in sight from behind some clumps of bushes that lined the bank of the 
stream, leading with them a mule, on whose back was a wretched negro, 
only sustained in his seat by the high pommel and cantle of the 
Indian saddle.  His cheeks were withered and shrunken in the hollow 
of his jaws; his eyes were unnaturally dilated, and his lips seemed 
shriveled and drawn back from his teeth like those of a corpse.  When 
they brought him up before our tent, and lifted him from the saddle, 
he could not walk or stand, but he crawled a short distance, and with 
a look of utter misery sat down on the grass.  All the children and 
women came pouring out of the lodges round us, and with screams and 
cries made a close circle about him, while he sat supporting himself 
with his hands, and looking from side to side with a vacant stare.  
The wretch was starving to death!  For thirty-three days he had 
wandered alone on the prairie, without weapon of any kind; without 
shoes, moccasins, or any other clothing than an old jacket and 
pantaloons; without intelligence and skill to guide his course, or 
any knowledge of the productions of the prairie.  All this time he 
had subsisted on crickets and lizards, wild onions, and three eggs 
which he found in the nest of a prairie dove.  He had not seen a 
human being.  Utterly bewildered in the boundless, hopeless desert 
that stretched around him, offering to his inexperienced eye no mark 
by which to direct his course, he had walked on in despair till he 
could walk no longer, and then crawled on his knees until the bone 
was laid bare.  He chose the night for his traveling, lying down by 
day to sleep in the glaring sun, always dreaming, as he said, of the 
broth and corn cake he used to eat under his old master's shed in 
Missouri.  Every man in the camp, both white and red, was astonished 
at his wonderful escape not only from starvation but from the grizzly 
bears which abound in that neighborhood, and the wolves which howled 
around him every night.

Reynal recognized him the moment the Indians brought him in.  He had 
run away from his master about a year before and joined the party of 
M. Richard, who was then leaving the frontier for the mountains.  He 
had lived with Richard ever since, until in the end of May he with 
Reynal and several other men went out in search of some stray horses, 
when he got separated from the rest in a storm, and had never been 
heard of up to this time.  Knowing his inexperience and helplessness, 
no one dreamed that he could still be living.  The Indians had found 
him lying exhausted on the ground.

As he sat there with the Indians gazing silently on him, his haggard 
face and glazed eye were disgusting to look upon.  Delorier made him 
a bowl of gruel, but he suffered it to remain untasted before him.  
At length he languidly raised the spoon to his lips; again he did so, 
and again; and then his appetite seemed suddenly inflamed into 
madness, for he seized the bowl, swallowed all its contents in a few 
seconds, and eagerly demanded meat.  This we refused, telling him to 
wait until morning, but he begged so eagerly that we gave him a small 
piece, which he devoured, tearing it like a dog.  He said he must 
have more.  We told him that his life was in danger if he ate so 
immoderately at first.  He assented, and said he knew he was a fool 
to do so, but he must have meat.  This we absolutely refused, to the 
great indignation of the senseless squaws, who, when we were not 
watching him, would slyly bring dried meat and POMMES BLANCHES, and 
place them on the ground by his side.  Still this was not enough for 
him.  When it grew dark he contrived to creep away between the legs 
of the horses and crawl over to the Indian village, about a furlong 
down the stream.  Here he fed to his heart's content, and was brought 
back again in the morning, when Jean Gras, the trapper, put him on 
horseback and carried him to the fort.  He managed to survive the 
effects of his insane greediness, and though slightly deranged when 
we left this part of the country, he was otherwise in tolerable 
health, and expressed his firm conviction that nothing could ever 
kill him.

When the sun was yet an hour high, it was a gay scene in the village.  
The warriors stalked sedately among the lodges, or along the margin 
of the streams, or walked out to visit the bands of horses that were 
feeding over the prairie.  Half the village population deserted the 
close and heated lodges and betook themselves to the water; and here 
you might see boys and girls and young squaws splashing, swimming, 
and diving beneath the afternoon sun, with merry laughter and 
screaming.  But when the sun was just resting above the broken peaks, 
and the purple mountains threw their prolonged shadows for miles over 
the prairie; when our grim old tree, lighted by the horizontal rays, 
assumed an aspect of peaceful repose, such as one loves after scenes 
of tumult and excitement; and when the whole landscape of swelling 
plains and scattered groves was softened into a tranquil beauty, then 
our encampment presented a striking spectacle.  Could Salvator Rosa 
have transferred it to his canvas, it would have added new renown to 
his pencil.  Savage figures surrounded our tent, with quivers at 
their backs, and guns, lances, or tomahawks in their hands.  Some sat 
on horseback, motionless as equestrian statues, their arms crossed on 
their breasts, their eyes fixed in a steady unwavering gaze upon us.  
Some stood erect, wrapped from head to foot in their long white robes 
of buffalo hide.  Some sat together on the grass, holding their 
shaggy horses by a rope, with their broad dark busts exposed to view 
as they suffered their robes to fall from their shoulders.  Others 
again stood carelessly among the throng, with nothing to conceal the 
matchless symmetry of their forms; and I do not exaggerate when I say 
that only on the prairie and in the Vatican have I seen such 
faultless models of the human figure.  See that warrior standing by 
the tree, towering six feet and a half in stature.  Your eyes may 
trace the whole of his graceful and majestic height, and discover no 
defect or blemish.  With his free and noble attitude, with the bow in 
his hand, and the quiver at his back, he might seem, but for his 
face, the Pythian Apollo himself.  Such a figure rose before the 
imagination of West, when on first seeing the Belvidere in the 
Vatican, he exclaimed, "By God, a Mohawk!"

When the sky darkened and the stars began to appear; when the prairie 
was involved in gloom and the horses were driven in and secured 
around the camp, the crowd began to melt away.  Fires gleamed around, 
duskily revealing the rough trappers and the graceful Indians.  One 
of the families near us would always be gathered about a bright 
blaze, that displayed the shadowy dimensions of their lodge, and sent 
its lights far up among the masses of foliage above, gilding the dead 
and ragged branches.  Withered witchlike hags flitted around the 
blaze, and here for hour after hour sat a circle of children and 
young girls, laughing and talking, their round merry faces glowing in 
the ruddy light.  We could hear the monotonous notes of the drum from 
the Indian village, with the chant of the war song, deadened in the 
distance, and the long chorus of quavering yells, where the war dance 
was going on in the largest lodge.  For several nights, too, we could 
hear wild and mournful cries, rising and dying away like the 
melancholy voice of a wolf.  They came from the sisters and female 
relatives of Mahto-Tatonka, who were gashing their limbs with knives, 
and bewailing the death of Henry Chatillon's squaw.  The hour would 
grow late before all retired to rest in the camp.  Then the embers of 
the fires would be glowing dimly, the men would be stretched in their 
blankets on the ground, and nothing could be heard but the restless 
motions of the crowded horses.

I recall these scenes with a mixed feeling of pleasure and pain.  At 
this time I was so reduced by illness that I could seldom walk 
without reeling like a drunken man, and when I rose from my seat upon 
the ground the landscape suddenly grew dim before my eyes, the trees 
and lodges seemed to sway to and fro, and the prairie to rise and 
fall like the swells of the ocean.  Such a state of things is by no 
means enviable anywhere.  In a country where a man's life may at any 
moment depend on the strength of his arm, or it may be on the 
activity of his legs, it is more particularly inconvenient.  Medical 
assistance of course there was none; neither had I the means of 
pursuing a system of diet; and sleeping on a damp ground, with an 
occasional drenching from a shower, would hardly be recommended as 
beneficial.  I sometimes suffered the extremity of languor and 
exhaustion, and though at the time I felt no apprehensions of the 
final result, I have since learned that my situation was a critical 
one.

Besides other formidable inconveniences I owe it in a great measure 
to the remote effects of that unlucky disorder that from deficient 
eyesight I am compelled to employ the pen of another in taking down 
this narrative from my lips; and I have learned very effectually that 
a violent attack of dysentery on the prairie is a thing too serious 
for a joke.  I tried repose and a very sparing diet.  For a long 
time, with exemplary patience, I lounged about the camp, or at the 
utmost staggered over to the Indian village, and walked faint and 
dizzy among the lodges.  It would not do, and I bethought me of 
starvation.  During five days I sustained life on one small biscuit a 
day.  At the end of that time I was weaker than before, but the 
disorder seemed shaken in its stronghold and very gradually I began 
to resume a less rigid diet.  No sooner had I done so than the same 
detested symptoms revisited me; my old enemy resumed his pertinacious 
assaults, yet not with his former violence or constancy, and though 
before I regained any fair portion of my ordinary strength weeks had 
elapsed, and months passed before the disorder left me, yet thanks to 
old habits of activity, and a merciful Providence, I was able to 
sustain myself against it.

I used to lie languid and dreamy before our tent and muse on the past 
and the future, and when most overcome with lassitude, my eyes turned 
always toward the distant Black Hills.  There is a spirit of energy 
and vigor in mountains, and they impart it to all who approach their 
presence.  At that time I did not know how many dark superstitions 
and gloomy legends are associated with those mountains in the minds 
of the Indians, but I felt an eager desire to penetrate their hidden 
recesses, to explore the awful chasms and precipices, the black 
torrents, the silent forests, that I fancied were concealed there.



CHAPTER XII

ILL LUCK


A Canadian came from Fort Laramie, and brought a curious piece of 
intelligence.  A trapper, fresh from the mountains, had become 
enamored of a Missouri damsel belonging to a family who with other 
emigrants had been for some days encamped in the neighborhood of the 
fort.  If bravery be the most potent charm to win the favor of the 
fair, then no wooer could be more irresistible than a Rocky Mountain 
trapper.  In the present instance, the suit was not urged in vain.  
The lovers concerted a scheme, which they proceeded to carry into 
effect with all possible dispatch.  The emigrant party left the fort, 
and on the next succeeding night but one encamped as usual, and 
placed a guard.  A little after midnight the enamored trapper drew 
near, mounted on a strong horse and leading another by the bridle.  
Fastening both animals to a tree, he stealthily moved toward the 
wagons, as if he were approaching a band of buffalo.  Eluding the 
vigilance of the guard, who was probably half asleep, he met his 
mistress by appointment at the outskirts of the camp, mounted her on 
his spare horse, and made off with her through the darkness.  The 
sequel of the adventure did not reach our ears, and we never learned 
how the imprudent fair one liked an Indian lodge for a dwelling, and 
a reckless trapper for a bridegroom.

At length The Whirlwind and his warriors determined to move.  They 
had resolved after all their preparations not to go to the rendezvous 
at La Bonte's Camp, but to pass through the Black Hills and spend a 
few weeks in hunting the buffalo on the other side, until they had 
killed enough to furnish them with a stock of provisions and with 
hides to make their lodges for the next season.  This done, they were 
to send out a small independent war party against the enemy.  Their 
final determination left us in some embarrassment.  Should we go to 
La Bonte's Camp, it was not impossible that the other villages would 
prove as vacillating and indecisive as The Whirlwinds, and that no 
assembly whatever would take place.  Our old companion Reynal had 
conceived a liking for us, or rather for our biscuit and coffee, and 
for the occasional small presents which we made him.  He was very 
anxious that we should go with the village which he himself intended 
to accompany.  He declared he was certain that no Indians would meet 
at the rendezvous, and said moreover that it would be easy to convey 
our cart and baggage through the Black Hills.  In saying this, he 
told as usual an egregious falsehood.  Neither he nor any white man 
with us had ever seen the difficult and obscure defiles through which 
the Indians intended to make their way.  I passed them afterward, and 
had much ado to force my distressed horse along the narrow ravines, 
and through chasms where daylight could scarcely penetrate.  Our cart 
might as easily have been conveyed over the summit of Pike's Peak.  
Anticipating the difficulties and uncertainties of an attempt to 
visit the rendezvous, we recalled the old proverb about "A bird in 
the hand," and decided to follow the village.

Both camps, the Indians' and our own, broke up on the morning of the 
1st of July.  I was so weak that the aid of a potent auxiliary, a 
spoonful of whisky swallowed at short intervals, alone enabled me to 
sit on my hardy little mare Pauline through the short journey of that 
day.  For half a mile before us and half a mile behind, the prairie 
was covered far and wide with the moving throng of savages.  The 
barren, broken plain stretched away to the right and left, and far in 
front rose the gloomy precipitous ridge of the Black Hills.  We 
pushed forward to the head of the scattered column, passing the 
burdened travaux, the heavily laden pack horses, the gaunt old women 
on foot, the gay young squaws on horseback, the restless children 
running among the crowd, old men striding along in their white 
buffalo robes, and groups of young warriors mounted on their best 
horses.  Henry Chatillon, looking backward over the distant prairie, 
exclaimed suddenly that a horseman was approaching, and in truth we 
could just discern a small black speck slowly moving over the face of 
a distant swell, like a fly creeping on a wall.  It rapidly grew 
larger as it approached.

"White man, I b'lieve," said Henry; "look how he ride!  Indian never 
ride that way.  Yes; he got rifle on the saddle before him."

The horseman disappeared in a hollow of the prairie, but we soon saw 
him again, and as he came riding at a gallop toward us through the 
crowd of Indians, his long hair streaming in the wind behind him, we 
recognized the ruddy face and old buckskin frock of Jean Gras the 
trapper.  He was just arrived from Fort Laramie, where he had been on 
a visit, and said he had a message for us.  A trader named Bisonette, 
one of Henry's friends, was lately come from the settlements, and 
intended to go with a party of men to La Bonte's Camp, where, as Jean 
Gras assured us, ten or twelve villages of Indians would certainly 
assemble.  Bisonette desired that we would cross over and meet him 
there, and promised that his men should protect our horses and 
baggage while we went among the Indians.  Shaw and I stopped our 
horses and held a council, and in an evil hour resolved to go.

For the rest of that day's journey our course and that of the Indians 
was the same.  In less than an hour we came to where the high barren 
prairie terminated, sinking down abruptly in steep descent; and 
standing on these heights, we saw below us a great level meadow.  
Laramie Creek bounded it on the left, sweeping along in the shadow of 
the declivities, and passing with its shallow and rapid current just 
below us.  We sat on horseback, waiting and looking on, while the 
whole savage array went pouring past us, hurrying down the descent 
and spreading themselves over the meadow below.  In a few moments the 
plain was swarming with the moving multitude, some just visible, like 
specks in the distance, others still passing on, pressing down, and 
fording the stream with bustle and confusion.  On the edge of the 
heights sat half a dozen of the elder warriors, gravely smoking and 
looking down with unmoved faces on the wild and striking spectacle.

Up went the lodges in a circle on the margin of the stream.  For the 
sake of quiet we pitched our tent among some trees at half a mile's 
distance.  In the afternoon we were in the village.  The day was a 
glorious one, and the whole camp seemed lively and animated in 
sympathy.  Groups of children and young girls were laughing gayly on 
the outside of the lodges.  The shields, the lances, and the bows 
were removed from the tall tripods on which they usually hung before 
the dwellings of their owners.  The warriors were mounting their 
horses, and one by one riding away over the prairie toward the 
neighboring hills.

Shaw and I sat on the grass near the lodge of Reynal.  An old woman, 
with true Indian hospitality, brought a bowl of boiled venison and 
placed it before us.  We amused ourselves with watching half a dozen 
young squaws who were playing together and chasing each other in and 
out of one of the lodges.  Suddenly the wild yell of the war-whoop 
came pealing from the hills.  A crowd of horsemen appeared, rushing 
down their sides and riding at full speed toward the village, each 
warrior's long hair flying behind him in the wind like a ship's 
streamer.  As they approached, the confused throng assumed a regular 
order, and entering two by two, they circled round the area at full 
gallop, each warrior singing his war song as he rode.  Some of their 
dresses were splendid.  They wore superb crests of feathers and close 
tunics of antelope skins, fringed with the scalp-locks of their 
enemies; their shields too were often fluttering with the war eagle's 
feathers.  All had bows and arrows at their back; some carried long 
lances, and a few were armed with guns.  The White Shield, their 
partisan, rode in gorgeous attire at their head, mounted on a black-
and-white horse.  Mahto-Tatonka and his brothers took no part in this 
parade, for they were in mourning for their sister, and were all 
sitting in their lodges, their bodies bedaubed from head to foot with 
white clay, and a lock of hair cut from each of their foreheads.

The warriors circled three times round the village; and as each 
distinguished champion passed, the old women would scream out his 
name in honor of his bravery, and to incite the emulation of the 
younger warriors.  Little urchins, not two years old, followed the 
warlike pageant with glittering eyes, and looked with eager wonder 
and admiration at those whose honors were proclaimed by the public 
voice of the village.  Thus early is the lesson of war instilled into 
the mind of an Indian, and such are the stimulants which incite his 
thirst for martial renown.

The procession rode out of the village as it had entered it, and in 
half an hour all the warriors had returned again, dropping quietly 
in, singly or in parties of two or three.

As the sun rose next morning we looked across the meadow, and could 
see the lodges leveled and the Indians gathering together in 
preparation to leave the camp.  Their course lay to the westward.  We 
turned toward the north with our men, the four trappers following us, 
with the Indian family of Moran.  We traveled until night.  I 
suffered not a little from pain and weakness.  We encamped among some 
trees by the side of a little brook, and here during the whole of the 
next day we lay waiting for Bisonette, but no Bisonette appeared.  
Here also two of our trapper friends left us, and set out for the 
Rocky Mountains.  On the second morning, despairing of Bisonette's 
arrival we resumed our journey, traversing a forlorn and dreary 
monotony of sun-scorched plains, where no living thing appeared save 
here and there an antelope flying before us like the wind.  When noon 
came we saw an unwonted and most welcome sight; a rich and luxuriant 
growth of trees, marking the course of a little stream called 
Horseshoe Creek.  We turned gladly toward it.  There were lofty and 
spreading trees, standing widely asunder, and supporting a thick 
canopy of leaves, above a surface of rich, tall grass.  The stream 
ran swiftly, as clear as crystal, through the bosom of the wood, 
sparkling over its bed of white sand and darkening again as it 
entered a deep cavern of leaves and boughs.  I was thoroughly 
exhausted, and flung myself on the ground, scarcely able to move.  
All that afternoon I lay in the shade by the side of the stream, and 
those bright woods and sparkling waters are associated in my mind 
with recollections of lassitude and utter prostration.  When night 
came I sat down by the fire, longing, with an intensity of which at 
this moment I can hardly conceive, for some powerful stimulant.

In the morning as glorious a sun rose upon us as ever animated that 
desolate wilderness.  We advanced and soon were surrounded by tall 
bare hills, overspread from top to bottom with prickly-pears and 
other cacti, that seemed like clinging reptiles.  A plain, flat and 
hard, and with scarcely the vestige of grass, lay before us, and a 
line of tall misshapen trees bounded the onward view.  There was no 
sight or sound of man or beast, or any living thing, although behind 
those trees was the long-looked-for place of rendezvous, where we 
fondly hoped to have found the Indians congregated by thousands.  We 
looked and listened anxiously.  We pushed forward with our best 
speed, and forced our horses through the trees.  There were copses of 
some extent beyond, with a scanty stream creeping through their 
midst; and as we pressed through the yielding branches, deer sprang 
up to the right and left.  At length we caught a glimpse of the 
prairie beyond.  Soon we emerged upon it, and saw, not a plain 
covered with encampments and swarming with life, but a vast unbroken 
desert stretching away before us league upon league, without a bush 
or a tree or anything that had life.  We drew rein and gave to the 
winds our sentiments concerning the whole aboriginal race of America.  
Our journey was in vain and much worse than in vain.  For myself, I 
was vexed and disappointed beyond measure; as I well knew that a 
slight aggravation of my disorder would render this false step 
irrevocable, and make it quite impossible to accomplish effectively 
the design which had led me an arduous journey of between three and 
four thousand miles.  To fortify myself as well as I could against 
such a contingency, I resolved that I would not under any 
circumstances attempt to leave the country until my object was 
completely gained.

And where were the Indians?  They were assembled in great numbers at 
a spot about twenty miles distant, and there at that very moment they 
were engaged in their warlike ceremonies.  The scarcity of buffalo in 
the vicinity of La Bonte's Camp, which would render their supply of 
provisions scanty and precarious, had probably prevented them from 
assembling there; but of all this we knew nothing until some weeks 
after.

Shaw lashed his horse and galloped forward, I, though much more vexed 
than he, was not strong enough to adopt this convenient vent to my 
feelings; so I followed at a quiet pace, but in no quiet mood.  We 
rode up to a solitary old tree, which seemed the only place fit for 
encampment.  Half its branches were dead, and the rest were so 
scantily furnished with leaves that they cast but a meager and 
wretched shade, and the old twisted trunk alone furnished sufficient 
protection from the sun.  We threw down our saddles in the strip of 
shadow that it cast, and sat down upon them.  In silent indignation 
we remained smoking for an hour or more, shifting our saddles with 
the shifting shadow, for the sun was intolerably hot.



CHAPTER XIII

HUNTING INDIANS


At last we had reached La Bonte's Camp, toward which our eyes had 
turned so long.  Of all weary hours, those that passed between noon 
and sunset of the day when we arrived there may bear away the palm of 
exquisite discomfort.  I lay under the tree reflecting on what course 
to pursue, watching the shadows which seemed never to move, and the 
sun which remained fixed in the sky, and hoping every moment to see 
the men and horses of Bisonette emerging from the woods.  Shaw and 
Henry had ridden out on a scouting expedition, and did not return 
until the sun was setting.  There was nothing very cheering in their 
faces nor in the news they brought.

"We have been ten miles from here," said Shaw.  "We climbed the 
highest butte we could find, and could not see a buffalo or Indian; 
nothing but prairie for twenty miles around us."

Henry's horse was quite disabled by clambering up and down the sides 
of ravines, and Shaw's was severely fatigued.

After supper that evening, as we sat around the fire, I proposed to 
Shaw to wait one day longer in hopes of Bisonette's arrival, and if 
he should not come to send Delorier with the cart and baggage back to 
Fort Laramie, while we ourselves followed The Whirlwind's village and 
attempted to overtake it as it passed the mountains.  Shaw, not 
having the same motive for hunting Indians that I had, was averse to 
the plan; I therefore resolved to go alone.  This design I adopted 
very unwillingly, for I knew that in the present state of my health 
the attempt would be extremely unpleasant, and, as I considered, 
hazardous.  I hoped that Bisonette would appear in the course of the 
following day, and bring us some information by which to direct our 
course, and enable me to accomplish my purpose by means less 
objectionable.

The rifle of Henry Chatillon was necessary for the subsistence of the 
party in my absence; so I called Raymond, and ordered him to prepare 
to set out with me.  Raymond rolled his eyes vacantly about, but at 
length, having succeeded in grappling with the idea, he withdrew to 
his bed under the cart.  He was a heavy-molded fellow, with a broad 
face exactly like an owl's, expressing the most impenetrable 
stupidity and entire self-confidence.  As for his good qualities, he 
had a sort of stubborn fidelity, an insensibility to danger, and a 
kind of instinct or sagacity, which sometimes led him right, where 
better heads than his were at a loss.  Besides this, he knew very 
well how to handle a rifle and picket a horse.

Through the following day the sun glared down upon us with a 
pitiless, penetrating heat.  The distant blue prairie seemed 
quivering under it.  The lodge of our Indian associates was baking in 
the rays, and our rifles, as they leaned against the tree, were too 
hot for the touch.  There was a dead silence through our camp and all 
around it, unbroken except by the hum of gnats and mosquitoes.  The 
men, resting their foreheads on their arms, were sleeping under the 
cart.  The Indians kept close within their lodge except the newly 
married pair, who were seated together under an awning of buffalo 
robes, and the old conjurer, who, with his hard, emaciated face and 
gaunt ribs, was perched aloft like a turkey-buzzard among the dead 
branches of an old tree, constantly on the lookout for enemies.  He 
would have made a capital shot.  A rifle bullet, skillfully planted, 
would have brought him tumbling to the ground.  Surely, I thought, 
there could be no more harm in shooting such a hideous old villain, 
to see how ugly he would look when he was dead, than in shooting the 
detestable vulture which he resembled.  We dined, and then Shaw 
saddled his horse.

"I will ride back," said he, "to Horseshoe Creek, and see if 
Bisonette is there."

"I would go with you," I answered, "but I must reserve all the 
strength I have."

The afternoon dragged away at last.  I occupied myself in cleaning my 
rifle and pistols, and making other preparations for the journey.  
After supper, Henry Chatillon and I lay by the fire, discussing the 
properties of that admirable weapon, the rifle, in the use of which 
he could fairly outrival Leatherstocking himself.

It was late before I wrapped myself in my blanket and lay down for 
the night, with my head on my saddle.  Shaw had not returned, but 
this gave no uneasiness, for we presumed that he had fallen in with 
Bisonette, and was spending the night with him.  For a day or two 
past I had gained in strength and health, but about midnight an 
attack of pain awoke me, and for some hours I felt no inclination to 
sleep.  The moon was quivering on the broad breast of the Platte; 
nothing could be heard except those low inexplicable sounds, like 
whisperings and footsteps, which no one who has spent the night alone 
amid deserts and forests will be at a loss to understand.  As I was 
falling asleep, a familiar voice, shouting from the distance, awoke 
me again.  A rapid step approached the camp, and Shaw on foot, with 
his gun in his hand, hastily entered.

"Where's your horse?" said I, raising myself on my elbow.

"Lost!" said Shaw.  "Where's Delorier?"

"There," I replied, pointing to a confused mass of blankets and 
buffalo robes.

Shaw touched them with the butt of his gun, and up sprang our 
faithful Canadian.

"Come, Delorier; stir up the fire, and get me something to eat."

"Where's Bisonette?" asked I.

"The Lord knows; there's nobody at Horseshoe Creek."

Shaw had gone back to the spot where we had encamped two days before, 
and finding nothing there but the ashes of our fires, he had tied his 
horse to the tree while he bathed in the stream.  Something startled 
his horse, who broke loose, and for two hours Shaw tried in vain to 
catch him.  Sunset approached, and it was twelve miles to camp.  So 
he abandoned the attempt, and set out on foot to join us.  The 
greater part of his perilous and solitary work was performed in 
darkness.  His moccasins were worn to tatters and his feet severely 
lacerated.  He sat down to eat, however, with the usual equanimity of 
his temper not at all disturbed by his misfortune, and my last 
recollection before falling asleep was of Shaw, seated cross-legged 
before the fire, smoking his pipe.  The horse, I may as well mention 
here, was found the next morning by Henry Chatillon.

When I awoke again there was a fresh damp smell in the air, a gray 
twilight involved the prairie, and above its eastern verge was a 
streak of cold red sky.  I called to the men, and in a moment a fire 
was blazing brightly in the dim morning light, and breakfast was 
getting ready.  We sat down together on the grass, to the last 
civilized meal which Raymond and I were destined to enjoy for some 
time.

"Now, bring in the horses."

My little mare Pauline was soon standing by the fire.  She was a 
fleet, hardy, and gentle animal, christened after Paul Dorion, from 
whom I had procured her in exchange for Pontiac.  She did not look as 
if equipped for a morning pleasure ride.  In front of the black, 
high-bowed mountain saddle, holsters, with heavy pistols, were 
fastened.  A pair of saddle bags, a blanket tightly rolled, a small 
parcel of Indian presents tied up in a buffalo skin, a leather bag of 
flour, and a smaller one of tea were all secured behind, and a long 
trail-rope was wound round her neck.  Raymond had a strong black 
mule, equipped in a similar manner.  We crammed our powder-horns to 
the throat, and mounted.

"I will meet you at Fort Laramie on the 1st of August," said I to 
Shaw.

"That is," replied he, "if we don't meet before that.  I think I 
shall follow after you in a day or two."

This in fact he attempted, and he would have succeeded if he had not 
encountered obstacles against which his resolute spirit was of no 
avail.  Two days after I left him he sent Delorier to the fort with 
the cart and baggage, and set out for the mountains with Henry 
Chatillon; but a tremendons thunderstorm had deluged the prairie, and 
nearly obliterated not only our trail but that of the Indians 
themselves.  They followed along the base of the mountains, at a loss 
in which direction to go.  They encamped there, and in the morning 
Shaw found himself poisoned by ivy in such a manner that it was 
impossible for him to travel.  So they turned back reluctantly toward 
Fort Laramie.  Shaw's limbs were swollen to double their usual size, 
and he rode in great pain.  They encamped again within twenty miles 
of the fort, and reached it early on the following morning.  Shaw lay 
serionsly ill for a week, and remained at the fort till I rejoined 
him some time after.

To return to my own story.  We shook hands with our friends, rode out 
upon the prairie, and clambering the sandy hollows that were 
channeled in the sides of the hills gained the high plains above.  If 
a curse had been pronounced upon the land it could not have worn an 
aspect of more dreary and forlorn barrenness.  There were abrupt 
broken hills, deep hollows, and wide plains; but all alike glared 
with an insupportable whiteness under the burning sun.  The country, 
as if parched by the heat, had cracked into innumerable fissures and 
ravines, that not a little impeded our progress.  Their steep sides 
were white and raw, and along the bottom we several times discovered 
the broad tracks of the terrific grizzly bear, nowhere more abundant 
than in this region.  The ridges of the hills were hard as rock, and 
strewn with pebbles of flint and coarse red jasper; looking from 
them, there was nothing to relieve the desert uniformity of the 
prospect, save here and there a pine-tree clinging at the edge of a 
ravine, and stretching out its rough, shaggy arms.  Under the 
scorching heat these melancholy trees diffused their peculiar 
resinous odor through the sultry air.  There was something in it, as 
I approached them, that recalled old associations; the pine-clad 
mountains of New England, traversed in days of health and buoyancy, 
rose like a reality before my fancy.  In passing that arid waste I 
was goaded with a morbid thirst produced by my disorder, and I 
thought with a longing desire on the crystal treasure poured in such 
wasteful profusion from our thousand hills.  Shutting my eyes, I more 
than half believed that I heard the deep plunging and gurgling of 
waters in the bowels of the shaded rocks.  I could see their dark ice 
glittering far down amid the crevices, and the cold drops trickling 
from the long green mosses.

When noon came, we found a little stream, with a few trees and 
bushes; and here we rested for an hour.  Then we traveled on, guided 
by the sun, until, just before sunset, we reached another stream, 
called Bitter Cotton-wood Creek.  A thick growth of bushes and old 
storm-beaten trees grew at intervals along its bank.  Near the foot 
of one of the trees we flung down our saddles, and hobbling our 
horses turned them loose to feed.  The little stream was clear and 
swift, and ran musically on its white sands.  Small water birds were 
splashing in the shallows, and filling the air with their cries and 
flutterings.  The sun was just sinking among gold and crimson clouds 
behind Mount Laramie.  I well remember how I lay upon a log by the 
margin of the water, and watched the restless motions of the little 
fish in a deep still nook below.  Strange to say, I seemed to have 
gained strength since the morning, and almost felt a sense of 
returning health.

We built our fire.  Night came, and the wolves began to howl.  One 
deep voice commenced, and it was answered in awful responses from the 
hills, the plains, and the woods along the stream above and below us.  
Such sounds need not and do not disturb one's sleep upon the prairie.  
We picketed the mare and the mule close at our feet, and did not wake 
until daylight.  Then we turned them loose, still hobbled, to feed 
for an hour before starting.  We were getting ready our morning's 
meal, when Raymond saw an antelope at half a mile's distance, and 
said he would go and shoot it.

"Your business," said.  I, "is to look after the animals.  I am too 
weak to do much, if anything happens to them, and you must keep 
within sight of the camp."

Raymond promised, and set out with his rifle in his hand.  The 
animals had passed across the stream, and were feeding among the long 
grass on the other side, much tormented by the attacks of the 
numerous large green-headed flies.  As I watched them, I saw them go 
down into a hollow, and as several minutes elapsed without their 
reappearing, I waded through the stream to look after them.  To my 
vexation and alarm I discovered them at a great distance, galloping 
away at full speed, Pauline in advance, with her hobbles broken, and 
the mule, still fettered, following with awkward leaps.  I fired my 
rifle and shouted to recall Raymond.  In a moment he came running 
through the stream, with a red handkerchief bound round his head.  I 
pointed to the fugitives, and ordered him to pursue them.  Muttering 
a "Sacre!" between his teeth, he set out at full speed, still 
swinging his rifle in his hand.  I walked up to the top of a hill, 
and looking away over the prairie, could just distinguish the 
runaways, still at full gallop.  Returning to the fire, I sat down at 
the foot of a tree.  Wearily and anxiously hour after hour passed 
away.  The old loose bark dangling from the trunk behind me flapped 
to and fro in the wind, and the mosquitoes kept up their incessant 
drowsy humming; but other than this, there was no sight nor sound of 
life throughout the burning landscape.  The sun rose higher and 
higher, until the shadows fell almost perpendicularly, and I knew 
that it must be noon.  It seemed scarcely possible that the animals 
could be recovered.  If they were not, my situation was one of 
serious difficulty.  Shaw, when I left him had decided to move that 
morning, but whither he had not determined.  To look for him would be 
a vain attempt.  Fort Laramie was forty miles distant, and I could 
not walk a mile without great effort.  Not then having learned the 
sound philosophy of yielding to disproportionate obstacles, I 
resolved to continue in any event the pursuit of the Indians.  Only 
one plan occurred to me; this was to send Raymond to the fort with an 
order for more horses, while I remained on the spot, awaiting his 
return, which might take place within three days.  But the adoption 
of this resolution did not wholly allay my anxiety, for it involved 
both uncertainty and danger.  To remain stationary and alone for 
three days, in a country full of dangerous Indians, was not the most 
flattering of prospects; and protracted as my Indian hunt must be by 
such delay, it was not easy to foretell its ultimate result.  
Revolving these matters, I grew hungry; and as our stock of 
provisions, except four or five pounds of flour, was by this time 
exhausted, I left the camp to see what game I could find.  Nothing 
could be seen except four or five large curlew, which, with their 
loud screaming, were wheeling over my head, and now and then 
alighting upon the prairie.  I shot two of them, and was about 
returning, when a startling sight caught my eye.  A small, dark 
object, like a human head, suddenly appeared, and vanished among the 
thick hushes along the stream below.  In that country every stranger 
is a suspected enemy.  Instinctively I threw forward the muzzle of my 
rifle.  In a moment the bushes were violently shaken, two heads, but 
not human heads, protruded, and to my great joy I recognized the 
downcast, disconsolate countenance of the black mule and the yellow 
visage of Pauline.  Raymond came upon the mule, pale and haggard, 
complaining of a fiery pain in his chest.  I took charge of the 
animals while he kneeled down by the side of the stream to drink.  He 
had kept the runaways in sight as far as the Side Fork of Laramie 
Creek, a distance of more than ten miles; and here with great 
difficulty he had succeeded in catching them.  I saw that he was 
unarmed, and asked him what he had done with his rifle.  It had 
encumbered him in his pursuit, and he had dropped it on the prairie, 
thinking that he could find it on his return; but in this he had 
failed.  The loss might prove a very formidable one.  I was too much 
rejoiced however at the recovery of the animals to think much about 
it; and having made some tea for Raymond in a tin vessel which we had 
brought with us, I told him that I would give him two hours for 
resting before we set out again.  He had eaten nothing that day; but 
having no appetite, he lay down immediately to sleep.  I picketed the 
animals among the richest grass that I could find, and made fires of 
green wood to protect them from the flies; then sitting down again by 
the tree, I watched the slow movements of the sun, begrudging every 
moment that passed.

The time I had mentioned expired, and I awoke Raymond.  We saddled 
and set out again, but first we went in search of the lost rifle, and 
in the course of an hour Raymond was fortunate enough to find it.  
Then we turned westward, and moved over the hills and hollows at a 
slow pace toward the Black Hills.  The heat no longer tormented us, 
for a cloud was before the sun.  Yet that day shall never be marked 
with white in my calendar.  The air began to grow fresh and cool, the 
distant mountains frowned more gloomily, there was a low muttering of 
thunder, and dense black masses of cloud rose heavily behind the 
broken peaks.  At first they were gayly fringed with silver by the 
afternoon sun, but soon the thick blackness overspread the whole sky, 
and the desert around us was wrapped in deep gloom.  I scarcely 
heeded it at the time, but now I cannot but feel that there was an 
awful sublimity in the hoarse murmuring of the thunder, in the somber 
shadows that involved the mountains and the plain.  The storm broke.  
It came upon us with a zigzag blinding flash, with a terrific crash 
of thunder, and with a hurricane that howled over the prairie, 
dashing floods of water against us.  Raymond looked round, and cursed 
the merciless elements.  There seemed no shelter near, but we 
discerned at length a deep ravine gashed in the level prairie, and 
saw half way down its side an old pine tree, whose rough horizontal 
boughs formed a sort of penthouse against the tempest.  We found a 
practicable passage, and hastily descending, fastened our animals to 
some large loose stones at the bottom; then climbing up, we drew our 
blankets over our heads, and seated ourselves close beneath the old 
tree.  Perhaps I was no competent judge of time, but it seemed to me 
that we were sitting there a full hour, while around us poured a 
deluge of rain, through which the rocks on the opposite side of the 
gulf were barely visible.  The first burst of the tempest soon 
subsided, but the rain poured steadily.  At length Raymond grew 
impatient, and scrambling out of the ravine, he gained the level 
prairie above.

"What does the weather look like?" asked I, from my seat under the 
tree.

"It looks bad," he answered; "dark all around," and again he 
descended and sat down by my side.  Some ten minutes elapsed.

"Go up again," said I, "and take another look;" and he clambered up 
the precipice.  "Well, how is it?"

"Just the same, only I see one little bright spot over the top of the 
mountain.

The rain by this time had begun to abate; and going down to the 
bottom of the ravine, we loosened the animals, who were standing up 
to their knees in water.  Leading them up the rocky throat of the 
ravine, we reached the plain above.  "Am I," I thought to myself, 
"the same man who a few months since, was seated, a quiet student of 
BELLES-LETTRES, in a cushioned arm-chair by a sea-coal fire?"

All around us was obscurity; but the bright spot above the 
mountaintops grew wider and ruddier, until at length the clouds drew 
apart, and a flood of sunbeams poured down from heaven, streaming 
along the precipices, and involving them in a thin blue haze, as soft 
and lovely as that which wraps the Apennines on an evening in spring.  
Rapidly the clouds were broken and scattered, like routed legions of 
evil spirits.  The plain lay basking in sunbeams around us; a rainbow 
arched the desert from north to south, and far in front a line of 
woods seemed inviting us to refreshment and repose.  When we reached 
them, they were glistening with prismatic dewdrops, and enlivened by 
the song and flutterings of a hundred birds.  Strange winged insects, 
benumbed by the rain, were clinging to the leaves and the bark of the 
trees.

Raymond kindled a fire with great difficulty.  The animals turned 
eagerly to feed on the soft rich grass, while I, wrapping myself in 
my blanket, lay down and gazed on the evening landscape.  The 
mountains, whose stern features had lowered upon us with so gloomy 
and awful a frown, now seemed lighted up with a serene, benignant 
smile, and the green waving undulations of the plain were gladdened 
with the rich sunshine.  Wet, ill, and wearied as I was, my spirit 
grew lighter at the view, and I drew from it an augury of good for my 
future prospects.

When morning came, Raymond awoke, coughing violently, though I had 
apparently received no injury.  We mounted, crossed the little 
stream, pushed through the trees, and began our journey over the 
plain beyond.  And now, as we rode slowly along, we looked anxiously 
on every hand for traces of the Indians, not doubting that the 
village had passed somewhere in that vicinity; but the scanty 
shriveled grass was not more than three or four inches high, and the 
ground was of such unyielding hardness that a host might have marched 
over it and left scarcely a trace of its passage.  Up hill and down 
hill, and clambering through ravines, we continued our journey.  As 
we were skirting the foot of a hill I saw Raymond, who was some rods 
in advance, suddenly jerking the reins of his mule.  Sliding from his 
seat, and running in a crouching posture up a hollow, he disappeared; 
and then in an instant I heard the sharp quick crack of his rifle.  A 
wounded antelope came running on three legs over the hill.  I lashed 
Pauline and made after him.  My fleet little mare soon brought me by 
his side, and after leaping and bounding for a few moments in vain, 
he stood still, as if despairing of escape.  His glistening eyes 
turned up toward my face with so piteous a look that it was with 
feelings of infinite compunction that I shot him through the head 
with a pistol.  Raymond skinned and cut him up, and we hung the 
forequarters to our saddles, much rejoiced that our exhausted stock 
of provisions was renewed in such good time.

Gaining the top of a hill, we could see along the cloudy verge of the 
prairie before us lines of trees and shadowy groves that marked the 
course of Laramie Creek.  Some time before noon we reached its banks 
and began anxiously to search them for footprints of the Indians.  We 
followed the stream for several miles, now on the shore and now 
wading in the water, scrutinizing every sand-bar and every muddy 
bank.  So long was the search that we began to fear that we had left 
the trail undiscovered behind us.  At length I heard Raymond 
shouting, and saw him jump from his mule to examine some object under 
the shelving bank.  I rode up to his side.  It was the clear and 
palpable impression of an Indian moccasin.  Encouraged by this we 
continued our search, and at last some appearances on a soft surface 
of earth not far from the shore attracted my eye; and going to 
examine them I found half a dozen tracks, some made by men and some 
by children.  Just then Raymond observed across the stream the mouth 
of a small branch entering it from the south.  He forded the water, 
rode in at the opening, and in a moment I heard him shouting again, 
so I passed over and joined him.  The little branch had a broad sandy 
bed, along which the water trickled in a scanty stream; and on either 
bank the bushes were so close that the view was completely 
intercepted.  I found Raymond stooping over the footprints of three 
or four horses.  Proceeding we found those of a man, then those of a 
child, then those of more horses; and at last the bushes on each bank 
were beaten down and broken, and the sand plowed up with a multitude 
of footsteps, and scored across with the furrows made by the lodge-
poles that had been dragged through.  It was now certain that we had 
found the trail.  I pushed through the bushes, and at a little 
distance on the prairie beyond found the ashes of a hundred and fifty 
lodge fires, with bones and pieces of buffalo robes scattered around 
them, and in some instances the pickets to which horses had been 
secured still standing in the ground.  Elated by our success we 
selected a convenient tree, and turning the animals loose, prepared 
to make a meal from the fat haunch of our victim.

Hardship and exposure had thriven with me wonderfully.  I had gained 
both health and strength since leaving La Bonte's Camp.  Raymond and 
I made a hearty meal together in high spirits, for we rashly presumed 
that having found one end of the trail we should have little 
difficulty in reaching the other.  But when the animals were led in 
we found that our old ill luck had not ceased to follow us close.  As 
I was saddling Pauline I saw that her eye was as dull as lead, and 
the hue of her yellow coat visibly darkened.  I placed my foot in the 
stirrup to mount, when instantly she staggered and fell flat on her 
side.  Gaining her feet with an effort she stood by the fire with a 
drooping head.  Whether she had been bitten by a snake or poisoned by 
some noxious plant or attacked by a sudden disorder, it was hard to 
say; but at all events her sickness was sufficiently ill-timed and 
unfortunate.  I succeeded in a second attempt to mount her, and with 
a slow pace we moved forward on the trail of the Indians.  It led us 
up a hill and over a dreary plain; and here, to our great 
mortification, the traces almost disappeared, for the ground was hard 
as adamant; and if its flinty surface had ever retained the print of 
a hoof, the marks had been washed away by the deluge of yesterday.  
An Indian village, in its disorderly march, is scattered over the 
prairie, often to the width of full half a mile; so that its trail is 
nowhere clearly marked, and the task of following it is made doubly 
wearisome and difficult.  By good fortune plenty of large ant-hills, 
a yard or more in diameter, were scattered over the plain, and these 
were frequently broken by the footprints of men and horses, and 
marked by traces of the lodge-poles.  The succulent leaves of the 
prickly-pear, also bruised from the same causes, helped a little to 
guide us; so inch by inch we moved along.  Often we lost the trail 
altogether, and then would recover it again, but late in the 
afternoon we found ourselves totally at fault.  We stood alone 
without clew to guide us.  The broken plain expanded for league after 
league around us, and in front the long dark ridge of mountains was 
stretching from north to south.  Mount Laramie, a little on our 
right, towered high above the rest and from a dark valley just beyond 
one of its lower declivities, we discerned volumes of white smoke 
slowly rolling up into the clear air.

"I think," said Raymond, "some Indians must be there.  Perhaps we had 
better go."  But this plan was not rashly to be adopted, and we 
determined still to continue our search after the lost trail.  Our 
good stars prompted us to this decision, for we afterward had reason 
to believe, from information given us by the Indians, that the smoke 
was raised as a decoy by a Crow war party.

Evening was coming on, and there was no wood or water nearer than the 
foot of the mountains.  So thither we turned, directing our course 
toward the point where Laramie Creek issues forth upon the prairie.  
When we reached it the bare tops of the mountains were still 
brightened with sunshine.  The little river was breaking with a 
vehement and angry current from its dark prison.  There was something 
in the near vicinity of the mountains, in the loud surging of the 
rapids, wonderfully cheering and exhilarating; for although once as 
familiar as home itself, they had been for months strangers to my 
experience.  There was a rich grass-plot by the river's bank, 
surrounded by low ridges, which would effectually screen ourselves 
and our fire from the sight of wandering Indians.  Here among the 
grass I observed numerous circles of large stones, which, as Raymond 
said, were traces of a Dakota winter encampment.  We lay down and did 
not awake till the sun was up.  A large rock projected from the 
shore, and behind it the deep water was slowly eddying round and 
round.  The temptation was irresistible.  I threw off my clothes, 
leaped in, suffered myself to be borne once round with the current, 
and then, seizing the strong root of a water plant, drew myself to 
the shore.  The effect was so invigorating and refreshing that I 
mistook it for returning health.  "Pauline," thought I, as I led the 
little mare up to be saddled, "only thrive as I do, and you and I 
will have sport yet among the buffalo beyond these mountains."  But 
scarcely were we mounted and on our way before the momentary glow 
passed.  Again I hung as usual in my seat, scarcely able to hold 
myself erect.

"Look yonder," said Raymond; "you see that big hollow there; the 
Indians must have gone that way, if they went anywhere about here."

We reached the gap, which was like a deep notch cut into the mountain 
ridge, and here we soon discerned an ant-hill furrowed with the mark 
of a lodge-pole.  This was quite enough; there could be no doubt now.  
As we rode on, the opening growing narrower, the Indians had been 
compelled to march in closer order, and the traces became numerous 
and distinct.  The gap terminated in a rocky gateway, leading into a 
rough passage upward, between two precipitous mountains.  Here grass 
and weeds were bruised to fragments by the throng that had passed 
through.  We moved slowly over the rocks, up the passage; and in this 
toilsome manner we advanced for an hour or two, bare precipices, 
hundreds of feet high, shooting up on either hand.  Raymond, with his 
hardy mule, was a few rods before me, when we came to the foot of an 
ascent steeper than the rest, and which I trusted might prove the 
highest point of the defile.  Pauline strained upward for a few 
yards, moaning and stumbling, and then came to a dead stop, unable to 
proceed further.  I dismounted, and attempted to lead her; but my own 
exhausted strength soon gave out; so I loosened the trail-rope from 
her neck, and tying it round my arm, crawled up on my hands and 
knees.  I gained the top, totally exhausted, the sweat drops 
trickling from my forehead.  Pauline stood like a statue by my side, 
her shadow falling upon the scorching rock; and in this shade, for 
there was no other, I lay for some time, scarcely able to move a 
limb.  All around the black crags, sharp as needles at the top, stood 
glowing in the sun, without a tree, or a bush, or a blade of grass, 
to cover their precipitous sides.  The whole scene seemed parched 
with a pitiless, insufferable heat.

After a while I could mount again, and we moved on, descending the 
rocky defile on its western side.  Thinking of that morning's 
journey, it has sometimes seemed to me that there was something 
ridiculous in my position; a man, armed to the teeth, but wholly 
unable to fight, and equally so to run away, traversing a dangerous 
wilderness, on a sick horse.  But these thoughts were retrospective, 
for at the time I was in too grave a mood to entertain a very lively 
sense of the ludicrous.

Raymond's saddle-girth slipped; and while I proceeded he was stopping 
behind to repair the mischief.  I came to the top of a little 
declivity, where a most welcome sight greeted my eye; a nook of fresh 
green grass nestled among the cliffs, sunny clumps of bushes on one 
side, and shaggy old pine trees leaning forward from the rocks on the 
other.  A shrill, familiar voice saluted me, and recalled me to days 
of boyhood; that of the insect called the "locust" by New England 
schoolboys, which was fast clinging among the heated boughs of the 
old pine trees.  Then, too, as I passed the bushes, the low sound of 
falling water reached my ear.  Pauline turned of her own accord, and 
pushing through the boughs we found a black rock, over-arched by the 
cool green canopy.  An icy stream was pouring from its side into a 
wide basin of white sand, from whence it had no visible outlet, but 
filtered through into the soil below.  While I filled a tin cup at 
the spring, Pauline was eagerly plunging her head deep in the pool.  
Other visitors had been there before us.  All around in the soft soil 
were the footprints of elk, deer, and the Rocky Mountain sheep; and 
the grizzly bear too had left the recent prints of his broad foot, 
with its frightful array of claws.  Among these mountains was his 
home.

Soon after leaving the spring we found a little grassy plain, 
encircled by the mountains, and marked, to our great joy, with all 
the traces of an Indian camp.  Raymond's practiced eye detected 
certain signs by which he recognized the spot where Reynal's lodge 
had been pitched and his horses picketed.  I approached, and stood 
looking at the place.  Reynal and I had, I believe, hardly a feeling 
in common.  I disliked the fellow, and it perplexed me a good deal to 
understand why I should look with so much interest on the ashes of 
his fire, when between him and me there seemed no other bond of 
sympathy than the slender and precarious one of a kindred race.

In half an hour from this we were clear of the mountains.  There was 
a plain before us, totally barren and thickly peopled in many parts 
with the little prairie dogs, who sat at the mouths of their burrows 
and yelped at us as we passed.  The plain, as we thought, was about 
six miles wide; but it cost us two hours to cross it.  Then another 
mountain range rose before us, grander and more wild than the last 
had been.  Far out of the dense shrubbery that clothed the steeps for 
a thousand feet shot up black crags, all leaning one way, and 
shattered by storms and thunder into grim and threatening shapes.  As 
we entered a narrow passage on the trail of the Indians, they 
impended frightfully on one side, above our heads.

Our course was through dense woods, in the shade and twinkling 
sunlight of overhanging boughs.  I would I could recall to mind all 
the startling combinations that presented themselves, as winding from 
side to side of the passage, to avoid its obstructions, we could see, 
glancing at intervals through the foliage, the awful forms of the 
gigantic cliffs, that seemed at times to hem us in on the right and 
on the left, before us and behind!  Another scene in a few moments 
greeted us; a tract of gray and sunny woods, broken into knolls and 
hollows, enlivened by birds and interspersed with flowers.  Among the 
rest I recognized the mellow whistle of the robin, an old familiar 
friend whom I had scarce expected to meet in such a place.  Humble-
bees too were buzzing heavily about the flowers; and of these a 
species of larkspur caught my eye, more appropriate, it should seem, 
to cultivated gardens than to a remote wilderness.  Instantly it 
recalled a multitude of dormant and delightful recollections.

Leaving behind us this spot and its associations, a sight soon 
presented itself, characteristic of that warlike region.  In an open 
space, fenced in by high rocks, stood two Indian forts, of a square 
form, rudely built of sticks and logs.  They were somewhat ruinous, 
having probably been constructed the year before.  Each might have 
contained about twenty men.  Perhaps in this gloomy spot some party 
had been beset by their enemies, and those scowling rocks and blasted 
trees might not long since have looked down on a conflict 
unchronicled and unknown.  Yet if any traces of bloodshed remained 
they were completely hidden by the bushes and tall rank weeds.

Gradually the mountains drew apart, and the passage expanded into a 
plain, where again we found traces of an Indian encampment.  There 
were trees and bushes just before us, and we stopped here for an 
hour's rest and refreshment.  When we had finished our meal Raymond 
struck fire, and lighting his pipe, sat down at the foot of a tree to 
smoke.  For some time I observed him puffing away with a face of 
unusual solemnity.  Then slowly taking the pipe from his lips, he 
looked up and remarked that we had better not go any farther.

"Why not?" asked I.

He said that the country was becoming very dangerous, that we were 
entering the range of the Snakes, Arapahoes and Grosventre Blackfeet, 
and that if any of their wandering parties should meet us, it would 
cost us our lives; but he added, with a blunt fidelity that nearly 
reconciled me to his stupidity, that he would go anywhere I wished.  
I told him to bring up the animals, and mounting them we proceeded 
again.  I confess that, as we moved forward, the prospect seemed but 
a dreary and doubtful one.  I would have given the world for my 
ordinary elasticity of body and mind, and for a horse of such 
strength and spirit as the journey required.

Closer and closer the rocks gathered round us, growing taller and 
steeper, and pressing more and more upon our path.  We entered at 
length a defile which I never had seen rivaled.  The mountain was 
cracked from top to bottom, and we were creeping along the bottom of 
the fissure, in dampness and gloom, with the clink of hoofs on the 
loose shingly rocks, and the hoarse murmuring of a petulant brook 
which kept us company.  Sometimes the water, foaming among the 
stones, overspread the whole narrow passage; sometimes, withdrawing 
to one side, it gave us room to pass dry-shod.  Looking up, we could 
see a narrow ribbon of bright blue sky between the dark edges of the 
opposing cliffs.  This did not last long.  The passage soon widened, 
and sunbeams found their way down, flashing upon the black waters.  
The defile would spread out to many rods in width; bushes, trees, and 
flowers would spring by the side of the brook; the cliffs would be 
feathered with shrubbery, that clung in every crevice, and fringed 
with trees, that grew along their sunny edges.  Then we would be 
moving again in the darkness.  The passage seemed about four miles 
long, and before we reached the end of it, the unshod hoofs of our 
animals were lamentably broken, and their legs cut by the sharp 
stones.  Issuing from the mountain we found another plain.  All 
around it stood a circle of lofty precipices, that seemed the 
impersonation of silence and solitude.  Here again the Indians had 
encamped, as well they might, after passing with their women, 
children and horses through the gulf behind us.  In one day we had 
made a journey which had cost them three to accomplish.

The only outlet to this amphitheater lay over a hill some two hundred 
feet high, up which we moved with difficulty.  Looking from the top, 
we saw that at last we were free of the mountains.  The prairie 
spread before us, but so wild and broken that the view was everywhere 
obstructed.  Far on our left one tall hill swelled up against the 
sky, on the smooth, pale green surface of which four slowly moving 
black specks were discernible.  They were evidently buffalo, and we 
hailed the sight as a good augury; for where the buffalo were, there 
too the Indians would probably be found.  We hoped on that very night 
to reach the village.  We were anxious to do so for a double reason, 
wishing to bring our wearisome journey to an end, and knowing, 
moreover, that though to enter the village in broad daylight would be 
a perfectly safe experiment, yet to encamp in its vicinity would be 
dangerous.  But as we rode on, the sun was sinking, and soon was 
within half an hour of the horizon.  We ascended a hill and looked 
round us for a spot for our encampment.  The prairie was like a 
turbulent ocean, suddenly congealed when its waves were at the 
highest, and it lay half in light and half in shadow, as the rich 
sunshine, yellow as gold, was pouring over it.  The rough bushes of 
the wild sage were growing everywhere, its dull pale green 
overspreading hill and hollow.  Yet a little way before us, a bright 
verdant line of grass was winding along the plain, and here and there 
throughout its course water was glistening darkly.  We went down to 
it, kindled a fire, and turned our horses loose to feed.  It was a 
little trickling brook, that for some yards on either bank turned the 
barren prairie into fertility, and here and there it spread into deep 
pools, where the beaver had dammed it up.

We placed our last remaining piece of the antelope before a scanty 
fire, mournfully reflecting on our exhausted stock of provisions.  
Just then an enormous gray hare, peculiar to these prairies, came 
jumping along, and seated himself within fifty yards to look at us.  
I thoughtlessly raised my rifle to shoot him, but Raymond called out 
to me not to fire for fear the report should reach the ears of the 
Indians.  That night for the first time we considered that the danger 
to which we were exposed was of a somewhat serious character; and to 
those who are unacquainted with Indians, it may seem strange that our 
chief apprehensions arose from the supposed proximity of the people 
whom we intended to visit.  Had any straggling party of these 
faithful friends caught sight of us from the hill-top, they would 
probably have returned in the night to plunder us of our horses and 
perhaps of our scalps.  But we were on the prairie, where the GENIUS 
LOCI is at war with all nervous apprehensions; and I presume that 
neither Raymond nor I thought twice of the matter that evening.

While he was looking after the animals, I sat by the fire engaged in 
the novel task of baking bread.  The utensils were of the most simple 
and primitive kind, consisting of two sticks inclining over the bed 
of coals, one end thrust into the ground while the dough was twisted 
in a spiral form round the other.  Under such circumstances all the 
epicurean in a man's nature is apt to awaken within him.  I revisited 
in fancy the far distant abodes of good fare, not indeed Frascati's, 
or the Trois Freres Provencaux, for that were too extreme a flight; 
but no other than the homely table of my old friend and host, Tom 
Crawford, of the White Mountains.  By a singular revulsion, Tom 
himself, whom I well remember to have looked upon as the 
impersonation of all that is wild and backwoodsman-like, now appeared 
before me as the ministering angel of comfort and good living.  Being 
fatigued and drowsy I began to doze, and my thoughts, following the 
same train of association, assumed another form.  Half-dreaming, I 
saw myself surrounded with the mountains of New England, alive with 
water-falls, their black crags tinctured with milk-white mists.  For 
this reverie I paid a speedy penalty; for the bread was black on one 
side and soft on the other.

For eight hours Raymond and I, pillowed on our saddles, lay 
insensible as logs.  Pauline's yellow head was stretched over me when 
I awoke.  I got up and examined her.  Her feet indeed were bruised 
and swollen by the accidents of yesterday, but her eye was brighter, 
her motions livelier, and her mysterious malady had visibly abated.  
We moved on, hoping within an hour to come in sight of the Indian 
village; but again disappointment awaited us.  The trail disappeared, 
melting away upon a hard and stony plain.  Raymond and I separating, 
rode from side to side, scrutinizing every yard of ground, until at 
length I discerned traces of the lodge-poles passing by the side of a 
ridge of rocks.  We began again to follow them.

"What is that black spot out there on the prairie?"

"It looks like a dead buffalo," answered Raymond.

We rode out to it, and found it to be the huge carcass of a bull 
killed by the Indians as they had passed.  Tangled hair and scraps of 
hide were scattered all around, for the wolves had been making merry 
over it, and had hollowed out the entire carcass.  It was covered 
with myriads of large black crickets, and from its appearance must 
certainly have lain there for four or five days.  The sight was a 
most disheartening one, and I observed to Raymond that the Indians 
might still be fifty or sixty miles before us.  But he shook his 
head, and replied that they dared not go so far for fear of their 
enemies, the Snakes.

Soon after this we lost the trail again, and ascended a neighboring 
ridge, totally at a loss.  Before us lay a plain perfectly flat, 
spreading on the right and left, without apparent limit, and bounded 
in front by a long broken line of hills, ten or twelve miles distant.  
All was open and exposed to view, yet not a buffalo nor an Indian was 
visible.

"Do you see that?" said Raymond; "Now we had better turn round."

But as Raymond's bourgeois thought otherwise, we descended the hill 
and began to cross the plain.  We had come so far that I knew 
perfectly well neither Pauline's limbs nor my own could carry me back 
to Fort Laramie.  I considered that the lines of expediency and 
inclination tallied exactly, and that the most prudent course was to 
keep forward.  The ground immediately around us was thickly strewn 
with the skulls and bones of buffalo, for here a year or two before 
the Indians had made a "surround"; yet no living game presented 
itself.  At length, however, an antelope sprang up and gazed at us.  
We fired together, and by a singular fatality we both missed, 
although the animal stood, a fair mark, within eighty yards.  This 
ill success might perhaps be charged to our own eagerness, for by 
this time we had no provision left except a little flour.  We could 
discern several small lakes, or rather extensive pools of water, 
glistening in the distance.  As we approached them, wolves and 
antelopes bounded away through the tall grass that grew in their 
vicinity, and flocks of large white plover flew screaming over their 
surface.  Having failed of the antelope, Raymond tried his hand at 
the birds with the same ill success.  The water also disappointed us.  
Its muddy margin was so beaten up by the crowd of buffalo that our 
timorous animals were afraid to approach.  So we turned away and 
moved toward the hills.  The rank grass, where it was not trampled 
down by the buffalo, fairly swept our horses' necks.

Again we found the same execrable barren prairie offering no clew by 
which to guide our way.  As we drew near the hills an opening 
appeared, through which the Indians must have gone if they had passed 
that way at all.  Slowly we began to ascend it.  I felt the most 
dreary forebodings of ill success, when on looking round I could 
discover neither dent of hoof, nor footprint, nor trace of lodge-
pole, though the passage was encumbered by the ghastly skulls of 
buffalo.  We heard thunder muttering; a storm was coming on.

As we gained the top of the gap, the prospect beyond began to 
disclose itself.  First, we saw a long dark line of ragged clouds 
upon the horizon, while above them rose the peak of the Medicine-Bow, 
the vanguard of the Rocky Mountains; then little by little the plain 
came into view, a vast green uniformity, forlorn and tenantless, 
though Laramie Creek glistened in a waving line over its surface, 
without a bush or a tree upon its banks.  As yet, the round 
projecting shoulder of a hill intercepted a part of the view.  I rode 
in advance, when suddenly I could distinguish a few dark spots on the 
prairie, along the bank of the stream.

"Buffalo!" said I.  Then a sudden hope flashed upon me, and eagerly 
and anxiously I looked again.

"Horses!" exclaimed Raymond, with a tremendous oath, lashing his mule 
forward as he spoke.  More and more of the plain disclosed itself, 
and in rapid succession more and more horses appeared, scattered 
along the river bank, or feeding in bands over the prairie.  Then, 
suddenly, standing in a circle by the stream, swarming with their 
savage inhabitants, we saw rising before us the tall lodges of the 
Ogallalla.  Never did the heart of wanderer more gladden at the sight 
of home than did mine at the sight of those wild habitations!



CHAPTER XIV

THE OGALLALLA VILLAGE


Such a narrative as this is hardly the place for portraying the 
mental features of the Indians.  The same picture, slightly changed 
in shade and coloring, would serve with very few exceptions for all 
the tribes that lie north of the Mexican territories.  But with this 
striking similarity in their modes of thought, the tribes of the lake 
and ocean shores, of the forests and of the plains, differ greatly in 
their manner of life.  Having been domesticated for several weeks 
among one of the wildest of the wild hordes that roam over the remote 
prairies, I had extraordinary opportunities of observing them, and I 
flatter myself that a faithful picture of the scenes that passed 
daily before my eyes may not be devoid of interest and value.  These 
men were thorough savages.  Neither their manners nor their ideas 
were in the slightest degree modified by contact with civilization.  
They knew nothing of the power and real character of the white men, 
and their children would scream in terror at the sight of me.  Their 
religion, their superstitions, and their prejudices were the same 
that had been handed down to them from immemorial time.  They fought 
with the same weapons that their fathers fought with and wore the 
same rude garments of skins.

Great changes are at hand in that region.  With the stream of 
emigration to Oregon and California, the buffalo will dwindle away, 
and the large wandering communities who depend on them for support 
must be broken and scattered.  The Indians will soon be corrupted by 
the example of the whites, abased by whisky, and overawed by military 
posts; so that within a few years the traveler may pass in tolerable 
security through their country.  Its danger and its charm will have 
disappeared together.

As soon as Raymond and I discovered the village from the gap in the 
hills, we were seen in our turn; keen eyes were constantly on the 
watch.  As we rode down upon the plain the side of the village 
nearest us was darkened with a crowd of naked figures gathering 
around the lodges.  Several men came forward to meet us.  I could 
distinguish among them the green blanket of the Frenchman Reynal.  
When we came up the ceremony of shaking hands had to be gone through 
with in due form, and then all were eager to know what had become of 
the rest of my party.  I satisfied them on this point, and we all 
moved forward together toward the village.

"You've missed it," said Reynal; "if you'd been here day before 
yesterday, you'd have found the whole prairie over yonder black with 
buffalo as far as you could see.  There were no cows, though; nothing 
but bulls.  We made a 'surround' every day till yesterday.  See the 
village there; don't that look like good living?"

In fact I could see, even at that distance, that long cords were 
stretched from lodge to lodge, over which the meat, cut by the squaws 
into thin sheets, was hanging to dry in the sun.  I noticed too that 
the village was somewhat smaller than when I had last seen it, and I 
asked Reynal the cause.  He said that the old Le Borgne had felt too 
weak to pass over the mountains, and so had remained behind with all 
his relations, including Mahto-Tatonka and his brothers.  The 
Whirlwind too had been unwilling to come so far, because, as Reynal 
said, he was afraid.  Only half a dozen lodges had adhered to him, 
the main body of the village setting their chief's authority at 
naught, and taking the course most agreeable to their inclinations.

"What chiefs are there in the village now?" said I.

"Well," said Reynal, "there's old Red-Water, and the Eagle-Feather, 
and the Big Crow, and the Mad Wolf and the Panther, and the White 
Shield, and--what's his name?--the half-breed Cheyenne."

By this time we were close to the village, and I observed that while 
the greater part of the lodges were very large and neat in their 
appearance, there was at one side a cluster of squalid, miserable 
huts.  I looked toward them, and made some remark about their 
wretched appearance.  But I was touching upon delicate ground.

"My squaw's relations live in those lodges," said Reynal very warmly, 
"and there isn't a better set in the whole village."

"Are there any chiefs among them?" asked I.

"Chiefs?" said Reynal; "yes, plenty!"

"What are their names?" I inquired.

"Their names?  Why, there's the Arrow-Head.  If he isn't a chief he 
ought to be one.  And there's the Hail-Storm.  He's nothing but a 
boy, to be sure; but he's bound to be a chief one of these days!"

Just then we passed between two of the lodges, and entered the great 
area of the village.  Superb naked figures stood silently gazing on 
us.

"Where's the Bad Wound's lodge?" said I to Reynal.

"There, you've missed it again!  The Bad Wound is away with The 
Whirlwind.  If you could have found him here, and gone to live in his 
lodge, he would have treated you better than any man in the village.  
But there's the Big Crow's lodge yonder, next to old Red-Water's.  
He's a good Indian for the whites, and I advise you to go and live 
with him."

"Are there many squaws and children in his lodge?" said I.

"No; only one squaw and two or three children.  He keeps the rest in 
a separate lodge by themselves."

So, still followed by a crowd of Indians, Raymond and I rode up to 
the entrance of the Big Crow's lodge.  A squaw came out immediately 
and took our horses.  I put aside the leather nap that covered the 
low opening, and stooping, entered the Big Crow's dwelling.  There I 
could see the chief in the dim light, seated at one side, on a pile 
of buffalo robes.  He greeted me with a guttural "How, cola!"  I 
requested Reynal to tell him that Raymond and I were come to live 
with him.  The Big Crow gave another low exclamation.  If the reader 
thinks that we were intruding somewhat cavalierly, I beg him to 
observe that every Indian in the village would have deemed himself 
honored that white men should give such preference to his 
hospitality.

The squaw spread a buffalo robe for us in the guest's place at the 
head of the lodge.  Our saddles were brought in, and scarcely were we 
seated upon them before the place was thronged with Indians, who came 
crowding in to see us.  The Big Crow produced his pipe and filled it 
with the mixture of tobacco and shongsasha, or red willow bark.  
Round and round it passed, and a lively conversation went forward.  
Meanwhile a squaw placed before the two guests a wooden bowl of 
boiled buffalo meat, but unhappily this was not the only banquet 
destined to be inflicted on us.  Rapidly, one after another, boys and 
young squaws thrust their heads in at the opening, to invite us to 
various feasts in different parts of the village.  For half an hour 
or more we were actively engaged in passing from lodge to lodge, 
tasting in each of the bowl of meat set before us, and inhaling a 
whiff or two from our entertainer's pipe.  A thunderstorm that had 
been threatening for some time now began in good earnest.  We crossed 
over to Reynal's lodge, though it hardly deserved this name, for it 
consisted only of a few old buffalo robes, supported on poles, and 
was quite open on one side.  Here we sat down, and the Indians 
gathered round us.

"What is it," said I, "that makes the thunder?"

"It's my belief," said Reynal, "that it is a big stone rolling over 
the sky."

"Very likely," I replied; "but I want to know what the Indians think 
about it."

So he interpreted my question, which seemed to produce some doubt and 
debate.  There was evidently a difference of opinion.  At last old 
Mene-Seela, or Red-Water, who sat by himself at one side, looked up 
with his withered face, and said he had always known what the thunder 
was.  It was a great black bird; and once he had seen it, in a dream, 
swooping down from the Black Hills, with its loud roaring wings; and 
when it flapped them over a lake, they struck lightning from the 
water.

"The thunder is bad," said another old man, who sat muffled in his 
buffalo robe; "he killed my brother last summer."

Reynal, at my request, asked for an explanation; but the old man 
remained doggedly silent, and would not look up.  Some time after I 
learned how the accident occurred.  The man who was killed belonged 
to an association which, among other mystic functions, claimed the 
exclusive power and privilege of fighting the thunder.  Whenever a 
storm which they wished to avert was threatening, the thunder-
fighters would take their bows and arrows, their guns, their magic 
drum, and a sort of whistle, made out of the wingbone of the war 
eagle.  Thus equipped, they would run out and fire at the rising 
cloud, whooping, yelling, whistling, and beating their drum, to 
frighten it down again.  One afternoon a heavy black cloud was coming 
up, and they repaired to the top of a hill, where they brought all 
their magic artillery into play against it.  But the undaunted 
thunder, refusing to be terrified, kept moving straight onward, and 
darted out a bright flash which struck one of the party dead, as he 
was in the very act of shaking his long iron-pointed lance against 
it.  The rest scattered and ran yelling in an ecstasy of 
superstitious terror back to their lodges.

The lodge of my host Kongra-Tonga, or the Big Crow, presented a 
picturesque spectacle that evening.  A score or more of Indians were 
seated around in a circle, their dark naked forms just visible by the 
dull light of the smoldering fire in the center, the pipe glowing 
brightly in the gloom as it passed from hand to hand round the lodge.  
Then a squaw would drop a piece of buffalo-fat on the dull embers.  
Instantly a bright glancing flame would leap up, darting its clear 
light to the very apex of the tall conical structure, where the tops 
of the slender poles that supported its covering of leather were 
gathered together.  It gilded the features of the Indians, as with 
animated gestures they sat around it, telling their endless stories 
of war and hunting.  It displayed rude garments of skins that hung 
around the lodge; the bow, quiver, and lance suspended over the 
resting-place of the chief, and the rifles and powder-horns of the 
two white guests.  For a moment all would be bright as day; then the 
flames would die away, and fitful flashes from the embers would 
illumine the lodge, and then leave it in darkness.  Then all the 
light would wholly fade, and the lodge and all within it be involved 
again in obscurity.

As I left the lodge next morning, I was saluted by howling and 
yelling from all around the village, and half its canine population 
rushed forth to the attack.  Being as cowardly as they were 
clamorous, they kept jumping around me at the distance of a few 
yards, only one little cur, about ten inches long, having spirit 
enough to make a direct assault.  He dashed valiantly at the leather 
tassel which in the Dakota fashion was trailing behind the heel of my 
moccasin, and kept his hold, growling and snarling all the while, 
though every step I made almost jerked him over on his back.  As I 
knew that the eyes of the whole village were on the watch to see if I 
showed any sign of apprehension, I walked forward without looking to 
the right or left, surrounded wherever I went by this magic circle of 
dogs.  When I came to Reynal's lodge I sat down by it, on which the 
dogs dispersed growling to their respective quarters.  Only one large 
white one remained, who kept running about before me and showing his 
teeth.  I called him, but he only growled the more.  I looked at him 
well.  He was fat and sleek; just such a dog as I wanted.  "My 
friend," thought I, "you shall pay for this!  I will have you eaten 
this very morning!"

I intended that day to give the Indians a feast, by way of conveying 
a favorable impression of my character and dignity; and a white dog 
is the dish which the customs of the Dakota prescribe for all 
occasions of formality and importance.  I consulted Reynal; he soon 
discovered that an old woman in the next lodge was owner of the white 
dog.  I took a gaudy cotton handkerchief, and laying it on the 
ground, arranged some vermilion, beads, and other trinkets upon it.  
Then the old squaw was summoned.  I pointed to the dog and to the 
handkerchief.  She gave a scream of delight, snatched up the prize, 
and vanished with it into her lodge.  For a few more trifles I 
engaged the services of two other squaws, each of whom took the white 
dog by one of his paws, and led him away behind the lodges, while he 
kept looking up at them with a face of innocent surprise.  Having 
killed him they threw him into a fire to singe; then chopped him up 
and put him into two large kettles to boil.  Meanwhile I told Raymond 
to fry in buffalo-fat what little flour we had left, and also to make 
a kettle of tea as an additional item of the repast.

The Big Crow's squaw was set briskly at work sweeping out the lodge 
for the approaching festivity.  I confided to my host himself the 
task of inviting the guests, thinking that I might thereby shift from 
my own shoulders the odium of fancied neglect and oversight.

When feasting is in question, one hour of the day serves an Indian as 
well as another.  My entertainment came off about eleven o'clock.  At 
that hour, Reynal and Raymond walked across the area of the village, 
to the admiration of the inhabitants, carrying the two kettles of 
dog-meat slung on a pole between them.  These they placed in the 
center of the lodge, and then went back for the bread and the tea.  
Meanwhile I had put on a pair of brilliant moccasins, and substituted 
for my old buckskin frock a coat which I had brought with me in view 
of such public occasions.  I also made careful use of the razor, an 
operation which no man will neglect who desires to gain the good 
opinion of Indians.  Thus attired, I seated myself between Reynal and 
Raymond at the head of the lodge.  Only a few minutes elapsed before 
all the guests had come in and were seated on the ground, wedged 
together in a close circle around the lodge.  Each brought with him a 
wooden bowl to hold his share of the repast.  When all were 
assembled, two of the officials called "soldiers" by the white men, 
came forward with ladles made of the horn of the Rocky Mountain 
sheep, and began to distribute the feast, always assigning a double 
share to the old men and chiefs.  The dog vanished with astonishing 
celerity, and each guest turned his dish bottom upward to show that 
all was gone.  Then the bread was distributed in its turn, and 
finally the tea.  As the soldiers poured it out into the same wooden 
bowls that had served for the substantial part of the meal, I thought 
it had a particularly curious and uninviting color.

"Oh!" said Reynal, "there was not tea enough, so I stirred some soot 
in the kettle, to make it look strong."

Fortunately an Indian's palate is not very discriminating.  The tea 
was well sweetened, and that was all they cared for.

Now the former part of the entertainment being concluded, the time 
for speech-making was come.  The Big Crow produced a flat piece of 
wood on which he cut up tobacco and shongsasha, and mixed them in due 
proportions.  The pipes were filled and passed from hand to hand 
around the company.  Then I began my speech, each sentence being 
interpreted by Reynal as I went on, and echoed by the whole audience 
with the usual exclamations of assent and approval.  As nearly as I 
can recollect, it was as follows:

I had come, I told them, from a country so far distant, that at the 
rate they travel, they could not reach it in a year.

"Howo how!"

"There the Meneaska were more numerous than the blades of grass on 
the prairie.  The squaws were far more beautiful than any they had 
ever seen, and all the men were brave warriors."

"How! how! how!"

Here I was assailed by sharp twinges of conscience, for I fancied I 
could perceive a fragrance of perfumery in the air, and a vision rose 
before me of white kid gloves and silken mustaches with the mild and 
gentle countenances of numerous fair-haired young men.  But I 
recovered myself and began again.

"While I was living in the Meneaska lodges, I had heard of the 
Ogallalla, how great and brave a nation they were, how they loved the 
whites, and how well they could hunt the buffalo and strike their 
enemies.  I resolved to come and see if all that I heard was true."

"How! how! how! how!"

"As I had come on horseback through the mountains, I had been able to 
bring them only a very few presents."

"How!"

"But I had enough tobacco to give them all a small piece.  They might 
smoke it, and see how much better it was than the tobacco which they 
got from the traders."

"How! how! how!"

"I had plenty of powder, lead, knives, and tobacco at Fort Laramie.  
These I was anxious to give them, and if any of them should come to 
the fort before I went away, I would make them handsome presents."

"How! howo how! how!"

Raymond then cut up and distributed among them two or three pounds of 
tobacco, and old Mene-Seela began to make a reply.  It was quite 
long, but the following was the pith of it:

"He had always loved the whites.  They were the wisest people on 
earth.  He believed they could do everything, and he was always glad 
when any of them came to live in the Ogallalla lodges.  It was true I 
had not made them many presents, but the reason of it was plain.  It 
was clear that I liked them, or I never should have come so far to 
find their village."

Several other speeches of similar import followed, and then this more 
serious matter being disposed of, there was an interval of smoking, 
laughing, and conversation; but old Mene-Seela suddenly interrupted 
it with a loud voice:

"Now is a good time," he said, "when all the old men and chiefs are 
here together, to decide what the people shall do.  We came over the 
mountain to make our lodges for next year.  Our old ones are good for 
nothing; they are rotten and worn out.  But we have been 
disappointed.  We have killed buffalo bulls enough, but we have found 
no herds of cows, and the skins of bulls are too thick and heavy for 
our squaws to make lodges of.  There must be plenty of cows about the 
Medicine-Bow Mountain.  We ought to go there.  To be sure it is 
farther westward than we have ever been before, and perhaps the 
Snakes will attack us, for those hunting-grounds belong to them.  But 
we must have new lodges at any rate; our old ones will not serve for 
another year.  We ought not to be afraid of the Snakes.  Our warriors 
are brave, and they are all ready for war.  Besides, we have three 
white men with their rifles to help us."

I could not help thinking that the old man relied a little too much 
on the aid of allies, one of whom was a coward, another a blockhead, 
and the third an invalid.  This speech produced a good deal of 
debate.  As Reynal did not interpret what was said, I could only 
judge of the meaning by the features and gestures of the speakers.  
At the end of it, however, the greater number seemed to have fallen 
in with Mene-Seela's opinion.  A short silence followed, and then the 
old man struck up a discordant chant, which I was told was a song of 
thanks for the entertainment I had given them.

"Now," said he, "let us go and give the white men a chance to 
breathe."

So the company all dispersed into the open air, and for some time the 
old chief was walking round the village, singing his song in praise 
of the feast, after the usual custom of the nation.

At last the day drew to a close, and as the sun went down the horses 
came trooping from the surrounding plains to be picketed before the 
dwellings of their respective masters.  Soon within the great circle 
of lodges appeared another concentric circle of restless horses; and 
here and there fires were glowing and flickering amid the gloom of 
the dusky figures around them.  I went over and sat by the lodge of 
Reynal.  The Eagle-Feather, who was a son of Mene-Seela, and brother 
of my host the Big Crow, was seated there already, and I asked him if 
the village would move in the morning.  He shook his head, and said 
that nobody could tell, for since old Mahto-Tatonka had died, the 
people had been like children that did not know their own minds.  
They were no better than a body without a head.  So I, as well as the 
Indians themselves, fell asleep that night without knowing whether we 
should set out in the morning toward the country of the Snakes.

At daybreak, however, as I was coming up from the river after my 
morning's ablutions, I saw that a movement was contemplated.  Some of 
the lodges were reduced to nothing but bare skeletons of poles; the 
leather covering of others was flapping in the wind as the squaws 
were pulling it off.  One or two chiefs of note had resolved, it 
seemed, on moving; and so having set their squaws at work, the 
example was tacitly followed by the rest of the village.  One by one 
the lodges were sinking down in rapid succession, and where the great 
circle of the village had been only a moment before, nothing now 
remained but a ring of horses and Indians, crowded in confusion 
together.  The ruins of the lodges were spread over the ground, 
together with kettles, stone mallets, great ladles of horn, buffalo 
robes, and cases of painted hide, filled with dried meat.  Squaws 
bustled about in their busy preparations, the old hags screaming to 
one another at the stretch of their leathern lungs.  The shaggy 
horses were patiently standing while the lodge-poles were lashed to 
their sides, and the baggage piled upon their backs.  The dogs, with 
their tongues lolling out, lay lazily panting, and waiting for the 
time of departure.  Each warrior sat on the ground by the decaying 
embers of his fire, unmoved amid all the confusion, while he held in 
his hand the long trail-rope of his horse.

As their preparations were completed, each family moved off the 
ground.  The crowd was rapidly melting away.  I could see them 
crossing the river, and passing in quick succession along the profile 
of the hill on the farther bank.  When all were gone, I mounted and 
set out after them, followed by Raymond, and as we gained the summit, 
the whole village came in view at once, straggling away for a mile or 
more over the barren plains before us.  Everywhere the iron points of 
lances were glittering.  The sun never shone upon a more strange 
array.  Here were the heavy-laden pack horses, some wretched old 
women leading them, and two or three children clinging to their 
backs.  Here were mules or ponies covered from head to tail with 
gaudy trappings, and mounted by some gay young squaw, grinning 
bashfulness and pleasure as the Meneaska looked at her.  Boys with 
miniature bows and arrows were wandering over the plains, little 
naked children were running along on foot, and numberless dogs were 
scampering among the feet of the horses.  The young braves, gaudy 
with paint and feathers, were riding in groups among the crowd, and 
often galloping, two or three at once along the line, to try the 
speed of their horses.  Here and there you might see a rank of sturdy 
pedestrians stalking along in their white buffalo robes.  These were 
the dignitaries of the village, the old men and warriors, to whose 
age and experience that wandering democracy yielded a silent 
deference.  With the rough prairie and the broken hills for its 
background, the restless scene was striking and picturesque beyond 
description.  Days and weeks made me familiar with it, but never 
impaired its effect upon my fancy.

As we moved on the broken column grew yet more scattered and 
disorderly, until, as we approached the foot of a hill, I saw the old 
men before mentioned seating themselves in a line upon the ground, in 
advance of the whole.  They lighted a pipe and sat smoking, laughing, 
and telling stories, while the people, stopping as they successively 
came up, were soon gathered in a crowd behind them.  Then the old men 
rose, drew their buffalo robes over their shoulders, and strode on as 
before.  Gaining the top of the hill, we found a very steep declivity 
before us.  There was not a minute's pause.  The whole descended in a 
mass, amid dust and confusion.  The horses braced their feet as they 
slid down, women and children were screaming, dogs yelping as they 
were trodden upon, while stones and earth went rolling to the bottom.  
In a few moments I could see the village from the summit, spreading 
again far and wide over the plain below.

At our encampment that afternoon I was attacked anew by my old 
disorder.  In half an hour the strength that I had been gaining for a 
week past had vanished again, and I became like a man in a dream.  
But at sunset I lay down in the Big Crow's lodge and slept, totally 
unconscious till the morning.  The first thing that awakened me was a 
hoarse flapping over my head, and a sudden light that poured in upon 
me.  The camp was breaking up, and the squaws were moving the 
covering from the lodge.  I arose and shook off my blanket with the 
feeling of perfect health; but scarcely had I gained my feet when a 
sense of my helpless condition was once more forced upon me, and I 
found myself scarcely able to stand.  Raymond had brought up Pauline 
and the mule, and I stooped to raise my saddle from the ground.  My 
strength was quite inadequate to the task.  "You must saddle her," 
said I to Raymond, as I sat down again on a pile of buffalo robes:


     "Et hoec etiam fortasse meminisse juvabit."


I thought, while with a painful effort I raised myself into the 
saddle.  Half an hour after, even the expectation that Virgil's line 
expressed seemed destined to disappointment.  As we were passing over 
a great plain, surrounded by long broken ridges, I rode slowly in 
advance of the Indians, with thoughts that wandered far from the time 
and from the place.  Suddenly the sky darkened, and thunder began to 
mutter.  Clouds were rising over the hills, as dreary and dull as the 
first forebodings of an approaching calamity; and in a moment all 
around was wrapped in shadow.  I looked behind.  The Indians had 
stopped to prepare for the approaching storm, and the dark, dense 
mass of savages stretched far to the right and left.  Since the first 
attack of my disorder the effects of rain upon me had usually been 
injurious in the extreme.  I had no strength to spare, having at that 
moment scarcely enough to keep my seat on horseback.  Then, for the 
first time, it pressed upon me as a strong probability that I might 
never leave those deserts.  "Well," thought I to myself, "a prairie 
makes quick and sharp work.  Better to die here, in the saddle to the 
last, than to stifle in the hot air of a sick chamber, and a thousand 
times better than to drag out life, as many have done, in the 
helpless inaction of lingering disease."  So, drawing the buffalo 
robe on which I sat over my head, I waited till the storm should 
come.  It broke at last with a sudden burst of fury, and passing away 
as rapidly as it came, left the sky clear again.  My reflections 
served me no other purpose than to look back upon as a piece of 
curious experience; for the rain did not produce the ill effects that 
I had expected.  We encamped within an hour.  Having no change of 
clothes, I contrived to borrow a curious kind of substitute from 
Reynal: and this done, I went home, that is, to the Big Crow's lodge 
to make the entire transfer that was necessary.  Half a dozen squaws 
were in the lodge, and one of them taking my arm held it against her 
own, while a general laugh and scream of admiration were raised at 
the contrast in the color of the skin.

Our encampment that afternoon was not far distant from a spur of the 
Black Hills, whose ridges, bristling with fir trees, rose from the 
plains a mile or two on our right.  That they might move more rapidly 
toward their proposed hunting-grounds, the Indians determined to 
leave at this place their stock of dried meat and other superfluous 
articles.  Some left even their lodges, and contented themselves with 
carrying a few hides to make a shelter from the sun and rain.  Half 
the inhabitants set out in the afternoon, with loaded pack horses, 
toward the mountains.  Here they suspended the dried meat upon trees, 
where the wolves and grizzly bears could not get at it.  All returned 
at evening.  Some of the young men declared that they had heard the 
reports of guns among the mountains to the eastward, and many 
surmises were thrown out as to the origin of these sounds.  For my 
part, I was in hopes that Shaw and Henry Chatillon were coming to 
join us.  I would have welcomed them cordially, for I had no other 
companions than two brutish white men and five hundred savages.  I 
little suspected that at that very moment my unlucky comrade was 
lying on a buffalo robe at Fort Laramie, fevered with ivy poison, and 
solacing his woes with tobacco and Shakespeare.

As we moved over the plains on the next morning, several young men 
were riding about the country as scouts; and at length we began to 
see them occasionally on the tops of the hills, shaking their robes 
as a signal that they saw buffalo.  Soon after, some bulls came in 
sight.  Horsemen darted away in pursuit, and we could see from the 
distance that one or two of the buffalo were killed.  Raymond 
suddenly became inspired.  I looked at him as he rode by my side; his 
face had actually grown intelligent!

"This is the country for me!" he said; "if I could only carry the 
buffalo that are killed here every month down to St. Louis I'd make 
my fortune in one winter.  I'd grow as rich as old Papin, or 
Mackenzie either.  I call this the poor man's market.  When I'm 
hungry I have only got to take my rifle and go out and get better 
meat than the rich folks down below can get with all their money.  
You won't catch me living in St. Louis another winter."

"No," said Reynal, "you had better say that after you and your 
Spanish woman almost starved to death there.  What a fool you were 
ever to take her to the settlements."

"Your Spanish woman?" said I; "I never heard of her before.  Are you 
married to her?"

"No," answered Raymond, again looking intelligent; "the priests don't 
marry their women, and why should I marry mine?"

This honorable mention of the Mexican clergy introduced the subject 
of religion, and I found that my two associates, in common with other 
white men in the country, were as indifferent to their future welfare 
as men whose lives are in constant peril are apt to be.  Raymond had 
never heard of the Pope.  A certain bishop, who lived at Taos or at 
Santa Fe, embodied his loftiest idea of an ecclesiastical dignitary.  
Reynal observed that a priest had been at Fort Laramie two years ago, 
on his way to the Nez Perce mission, and that he had confessed all 
the men there and given them absolution.  "I got a good clearing out 
myself that time," said Reynal, "and I reckon that will do for me 
till I go down to the settlements again."

Here he interrupted himself with an oath and exclaimed: "Look! look!  
The Panther is running an antelope!"

The Panther, on his black and white horse, one of the best in the 
village, came at full speed over the hill in hot pursuit of an 
antelope that darted away like lightning before him.  The attempt was 
made in mere sport and bravado, for very few are the horses that can 
for a moment compete in swiftness with this little animal.  The 
antelope ran down the hill toward the main body of the Indians who 
were moving over the plain below.  Sharp yells were given and 
horsemen galloped out to intercept his flight.  At this he turned 
sharply to the left and scoured away with such incredible speed that 
he distanced all his pursuers and even the vaunted horse of the 
Panther himself.  A few moments after we witnessed a more serious 
sport.  A shaggy buffalo bull bounded out from a neighboring hollow, 
and close behind him came a slender Indian boy, riding without 
stirrups or saddle and lashing his eager little horse to full speed.  
Yard after yard he drew closer to his gigantic victim, though the 
bull, with his short tail erect and his tongue lolling out a foot 
from his foaming jaws, was straining his unwieldy strength to the 
utmost.  A moment more and the boy was close alongside of him.  It 
was our friend the Hail-Storm.  He dropped the rein on his horse's 
neck and jerked an arrow like lightning from the quiver at his 
shoulder.

"I tell you," said Reynal, "that in a year's time that boy will match 
the best hunter in the village.  There he has given it to him! and 
there goes another!  You feel well, now, old bull, don't you, with 
two arrows stuck in your lights?  There, he has given him another!  
Hear how the Hail-Storm yells when he shoots!  Yes, jump at him; try 
it again, old fellow!  You may jump all day before you get your horns 
into that pony!"

The bull sprang again and again at his assailant, but the horse kept 
dodging with wonderful celerity.  At length the bull followed up his 
attack with a furious rush, and the Hail-Storm was put to flight, the 
shaggy monster following close behind.  The boy clung in his seat 
like a leech, and secure in the speed of his little pony, looked 
round toward us and laughed.  In a moment he was again alongside of 
the bull, who was now driven to complete desperation.  His eyeballs 
glared through his tangled mane, and the blood flew from his mouth 
and nostrils.  Thus, still battling with each other, the two enemies 
disappeared over the hill.

Many of the Indians rode at full gallop toward the spot.  We followed 
at a more moderate pace, and soon saw the bull lying dead on the side 
of the hill.  The Indians were gathered around him, and several 
knives were already at work.  These little instruments were plied 
with such wonderful address that the twisted sinews were cut apart, 
the ponderous bones fell asunder as if by magic, and in a moment the 
vast carcass was reduced to a heap of bloody ruins.  The surrounding 
group of savages offered no very attractive spectacle to a civilized 
eye.  Some were cracking the huge thigh-bones and devouring the 
marrow within; others were cutting away pieces of the liver and other 
approved morsels, and swallowing them on the spot with the appetite 
of wolves.  The faces of most of them, besmeared with blood from ear 
to ear, looked grim and horrible enough.  My friend the White Shield 
proffered me a marrowbone, so skillfully laid open that all the rich 
substance within was exposed to view at once.  Another Indian held 
out a large piece of the delicate lining of the paunch; but these 
courteous offerings I begged leave to decline.  I noticed one little 
boy who was very busy with his knife about the jaws and throat of the 
buffalo, from which he extracted some morsel of peculiar delicacy.  
It is but fair to say that only certain parts of the animal are 
considered eligible in these extempore banquets.  The Indians would 
look with abhorrence on anyone who should partake indiscriminately of 
the newly killed carcass.

We encamped that night, and marched westward through the greater part 
of the following day.  On the next morning we again resumed our 
journey.  It was the 17th of July, unless my notebook misleads me.  
At noon we stopped by some pools of rain-water, and in the afternoon 
again set forward.  This double movement was contrary to the usual 
practice of the Indians, but all were very anxious to reach the 
hunting ground, kill the necessary number of buffalo, and retreat as 
soon as possible from the dangerous neighborhood.  I pass by for the 
present some curious incidents that occurred during these marches and 
encampments.  Late in the afternoon of the last-mentioned day we came 
upon the banks of a little sandy stream, of which the Indians could 
not tell the name; for they were very ill acquainted with that part 
of the country.  So parched and arid were the prairies around that 
they could not supply grass enough for the horses to feed upon, and 
we were compelled to move farther and farther up the stream in search 
of ground for encampment.  The country was much wilder than before.  
The plains were gashed with ravines and broken into hollows and steep 
declivities, which flanked our course, as, in long-scattered array, 
the Indians advanced up the side of the stream.  Mene-Seela consulted 
an extraordinary oracle to instruct him where the buffalo were to be 
found.  When he with the other chiefs sat down on the grass to smoke 
and converse, as they often did during the march, the old man picked 
up one of those enormous black-and-green crickets, which the Dakota 
call by a name that signifies "They who point out the buffalo."  The 
Root-Diggers, a wretched tribe beyond the mountains, turn them to 
good account by making them into a sort of soup, pronounced by 
certain unscrupulous trappers to be extremely rich.  Holding the 
bloated insect respectfully between his fingers and thumb, the old 
Indian looked attentively at him and inquired, "Tell me, my father, 
where must we go to-morrow to find the buffalo?"  The cricket twisted 
about his long horns in evident embarrassment.  At last he pointed, 
or seemed to point, them westward.  Mene-Seela, dropping him gently 
on the grass, laughed with great glee, and said that if we went that 
way in the morning we should be sure to kill plenty of game.

Toward evening we came upon a fresh green meadow, traversed by the 
stream, and deep-set among tall sterile bluffs.  The Indians 
descended its steep bank; and as I was at the rear, I was one of the 
last to reach this point.  Lances were glittering, feathers 
fluttering, and the water below me was crowded with men and horses 
passing through, while the meadow beyond was swarming with the 
restless crowd of Indians.  The sun was just setting, and poured its 
softened light upon them through an opening in the hills.

I remarked to Reynal that at last we had found a good camping-ground.

"Oh, it is very good," replied he ironically; "especially if there is 
a Snake war party about, and they take it into their heads to shoot 
down at us from the top of these hills.  It is no plan of mine, 
camping in such a hole as this!"

The Indians also seemed apprehensive.  High up on the top of the 
tallest bluff, conspicuous in the bright evening sunlight, sat a 
naked warrior on horseback, looking around, as it seemed, over the 
neighboring country; and Raymond told me that many of the young men 
had gone out in different directions as scouts.

The shadows had reached to the very summit of the bluffs before the 
lodges were erected and the village reduced again to quiet and order.  
A cry was suddenly raised, and men, women, and children came running 
out with animated faces, and looked eagerly through the opening on 
the hills by which the stream entered from the westward.  I could 
discern afar off some dark, heavy masses, passing over the sides of a 
low hill.  They disappeared, and then others followed.  These were 
bands of buffalo cows.  The hunting-ground was reached at last, and 
everything promised well for the morrow's sport.  Being fatigued and 
exhausted, I went and lay down in Kongra-Tonga's lodge, when Raymond 
thrust in his head, and called upon me to come and see some sport.  A 
number of Indians were gathered, laughing, along the line of lodges 
on the western side of the village, and at some distance, I could 
plainly see in the twilight two huge black monsters stalking, heavily 
and solemnly, directly toward us.  They were buffalo bulls.  The wind 
blew from them to the village, and such was their blindness and 
stupidity that they were advancing upon the enemy without the least 
consciousness of his presence.  Raymond told me that two men had 
hidden themselves with guns in a ravine about twenty yards in front 
of us.  The two bulls walked slowly on, heavily swinging from side to 
side in their peculiar gait of stupid dignity.  They approached 
within four or five rods of the ravine where the Indians lay in 
ambush.  Here at last they seemed conscious that something was wrong, 
for they both stopped and stood perfectly still, without looking 
either to the right or to the left.  Nothing of them was to be seen 
but two huge black masses of shaggy mane, with horns, eyes, and nose 
in the center, and a pair of hoofs visible at the bottom.  At last 
the more intelligent of them seemed to have concluded that it was 
time to retire.  Very slowly, and with an air of the gravest and most 
majestic deliberation, he began to turn round, as if he were 
revolving on a pivot.  Little by little his ugly brown side was 
exposed to view.  A white smoke sprang out, as it were from the 
ground; a sharp report came with it.  The old bull gave a very 
undignified jump and galloped off.  At this his comrade wheeled about 
with considerable expedition.  The other Indian shot at him from the 
ravine, and then both the bulls were running away at full speed, 
while half the juvenile population of the village raised a yell and 
ran after them.  The first bull was soon stopped, and while the crowd 
stood looking at him at a respectable distance, he reeled and rolled 
over on his side.  The other, wounded in a less vital part, galloped 
away to the hills and escaped.

In half an hour it was totally dark.  I lay down to sleep, and ill as 
I was, there was something very animating in the prospect of the 
general hunt that was to take place on the morrow.



CHAPTER XV

THE HUNTING CAMP


Long before daybreak the Indians broke up their camp.  The women of 
Mene-Seela's lodge were as usual among the first that were ready for 
departure, and I found the old man himself sitting by the embers of 
the decayed fire, over which he was warming his withered fingers, as 
the morning was very chilly and damp.  The preparations for moving 
were even more confused and disorderly than usual.  While some 
families were leaving the ground the lodges of others were still 
standing untouched.  At this old Mene-Seela grew impatient, and 
walking out to the middle of the village stood with his robe wrapped 
close around him, and harangued the people in a loud, sharp voice.  
Now, he said, when they were on an enemy's hunting-grounds, was not 
the time to behave like children; they ought to be more active and 
united than ever.  His speech had some effect.  The delinquents took 
down their lodges and loaded their pack horses; and when the sun 
rose, the last of the men, women, and children had left the deserted 
camp.

This movement was made merely for the purpose of finding a better and 
safer position.  So we advanced only three or four miles up the 
little stream, before each family assumed its relative place in the 
great ring of the village, and all around the squaws were actively at 
work in preparing the camp.  But not a single warrior dismounted from 
his horse.  All the men that morning were mounted on inferior 
animals, leading their best horses by a cord, or confiding them to 
the care of boys.  In small parties they began to leave the ground 
and ride rapidly away over the plains to the westward.  I had taken 
no food that morning, and not being at all ambitious of further 
abstinence, I went into my host's lodge, which his squaws had erected 
with wonderful celerity, and sat down in the center, as a gentle hint 
that I was hungry.  A wooden bowl was soon set before me, filled with 
the nutritious preparation of dried meat called pemmican by the 
northern voyagers and wasna by the Dakota.  Taking a handful to break 
my fast upon, I left the lodge just in time to see the last band of 
hunters disappear over the ridge of the neighboring hill.  I mounted 
Pauline and galloped in pursuit, riding rather by the balance than by 
any muscular strength that remained to me.  From the top of the hill 
I could overlook a wide extent of desolate and unbroken prairie, over 
which, far and near, little parties of naked horsemen were rapidly 
passing.  I soon came up to the nearest, and we had not ridden a mile 
before all were united into one large and compact body.  All was 
haste and eagerness.  Each hunter was whipping on his horse, as if 
anxious to be the first to reach the game.  In such movements among 
the Indians this is always more or less the case; but it was 
especially so in the present instance, because the head chief of the 
village was absent, and there were but few "soldiers," a sort of 
Indian police, who among their other functions usually assumed the 
direction of a buffalo hunt.  No man turned to the right hand or to 
the left.  We rode at a swift canter straight forward, uphill and 
downhill, and through the stiff, obstinate growth of the endless 
wild-sage bushes.  For an hour and a half the same red shoulders, the 
same long black hair rose and fell with the motion of the horses 
before me.  Very little was said, though once I observed an old man 
severely reproving Raymond for having left his rifle behind him, when 
there was some probability of encountering an enemy before the day 
was over.  As we galloped across a plain thickly set with sagebushes, 
the foremost riders vanished suddenly from sight, as if diving into 
the earth.  The arid soil was cracked into a deep ravine.  Down we 
all went in succession and galloped in a line along the bottom, until 
we found a point where, one by one, the horses could scramble out.  
Soon after we came upon a wide shallow stream, and as we rode swiftly 
over the hard sand-beds and through the thin sheets of rippling 
water, many of the savage horsemen threw themselves to the ground, 
knelt on the sand, snatched a hasty draught, and leaping back again 
to their seats, galloped on again as before.

Meanwhile scouts kept in advance of the party; and now we began to 
see them on the ridge of the hills, waving their robes in token that 
buffalo were visible.  These however proved to be nothing more than 
old straggling bulls, feeding upon the neighboring plains, who would 
stare for a moment at the hostile array and then gallop clumsily off.  
At length we could discern several of these scouts making their 
signals to us at once; no longer waving their robes boldly from the 
top of the hill, but standing lower down, so that they could not be 
seen from the plains beyond.  Game worth pursuing had evidently been 
discovered.  The excited Indians now urged forward their tired horses 
even more rapidly than before.  Pauline, who was still sick and 
jaded, began to groan heavily; and her yellow sides were darkened 
with sweat.  As we were crowding together over a lower intervening 
hill, I heard Reynal and Raymond shouting to me from the left; and 
looking in that direction, I saw them riding away behind a party of 
about twenty mean-looking Indians.  These were the relatives of 
Reynal's squaw Margot, who, not wishing to take part in the general 
hunt, were riding toward a distant hollow, where they could discern a 
small band of buffalo which they meant to appropriate to themselves.  
I answered to the call by ordering Raymond to turn back and follow 
me.  He reluctantly obeyed, though Reynal, who had relied on his 
assistance in skinning, cutting up, and carrying to camp the buffalo 
that he and his party should kill, loudly protested and declared that 
we should see no sport if we went with the rest of the Indians.  
Followed by Raymond I pursued the main body of hunters, while Reynal 
in a great rage whipped his horse over the hill after his ragamuffin 
relatives.  The Indians, still about a hundred in number, rode in a 
dense body at some distance in advance.  They galloped forward, and a 
cloud of dust was flying in the wind behind them.  I could not 
overtake them until they had stopped on the side of the hill where 
the scouts were standing.  Here, each hunter sprang in haste from the 
tired animal which he had ridden, and leaped upon the fresh horse 
that he had brought with him.  There was not a saddle or a bridle in 
the whole party.  A piece of buffalo robe girthed over the horse's 
back served in the place of the one, and a cord of twisted hair 
lashed firmly round his lower jaw answered for the other.  Eagle 
feathers were dangling from every mane and tail, as insignia of 
courage and speed.  As for the rider, he wore no other clothing than 
a light cincture at his waist, and a pair of moccasins.  He had a 
heavy whip, with a handle of solid elk-horn, and a lash of knotted 
bull-hide, fastened to his wrist by an ornamental band.  His bow was 
in his hand, and his quiver of otter or panther skin hung at his 
shoulder.  Thus equipped, some thirty of the hunters galloped away 
toward the left, in order to make a circuit under cover of the hills, 
that the buffalo might be assailed on both sides at once.  The rest 
impatiently waited until time enough had elapsed for their companions 
to reach the required position.  Then riding upward in a body, we 
gained the ridge of the hill, and for the first time came in sight of 
the buffalo on the plain beyond.

They were a band of cows, four or five hundred in number, who were 
crowded together near the bank of a wide stream that was soaking 
across the sand-beds of the valley.  This was a large circular basin, 
sun-scorched and broken, scantily covered with herbage and 
encompassed with high barren hills, from an opening in which we could 
see our allies galloping out upon the plain.  The wind blew from that 
direction.  The buffalo were aware of their approach, and had begun 
to move, though very slowly and in a compact mass.  I have no further 
recollection of seeing the game until we were in the midst of them, 
for as we descended the hill other objects engrossed my attention.  
Numerous old bulls were scattered over the plain, and ungallantly 
deserting their charge at our approach, began to wade and plunge 
through the treacherous quick-sands or the stream, and gallop away 
toward the hills.  One old veteran was struggling behind all the rest 
with one of his forelegs, which had been broken by some accident, 
dangling about uselessly at his side.  His appearance, as he went 
shambling along on three legs, was so ludicrous that I could not help 
pausing for a moment to look at him.  As I came near, he would try to 
rush upon me, nearly throwing himself down at every awkward attempt.  
Looking up, I saw the whole body of Indians full a hundred yards in 
advance.  I lashed Pauline in pursuit and reached them just in time, 
for as we mingled among them, each hunter, as if by a common impulse, 
violently struck his horse, each horse sprang forward convulsively, 
and scattering in the charge in order to assail the entire herd at 
once, we all rushed headlong upon the buffalo.  We were among them in 
an instant.  Amid the trampling and the yells I could see their dark 
figures running hither and thither through clouds of dust, and the 
horsemen darting in pursuit.  While we were charging on one side, our 
companions had attacked the bewildered and panic-stricken herd on the 
other.  The uproar and confusion lasted but for a moment.  The dust 
cleared away, and the buffalo could be seen scattering as from a 
common center, flying over the plain singly, or in long files and 
small compact bodies, while behind each followed the Indians, lashing 
their horses to furious speed, forcing them close upon their prey, 
and yelling as they launched arrow after arrow into their sides.  The 
large black carcasses were strewn thickly over the ground.  Here and 
there wounded buffalo were standing, their bleeding sides feathered 
with arrows; and as I rode past them their eyes would glare, they 
would bristle like gigantic cats, and feebly attempt to rush up and 
gore my horse.

I left camp that morning with a philosophic resolution.  Neither I 
nor my horse were at that time fit for such sport, and I had 
determined to remain a quiet spectator; but amid the rush of horses 
and buffalo, the uproar and the dust, I found it impossible to sit 
still; and as four or five buffalo ran past me in a line, I drove 
Pauline in pursuit.  We went plunging close at their heels through 
the water and the quick-sands, and clambering the bank, chased them 
through the wild-sage bushes that covered the rising ground beyond.  
But neither her native spirit nor the blows of the knotted bull-hide 
could supply the place of poor Pauline's exhausted strength.  We 
could not gain an inch upon the poor fugitives.  At last, however, 
they came full upon a ravine too wide to leap over; and as this 
compelled them to turn abruptly to the left, I contrived to get 
within ten or twelve yards of the hindmost.  At this she faced about, 
bristled angrily, and made a show of charging.  I shot at her with a 
large holster pistol, and hit her somewhere in the neck.  Down she 
tumbled into the ravine, whither her companions had descended before 
her.  I saw their dark backs appearing and disappearing as they 
galloped along the bottom; then, one by one, they came scrambling out 
on the other side and ran off as before, the wounded animal following 
with unabated speed.

Turning back, I saw Raymond coming on his black mule to meet me; and 
as we rode over the field together, we counted dozens of carcasses 
lying on the plain, in the ravines and on the sandy bed of the 
stream.  Far away in the distance, horses and buffalo were still 
scouring along, with little clouds of dust rising behind them; and 
over the sides of the hills we could see long files of the frightened 
animals rapidly ascending.  The hunters began to return.  The boys, 
who had held the horses behind the hill, made their appearance, and 
the work of flaying and cutting up began in earnest all over the 
field.  I noticed my host Kongra-Tonga beyond the stream, just 
alighting by the side of a cow which he had killed.  Riding up to him 
I found him in the act of drawing out an arrow, which, with the 
exception of the notch at the end, had entirely disappeared in the 
animal.  I asked him to give it to me, and I still retain it as a 
proof, though by no means the most striking one that could be 
offered, of the force and dexterity with which the Indians discharge 
their arrows.

The hides and meat were piled upon the horses, and the hunters began 
to leave the ground.  Raymond and I, too, getting tired of the scene, 
set out for the village, riding straight across the intervening 
desert.  There was no path, and as far as I could see, no landmarks 
sufficient to guide us; but Raymond seemed to have an instinctive 
perception of the point on the horizon toward which we ought to 
direct our course.  Antelope were bounding on all sides, and as is 
always the case in the presence of buffalo, they seemed to have lost 
their natural shyness and timidity.  Bands of them would run lightly 
up the rocky declivities, and stand gazing down upon us from the 
summit.  At length we could distinguish the tall white rocks and the 
old pine trees that, as we well remembered, were just above the site 
of the encampment.  Still, we could see nothing of the village itself 
until, ascending a grassy hill, we found the circle of lodges, dingy 
with storms and smoke, standing on the plain at our very feet.

I entered the lodge of my host.  His squaw instantly brought me food 
and water, and spread a buffalo robe for me to lie upon; and being 
much fatigued, I lay down and fell asleep.  In about an hour the 
entrance of Kongra-Tonga, with his arms smeared with blood to the 
elbows, awoke me.  He sat down in his usual seat on the left side of 
the lodge.  His squaw gave him a vessel of water for washing, set 
before him a bowl of boiled meat, and as he was eating pulled off his 
bloody moccasins and placed fresh ones on his feet; then 
outstretching his limbs, my host composed himself to sleep.

And now the hunters, two or three at a time, began to come rapidly 
in, and each, consigning his horses to the squaws, entered his lodge 
with the air of a man whose day's work was done.  The squaws flung 
down the load from the burdened horses, and vast piles of meat and 
hides were soon accumulated before every lodge.  By this time it was 
darkening fast, and the whole village was illumined by the glare of 
fires blazing all around.  All the squaws and children were gathered 
about the piles of meat, exploring them in search of the daintiest 
portions.  Some of these they roasted on sticks before the fires, but 
often they dispensed with this superfluous operation.  Late into the 
night the fires were still glowing upon the groups of feasters 
engaged in this savage banquet around them.

Several hunters sat down by the fire in Kongra-Tonga's lodge to talk 
over the day's exploits.  Among the rest, Mene-Seela came in.  Though 
he must have seen full eighty winters, he had taken an active share 
in the day's sport.  He boasted that he had killed two cows that 
morning, and would have killed a third if the dust had not blinded 
him so that he had to drop his bow and arrows and press both hands 
against his eyes to stop the pain.  The firelight fell upon his 
wrinkled face and shriveled figure as he sat telling his story with 
such inimitable gesticulation that every man in the lodge broke into 
a laugh.

Old Mene-Seela was one of the few Indians in the village with whom I 
would have trusted myself alone without suspicion, and the only one 
from whom I would have received a gift or a service without the 
certainty that it proceeded from an interested motive.  He was a 
great friend to the whites.  He liked to be in their society, and was 
very vain of the favors he had received from them.  He told me one 
afternoon, as we were sitting together in his son's lodge, that he 
considered the beaver and the whites the wisest people on earth; 
indeed, he was convinced they were the same; and an incident which 
had happened to him long before had assured him of this.  So he began 
the following story, and as the pipe passed in turn to him, Reynal 
availed himself of these interruptions to translate what had 
preceded.  But the old man accompanied his words with such admirable 
pantomime that translation was hardly necessary.

He said that when he was very young, and had never yet seen a white 
man, he and three or four of his companions were out on a beaver 
hunt, and he crawled into a large beaver lodge, to examine what was 
there.  Sometimes he was creeping on his hands and knees, sometimes 
he was obliged to swim, and sometimes to lie flat on his face and 
drag himself along.  In this way he crawled a great distance 
underground.  It was very dark, cold and close, so that at last he 
was almost suffocated, and fell into a swoon.  When he began to 
recover, he could just distinguish the voices of his companions 
outside, who had given him up for lost, and were singing his death 
song.  At first he could see nothing, but soon he discerned something 
white before him, and at length plainly distinguished three people, 
entirely white; one man and two women, sitting at the edge of a black 
pool of water.  He became alarmed and thought it high time to 
retreat.  Having succeeded, after great trouble, in reaching daylight 
again, he went straight to the spot directly above the pool of water 
where he had seen the three mysterious beings.  Here he beat a hole 
with his war club in the ground, and sat down to watch.  In a moment 
the nose of an old male beaver appeared at the opening.  Mene-Seela 
instantly seized him and dragged him up, when two other beavers, both 
females, thrust out their heads, and these he served in the same way.  
"These," continued the old man, "must have been the three white 
people whom I saw sitting at the edge of the water."

Mene-Seela was the grand depository of the legends and traditions of 
the village.  I succeeded, however, in getting from him only a few 
fragments.  Like all Indians, he was excessively superstitious, and 
continually saw some reason for withholding his stories.  "It is a 
bad thing," he would say, "to tell the tales in summer.  Stay with us 
till next winter, and I will tell you everything I know; but now our 
war parties are going out, and our young men will be killed if I sit 
down to tell stories before the frost begins."

But to leave this digression.  We remained encamped on this spot five 
days, during three of which the hunters were at work incessantly, and 
immense quantities of meat and hides were brought in.  Great alarm, 
however, prevailed in the village.  All were on the alert.  The young 
men were ranging through the country as scouts, and the old men paid 
careful attention to omens and prodigies, and especially to their 
dreams.  In order to convey to the enemy (who, if they were in the 
neighborhood, must inevitably have known of our presence) the 
impression that we were constantly on the watch, piles of sticks and 
stones were erected on all the surrounding hills, in such a manner as 
to appear at a distance like sentinels.  Often, even to this hour, 
that scene will rise before my mind like a visible reality: the tall 
white rocks; the old pine trees on their summits; the sandy stream 
that ran along their bases and half encircled the village; and the 
wild-sage bushes, with their dull green hue and their medicinal odor, 
that covered all the neighboring declivities.  Hour after hour the 
squaws would pass and repass with their vessels of water between the 
stream and the lodges.  For the most part no one was to be seen in 
the camp but women and children, two or three super-annuated old men, 
and a few lazy and worthless young ones.  These, together with the 
dogs, now grown fat and good-natured with the abundance in the camp, 
were its only tenants.  Still it presented a busy and bustling scene.  
In all quarters the meat, hung on cords of hide, was drying in the 
sun, and around the lodges the squaws, young and old, were laboring 
on the fresh hides that were stretched upon the ground, scraping the 
hair from one side and the still adhering flesh from the other, and 
rubbing into them the brains of the buffalo, in order to render them 
soft and pliant.

In mercy to myself and my horse, I never went out with the hunters 
after the first day.  Of late, however, I had been gaining strength 
rapidly, as was always the case upon every respite of my disorder.  I 
was soon able to walk with ease.  Raymond and I would go out upon the 
neighboring prairies to shoot antelope, or sometimes to assail 
straggling buffalo, on foot, an attempt in which we met with rather 
indifferent success.  To kill a bull with a rifle-ball is a difficult 
art, in the secret of which I was as yet very imperfectly initiated.  
As I came out of Kongra-Tonga's lodge one morning, Reynal called to 
me from the opposite side of the village, and asked me over to 
breakfast.  The breakfast was a substantial one.  It consisted of the 
rich, juicy hump-ribs of a fat cow; a repast absolutely unrivaled.  
It was roasting before the fire, impaled upon a stout stick, which 
Reynal took up and planted in the ground before his lodge; when he, 
with Raymond and myself, taking our seats around it, unsheathed our 
knives and assailed it with good will.  It spite of all medical 
experience, this solid fare, without bread or salt, seemed to agree 
with me admirably.

"We shall have strangers here before night," said Reynal.

"How do you know that?" I asked.

"I dreamed so.  I am as good at dreaming as an Indian.  There is the 
Hail-Storm; he dreamed the same thing, and he and his crony, the 
Rabbit, have gone out on discovery."

I laughed at Reynal for his credulity, went over to my host's lodge, 
took down my rifle, walked out a mile or two on the prairie, saw an 
old bull standing alone, crawled up a ravine, shot him and saw him 
escape.  Then, quite exhausted and rather ill-humored, I walked back 
to the village.  By a strange coincidence, Reynal's prediction had 
been verified; for the first persons whom I saw were the two 
trappers, Rouleau and Saraphin, coming to meet me.  These men, as the 
reader may possibly recollect, had left our party about a fortnight 
before.  They had been trapping for a while among the Black Hills, 
and were now on their way to the Rocky Mountains, intending in a day 
or two to set out for the neighboring Medicine Bow.  They were not 
the most elegant or refined of companions, yet they made a very 
welcome addition to the limited society of the village.  For the rest 
of that day we lay smoking and talking in Reynal's lodge.  This 
indeed was no better than a little hut, made of hides stretched on 
poles, and entirely open in front.  It was well carpeted with soft 
buffalo robes, and here we remained, sheltered from the sun, 
surrounded by various domestic utensils of Madame Margot's household.  
All was quiet in the village.  Though the hunters had not gone out 
that day, they lay sleeping in their lodges, and most of the women 
were silently engaged in their heavy tasks.  A few young men were 
playing a lazy game of ball in the center of the village; and when 
they became tired, some girls supplied their place with a more 
boisterous sport.  At a little distance, among the lodges, some 
children and half-grown squaws were playfully tossing up one of their 
number in a buffalo robe, an exact counterpart of the ancient pastime 
from which Sancho Panza suffered so much.  Farther out on the 
prairie, a host of little naked boys were roaming about, engaged in 
various rough games, or pursuing birds and ground-squirrels with 
their bows and arrows; and woe to the unhappy little animals that 
fell into their merciless, torture-loving hands!  A squaw from the 
next lodge, a notable active housewife named Weah Washtay, or the 
Good Woman, brought us a large bowl of wasna, and went into an 
ecstasy of delight when I presented her with a green glass ring, such 
as I usually wore with a view to similar occasions.

The sun went down and half the sky was growing fiery red, reflected 
on the little stream as it wound away among the sagebushes.  Some 
young men left the village, and soon returned, driving in before them 
all the horses, hundreds in number, and of every size, age, and 
color.  The hunters came out, and each securing those that belonged 
to him, examined their condition, and tied them fast by long cords to 
stakes driven in front of his lodge.  It was half an hour before the 
bustle subsided and tranquillity was restored again.  By this time it 
was nearly dark.  Kettles were hung over the blazing fires, around 
which the squaws were gathered with their children, laughing and 
talking merrily.  A circle of a different kind was formed in the 
center of the village.  This was composed of the old men and warriors 
of repute, who with their white buffalo robes drawn close around 
their shoulders, sat together, and as the pipe passed from hand to 
hand, their conversation had not a particle of the gravity and 
reserve usually ascribed to Indians.  I sat down with them as usual.  
I had in my hand half a dozen squibs and serpents, which I had made 
one day when encamped upon Laramie Creek, out of gunpowder and 
charcoal, and the leaves of "Fremont's Expedition," rolled round a 
stout lead pencil.  I waited till I contrived to get hold of the 
large piece of burning BOIS DE VACHE which the Indians kept by them 
on the ground for lighting their pipes.  With this I lighted all the 
fireworks at once, and tossed them whizzing and sputtering into the 
air, over the heads of the company.  They all jumped up and ran off 
with yelps of astonishment and consternation.  After a moment or two, 
they ventured to come back one by one, and some of the boldest, 
picking up the cases of burnt paper that were scattered about, 
examined them with eager curiosity to discover their mysterious 
secret.  From that time forward I enjoyed great repute as a "fire-
medicine."

The camp was filled with the low hum of cheerful voices.  There were 
other sounds, however, of a very different kind, for from a large 
lodge, lighted up like a gigantic lantern by the blazing fire within, 
came a chorus of dismal cries and wailings, long drawn out, like the 
howling of wolves, and a woman, almost naked, was crouching close 
outside, crying violently, and gashing her legs with a knife till 
they were covered with blood.  Just a year before, a young man 
belonging to this family had gone out with a war party and had been 
slain by the enemy, and his relatives were thus lamenting his loss.  
Still other sounds might be heard; loud earnest cries often repeated 
from amid the gloom, at a distance beyond the village.  They 
proceeded from some young men who, being about to set out in a few 
days on a warlike expedition, were standing at the top of a hill, 
calling on the Great Spirit to aid them in their enterprise.  While I 
was listening, Rouleau, with a laugh on his careless face, called to 
me and directed my attention to another quarter.  In front of the 
lodge where Weah Washtay lived another squaw was standing, angrily 
scolding an old yellow dog, who lay on the ground with his nose 
resting between his paws, and his eyes turned sleepily up to her 
face, as if he were pretending to give respectful attention, but 
resolved to fall asleep as soon as it was all over.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" said the old woman.  "I have 
fed you well, and taken care of you ever since you were small and 
blind, and could only crawl about and squeal a little, instead of 
howling as you do now.  When you grew old, I said you were a good 
dog.  You were strong and gentle when the load was put on your back, 
and you never ran among the feet of the horses when we were all 
traveling together over the prairie.  But you had a bad heart!  
Whenever a rabbit jumped out of the bushes, you were always the first 
to run after him and lead away all the other dogs behind you.  You 
ought to have known that it was very dangerous to act so.  When you 
had got far out on the prairie, and no one was near to help you, 
perhaps a wolf would jump out of the ravine; and then what could you 
do?  You would certainly have been killed, for no dog can fight well 
with a load on his back.  Only three days ago you ran off in that 
way, and turned over the bag of wooden pins with which I used to 
fasten up the front of the lodge.  Look up there, and you will see 
that it is all flapping open.  And now to-night you have stolen a 
great piece of fat meat which was roasting before the fire for my 
children.  I tell you, you have a bad heart, and you must die!"

So saying, the squaw went into the lodge, and coming out with a large 
stone mallet, killed the unfortunate dog at one blow.  This speech is 
worthy of notice as illustrating a curious characteristic of the 
Indians: the ascribing intelligence and a power of understanding 
speech to the inferior animals, to whom, indeed, according to many of 
their traditions, they are linked in close affinity, and they even 
claim the honor of a lineal descent from bears, wolves, deer, or 
tortoises.

As it grew late, and the crowded population began to disappear, I too 
walked across the village to the lodge of my host, Kongra-Tonga.  As 
I entered I saw him, by the flickering blaze of the fire in the 
center, reclining half asleep in his usual place.  His couch was by 
no means an uncomfortable one.  It consisted of soft buffalo robes 
laid together on the ground, and a pillow made of whitened deerskin 
stuffed with feathers and ornamented with beads.  At his back was a 
light framework of poles and slender reeds, against which he could 
lean with ease when in a sitting posture; and at the top of it, just 
above his head, his bow and quiver were hanging.  His squaw, a 
laughing, broad-faced woman, apparently had not yet completed her 
domestic arrangements, for she was bustling about the lodge, pulling 
over the utensils and the bales of dried meats that were ranged 
carefully round it.  Unhappily, she and her partner were not the only 
tenants of the dwelling, for half a dozen children were scattered 
about, sleeping in every imaginable posture.  My saddle was in its 
place at the head of the lodge and a buffalo robe was spread on the 
ground before it.  Wrapping myself in my blanket I lay down, but had 
I not been extremely fatigued the noise in the next lodge would have 
prevented my sleeping.  There was the monotonous thumping of the 
Indian drum, mixed with occasional sharp yells, and a chorus chanted 
by twenty voices.  A grand scene of gambling was going forward with 
all the appropriate formalities.  The players were staking on the 
chance issue of the game their ornaments, their horses, and as the 
excitement rose, their garments, and even their weapons, for 
desperate gambling is not confined to the hells of Paris.  The men of 
the plains and the forests no less resort to it as a violent but 
grateful relief to the tedious monotony of their lives, which 
alternate between fierce excitement and listless inaction.  I fell 
asleep with the dull notes of the drum still sounding on my ear, but 
these furious orgies lasted without intermission till daylight.  I 
was soon awakened by one of the children crawling over me, while 
another larger one was tugging at my blanket and nestling himself in 
a very disagreeable proximity.  I immediately repelled these advances 
by punching the heads of these miniature savages with a short stick 
which I always kept by me for the purpose; and as sleeping half the 
day and eating much more than is good for them makes them extremely 
restless, this operation usually had to be repeated four or five 
times in the course of the night.  My host himself was the author of 
another most formidable annoyance.  All these Indians, and he among 
the rest, think themselves bound to the constant performance of 
certain acts as the condition on which their success in life depends, 
whether in war, love, hunting, or any other employment.  These 
"medicines," as they are called in that country, which are usually 
communicated in dreams, are often absurd enough.  Some Indians will 
strike the butt of the pipe against the ground every time they smoke; 
others will insist that everything they say shall be interpreted by 
contraries; and Shaw once met an old man who conceived that all would 
be lost unless he compelled every white man he met to drink a bowl of 
cold water.  My host was particularly unfortunate in his allotment.  
The Great Spirit had told him in a dream that he must sing a certain 
song in the middle of every night; and regularly at about twelve 
o'clock his dismal monotonous chanting would awaken me, and I would 
see him seated bolt upright on his couch, going through his dolorous 
performances with a most business-like air.  There were other voices 
of the night still more inharmonious.  Twice or thrice, between 
sunset and dawn, all the dogs in the village, and there were hundreds 
of them, would bay and yelp in chorus; a most horrible clamor, 
resembling no sound that I have ever heard, except perhaps the 
frightful howling of wolves that we used sometimes to hear long 
afterward when descending the Arkansas on the trail of General 
Kearny's army.  The canine uproar is, if possible, more discordant 
than that of the wolves.  Heard at a distance, slowly rising on the 
night, it has a strange unearthly effect, and would fearfully haunt 
the dreams of a nervous man; but when you are sleeping in the midst 
of it the din is outrageous.  One long loud howl from the next lodge 
perhaps begins it, and voice after voice takes up the sound till it 
passes around the whole circumference of the village, and the air is 
filled with confused and discordant cries, at once fierce and 
mournful.  It lasts but for a moment and then dies away into silence.

Morning came, and Kongra-Tonga, mounting his horse, rode out with the 
hunters.  It may not be amiss to glance at him for an instant in his 
domestic character of husband and father.  Both he and his squaw, 
like most other Indians, were very fond of their children, whom they 
indulged to excess, and never punished, except in extreme cases when 
they would throw a bowl of cold water over them.  Their offspring 
became sufficiently undutiful and disobedient under this system of 
education, which tends not a little to foster that wild idea of 
liberty and utter intolerance of restraint which lie at the very 
foundation of the Indian character.  It would be hard to find a 
fonder father than Kongra-Tonga.  There was one urchin in particular, 
rather less than two feet high, to whom he was exceedingly attached; 
and sometimes spreading a buffalo robe in the lodge, he would seat 
himself upon it, place his small favorite upright before him, and 
chant in a low tone some of the words used as an accompaniment to the 
war dance.  The little fellow, who could just manage to balance 
himself by stretching out both arms, would lift his feet and turn 
slowly round and round in time to his father's music, while my host 
would laugh with delight, and look smiling up into my face to see if 
I were admiring this precocious performance of his offspring.  In his 
capacity of husband he was somewhat less exemplary.  The squaw who 
lived in the lodge with him had been his partner for many years.  She 
took good care of his children and his household concerns.  He liked 
her well enough, and as far as I could see they never quarreled; but 
all his warmer affections were reserved for younger and more recent 
favorites.  Of these he had at present only one, who lived in a lodge 
apart from his own.  One day while in his camp he became displeased 
with her, pushed her out, threw after her her ornaments, dresses, and 
everything she had, and told her to go home to her father.  Having 
consummated this summary divorce, for which he could show good 
reasons, he came back, seated himself in his usual place, and began 
to smoke with an air of utmost tranquillity and self-satisfaction.

I was sitting in the lodge with him on that very afternoon, when I 
felt some curiosity to learn the history of the numerous scars that 
appeared on his naked body.  Of some of them, however, I did not 
venture to inquire, for I already understood their origin.  Each of 
his arms was marked as if deeply gashed with a knife at regular 
intervals, and there were other scars also, of a different character, 
on his back and on either breast.  They were the traces of those 
formidable tortures which these Indians, in common with a few other 
tribes, inflict upon themselves at certain seasons; in part, it may 
be, to gain the glory of courage and endurance, but chiefly as an act 
of self-sacrifice to secure the favor of the Great Spirit.  The scars 
upon the breast and back were produced by running through the flesh 
strong splints of wood, to which ponderous buffalo-skulls are 
fastened by cords of hide, and the wretch runs forward with all his 
strength, assisted by two companions, who take hold of each arm, 
until the flesh tears apart and the heavy loads are left behind.  
Others of Kongra-Tonga's scars were the result of accidents;  but he 
had many which he received in war.  He was one of the most noted 
warriors in the village.  In the course of his life he had slain as 
he boasted to me, fourteen men, and though, like other Indians, he 
was a great braggart and utterly regardless of truth, yet in this 
statement common report bore him out.  Being much flattered by my 
inquiries he told me tale after tale, true or false, of his warlike 
exploits; and there was one among the rest illustrating the worst 
features of the Indian character too well for me to omit.  Pointing 
out of the opening of the lodge toward the Medicine-Bow Mountain, not 
manv miles distant he said that he was there a few summers ago with a 
war party of his young men.  Here they found two Snake Indians, 
hunting.  They shot one of them with arrows and chased the other up 
the side of the mountain till they surrounded him on a level place, 
and Kongra-Tonga himself, jumping forward among the trees, seized him 
by the arm.  Two of his young men then ran up and held him fast while 
he scalped him alive.  Then they built a great fire, and cutting the 
tendons of their captive's wrists and feet, threw him in, and held 
him down with long poles until he was burnt to death.  He garnished 
his story with a great many descriptive particulars much too 
revolting to mention.  His features were remarkably mild and open, 
without the fierceness of expression common among these Indians; and 
as he detailed these devilish cruelties, he looked up into my face 
with the same air of earnest simplicity which a little child would 
wear in relating to its mother some anecdote of its youthful 
experience.

Old Mene-Seela's lodge could offer another illustration of the 
ferocity of Indian warfare.  A bright-eyed, active little boy was 
living there.  He had belonged to a village of the Gros-Ventre 
Blackfeet, a small but bloody and treacherous band, in close alliance 
with the Arapahoes.  About a year before, Kongra-Tonga and a party of 
warriors had found about twenty lodges of these Indians upon the 
plains a little to the eastward of our present camp; and surrounding 
them in the night, they butchered men, women, and children without 
mercy, preserving only this little boy alive.  He was adopted into 
the old man's family, and was now fast becoming identified with the 
Ogallalla children, among whom he mingled on equal terms.  There was 
also a Crow warrior in the village, a man of gigantic stature and 
most symmetrical proportions.  Having been taken prisoner many years 
before and adopted by a squaw in place of a son whom she had lost, he 
had forgotten his old national antipathies, and was now both in act 
and inclination an Ogallalla.

It will be remembered that the scheme of the grand warlike 
combination against the Snake and Crow Indians originated in this 
village; and though this plan had fallen to the ground, the embers of 
the martial ardor continued to glow brightly.  Eleven young men had 
prepared themselves to go out against the enemy.  The fourth day of 
our stay in this camp was fixed upon for their departure.  At the 
head of this party was a well-built active little Indian, called the 
White Shield, whom I had always noticed for the great neatness of his 
dress and appearance.  His lodge too, though not a large one, was the 
best in the village, his squaw was one of the prettiest girls, and 
altogether his dwelling presented a complete model of an Ogallalla 
domestic establishment.  I was often a visitor there, for the White 
Shield being rather partial to white men, used to invite me to 
continual feasts at all hours of the day.  Once when the substantial 
part of the entertainment was concluded, and he and I were seated 
cross-legged on a buffalo robe smoking together very amicably, he 
took down his warlike equipments, which were hanging around the 
lodge, and displayed them with great pride and self-importance.  
Among the rest was a most superb headdress of feathers.  Taking this 
from its case, he put it on and stood before me, as if conscious of 
the gallant air which it gave to his dark face and his vigorous, 
graceful figure.  He told me that upon it were the feathers of three 
war-eagles, equal in value to the same number of good horses.  He 
took up also a shield gayly painted and hung with feathers.  The 
effect of these barbaric ornaments was admirable, for they were 
arranged with no little skill and taste.  His quiver was made of the 
spotted skin of a small panther, such as are common among the Black 
Hills, from which the tail and distended claws were still allowed to 
hang.  The White Shield concluded his entertainment in a manner 
characteristic of an Indian.  He begged of me a little powder and 
ball, for he had a gun as well as bow and arrows; but this I was 
obliged to refuse, because I had scarcely enough for my own use.  
Making him, however, a parting present of a paper of vermilion, I 
left him apparently quite contented.

Unhappily on the next morning the White Shield took cold and was 
attacked with a violent inflammation of the throat.  Immediately he 
seemed to lose all spirit, and though before no warrior in the 
village had borne himself more proudly, he now moped about from lodge 
to lodge with a forlorn and dejected air.  At length he came and sat 
down, close wrapped in his robe, before the lodge of Reynal, but when 
he found that neither he nor I knew how to relieve him, he arose and 
stalked over to one of the medicine-men of the village.  This old 
imposter thumped him for some time with both fists, howled and yelped 
over him, and beat a drum close to his ear to expel the evil spirit 
that had taken possession of him.  This vigorous treatment failing of 
the desired effect, the White Shield withdrew to his own lodge, where 
he lay disconsolate for some hours.  Making his appearance once more 
in the afternoon, he again took his seat on the ground before 
Reynal's lodge, holding his throat with his hand.  For some time he 
sat perfectly silent with his eyes fixed mournfully on the ground.  
At last he began to speak in a low tone:

"I am a brave man," he said; "all the young men think me a great 
warrior, and ten of them are ready to go with me to the war.  I will 
go and show them the enemy.  Last summer the Snakes killed my 
brother.  I cannot live unless I revenge his death.  To-morrow we 
will set out and I will take their scalps."

The White Shield, as he expressed this resolution, seemed to have 
lost all the accustomed fire and spirit of his look, and hung his 
head as if in a fit of despondency.

As I was sitting that evening at one of the fires, I saw him arrayed 
in his splendid war dress, his cheeks painted with vermilion, leading 
his favorite war horse to the front of his lodge.  He mounted and 
rode round the village, singing his war song in a loud hoarse voice 
amid the shrill acclamations of the women.  Then dismounting, he 
remained for some minutes prostrate upon the ground, as if in an act 
of supplication.  On the following morning I looked in vain for the 
departure of the warriors.  All was quiet in the village until late 
in the forenoon, when the White Shield, issuing from his lodge, came 
and seated himself in his old place before us.  Reynal asked him why 
he had not gone out to find the enemy.

"I cannot go," answered the White Shield in a dejected voice.  "I 
have given my war arrows to the Meneaska."

"You have only given him two of your arrows," said Reynal.  "If you 
ask him, he will give them back again."

For some time the White Shield said nothing.  At last he spoke in a 
gloomy tone:

"One of my young men has had bad dreams.  The spirits of the dead 
came and threw stones at him in his sleep."

If such a dream had actually taken place it might have broken up this 
or any other war party, but both Reynal and I were convinced at the 
time that it was a mere fabrication to excuse his remaining at home.

The White Shield was a warrior of noted prowess.  Very probably, he 
would have received a mortal wound without a show of pain, and 
endured without flinching the worst tortures that an enemy could 
inflict upon him.  The whole power of an Indian's nature would be 
summoned to encounter such a trial; every influence of his education 
from childhood would have prepared him for it; the cause of his 
suffering would have been visibly and palpably before him, and his 
spirit would rise to set his enemy at defiance, and gain the highest 
glory of a warrior by meeting death with fortitude.  But when he 
feels himself attacked by a mysterious evil, before whose insidious 
assaults his manhood is wasted, and his strength drained away, when 
he can see no enemy to resist and defy, the boldest warrior falls 
prostrate at once.  He believes that a bad spirit has taken 
possession of him, or that he is the victim of some charm.  When 
suffering from a protracted disorder, an Indian will often abandon 
himself to his supposed destiny, pine away and die, the victim of his 
own imagination.  The same effect will often follow from a series of 
calamities, or a long run of ill success, and the sufferer has been 
known to ride into the midst of an enemy's camp, or attack a grizzly 
bear single-handed, to get rid of a life which he supposed to lie 
under the doom of misfortune.

Thus after all his fasting, dreaming, and calling upon the Great 
Spirit, the White Shield's war party was pitifully broken up.



CHAPTER XVI

THE TRAPPERS


In speaking of the Indians, I have almost forgotten two bold 
adventurers of another race, the trappers Rouleau and Saraphin.  
These men were bent on a most hazardous enterprise.  A day's journey 
to the westward was the country over which the Arapahoes are 
accustomed to range, and for which the two trappers were on the point 
of setting out.  These Arapahoes, of whom Shaw and I afterward fell 
in with a large village, are ferocious barbarians, of a most brutal 
and wolfish aspect, and of late they had declared themselves enemies 
to the whites, and threatened death to the first who should venture 
within their territory.  The occasion of the declaration was as 
follows:

In the previous spring, 1845, Colonel Kearny left Fort Leavenworth 
with several companies of dragoons, and marching with extraordinary 
celerity reached Fort Laramie, whence he passed along the foot of the 
mountains to Bent's Fort and then, turning eastward again, returned 
to the point from whence he set out.  While at Fort Larantie, he sent 
a part of his command as far westward as Sweetwater, while he himself 
remained at the fort, and dispatched messages to the surrounding 
Indians to meet him there in council.  Then for the first time the 
tribes of that vicinity saw the white warriors, and, as might have 
been expected, they were lost in astonishment at their regular order, 
their gay attire, the completeness of their martial equipment, and 
the great size and power of their horses.  Among the rest, the 
Arapahoes came in considerable numbers to the fort.  They had lately 
committed numerous acts of outrage, and Colonel Kearny threatened 
that if they killed any more white men he would turn loose his 
dragoons upon them, and annihilate their whole nation.  In the 
evening, to add effect to his speech, he ordered a howitzer to be 
fired and a rocket to be thrown up.  Many of the Arapahoes fell 
prostrate on the ground, while others ran screaming with amazement 
and terror.  On the following day they withdrew to their mountains, 
confounded with awe at the appearance of the dragoons, at their big 
gun which went off twice at one shot, and the fiery messenger which 
they had sent up to the Great Spirit.  For many months they remained 
quiet, and did no further mischief.  At length, just before we came 
into the country, one of them, by an act of the basest treachery, 
killed two white men, Boot and May, who were trapping among the 
mountains.  For this act it was impossible to discover a motive.  It 
seemed to spring from one of those inexplicable impulses which often 
actuate Indians and appear no better than the mere outbreaks of 
native ferocity.  No sooner was the murder committed than the whole 
tribe were in extreme consternation.  They expected every day that 
the avenging dragoons would arrive, little thinking that a desert of 
nine hundred miles in extent lay between the latter and their 
mountain fastnesses.  A large deputation of them came to Fort 
Laramie, bringing a valuable present of horses, in compensation for 
the lives of the murdered men.  These Bordeaux refused to accept.  
They then asked him if he would be satisfied with their delivering up 
the murderer himself; but he declined this offer also.  The Arapahoes 
went back more terrified than ever.  Weeks passed away, and still no 
dragoons appeared.  A result followed which all those best acquainted 
with Indians had predicted.  They conceived that fear had prevented 
Bordeaux from accepting their gifts, and that they had nothing to 
apprehend from the vengeance of the whites.  From terror they rose to 
the height of insolence and presumption.  They called the white men 
cowards and old women; and a friendly Dakota came to Fort Laramie and 
reported that they were determined to kill the first of the white 
dogs whom they could lay hands on.

Had a military officer, intrusted with suitable powers, been 
stationed at Fort Laramie, and having accepted the offer of the 
Arapahoes to deliver up the murderer, had ordered him to be 
immediately led out and shot, in presence of his tribe, they would 
have been awed into tranquillity, and much danger and calamity 
averted; but now the neighborhood of the Medicine-Bow Mountain and 
the region beyond it was a scene of extreme peril.  Old Mene-Seela, a 
true friend of the whites, and many other of the Indians gathered 
about the two trappers, and vainly endeavored to turn them from their 
purpose; but Rouleau and Saraphin only laughed at the danger.  On the 
morning preceding that on which they were to leave the camp, we could 
all discern faint white columns of smoke rising against the dark base 
of the Medicine-Bow.  Scouts were out immediately, and reported that 
these proceeded from an Arapahoe camp, abandoned only a few hours 
before.  Still the two trappers continued their preparations for 
departure.

Saraphin was a tall, powerful fellow, with a sullen and sinister 
countenance.  His rifle had very probably drawn other blood than that 
of buffalo or even Indians.  Rouleau had a broad ruddy face marked 
with as few traces of thought or care as a child's.  His figure was 
remarkably square and strong, but the first joints of both his feet 
were frozen off, and his horse had lately thrown and trampled upon 
him, by which he had been severely injured in the chest.  But nothing 
could check his inveterate propensity for laughter and gayety.  He 
went all day rolling about the camp on his stumps of feet, talking 
and singing and frolicking with the Indian women, as they were 
engaged at their work.  In fact Rouleau had an unlucky partiality for 
squaws.  He always had one whom he must needs bedizen with beads, 
ribbons, and all the finery of an Indian wardrobe; and though he was 
of course obliged to leave her behind him during his expeditions, yet 
this hazardous necessity did not at all trouble him, for his 
disposition was the very reverse of jealous.  If at any time he had 
not lavished the whole of the precarious profits of his vocation upon 
his dark favorite, he always devoted the rest to feasting his 
comrades.  If liquor was not to be had--and this was usually the 
case--strong coffee was substituted.  As the men of that region are 
by no means remarkable for providence or self-restraint, whatever was 
set before them on these occasions, however extravagant in price, or 
enormous in quantity, was sure to be disposed of at one sitting.  
Like other trappers, Rouleau's life was one of contrast and variety.  
It was only at certain seasons, and for a limited time, that he was 
absent on his expeditions.  For the rest of the year he would be 
lounging about the fort, or encamped with his friends in its 
vicinity, lazily hunting or enjoying all the luxury of inaction; but 
when once in pursnit of beaver, he was involved in extreme privations 
and desperate perils.  When in the midst of his game and his enemies, 
hand and foot, eye and ear, are incessantly active.  Frequently he 
must content himself with devouring his evening meal uncooked, lest 
the light of his fire should attract the eyes of some wandering 
Indian; and sometimes having made his rude repast, he must leave his 
fire still blazing, and withdraw to a distance under cover of the 
darkness, that his disappointed enemy, drawn thither by the light, 
may find his victim gone, and be unable to trace his footsteps in the 
gloom.  This is the life led by scores of men in the Rocky Mountains 
and their vicinity.  I once met a trapper whose breast was marked 
with the scars of six bullets and arrows, one of his arms broken by a 
shot and one of his knees shattered; yet still, with the undaunted 
mettle of New England, from which part of the country he had come, he 
continued to follow his perilous occupation.  To some of the children 
of cities it may seem strange that men with no object in view should 
continue to follow a life of such hardship and desperate adventure; 
yet there is a mysterious, restless charm in the basilisk eye of 
danger, and few men perhaps remain long in that wild region without 
learning to love peril for its own sake, and to laugh carelessly in 
the face of death.

On the last day of our stay in this camp, the trappers were ready for 
departure.  When in the Black Hills they had caught seven beaver, and 
they now left their skins in charge of Reynal, to be kept until their 
return.  Their strong, gaunt horses were equipped with rusty Spanish 
bits and rude Mexican saddles, to which wooden stirrups were 
attached, while a buffalo robe was rolled up behind them, and a 
bundle of beaver traps slung at the pommel.  These, together with 
their rifles, their knives, their powder-horns and bullet-pouches, 
flint and steel and a tincup, composed their whole traveling 
equipment.  They shook hands with us and rode away; Saraphin with his 
grim countenance, like a surly bulldog's, was in advance; but 
Rouleau, clambering gayly into his seat, kicked his horse's sides, 
flourished his whip in the air, and trotted briskly over the prairie, 
trolling forth a Canadian song at the top of his lungs.  Reynal 
looked after them with his face of brutal selfishness.

"Well," he said, "if they are killed, I shall have the beaver.  
They'll fetch me fifty dollars at the fort, anyhow."

This was the last I saw of them.

We had been for five days in the hunting camp, and the meat, which 
all this time had hung drying in the sun, was now fit for 
transportation.  Buffalo hides also had been procured in sufficient 
quantities for making the next season's lodges; but it remained to 
provide the long slender poles on which they were to be supported.  
These were only to be had among the tall pine woods of the Black 
Hills, and in that direction therefore our next move was to be made.  
It is worthy of notice that amid the general abundance which during 
this time had prevailed in the camp there were no instances of 
individual privation; for although the hide and the tongue of the 
buffalo belong by exclusive right to the hunter who has killed it, 
yet anyone else is equally entitled to help himself from the rest of 
the carcass.  Thus, the weak, the aged, and even the indolent come in 
for a share of the spoils, and many a helpless old woman, who would 
otherwise perish from starvation, is sustained in profuse abundance.

On the 25th of July, late in the afternoon, the camp broke up, with 
the usual tumult and confusion, and we were all moving once more, on 
horseback and on foot, over the plains.  We advanced, however, but a 
few miles.  The old men, who during the whole march had been stoutly 
striding along on foot in front of the people, now seated themselves 
in a circle on the ground, while all the families, erecting their 
lodges in the prescribed order around them, formed the usual great 
circle of the camp; meanwhile these village patriarchs sat smoking 
and talking.  I threw my bridle to Raymond, and sat down as usual 
along with them.  There was none of that reserve and apparent dignity 
which an Indian always assumes when in council, or in the presence of 
white men whom he distrusts.  The party, on the contrary, was an 
extremely merry one; and as in a social circle of a quite different 
character, "if there was not much wit, there was at least a great 
deal of laughter."

When the first pipe was smoked out, I rose and withdrew to the lodge 
of my host.  Here I was stooping, in the act of taking off my powder-
horn and bullet-pouch, when suddenly, and close at hand, pealing loud 
and shrill, and in right good earnest, came the terrific yell of the 
war-whoop.  Kongra-Tonga's squaw snatched up her youngest child, and 
ran out of the lodge.  I followed, and found the whole village in 
confusion, resounding with cries and yells.  The circle of old men in 
the center had vanished.  The warriors with glittering eyes came 
darting, their weapons in their hands, out of the low opening of the 
lodges, and running with wild yells toward the farther end of the 
village.  Advancing a few rods in that direction, I saw a crowd in 
furious agitation, while others ran up on every side to add to the 
confusion.  Just then I distinguished the voices of Raymond and 
Reynal, shouting to me from a distance, and looking back, I saw the 
latter with his rifle in his hand, standing on the farther bank of a 
little stream that ran along the outskirts of the camp.  He was 
calling to Raymond and myself to come over and join him, and Raymond, 
with his usual deliberate gait and stolid countenance, was already 
moving in that direction.

This was clearly the wisest course, unless we wished to involve 
ourselves in the fray; so I turned to go, but just then a pair of 
eyes, gleaming like a snake's, and an aged familiar countenance was 
thrust from the opening of a neighboring lodge, and out bolted old 
Mene-Seela, full of fight, clutching his bow and arrows in one hand 
and his knife in the other.  At that instant he tripped and fell 
sprawling on his face, while his weapons flew scattering away in 
every direction.  The women with loud screams were hurrying with 
their children in their arms to place them out of danger, and I 
observed some hastening to prevent mischief, by carrying away all the 
weapons they could lay hands on.  On a rising ground close to the 
camp stood a line of old women singing a medicine song to allay the 
tumult.  As I approached the side of the brook I heard gun-shots 
behind me, and turning back, I saw that the crowd had separated into 
two lines of naked warriors confronting each other at a respectful 
distance, and yelling and jumping about to dodge the shot of their 
adversaries, while they discharged bullets and arrows against each 
other.  At the same time certain sharp, humming sounds in the air 
over my head, like the flight of beetles on a summer evening, warned 
me that the danger was not wholly confined to the immediate scene of 
the fray.  So wading through the brook, I joined Reynal and Raymond, 
and we sat down on the grass, in the posture of an armed neutrality, 
to watch the result.

Happily it may be for ourselves, though quite contrary to our 
expectation, the disturbance was quelled almost as soon as it had 
commenced.  When I looked again, the combatants were once more 
mingled together in a mass.  Though yells sounded, occasionally from 
the throng, the firing had entirely ceased, and I observed five or 
six persons moving busily about, as if acting the part of 
peacemakers.  One of the village heralds or criers proclaimed in a 
loud voice something which my two companions were too much engrossed 
in their own observations to translate for me.  The crowd began to 
disperse, though many a deep-set black eye still glittered with an 
unnatural luster, as the warriors slowly withdrew to their lodges.  
This fortunate suppression of the disturbance was owing to a few of 
the old men, less pugnacious than Mene-Seela, who boldly ran in 
between the combatants and aided by some of the "soldiers," or Indian 
police, succeeded in effecting their object.

It seemed very strange to me that although many arrows and bullets 
were discharged, no one was mortally hurt, and I could only account 
for this by the fact that both the marksman and the object of his aim 
were leaping about incessantly during the whole time.  By far the 
greater part of the villagers had joined in the fray, for although 
there were not more than a dozen guns in the whole camp, I heard at 
least eight or ten shots fired.

In a quarter of an hour all was comparatively quiet.  A large circle 
of warriors were again seated in the center of the village, but this 
time I did not venture to join them, because I could see that the 
pipe, contrary to the usual order, was passing from the left hand to 
the right around the circle, a sure sign that a "medicine-smoke" of 
reconciliation was going forward, and that a white man would be an 
unwelcome intruder.  When I again entered the still agitated camp it 
was nearly dark, and mournful cries, howls and wailings resounded 
from many female voices.  Whether these had any connection with the 
late disturbance, or were merely lamentations for relatives slain in 
some former war expeditions, I could not distinctly ascertain.

To inquire too closely into the cause of the quarrel was by no means 
prudent, and it was not until some time after that I discovered what 
had given rise to it.  Among the Dakota there are many associations, 
or fraternities, connected with the purposes of their superstitions, 
their warfare, or their social life.  There was one called "The 
Arrow-Breakers," now in a great measure disbanded and dispersed.  In 
the village there were, however, four men belonging to it, 
distinguished by the peculiar arrangement of their hair, which rose 
in a high bristling mass above their foreheads, adding greatly to 
their apparent height, and giving them a most ferocious appearance.  
The principal among them was the Mad Wolf, a warrior of remarkable 
size and strength, great courage, and the fierceness of a demon.  I 
had always looked upon him as the most dangerous man in the village; 
and though he often invited me to feasts, I never entered his lodge 
unarmed.  The Mad Wolf had taken a fancy to a fine horse belonging to 
another Indian, who was called the Tall Bear; and anxious to get the 
animal into his possession, he made the owner a present of another 
horse nearly equal in value.  According to the customs of the Dakota, 
the acceptance of this gift involved a sort of obligation to make an 
equitable return; and the Tall Bear well understood that the other 
had in view the obtaining of his favorite buffalo horse.  He however 
accepted the present without a word of thanks, and having picketed 
the horse before his lodge, he suffered day after day to pass without 
making the expected return.  The Mad Wolf grew impatient and angry; 
and at last, seeing that his bounty was not likely to produce the 
desired return, he resolved to reclaim it.  So this evening, as soon 
as the village was encamped, he went to the lodge of the Tall Bear, 
seized upon the horse that he had given him, and led him away.  At 
this the Tall Bear broke into one of those fits of sullen rage not 
uncommon among the Indians.  He ran up to the unfortunate horse, and 
gave him three mortals stabs with his knife.  Quick as lightning the 
Mad Wolf drew his bow to its utmost tension, and held the arrow 
quivering close to the breast of his adversary.  The Tall Bear, as 
the Indians who were near him said, stood with his bloody knife in 
his hand, facing the assailant with the utmost calmness.  Some of his 
friends and relatives, seeing his danger, ran hastily to his 
assistance.  The remaining three Arrow-Breakers, on the other hand, 
came to the aid of their associate.  Many of their friends joined 
them, the war-cry was raised on a sudden, and the tumult became 
general.

The "soldiers," who lent their timely aid in putting it down, are by 
far the most important executive functionaries in an Indian village.  
The office is one of considerable honor, being confided only to men 
of courage and repute.  They derive their authority from the old men 
and chief warriors of the village, who elect them in councils 
occasionally convened for the purpose, and thus can exercise a degree 
of authority which no one else in the village would dare to assume.  
While very few Ogallalla chiefs could venture without instant 
jeopardy of their lives to strike or lay hands upon the meanest of 
their people, the "soldiers" in the discharge of their appropriate 
functions, have full license to make use of these and similar acts of 
coercion.



CHAPTER XVII

THE BLACK HILLS


We traveled eastward for two days, and then the gloomy ridges of the 
Black Hills rose up before us.  The village passed along for some 
miles beneath their declivities, trailing out to a great length over 
the arid prairie, or winding at times among small detached hills or 
distorted shapes.  Turning sharply to the left, we entered a wide 
defile of the mountains, down the bottom of which a brook came 
winding, lined with tall grass and dense copses, amid which were 
hidden many beaver dams and lodges.  We passed along between two 
lines of high precipices and rocks, piled in utter disorder one upon 
another, and with scarcely a tree, a bush, or a clump of grass to 
veil their nakedness.  The restless Indian boys were wandering along 
their edges and clambering up and down their rugged sides, and 
sometimes a group of them would stand on the verge of a cliff and 
look down on the array as it passed in review beneath them.  As we 
advanced, the passage grew more narrow; then it suddenly expanded 
into a round grassy meadow, completely encompassed by mountains; and 
here the families stopped as they came up in turn, and the camp rose 
like magic.

The lodges were hardly erected when, with their usual precipitation, 
the Indians set about accomplishing the object that had brought them 
there; that is, the obtaining poles for supporting their new lodges.  
Half the population, men, women and boys, mounted their horses and 
set out for the interior of the mountains.  As they rode at full 
gallop over the shingly rocks and into the dark opening of the defile 
beyond, I thought I had never read or dreamed of a more strange or 
picturesque cavalcade.  We passed between precipices more than a 
thousand feet high, sharp and splintering at the tops, their sides 
beetling over the defile or descending in abrupt declivities, 
bristling with black fir trees.  On our left they rose close to us 
like a wall, but on the right a winding brook with a narrow strip of 
marshy soil intervened.  The stream was clogged with old beaver dams, 
and spread frequently into wide pools.  There were thick bushes and 
many dead and blasted trees along its course, though frequently 
nothing remained but stumps cut close to the ground by the beaver, 
and marked with the sharp chisel-like teeth of those indefatigable 
laborers.  Sometimes we were driving among trees, and then emerging 
upon open spots, over which, Indian-like, all galloped at full speed.  
As Pauline bounded over the rocks I felt her saddle-girth slipping, 
and alighted to draw it tighter; when the whole array swept past me 
in a moment, the women with their gaudy ornaments tinkling as they 
rode, the men whooping, and laughing, and lashing forward their 
horses.  Two black-tailed deer bounded away among the rocks; Raymond 
shot at them from horseback; the sharp report of his rifle was 
answered by another equally sharp from the opposing cliffs, and then 
the echoes, leaping in rapid succession from side to side, died away 
rattling far amid the mountains.

After having ridden in this manner for six or eight miles, the 
appearance of the scene began to change, and all the declivities 
around us were covered with forests of tall, slender pine trees.  The 
Indians began to fall off to the right and left, and dispersed with 
their hatchets and knives among these woods, to cut the poles which 
they had come to seek.  Soon I was left almost alone; but in the deep 
stillness of those lonely mountains, the stroke of hatchets and the 
sound of voices might be heard from far and near.

Reynal, who imitated the Indians in their habits as well as the worst 
features of their character, had killed buffalo enough to make a 
lodge for himself and his squaw, and now he was eager to get the 
poles necessary to complete it.  He asked me to let Raymond go with 
him and assist in the work.  I assented, and the two men immediately 
entered the thickest part of the wood.  Having left my horse in 
Raymond's keeping, I began to climb the mountain.  I was weak and 
weary and made slow progress, often pausing to rest, but after an 
hour had elapsed, I gained a height, whence the little valley out of 
which I had climbed seemed like a deep, dark gulf, though the 
inaccessible peak of the mountain was still towering to a much 
greater distance above.  Objects familiar from childhood surrounded 
me; crags and rocks, a black and sullen brook that gurgled with a 
hollow voice deep among the crevices, a wood of mossy distorted trees 
and prostrate trunks flung down by age and storms, scattered among 
the rocks, or damming the foaming waters of the little brook.  The 
objects were the same, yet they were thrown into a wilder and more 
startling scene, for the black crags and the savage trees assumed a 
grim and threatening aspect, and close across the valley the opposing 
mountain confronted me, rising from the gulf for thousands of feet, 
with its bare pinnacles and its ragged covering of pines.  Yet the 
scene was not without its milder features.  As I ascended, I found 
frequent little grassy terraces, and there was one of these close at 
hand, across which the brook was stealing, beneath the shade of 
scattered trees that seemed artificially planted.  Here I made a 
welcome discovery, no other than a bed of strawberries, with their 
white flowers and their red fruit, close nestled among the grass by 
the side of the brook, and I sat down by them, hailing them as old 
acquaintances; for among those lonely and perilous mountains they 
awakened delicious associations of the gardens and peaceful homes of 
far-distant New England.

Yet wild as they were, these mountains were thickly peopled.  As I 
climbed farther, I found the broad dusty paths made by the elk, as 
they filed across the mountainside.  The grass on all the terraces 
was trampled down by deer; there were numerous tracks of wolves, and 
in some of the rougher and more precipitous parts of the ascent, I 
found foot-prints different from any that I had ever seen, and which 
I took to be those of the Rocky Mountain sheep.  I sat down upon a 
rock; there was a perfect stillness.  No wind was stirring, and not 
even an insect could be heard.  I recollected the danger of becoming 
lost in such a place, and therefore I fixed my eye upon one of the 
tallest pinnacles of the opposite mountain.  It rose sheer upright 
from the woods below, and by an extraordinary freak of nature 
sustained aloft on its very summit a large loose rock.  Such a 
landmark could never be mistaken, and feeling once more secure, I 
began again to move forward.  A white wolf jumped up from among some 
bushes, and leaped clumsily away; but he stopped for a moment, and 
turned back his keen eye and his grim bristling muzzle.  I longed to 
take his scalp and carry it back with me, as an appropriate trophy of 
the Black Hills, but before I could fire, he was gone among the 
rocks.  Soon I heard a rustling sound, with a cracking of twigs at a 
little distance, and saw moving above the tall bushes the branching 
antlers of an elk.  I was in the midst of a hunter's paradise.

Such are the Black Hills, as I found them in July; but they wear a 
different garb when winter sets in, when the broad boughs of the fir 
tree are bent to the ground by the load of snow, and the dark 
mountains are whitened with it.  At that season the mountain-
trappers, returned from their autumn expeditions, often build their 
rude cabins in the midst of these solitudes, and live in abundance 
and luxury on the game that harbors there.  I have heard them relate, 
how with their tawny mistresses, and perhaps a few young Indian 
companions, they have spent months in total seclusion.  They would 
dig pitfalls, and set traps for the white wolves, the sables, and the 
martens, and though through the whole night the awful chorus of the 
wolves would resound from the frozen mountains around them, yet 
within their massive walls of logs they would lie in careless ease 
and comfort before the blazing fire, and in the morning shoot the elk 
and the deer from their very door.



CHAPTER XVIII

A MOUNTAIN HUNT


The camp was full of the newly-cut lodge-poles; some, already 
prepared, were stacked together, white and glistening, to dry and 
harden in the sun; others were lying on the ground, and the squaws, 
the boys, and even some of the warriors were busily at work peeling 
off the bark and paring them with their knives to the proper 
dimensions.  Most of the hides obtained at the last camp were dressed 
and scraped thin enough for use, and many of the squaws were engaged 
in fitting them together and sewing them with sinews, to form the 
coverings for the lodges.  Men were wandering among the bushes that 
lined the brook along the margin of the camp, cutting sticks of red 
willow, or shongsasha, the bark of which, mixed with tobacco, they 
use for smoking.  Reynal's squaw was hard at work with her awl and 
buffalo sinews upon her lodge, while her proprietor, having just 
finished an enormous breakfast of meat, was smoking a social pipe 
along with Raymond and myself.  He proposed at length that we should 
go out on a hunt.  "Go to the Big Crow's lodge," said he, "and get 
your rifle.  I'll bet the gray Wyandotte pony against your mare that 
we start an elk or a black-tailed deer, or likely as not, a bighorn, 
before we are two miles out of camp.  I'll take my squaw's old yellow 
horse; you can't whip her more than four miles an hour, but she is as 
good for the mountains as a mule."

I mounted the black mule which Raymond usually rode.  She was a very 
fine and powerful animal, gentle and manageable enough by nature; but 
of late her temper had been soured by misfortune.  About a week 
before I had chanced to offend some one of the Indians, who out of 
revenge went secretly into the meadow and gave her a severe stab in 
the haunch with his knife.  The wound, though partially healed, still 
galled her extremely, and made her even more perverse and obstinate 
than the rest of her species.

The morning was a glorious one, and I was in better health than I had 
been at any time for the last two months.  Though a strong frame and 
well compacted sinews had borne me through hitherto, it was long 
since I had been in a condition to feel the exhilaration of the fresh 
mountain wind and the gay sunshine that brightened the crags and 
trees.  We left the little valley and ascended a rocky hollow in the 
mountain.  Very soon we were out of sight of the camp, and of every 
living thing, man, beast, bird, or insect.  I had never before, 
except on foot, passed over such execrable ground, and I desire never 
to repeat the experiment.  The black mule grew indignant, and even 
the redoubtable yellow horse stumbled every moment, and kept groaning 
to himself as he cut his feet and legs among the sharp rocks.

It was a scene of silence and desolation.  Little was visible except 
beetling crags and the bare shingly sides of the mountains, relieved 
by scarcely a trace of vegetation.  At length, however, we came upon 
a forest tract, and had no sooner done so than we heartily wished 
ourselves back among the rocks again; for we were on a steep descent, 
among trees so thick that we could see scarcely a rod in any 
direction.

If one is anxious to place himself in a situation where the hazardous 
and the ludicrous are combined in about equal proportions, let him 
get upon a vicious mule, with a snaffle bit, and try to drive her 
through the woods down a slope of 45 degrees.  Let him have on a long 
rifle, a buckskin frock with long fringes, and a head of long hair.  
These latter appendages will be caught every moment and twitched away 
in small portions by the twigs, which will also whip him smartly 
across the face, while the large branches above thump him on the 
head.  His mule, if she be a true one, will alternately stop short 
and dive violently forward, and his position upon her back will be 
somewhat diversified and extraordinary.  At one time he will clasp 
her affectionately, to avoid the blow of a bough overhead; at 
another, he will throw himself back and fling his knee forward 
against the side of her neck, to keep it from being crushed between 
the rough bark of a tree and the equally unyielding ribs of the 
animal herself.  Reynal was cursing incessantly during the whole way 
down.  Neither of us had the remotest idea where we were going; and 
though I have seen rough riding, I shall always retain an evil 
recollection of that five minutes' scramble.

At last we left our troubles behind us, emerging into the channel of 
a brook that circled along the foot of the descent; and here, turning 
joyfully to the left, we rode in luxury and ease over the white 
pebbles and the rippling water, shaded from the glaring sun by an 
overarching green transparency.  These halcyon moments were of short 
duration.  The friendly brook, turning sharply to one side, went 
brawling and foaming down the rocky hill into an abyss, which, as far 
as we could discern, had no bottom; so once more we betook ourselves 
to the detested woods.  When next we came forth from their dancing 
shadow and sunlight, we found ourselves standing in the broad glare 
of day, on a high jutting point of the mountain.  Before us stretched 
a long, wide, desert valley, winding away far amid the mountains.  No 
civilized eye but mine had ever looked upon that virgin waste.  
Reynal was gazing intently; he began to speak at last:

"Many a time, when I was with the Indians, I have been hunting for 
gold all through the Black Hills.  There's plenty of it here; you may 
be certain of that.  I have dreamed about it fifty times, and I never 
dreamed yet but what it came true.  Look over yonder at those black 
rocks piled up against that other big rock.  Don't it look as if 
there might be something there?  It won't do for a white man to be 
rummagmg too much about these mountains; the Indians say they are 
full of bad spirits; and I believe myself that it's no good luck to 
be hunting about here after gold.  Well, for all that, I would like 
to have one of these fellows up here, from down below, to go about 
with his witch-hazel rod, and I'll guarantee that it would not be 
long before he would light on a gold mine.  Never mind; we'll let the 
gold alone for to-day.  Look at those trees down below us in the 
hollow; we'll go down there, and I reckon we'll get a black-tailed 
deer."

But Reynal's predictions were not verified.  We passed mountain after 
mountain, and valley after valley; we explored deep ravines; yet 
still to my companion's vexation and evident surprise, no game could 
be found.  So, in the absence of better, we resolved to go out on the 
plains and look for an antelope.  With this view we began to pass 
down a narrow valley, the bottom of which was covered with the stiff 
wild-sage bushes and marked with deep paths, made by the buffalo, 
who, for some inexplicable reason, are accustomed to penetrate, in 
their long grave processions, deep among the gorges of these sterile 
mountains.

Reynal's eye was ranging incessantly among the rocks and along the 
edges of the black precipices, in hopes of discovering the mountain 
sheep peering down upon us in fancied security from that giddy 
elevation.  Nothing was visible for some time.  At length we both 
detected something in motion near the foot of one of the mountains, 
and in a moment afterward a black-tailed deer, with his spreading 
antlers, stood gazing at us from the top of a rock, and then, slowly 
turning away, disappeared behind it.  In an instant Reynal was out of 
his saddle, and running toward the spot.  I, being too weak to 
follow, sat holding his horse and waiting the result.  I lost sight 
of him, then heard the report of his rifle, deadened among the rocks, 
and finally saw him reappear, with a surly look that plainly betrayed 
his ill success.  Again we moved forward down the long valley, when 
soon after we came full upon what seemed a wide and very shallow 
ditch, incrusted at the bottom with white clay, dried and cracked in 
the sun.  Under this fair outside, Reynal's eye detected the signs of 
lurking mischief.  He called me to stop, and then alighting, picked 
up a stone and threw it into the ditch.  To my utter amazement it 
fell with a dull splash, breaking at once through the thin crust, and 
spattering round the hole a yellowish creamy fluid, into which it 
sank and disappeared.  A stick, five or six feet long lay on the 
ground, and with this we sounded the insidious abyss close to its 
edge.  It was just possible to touch the bottom.  Places like this 
are numerous among the Rocky Mountains.  The buffalo, in his blind 
and heedless walk, often plunges into them unawares.  Down he sinks; 
one snort of terror, one convulsive struggle, and the slime calmly 
flows above his shaggy head, the languid undulations of its sleek and 
placid surface alone betraying how the powerful monster writhes in 
his death-throes below.

We found after some trouble a point where we could pass the abyss, 
and now the valley began to open upon the plains which spread to the 
horizon before us.  On one of their distant swells we discerned three 
or four black specks, which Reynal pronounced to be buffalo.

"Come," said he, "we must get one of them.  My squaw wants more 
sinews to finish her lodge with, and I want some glue myself."

He immediately put the yellow horse at such a gallop as he was 
capable of executing, while I set spurs to the mule, who soon far 
outran her plebeian rival.  When we had galloped a mile or more, a 
large rabbit, by ill luck, sprang up just under the feet of the mule, 
who bounded violently aside in full career.  Weakened as I was, I was 
flung forcibly to the ground, and my rifle, falling close to my head, 
went off with a shock.  Its sharp spiteful report rang for some 
moments in my ear.  Being slightly stunned, I lay for an instant 
motionless, and Reynal, supposing me to be shot, rode up and began to 
curse the mule.  Soon recovering myself, I rose, picked up the rifle 
and anxiously examined it.  It was badly injured.  The stock was 
cracked, and the main screw broken, so that the lock had to be tied 
in its place with a string; yet happily it was not rendered totally 
unserviceable.  I wiped it out, reloaded it, and handing it to 
Reynal, who meanwhile had caught the mule and led her up to me, I 
mounted again.  No sooner had I done so, than the brute began to rear 
and plunge with extreme violence; but being now well prepared for 
her, and free from incumbrance, I soon reduced her to submission.  
Then taking the rifle again from Reynal, we galloped forward as 
before.

We were now free of the mountain and riding far out on the broad 
prairie.  The buffalo were still some two miles in advance of us.  
When we came near them, we stopped where a gentle swell of the plain 
concealed us from their view, and while I held his horse Reynal ran 
forward with his rifle, till I lost sight of him beyond the rising 
ground.  A few minutes elapsed; I heard the report of his piece, and 
saw the buffalo running away at full speed on the right, and 
immediately after, the hunter himself unsuccessful as before, came up 
and mounted his horse in excessive ill-humor.  He cursed the Black 
Hills and the buffalo, swore that he was a good hunter, which indeed 
was true, and that he had never been out before among those mountains 
without killing two or three deer at least.

We now turned toward the distant encampment.  As we rode along, 
antelope in considerable numbers were flying lightly in all 
directions over the plain, but not one of them would stand and be 
shot at.  When we reached the foot of the mountain ridge that lay 
between us and the village, we were too impatient to take the smooth 
and circuitous route; so turning short to the left, we drove our 
wearied animals directly upward among the rocks.  Still more antelope 
were leaping about among these flinty hillsides.  Each of us shot at 
one, though from a great distance, and each missed his mark.  At 
length we reached the summit of the last ridge.  Looking down, we saw 
the bustling camp in the valley at our feet, and ingloriously 
descended to it.  As we rode among the lodges, the Indians looked in 
vain for the fresh meat that should have hung behind our saddles, and 
the squaws uttered various suppressed ejaculations, to the great 
indignation of Reynal.  Our mortification was increased when we rode 
up to his lodge.  Here we saw his young Indian relative, the Hail-
Storm, his light graceful figure on the ground in an easy attitude, 
while with his friend the Rabbit, who sat by his side, he was making 
an abundant meal from a wooden bowl of wasna, which the squaw had 
placed between them.  Near him lay the fresh skin of a female elk, 
which he had just killed among the mountains, only a mile or two from 
the camp.  No doubt the boy's heart was elated with triumph, but he 
betrayed no sign of it.  He even seemed totally unconscious of our 
approach, and his handsome face had all the tranquillity of Indian 
self-control; a self-control which prevents the exhibition of 
emotion, without restraining the emotion itself.  It was about two 
months since I had known the Hail-Storm, and within that time his 
character had remarkably developed.  When I first saw him, he was 
just emerging from the habits and feelings of the boy into the 
ambition of the hunter and warrior.  He had lately killed his first 
deer, and this had excited his aspirations after distinction.  Since 
that time he had been continually in search of game, and no young 
hunter in the village had been so active or so fortunate as he.  It 
will perhaps be remembered how fearlessly he attacked the buffalo 
bull, as we were moving toward our camp at the Medicine-Bow Mountain.  
All this success had produced a marked change in his character.  As I 
first remembered him he always shunned the society of the young 
squaws, and was extremely bashful and sheepish in their presence; but 
now, in the confidence of his own reputation, he began to assume the 
airs and the arts of a man of gallantry.  He wore his red blanket 
dashingly over his left shoulder, painted his cheeks every day with 
vermilion, and hung pendants of shells in his ears.  If I observed 
aright, he met with very good success in his new pursuits; still the 
Hail-Storm had much to accomplish before he attained the full 
standing of a warrior.  Gallantly as he began to bear himself among 
the women and girls, he still was timid and abashed in the presence 
of the chiefs and old men; for he had never yet killed a man, or 
stricken the dead body of an enemy in battle.  I have no doubt that 
the handsome smooth-faced boy burned with keen desire to flash his 
maiden scalping-knife, and I would not have encamped alone with him 
without watching his movements with a distrustful eye.

His elder brother, the Horse, was of a different character.  He was 
nothing but a lazy dandy.  He knew very well how to hunt, but 
preferred to live by the hunting of others.  He had no appetite for 
distinction, and the Hail-Storm, though a few years younger than he, 
already surpassed him in reputation.  He had a dark and ugly face, 
and he passed a great part of his time in adorning it with vermilion, 
and contemplating it by means of a little pocket looking-glass which 
I gave him.  As for the rest of the day, he divided it between eating 
and sleeping, and sitting in the sun on the outside of a lodge.  Here 
he would remain for hour after hour, arrayed in all his finery, with 
an old dragoon's sword in his hand, and evidently flattering himself 
that he was the center of attraction to the eyes of the surrounding 
squaws.  Yet he sat looking straight forward with a face of the 
utmost gravity, as if wrapped in profound meditation, and it was only 
by the occasional sidelong glances which he shot at his supposed 
admirers that one could detect the true course of his thoughts.

Both he and his brother may represent a class in the Indian 
community; neither should the Hail-Storm's friend, the Rabbit, be 
passed by without notice.  The Hail-Storm and he were inseparable; 
they ate, slept, and hunted together, and shared with one another 
almost all that they possessed.  If there be anything that deserves 
to be called romantic in the Indian character, it is to be sought for 
in friendships such as this, which are quite common among many of the 
prairie tribes.

Slowly, hour after hour, that weary afternoon dragged away.  I lay in 
Reynal's lodge, overcome by the listless torpor that pervaded the 
whole encampment.  The day's work was finished, or if it were not, 
the inhabitants had resolved not to finish it at all, and all were 
dozing quietly within the shelter of the lodges.  A profound 
lethargy, the very spirit of indolence, seemed to have sunk upon the 
village.  Now and then I could hear the low laughter of some girl 
from within a neighboring lodge, or the small shrill voices of a few 
restless children, who alone were moving in the deserted area.  The 
spirit of the place infected me; I could not even think 
consecutively; I was fit only for musing and reverie, when at last, 
like the rest, I fell asleep.

When evening came and the fires were lighted round the lodges, a 
select family circle convened in the neighborhood of Reynal's 
domicile.  It was composed entirely of his squaw's relatives, a mean 
and ignoble clan, among whom none but the Hail-Storm held forth any 
promise of future distinction.  Even his protests were rendered not a 
little dubious by the character of the family, less however from any 
principle of aristocratic distinction than from the want of powerful 
supporters to assist him in his undertakings, and help to avenge his 
quarrels.  Raymond and I sat down along with them.  There were eight 
or ten men gathered around the fire, together with about as many 
women, old and young, some of whom were tolerably good-looking.  As 
the pipe passed round among the men, a lively conversation went 
forward, more merry than delicate, and at length two or three of the 
elder women (for the girls were somewhat diffident and bashful) began 
to assail Raymond with various pungent witticisms.  Some of the men 
took part and an old squaw concluded by bestowing on him a ludicrous 
nick name, at which a general laugh followed at his expense.  Raymond 
grinned and giggled, and made several futile attempts at repartee.  
Knowing the impolicy and even danger of suffering myself to be placed 
in a ludicrous light among the Indians, I maintained a rigid 
inflexible countenance, and wholly escaped their sallies.

In the morning I found, to my great disgust, that the camp was to 
retain its position for another day.  I dreaded its languor and 
monotony, and to escape it, I set out to explore the surrounding 
mountains.  I was accompanied by a faithful friend, my rifle, the 
only friend indeed on whose prompt assistance in time of trouble I 
could implicitly rely.  Most of the Indians in the village, it is 
true, professed good-will toward the whites, but the experience of 
others and my own observation had taught me the extreme folly of 
confidence, and the utter impossibility of foreseeing to what sudden 
acts the strange unbridled impulses of an Indian may urge him.  When 
among this people danger is never so near as when you are unprepared 
for it, never so remote as when you are armed and on the alert to 
meet it any moment.  Nothing offers so strong a temptation to their 
ferocious instincts as the appearance of timidity, weakness, or 
security.

Many deep and gloomy gorges, choked with trees and bushes, opened 
from the sides of the hills, which were shaggy with forests wherever 
the rocks permitted vegetation to spring.  A great number of Indians 
were stalking along the edges of the woods, and boys were whooping 
and laughing on the mountain-sides, practicing eye and hand, and 
indulging their destructive propensities by following birds and small 
animals and killing them with their little bows and arrows.  There 
was one glen, stretching up between steep cliffs far into the bosom 
of the mountain.  I began to ascend along its bottom, pushing my way 
onward among the rocks, trees, and bushes that obstructed it.  A 
slender thread of water trickled along its center, which since 
issuing from the heart of its native rock could scarcely have been 
warmed or gladdened by a ray of sunshine.  After advancing for some 
time, I conceived myself to be entirely alone; but coming to a part 
of the glen in a great measure free of trees and undergrowth, I saw 
at some distance the black head and red shoulders of an Indian among 
the bushes above.  The reader need not prepare himself for a 
startling adventure, for I have none to relate.  The head and 
shoulders belonged to Mene-Seela, my best friend in the village.  As 
I had approached noiselessly with my moccasined feet, the old man was 
quite unconscious of my presence; and turning to a point where I 
could gain an unobstructed view of him, I saw him seated alone, 
immovable as a statue, among the rocks and trees.  His face was 
turned upward, and his eyes seemed riveted on a pine tree springing 
from a cleft in the precipice above.  The crest of the pine was 
swaying to and fro in the wind, and its long limbs waved slowly up 
and down, as if the tree had life.  Looking for a while at the old 
man, I was satisfied that he was engaged in an act of worship or 
prayer, or communion of some kind with a supernatural being.  I 
longed to penetrate his thoughts, but I could do nothing more than 
conjecture and speculate.  I knew that though the intellect of an 
Indian can embrace the idea of an all-wise, all-powerful Spirit, the 
supreme Ruler of the universe, yet his mind will not always ascend 
into communion with a being that seems to him so vast, remote, and 
incomprehensible; and when danger threatens, when his hopes are 
broken, when the black wing of sorrow overshadows him, he is prone to 
turn for relief to some inferior agency, less removed from the 
ordinary scope of his faculties.  He has a guardian spirit, on whom 
he relies for succor and guidance.  To him all nature is instinct 
with mystic influence.  Among those mountains not a wild beast was 
prowling, a bird singing, or a leaf fluttering, that might not tend 
to direct his destiny or give warning of what was in store for him; 
and he watches the world of nature around him as the astrologer 
watches the stars.  So closely is he linked with it that his guardian 
spirit, no unsubstantial creation of the fancy, is usually embodied 
in the form of some living thing--a bear, a wolf, an eagle, or a 
serpent; and Mene-Seela, as he gazed intently on the old pine tree, 
might believe it to inshrine the fancied guide and protector of his 
life.

Whatever was passing in the mind of the old man, it was no part of 
sense or of delicacy to disturb him.  Silently retracing my 
footsteps, I descended the glen until I came to a point where I could 
climb the steep precipices that shut it in, and gain the side of the 
mountain.  Looking up, I saw a tall peak rising among the woods.  
Something impelled me to climb; I had not felt for many a day such 
strength and elasticity of limb.  An hour and a half of slow and 
often intermittent labor brought me to the very summit; and emerging 
from the dark shadows of the rocks and pines, I stepped forth into 
the light, and walking along the sunny verge of a precipice, seated 
myself on its extreme point.  Looking between the mountain peaks to 
the westward, the pale blue prairie was stretching to the farthest 
horizon like a serene and tranquil ocean.  The surrounding mountains 
were in themselves sufficiently striking and impressive, but this 
contrast gave redoubled effect to their stern features.



CHAPTER XIX

PASSAGE OF THE MOUNTAINS


When I took leave of Shaw at La Bonte's Camp, I promised that I would 
meet him at Fort Laramie on the 1st of August.  That day, according 
to my reckoning, was now close at hand.  It was impossible, at best, 
to fulfill my engagement exactly, and my meeting with him must have 
been postponed until many days after the appointed time, had not the 
plans of the Indians very well coincided with my own.  They too, 
intended to pass the mountains and move toward the fort.  To do so at 
this point was impossible, because there was no opening; and in order 
to find a passage we were obliged to go twelve or fourteen miles 
southward.  Late in the afternoon the camp got in motion, defiling 
back through the mountains along the same narrow passage by which 
they had entered.  I rode in company with three or four young Indians 
at the rear, and the moving swarm stretched before me, in the ruddy 
light of sunset, or in the deep shadow of the mountains far beyond my 
sight.  It was an ill-omened spot they chose to encamp upon.  When 
they were there just a year before, a war party of ten men, led by 
The Whirlwind's son, had gone out against the enemy, and not one had 
ever returned.  This was the immediate cause of this season's warlike 
preparations.  I was not a little astonished when I came to the camp, 
at the confusion of horrible sounds with which it was filled; howls, 
shrieks, and wailings were heard from all the women present, many of 
whom not content with this exhibition of grief for the loss of their 
friends and relatives, were gashing their legs deeply with knives.  A 
warrior in the village, who had lost a brother in the expedition; 
chose another mode of displaying his sorrow.  The Indians, who, 
though often rapacious, are utterly devoid of avarice, are accustomed 
in times of mourning, or on other solemn occasions, to give away the 
whole of their possessions, and reduce themselves to nakedness and 
want.  The warrior in question led his two best horses into the 
center of the village, and gave them away to his friends; upon which 
songs and acclamations in praise of his generosity mingled with the 
cries of the women.

On the next morning we entered once more among the mountains.  There 
was nothing in their appearance either grand or picturesque, though 
they were desolate to the last degree, being mere piles of black and 
broken rocks, without trees or vegetation of any kind.  As we passed 
among them along a wide valley, I noticed Raymond riding by the side 
of a younger squaw, to whom he was addressing various insinuating 
compliments.  All the old squaws in the neighborhood watched his 
proceedings in great admiration, and the girl herself would turn 
aside her head and laugh.  Just then the old mule thought proper to 
display her vicious pranks; she began to rear and plunge most 
furiously.  Raymond was an excellent rider, and at first he stuck 
fast in his seat; but the moment after, I saw the mule's hind-legs 
flourishing in the air, and my unlucky follower pitching head 
foremost over her ears.  There was a burst of screams and laughter 
from all the women, in which his mistress herself took part, and 
Raymond was instantly assailed by such a shower of witticisms, that 
he was glad to ride forward out of hearing.

Not long after, as I rode near him, I heard him shouting to me.  He 
was pointing toward a detached rocky hill that stood in the middle of 
the valley before us, and from behind it a long file of elk came out 
at full speed and entered an opening in the side of the mountain.  
They had scarcely disappeared when whoops and exclamations came from 
fifty voices around me.  The young men leaped from their horses, 
flung down their heavy buffalo robes, and ran at full speed toward 
the foot of the nearest mountain.  Reynal also broke away at a gallop 
in the same direction, "Come on! come on!" he called to us.  "Do you 
see that band of bighorn up yonder?  If there's one of them, there's 
a hundred!"

In fact, near the summit of the mountain, I could see a large number 
of small white objects, moving rapidly upward among the precipices, 
while others were filing along its rocky profile.  Anxious to see the 
sport, I galloped forward, and entering a passage in the side of the 
mountain, ascended the loose rocks as far as my horse could carry me.  
Here I fastened her to an old pine tree that stood alone, scorching 
in the sun.  At that moment Raymond called to me from the right that 
another band of sheep was close at hand in that direction.  I ran up 
to the top of the opening, which gave me a full view into the rocky 
gorge beyond; and here I plainly saw some fifty or sixty sheep, 
almost within rifle-shot, clattering upward among the rocks, and 
endeavoring, after their usual custom, to reach the highest point.  
The naked Indians bounded up lightly in pursuit.  In a moment the 
game and hunters disappeared.  Nothing could be seen or heard but the 
occasional report of a gun, more and more distant, reverberating 
among the rocks.

I turned to descend, and as I did so I could see the valley below 
alive with Indians passing rapidly through it, on horseback and on 
foot.  A little farther on, all were stopping as they came up; the 
camp was preparing, and the lodges rising.  I descended to this spot, 
and soon after Reynal and Raymond returned.  They bore between them a 
sheep which they had pelted to death with stones from the edge of a 
ravine, along the bottom of which it was attempting to escape.  One 
by one the hunters came dropping in; yet such is the activity of the 
Rocky Mountain sheep that, although sixty or seventy men were out in 
pursuit, not more than half a dozen animals were killed.  Of these 
only one was a full-grown male.  He had a pair of horns twisted like 
a ram's, the dimensions of which were almost beyond belief.  I have 
seen among the Indians ladles with long handles, capable of 
containing more than a quart, cut from such horns.

There is something peculiarly interesting in the character and habits 
of the mountain sheep, whose chosen retreats are above the region of 
vegetation and storms, and who leap among the giddy precipices of 
their aerial home as actively as the antelope skims over the prairies 
below.

Through the whole of the next morning we were moving forward, among 
the hills.  On the following day the heights gathered around us, and 
the passage of the mountains began in earnest.  Before the village 
left its camping ground, I set forward in company with the Eagle-
Feather, a man of powerful frame, but of bad and sinister face.  His 
son, a light-limbed boy, rode with us, and another Indian, named the 
Panther, was also of the party.  Leaving the village out of sight 
behind us, we rode together up a rocky defile.  After a while, 
however, the Eagle-Feather discovered in the distance some appearance 
of game, and set off with his son in pursuit of it, while I went 
forward with the Panther.  This was a mere NOM DE GUERRE; for, like 
many Indians, he concealed his real name out of some superstitious 
notion.  He was a very noble looking fellow.  As he suffered his 
ornamented buffalo robe to fall into folds about his loins, his 
stately and graceful figure was fully displayed; and while he sat his 
horse in an easy attitude, the long feathers of the prairie cock 
fluttering from the crown of his head, he seemed the very model of a 
wild prairie-rider.  He had not the same features as those of other 
Indians.  Unless his handsome face greatly belied him, he was free 
from the jealousy, suspicion, and malignant cunning of his people.  
For the most part, a civilized white man can discover but very few 
points of sympathy between his own nature and that of an Indian.  
With every disposition to do justice to their good qualities, he must 
be conscious that an impassable gulf lies between him and his red 
brethren of the prairie.  Nay, so alien to himself do they appear 
that, having breathed for a few months or a few weeks the air of this 
region, he begins to look upon them as a troublesome and dangerous 
species of wild beast, and, if expedient, he could shoot them with as 
little compunction as they themselves would experience after 
performing the same office upon him.  Yet, in the countenance of the 
Panther, I gladly read that there were at least some points of 
sympathy between him and me.  We were excellent friends, and as we 
rode forward together through rocky passages, deep dells, and little 
barren plains, he occupied himself very zealously in teaching me the 
Dakota language.  After a while, we came to a little grassy recess, 
where some gooseberry bushes were growing at the foot of a rock; and 
these offered such temptation to my companion, that he gave over his 
instruction, and stopped so long to gather the fruit that before we 
were in motion again the van of the village came in view.  An old 
woman appeared, leading down her pack horse among the rocks above.  
Savage after savage followed, and the little dell was soon crowded 
with the throng.

That morning's march was one not easily to be forgotten.  It led us 
through a sublime waste, a wilderness of mountains and pine forests, 
over which the spirit of loneliness and silence seemed brooding.  
Above and below little could be seen but the same dark green foliage.  
It overspread the valleys, and the mountains were clothed with it 
from the black rocks that crowned their summits to the impetuous 
streams that circled round their base.  Scenery like this, it might 
seem, could have no very cheering effect on the mind of a sick man 
(for to-day my disease had again assailed me) in the midst of a horde 
of savages; but if the reader has ever wandered, with a true hunter's 
spirit, among the forests of Maine, or the more picturesque solitudes 
of the Adirondack Mountains, he will understand how the somber woods 
and mountains around me might have awakened any other feelings than 
those of gloom.  In truth they recalled gladdening recollections of 
similar scenes in a distant and far different land.  After we had 
been advancing for several hours through passages always narrow, 
often obstructed and difficult, I saw at a little distance on our 
right a narrow opening between two high wooded precipices.  All 
within seemed darkness and mystery.  In the mood in which I found 
myself something strongly impelled me to enter.  Passing over the 
intervening space I guided my horse through the rocky portal, and as 
I did so instinctively drew the covering from my rifle, half 
expecting that some unknown evil lay in ambush within those dreary 
recesses.  The place was shut in among tall cliffs, and so deeply 
shadowed by a host of old pine trees that, though the sun shone 
bright on the side of the mountain, nothing but a dim twilight could 
penetrate within.  As far as I could see it had no tenants except a 
few hawks and owls, who, dismayed at my intrusion, flapped hoarsely 
away among the shaggy branches.  I moved forward, determined to 
explore the mystery to the bottom, and soon became involved among the 
pines.  The genius of the place exercised a strange influence upon my 
mind.  Its faculties were stimulated into extraordinary activity, and 
as I passed along many half-forgotten incidents, and the images of 
persons and things far distant, rose rapidly before me with 
surprising distinctness.  In that perilous wilderness, eight hundred 
miles removed beyond the faintest vestige of civilization, the scenes 
of another hemisphere, the seat of ancient refinement, passed before 
me more like a succession of vivid paintings than any mere dreams of 
the fancy.  I saw the church of St. Peter's illumined on the evening 
of Easter Day, the whole majestic pile, from the cross to the 
foundation stone, penciled in fire and shedding a radiance, like the 
serene light of the moon, on the sea of upturned faces below.  I saw 
the peak of Mount Etna towering above its inky mantle of clouds and 
lightly curling its wreaths of milk-white smoke against the soft sky 
flushed with the Sicilian sunset.  I saw also the gloomy vaulted 
passages and the narrow cells of the Passionist convent where I once 
had sojourned for a few days with the fanatical monks, its pale, 
stern inmates in their robes of black, and the grated window from 
whence I could look out, a forbidden indulgence, upon the melancholy 
Coliseum and the crumbling ruins of the Etennal City.  The mighty 
glaciers of the Splugen too rose before me, gleaming in the sun like 
polished silver, and those terrible solitudes, the birthplace of the 
Rhine, where bursting from the bowels of its native mountains, it 
lashes and foams down the rocky abyss into the little valley of 
Andeer.  These recollections, and many more, crowded upon me, until 
remembering that it was hardly wise to remain long in such a place, I 
mounted again and retraced my steps.  Issuing from between the rocks 
I saw a few rods before me the men, women, and children, dogs and 
horses, still filing slowly across the little glen.  A bare round 
hill rose directly above them.  I rode to the top, and from this 
point I could look down on the savage procession as it passed just 
beneath my feet, and far on the left I could see its thin and broken 
line, visible only at intervals, stretching away for miles among the 
mountains.  On the farthest ridge horsemen were still descending like 
mere specks in the distance.

I remained on the hill until all had passed, and then, descending, 
followed after them.  A little farther on I found a very small 
meadow, set deeply among steep mountains; and here the whole village 
had encamped.  The little spot was crowded with the confused and 
disorderly host.  Some of the lodges were already completely 
prepared, or the squaws perhaps were busy in drawing the heavy 
coverings of skin over the bare poles.  Others were as yet mere 
skeletons, while others still--poles, covering, and all--lay 
scattered in complete disorder on the ground among buffalo robes, 
bales of meat, domestic utensils, harness, and weapons.  Squaws were 
screaming to one another, horses rearing and plunging dogs yelping, 
eager to be disburdened of their loads, while the fluttering of 
feathers and the gleam of barbaric ornaments added liveliness to the 
scene.  The small children ran about amid the crowd, while many of 
the boys were scrambling among the overhanging rocks, and standing, 
with their little bows in their hands, looking down upon a restless 
throng.  In contrast with the general confusion, a circle of old men 
and warriors sat in the midst, smoking in profound indifference and 
tranquillity.  The disorder at length subsided.  The horses were 
driven away to feed along the adjacent valley, and the camp assumed 
an air of listless repose.  It was scarcely past noon; a vast white 
canopy of smoke from a burning forest to the eastward overhung the 
place, and partially obscured the sun; yet the heat was almost 
insupportable.  The lodges stood crowded together without order in 
the narrow space.  Each was a perfect hothouse, within which the lazy 
proprietor lay sleeping.  The camp was silent as death.  Nothing 
stirred except now and then an old woman passing from lodge to lodge.  
The girls and young men sat together in groups under the pine trees 
upon the surrounding heights.  The dogs lay panting on the ground, 
too lazy even to growl at the white man.  At the entrance of the 
meadow there was a cold spring among the rocks, completely 
overshadowed by tall trees and dense undergrowth.  In this cold and 
shady retreat a number of girls were assembled, sitting together on 
rocks and fallen logs, discussing the latest gossip of the village, 
or laughing and throwing water with their hands at the intruding 
Meneaska.  The minutes seemed lengthened into hours.  I lay for a 
long time under a tree, studying the Ogallalla tongue, with the 
zealous instructions of my friend the Panther.  When we were both 
tired of this I went and lay down by the side of a deep, clear pool 
formed by the water of the spring.  A shoal of little fishes of about 
a pin's length were playing in it, sporting together, as it seemed, 
very amicably; but on closer observation, I saw that they were 
engaged in a cannibal warfare among themselves.  Now and then a small 
one would fall a victim, and immediately disappear down the maw of 
his voracious conqueror.  Every moment, however, the tyrant of the 
pool, a monster about three inches long, with staring goggle eyes, 
would slowly issue forth with quivering fins and tail from under the 
shelving bank.  The small fry at this would suspend their 
hostilities, and scatter in a panic at the appearance of overwhelming 
force.

"Soft-hearted philanthropists," thought I, "may sigh long for their 
peaceful millennium; for from minnows up to men, life is an incessant 
battle."

Evening approached at last, the tall mountain-tops around were still 
gay and bright in sunshine, while our deep glen was completely 
shadowed.  I left the camp and ascended a neighboring hill, whose 
rocky summit commanded a wide view over the surrounding wilderness.  
The sun was still glaring through the stiff pines on the ridge of the 
western mountain.  In a moment he was gone, and as the landscape 
rapidly darkened, I turned again toward the village.  As I descended 
the hill, the howling of wolves and the barking of foxes came up out 
of the dim woods from far and near.  The camp was glowing with a 
multitude of fires, and alive with dusky naked figures, whose tall 
shadows flitted among the surroundings crags.

I found a circle of smokers seated in their usual place; that is, on 
the ground before the lodge of a certain warrior, who seemed to be 
generally known for his social qualities.  I sat down to smoke a 
parting pipe with my savage friends.  That day was the 1st of August, 
on which I had promised to meet Shaw at Fort Laramie.  The Fort was 
less than two days' journey distant, and that my friend need not 
suffer anxiety on my account, I resolved to push forward as rapidly 
as possible to the place of meeting.  I went to look after the Hail-
Storm, and having found him, I offered him a handful of hawks'-bells 
and a paper of vermilion, on condition that he would guide me in the 
morning through the mountains within sight of Laramie Creek.

The Hail-Storm ejaculated "How!" and accepted the gift.  Nothing more 
was said on either side; the matter was settled, and I lay down to 
sleep in Kongra-Tonga's lodge.

Long before daylight Raymond shook me by the shoulder.

"Everything is ready," he said.

I went out.  The morning was chill, damp, and dark; and the whole 
camp seemed asleep.  The Hail-Storm sat on horseback before the 
lodge, and my mare Pauline and the mule which Raymond rode were 
picketed near it.  We saddled and made our other arrangements for the 
journey, but before these were completed the camp began to stir, and 
the lodge-coverings fluttered and rustled as the squaws pulled them 
down in preparation for departure.  Just as the light began to appear 
we left the ground, passing up through a narrow opening among the 
rocks which led eastward out of the meadow.  Gaining the top of this 
passage, I turned round and sat looking back upon the camp, dimly 
visible in the gray light of the morning.  All was alive with the 
bustle of preparation.  I turned away, half unwilling to take a final 
leave of my savage associates.  We turned to the right, passing among 
the rocks and pine trees so dark that for a while we could scarcely 
see our way.  The country in front was wild and broken, half hill, 
half plain, partly open and partly covered with woods of pine and 
oak.  Barriers of lofty mountains encompassed it; the woods were 
fresh and cool in the early morning; the peaks of the mountains were 
wreathed with mist, and sluggish vapors were entangled among the 
forests upon their sides.  At length the black pinnacle of the 
tallest mountain was tipped with gold by the rising sun.  About that 
time the Hail-Storm, who rode in front gave a low exclamation.  Some 
large animal leaped up from among the bushes, and an elk, as I 
thought, his horns thrown back over his neck, darted past us across 
the open space, and bounded like a mad thing away among the adjoining 
pines.  Raymond was soon out of his saddle, but before he could fire, 
the animal was full two hundred yards distant.  The ball struck its 
mark, though much too low for mortal effect.  The elk, however, 
wheeled in its flight, and ran at full speed among the trees, nearly 
at right angles to his former course.  I fired and broke his 
shoulder; still he moved on, limping down into the neighboring woody 
hollow, whither the young Indian followed and killed him.  When we 
reached the spot we discovered him to be no elk, but a black-tailed 
deer, an animal nearly twice the size of the common deer, and quite 
unknown to the East.  We began to cut him up; the reports of the 
rifles had reached the ears of the Indians, and before our task was 
finished several of them came to the spot.  Leaving the hide of the 
deer to the Hail-Storm, we hung as much of the meat as we wanted 
behind our saddles, left the rest to the Indians, and resumed our 
journey.  Meanwhile the village was on its way, and had gone so far 
that to get in advance of it was impossible.  Therefore we directed 
our course so as to strike its line of march at the nearest point.  
In a short time, through the dark trunks of the pines, we could see 
the figures of the Indians as they passed.  Once more we were among 
them.  They were moving with even more than their usual 
precipitation, crowded close together in a narrow pass between rocks 
and old pine trees.  We were on the eastern descent of the mountain, 
and soon came to a rough and difficult defile, leading down a very 
steep declivity.  The whole swarm poured down together, filling the 
rocky passageway like some turbulent mountain stream.  The mountains 
before us were on fire, and had been so for weeks.  The view in front 
was obscured by a vast dim sea of smoke and vapor, while on either 
hand the tall cliffs, bearing aloft their crest of pines, thrust 
their heads boldly through it, and the sharp pinnacles and broken 
ridges of the mountains beyond them were faintly traceable as through 
a veil.  The scene in itself was most grand and imposing, but with 
the savage multitude, the armed warriors, the naked children, the 
gayly appareled girls, pouring impetuously down the heights, it would 
have formed a noble subject for a painter, and only the pen of a 
Scott could have done it justice in description.

We passed over a burnt tract where the ground was hot beneath the 
horses' feet, and between the blazing sides of two mountains.  Before 
long we had descended to a softer region, where we found a succession 
of little valleys watered by a stream, along the borders of which 
grew abundance of wild gooseberries and currants, and the children 
and many of the men straggled from the line of march to gather them 
as we passed along.  Descending still farther, the view changed 
rapidly.  The burning mountains were behind us, and through the open 
valleys in front we could see the ocean-like prairie, stretching 
beyond the sight.  After passing through a line of trees that skirted 
the brook, the Indians filed out upon the plains.  I was thirsty and 
knelt down by the little stream to drink.  As I mounted again I very 
carelessly left my rifle among the grass, and my thoughts being 
otherwise absorbed, I rode for some distance before discovering its 
absence.  As the reader may conceive, I lost no time in turning about 
and galloping back in search of it.  Passing the line of Indians, I 
watched every warrior as he rode by me at a canter, and at length 
discovered my rifle in the hands of one of them, who, on my 
approaching to claim it, immediately gave it up.  Having no other 
means of acknowledging the obligation, I took off one of my spurs and 
gave it to him.  He was greatly delighted, looking upon it as a 
distinguished mark of favor, and immediately held out his foot for me 
to buckle it on.  As soon as I had done so, he struck it with force 
into the side of his horse, who gave a violent leap.  The Indian 
laughed and spurred harder than before.  At this the horse shot away 
like an arrow, amid the screams and laughter of the squaws, and the 
ejaculations of the men, who exclaimed: "Washtay!--Good!" at the 
potent effect of my gift.  The Indian had no saddle, and nothing in 
place of a bridle except a leather string tied round the horse's jaw.  
The animal was of course wholly uncontrollable, and stretched away at 
full speed over the prairie, till he and his rider vanished behind a 
distant swell.  I never saw the man again, but I presume no harm came 
to him.  An Indian on horseback has more lives than a cat.

The village encamped on a scorching prairie, close to the foot of the 
mountains.  The beat was most intense and penetrating.  The coverings 
of the lodges were raised a foot or more from the ground, in order to 
procure some circulation of air; and Reynal thought proper to lay 
aside his trapper's dress of buckskin and assume the very scanty 
costume of an Indian.  Thus elegantly attired, he stretched himself 
in his lodge on a buffalo robe, alternately cursing the heat and 
puffing at the pipe which he and I passed between us.  There was 
present also a select circle of Indian friends and relatives.  A 
small boiled puppy was served up as a parting feast, to which was 
added, by way of dessert, a wooden bowl of gooseberries, from the 
mountains.

"Look there," said Reynal, pointing out of the opening of his lodge; 
"do you see that line of buttes about fifteen miles off?  Well, now, 
do you see that farthest one, with the white speck on the face of it?  
Do you think you ever saw it before?"

"It looks to me," said I, "like the hill that we were camped under 
when we were on Laramie Creek, six or eight weeks ago."

"You've hit it," answered Reynal.

"Go and bring in the animals, Raymond," said I: "we'll camp there to-
night, and start for the Fort in the morning."

The mare and the mule were soon before the lodge.  We saddled them, 
and in the meantime a number of Indians collected about us.  The 
virtues of Pauline, my strong, fleet, and hardy little mare, were 
well known in camp, and several of the visitors were mounted upon 
good horses which they had brought me as presents.  I promptly 
declined their offers, since accepting them would have involved the 
necessity of transferring poor Pauline into their barbarous hands.  
We took leave of Reynal, but not of the Indians, who are accustomed 
to dispense with such superfluous ceremonies.  Leaving the camp we 
rode straight over the prairie toward the white-faced bluff, whose 
pale ridges swelled gently against the horizon, like a cloud.  An 
Indian went with us, whose name I forget, though the ugliness of his 
face and the ghastly width of his mouth dwell vividly in my 
recollection.  The antelope were numerous, but we did not heed them.  
We rode directly toward our destination, over the arid plains and 
barren hills, until, late in the afternoon, half spent with heat, 
thirst, and fatigue, we saw a gladdening sight; the long line of 
trees and the deep gulf that mark the course of Laramie Creek.  
Passing through the growth of huge dilapidated old cottonwood trees 
that bordered the creek, we rode across to the other side.

The rapid and foaming waters were filled with fish playing and 
splashing in the shallows.  As we gained the farther bank, our horses 
turned eagerly to drink, and we, kneeling on the sand, followed their 
example.  We had not gone far before the scene began to grow 
familiar.

"We are getting near home, Raymond," said I.

There stood the Big Tree under which we had encamped so long; there 
were the white cliffs that used to look down upon our tent when it 
stood at the bend of the creek; there was the meadow in which our 
horses had grazed for weeks, and a little farther on, the prairie-dog 
village where I had beguiled many a languid hour in persecuting the 
unfortunate inhabitants.

"We are going to catch it now," said Raymond, turning his broad, 
vacant face up toward the sky.

In truth, the landscape, the cliffs and the meadow, the stream and 
the groves were darkening fast.  Black masses of cloud were swelling 
up in the south, and the thunder was growling ominously.

"We will camp here," I said, pointing to a dense grove of trees lower 
down the stream.  Raymond and I turned toward it, but the Indian 
stopped and called earnestly after us.  When we demanded what was the 
matter, he said that the ghosts of two warriors were always among 
those trees, and that if we slept there, they would scream and throw 
stones at us all night, and perhaps steal our horses before morning.  
Thinking it as well to humor him, we left behind us the haunt of 
these extraordinary ghosts, and passed on toward Chugwater, riding at 
full gallop, for the big drops began to patter down.  Soon we came in 
sight of the poplar saplings that grew about the mouth of the little 
stream.  We leaped to the ground, threw off our saddles, turned our 
horses loose, and drawing our knives, began to slash among the bushes 
to cut twigs and branches for making a shelter against the rain.  
Bending down the taller saplings as they grew, we piled the young 
shoots upon them; and thus made a convenient penthouse, but all our 
labor was useless.  The storm scarcely touched us.  Half a mile on 
our right the rain was pouring down like a cataract, and the thunder 
roared over the prairie like a battery of cannon; while we by good 
fortune received only a few heavy drops from the skirt of the passing 
cloud.  The weather cleared and the sun set gloriously.  Sitting 
close under our leafy canopy, we proceeded to discuss a substantial 
meal of wasna which Weah-Washtay had given me.  The Indian had 
brought with him his pipe and a bag of shongsasha; so before lying 
down to sleep, we sat for some time smoking together.  Previously, 
however, our wide-mouthed friend had taken the precaution of 
carefully examining the neighborhood.  He reported that eight men, 
counting them on his fingers, had been encamped there not long 
before.  Bisonette, Paul Dorion, Antoine Le Rouge, Richardson, and 
four others, whose names he could not tell.  All this proved strictly 
correct.  By what instinct he had arrived at such accurate 
conclusions, I am utterly at a loss to divine.

It was still quite dark when I awoke and called Raymond.  The Indian 
was already gone, having chosen to go on before us to the Fort.  
Setting out after him, we rode for some time in complete darkness, 
and when the sun at length rose, glowing like a fiery ball of copper, 
we were ten miles distant from the Fort.  At length, from the broken 
summit of a tall sandy bluff we could see Fort Laramie, miles before 
us, standing by the side of the stream like a little gray speck in 
the midst of the bounding desolation.  I stopped my horse, and sat 
for a moment looking down upon it.  It seemed to me the very center 
of comfort and civilization.  We were not long in approaching it, for 
we rode at speed the greater part of the way.  Laramie Creek still 
intervened between us and the friendly walls.  Entering the water at 
the point where we had struck upon the bank, we raised our feet to 
the saddle behind us, and thus, kneeling as it were on horseback, 
passed dry-shod through the swift current.  As we rode up the bank, a 
number of men appeared in the gateway.  Three of them came forward to 
meet us.  In a moment I distinguished Shaw; Henry Chatillon followed 
with his face of manly simplicity and frankness, and Delorier came 
last, with a broad grin of welcome.  The meeting was not on either 
side one of mere ceremony.  For my own part, the change was a most 
agreeable one from the society of savages and men little better than 
savages, to that of my gallant and high-minded companion and our 
noble-hearted guide.  My appearance was equally gratifying to Shaw, 
who was beginning to entertain some very uncomfortable surmises 
concerning me.

Bordeaux greeted me very cordially, and shouted to the cook.  This 
functionary was a new acquisition, having lately come from Fort 
Pierre with the trading wagons.  Whatever skill he might have 
boasted, he had not the most promising materials to exercise it upon.  
He set before me, however, a breakfast of biscuit, coffee, and salt 
pork.  It seemed like a new phase of existence, to be seated once 
more on a bench, with a knife and fork, a plate and teacup, and 
something resembling a table before me.  The coffee seemed delicious, 
and the bread was a most welcome novelty, since for three weeks I had 
eaten scarcely anything but meat, and that for the most part without 
salt.  The meal also had the relish of good company, for opposite to 
me sat Shaw in elegant dishabille.  If one is anxious thoroughly to 
appreciate the value of a congenial companion, he has only to spend a 
few weeks by himself in an Ogallalla village.  And if he can contrive 
to add to his seclusion a debilitating and somewhat critical illness, 
his perceptions upon this subject will be rendered considerably more 
vivid.

Shaw had been upward of two weeks at the Fort.  I found him 
established in his old quarters, a large apartment usually occupied 
by the absent bourgeois.  In one corner was a soft and luxuriant pile 
of excellent buffalo robes, and here I lay down.  Shaw brought me 
three books.

"Here," said he, "is your Shakespeare and Byron, and here is the Old 
Testament, which has as much poetry in it as the other two put 
together."

I chose the worst of the three, and for the greater part of that day 
lay on the buffalo robes, fairly reveling in the creations of that 
resplendent genius which has achieved no more signal triumph than 
that of half beguiling us to forget the pitiful and unmanly character 
of its possessor.



CHAPTER XX

THE LONELY JOURNEY


On the day of my arrival at Fort Laramie, Shaw and I were lounging on 
two buffalo robes in the large apartment hospitably assigned to us; 
Henry Chatillon also was present, busy about the harness and weapons, 
which had been brought into the room, and two or three Indians were 
crouching on the floor, eyeing us with their fixed, unwavering gaze.

"I have been well off here," said Shaw, "in all respects but one; 
there is no good shongsasha to be had for love or money."

I gave him a small leather bag containing some of excellent quality, 
which I had brought from the Black Hills.

"Now, Henry," said he, "hand me Papin's chopping-board, or give it to 
that Indian, and let him cut the mixture; they understand it better 
than any white man."

The Indian, without saying a word, mixed the bark and the tobacco in 
due proportions, filled the pipe and lighted it.  This done, my 
companion and I proceeded to deliberate on our future course of 
proceeding; first, however, Shaw acquainted me with some incidents 
which had occurred at the fort during my absence.

About a week previous four men had arrived from beyond the mountains; 
Sublette, Reddick, and two others.  Just before reaching the Fort 
they had met a large party of Indians, chiefly young men.  All of 
them belonged to the village of our old friend Smoke, who, with his 
whole band of adherents, professed the greatest friendship for the 
whites.  The travelers therefore approached, and began to converse 
without the least suspicion.  Suddenly, however, their bridles were 
violently seized and they were ordered to dismount.  Instead of 
complying, they struck their horses with full force, and broke away 
from the Indians.  As they galloped off they heard a yell behind 
them, mixed with a burst of derisive laughter, and the reports of 
several guns.  None of them were hurt though Reddick's bridle rein 
was cut by a bullet within an inch of his hand.  After this taste of 
Indian hostility they felt for the moment no disposition to encounter 
further risks.  They intended to pursue the route southward along the 
foot of the mountains to Bent's Fort; and as our plans coincided with 
theirs, they proposed to join forces.  Finding, however, that I did 
not return, they grew impatient of inaction, forgot their late 
escape, and set out without us, promising to wait our arrival at 
Bent's Fort.  From thence we were to make the long journey to the 
settlements in company, as the path was not a little dangerous, being 
infested by hostile Pawnees and Comanches.

We expected, on reaching Bent's Fort, to find there still another re-
enforcement.  A young Kentuckian of the true Kentucky blood, 
generous, impetuous, and a gentleman withal, had come out to the 
mountains with Russel's party of California emigrants.  One of his 
chief objects, as he gave out, was to kill an Indian; an exploit 
which he afterwards succeeded in achieving, much to the jeopardy of 
ourselves and others who had to pass through the country of the dead 
Pawnee's enraged relatives.  Having become disgusted with his 
emigrant associates he left them, and had some time before set out 
with a party of companions for the head of the Arkansas.  He sent us 
previously a letter, intimating that he would wait until we arrived 
at Bent's Fort, and accompany us thence to the settlements.  When, 
however, he came to the Fort, he found there a party of forty men 
about to make the homeward journey.  He wisely preferred to avail 
himself of so strong an escort.  Mr. Sublette and his companions also 
set out, in order to overtake this company; so that on reaching 
Bent's Fort, some six weeks after, we found ourselves deserted by our 
allies and thrown once more upon our own resources.

But I am anticipating.  When, before leaving the settlement we had 
made inquiries concerning this part of the country of General Kearny, 
Mr. Mackenzie, Captain Wyeth, and others well acquainted with it, 
they had all advised us by no means to attempt this southward journey 
with fewer than fifteen or twenty men.  The danger consists in the 
chance of encountering Indian war parties.  Sometimes throughout the 
whole length of the journey (a distance of 350 miles) one does not 
meet a single human being; frequently, however, the route is beset by 
Arapahoes and other unfriendly tribes; in which case the scalp of the 
adventurer is in imminent peril.  As to the escort of fifteen or 
twenty men, such a force of whites could at that time scarcely be 
collected by the whole country; and had the case been otherwise, the 
expense of securing them, together with the necessary number of 
horses, would have been extremely heavy.  We had resolved, however, 
upon pursuing this southward course.  There were, indeed, two other 
routes from Fort Laramie; but both of these were less interesting, 
and neither was free from danger.  Being unable therefore to procure 
the fifteen or twenty men recommended, we determined to set out with 
those we had already in our employ, Henry Chatillon, Delorier, and 
Raymond.  The men themselves made no objection, nor would they have 
made any had the journey been more dangerous; for Henry was without 
fear, and the other two without thought.

Shaw and I were much better fitted for this mode of traveling than we 
had been on betaking ourselves to the prairies for the first time a 
few months before.  The daily routine had ceased to be a novelty.  
All the details of the journey and the camp had become familiar to 
us.  We had seen life under a new aspect; the human biped had been 
reduced to his primitive condition.  We had lived without law to 
protect, a roof to shelter, or garment of cloth to cover us.  One of 
us at least had been without bread, and without salt to season his 
food.  Our idea of what is indispensable to human existence and 
enjoyment had been wonderfully curtailed, and a horse, a rifle, and a 
knife seemed to make up the whole of life's necessaries.  For these 
once obtained, together with the skill to use them, all else that is 
essential would follow in their train, and a host of luxuries 
besides.  One other lesson our short prairie experience had taught 
us; that of profound contentment in the present, and utter contempt 
for what the future might bring forth.

These principles established, we prepared to leave Fort Laramie.  On 
the fourth day of August, early in the afternoon, we bade a final 
adieu to its hospitable gateway.  Again Shaw and I were riding side 
by side on the prairie.  For the first fifty miles we had companions 
with us; Troche, a little trapper, and Rouville, a nondescript in the 
employ of the Fur Company, who were going to join the trader 
Bisonette at his encampment near the head of Horse Creek.  We rode 
only six or eight miles that afternoon before we came to a little 
brook traversing the barren prairie.  All along its course grew 
copses of young wild-cherry trees, loaded with ripe fruit, and almost 
concealing the gliding thread of water with their dense growth, while 
on each side rose swells of rich green grass.  Here we encamped; and 
being much too indolent to pitch our tent, we flung our saddles on 
the ground, spread a pair of buffalo robes, lay down upon them, and 
began to smoke.  Meanwhile, Delorier busied himself with his hissing 
frying-pan, and Raymond stood guard over the band of grazing horses.  
Delorier had an active assistant in Rouville, who professed great 
skill in the culinary art, and seizing upon a fork, began to lend his 
zealous aid in making ready supper.  Indeed, according to his own 
belief, Rouville was a man of universal knowledge, and he lost no 
opportunity to display his manifold accomplishments.  He had been a 
circus-rider at St. Louis, and once he rode round Fort Laramie on his 
head, to the utter bewilderment of all the Indians.  He was also 
noted as the wit of the Fort; and as he had considerable humor and 
abundant vivacity, he contributed more that night to the liveliness 
of the camp than all the rest of the party put together.  At one 
instant he would be kneeling by Delorier, instructing him in the true 
method of frying antelope steaks, then he would come and seat himself 
at our side, dilating upon the orthodox fashion of braiding up a 
horse's tail, telling apocryphal stories how he had killed a buffalo 
bull with a knife, having first cut off his tail when at full speed, 
or relating whimsical anecdotes of the bourgeois Papin.  At last he 
snatched up a volume of Shakespeare that was lying on the grass, and 
halted and stumbled through a line or two to prove that he could 
read.  He went gamboling about the camp, chattering like some 
frolicsome ape; and whatever he was doing at one moment, the 
presumption was a sure one that he would not be doing it the next.  
His companion Troche sat silently on the grass, not speaking a word, 
but keeping a vigilant eye on a very ugly little Utah squaw, of whom 
he was extremely jealous.

On the next day we traveled farther, crossing the wide sterile basin 
called Goche's Hole.  Toward night we became involved among deep 
ravines; and being also unable to find water, our journey was 
protracted to a very late hour.  On the next morning we had to pass a 
long line of bluffs, whose raw sides, wrought upon by rains and 
storms, were of a ghastly whiteness most oppressive to the sight.  As 
we ascended a gap in these hills, the way was marked by huge foot-
prints, like those of a human giant.  They were the track of the 
grizzly bear; and on the previous day also we had seen abundance of 
them along the dry channels of the streams we had passed.  
Immediately after this we were crossing a barren plain, spreading in 
long and gentle undulations to the horizon.  Though the sun was 
bright, there was a light haze in the atmosphere.  The distant hills 
assumed strange, distorted forms, and the edge of the horizon was 
continually changing its aspect.  Shaw and I were riding together, 
and Henry Chatillon was alone, a few rods before us; he stopped his 
horse suddenly, and turning round with the peculiar eager and earnest 
expression which he always wore when excited, he called to us to come 
forward.  We galloped to his side.  Henry pointed toward a black 
speck on the gray swell of the prairie, apparently about a mile off.  
"It must be a bear," said he; "come, now, we shall all have some 
sport.  Better fun to fight him than to fight an old buffalo bull; 
grizzly bear so strong and smart."

So we all galloped forward together, prepared for a hard fight; for 
these bears, though clumsy in appearance and extremely large, are 
incredibly fierce and active.  The swell of the prairie concealed the 
black object from our view.  Immediately after it appeared again.  
But now it seemed quite near to us; and as we looked at it in 
astonishment, it suddenly separated into two parts, each of which 
took wing and flew away.  We stopped our horses and looked round at 
Henry, whose face exhibited a curious mixture of mirth and 
mortification.  His hawk's eye had been so completely deceived by the 
peculiar atmosphere that he had mistaken two large crows at the 
distance of fifty rods for a grizzly bear a mile off.  To the 
journey's end Henry never heard the last of the grizzly bear with 
wings.

In the afternoon we came to the foot of a considerable hill.  As we 
ascended it Rouville began to ask questions concerning our conditions 
and prospects at home, and Shaw was edifying him with a minute 
account of an imaginary wife and child, to which he listened with 
implicit faith.  Reaching the top of the hill we saw the windings of 
Horse Creek on the plains below us, and a little on the left we could 
distinguish the camp of Bisonette among the trees and copses along 
the course of the stream.  Rouville's face assumed just then a most 
ludicrously blank expression.  We inquired what was the matter, when 
it appeared that Bisonette had sent him from this place to Fort 
Laramie with the sole object of bringing back a supply of tobacco.  
Our rattle-brain friend, from the time of his reaching the Fort up to 
the present moment, had entirely forgotten the object of his journey, 
and had ridden a dangerous hundred miles for nothing.  Descending to 
Horse Creek we forded it, and on the opposite bank a solitary Indian 
sat on horseback under a tree.  He said nothing, but turned and led 
the way toward the camp.  Bisonette had made choice of an admirable 
position.  The stream, with its thick growth of trees, inclosed on 
three sides a wide green meadow, where about forty Dakota lodges were 
pitched in a circle, and beyond them half a dozen lodges of the 
friendly Cheyenne.  Bisonette himself lived in the Indian manner.  
Riding up to his lodge, we found him seated at the head of it, 
surrounded by various appliances of comfort not common on the 
prairie.  His squaw was near him, and rosy children were scrambling 
about in printed-calico gowns; Paul Dorion also, with his leathery 
face and old white capote, was seated in the lodge, together with 
Antoine Le Rouge, a half-breed Pawnee, Sibille, a trader, and several 
other white men.

"It will do you no harm," said Bisonette, "to stay here with us for a 
day or two, before you start for the Pueblo."

We accepted the invitation, and pitched our tent on a rising ground 
above the camp and close to the edge of the trees.  Bisonette soon 
invited us to a feast, and we suffered abundance of the same sort of 
attention from his Indian associates.  The reader may possibly 
recollect that when I joined the Indian village, beyond the Black 
Hills, I found that a few families were absent, having declined to 
pass the mountains along with the rest.  The Indians in Bisonette's 
camp consisted of these very families, and many of them came to me 
that evening to inquire after their relatives and friends.  They were 
not a little mortified to learn that while they, from their own 
timidity and indolence, were almost in a starving condition, the rest 
of the village had provided their lodges for the next season, laid in 
a great stock of provisions, and were living in abundance and luxury.  
Bisonette's companions had been sustaining themselves for some time 
on wild cherries, which the squaws pounded up, stones and all, and 
spread on buffalo robes, to dry in the sun; they were then eaten 
without further preparation, or used as an ingredient in various 
delectable compounds.

On the next day the camp was in commotion with a new arrival.  A 
single Indian had come with his family the whole way from the 
Arkansas.  As he passed among the lodges he put on an expression of 
unusual dignity and importance, and gave out that he had brought 
great news to tell the whites.  Soon after the squaws had erected his 
lodge, he sent his little son to invite all the white men, and all 
the most distinguished Indians, to a feast.  The guests arrived and 
sat wedged together, shoulder to shoulder, within the hot and 
suffocating lodge.  The Stabber, for that was our entertainer's name, 
had killed an old buffalo bull on his way.  This veteran's boiled 
tripe, tougher than leather, formed the main item of the repast.  For 
the rest, it consisted of wild cherries and grease boiled together in 
a large copper kettle.  The feast was distributed, and for a moment 
all was silent, strenuous exertion; then each guest, with one or two 
exceptions, however, turned his wooden dish bottom upward to prove 
that he had done full justice to his entertainer's hospitality.  The 
Stabber next produced his chopping board, on which he prepared the 
mixture for smoking, and filled several pipes, which circulated among 
the company.  This done, he seated himself upright on his couch, and 
began with much gesticulation to tell his story.  I will not repeat 
his childish jargon.  It was so entangled, like the greater part of 
an Indian's stories, with absurd and contradictory details, that it 
was almost impossible to disengage from it a single particle of 
truth.  All that we could gather was the following:

He had been on the Arkansas, and there he had seen six great war 
parties of whites.  He had never believed before that the whole world 
contained half so many white men.  They all had large horses, long 
knives, and short rifles, and some of them were attired alike in the 
most splendid war dresses he had ever seen.  From this account it was 
clear that bodies of dragoons and perhaps also of volunteer cavalry 
had been passing up the Arkansas.  The Stabber had also seen a great 
many of the white lodges of the Meneaska, drawn by their long-horned 
buffalo.  These could be nothing else than covered ox-wagons used no 
doubt in transporting stores for the troops.  Soon after seeing this, 
our host had met an Indian who had lately come from among the 
Comanches.  The latter had told him that all the Mexicans had gone 
out to a great buffalo hunt.  That the Americans had hid themselves 
in a ravine.  When the Mexicans had shot away all their arrows, the 
Americans had fired their guns, raised their war-whoop, rushed out, 
and killed them all.  We could only infer from this that war had been 
declared with Mexico, and a battle fought in which the Americans were 
victorious.  When, some weeks after, we arrived at the Pueblo, we 
heard of General Kearny's march up the Arkansas and of General 
Taylor's victories at Matamoras.

As the sun was setting that evening a great crowd gathered on the 
plain by the side of our tent, to try the speed of their horses.  
These were of every shape, size, and color.  Some came from 
California, some from the States, some from among the mountains, and 
some from the wild bands of the prairie.  They were of every hue--
white, black, red, and gray, or mottled and clouded with a strange 
variety of colors.  They all had a wild and startled look, very 
different from the staid and sober aspect of a well-bred city steed.  
Those most noted for swiftness and spirit were decorated with eagle-
feathers dangling from their manes and tails.  Fifty or sixty Dakotas 
were present, wrapped from head to foot in their heavy robes of 
whitened hide.  There were also a considerable number of the 
Cheyenne, many of whom wore gaudy Mexican ponchos swathed around 
their shoulders, but leaving the right arm bare.  Mingled among the 
crowd of Indians were a number of Canadians, chiefly in the employ of 
Bisonette; men, whose home is in the wilderness, and who love the 
camp fire better than the domestic hearth.  They are contented and 
happy in the midst of hardship, privation, and danger.  Their 
cheerfulness and gayety is irrepressible, and no people on earth 
understand better how "to daff the world aside and bid it pass."  
Besides these, were two or three half-breeds, a race of rather 
extraordinary composition, being according to the common saying half 
Indian, half white man, and half devil.  Antoine Le Rouge was the 
most conspicuous among them, with his loose pantaloons and his 
fluttering calico skirt.  A handkerchief was bound round his head to 
confine his black snaky hair, and his small eyes twinkled beneath it, 
with a mischievous luster.  He had a fine cream-colored horse whose 
speed he must needs try along with the rest.  So he threw off the 
rude high-peaked saddle, and substituting a piece of buffalo robe, 
leaped lightly into his seat.  The space was cleared, the word was 
given, and he and his Indian rival darted out like lightning from 
among the crowd, each stretching forward over his horse's neck and 
plying his heavy Indian whip with might and main.  A moment, and both 
were lost in the gloom; but Antoine soon came riding back victorious, 
exultingly patting the neck of his quivering and panting horse.

About midnight, as I lay asleep, wrapped in a buffalo robe on the 
ground by the side of our cart, Raymond came up and woke me.  
Something he said, was going forward which I would like to see.  
Looking down into camp I saw, on the farther side of it, a great 
number of Indians gathered around a fire, the bright glare of which 
made them visible through the thick darkness; while from the midst of 
them proceeded a loud, measured chant which would have killed 
Paganini outright, broken occasionally by a burst of sharp yells.  I 
gathered the robe around me, for the night was cold, and walked down 
to the spot.  The dark throng of Indians was so dense that they 
almost intercepted the light of the flame.  As I was pushing among 
them with but little ceremony, a chief interposed himself, and I was 
given to understand that a white man must not approach the scene of 
their solemnities too closely.  By passing round to the other side, 
where there was a little opening in the crowd, I could see clearly 
what was going forward, without intruding my unhallowed presence into 
the inner circle.  The society of the "Strong Hearts" were engaged in 
one of their dances.  The Strong Hearts are a warlike association, 
comprising men of both the Dakota and Cheyenne nations, and entirely 
composed, or supposed to be so, of young braves of the highest 
mettle.  Its fundamental principle is the admirable one of never 
retreating from any enterprise once commenced.  All these Indian 
associations have a tutelary spirit.  That of the Strong Hearts is 
embodied in the fox, an animal which a white man would hardly have 
selected for a similar purpose, though his subtle and cautious 
character agrees well enough with an Indian's notions of what is 
honorable in warfare.  The dancers were circling round and round the 
fire, each figure brightly illumined at one moment by the yellow 
light, and at the next drawn in blackest shadow as it passed between 
the flame and the spectator.  They would imitate with the most 
ludicrous exactness the motions and the voice of their sly patron the 
fox.  Then a startling yell would be given.  Many other warriors 
would leap into the ring, and with faces upturned toward the starless 
sky, they would all stamp, and whoop, and brandish their weapons like 
so many frantic devils.

Until the next afternoon we were still remaining with Bisonette.  My 
companion and I with our three attendants then left his camp for the 
Pueblo, a distance of three hundred miles, and we supposed the 
journey would occupy about a fortnight.  During this time we all 
earnestly hoped that we might not meet a single human being, for 
should we encounter any, they would in all probability be enemies, 
ferocious robbers and murderers, in whose eyes our rifles would be 
our only passports.  For the first two days nothing worth mentioning 
took place.  On the third morning, however, an untoward incident 
occurred.  We were encamped by the side of a little brook in an 
extensive hollow of the plain.  Delorier was up long before daylight, 
and before he began to prepare breakfast he turned loose all the 
horses, as in duty bound.  There was a cold mist clinging close to 
the ground, and by the time the rest of us were awake the animals 
were invisible.  It was only after a long and anxious search that we 
could discover by their tracks the direction they had taken.  They 
had all set off for Fort Laramie, following the guidance of a 
mutinous old mule, and though many of them were hobbled they had 
driven three miles before they could be overtaken and driven back.

For the following two or three days we were passing over an arid 
desert.  The only vegetation was a few tufts of short grass, dried 
and shriveled by the heat.  There was an abundance of strange insects 
and reptiles.  Huge crickets, black and bottle green, and wingless 
grasshoppers of the most extravagant dimensions, were tumbling about 
our horses' feet, and lizards without numbers were darting like 
lightning among the tufts of grass.  The most curious animal, 
however, was that commonly called the horned frog.  I caught one of 
them and consigned him to the care of Delorier, who tied him up in a 
moccasin.  About a month after this I examined the prisoner's 
condition, and finding him still lively and active, I provided him 
with a cage of buffalo hide, which was hung up in the cart.  In this 
manner he arrived safely at the settlements.  From thence he traveled 
the whole way to Boston packed closely in a trunk, being regaled with 
fresh air regularly every night.  When he reached his destination he 
was deposited under a glass case, where he sat for some months in 
great tranquillity and composure, alternately dilating and 
contracting his white throat to the admiration of his visitors.  At 
length, one morning, about the middle of winter, he gave up the 
ghost.  His death was attributed to starvation, a very probable 
conclusion, since for six months he had taken no food whatever, 
though the sympathy of his juvenile admirers had tempted his palate 
with a great variety of delicacies.  We found also animals of a 
somewhat larger growth.  The number of prairie dogs was absolutely 
astounding.  Frequently the hard and dry prairie would be thickly 
covered, for many miles together, with the little mounds which they 
make around the mouth of their burrows, and small squeaking voices 
yelping at us as we passed along.  The noses of the inhabitants would 
be just visible at the mouth of their holes, but no sooner was their 
curiosity satisfied than they would instantly vanish.  Some of the 
bolder dogs--though in fact they are no dogs at all, but little 
marmots rather smaller than a rabbit--would sit yelping at us on the 
top of their mounds, jerking their tails emphatically with every 
shrill cry they uttered.  As the danger grew nearer they would wheel 
about, toss their heels into the air, and dive in a twinkling down 
into their burrows.  Toward sunset, and especially if rain were 
threatening, the whole community would make their appearance above 
ground.  We would see them gathered in large knots around the burrow 
of some favorite citizen.  There they would all sit erect, their 
tails spread out on the ground, and their paws hanging down before 
their white breasts, chattering and squeaking with the utmost 
vivacity upon some topic of common interest, while the proprietor of 
the burrow, with his head just visible on the top of his mound, would 
sit looking down with a complacent countenance on the enjoyment of 
his guests.  Meanwhile, others would be running about from burrow to 
burrow, as if on some errand of the last importance to their 
subterranean commonwealth.  The snakes were apparently the prairie 
dog's worst enemies, at least I think too well of the latter to 
suppose that they associate on friendly terms with these slimy 
intruders, who may be seen at all times basking among their holes, 
into which they always retreat when disturbed.  Small owls, with wise 
and grave countenances, also make their abode with the prairie dogs, 
though on what terms they live together I could never ascertain.  The 
manners and customs, the political and domestic economy of these 
little marmots is worthy of closer attention than one is able to give 
when pushing by forced marches through their country, with his 
thoughts engrossed by objects of greater moment.

On the fifth day after leaving Bisonette's camp we saw late in the 
afternoon what we supposed to be a considerable stream, but on our 
approaching it we found to our mortification nothing but a dry bed of 
sand into which all the water had sunk and disappeared.  We 
separated, some riding in one direction and some in another along its 
course.  Still we found no traces of water, not even so much as a wet 
spot in the sand.  The old cotton-wood trees that grew along the 
bank, lamentably abused by lightning and tempest, were withering with 
the drought, and on the dead limbs, at the summit of the tallest, 
half a dozen crows were hoarsely cawing like birds of evil omen as 
they were.  We had no alternative but to keep on.  There was no water 
nearer than the South Fork of the Platte, about ten miles distant.  
We moved forward, angry and silent, over a desert as flat as the 
outspread ocean.

The sky had been obscured since the morning by thin mists and vapors, 
but now vast piles of clouds were gathered together in the west.  
They rose to a great height above the horizon, and looking up toward 
them I distinguished one mass darker than the rest and of a peculiar 
conical form.  I happened to look again and still could see it as 
before.  At some moments it was dimly seen, at others its outline was 
sharp and distinct; but while the clouds around it were shifting, 
changing, and dissolving away, it still towered aloft in the midst of 
them, fixed and immovable.  It must, thought I, be the summit of a 
mountain, and yet its heights staggered me.  My conclusion was right, 
however.  It was Long's Peak, once believed to be one of the highest 
of the Rocky Mountain chain, though more recent discoveries have 
proved the contrary.  The thickening gloom soon hid it from view and 
we never saw it again, for on the following day and for some time 
after, the air was so full of mist that the view of distant objects 
was entirely intercepted.

It grew very late.  Turning from our direct course we made for the 
river at its nearest point, though in the utter darkness it was not 
easy to direct our way with much precision.  Raymond rode on one side 
and Henry on the other.  We could hear each of them shouting that he 
had come upon a deep ravine.  We steered at random between Scylla and 
Charybdis, and soon after became, as it seemed, inextricably involved 
with deep chasms all around us, while the darkness was such that we 
could not see a rod in any direction.  We partially extricated 
ourselves by scrambling, cart and all, through a shallow ravine.  We 
came next to a steep descent down which we plunged without well 
knowing what was at the bottom.  There was a great crackling of 
sticks and dry twigs.  Over our heads were certain large shadowy 
objects, and in front something like the faint gleaming of a dark 
sheet of water.  Raymond ran his horse against a tree; Henry 
alighted, and feeling on the ground declared that there was grass 
enough for the horses.  Before taking off his saddle each man led his 
own horses down to the water in the best way he could.  Then 
picketing two or three of the evil-disposed we turned the rest loose 
and lay down among the dry sticks to sleep.  In the morning we found 
ourselves close to the South Fork of the Platte on a spot surrounded 
by bushes and rank grass.  Compensating ourselves with a hearty 
breakfast for the ill fare of the previous night, we set forward 
again on our journey.  When only two or three rods from the camp I 
saw Shaw stop his mule, level his gun, and after a long aim fire at 
some object in the grass.  Delorier next jumped forward and began to 
dance about, belaboring the unseen enemy with a whip.  Then he 
stooped down and drew out of the grass by the neck an enormous 
rattlesnake, with his head completely shattered by Shaw's bullet.  As 
Delorier held him out at arm's length with an exulting grin his tail, 
which still kept slowly writhing about, almost touched the ground, 
and the body in the largest part was as thick as a stout man's arm.  
He had fourteen rattles, but the end of his tail was blunted, as if 
he could once have boasted of many more.  From this time till we 
reached the Pueblo we killed at least four or five of these snakes 
every day as they lay coiled and rattling on the hot sand.  Shaw was 
the St. Patrick of the party, and whenever he or any one else killed 
a snake he always pulled off his tail and stored it away in his 
bullet-pouch, which was soon crammed with an edifying collection of 
rattles, great and small.  Delorier, with his whip, also came in for 
a share of the praise.  A day or two after this he triumphantly 
produced a small snake about a span and a half long, with one infant 
rattle at the end of his tail.

We forded the South Fork of the Platte.  On its farther bank were the 
traces of a very large camp of Arapahoes.  The ashes of some three 
hundred fires were visible among the scattered trees, together with 
the remains of sweating lodges, and all the other appurtenances of a 
permanent camp.  The place however had been for some months deserted.  
A few miles farther on we found more recent signs of Indians; the 
trail of two or three lodges, which had evidently passed the day 
before, where every foot-print was perfectly distinct in the dry, 
dusty soil.  We noticed in particular the track of one moccasin, upon 
the sole of which its economical proprietor had placed a large patch.  
These signs gave us but little uneasiness, as the number of the 
warriors scarcely exceeded that of our own party.  At noon we rested 
under the walls of a large fort, built in these solitudes some years 
since by M. St. Vrain.  It was now abandoned and fast falling into 
ruin.  The walls of unbaked bricks were cracked from top to bottom.  
Our horses recoiled in terror from the neglected entrance, where the 
heavy gates were torn from their hinges and flung down.  The area 
within was overgrown with weeds, and the long ranges of apartments, 
once occupied by the motley concourse of traders, Canadians, and 
squaws, were now miserably dilapidated.  Twelve miles further on, 
near the spot where we encamped, were the remains of still another 
fort, standing in melancholy desertion and neglect.

Early on the following morning we made a startling discovery.  We 
passed close by a large deserted encampment of Arapahoes.  There were 
about fifty fires still smouldering on the ground, and it was evident 
from numerous signs that the Indians must have left the place within 
two hours of our reaching it.  Their trail crossed our own at right 
angles, and led in the direction of a line of hills half a mile on 
our left.  There were women and children in the party, which would 
have greatly diminished the danger of encountering them.  Henry 
Chatillon examined the encampment and the trail with a very 
professional and businesslike air.

"Supposing we had met them, Henry?" said I.

"Why," said he, "we hold out our hands to them, and give them all 
we've got; they take away everything, and then I believe they no kill 
us.  Perhaps," added he, looking up with a quiet, unchanged face, 
"perhaps we no let them rob us.  Maybe before they come near, we have 
a chance to get into a ravine, or under the bank of the river; then, 
you know, we fight them."

About noon on that day we reached Cherry Creek.  Here was a great 
abundance of wild cherries, plums, gooseberries, and currants.  The 
stream, however, like most of the others which we passed, was dried 
up with the heat, and we had to dig holes in the sand to find water 
for ourselves and our horses.  Two days after, we left the banks of 
the creek which we had been following for some time, and began to 
cross the high dividing ridge which separates the waters of the 
Platte from those of the Arkansas.  The scenery was altogether 
changed.  In place of the burning plains we were passing now through 
rough and savage glens and among hills crowned with a dreary growth 
of pines.  We encamped among these solitudes on the night of the 16th 
of August.  A tempest was threatening.  The sun went down among 
volumes of jet-black cloud, edged with a bloody red.  But in spite of 
these portentous signs, we neglected to put up the tent, and being 
extremely fatigued, lay down on the ground and fell asleep.  The 
storm broke about midnight, and we erected the tent amid darkness and 
confusion.  In the morning all was fair again, and Pike's Peak, white 
with snow, was towering above the wilderness afar off.

We pushed through an extensive tract of pine woods.  Large black 
squirrels were leaping among the branches.  From the farther edge of 
this forest we saw the prairie again, hollowed out before us into a 
vast basin, and about a mile in front we could discern a little black 
speck moving upon its surface.  It could be nothing but a buffalo.  
Henry primed his rifle afresh and galloped forward.  To the left of 
the animal was a low rocky mound, of which Henry availed himself in 
making his approach.  After a short time we heard the faint report of 
the rifle.  The bull, mortally wounded from a distance of nearly 
three hundred yards, ran wildly round and round in a circle.  Shaw 
and I then galloped forward, and passing him as he ran, foaming with 
rage and pain, we discharged our pistols into his side.  Once or 
twice he rushed furiously upon us, but his strength was rapidly 
exhausted.  Down he fell on his knees.  For one instant he glared up 
at his enemies with burning eyes through his black tangled mane, and 
then rolled over on his side.  Though gaunt and thin, he was larger 
and heavier than the largest ox.  Foam and blood flew together from 
his nostrils as he lay bellowing and pawing the ground, tearing up 
grass and earth with his hoofs.  His sides rose and fell like a vast 
pair of bellows, the blood spouting up in jets from the bullet-holes.  
Suddenly his glaring eyes became like a lifeless jelly.  He lay 
motionless on the ground.  Henry stooped over him, and making an 
incision with his knife, pronounced the meat too rank and tough for 
use; so, disappointed in our hopes of an addition to our stock of 
provisions, we rode away and left the carcass to the wolves.

In the afternoon we saw the mountains rising like a gigantic wall at 
no great distance on our right.  "Des sauvages! des sauvages!" 
exclaimed Delorier, looking round with a frightened face, and 
pointing with his whip toward the foot of the mountains.  In fact, we 
could see at a distance a number of little black specks, like 
horsemen in rapid motion.  Henry Chatillon, with Shaw and myself, 
galloped toward them to reconnoiter, when to our amusement we saw the 
supposed Arapahoes resolved into the black tops of some pine trees 
which grew along a ravine.  The summits of these pines, just visible 
above the verge of the prairie, and seeming to move as we ourselves 
were advancing, looked exactly like a line of horsemen.

We encamped among ravines and hollows, through which a little brook 
was foaming angrily.  Before sunrise in the morning the snow-covered 
mountains were beautifully tinged with a delicate rose color.  A 
noble spectacle awaited us as we moved forward.  Six or eight miles 
on our right, Pike's Peak and his giant brethren rose out of the 
level prairie, as if springing from the bed of the ocean.  From their 
summits down to the plain below they were involved in a mantle of 
clouds, in restless motion, as if urged by strong winds.  For one 
instant some snowy peak, towering in awful solitude, would be 
disclosed to view.  As the clouds broke along the mountain, we could 
see the dreary forests, the tremendous precipices, the white patches 
of snow, the gulfs and chasms as black as night, all revealed for an 
instant, and then disappearing from the view.  One could not but 
recall the stanza of "Childe Harold":


     Morn dawns, and with it stern Albania's hills,
     Dark Suli's rocks, and Pindus' inland peak,
     Robed half in mist, bedewed with snowy rills,
     Array'd in many a dun and purple streak,
     Arise; and, as the clouds along them break,
     Disclose the dwelling of the mountaineer:
     Here roams the wolf, the eagle whets his beak,
     Birds, beasts of prey, and wilder men appear,
     And gathering storms around convulse the closing year.


Every line save one of this description was more than verified here.  
There were no "dwellings of the mountaineer" among these heights.  
Fierce savages, restlessly wandering through summer and winter, alone 
invade them.  "Their hand is against every man, and every man's hand 
against them."

On the day after, we had left the mountains at some distance.  A 
black cloud descended upon them, and a tremendous explosion of 
thunder followed, reverberating among the precipices.  In a few 
moments everything grew black and the rain poured down like a 
cataract.  We got under an old cotton-wood tree which stood by the 
side of a stream, and waited there till the rage of the torrent had 
passed.

The clouds opened at the point where they first had gathered, and the 
whole sublime congregation of mountains was bathed at once in warm 
sunshine.  They seemed more like some luxurious vision of Eastern 
romance than like a reality of that wilderness; all were melted 
together into a soft delicious blue, as voluptuous as the sky of 
Naples or the transparent sea that washes the sunny cliffs of Capri.  
On the left the whole sky was still of an inky blackness; but two 
concentric rainbows stood in brilliant relief against it, while far 
in front the ragged cloud still streamed before the wind, and the 
retreating thunder muttered angrily.

Through that afternoon and the next morning we were passing down the 
banks of the stream called La Fontaine qui Bouille, from the boiling 
spring whose waters flow into it.  When we stopped at noon, we were 
within six or eight miles of the Pueblo.  Setting out again, we found 
by the fresh tracks that a horseman had just been out to reconnoiter 
us; he had circled half round the camp, and then galloped back full 
speed for the Pueblo.  What made him so shy of us we could not 
conceive.  After an hour's ride we reached the edge of a hill, from 
which a welcome sight greeted us.  The Arkansas ran along the valley 
below, among woods and groves, and closely nestled in the midst of 
wide cornfields and green meadows where cattle were grazing rose the 
low mud walls of the Pueblo.



CHAPTER XXI

THE PUEBLO AND BENT'S FORT


We approached the gate of the Pueblo.  It was a wretched species of 
fort of most primitive construction, being nothing more than a large 
square inclosure, surrounded by a wall of mud, miserably cracked and 
dilapidated.  The slender pickets that surmounted it were half broken 
down, and the gate dangled on its wooden hinges so loosely, that to 
open or shut it seemed likely to fling it down altogether.  Two or 
three squalid Mexicans, with their broad hats, and their vile faces 
overgrown with hair, were lounging about the bank of the river in 
front of it.  They disappeared as they saw us approach; and as we 
rode up to the gate a light active little figure came out to meet us.  
It was our old friend Richard.  He had come from Fort Laramie on a 
trading expedition to Taos; but finding, when he reached the Pueblo, 
that the war would prevent his going farther, he was quietly waiting 
till the conquest of the country should allow him to proceed.  He 
seemed to consider himself bound to do the honors of the place.  
Shaking us warmly by the hands, he led the way into the area.

Here we saw his large Santa Fe wagons standing together.  A few 
squaws and Spanish women, and a few Mexicans, as mean and miserable 
as the place itself, were lazily sauntering about.  Richard conducted 
us to the state apartment of the Pueblo, a small mud room, very 
neatly finished, considering the material, and garnished with a 
crucifix, a looking-glass, a picture of the Virgin, and a rusty horse 
pistol.  There were no chairs, but instead of them a number of chests 
and boxes ranged about the room.  There was another room beyond, less 
sumptuously decorated, and here three or four Spanish girls, one of 
them very pretty, were baking cakes at a mud fireplace in the corner.  
They brought out a poncho, which they spread upon the floor by way of 
table-cloth.  A supper, which seemed to us luxurious, was soon laid 
out upon it, and folded buffalo robes were placed around it to 
receive the guests.  Two or three Americans, besides ourselves, were 
present.  We sat down Turkish fashion, and began to inquire the news.  
Richard told us that, about three weeks before, General Kearny's army 
had left Bent's Fort to march against Santa Fe; that when last heard 
from they were approaching the mountainous defiles that led to the 
city.  One of the Americans produced a dingy newspaper, containing an 
account of the battles of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma.  While we 
were discussing these matters, the doorway was darkened by a tall, 
shambling fellow, who stood with his hands in his pockets taking a 
leisurely survey of the premises before he entered.  He wore brown 
homespun pantaloons, much too short for his legs, and a pistol and 
bowie knife stuck in his belt.  His head and one eye were enveloped 
in a huge bandage of white linen.  Having completed his observations, 
he came slouching in and sat down on a chest.  Eight or ten more of 
the same stamp followed, and very coolly arranging themselves about 
the room, began to stare at the company.  Shaw and I looked at each 
other.  We were forcibly reminded of the Oregon emigrants, though 
these unwelcome visitors had a certain glitter of the eye, and a 
compression of the lips, which distinguished them from our old 
acquaintances of the prairie.  They began to catechise us at once, 
inquiring whence we had come, what we meant to do next, and what were 
our future prospects in life.

The man with the bandaged head had met with an untoward accident a 
few days before.  He was going down to the river to bring water, and 
was pushing through the young willows which covered the low ground, 
when he came unawares upon a grizzly bear, which, having just eaten a 
buffalo bull, had lain down to sleep off the meal.  The bear rose on 
his hind legs, and gave the intruder such a blow with his paw that he 
laid his forehead entirely bare, clawed off the front of his scalp, 
and narrowly missed one of his eyes.  Fortunately he was not in a 
very pugnacious mood, being surfeited with his late meal.  The man's 
companions, who were close behind, raised a shout and the bear walked 
away, crushing down the willows in his leisurely retreat.

These men belonged to a party of Mormons, who, out of a well-grounded 
fear of the other emigrants, had postponed leaving the settlements 
until all the rest were gone.  On account of this delay they did not 
reach Fort Laramie until it was too late to continue their journey to 
California.  Hearing that there was good land at the head of the 
Arkansas, they crossed over under the guidance of Richard, and were 
now preparing to spend the winter at a spot about half a mile from 
the Pueblo.

When we took leave of Richard, it was near sunset.  Passing out of 
the gate, we could look down the little valley of the Arkansas; a 
beautiful scene, and doubly so to our eyes, so long accustomed to 
deserts and mountains.  Tall woods lined the river, with green 
meadows on either hand; and high bluffs, quietly basking in the 
sunlight, flanked the narrow valley.  A Mexican on horseback was 
driving a herd of cattle toward the gate, and our little white tent, 
which the men had pitched under a large tree in the meadow, made a 
very pleasing feature in the scene.  When we reached it, we found 
that Richard had sent a Mexican to bring us an abundant supply of 
green corn and vegetables, and invite us to help ourselves to 
whatever we wished from the fields around the Pueblo.

The inhabitants were in daily apprehensions of an inroad from more 
formidable consumers than ourselves.  Every year at the time when the 
corn begins to ripen, the Arapahoes, to the number of several 
thousands, come and encamp around the Pueblo.  The handful of white 
men, who are entirely at the mercy of this swarm of barbarians, 
choose to make a merit of necessity; they come forward very 
cordially, shake them by the hand, and intimate that the harvest is 
entirely at their disposal.  The Arapahoes take them at their word, 
help themselves most liberally, and usually turn their horses into 
the cornfields afterward.  They have the foresight, however, to leave 
enough of the crops untouched to serve as an inducement for planting 
the fields again for their benefit in the next spring.

The human race in this part of the world is separated into three 
divisions, arranged in the order of their merits; white men, Indians, 
and Mexicans; to the latter of whom the honorable title of "whites" 
is by no means conceded.

In spite of the warm sunset of that evening the next morning was a 
dreary and cheerless one.  It rained steadily, clouds resting upon 
the very treetops.  We crossed the river to visit the Mormon 
settlement.  As we passed through the water, several trappers on 
horseback entered it from the other side.  Their buckskin frocks were 
soaked through by the rain, and clung fast to their limbs with a most 
clammy and uncomfortable look.  The water was trickling down their 
faces, and dropping from the ends of their rifles, and from the traps 
which each carried at the pommel of his saddle.  Horses and all, they 
had a most disconsolate and woebegone appearance, which we could not 
help laughing at, forgetting how often we ourselves had been in a 
similar plight.

After half an hour's riding we saw the white wagons of the Mormons 
drawn up among the trees.  Axes were sounding, trees were falling, 
and log-huts going up along the edge of the woods and upon the 
adjoining meadow.  As we came up the Mormons left their work and 
seated themselves on the timber around us, when they began earnestly 
to discuss points of theology, complain of the ill-usage they had 
received from the "Gentiles," and sound a lamentation over the loss 
of their great temple at Nauvoo.  After remaining with them an hour 
we rode back to our camp, happy that the settlements had been 
delivered from the presence of such blind and desperate fanatics.

On the morning after this we left the Pueblo for Bent's Fort.  The 
conduct of Raymond had lately been less satisfactory than before, and 
we had discharged him as soon as we arrived at the former place; so 
that the party, ourselves included, was now reduced to four.  There 
was some uncertainty as to our future course.  The trail between 
Bent's Fort and the settlements, a distance computed at six hundred 
miles, was at this time in a dangerous state; for since the passage 
of General Kearny's army, great numbers of hostile Indians, chiefly 
Pawnees and Comanches, had gathered about some parts of it.  A little 
after this time they became so numerous and audacious, that scarcely 
a single party, however large, passed between the fort and the 
frontier without some token of their hostility.  The newspapers of 
the time sufficiently display this state of things.  Many men were 
killed, and great numbers of horses and mules carried off.  Not long 
since I met with the gentleman, who, during the autumn, came from 
Santa Fe to Bent's Fort, when he found a party of seventy men, who 
thought themselves too weak to go down to the settlements alone, and 
were waiting there for a re-enforcement.  Though this excessive 
timidity fully proves the ignorance and credulity of the men, it may 
also evince the state of alarm which prevailed in the country.  When 
we were there in the month of August, the danger had not become so 
great.  There was nothing very attractive in the neighborhood.  We 
supposed, moreover, that we might wait there half the winter without 
finding any party to go down with us; for Mr. Sublette and the others 
whom we had relied upon had, as Richard told us, already left Bent's 
Fort.  Thus far on our journey Fortune had kindly befriended us.  We 
resolved therefore to take advantage of her gracious mood and 
trusting for a continuance of her favors, to set out with Henry and 
Delorier, and run the gauntlet of the Indians in the best way we 
could.

Bent's Fort stands on the river, about seventy-five miles below the 
Pueblo.  At noon of the third day we arrived within three or four 
miles of it, pitched our tent under a tree, hung our looking-glasses 
against its trunk and having made our primitive toilet, rode toward 
the fort.  We soon came in sight of it, for it is visible from a 
considerable distance, standing with its high clay walls in the midst 
of the scorching plains.  It seemed as if a swarm of locusts had 
invaded the country.  The grass for miles around was cropped close by 
the horses of General Kearny's soldiery.  When we came to the fort, 
we found that not only had the horses eaten up the grass, but their 
owners had made away with the stores of the little trading post; so 
that we had great difficulty in procuring the few articles which we 
required for our homeward journey.  The army was gone, the life and 
bustle passed away, and the fort was a scene of dull and lazy 
tranquillity.  A few invalid officers and soldiers sauntered about 
the area, which was oppressively hot; for the glaring sun was 
reflected down upon it from the high white walls around.  The 
proprietors were absent, and we were received by Mr. Holt, who had 
been left in charge of the fort.  He invited us to dinner, where, to 
our admiration, we found a table laid with a white cloth, with 
castors in the center and chairs placed around it.  This unwonted 
repast concluded, we rode back to our camp.

Here, as we lay smoking round the fire after supper, we saw through 
the dusk three men approaching from the direction of the fort.  They 
rode up and seated themselves near us on the ground.  The foremost 
was a tall, well-formed man, with a face and manner such as inspire 
confidence at once.  He wore a broad hat of felt, slouching and 
tattered, and the rest of his attire consisted of a frock and 
leggings of buckskin, rubbed with the yellow clay found among the 
mountains.  At the heel of one of his moccasins was buckled a huge 
iron spur, with a rowel five or six inches in diameter.  His horse, 
who stood quietly looking over his head, had a rude Mexican saddle, 
covered with a shaggy bearskin, and furnished with a pair of wooden 
stirrups of most preposterous size.  The next man was a sprightly, 
active little fellow, about five feet and a quarter high, but very 
strong and compact.  His face was swarthy as a Mexican's and covered 
with a close, curly black beard.  An old greasy calico handkerchief 
was tied round his head, and his close buckskin dress was blackened 
and polished by grease and hard service.  The last who came up was a 
large strong man, dressed in the coarse homespun of the frontiers, 
who dragged his long limbs over the ground as if he were too lazy for 
the effort.  He had a sleepy gray eye, a retreating chin, an open 
mouth and a protruding upper lip, which gave him an air of exquisite 
indolence and helplessness.  He was armed with an old United States 
yager, which redoubtable weapon, though he could never hit his mark 
with it, he was accustomed to cherish as the very sovereign of 
firearms.

The first two men belonged to a party who had just come from 
California with a large band of horses, which they had disposed of at 
Bent's Fort.  Munroe, the taller of the two, was from Iowa.  He was 
an excellent fellow, open, warm-hearted and intelligent.  Jim Gurney, 
the short man, was a Boston sailor, who had come in a trading vessel 
to California, and taken the fancy to return across the continent.  
The journey had already made him an expert "mountain man," and he 
presented the extraordinary phenomenon of a sailor who understood how 
to manage a horse.  The third of our visitors named Ellis, was a 
Missourian, who had come out with a party of Oregon emigrants, but 
having got as far as Bridge's Fort, he had fallen home-sick, or as 
Jim averred, love-sick--and Ellis was just the man to be balked in a 
love adventure.  He thought proper to join the California men and 
return homeward in their company.

They now requested that they might unite with our party, and make the 
journey to the settlements in company with us.  We readily assented, 
for we liked the appearance of the first two men, and were very glad 
to gain so efficient a re-enforcement.  We told them to meet us on 
the next evening at a spot on the river side, about six miles below 
the fort.  Having smoked a pipe together, our new allies left us, and 
we lay down to sleep.



CHAPTER XXII

TETE ROUGE, THE VOLUNTEER


The next morning, having directed Delorier to repair with his cart to 
the place of meeting, we came again to the fort to make some 
arrangements for the journey.  After completing these we sat down 
under a sort of perch, to smoke with some Cheyenne Indians whom we 
found there.  In a few minutes we saw an extraordinary little figure 
approach us in a military dress.  He had a small, round countenance, 
garnished about the eyes with the kind of wrinkles commonly known as 
crow's feet and surrounded by an abundant crop of red curls, with a 
little cap resting on the top of them.  Altogether, he had the look 
of a man more conversant with mint juleps and oyster suppers than 
with the hardships of prairie service.  He came up to us and 
entreated that we would take him home to the settlements, saying that 
unless he went with us he should have to stay all winter at the fort.  
We liked our petitioner's appearance so little that we excused 
ourselves from complying with his request.  At this he begged us so 
hard to take pity on him, looked so disconsolate, and told so 
lamentable a story that at last we consented, though not without many 
misgivings.

The rugged Anglo-Saxon of our new recruit's real name proved utterly 
unmanageable on the lips of our French attendants, and Henry 
Chatillon, after various abortive attempts to pronounce it, one day 
coolly christened him Tete Rouge, in honor of his red curls.  He had 
at different times been clerk of a Mississippi steamboat, and agent 
in a trading establishment at Nauvoo, besides filling various other 
capacities, in all of which he had seen much more of "life" than was 
good for him.  In the spring, thinking that a summer's campaign would 
be an agreeable recreation, he had joined a company of St. Louis 
volunteers.

"There were three of us," said Tete Rouge, "me and Bill Stevens and 
John Hopkins.  We thought we would just go out with the army, and 
when we had conquered the country, we would get discharged and take 
our pay, you know, and go down to Mexico.  They say there is plenty 
of fun going on there.  Then we could go back to New Orleans by way 
of Vera Cruz."

But Tete Rouge, like many a stouter volunteer, had reckoned without 
his host.  Fighting Mexicans was a less amusing occupation than he 
had supposed, and his pleasure trip was disagreeably interrupted by 
brain fever, which attacked him when about halfway to Bent's Fort.  
He jolted along through the rest of the journey in a baggage wagon.  
When they came to the fort he was taken out and left there, together 
with the rest of the sick.  Bent's Fort does not supply the best 
accommodations for an invalid.  Tete Rouge's sick chamber was a 
little mud room, where he and a companion attacked by the same 
disease were laid together, with nothing but a buffalo robe between 
them and the ground.  The assistant surgeon's deputy visited them 
once a day and brought them each a huge dose of calomel, the only 
medicine, according to his surviving victim, which he was acquainted 
with.

Tete Rouge woke one morning, and turning to his companion, saw his 
eyes fixed upon the beams above with the glassy stare of a dead man.  
At this the unfortunate volunteer lost his senses outright.  In spite 
of the doctor, however, he eventually recovered; though between the 
brain fever and the calomel, his mind, originally none of the 
strongest, was so much shaken that it had not quite recovered its 
balance when we came to the fort.  In spite of the poor fellow's 
tragic story, there was something so ludicrous in his appearance, and 
the whimsical contrast between his military dress and his most 
unmilitary demeanor, that we could not help smiling at them.  We 
asked him if he had a gun.  He said they had taken it from him during 
his illness, and he had not seen it since; "but perhaps," he 
observed, looking at me with a beseeching air, "you will lend me one 
of your big pistols if we should meet with any Indians."  I next 
inquired if he had a horse; he declared he had a magnificent one, and 
at Shaw's request a Mexican led him in for inspection.  He exhibited 
the outline of a good horse, but his eyes were sunk in the sockets, 
and every one of his ribs could be counted.  There were certain marks 
too about his shoulders, which could be accounted for by the 
circumstance, that during Tete Rouge's illness, his companions had 
seized upon the insulted charger, and harnessed him to a cannon along 
with the draft horses.  To Tete Rouge's astonishment we recommended 
him by all means to exchange the horse, if he could, for a mule.  
Fortunately the people at the fort were so anxious to get rid of him 
that they were willing to make some sacrifice to effect the object, 
and he succeeded in getting a tolerable mule in exchange for the 
broken-down steed.

A man soon appeared at the gate, leading in the mule by a cord which 
he placed in the hands of Tete Rouge, who, being somewhat afraid of 
his new acquisition, tried various flatteries and blandishments to 
induce her to come forward.  The mule, knowing that she was expected 
to advance, stopped short in consequence, and stood fast as a rock, 
looking straight forward with immovable composure.  Being stimulated 
by a blow from behind she consented to move, and walked nearly to the 
other side of the fort before she stopped again.  Hearing the by-
standers laugh, Tete Rouge plucked up spirit and tugged hard at the 
rope.  The mule jerked backward, spun herself round, and made a dash 
for the gate.  Tete Rouge, who clung manfully to the rope, went 
whisking through the air for a few rods, when he let go and stood 
with his mouth open, staring after the mule, who galloped away over 
the prairie.  She was soon caught and brought back by a Mexican, who 
mounted a horse and went in pursuit of her with his lasso.

Having thus displayed his capacity for prairie travel, Tete Rouge 
proceeded to supply himself with provisions for the journey, and with 
this view he applied to a quartermaster's assistant who was in the 
fort.  This official had a face as sour as vinegar, being in a state 
of chronic indignation because he had been left behind the army.  He 
was as anxious as the rest to get rid of Tete Rouge.  So, producing a 
rusty key, he opened a low door which led to a half-subterranean 
apartment, into which the two disappeared together.  After some time 
they came out again, Tete Rouge greatly embarrassed by a multiplicity 
of paper parcels containing the different articles of his forty days' 
rations.  They were consigned to the care of Delorier, who about that 
time passed by with the cart on his way to the appointed place of 
meeting with Munroe and his companions.

We next urged Tete Rouge to provide himself, if he could, with a gun.  
He accordingly made earnest appeals to the charity of various persons 
in the fort, but totally without success, a circumstance which did 
not greatly disturb us, since in the event of a skirmish he would be 
much more apt to do mischief to himself or his friends than to the 
enemy.  When all these arrangements were completed we saddled our 
horses and were preparing to leave the fort, when looking round we 
discovered that our new associate was in fresh trouble.  A man was 
holding the mule for him in the middle of the fort, while he tried to 
put the saddle on her back, but she kept stepping sideways and moving 
round and round in a circle until he was almost in despair.  It 
required some assistance before all his difficulties could be 
overcome.  At length he clambered into the black war saddle on which 
he was to have carried terror into the ranks of the Mexicans.

"Get up," said Tete Rouge, "come now, go along, will you."

The mule walked deliberately forward out of the gate.  Her recent 
conduct had inspired him with so much awe that he never dared to 
touch her with his whip.  We trotted forward toward the place of 
meeting, but before he had gone far we saw that Tete Rouge's mule, 
who perfectly understood her rider, had stopped and was quietly 
grazing, in spite of his protestations, at some distance behind.  So 
getting behind him, we drove him and the contumacious mule before us, 
until we could see through the twilight the gleaming of a distant 
fire.  Munroe, Jim, and Ellis were lying around it; their saddles, 
packs, and weapons were scattered about and their horses picketed 
near them.  Delorier was there too with our little cart.  Another 
fire was soon blazing high.  We invited our new allies to take a cup 
of coffee with us.  When both the others had gone over to their side 
of the camp, Jim Gurney still stood by the blaze, puffing hard at his 
little black pipe, as short and weather-beaten as himself.

"Well!" he said, "here are eight of us; we'll call it six--for them 
two boobies, Ellis over yonder, and that new man of yours, won't 
count for anything.  We'll get through well enough, never fear for 
that, unless the Comanches happen to get foul of us."



CHAPTER XXIII

INDIAN ALARMS


We began our journey for the frontier settlements on the 27th of 
August, and certainly a more ragamuffin cavalcade never was seen on 
the banks of the Upper Arkansas.  Of the large and fine horses with 
which we had left the frontier in the spring, not one remained; we 
had supplied their place with the rough breed of the prairie, as 
hardy as mules and almost as ugly; we had also with us a number of 
the latter detestable animals.  In spite of their strength and 
hardihood, several of the band were already worn down by hard service 
and hard fare, and as none of them were shod, they were fast becoming 
foot-sore.  Every horse and mule had a cord of twisted bull-hide 
coiled around his neck, which by no means added to the beauty of his 
appearance.  Our saddles and all our equipments were by this time 
lamentably worn and battered, and our weapons had become dull and 
rusty.  The dress of the riders fully corresponded with the 
dilapidated furniture of our horses, and of the whole party none made 
a more disreputable appearance than my friend and I.  Shaw had for an 
upper garment an old red flannel shirt, flying open in front and 
belted around him like a frock; while I, in absence of other 
clothing, was attired in a time-worn suit of leather.

Thus, happy and careless as so many beggars, we crept slowly from day 
to day along the monotonous banks of the Arkansas.  Tete Rouge gave 
constant trouble, for he could never catch his mule, saddle her, or 
indeed do anything else without assistance.  Every day he had some 
new ailment, real or imaginary, to complain of.  At one moment he 
would be woebegone and disconsolate, and the next he would be visited 
with a violent flow of spirits, to which he could only give vent by 
incessant laughing, whistling, and telling stories.  When other 
resources failed, we used to amuse ourselves by tormenting him; a 
fair compensation for the trouble he cost us.  Tete Rouge rather 
enjoyed being laughed at, for he was an odd compound of weakness, 
eccentricity, and good-nature.  He made a figure worthy of a painter 
as he paced along before us, perched on the back of his mule, and 
enveloped in a huge buffalo-robe coat, which some charitable person 
had given him at the fort.  This extraordinary garment, which would 
have contained two men of his size, he chose, for some reason best 
known to himself, to wear inside out, and he never took it off, even 
in the hottest weather.  It was fluttering all over with seams and 
tatters, and the hide was so old and rotten that it broke out every 
day in a new place.  Just at the top of it a large pile of red curls 
was visible, with his little cap set jauntily upon one side, to give 
him a military air.  His seat in the saddle was no less remarkable 
than his person and equipment.  He pressed one leg close against his 
mule's side, and thrust the other out at an angle of 45 degrees.  His 
pantaloons were decorated with a military red stripe, of which he was 
extremely vain; but being much too short, the whole length of his 
boots was usually visible below them.  His blanket, loosely rolled up 
into a large bundle, dangled at the back of his saddle, where he 
carried it tied with a string.  Four or five times a day it would 
fall to the ground.  Every few minutes he would drop his pipe, his 
knife, his flint and steel, or a piece of tobacco, and have to 
scramble down to pick them up.  In doing this he would contrive to 
get in everybody's way; and as the most of the party were by no means 
remarkable for a fastidious choice of language, a storm of anathemas 
would be showered upon him, half in earnest and half in jest, until 
Tete Rouge would declare that there was no comfort in life, and that 
he never saw such fellows before.

Only a day or two after leaving Bent's Fort Henry Chatillon rode 
forward to hunt, and took Ellis along with him.  After they had been 
some time absent we saw them coming down the hill, driving three 
dragoon-horses, which had escaped from their owners on the march, or 
perhaps had given out and been abandoned.  One of them was in 
tolerable condition, but the others were much emaciated and severely 
bitten by the wolves.  Reduced as they were we carried two of them to 
the settlements, and Henry exchanged the third with the Arapahoes for 
an excellent mule.

On the day after, when we had stopped to rest at noon, a long train 
of Santa Fe wagons came up and trailed slowly past us in their 
picturesque procession.  They belonged to a trader named Magoffin, 
whose brother, with a number of other men, came over and sat down 
around us on the grass.  The news they brought was not of the most 
pleasing complexion.  According to their accounts, the trail below 
was in a very dangerous state.  They had repeatedly detected Indians 
prowling at night around their camps; and the large party which had 
left Bent's Fort a few weeks previous to our own departure had been 
attacked, and a man named Swan, from Massachusetts, had been killed.  
His companions had buried the body; but when Magoffin found his 
grave, which was near a place called the Caches, the Indians had dug 
up and scalped him, and the wolves had shockingly mangled his 
remains.  As an offset to this intelligence, they gave us the welcome 
information that the buffalo were numerous at a few days' journey 
below.

On the next afternoon, as we moved along the bank of the river, we 
saw the white tops of wagons on the horizon.  It was some hours 
before we met them, when they proved to be a train of clumsy ox-
wagons, quite different from the rakish vehicles of the Santa Fe 
traders, and loaded with government stores for the troops.  They all 
stopped, and the drivers gathered around us in a crowd.  I thought 
that the whole frontier might have been ransacked in vain to furnish 
men worse fitted to meet the dangers of the prairie.  Many of them 
were mere boys, fresh from the plow, and devoid of knowledge and 
experience.  In respect to the state of the trail, they confirmed all 
that the Santa Fe men had told us.  In passing between the Pawnee 
Fork and the Caches, their sentinels had fired every night at real or 
imaginary Indians.  They said also that Ewing, a young Kentuckian in 
the party that had gone down before us, had shot an Indian who was 
prowling at evening about the camp.  Some of them advised us to turn 
back, and others to hasten forward as fast as we could; but they all 
seemed in such a state of feverish anxiety, and so little capable of 
cool judgment, that we attached slight weight to what they said.  
They next gave us a more definite piece of intelligence; a large 
village of Arapahoes was encamped on the river below.  They 
represented them to be quite friendly; but some distinction was to be 
made between a party of thirty men, traveling with oxen, which are of 
no value in an Indian's eyes and a mere handful like ourselves, with 
a tempting band of mules and horses.  This story of the Arapahoes 
therefore caused us some anxiety.

Just after leaving the government wagons, as Shaw and I were riding 
along a narrow passage between the river bank and a rough hill that 
pressed close upon it, we heard Tete Rouge's voice behind us.  
"Hallo!" he called out; "I say, stop the cart just for a minute, will 
you?"

"What's the matter, Tete?" asked Shaw, as he came riding up to us 
with a grin of exultation.  He had a bottle of molasses in one hand, 
and a large bundle of hides on the saddle before him, containing, as 
he triumphantly informed us, sugar, biscuits, coffee, and rice.  
These supplies he had obtained by a stratagem on which he greatly 
plumed himself, and he was extremely vexed and astonished that we did 
not fall in with his views of the matter.  He had told Coates, the 
master-wagoner, that the commissary at the fort had given him an 
order for sick-rations, directed to the master of any government 
train which he might meet upon the road.  This order he had 
unfortunately lost, but he hoped that the rations would not be 
refused on that account, as he was suffering from coarse fare and 
needed them very much.  As soon as he came to camp that night Tete 
Rouge repaired to the box at the back of the cart, where Delorier 
used to keep his culinary apparatus, took possession of a saucepan, 
and after building a little fire of his own, set to work preparing a 
meal out of his ill-gotten booty.  This done, he seized on a tin 
plate and spoon, and sat down under the cart to regale himself.  His 
preliminary repast did not at all prejudice his subsequent exertions 
at supper; where, in spite of his miniature dimensions, he made a 
better figure than any of us.  Indeed, about this time his appetite 
grew quite voracious.  He began to thrive wonderfully.  His small 
body visibly expanded, and his cheeks, which when we first took him 
were rather yellow and cadaverous, now dilated in a wonderful manner, 
and became ruddy in proportion.  Tete Rouge, in short, began to 
appear like another man.

Early in the afternoon of the next day, looking along the edge of the 
horizon in front, we saw that at one point it was faintly marked with 
pale indentations, like the teeth of a saw.  The lodges of the 
Arapahoes, rising between us and the sky, caused this singular 
appearance.  It wanted still two or three hours of sunset when we 
came opposite their camp.  There were full two hundred lodges 
standing in the midst of a grassy meadow at some distance beyond the 
river, while for a mile around and on either bank of the Arkansas 
were scattered some fifteen hundred horses and mules grazing together 
in bands, or wandering singly about the prairie.  The whole were 
visible at once, for the vast expanse was unbroken by hills, and 
there was not a tree or a bush to intercept the view.

Here and there walked an Indian, engaged in watching the horses.  No 
sooner did we see them than Tete Rouge begged Delorier to stop the 
cart and hand him his little military jacket, which was stowed away 
there.  In this he instantly invested himself, having for once laid 
the old buffalo coat aside, assumed a most martial posture in the 
saddle, set his cap over his left eye with an air of defiance, and 
earnestly entreated that somebody would lend him a gun or a pistol 
only for half an hour.  Being called upon to explain these remarkable 
proceedings, Tete Rouge observed that he knew from experience what 
effect the presence of a military man in his uniform always had upon 
the mind of an Indian, and he thought the Arapahoes ought to know 
that there was a soldier in the party.

Meeting Arapahoes here on the Arkansas was a very different thing 
from meeting the same Indians among their native mountains.  There 
was another circumstance in our favor.  General Kearny had seen them 
a few weeks before, as he came up the river with his army, and 
renewing his threats of the previous year, he told them that if they 
ever again touched the hair of a white man's head he would 
exterminate their nation.  This placed them for the time in an 
admirable frame of mind, and the effect of his menaces had not yet 
disappeared.  I was anxious to see the village and its inhabitants.  
We thought it also our best policy to visit them openly, as if 
unsuspicious of any hostile design; and Shaw and I, with Henry 
Chatillon, prepared to cross the river.  The rest of the party 
meanwhile moved forward as fast as they could, in order to get as far 
as possible from our suspicious neighbors before night came on.

The Arkansas at this point, and for several hundred miles below, is 
nothing but a broad sand-bed, over which a few scanty threads of 
water are swiftly gliding, now and then expanding into wide shallows.  
At several places, during the autumn, the water sinks into the sand 
and disappears altogether.  At this season, were it not for the 
numerous quicksands, the river might be forded almost anywhere 
without difficulty, though its channel is often a quarter of a mile 
wide.  Our horses jumped down the bank, and wading through the water, 
or galloping freely over the hard sand-beds, soon reached the other 
side.  Here, as we were pushing through the tall grass, we saw 
several Indians not far off; one of them waited until we came up, and 
stood for some moments in perfect silence before us, looking at us 
askance with his little snakelike eyes.  Henry explained by signs 
what we wanted, and the Indian, gathering his buffalo robe about his 
shoulders, led the way toward the village without speaking a word.

The language of the Arapahoes is so difficult, and its pronunciations 
so harsh and guttural, that no white man, it is said, has ever been 
able to master it.  Even Maxwell the trader, who has been most among 
them, is compelled to resort to the curious sign language common to 
most of the prairie tribes.  With this Henry Chatillon was perfectly 
acquainted.

Approaching the village, we found the ground all around it strewn 
with great piles of waste buffalo meat in incredible quantities.  The 
lodges were pitched in a very wide circle.  They resembled those of 
the Dakota in everything but cleanliness and neatness.  Passing 
between two of them, we entered the great circular area of the camp, 
and instantly hundreds of Indians, men, women and children, came 
flocking out of their habitations to look at us; at the same time, 
the dogs all around the village set up a fearful baying.  Our Indian 
guide walked toward the lodge of the chief.  Here we dismounted; and 
loosening the trail-ropes from our horses' necks, held them securely, 
and sat down before the entrance, with our rifles laid across our 
laps.  The chief came out and shook us by the hand.  He was a mean-
looking fellow, very tall, thin-visaged, and sinewy, like the rest of 
the nation, and with scarcely a vestige of clothing.  We had not been 
seated half a minute before a multitude of Indians came crowding 
around us from every part of the village, and we were shut in by a 
dense wall of savage faces.  Some of the Indians crouched around us 
on the ground; others again sat behind them; others, stooping, looked 
over their heads; while many more stood crowded behind, stretching 
themselves upward, and peering over each other's shoulders, to get a 
view of us.  I looked in vain among this multitude of faces to 
discover one manly or generous expression; all were wolfish, 
sinister, and malignant, and their complexions, as well as their 
features, unlike those of the Dakota, were exceedingly bad.  The 
chief, who sat close to the entrance, called to a squaw within the 
lodge, who soon came out and placed a wooden bowl of meat before us.  
To our surprise, however, no pipe was offered.  Having tasted of the 
meat as a matter of form, I began to open a bundle of presents--
tobacco, knives, vermilion, and other articles which I had brought 
with me.  At this there was a grin on every countenance in the 
rapacious crowd; their eyes began to glitter, and long thin arms were 
eagerly stretched toward us on all sides to receive the gifts.

The Arapahoes set great value upon their shields, which they transmit 
carefully from father to son.  I wished to get one of them; and 
displaying a large piece of scarlet cloth, together with some tobacco 
and a knife, I offered them to any one who would bring me what I 
wanted.  After some delay a tolerable shield was produced.  They were 
very anxious to know what we meant to do with it, and Henry told them 
that we were going to fight their enemies, the Pawnees.  This 
instantly produced a visible impression in our favor, which was 
increased by the distribution of the presents.  Among these was a 
large paper of awls, a gift appropriate to the women; and as we were 
anxious to see the beauties of the Arapahoe village Henry requested 
that they might be called to receive them.  A warrior gave a shout as 
if he were calling a pack of dogs together.  The squaws, young and 
old, hags of eighty and girls of sixteen, came running with screams 
and laughter out of the lodges; and as the men gave way for them they 
gathered round us and stretched out their arms, grinning with 
delight, their native ugliness considerably enhanced by the 
excitement of the moment.

Mounting our horses, which during the whole interview we had held 
close to us, we prepared to leave the Arapahoes.  The crowd fell back 
on each side and stood looking on.  When we were half across the camp 
an idea occurred to us.  The Pawnees were probably in the 
neighborhood of the Caches; we might tell the Arapahoes of this and 
instigate them to send down a war party and cut them off, while we 
ourselves could remain behind for a while and hunt the buffalo.  At 
first thought this plan of setting our enemies to destroy one another 
seemed to us a masterpiece of policy; but we immediately recollected 
that should we meet the Arapahoe warriors on the river below they 
might prove quite as dangerous as the Pawnees themselves.  So 
rejecting our plan as soon as it presented itself, we passed out of 
the village on the farther side.  We urged our horses rapidly through 
the tall grass which rose to their necks.  Several Indians were 
walking through it at a distance, their heads just visible above its 
waving surface.  It bore a kind of seed as sweet and nutritious as 
oats; and our hungry horses, in spite of whip and rein, could not 
resist the temptation of snatching at this unwonted luxury as we 
passed along.  When about a mile from the village I turned and looked 
back over the undulating ocean of grass.  The sun was just set; the 
western sky was all in a glow, and sharply defined against it, on the 
extreme verge of the plain, stood the numerous lodges of the Arapahoe 
camp.

Reaching the bank of the river, we followed it for some distance 
farther, until we discerned through the twilight the white covering 
of our little cart on the opposite bank.  When we reached it we found 
a considerable number of Indians there before us.  Four or five of 
them were seated in a row upon the ground, looking like so many half-
starved vultures.  Tete Rouge, in his uniform, was holding a close 
colloquy with another by the side of the cart.  His gesticulations, 
his attempts at sign-making, and the contortions of his countenance, 
were most ludicrous; and finding all these of no avail, he tried to 
make the Indian understand him by repeating English words very loudly 
and distinctly again and again.  The Indian sat with his eye fixed 
steadily upon him, and in spite of the rigid immobility of his 
features, it was clear at a glance that he perfectly understood his 
military companion's character and thoroughly despised him.  The 
exhibition was more amusing than politic, and Tete Rouge was directed 
to finish what he had to say as soon as possible.  Thus rebuked, he 
crept under the cart and sat down there; Henry Chatillon stopped to 
look at him in his retirement, and remarked in his quiet manner that 
an Indian would kill ten such men and laugh all the time.

One by one our visitors rose and stalked away.  As the darkness 
thickened we were saluted by dismal sounds.  The wolves are 
incredibly numerous in this part of the country, and the offal around 
the Arapahoe camp had drawn such multitudes of them together that 
several hundred were howling in concert in our immediate 
neighborhood.  There was an island in the river, or rather an oasis 
in the midst of the sands at about the distance of a gunshot, and 
here they seemed gathered in the greatest numbers.  A horrible 
discord of low mournful wailings, mingled with ferocious howls, arose 
from it incessantly for several hours after sunset.  We could 
distinctly see the wolves running about the prairie within a few rods 
of our fire, or bounding over the sand-beds of the river and 
splashing through the water.  There was not the slightest danger to 
be feared from them, for they are the greatest cowards on the 
prairie.

In respect to the human wolves in our neighborhood, we felt much less 
at our ease.  We seldom erected our tent except in bad weather, and 
that night each man spread his buffalo robe upon the ground with his 
loaded rifle laid at his side or clasped in his arms.  Our horses 
were picketed so close around us that one of them repeatedly stepped 
over me as I lay.  We were not in the habit of placing a guard, but 
every man that night was anxious and watchful; there was little sound 
sleeping in camp, and some one of the party was on his feet during 
the greater part of the time.  For myself, I lay alternately waking 
and dozing until midnight.  Tete Rouge was reposing close to the 
river bank, and about this time, when half asleep and half awake, I 
was conscious that he shifted his position and crept on all-fours 
under the cart.  Soon after I fell into a sound sleep from which I 
was aroused by a hand shaking me by the shoulder.  Looking up, I saw 
Tete Rouge stooping over me with his face quite pale and his eyes 
dilated to their utmost expansion.

"What's the matter?" said I.

Tete Rouge declared that as he lay on the river bank, something 
caught his eye which excited his suspicions.  So creeping under the 
cart for safety's sake he sat there and watched, when he saw two 
Indians, wrapped in white robes, creep up the bank, seize upon two 
horses and lead them off.  He looked so frightened, and told his 
story in such a disconnected manner, that I did not believe him, and 
was unwilling to alarm the party.  Still it might be true, and in 
that case the matter required instant attention.  There would be no 
time for examination, and so directing Tete Rouge to show me which 
way the Indians had gone, I took my rifle, in obedience to a 
thoughtless impulse, and left the camp.  I followed the river back 
for two or three hundred yards, listening and looking anxiously on 
every side.  In the dark prairie on the right I could discern nothing 
to excite alarm; and in the dusky bed of the river, a wolf was 
bounding along in a manner which no Indian could imitate.  I returned 
to the camp, and when within sight of it, saw that the whole party 
was aroused.  Shaw called out to me that he had counted the horses, 
and that every one of them was in his place.  Tete Rouge, being 
examined as to what he had seen, only repeated his former story with 
many asseverations, and insisted that two horses were certainly 
carried off.  At this Jim Gurney declared that he was crazy; Tete 
Rouge indignantly denied the charge, on which Jim appealed to us.  As 
we declined to give our judgment on so delicate a matter, the dispute 
grew hot between Tete Rouge and his accuser, until he was directed to 
go to bed and not alarm the camp again if he saw the whole Arapahoe 
village coming.



CHAPTER XXIV

THE CHASE


The country before us was now thronged with buffalo, and a sketch of 
the manner of hunting them will not be out of place.  There are two 
methods commonly practiced, "running" and "approaching."  The chase 
on horseback, which goes by the name of "running," is the more 
violent and dashing mode of the two.  Indeed, of all American wild 
sports, this is the wildest.  Once among the buffalo, the hunter, 
unless long use has made him familiar with the situation, dashes 
forward in utter recklessness and self-abandonment.  He thinks of 
nothing, cares for nothing but the game; his mind is stimulated to 
the highest pitch, yet intensely concentrated on one object.  In the 
midst of the flying herd, where the uproar and the dust are thickest, 
it never wavers for a moment; he drops the rein and abandons his 
horse to his furious career; he levels his gun, the report sounds 
faint amid the thunder of the buffalo; and when his wounded enemy 
leaps in vain fury upon him, his heart thrills with a feeling like 
the fierce delight of the battlefield.  A practiced and skillful 
hunter, well mounted, will sometimes kill five or six cows in a 
single chase, loading his gun again and again as his horse rushes 
through the tumult.  An exploit like this is quite beyond the 
capacities of a novice.  In attacking a small band of buffalo, or in 
separating a single animal from the herd and assailing it apart from 
the rest, there is less excitement and less danger.  With a bold and 
well trained horse the hunter may ride so close to the buffalo that 
as they gallop side by side he may reach over and touch him with his 
hand; nor is there much danger in this as long as the buffalo's 
strength and breath continue unabated; but when he becomes tired and 
can no longer run at ease, when his tongue lolls out and foam flies 
from his jaws, then the hunter had better keep at a more respectful 
distance; the distressed brute may turn upon him at any instant; and 
especially at the moment when he fires his gun.  The wounded buffalo 
springs at his enemy; the horse leaps violently aside; and then the 
hunter has need of a tenacious seat in the saddle, for if he is 
thrown to the ground there is no hope for him.  When he sees his 
attack defeated the buffalo resumes his flight, but if the shot be 
well directed he soon stops; for a few moments he stands still, then 
totters and falls heavily upon the prairie.

The chief difficulty in running buffalo, as it seems to me, is that 
of loading the gun or pistol at full gallop.  Many hunters for 
convenience' sake carry three or four bullets in the mouth; the 
powder is poured down the muzzle of the piece, the bullet dropped in 
after it, the stock struck hard upon the pommel of the saddle, and 
the work is done.  The danger of this method is obvious.  Should the 
blow on the pommel fail to send the bullet home, or should the 
latter, in the act of aiming, start from its place and roll toward 
the muzzle, the gun would probably burst in discharging.  Many a 
shattered hand and worse casualties besides have been the result of 
such an accident.  To obviate it, some hunters make use of a ramrod, 
usually hung by a string from the neck, but this materially increases 
the difficulty of loading.  The bows and arrows which the Indians use 
in running buffalo have many advantages over fire arms, and even 
white men occasionally employ them.

The danger of the chase arises not so much from the onset of the 
wounded animal as from the nature of the ground which the hunter must 
ride over.  The prairie does not always present a smooth, level, and 
uniform surface; very often it is broken with hills and hollows, 
intersected by ravines, and in the remoter parts studded by the stiff 
wild-sage bushes.  The most formidable obstructions, however, are the 
burrows of wild animals, wolves, badgers, and particularly prairie 
dogs, with whose holes the ground for a very great extent is 
frequently honeycombed.  In the blindness of the chase the hunter 
rushes over it unconscious of danger; his horse, at full career, 
thrusts his leg deep into one of the burrows; the bone snaps, the 
rider is hurled forward to the ground and probably killed.  Yet 
accidents in buffalo running happen less frequently than one would 
suppose; in the recklessness of the chase, the hunter enjoys all the 
impunity of a drunken man, and may ride in safety over the gullies 
and declivities where, should he attempt to pass in his sober senses, 
he would infallibly break his neck.

The method of "approaching," being practiced on foot, has many 
advantages over that of "running"; in the former, one neither breaks 
down his horse nor endangers his own life; instead of yielding to 
excitement he must be cool, collected, and watchful; he must 
understand the buffalo, observe the features of the country and the 
course of the wind, and be well skilled, moreover, in using the 
rifle.  The buffalo are strange animals; sometimes they are so stupid 
and infatuated that a man may walk up to them in full sight on the 
open prairie, and even shoot several of their number before the rest 
will think it necessary to retreat.  Again at another moment they 
will be so shy and wary, that in order to approach them the utmost 
skill, experience, and judgment are necessary.  Kit Carson, I 
believe, stands pre-eminent in running buffalo; in approaching, no 
man living can bear away the palm from Henry Chatillon.

To resume the story: After Tete Rouge had alarmed the camp, no 
further disturbance occurred during the night.  The Arapahoes did not 
attempt mischief, or if they did the wakefulness of the party 
deterred them from effecting their purpose.  The next day was one of 
activity and excitement, for about ten o'clock the men in advance 
shouted the gladdening cry of "Buffalo, buffalo!" and in the hollow 
of the prairie just below us, a band of bulls were grazing.  The 
temptation was irresistible, and Shaw and I rode down upon them.  We 
were badly mounted on our traveling horses, but by hard lashing we 
overtook them, and Shaw, running alongside of a bull, shot into him 
both balls of his double-barreled gun.  Looking round as I galloped 
past, I saw the bull in his mortal fury rushing again and again upon 
his antagonist, whose horse constantly leaped aside, and avoided the 
onset.  My chase was more protracted, but at length I ran close to 
the bull and killed him with my pistols.  Cutting off the tails of 
our victims by way of trophy, we rejoined the party in about a 
quarter of an hour after we left it.  Again and again that morning 
rang out the same welcome cry of "Buffalo, buffalo!"  Every few 
moments in the broad meadows along the river, we would see bands of 
bulls, who, raising their shaggy heads, would gaze in stupid 
amazement at the approaching horsemen, and then breaking into a 
clumsy gallop, would file off in a long line across the trail in 
front, toward the rising prairie on the left.  At noon, the whole 
plain before us was alive with thousands of buffalo--bulls, cows, and 
calves--all moving rapidly as we drew near; and far-off beyond the 
river the swelling prairie was darkened with them to the very 
horizon.  The party was in gayer spirits than ever.  We stopped for a 
nooning near a grove of trees by the river side.

"Tongues and hump ribs to-morrow," said Shaw, looking with contempt 
at the venison steaks which Delorier placed before us.  Our meal 
finished, we lay down under a temporary awning to sleep.  A shout 
from Henry Chatillon aroused us, and we saw him standing on the 
cartwheel stretching his tall figure to its full height while he 
looked toward the prairie beyond the river.  Following the direction 
of his eyes we could clearly distinguish a large dark object, like 
the black shadow of a cloud, passing rapidly over swell after swell 
of the distant plain; behind it followed another of similar 
appearance though smaller.  Its motion was more rapid, and it drew 
closer and closer to the first.  It was the hunters of the Arapahoe 
camp pursuing a band of buffalo.  Shaw and I hastily sought and 
saddled our best horses, and went plunging through sand and water to 
the farther bank.  We were too late.  The hunters had already mingled 
with the herd, and the work of slaughter was nearly over.  When we 
reached the ground we found it strewn far and near with numberless 
black carcasses, while the remnants of the herd, scattered in all 
directions, were flying away in terror, and the Indians still rushing 
in pursuit.  Many of the hunters, however, remained upon the spot, 
and among the rest was our yesterday's acquaintance, the chief of the 
village.  He had alighted by the side of a cow, into which he had 
shot five or six arrows, and his squaw, who had followed him on 
horseback to the hunt, was giving him a draught of water out of a 
canteen, purchased or plundered from some volunteer soldier.  
Recrossing the river we overtook the party, who were already on their 
way.

We had scarcely gone a mile when an imposing spectacle presented 
itself.  From the river bank on the right, away over the swelling 
prairie on the left, and in front as far as we could see, extended 
one vast host of buffalo.  The outskirts of the herd were within a 
quarter of a mile.  In many parts they were crowded so densely 
together that in the distance their rounded backs presented a surface 
of uniform blackness; but elsewhere they were more scattered, and 
from amid the multitude rose little columns of dust where the buffalo 
were rolling on the ground.  Here and there a great confusion was 
perceptible, where a battle was going forward among the bulls.  We 
could distinctly see them rushing against each other, and hear the 
clattering of their horns and their hoarse bellowing.  Shaw was 
riding at some distance in advance, with Henry Chatillon; I saw him 
stop and draw the leather covering from his gun.  Indeed, with such a 
sight before us, but one thing could be thought of.  That morning I 
had used pistols in the chase.  I had now a mind to try the virtue of 
a gun.  Delorier had one, and I rode up to the side of the cart; 
there he sat under the white covering, biting his pipe between his 
teeth and grinning with excitement.

"Lend me your gun, Delorier," said I.

"Oui, monsieur, oui," said Delorier, tugging with might and main to 
stop the mule, which seemed obstinately bent on going forward.  Then 
everything but his moccasins disappeared as he crawled into the cart 
and pulled at the gun to extricate it.

"Is it loaded?" I asked.

"Oui, bien charge; you'll kill, mon bourgeois; yes, you'll kill--
c'est un bon fusil."

I handed him my rifle and rode forward to Shaw.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Come on," said I.

"Keep down that hollow," said Henry, "and then they won't see you 
till you get close to them."

The hollow was a kind of ravine very wide and shallow; it ran 
obliquely toward the buffalo, and we rode at a canter along the 
bottom until it became too shallow, when we bent close to our horses' 
necks, and then finding that it could no longer conceal us, came out 
of it and rode directly toward the herd.  It was within gunshot; 
before its outskirts, numerous grizzly old bulls were scattered, 
holding guard over their females.  They glared at us in anger and 
astonishment, walked toward us a few yards, and then turning slowly 
round retreated at a trot which afterward broke into a clumsy gallop.  
In an instant the main body caught the alarm.  The buffalo began to 
crowd away from the point toward which we were approaching, and a gap 
was opened in the side of the herd.  We entered it, still restraining 
our excited horses.  Every instant the tumult was thickening.  The 
buffalo, pressing together in large bodies, crowded away from us on 
every hand.  In front and on either side we could see dark columns 
and masses, half hidden by clouds of dust, rushing along in terror 
and confusion, and hear the tramp and clattering of ten thousand 
hoofs.  That countless multitude of powerful brutes, ignorant of 
their own strength, were flying in a panic from the approach of two 
feeble horsemen.  To remain quiet longer was impossible.

"Take that band on the left," said Shaw; "I'll take these in front."

He sprang off, and I saw no more of him.  A heavy Indian whip was 
fastened by a band to my wrist; I swung it into the air and lashed my 
horse's flank with all the strength of my arm.  Away she darted, 
stretching close to the ground.  I could see nothing but a cloud of 
dust before me, but I knew that it concealed a band of many hundreds 
of buffalo.  In a moment I was in the midst of the cloud, half 
suffocated by the dust and stunned by the trampling of the flying 
herd; but I was drunk with the chase and cared for nothing but the 
buffalo.  Very soon a long dark mass became visible, looming through 
the dust; then I could distinguish each bulky carcass, the hoofs 
flying out beneath, the short tails held rigidly erect.  In a moment 
I was so close that I could have touched them with my gun.  Suddenly, 
to my utter amazement, the hoofs were jerked upward, the tails 
flourished in the air, and amid a cloud of dust the buffalo seemed to 
sink into the earth before me.  One vivid impression of that instant 
remains upon my mind.  I remember looking down upon the backs of 
several buffalo dimly visible through the dust.  We had run unawares 
upon a ravine.  At that moment I was not the most accurate judge of 
depth and width, but when I passed it on my return, I found it about 
twelve feet deep and not quite twice as wide at the bottom.  It was 
impossible to stop; I would have done so gladly if I could; so, half 
sliding, half plunging, down went the little mare.  I believe she 
came down on her knees in the loose sand at the bottom; I was pitched 
forward violently against her neck and nearly thrown over her head 
among the buffalo, who amid dust and confusion came tumbling in all 
around.  The mare was on her feet in an instant and scrambling like a 
cat up the opposite side.  I thought for a moment that she would have 
fallen back and crushed me, but with a violent effort she clambered 
out and gained the hard prairie above.  Glancing back I saw the huge 
head of a bull clinging as it were by the forefeet at the edge of the 
dusty gulf.  At length I was fairly among the buffalo.  They were 
less densely crowded than before, and I could see nothing but bulls, 
who always run at the rear of the herd.  As I passed amid them they 
would lower their heads, and turning as they ran, attempt to gore my 
horse; but as they were already at full speed there was no force in 
their onset, and as Pauline ran faster than they, they were always 
thrown behind her in the effort.  I soon began to distinguish cows 
amid the throng.  One just in front of me seemed to my liking, and I 
pushed close to her side.  Dropping the reins I fired, holding the 
muzzle of the gun within a foot of her shoulder.  Quick as lightning 
she sprang at Pauline; the little mare dodged the attack, and I lost 
sight of the wounded animal amid the tumultuous crowd.  Immediately 
after I selected another, and urging forward Pauline, shot into her 
both pistols in succession.  For a while I kept her in view, but in 
attempting to load my gun, lost sight of her also in the confusion.  
Believing her to be mortally wounded and unable to keep up with the 
herd, I checked my horse.  The crowd rushed onward.  The dust and 
tumult passed away, and on the prairie, far behind the rest, I saw a 
solitary buffalo galloping heavily.  In a moment I and my victim were 
running side by side.  My firearms were all empty, and I had in my 
pouch nothing but rifle bullets, too large for the pistols and too 
small for the gun.  I loaded the latter, however, but as often as I 
leveled it to fire, the little bullets would roll out of the muzzle 
and the gun returned only a faint report like a squib, as the powder 
harmlessly exploded.  I galloped in front of the buffalo and 
attempted to turn her back; but her eyes glared, her mane bristled, 
and lowering her head, she rushed at me with astonishing fierceness 
and activity.  Again and again I rode before her, and again and again 
she repeated her furious charge.  But little Pauline was in her 
element.  She dodged her enemy at every rush, until at length the 
buffalo stood still, exhausted with her own efforts; she panted, and 
her tongue hung lolling from her jaws.

Riding to a little distance I alighted, thinking to gather a handful 
of dry grass to serve the purpose of wadding, and load the gun at my 
leisure.  No sooner were my feet on the ground than the buffalo came 
bounding in such a rage toward me that I jumped back again into the 
saddle with all possible dispatch.  After waiting a few minutes more, 
I made an attempt to ride up and stab her with my knife; but the 
experiment proved such as no wise man would repeat.  At length, 
bethinking me of the fringes at the seams of my buckskin pantaloons, 
I jerked off a few of them, and reloading my gun, forced them down 
the barrel to keep the bullet in its place; then approaching, I shot 
the wounded buffalo through the heart.  Sinking to her knees, she 
rolled over lifeless on the prairie.  To my astonishment, I found 
that instead of a fat cow I had been slaughtering a stout yearling 
bull.  No longer wondering at the fierceness he had shown, I opened 
his throat and cutting out his tongue, tied it at the back of my 
saddle.  My mistake was one which a more experienced eye than mine 
might easily make in the dust and confusion of such a chase.

Then for the first time I had leisure to look at the scene around me.  
The prairie in front was darkened with the retreating multitude, and 
on the other hand the buffalo came filing up in endless unbroken 
columns from the low plains upon the river.  The Arkansas was three 
or four miles distant.  I turned and moved slowly toward it.  A long 
time passed before, far down in the distance, I distinguished the 
white covering of the cart and the little black specks of horsemen 
before and behind it.  Drawing near, I recognized Shaw's elegant 
tunic, the red flannel shirt, conspicuous far off.  I overtook the 
party, and asked him what success he had met with.  He had assailed a 
fat cow, shot her with two bullets, and mortally wounded her.  But 
neither of us were prepared for the chase that afternoon, and Shaw, 
like myself, had no spare bullets in his pouch; so he abandoned the 
disabled animal to Henry Chatillon, who followed, dispatched her with 
his rifle, and loaded his horse with her meat.

We encamped close to the river.  The night was dark, and as we lay 
down we could hear mingled with the howling of wolves the hoarse 
bellowing of the buffalo, like the ocean beating upon a distant 
coast.



CHAPTER XXV

THE BUFFALO CAMP


No one in the camp was more active than Jim Gurney, and no one half 
so lazy as Ellis.  Between these two there was a great antipathy.  
Ellis never stirred in the morning until he was compelled to, but Jim 
was always on his feet before daybreak; and this morning as usual the 
sound of his voice awakened the party.

"Get up, you booby! up with you now, you're fit for nothing but 
eating and sleeping.  Stop your grumbling and come out of that 
buffalo robe or I'll pull it off for you."

Jim's words were interspersed with numerous expletives, which gave 
them great additional effect.  Ellis drawled out something in a nasal 
tone from among the folds of his buffalo robe; then slowly disengaged 
himself, rose into sitting posture, stretched his long arms, yawned 
hideously, and finally, raising his tall person erect, stood staring 
round him to all the four quarters of the horizon.  Delorier's fire 
was soon blazing, and the horses and mules, loosened from their 
pickets, were feeding in the neighboring meadow.  When we sat down to 
breakfast the prairie was still in the dusky light of morning; and as 
the sun rose we were mounted and on our way again.

"A white buffalo!" exclaimed Munroe.

"I'll have that fellow," said Shaw, "if I run my horse to death after 
him."

He threw the cover of his gun to Delorier and galloped out upon the 
prairie.

"Stop, Mr. Shaw, stop!" called out Henry Chatillon, "you'll run down 
your horse for nothing; it's only a white ox."

But Shaw was already out of hearing.  The ox, who had no doubt 
strayed away from some of the government wagon trains, was standing 
beneath some low hills which bounded the plain in the distance.  Not 
far from him a band of veritable buffalo bulls were grazing; and 
startled at Shaw's approach, they all broke into a run, and went 
scrambling up the hillsides to gain the high prairie above.  One of 
them in his haste and terror involved himself in a fatal catastrophe.  
Along the foot of the hills was a narrow strip of deep marshy soil, 
into which the bull plunged and hopelessly entangled himself.  We all 
rode up to the spot.  The huge carcass was half sunk in the mud, 
which flowed to his very chin, and his shaggy mane was outspread upon 
the surface.  As we came near the bull began to struggle with 
convulsive strength; he writhed to and fro, and in the energy of his 
fright and desperation would lift himself for a moment half out of 
the slough, while the reluctant mire returned a sucking sound as he 
strained to drag his limbs from its tenacious depths.  We stimulated 
his exertions by getting behind him and twisting his tail; nothing 
would do.  There was clearly no hope for him.  After every effort his 
heaving sides were more deeply imbedded and the mire almost 
overflowed his nostrils; he lay still at length, and looking round at 
us with a furious eye, seemed to resign himself to his fate.  Ellis 
slowly dismounted, and deliberately leveling his boasted yager, shot 
the old bull through the heart; then he lazily climbed back again to 
his seat, pluming himself no doubt on having actually killed a 
buffalo.  That day the invincible yager drew blood for the first and 
last time during the whole journey.

The morning was a bright and gay one, and the air so clear that on 
the farthest horizon the outline of the pale blue prairie was sharply 
drawn against the sky.  Shaw felt in the mood for hunting; he rode in 
advance of the party, and before long we saw a file of bulls 
galloping at full speed upon a vast green swell of the prairie at 
some distance in front.  Shaw came scouring along behind them, 
arrayed in his red shirt, which looked very well in the distance; he 
gained fast on the fugitives, and as the foremost bull was 
disappearing behind the summit of the swell, we saw him in the act of 
assailing the hindmost; a smoke sprang from the muzzle of his gun, 
and floated away before the wind like a little white cloud; the bull 
turned upon him, and just then the rising ground concealed them both 
from view.

We were moving forward until about noon, when we stopped by the side 
of the Arkansas.  At that moment Shaw appeared riding slowly down the 
side of a distant hill; his horse was tired and jaded, and when he 
threw his saddle upon the ground, I observed that the tails of two 
bulls were dangling behind it.  No sooner were the horses turned 
loose to feed than Henry, asking Munroe to go with him, took his 
rifle and walked quietly away.  Shaw, Tete Rouge, and I sat down by 
the side of the cart to discuss the dinner which Delorier placed 
before us; we had scarcely finished when we saw Munroe walking toward 
us along the river bank.  Henry, he said, had killed four fat cows, 
and had sent him back for horses to bring in the meat.  Shaw took a 
horse for himself and another for Henry, and he and Munroe left the 
camp together.  After a short absence all three of them came back, 
their horses loaded with the choicest parts of the meat; we kept two 
of the cows for ourselves and gave the others to Munroe and his 
companions.  Delorier seated himself on the grass before the pile of 
meat, and worked industriously for some time to cut it into thin 
broad sheets for drying.  This is no easy matter, but Delorier had 
all the skill of an Indian squaw.  Long before night cords of raw 
hide were stretched around the camp, and the meat was hung upon them 
to dry in the sunshine and pure air of the prairie.  Our California 
companions were less successful at the work; but they accomplished it 
after their own fashion, and their side of the camp was soon 
garnished in the same manner as our own.

We meant to remain at this place long enough to prepare provisions 
for our journey to the frontier, which as we supposed might occupy 
about a month.  Had the distance been twice as great and the party 
ten times as large, the unerring rifle of Henry Chatillon would have 
supplied meat enough for the whole within two days; we were obliged 
to remain, however, until it should be dry enough for transportation; 
so we erected our tent and made the other arrangements for a 
permanent camp.  The California men, who had no such shelter, 
contented themselves with arranging their packs on the grass around 
their fire.  In the meantime we had nothing to do but amuse 
ourselves.  Our tent was within a rod of the river, if the broad 
sand-beds, with a scanty stream of water coursing here and there 
along their surface, deserve to be dignified with the name of river.  
The vast flat plains on either side were almost on a level with the 
sand-beds, and they were bounded in the distance by low, monotonous 
hills, parallel to the course of the Arkansas.  All was one expanse 
of grass; there was no wood in view, except some trees and stunted 
bushes upon two islands which rose from amid the wet sands of the 
river.  Yet far from being dull and tame this boundless scene was 
often a wild and animated one; for twice a day, at sunrise and at 
noon, the buffalo came issuing from the hills, slowly advancing in 
their grave processions to drink at the river.  All our amusements 
were too at their expense.  Except an elephant, I have seen no animal 
that can surpass a buffalo bull in size and strength, and the world 
may be searched in vain to find anything of a more ugly and ferocious 
aspect.  At first sight of him every feeling of sympathy vanishes; no 
man who has not experienced it can understand with what keen relish 
one inflicts his death wound, with what profound contentment of mind 
he beholds him fall.  The cows are much smaller and of a gentler 
appearance, as becomes their sex.  While in this camp we forebore to 
attack them, leaving to Henry Chatillon, who could better judge their 
fatness and good quality, the task of killing such as we wanted for 
use; but against the bulls we waged an unrelenting war.  Thousands of 
them might be slaughtered without causing any detriment to the 
species, for their numbers greatly exceed those of the cows; it is 
the hides of the latter alone which are used for purpose of commerce 
and for making the lodges of the Indians; and the destruction among 
them is therefore altogether disproportioned.

Our horses were tired, and we now usually hunted on foot.  The wide, 
flat sand-beds of the Arkansas, as the reader will remember, lay 
close by the side of our camp.  While we were lying on the grass 
after dinner, smoking, conversing, or laughing at Tete Rouge, one of 
us would look up and observe, far out on the plains beyond the river, 
certain black objects slowly approaching.  He would inhale a parting 
whiff from the pipe, then rising lazily, take his rifle, which leaned 
against the cart, throw over his shoulder the strap of his pouch and 
powder-horn, and with his moccasins in his hand walk quietly across 
the sand toward the opposite side of the river.  This was very easy; 
for though the sands were about a quarter of a mile wide, the water 
was nowhere more than two feet deep.  The farther bank was about four 
or five feet high, and quite perpendicular, being cut away by the 
water in spring.  Tall grass grew along its edge.  Putting it aside 
with his hand, and cautiously looking through it, the hunter can 
discern the huge shaggy back of the buffalo slowly swaying to and 
fro, as with his clumsy swinging gait he advances toward the water.  
The buffalo have regular paths by which they come down to drink.  
Seeing at a glance along which of these his intended victim is 
moving, the hunter crouches under the bank within fifteen or twenty 
yards, it may be, of the point where the path enters the river.  Here 
he sits down quietly on the sand.  Listening intently, he hears the 
heavy monotonous tread of the approaching bull.  The moment after he 
sees a motion among the long weeds and grass just at the spot where 
the path is channeled through the bank.  An enormous black head is 
thrust out, the horns just visible amid the mass of tangled mane.  
Half sliding, half plunging, down comes the buffalo upon the river-
bed below.  He steps out in full sight upon the sands.  Just before 
him a runnel of water is gliding, and he bends his head to drink.  
You may hear the water as it gurgles down his capacious throat.  He 
raises his head, and the drops trickle from his wet beard.  He stands 
with an air of stupid abstraction, unconscious of the lurking danger.  
Noiselessly the hunter cocks his rifle.  As he sits upon the sand, 
his knee is raised, and his elbow rests upon it, that he may level 
his heavy weapon with a steadier aim.  The stock is at his shoulder; 
his eye ranges along the barrel.  Still he is in no haste to fire.  
The bull, with slow deliberation, begins his march over the sands to 
the other side.  He advances his foreleg, and exposes to view a small 
spot, denuded of hair, just behind the point of his shoulder; upon 
this the hunter brings the sight of his rifle to bear; lightly and 
delicately his finger presses upon the hair-trigger.  Quick as 
thought the spiteful crack of the rifle responds to his slight touch, 
and instantly in the middle of the bare spot appears a small red dot.  
The buffalo shivers; death has overtaken him, he cannot tell from 
whence; still he does not fall, but walks heavily forward, as if 
nothing had happened.  Yet before he has advanced far out upon the 
sand, you see him stop; he totters; his knees bend under him, and his 
head sinks forward to the ground.  Then his whole vast bulk sways to 
one side; he rolls over on the sand, and dies with a scarcely 
perceptible struggle.

Waylaying the buffalo in this manner, and shooting them as they come 
to water, is the easiest and laziest method of hunting them.  They 
may also be approached by crawling up ravines, or behind hills, or 
even over the open prairie.  This is often surprisingly easy; but at 
other times it requires the utmost skill of the most experienced 
hunter.  Henry Chatillon was a man of extraordinary strength and 
hardihood; but I have seen him return to camp quite exhausted with 
his efforts, his limbs scratched and wounded, and his buckskin dress 
stuck full of the thorns of the prickly-pear among which he had been 
crawling.  Sometimes he would lay flat upon his face, and drag 
himself along in this position for many rods together.

On the second day of our stay at this place, Henry went out for an 
afternoon hunt.  Shaw and I remained in camp until, observing some 
bulls approaching the water upon the other side of the river, we 
crossed over to attack them.  They were so near, however, that before 
we could get under cover of the bank our appearance as we walked over 
the sands alarmed them.  Turning round before coming within gunshot, 
they began to move off to the right in a direction parallel to the 
river.  I climbed up the bank and ran after them.  They were walking 
swiftly, and before I could come within gunshot distance they slowly 
wheeled about and faced toward me.  Before they had turned far enough 
to see me I had fallen flat on my face.  For a moment they stood and 
stared at the strange object upon the grass; then turning away, again 
they walked on as before; and I, rising immediately, ran once more in 
pursuit.  Again they wheeled about, and again I fell prostrate.  
Repeating this three or four times, I came at length within a hundred 
yards of the fugitives, and as I saw them turning again I sat down 
and leveled my rifle.  The one in the center was the largest I had 
ever seen.  I shot him behind the shoulder.  His two companions ran 
off.  He attempted to follow, but soon came to a stand, and at length 
lay down as quietly as an ox chewing the cud.  Cautiously approaching 
him, I saw by his dull and jellylike eye that he was dead.

When I began the chase, the prairie was almost tenantless; but a 
great multitude of buffalo had suddenly thronged upon it, and looking 
up, I saw within fifty rods a heavy, dark column stretching to the 
right and left as far as I could see.  I walked toward them.  My 
approach did not alarm them in the least.  The column itself 
consisted entirely of cows and calves, but a great many old bulls 
were ranging about the prairie on its flank, and as I drew near they 
faced toward me with such a shaggy and ferocious look that I thought 
it best to proceed no farther.  Indeed I was already within close 
rifle-shot of the column, and I sat down on the ground to watch their 
movements.  Sometimes the whole would stand still, their heads all 
facing one way; then they would trot forward, as if by a common 
impulse, their hoofs and horns clattering together as they moved.  I 
soon began to hear at a distance on the left the sharp reports of a 
rifle, again and again repeated; and not long after, dull and heavy 
sounds succeeded, which I recognized as the familiar voice of Shaw's 
double-barreled gun.  When Henry's rifle was at work there was always 
meat to be brought in.  I went back across the river for a horse, and 
returning, reached the spot where the hunters were standing.  The 
buffalo were visible on the distant prairie.  The living had 
retreated from the ground, but ten or twelve carcasses were scattered 
in various directions.  Henry, knife in hand, was stooping over a 
dead cow, cutting away the best and fattest of the meat.

When Shaw left me he had walked down for some distance under the 
river bank to find another bull.  At length he saw the plains covered 
with the host of buffalo, and soon after heard the crack of Henry's 
rifle.  Ascending the bank, he crawled through the grass, which for a 
rod or two from the river was very high and rank.  He had not crawled 
far before to his astonishment he saw Henry standing erect upon the 
prairie, almost surrounded by the buffalo.  Henry was in his 
appropriate element.  Nelson, on the deck of the Victory, hardly felt 
a prouder sense of mastery than he.  Quite unconscious that any one 
was looking at him, he stood at the full height of his tall, strong 
figure, one hand resting upon his side, and the other arm leaning 
carelessly on the muzzle of his rifle.  His eyes were ranging over 
the singular assemblage around him.  Now and then he would select 
such a cow as suited him, level his rifle, and shoot her dead; then 
quietly reloading, he would resume his former position.  The buffalo 
seemed no more to regard his presence than if he were one of 
themselves; the bulls were bellowing and butting at each other, or 
else rolling about in the dust.  A group of buffalo would gather 
about the carcass of a dead cow, snuffing at her wounds; and 
sometimes they would come behind those that had not yet fallen, and 
endeavor to push them from the spot.  Now and then some old bull 
would face toward Henry with an air of stupid amazement, but none 
seemed inclined to attack or fly from him.  For some time Shaw lay 
among the grass, looking in surprise at this extraordinary sight; at 
length he crawled cautiously forward, and spoke in a low voice to 
Henry, who told him to rise and come on.  Still the buffalo showed no 
sign of fear; they remained gathered about their dead companions.  
Henry had already killed as many cows as we wanted for use, and Shaw, 
kneeling behind one of the carcasses, shot five bulls before the rest 
thought it necessary to disperse.

The frequent stupidity and infatuation of the buffalo seems the more 
remarkable from the contrast it offers to their wildness and wariness 
at other times.  Henry knew all their peculiarities; he had studied 
them as a scholar studies his books, and he derived quite as much 
pleasure from the occupation.  The buffalo were a kind of companions 
to him, and, as he said, he never felt alone when they were about 
him.  He took great pride in his skill in hunting.  Henry was one of 
the most modest of men; yet, in the simplicity and frankness of his 
character, it was quite clear that he looked upon his pre-eminence in 
this respect as a thing too palpable and well established ever to be 
disputed.  But whatever may have been his estimate of his own skill, 
it was rather below than above that which others placed upon it.  The 
only time that I ever saw a shade of scorn darken his face was when 
two volunteer soldiers, who had just killed a buffalo for the first 
time, undertook to instruct him as to the best method of 
"approaching."  To borrow an illustration from an opposite side of 
life, an Eton boy might as well have sought to enlighten Porson on 
the formation of a Greek verb, or a Fleet Street shopkeeper to 
instruct Chesterfield concerning a point of etiquette.  Henry always 
seemed to think that he had a sort of prescriptive right to the 
buffalo, and to look upon them as something belonging peculiarly to 
himself.  Nothing excited his indignation so much as any wanton 
destruction committed among the cows, and in his view shooting a calf 
was a cardinal sin.

Henry Chatillon and Tete Rouge were of the same age; that is, about 
thirty.  Henry was twice as large, and fully six times as strong as 
Tete Rouge.  Henry's face was roughened by winds and storms; Tete 
Rouge's was bloated by sherry cobblers and brandy toddy.  Henry 
talked of Indians and buffalo; Tete Rouge of theaters and oyster 
cellars.  Henry had led a life of hardship and privation; Tete Rouge 
never had a whim which he would not gratify at the first moment he 
was able.  Henry moreover was the most disinterested man I ever saw; 
while Tete Rouge, though equally good-natured in his way, cared for 
nobody but himself.  Yet we would not have lost him on any account; 
he admirably served the purpose of a jester in a feudal castle; our 
camp would have been lifeless without him.  For the past week he had 
fattened in a most amazing manner; and indeed this was not at all 
surprising, since his appetite was most inordinate.  He was eating 
from morning till night; half the time he would be at work cooking 
some private repast for himself, and he paid a visit to the coffee-
pot eight or ten times a day.  His rueful and disconsolate face 
became jovial and rubicund, his eyes stood out like a lobster's, and 
his spirits, which before were sunk to the depths of despondency, 
were now elated in proportion; all day he was singing, whistling, 
laughing, and telling stories.  Being mortally afraid of Jim Gurney, 
he kept close in the neighborhood of our tent.  As he had seen an 
abundance of low dissipated life, and had a considerable fund of 
humor, his anecdotes were extremely amusing, especially since he 
never hesitated to place himself in a ludicrous point of view, 
provided he could raise a laugh by doing so.  Tete Rouge, however, 
was sometimes rather troublesome; he had an inveterate habit of 
pilfering provisions at all times of the day.  He set ridicule at 
utter defiance; and being without a particle of self-respect, he 
would never have given over his tricks, even if they had drawn upon 
him the scorn of the whole party.  Now and then, indeed, something 
worse than laughter fell to his share; on these occasions he would 
exhibit much contrition, but half an hour after we would generally 
observe him stealing round to the box at the back of the cart and 
slyly making off with the provisions which Delorier had laid by for 
supper.  He was very fond of smoking; but having no tobacco of his 
own, we used to provide him with as much as he wanted, a small piece 
at a time.  At first we gave him half a pound together, but this 
experiment proved an entire failure, for he invariably lost not only 
the tobacco, but the knife intrusted to him for cutting it, and a few 
minutes after he would come to us with many apologies and beg for 
more.

We had been two days at this camp, and some of the meat was nearly 
fit for transportation, when a storm came suddenly upon us.  About 
sunset the whole sky grew as black as ink, and the long grass at the 
river's edge bent and rose mournfully with the first gusts of the 
approaching hurricane.  Munroe and his two companions brought their 
guns and placed them under cover of our tent.  Having no shelter for 
themselves, they built a fire of driftwood that might have defied a 
cataract, and wrapped in their buffalo robes, sat on the ground 
around it to bide the fury of the storm.  Delorier ensconced himself 
under the cover of the cart.  Shaw and I, together with Henry and 
Tete Rouge, crowded into the little tent; but first of all the dried 
meat was piled together, and well protected by buffalo robes pinned 
firmly to the ground.  About nine o'clock the storm broke, amid 
absolute darkness; it blew a gale, and torrents of rain roared over 
the boundless expanse of open prairie.  Our tent was filled with mist 
and spray beating through the canvas, and saturating everything 
within.  We could only distinguish each other at short intervals by 
the dazzling flash of lightning, which displayed the whole waste 
around us with its momentary glare.  We had our fears for the tent; 
but for an hour or two it stood fast, until at length the cap gave 
way before a furious blast; the pole tore through the top, and in an 
instant we were half suffocated by the cold and dripping folds of the 
canvas, which fell down upon us.  Seizing upon our guns, we placed 
them erect, in order to lift the saturated cloth above our heads.  In 
this disagreeable situation, involved among wet blankets and buffalo 
robes, we spent several hours of the night during which the storm 
would not abate for a moment, but pelted down above our heads with 
merciless fury.  Before long the ground beneath us became soaked with 
moisture, and the water gathered there in a pool two or three inches 
deep; so that for a considerable part of the night we were partially 
immersed in a cold bath.  In spite of all this, Tete Rouge's flow of 
spirits did not desert him for an instant, he laughed, whistled, and 
sung in defiance of the storm, and that night he paid off the long 
arrears of ridicule which he owed us.  While we lay in silence, 
enduring the infliction with what philosophy we could muster, Tete 
Rouge, who was intoxicated with animal spirits, was cracking jokes at 
our expense by the hour together.  At about three o'clock in the 
morning, "preferring the tyranny of the open night" to such a 
wretched shelter, we crawled out from beneath the fallen canvas.  The 
wind had abated, but the rain fell steadily.  The fire of the 
California men still blazed amid the darkness, and we joined them as 
they sat around it.  We made ready some hot coffee by way of 
refreshment; but when some of the party sought to replenish their 
cups, it was found that Tete Rouge, having disposed of his own share, 
had privately abstracted the coffee-pot and drank up the rest of the 
contents out of the spout.

In the morning, to our great joy, an unclouded sun rose upon the 
prairie.  We presented rather a laughable appearance, for the cold 
and clammy buckskin, saturated with water, clung fast to our limbs; 
the light wind and warm sunshine soon dried them again, and then we 
were all incased in armor of intolerable rigidity.  Roaming all day 
over the prairie and shooting two or three bulls, were scarcely 
enough to restore the stiffened leather to its usual pliancy.

Besides Henry Chatillon, Shaw and I were the only hunters in the 
party.  Munroe this morning made an attempt to run a buffalo, but his 
horse could not come up to the game.  Shaw went out with him, and 
being better mounted soon found himself in the midst of the herd.  
Seeing nothing but cows and calves around him, he checked his horse.  
An old bull came galloping on the open prairie at some distance 
behind, and turning, Shaw rode across his path, leveling his gun as 
he passed, and shooting him through the shoulder into the heart.  The 
heavy bullets of Shaw's double-barreled gun made wild work wherever 
they struck.

A great flock of buzzards were usually soaring about a few trees that 
stood on the island just below our camp.  Throughout the whole of 
yesterday we had noticed an eagle among them; to-day he was still 
there; and Tete Rouge, declaring that he would kill the bird of 
America, borrowed Delorier's gun and set out on his unpatriotic 
mission.  As might have been expected, the eagle suffered no great 
harm at his hands.  He soon returned, saying that he could not find 
him, but had shot a buzzard instead.  Being required to produce the 
bird in proof of his assertion he said he believed he was not quite 
dead, but he must be hurt, from the swiftness with which he flew off.

"If you want," said Tete Rouge, "I'll go and get one of his feathers; 
I knocked off plenty of them when I shot him."

Just opposite our camp was another island covered with bushes, and 
behind it was a deep pool of water, while two or three considerable 
streams course'd over the sand not far off.  I was bathing at this 
place in the afternoon when a white wolf, larger than the largest 
Newfoundland dog, ran out from behind the point of the island, and 
galloped leisurely over the sand not half a stone's throw distant.  I 
could plainly see his red eyes and the bristles about his snout; he 
was an ugly scoundrel, with a bushy tail, large head, and a most 
repulsive countenance.  Having neither rifle to shoot nor stone to 
pelt him with, I was looking eagerly after some missile for his 
benefit, when the report of a gun came from the camp, and the ball 
threw up the sand just beyond him; at this he gave a slight jump, and 
stretched away so swiftly that he soon dwindled into a mere speck on 
the distant sand-beds.  The number of carcasses that by this time 
were lying about the prairie all around us summoned the wolves from 
every quarter; the spot where Shaw and Henry had hunted together soon 
became their favorite resort, for here about a dozen dead buffalo 
were fermenting under the hot sun.  I used often to go over the river 
and watch them at their meal; by lying under the bank it was easy to 
get a full view of them.  Three different kinds were present; there 
were the white wolves and the gray wolves, both extremely large, and 
besides these the small prairie wolves, not much bigger than 
spaniels.  They would howl and fight in a crowd around a single 
carcass, yet they were so watchful, and their senses so acute, that I 
never was able to crawl within a fair shooting distance; whenever I 
attempted it, they would all scatter at once and glide silently away 
through the tall grass.  The air above this spot was always full of 
buzzards or black vultures; whenever the wolves left a carcass they 
would descend upon it, and cover it so densely that a rifle-bullet 
shot at random among the gormandizing crowd would generally strike 
down two or three of them.  These birds would now be sailing by 
scores just about our camp, their broad black wings seeming half 
transparent as they expanded them against the bright sky.  The wolves 
and the buzzards thickened about us with every hour, and two or three 
eagles also came into the feast.  I killed a bull within rifle-shot 
of the camp; that night the wolves made a fearful howling close at 
hand, and in the morning the carcass was completely hollowed out by 
these voracious feeders.

After we had remained four days at this camp we prepared to leave it.  
We had for our own part about five hundred pounds of dried meat, and 
the California men had prepared some three hundred more; this 
consisted of the fattest and choicest parts of eight or nine cows, a 
very small quantity only being taken from each, and the rest 
abandoned to the wolves.  The pack animals were laden, the horses 
were saddled, and the mules harnessed to the cart.  Even Tete Rouge 
was ready at last, and slowly moving from the ground, we resumed our 
journey eastward.  When we had advanced about a mile, Shaw missed a 
valuable hunting knife and turned back in search of it, thinking that 
he had left it at the camp.  He approached the place cautiously, 
fearful that Indians might be lurking about, for a deserted camp is 
dangerous to return to.  He saw no enemy, but the scene was a wild 
and dreary one; the prairie was overshadowed by dull, leaden clouds, 
for the day was dark and gloomy.  The ashes of the fires were still 
smoking by the river side; the grass around them was trampled down by 
men and horses, and strewn with all the litter of a camp.  Our 
departure had been a gathering signal to the birds and beasts of 
prey; Shaw assured me that literally dozens of wolves were prowling 
about the smoldering fires, while multitudes were roaming over the 
prairie around; they all fled as he approached, some running over the 
sand-beds and some over the grassy plains.  The vultures in great 
clouds were soaring overhead, and the dead bull near the camp was 
completely blackened by the flock that had alighted upon it; they 
flapped their broad wings, and stretched upward their crested heads 
and long skinny necks, fearing to remain, yet reluctant to leave 
their disgusting feast.  As he searched about the fires he saw the 
wolves seated on the distant hills waiting for his departure.  Having 
looked in vain for his knife, he mounted again, and left the wolves 
and the vultures to banquet freely upon the carrion of the camp.



CHAPTER XXVI

DOWN THE ARKANSAS


In the summer of 1846 the wild and lonely banks of the Upper Arkansas 
beheld for the first time the passage of an army.  General Kearny, on 
his march to Santa Fe, adopted this route in preference to the old 
trail of the Cimarron.  When we came down the main body of the troops 
had already passed on; Price's Missouri regiment, however, was still 
on the way, having left the frontier much later than the rest; and 
about this time we began to meet them moving along the trail, one or 
two companies at a time.  No men ever embarked upon a military 
expedition with a greater love for the work before them than the 
Missourians; but if discipline and subordination be the criterion of 
merit, these soldiers were worthless indeed.  Yet when their exploits 
have rung through all America, it would be absurd to deny that they 
were excellent irregular troops.  Their victories were gained in the 
teeth of every established precedent of warfare; they were owing to a 
singular combination of military qualities in the men themselves.  
Without discipline or a spirit of subordination, they knew how to 
keep their ranks and act as one man.  Doniphan's regiment marched 
through New Mexico more like a band of free companions than like the 
paid soldiers of a modern government.  When General Taylor 
complimented Doniphan on his success at Sacramento and elsewhere, the 
colonel's reply very well illustrates the relations which subsisted 
between the officers and men of his command:

"I don't know anything of the maneuvers.  The boys kept coming to me, 
to let them charge; and when I saw a good opportunity, I told them 
they might go.  They were off like a shot, and that's all I know 
about it."

The backwoods lawyer was better fitted to conciliate the good-will 
than to command the obedience of his men.  There were many serving 
under him, who both from character and education could better have 
held command than he.

At the battle of Sacramento his frontiersmen fought under every 
possible disadvantage.  The Mexicans had chosen their own position; 
they were drawn up across the valley that led to their native city of 
Chihuahua; their whole front was covered by intrenchments and 
defended by batteries of heavy cannon; they outnumbered the invaders 
five to one.  An eagle flew over the Americans, and a deep murmur 
rose along their lines.  The enemy's batteries opened; long they 
remained under fire, but when at length the word was given, they 
shouted and ran forward.  In one of the divisions, when midway to the 
enemy, a drunken officer ordered a halt; the exasperated men 
hesitated to obey.

"Forward, boys!" cried a private from the ranks; and the Americans, 
rushing like tigers upon the enemy, bounded over the breastwork.  
Four hundred Mexicans were slain upon the spot and the rest fled, 
scattering over the plain like sheep.  The standards, cannon, and 
baggage were taken, and among the rest a wagon laden with cords, 
which the Mexicans, in the fullness of their confidence, had made 
ready for tying the American prisoners.

Doniphan's volunteers, who gained this victory, passed up with the 
main army; but Price's soldiers, whom we now met, were men from the 
same neighborhood, precisely similar in character, manner, and 
appearance.  One forenoon, as we were descending upon a very wide 
meadow, where we meant to rest for an hour or two, we saw a dark body 
of horsemen approaching at a distance.  In order to find water, we 
were obliged to turn aside to the river bank, a full half mile from 
the trail.  Here we put up a kind of awning, and spreading buffalo 
robes on the ground, Shaw and I sat down to smoke beneath it.

"We are going to catch it now," said Shaw; "look at those fellows, 
there'll be no peace for us here."

And in good truth about half the volunteers had straggled away from 
the line of march, and were riding over the meadow toward us.

"How are you?" said the first who came up, alighting from his horse 
and throwing himself upon the ground.  The rest followed close, and a 
score of them soon gathered about us, some lying at full length and 
some sitting on horseback.  They all belonged to a company raised in 
St. Louis.  There were some ruffian faces among them, and some 
haggard with debauchery; but on the whole they were extremely good-
looking men, superior beyond measure to the ordinary rank and file of 
an army.  Except that they were booted to the knees, they wore their 
belts and military trappings over the ordinary dress of citizens.  
Besides their swords and holster pistols, they carried slung from 
their saddles the excellent Springfield carbines, loaded at the 
breech.  They inquired the character of our party, and were anxious 
to know the prospect of killing buffalo, and the chance that their 
horses would stand the journey to Santa Fe.  All this was well 
enough, but a moment after a worse visitation came upon us.

"How are you, strangers? whar are you going and whar are you from?" 
said a fellow, who came trotting up with an old straw hat on his 
head.  He was dressed in the coarsest brown homespun cloth.  His face 
was rather sallow from fever-and-ague, and his tall figure, though 
strong and sinewy was quite thin, and had besides an angular look, 
which, together with his boorish seat on horseback, gave him an 
appearance anything but graceful.  Plenty more of the same stamp were 
close behind him.  Their company was raised in one of the frontier 
counties, and we soon had abundant evidence of their rustic breeding; 
dozens of them came crowding round, pushing between our first 
visitors and staring at us with unabashed faces.

"Are you the captain?" asked one fellow.

"What's your business out here?" asked another.

"Whar do you live when you're at home?" said a third.

"I reckon you're traders," surmised a fourth; and to crown the whole, 
one of them came confidentially to my side and inquired in a low 
voice, "What's your partner's name?"

As each newcomer repeated the same questions, the nuisance became 
intolerable.  Our military visitors were soon disgusted at the 
concise nature of our replies, and we could overhear them muttering 
curses against us.  While we sat smoking, not in the best imaginable 
humor, Tete Rouge's tongue was never idle.  He never forgot his 
military character, and during the whole interview he was incessantly 
busy among his fellow-soldiers.  At length we placed him on the 
ground before us, and told him that he might play the part of 
spokesman for the whole.  Tete Rouge was delighted, and we soon had 
the satisfaction of seeing him talk and gabble at such a rate that 
the torrent of questions was in a great measure diverted from us.  A 
little while after, to our amazement, we saw a large cannon with four 
horses come lumbering up behind the crowd; and the driver, who was 
perched on one of the animals, stretching his neck so as to look over 
the rest of the men, called out:

"Whar are you from, and what's your business?"

The captain of one of the companies was among our visitors, drawn by 
the same curiosity that had attracted his men.  Unless their faces 
belied them, not a few in the crowd might with great advantage have 
changed places with their commander.

"Well, men," said he, lazily rising from the ground where he had been 
lounging, "it's getting late, I reckon we had better be moving."

"I shan't start yet anyhow," said one fellow, who was lying half 
asleep with his head resting on his arm.

"Don't be in a hurry, captain," added the lieutenant.

"Well, have it your own way, we'll wait a while longer," replied the 
obsequious commander.

At length however our visitors went straggling away as they had come, 
and we, to our great relief, were left alone again.

No one can deny the intrepid bravery of these men, their intelligence 
and the bold frankness of their character, free from all that is mean 
and sordid.  Yet for the moment the extreme roughness of their 
manners half inclines one to forget their heroic qualities.  Most of 
them seem without the least perception of delicacy or propriety, 
though among them individuals may be found in whose manners there is 
a plain courtesy, while their features bespeak a gallant spirit equal 
to any enterprise.

No one was more relieved than Delorier by the departure of the 
volunteers; for dinner was getting colder every moment.  He spread a 
well-whitened buffalo hide upon the grass, placed in the middle the 
juicy hump of a fat cow, ranged around it the tin plates and cups, 
and then acquainted us that all was ready.  Tete Rouge, with his 
usual alacrity on such occasions, was the first to take his seat.  In 
his former capacity of steamboat clerk, he had learned to prefix the 
honorary MISTER to everybody's name, whether of high or low degree; 
so Jim Gurney was Mr. Gurney, Henry was Mr. Henry, and even Delorier, 
for the first time in his life, heard himself addressed as Mr. 
Delorier.  This did not prevent his conceiving a violent enmity 
against Tete Rouge, who, in his futile though praiseworthy attempts 
to make himself useful used always to intermeddle with cooking the 
dinners.  Delorier's disposition knew no medium between smiles and 
sunshine and a downright tornado of wrath; he said nothing to Tete 
Rouge, but his wrongs rankled in his breast.  Tete Rouge had taken 
his place at dinner; it was his happiest moment; he sat enveloped in 
the old buffalo coat, sleeves turned up in preparation for the work, 
and his short legs crossed on the grass before him; he had a cup of 
coffee by his side and his knife ready in his hand and while he 
looked upon the fat hump ribs, his eyes dilated with anticipation.  
Delorier sat just opposite to him, and the rest of us by this time 
had taken our seats.

"How is this, Delorier?  You haven't given us bread enough."

At this Delorier's placid face flew instantly into a paroxysm of 
contortions.  He grinned with wrath, chattered, gesticulated, and 
hurled forth a volley of incoherent words in broken English at the 
astonished Tete Rouge.  It was just possible to make out that he was 
accusing him of having stolen and eaten four large cakes which had 
been laid by for dinner.  Tete Rouge, utterly confounded at this 
sudden attack, stared at Delorier for a moment in dumb amazement, 
with mouth and eyes wide open.  At last he found speech, and 
protested that the accusation was false; and that he could not 
conceive how he had offended Mr. Delorier, or provoked him to use 
such ungentlemanly expressions.  The tempest of words raged with such 
fury that nothing else could be heard.  But Tete Rouge, from his 
greater command of English, had a manifest advantage over Delorier, 
who after sputtering and grimacing for a while, found his words quite 
inadequate to the expression of his wrath.  He jumped up and 
vanished, jerking out between his teeth one furious sacre enfant de 
grace, a Canadian title of honor, made doubly emphatic by being 
usually applied together with a cut of the whip to refractory mules 
and horses.

The next morning we saw an old buffalo escorting his cow with two 
small calves over the prairie.  Close behind came four or five large 
white wolves, sneaking stealthily through the long meadow-grass, and 
watching for the moment when one of the children should chance to lag 
behind his parents.  The old bull kept well on his guard, and faced 
about now and then to keep the prowling ruffians at a distance.

As we approached our nooning place, we saw five or six buffalo 
standing at the very summit of a tall bluff.  Trotting forward to the 
spot where we meant to stop, I flung off my saddle and turned my 
horse loose.  By making a circuit under cover of some rising ground, 
I reached the foot of the bluff unnoticed, and climbed up its steep 
side.  Lying under the brow of the declivity, I prepared to fire at 
the buffalo, who stood on the flat surface about not five yards 
distant.  Perhaps I was too hasty, for the gleaming rifle-barrel 
leveled over the edge caught their notice; they turned and ran.  
Close as they were, it was impossible to kill them when in that 
position, and stepping upon the summit I pursued them over the high 
arid tableland.  It was extremely rugged and broken; a great sandy 
ravine was channeled through it, with smaller ravines entering on 
each side like tributary streams.  The buffalo scattered, and I soon 
lost sight of most of them as they scuttled away through the sandy 
chasms; a bull and a cow alone kept in view.  For a while they ran 
along the edge of the great ravine, appearing and disappearing as 
they dived into some chasm and again emerged from it.  At last they 
stretched out upon the broad prairie, a plain nearly flat and almost 
devoid of verdure, for every short grass-blade was dried and 
shriveled by the glaring sun.  Now and then the old bull would face 
toward me; whenever he did so I fell to the ground and lay 
motionless.  In this manner I chased them for about two miles, until 
at length I heard in front a deep hoarse bellowing.  A moment after a 
band of about a hundred bulls, before hidden by a slight swell of the 
plain, came at once into view.  The fugitives ran toward them.  
Instead of mingling with the band, as I expected, they passed 
directly through, and continued their flight.  At this I gave up the 
chase, and kneeling down, crawled to within gunshot of the bulls, and 
with panting breath and trickling brow sat down on the ground to 
watch them; my presence did not disturb them in the least.  They were 
not feeding, for, indeed, there was nothing to eat; but they seemed 
to have chosen the parched and scorching desert as the scene of their 
amusements.  Some were rolling on the ground amid a cloud of dust; 
others, with a hoarse rumbling bellow, were butting their large heads 
together, while many stood motionless, as if quite inanimate.  Except 
their monstrous growth of tangled grizzly mane, they had no hair; for 
their old coat had fallen off in the spring, and their new one had 
not as yet appeared.  Sometimes an old bull would step forward, and 
gaze at me with a grim and stupid countenance; then he would turn and 
butt his next neighbor; then he would lie down and roll over in the 
dirt, kicking his hoofs in the air.  When satisfied with this 
amusement he would jerk his head and shoulders upward, and resting on 
his forelegs stare at me in this position, half blinded by his mane, 
and his face covered with dirt; then up he would spring upon all-
fours, and shake his dusty sides; turning half round, he would stand 
with his beard touching the ground, in an attitude of profound 
abstraction, as if reflecting on his puerile conduct.  "You are too 
ugly to live," thought I; and aiming at the ugliest, I shot three of 
them in succession.  The rest were not at all discomposed at this; 
they kept on bellowing and butting and rolling on the ground as 
before.  Henry Chatillon always cautioned us to keep perfectly quiet 
in the presence of a wounded buffalo, for any movement is apt to 
excite him to make an attack; so I sat still upon the ground, loading 
and firing with as little motion as possible.  While I was thus 
employed, a spectator made his appearance; a little antelope came 
running up with remarkable gentleness to within fifty yards; and 
there it stood, its slender neck arched, its small horns thrown back, 
and its large dark eyes gazing on me with a look of eager curiosity.  
By the side of the shaggy and brutish monsters before me, it seemed 
like some lovely young girl wandering near a den of robbers or a nest 
of bearded pirates.  The buffalo looked uglier than ever.  "Here goes 
for another of you," thought I, feeling in my pouch for a percussion 
cap.  Not a percussion cap was there.  My good rifle was useless as 
an old iron bar.  One of the wounded bulls had not yet fallen, and I 
waited for some time, hoping every moment that his strength would 
fail him.  He still stood firm, looking grimly at me, and 
disregarding Henry's advice I rose and walked away.  Many of the 
bulls turned and looked at me, but the wounded brute made no attack.  
I soon came upon a deep ravine which would give me shelter in case of 
emergency; so I turned round and threw a stone at the bulls.  They 
received it with the utmost indifference.  Feeling myself insulted at 
their refusal to be frightened, I swung my hat, shouted, and made a 
show of running toward them; at this they crowded together and 
galloped off, leaving their dead and wounded upon the field.  As I 
moved toward the camp I saw the last survivor totter and fall dead.  
My speed in returning was wonderfully quickened by the reflection 
that the Pawnees were abroad, and that I was defenseless in case of 
meeting with an enemy.  I saw no living thing, however, except two or 
three squalid old bulls scrambling among the sand-hills that flanked 
the great ravine.  When I reached camp the party was nearly ready for 
the afternoon move.

We encamped that evening at a short distance from the river bank.  
About midnight, as we all lay asleep on the ground, the man nearest 
to me gently reaching out his hand, touched my shoulder, and 
cautioned me at the same time not to move.  It was bright starlight.  
Opening my eyes and slightly turning I saw a large white wolf moving 
stealthily around the embers of our fire, with his nose close to the 
ground.  Disengaging my hand from the blanket, I drew the cover from 
my rifle, which lay close at my side; the motion alarmed the wolf, 
and with long leaps he bounded out of the camp.  Jumping up, I fired 
after him when he was about thirty yards distant; the melancholy hum 
of the bullet sounded far away through the night.  At the sharp 
report, so suddenly breaking upon the stillness, all the men sprang 
up.

"You've killed him," said one of them.

"No, I haven't," said I; "there he goes, running along the river.

"Then there's two of them.  Don't you see that one lying out yonder?"

We went to it, and instead of a dead white wolf found the bleached 
skull of a buffalo.  I had missed my mark, and what was worse, had 
grossly violated a standing law of the prairie.  When in a dangerous 
part of the country, it is considered highly imprudent to fire a gun 
after encamping, lest the report should reach the ears of the 
Indians.

The horses were saddled in the morning, and the last man had lighted 
his pipe at the dying ashes of the fire.  The beauty of the day 
enlivened us all.  Even Ellis felt its influence, and occasionally 
made a remark as we rode along, and Jim Gurney told endless stories 
of his cruisings in the United States service.  The buffalo were 
abundant, and at length a large band of them went running up the 
hills on the left.

"Do you see them buffalo?" said Ellis, "now I'll bet any man I'll go 
and kill one with my yager."

And leaving his horse to follow on with the party, he strode up the 
hill after them.  Henry looked at us with his peculiar humorous 
expression, and proposed that we should follow Ellis to see how he 
would kill a fat cow.  As soon as he was out of sight we rode up the 
hill after him, and waited behind a little ridge till we heard the 
report of the unfailing yager.  Mounting to the top, we saw Ellis 
clutching his favorite weapon with both hands, and staring after the 
buffalo, who one and all were galloping off at full speed.  As we 
descended the hill we saw the party straggling along the trail below.  
When we joined them, another scene of amateur hunting awaited us.  I 
forgot to say that when we met the volunteers Tete Rouge had obtained 
a horse from one of them, in exchange for his mule, whom he feared 
and detested.  The horse he christened James.  James, though not 
worth so much as the mule, was a large and strong animal.  Tete Rouge 
was very proud of his new acquisition, and suddenly became ambitious 
to run a buffalo with him.  At his request, I lent him my pistols, 
though not without great misgivings, since when Tete Rouge hunted 
buffalo the pursuer was in more danger than the pursued.  He hung the 
holsters at his saddle bow; and now, as we passed along, a band of 
bulls left their grazing in the meadow and galloped in a long file 
across the trail in front.

"Now's your chance, Tete; come, let's see you kill a bull."  Thus 
urged, the hunter cried, "Get up!" and James, obedient to the signal, 
cantered deliberately forward at an abominably uneasy gait.  Tete 
Rouge, as we contemplated him from behind; made a most remarkable 
figure.  He still wore the old buffalo coat; his blanket, which was 
tied in a loose bundle behind his saddle, went jolting from one side 
to the other, and a large tin canteen half full of water, which hung 
from his pommel, was jerked about his leg in a manner which greatly 
embarrassed him.

"Let out your horse, man; lay on your whip!" we called out to him.  
The buffalo were getting farther off at every instant.  James, being 
ambitious to mend his pace, tugged hard at the rein, and one of his 
rider's boots escaped from the stirrup.

"Woa!  I say, woa!" cried Tete Rouge, in great perturbation, and 
after much effort James' progress was arrested.  The hunter came 
trotting back to the party, disgusted with buffalo running, and he 
was received with overwhelming congratulations.

"Too good a chance to lose," said Shaw, pointing to another band of 
bulls on the left.  We lashed our horses and galloped upon them.  
Shaw killed one with each barrel of his gun.  I separated another 
from the herd and shot him.  The small bullet of the rifled pistol, 
striking too far back, did not immediately take effect, and the bull 
ran on with unabated speed.  Again and again I snapped the remaining 
pistol at him.  I primed it afresh three or four times, and each time 
it missed fire, for the touch-hole was clogged up.  Returning it to 
the holster, I began to load the empty pistol, still galloping by the 
side of the bull.  By this time he was grown desperate.  The foam 
flew from his jaws and his tongue lolled out.  Before the pistol was 
loaded he sprang upon me, and followed up his attack with a furious 
rush.  The only alternative was to run away or be killed.  I took to 
flight, and the bull, bristling with fury, pursued me closely.  The 
pistol was soon ready, and then looking back, I saw his head five or 
six yards behind my horse's tail.  To fire at it would be useless, 
for a bullet flattens against the adamantine skull of a buffalo bull.  
Inclining my body to the left, I turned my horse in that direction as 
sharply as his speed would permit.  The bull, rushing blindly on with 
great force and weight, did not turn so quickly.  As I looked back, 
his neck and shoulders were exposed to view; turning in the saddle, I 
shot a bullet through them obliquely into his vitals.  He gave over 
the chase and soon fell to the ground.  An English tourist represents 
a situation like this as one of imminent danger; this is a great 
mistake; the bull never pursues long, and the horse must be wretched 
indeed that cannot keep out of his way for two or three minutes.

We were now come to a part of the country where we were bound in 
common prudence to use every possible precaution.  We mounted guard 
at night, each man standing in his turn; and no one ever slept 
without drawing his rifle close to his side or folding it with him in 
his blanket.  One morning our vigilance was stimulated by our finding 
traces of a large Comanche encampment.  Fortunately for us, however, 
it had been abandoned nearly a week.  On the next evening we found 
the ashes of a recent fire, which gave us at the time some 
uneasiness.  At length we reached the Caches, a place of dangerous 
repute; and it had a most dangerous appearance, consisting of sand-
hills everywhere broken by ravines and deep chasms.  Here we found 
the grave of Swan, killed at this place, probably by the Pawnees, two 
or three weeks before.  His remains, more than once violated by the 
Indians and the wolves, were suffered at length to remain undisturbed 
in their wild burial place.

For several days we met detached companies of Price's regiment.  
Horses would often break loose at night from their camps.  One 
afternoon we picked up three of these stragglers quietly grazing 
along the river.  After we came to camp that evening, Jim Gurney 
brought news that more of them were in sight.  It was nearly dark, 
and a cold, drizzling rain had set in; but we all turned out, and 
after an hour's chase nine horses were caught and brought in.  One of 
them was equipped with saddle and bridle; pistols were hanging at the 
pommel of the saddle, a carbine was slung at its side, and a blanket 
rolled up behind it.  In the morning, glorying in our valuable prize, 
we resumed our journey, and our cavalcade presented a much more 
imposing appearance than ever before.  We kept on till the afternoon, 
when, far behind, three horsemen appeared on the horizon.  Coming on 
at a hand-gallop, they soon overtook us, and claimed all the horses 
as belonging to themselves and others of their company.  They were of 
course given up, very much to the mortification of Ellis and Jim 
Gurney.

Our own horses now showed signs of fatigue, and we resolved to give 
them half a day's rest.  We stopped at noon at a grassy spot by the 
river.  After dinner Shaw and Henry went out to hunt; and while the 
men lounged about the camp, I lay down to read in the shadow of the 
cart.  Looking up, I saw a bull grazing alone on the prairie more 
than a mile distant.  I was tired of reading, and taking my rifle I 
walked toward him.  As I came near, I crawled upon the ground until I 
approached to within a hundred yards; here I sat down upon the grass 
and waited till he should turn himself into a proper position to 
receive his death-wound.  He was a grim old veteran.  His loves and 
his battles were over for that season, and now, gaunt and war-worn, 
he had withdrawn from the herd to graze by himself and recruit his 
exhausted strength.  He was miserably emaciated; his mane was all in 
tatters; his hide was bare and rough as an elephant's, and covered 
with dried patches of the mud in which he had been wallowing.  He 
showed all his ribs whenever he moved.  He looked like some grizzly 
old ruffian grown gray in blood and violence, and scowling on all the 
world from his misanthropic seclusion.  The old savage looked up when 
I first approached, and gave me a fierce stare; then he fell to 
grazing again with an air of contemptuous indifference.  The moment 
after, as if suddenly recollecting himself, he threw up his head, 
faced quickly about, and to my amazement came at a rapid trot 
directly toward me.  I was strongly impelled to get up and run, but 
this would have been very dangerous.  Sitting quite still I aimed, as 
he came on, at the thin part of the skull above the nose.  After he 
had passed over about three-quarters of the distance between us, I 
was on the point of firing, when, to my great satisfaction, he 
stopped short.  I had full opportunity of studying his countenance; 
his whole front was covered with a huge mass of coarse matted hair, 
which hung so low that nothing but his two forefeet were visible 
beneath it; his short thick horns were blunted and split to the very 
roots in his various battles, and across his nose and forehead were 
two or three large white scars, which gave him a grim and at the same 
time a whimsical appearance.  It seemed to me that he stood there 
motionless for a full quarter of an hour, looking at me through the 
tangled locks of his mane.  For my part, I remained as quiet as he, 
and looked quite as hard; I felt greatly inclined to come to term 
with him.  "My friend," thought I, "if you'll let me off, I'll let 
you off."  At length he seemed to have abandoned any hostile design.  
Very slowly and deliberately he began to turn about; little by little 
his side came into view, all be-plastered with mud.  It was a 
tempting sight.  I forgot my prudent intentions, and fired my rifle; 
a pistol would have served at that distance.  Round spun old bull 
like a top, and away he galloped over the prairie.  He ran some 
distance, and even ascended a considerable hill, before he lay down 
and died.  After shooting another bull among the hills, I went back 
to camp.

At noon, on the 14th of September, a very large Santa Fe caravan came 
up.  The plain was covered with the long files of their white-topped 
wagons, the close black carriages in which the traders travel and 
sleep, large droves of animals, and men on horseback and on foot.  
They all stopped on the meadow near us.  Our diminutive cart and 
handful of men made but an insignificant figure by the side of their 
wide and bustling camp.  Tete Rouge went over to visit them, and soon 
came back with half a dozen biscuits in one hand and a bottle of 
brandy in the other.  I inquired where he got them.  "Oh," said Tete 
Rouge, "I know some of the traders.  Dr. Dobbs is there besides."  I 
asked who Dr. Dobbs might be.  "One of our St. Louis doctors," 
replied Tete Rouge.  For two days past I had been severely attacked 
by the same disorder which had so greatly reduced my strength when at 
the mountains; at this time I was suffering not a little from the 
sudden pain and weakness which it occasioned.  Tete Rouge, in answer 
to my inquiries, declared that Dr. Dobbs was a physician of the first 
standing.  Without at all believing him, I resolved to consult this 
eminent practitioner.  Walking over to the camp, I found him lying 
sound asleep under one of the wagons.  He offered in his own person 
but an indifferent specimen of his skill, for it was five months 
since I had seen so cadaverous a face.

His hat had fallen off, and his yellow hair was all in disorder; one 
of his arms supplied the place of a pillow; his pantaloons were 
wrinkled halfway up to his knees, and he was covered with little bits 
of grass and straw, upon which he had rolled in his uneasy slumber.  
A Mexican stood near, and I made him a sign that he should touch the 
doctor.  Up sprang the learned Dobbs, and, sitting upright, rubbed 
his eyes and looked about him in great bewilderment.  I regretted the 
necessity of disturbing him, and said I had come to ask professional 
advice.  "Your system, sir, is in a disordered state," said he 
solemnly, after a short examination.

I inquired what might be the particular species of disorder.

"Evidently a morbid action of the liver," replied the medical man; "I 
will give you a prescription."

Repairing to the back of one of the covered wagons, he scrambled in; 
for a moment I could see nothing of him but his boots.  At length he 
produced a box which he had extracted from some dark recess within, 
and opening it, he presented me with a folded paper of some size.  
"What is it?" said I.  "Calomel," said the doctor.

Under the circumstances I would have taken almost anything.  There 
was not enough to do me much harm, and it might possibly do good; so 
at camp that night I took the poison instead of supper.

That camp is worthy of notice.  The traders warned us not to follow 
the main trail along the river, "unless," as one of them observed, 
"you want to have your throats cut!"  The river at this place makes a 
bend; and a smaller trail, known as the Ridge-path, leads directly 
across the prairie from point to point, a distance of sixty or 
seventy miles.

We followed this trail, and after traveling seven or eight miles, we 
came to a small stream, where we encamped.  Our position was not 
chosen with much forethought or military skill.  The water was in a 
deep hollow, with steep, high banks; on the grassy bottom of this 
hollow we picketed our horses, while we ourselves encamped upon the 
barren prairie just above.  The opportunity was admirable either for 
driving off our horses or attacking us.  After dark, as Tete Rouge 
was sitting at supper, we observed him pointing with a face of 
speechless horror over the shoulder of Henry, who was opposite to 
him.  Aloof amid the darkness appeared a gigantic black apparition; 
solemnly swaying to and fro, it advanced steadily upon us.  Henry, 
half vexed and half amused, jumped up, spread out his arms, and 
shouted.  The invader was an old buffalo bull, who with 
characteristic stupidity, was walking directly into camp.  It cost 
some shouting and swinging of hats before we could bring him first to 
a halt and then to a rapid retreat.

That night the moon was full and bright; but as the black clouds 
chased rapidly over it, we were at one moment in light and at the 
next in darkness.  As the evening advanced, a thunderstorm came up; 
it struck us with such violence that the tent would have been blown 
over if we had not interposed the cart to break the force of the 
wind.  At length it subsided to a steady rain.  I lay awake through 
nearly the whole night, listening to its dull patter upon the canvas 
above.  The moisture, which filled the tent and trickled from 
everything in it, did not add to the comfort of the situation.  About 
twelve o'clock Shaw went out to stand guard amid the rain and pitch 
darkness.  Munroe, the most vigilant as well as one of the bravest 
among us, was also on the alert.  When about two hours had passed, 
Shaw came silently in, and touching Henry, called him in a low quick 
voice to come out.  "What is it?" I asked.  "Indians, I believe," 
whispered Shaw; "but lie still; I'll call you if there's a fight."

He and Henry went out together.  I took the cover from my rifle, put 
a fresh percussion cap upon it, and then, being in much pain, lay 
down again.  In about five minutes Shaw came in again.  "All right," 
he said, as he lay down to sleep.  Henry was now standing guard in 
his place.  He told me in the morning the particulars of the alarm.  
Munroe' s watchful eye discovered some dark objects down in the 
hollow, among the horses, like men creeping on all fours.  Lying flat 
on their faces, he and Shaw crawled to the edge of the bank, and were 
soon convinced that what they saw were Indians.  Shaw silently 
withdrew to call Henry, and they all lay watching in the same 
position.  Henry's eye is of the best on the prairie.  He detected 
after a while the true nature of the moving objects; they were 
nothing but wolves creeping among the horses.

It is very singular that when picketed near a camp horses seldom show 
any fear of such an intrusion.  The wolves appear to have no other 
object than that of gnawing the trail-ropes of raw hide by which the 
animals are secured.  Several times in the course of the journey my 
horse's trail-rope was bitten in two by these nocturnal visitors.



CHAPTER XXVII

THE SETTLEMENTS


The next day was extremely hot, and we rode from morning till night 
without seeing a tree or a bush or a drop of water.  Our horses and 
mules suffered much more than we, but as sunset approached they 
pricked up their ears and mended their pace.  Water was not far off.  
When we came to the descent of the broad shallowy valley where it 
lay, an unlooked-for sight awaited us.  The stream glistened at the 
bottom, and along its banks were pitched a multitude of tents, while 
hundreds of cattle were feeding over the meadows.  Bodies of troops, 
both horse and foot, and long trains of wagons with men, women, and 
children, were moving over the opposite ridge and descending the 
broad declivity in front.  These were the Mormon battalion in the 
service of government, together with a considerable number of 
Missouri volunteers.  The Mormons were to be paid off in California, 
and they were allowed to bring with them their families and property.  
There was something very striking in the half-military, half-
patriarchal appearance of these armed fanatics, thus on their way 
with their wives and children, to found, if might be, a Mormon empire 
in California.  We were much more astonished than pleased at the 
sight before us.  In order to find an unoccupied camping ground, we 
were obliged to pass a quarter of a mile up the stream, and here we 
were soon beset by a swarm of Mormons and Missourians.  The United 
States officer in command of the whole came also to visit us, and 
remained some time at our camp.

In the morning the country was covered with mist.  We were always 
early risers, but before we were ready the voices of men driving in 
the cattle sounded all around us.  As we passed above their camp, we 
saw through the obscurity that the tents were falling and the ranks 
rapidly forming; and mingled with the cries of women and children, 
the rolling of the Mormon drums and the clear blast of their trumpets 
sounded through the mist.

From that time to the journey's end, we met almost every day long 
trains of government wagons, laden with stores for the troops and 
crawling at a snail's pace toward Santa Fe.

Tete Rouge had a mortal antipathy to danger, but on a foraging 
expedition one evening, he achieved an adventure more perilous than 
had yet befallen any man in the party.  The night after we left the 
Ridge-path we encamped close to the river.  At sunset we saw a train 
of wagons encamping on the trail about three miles off; and though we 
saw them distinctly, our little cart, as it afterward proved, 
entirely escaped their view.  For some days Tete Rouge had been 
longing eagerly after a dram of whisky.  So, resolving to improve the 
present opportunity, he mounted his horse James, slung his canteen 
over his shoulder, and set forth in search of his favorite liquor.  
Some hours passed without his returning.  We thought that he was 
lost, or perhaps that some stray Indian had snapped him up.  While 
the rest fell asleep I remained on guard.  Late at night a tremulous 
voice saluted me from the darkness, and Tete Rouge and James soon 
became visible, advancing toward the camp.  Tete Rouge was in much 
agitation and big with some important tidings.  Sitting down on the 
shaft of the cart, he told the following story:

When he left the camp he had no idea, he said, how late it was.  By 
the time he approached the wagoners it was perfectly dark; and as he 
saw them all sitting around their fires within the circle of wagons, 
their guns laid by their sides, he thought he might as well give 
warning of his approach, in order to prevent a disagreeable mistake.  
Raising his voice to the highest pitch, he screamed out in prolonged 
accents, "Camp, ahoy!"  This eccentric salutation produced anything 
but the desired result.  Hearing such hideous sounds proceeding from 
the outer darkness, the wagoners thought that the whole Pawnee nation 
were about to break in and take their scalps.  Up they sprang staring 
with terror.  Each man snatched his gun; some stood behind the 
wagons; some threw themselves flat on the ground, and in an instant 
twenty cocked muskets were leveled full at the horrified Tete Rouge, 
who just then began to be visible through the darkness.

"Thar they come," cried the master wagoner, "fire, fire! shoot that 
feller."

"No, no!" screamed Tete Rouge, in an ecstasy of fright; "don't fire, 
don't!  I'm a friend, I'm an American citizen!"

"You're a friend, be you?" cried a gruff voice from the wagons; "then 
what are you yelling out thar for, like a wild Injun.  Come along up 
here if you're a man."

"Keep your guns p'inted at him," added the master wagoner, "maybe 
he's a decoy, like."

Tete Rouge in utter bewilderment made his approach, with the gaping 
muzzles of the muskets still before his eyes.  He succeeded at last 
in explaining his character and situation, and the Missourians 
admitted him into camp.  He got no whisky; but as he represented 
himself as a great invalid, and suffering much from coarse fare, they 
made up a contribution for him of rice, biscuit, and sugar from their 
own rations.

In the morning at breakfast, Tete Rouge once more related this story.  
We hardly knew how much of it to believe, though after some cross-
questioning we failed to discover any flaw in the narrative.  Passing 
by the wagoner's camp, they confirmed Tete Rouge's account in every 
particular.

"I wouldn't have been in that feller's place," said one of them, "for 
the biggest heap of money in Missouri."

To Tete Rouge's great wrath they expressed a firm conviction that he 
was crazy.  We left them after giving them the advice not to trouble 
themselves about war-whoops in future, since they would be apt to 
feel an Indian's arrow before they heard his voice.

A day or two after, we had an adventure of another sort with a party 
of wagoners.  Henry and I rode forward to hunt.  After that day there 
was no probability that we should meet with buffalo, and we were 
anxious to kill one for the sake of fresh meat.  They were so wild 
that we hunted all the morning in vain, but at noon as we approached 
Cow Creek we saw a large band feeding near its margin.  Cow Creek is 
densely lined with trees which intercept the view beyond, and it 
runs, as we afterward found, at the bottom of a deep trench.  We 
approached by riding along the bottom of a ravine.  When we were near 
enough, I held the horses while Henry crept toward the buffalo.  I 
saw him take his seat within shooting distance, prepare his rifle, 
and look about to select his victim.  The death of a fat cow was 
certain, when suddenly a great smoke arose from the bed of the Creek 
with a rattling volley of musketry.  A score of long-legged 
Missourians leaped out from among the trees and ran after the 
buffalo, who one and all took to their heels and vanished.  These 
fellows had crawled up the bed of the Creek to within a hundred yards 
of the buffalo.  Never was there a fairer chance for a shot.  They 
were good marksmen; all cracked away at once, and yet not a buffalo 
fell.  In fact, the animal is so tenacious of life that it requires 
no little knowledge of anatomy to kill it, and it is very seldom that 
a novice succeeds in his first attempt at approaching.  The balked 
Missourians were excessively mortified, especially when Henry told 
them if they had kept quiet he would have killed meat enough in ten 
minutes to feed their whole party.  Our friends, who were at no great 
distance, hearing such a formidable fusillade, thought the Indians 
had fired the volley for our benefit.  Shaw came galloping on to 
reconnoiter and learn if we were yet in the land of the living.

At Cow Creek we found the very welcome novelty of ripe grapes and 
plums, which grew there in abundance.  At the Little Arkansas, not 
much farther on, we saw the last buffalo, a miserable old bull, 
roaming over the prairie alone and melancholy.

From this time forward the character of the country was changing 
every day.  We had left behind us the great arid deserts, meagerly 
covered by the tufted buffalo grass, with its pale green hue, and its 
short shriveled blades.  The plains before us were carpeted with rich 
and verdant herbage sprinkled with flowers.  In place of buffalo we 
found plenty of prairie hens, and we bagged them by dozens without 
leaving the trail.  In three or four days we saw before us the broad 
woods and the emerald meadows of Council Grove, a scene of striking 
luxuriance and beauty.  It seemed like a new sensation as we rode 
beneath the resounding archs of these noble woods.  The trees were 
ash, oak, elm, maple, and hickory, their mighty limbs deeply 
overshadowing the path, while enormous grape vines were entwined 
among them, purple with fruit.  The shouts of our scattered party, 
and now and then a report of a rifle, rang amid the breathing 
stillness of the forest.  We rode forth again with regret into the 
broad light of the open prairie.  Little more than a hundred miles 
now separated us from the frontier settlements.  The whole 
intervening country was a succession of verdant prairies, rising in 
broad swells and relieved by trees clustering like an oasis around 
some spring, or following the course of a stream along some fertile 
hollow.  These are the prairies of the poet and the novelist.  We had 
left danger behind us.  Nothing was to be feared from the Indians of 
this region, the Sacs and Foxes, the Kansas and the Osages.  We had 
met with signal good fortune.  Although for five months we had been 
traveling with an insufficient force through a country where we were 
at any moment liable to depredation, not a single animal had been 
stolen from us, and our only loss had been one old mule bitten to 
death by a rattlesnake.  Three weeks after we reached the frontier 
the Pawnees and the Comanches began a regular series of hostilities 
on the Arkansas trail, killing men and driving off horses.  They 
attacked, without exception, every party, large or small, that passed 
during the next six months.

Diamond Spring, Rock Creek, Elder Grove, and other camping places 
besides, were passed all in quick succession.  At Rock Creek we found 
a train of government provision wagons, under the charge of an 
emaciated old man in his seventy-first year.  Some restless American 
devil had driven him into the wilderness at a time when he should 
have been seated at his fireside with his grandchildren on his knees.  
I am convinced that he never returned; he was complaining that night 
of a disease, the wasting effects of which upon a younger and 
stronger man, I myself had proved from severe experience.  Long ere 
this no doubt the wolves have howled their moonlight carnival over 
the old man's attenuated remains.

Not long after we came to a small trail leading to Fort Leavenworth, 
distant but one day's journey.  Tete Rouge here took leave of us.  He 
was anxious to go to the fort in order to receive payment for his 
valuable military services.  So he and his horse James, after bidding 
an affectionate farewell, set out together, taking with them as much 
provision as they could conveniently carry, including a large 
quantity of brown sugar.  On a cheerless rainy evening we came to our 
last encamping ground.  Some pigs belonging to a Shawnee farmer were 
grunting and rooting at the edge of the grove.

"I wonder how fresh pork tastes," murmured one of the party, and more 
than one voice murmured in response.  The fiat went forth, "That pig 
must die," and a rifle was leveled forthwith at the countenance of 
the plumpest porker.  Just then a wagon train, with some twenty 
Missourians, came out from among the trees.  The marksman suspended 
his aim, deeming it inexpedient under the circumstances to consummate 
the deed of blood.

In the morning we made our toilet as well as circumstances would 
permit, and that is saying but very little.  In spite of the dreary 
rain of yesterday, there never was a brighter and gayer autumnal 
morning than that on which we returned to the settlements.  We were 
passing through the country of the half-civilized Shawanoes.  It was 
a beautiful alternation of fertile plains and groves, whose foliage 
was just tinged with the hues of autumn, while close beneath them 
rested the neat log-houses of the Indian farmers.  Every field and 
meadow bespoke the exuberant fertility of the soil.  The maize stood 
rustling in the wind, matured and dry, its shining yellow ears thrust 
out between the gaping husks.  Squashes and enormous yellow pumpkins 
lay basking in the sun in the midst of their brown and shriveled 
leaves.  Robins and blackbirds flew about the fences; and everything 
in short betokened our near approach to home and civilization.  The 
forests that border on the Missouri soon rose before us, and we 
entered the wide tract of shrubbery which forms their outskirts.  We 
had passed the same road on our outward journey in the spring, but 
its aspect was totally changed.  The young wild apple trees, then 
flushed with their fragrant blossoms, were now hung thickly with 
ruddy fruit.  Tall grass flourished by the roadside in place of the 
tender shoots just peeping from the warm and oozy soil.  The vines 
were laden with dark purple grapes, and the slender twigs of the 
maple, then tasseled with their clusters of small red flowers, now 
hung out a gorgeous display of leaves stained by the frost with 
burning crimson.  On every side we saw the tokens of maturity and 
decay where all had before been fresh and beautiful.  We entered the 
forest, and ourselves and our horses were checkered, as we passed 
along, by the bright spots of sunlight that fell between the opening 
boughs.  On either side the dark rich masses of foliage almost 
excluded the sun, though here and there its rays could find their way 
down, striking through the broad leaves and lighting them with a pure 
transparent green.  Squirrels barked at us from the trees; coveys of 
young partridges ran rustling over the leaves below, and the golden 
oriole, the blue jay, and the flaming red-bird darted among the 
shadowy branches.  We hailed these sights and sounds of beauty by no 
means with an unmingled pleasure.  Many and powerful as were the 
attractions which drew us toward the settlements, we looked back even 
at that moment with an eager longing toward the wilderness of 
prairies and mountains behind us.  For myself I had suffered more 
that summer from illness than ever before in my life, and yet to this 
hour I cannot recall those savage scenes and savage men without a 
strong desire again to visit them.

At length, for the first time during about half a year, we saw the 
roof of a white man's dwelling between the opening trees.  A few 
moments after we were riding over the miserable log bridge that leads 
into the center of Westport.  Westport had beheld strange scenes, but 
a rougher looking troop than ours, with our worn equipments and 
broken-down horses, was never seen even there.  We passed the well-
remembered tavern, Boone's grocery and old Vogel's dram shop, and 
encamped on a meadow beyond.  Here we were soon visited by a number 
of people who came to purchase our horses and equipage.  This matter 
disposed of, we hired a wagon and drove on to Kansas Landing.  Here 
we were again received under the hospitable roof of our old friend 
Colonel Chick, and seated on his porch we looked down once more on 
the eddies of the Missouri.

Delorier made his appearance in the morning, strangely transformed by 
the assistance of a hat, a coat, and a razor.  His little log-house 
was among the woods not far off.  It seemed he had meditated giving a 
ball on the occasion of his return, and had consulted Henry Chatillon 
as to whether it would do to invite his bourgeois.  Henry expressed 
his entire conviction that we would not take it amiss, and the 
invitation was now proffered, accordingly, Delorier adding as a 
special inducement that Antoine Lejeunesse was to play the fiddle.  
We told him we would certainly come, but before the evening arrived a 
steamboat, which came down from Fort Leavenworth, prevented our being 
present at the expected festivities.  Delorier was on the rock at the 
landing place, waiting to take leave of us.

"Adieu! mes bourgeois; adieu! adieu!" he cried out as the boat pulled 
off; "when you go another time to de Rocky Montagnes I will go with 
you; yes, I will go!"

He accompanied this patronizing assurance by jumping about swinging 
his hat, and grinning from ear to ear.  As the boat rounded a distant 
point, the last object that met our eyes was Delorier still lifting 
his hat and skipping about the rock.  We had taken leave of Munroe 
and Jim Gurney at Westport, and Henry Chatillon went down in the boat 
with us.

The passage to St. Louis occupied eight days, during about a third of 
which we were fast aground on sand-bars.  We passed the steamer 
Amelia crowded with a roaring crew of disbanded volunteers, swearing, 
drinking, gambling, and fighting.  At length one evening we reached 
the crowded levee of St. Louis.  Repairing to the Planters' House, we 
caused diligent search to be made for our trunks, which after some 
time were discovered stowed away in the farthest corner of the 
storeroom.  In the morning we hardly recognized each other; a frock 
of broadcloth had supplanted the frock of buckskin; well-fitted 
pantaloons took the place of the Indian leggings, and polished boots 
were substituted for the gaudy moccasins.

After we had been several days at St. Louis we heard news of Tete 
Rouge.  He had contrived to reach Fort Leavenworth, where he had 
found the paymaster and received his money.  As a boat was just ready 
to start for St. Louis, he went on board and engaged his passage.  
This done, he immediately got drunk on shore, and the boat went off 
without him.  It was some days before another opportunity occurred, 
and meanwhile the sutler's stores furnished him with abundant means 
of keeping up his spirits.  Another steamboat came at last, the clerk 
of which happened to be a friend of his, and by the advice of some 
charitable person on shore he persuaded Tete Rouge to remain on 
board, intending to detain him there until the boat should leave the 
fort.  At first Tete Rouge was well contented with this arrangement, 
but on applying for a dram, the barkeeper, at the clerk's 
instigation, refused to let him have it.  Finding them both 
inflexible in spite of his entreaties, he became desperate and made 
his escape from the boat.  The clerk found him after a long search in 
one of the barracks; a circle of dragoons stood contemplating him as 
he lay on the floor, maudlin drunk and crying dismally.  With the 
help of one of them the clerk pushed him on board, and our informant, 
who came down in the same boat, declares that he remained in great 
despondency during the whole passage.  As we left St. Louis soon 
after his arrival, we did not see the worthless, good-natured little 
vagabond again.

On the evening before our departure Henry Chatillon came to our rooms 
at the Planters' House to take leave of us.  No one who met him in 
the streets of St. Louis would have taken him for a hunter fresh from 
the Rocky Mountains.  He was very neatly and simply dressed in a suit 
of dark cloth; for although, since his sixteenth year, he had 
scarcely been for a month together among the abodes of men, he had a 
native good taste and a sense of propriety which always led him to 
pay great attention to his personal appearance.  His tall athletic 
figure, with its easy flexible motions, appeared to advantage in his 
present dress; and his fine face, though roughened by a thousand 
storms, was not at all out of keeping with it.  We took leave of him 
with much regret; and unless his changing features, as he shook us by 
the hand, belied him, the feeling on his part was no less than on 
ours.  Shaw had given him a horse at Westport.  My rifle, which he 
had always been fond of using, as it was an excellent piece, much 
better than his own, is now in his hands, and perhaps at this moment 
its sharp voice is startling the echoes of the Rocky Mountains.  On 
the next morning we left town, and after a fortnight of railroads and 
steamboat we saw once more the familiar features of home.





End of the Project Gutenberg Etext of The Oregon Trail by Francis Parkman, Jr.

