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 STEPHEN E. WHICHER 
 MEMORIAL BOOK COLLECTION 
 
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 BOOK 
 
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 CAT. NO. 23233 
 
 Cornell University Library 
 
 F 592.P24 1900a 
 The Oregon Trail; being sl<etches of prair 
 
 3 1924 014 283 927 
 
The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924014283927 
 
The Oregon Trail 
 
 Being Sketches of Prairie and Rocky- 
 Mountain Life 
 
 By FRANCIS PARKMAN, Jr. 
 Author of "THE CONSPIRACY OF PONTIAC," etc., etc. 
 
 "I tread. 
 With fainting steps and slow. 
 Where wilds immeasurably spread 
 Seem lengthening as I go." 
 
 THE WILLIAM J. HILL CO., INC. 
 
 Publishers 
 
 CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 
 
THE 
 CALIFORNIA AND OREGON TRAIL 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE FRONTIER 
 
 Away, away from men and towns 
 To the silent wilderness. 
 
 Shelly. 
 
 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 Califor- 
 nia, but an unusual number of traders were making ready 
 their wagons and outfits for Santa Fe. Many of the emi- 
 grants, especially of those bound for California, were per- 
 sons 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 pas- 
 sengers 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 wagons of a 
 peculiar form, for the Santa Fe trade, and her hold was 
 crammed with goods for the same destination. There 
 
2 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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, "moun- 
 tain 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, grat- 
 ing upon snags, and hanging for two or three hours at a 
 time upon sand-bars. We entered the mouth of the Mis:- 
 souri 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 de- 
 scended 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 3 
 
 as a military abatis, firmly imbedded in the sand, and 
 all pointing down stream, ready to impede any unhappy 
 steamboat that at high water should pass over that dan- 
 gerous 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 en- 
 camped 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 chju-acteristic, 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 sub- 
 stitute for a tavern, we set out in a wagon for Westport, 
 
4 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 misera- 
 ble road conducted us were Ughted 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 pictur- 
 esque 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, Shaw- 
 anoes and Delawares, fluttering in calico frocks and tur- 
 bans, 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 prepara- 
 tions 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 5 
 
 emigrants who were on the point of setting out for Oregon 
 and CaJifomia; 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 appoint- 
 ments for the prairie. R., who professed a taste for nat- 
 ural 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 con- 
 venient speed. The emigrants for whom our friends pro- 
 fessed 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 confu- 
 sion, 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 
 
6 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 coun- 
 trymen, stood about their oxen; and as I passed I noticed 
 three old fellows, who, with their long whips in their heuids, 
 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 peiplexed myself to divine the various motives 
 that give impulse to this strange migation, 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. Accord- 
 ingly R. and the muleteer 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 7 
 
 them all to the skin. They hurried on to reach the place, 
 about seven miles ofT, 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 shel- 
 tered 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 trap- 
 per succeeded in discovering his tent: R. had by this time 
 finished his coffee, and was seated on a buffalo robe smok- 
 ing 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 laid 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 stun- 
 ning and continuous thunder, I had 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 in- 
 
8 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 trusted 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 sup- 
 pressing 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 cart stuck 
 fast. 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 BREAKING THE ICE 
 
 Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chase. 
 And marvel men should quit their easy-chjur. 
 
 The weary way and long, long league to trace ; — 
 Oh, there is sweetness in the prairie air. 
 
 And Ufe that bloated ease can never hope to share. 
 
 Childe Harold. 
 
 Both Shaw and myself were tolerably inured to the 
 vicissitudes of traveling. We have 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 origi- 
 nally hardy and robust; and I was anxious to pursue some 
 inquiries relative to the character and usages of the remote 
 Indian nations, being already famihar 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, tiU 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 
 
10 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 stem 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, orna- 
 mented 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 wEiist 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, manufac- 
 tured 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail n 
 
 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 am- 
 munition, 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 pro- 
 cure 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 bom 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, 
 
12 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 deli- 
 cacy of mind such as is very rarely found, even in women. 
 His manly face was a perfect mirror of uprightness, sim- 
 plicity, 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 skiU in himt- 
 ing; 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 pre- 
 sumed 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 imaided 
 nature will sometimes do. I have never, m 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 13 
 
 frogs and young turtles. There had been an Indian en- 
 campment 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, shad- 
 ing his eyes with one hand, and holding a litde 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 eagle's feathers, and the tails 
 of two or three ratdesnakes. 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 Uquor we offered him a cup of sweet- 
 ened 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,^ 
 
14 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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; al- 
 though here and there was a man who, hke 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 the 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 re- 
 markably large and athletic man, was just arrived from 
 Westport, where he owns a trading establishment. Be- 
 side this, he has a fine farm and a considerable number of 
 slaves. Indeed the Shawanoes have made greater prog- 
 ress 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 bzuiks 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 15 
 
 large flock of turkeys that were fluttering and gobbling 
 about the door. But no offers of money, or even of to- 
 bacco, 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 plain- 
 tively whistling in the wood sand meadows; but nothing 
 appropriate to the rifle was to be seen, except three buz- 
 zards, 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 im- 
 pending 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 astonish- 
 ment. They seemed by no means to relish this foretaste 
 of what was before them. Mine, in particular, had con- 
 ceived a mortal aversion to the prairie life. One of them, 
 christened Hendrick, an animal whose strength and hardi- 
 hood 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 aveng- 
 ing his wrongs with a kick. The other, Pontiac, a good 
 
1 6 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 Ogal- 
 lalla 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, how- 
 ever, 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 
 unlading our cart in order to make our way up the steep 
 ascent on the farther bank. It was a Sunday morning; 
 warm, tranquil and bright; and a perfect stillness reigned 
 over the rough inclosures and neglected fields of the Dela- 
 wares, 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 dis- 
 cerned, 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 pur- 
 sued 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 17 
 
 on either hand. The little rude structures of logs, erected 
 usually on the borders of a tract of woods, made a pic- 
 turesque feature in the landscape. But the scenery needed 
 no foreign aid. Nature had done enough for it; and the 
 alternation of rich green prairies and groves that stood in 
 clusters, or lined the banks of the numerous littie 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 prairie were thickly 
 studded with blossoms. 
 
 Encamping near a spring by the side of a hill, we re- 
 sumed our journey in the morning, and early in the after- 
 noon 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 pro- 
 cession 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 con- 
 siderable number of pack mules, laden with the furs they 
 had taken, together with the buffalo robes, ketdes, 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. 
 
i8 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 and in the absence of girth, a thong of hide passing around 
 the horse's belly. The rider's dark features and keen snaky 
 eye 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 handker- 
 chief was tied around his head. Resting on the saddle be- 
 fore 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 inquured. 
 
 Henry Chatillon pointed to us. The old Delaware fixed 
 his eyes intently upon us for a moment, and then senten- 
 tiously remarked: 
 
 "No good ! Too young !" With this flattering corrmient 
 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 confed- 
 erates, 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 expedi- 
 tions. 
 
 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, 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 19 
 
 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 Leaven- 
 worth, and on the next to bid a final adieu to the frontier : 
 or in the phraseology of the region, to "jump off." Our 
 deUberations 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 
 
 I've wandered wide, and wandered far, 
 
 But never have I met, 
 In all this lovely western land, 
 
 A spot more lovely yet. 
 
 Bryant. 
 
 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 ar- 
 rived, and received us at his quarters 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 tran- 
 quilUty. In the square grassy area, surrounded by barracks 
 and the quarters of the officers, the men were passing and 
 
so The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 repassing, or lounging among the trees; although not many 
 weeks afterward it presented a diflFerent scene; for here the 
 very offscourings of the frontier were congregated, to be 
 marshaled for the expedition against Santa Fe. 
 
 Passing through the garrison, we rode toward the Kick- 
 apoo 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 prairies, 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 mellow- 
 ness 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, roll- 
 ing powerfully along at the foot of the woody declivities 
 on 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 trad- 
 ing 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 21 
 
 in profusion. The trader was a blue-eyed, open-faced 
 man, who neither in his manners nor his appearance be- 
 trayed any of the roughness of the frontier; though just 
 at present he was obliged to keep a lynx eye on his suspi- 
 cious customers, who, men and women, were climbing on 
 his coimter, and seating themselves among his boxes and 
 bales. 
 
 The village itself was not far off, and sufficiently illus- 
 trated the condition of its unfortunate and self-abandoned 
 occupants. Fancy to yourself a little swift stream, work- 
 ing its devious way down a woody vaUey; 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 nar- 
 row, 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 dis- 
 persed, and left him at leisure. He invited us to his cot- 
 tage, 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 civiliza- 
 tion of the region. A pistol, loaded and capped, lay on 
 
22 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 the mantelpiece; and through the glass of the bookcase, 
 peeping above the works of John MUton, 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 wel- 
 come in the extreme heat of the day; and soon after ap- 
 peared a merry, laughing woman, who must have been, a 
 year or 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 habili- 
 ments 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, mount- 
 ing, we rode together to the camp, where everything was 
 in readiness for departure on the morrow. 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 23 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 "jumping off" 
 
 We forded the river and clomb the high hill. 
 Never our steeds for a day stood still; 
 Whether we lay in the cave or the shed, 
 Our sleep fell soft on the hardest bed; 
 Whether we couched in our rough capdte. 
 On the rougher plank of our gliding boat. 
 Or stretched on the sand, or our saddles spread 
 As a pillow beneath the resting head. 
 
 Fresh we woke upon the morrow; 
 All our thoughts and words had scope. 
 We had health and we had hope. 
 
 Toil and travel, but no sorrow. 
 
 SiEOE OF Corinth. 
 
 The reader need not be told that John Bull never leaves 
 home without encumbermg himself with the greatest pos- 
 sible load of luggage. Our companions were no excep- 
 tion to the rule. They had a wagon drawn by six mules 
 and crammed with provisions for six months, besides am- 
 munition enough for a regiment; spare rifles and fowling- 
 pieces, ropes and harness; personal baggage, and a mis- 
 cellaneous 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 cahber, 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 done! get up !" cried Delorier 
 from his seat in front of the cart. Wright, our friends' 
 muleteer, after some swearing and lashing, got his insubor- 
 dinate train in motion, and then the whole party filed from 
 the ground. Thus we bade a long adieu to bed and board, 
 
24 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 vwthout 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 ex- 
 pedition imder Colonel Kearny to Fort Laramie, and by 
 this means to reach the grand trail of the Oregon emi- 
 grants up the Platte. 
 
 We rode for an hour or two when a familiar cluster of 
 buildings appeared on a little hill. "HaUo!" shouted the 
 Kickapoo trader from over his fence, "where are you go- 
 ing?" 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 to- 
 ward the Rocky Mountains. So we turned in the direction 
 the trader indicated; and with the sun for a guide, begcui 
 to trace a "bee line" across the preiiries. We struggled 
 through copses and Knes 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 horse- 
 men stretching for a nule 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 25 
 
 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 pro- 
 ceedings 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 appear- 
 ance 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 sacris 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. 
 
26 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 But Wright, the muleteer, apparently had not as yet 
 decided the point in his own mind; and he sat stUl in his 
 seat on one of the shaft-mules, whistling in a low con- 
 templative 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 con- 
 federates, "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 Izished 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 agree- 
 able labor accomplished, the wagon at length 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 27 
 
 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 home- 
 sick charger Pontiac made a sudden leap across, and set 
 off at a round trot for the settlements. I mounted my re- 
 maining 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 re- 
 peatedly, with the same result; Pontiac was evidently dis- 
 gusted with the prairie; so I abandoned it, and tried an- 
 other, 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 encum- 
 bered 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 soHtary 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 in- 
 
28 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 finite 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 drag- 
 ging 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, be- 
 yond 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 biirren 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 precon- 
 ceived ideas of the prairie, for this it is from which pic- 
 turesque tourists, painters, poets, and novelists, who have 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 29 
 
 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; abun- 
 dance 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 sec, moldering 
 in the grass by his path, the vast antlers of the elk, and 
 farther on, the whitened skulls of the buffalo, once swarm- 
 ing 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" innu- 
 merable. 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 quietiy visit him in his 
 tent at night; while the pertinacious humming of unnum- 
 bered mosquitoes will banish sleep from his eyelids. When 
 thirsty with a long ride in the scorching sim 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 
 
30 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 this, that all the morning the sun beats upon him with 
 a sultry, penetrating heat and that, with provoking reg- 
 ularity, at about four o'clock in the afternoon, a thunder- 
 storm rises and drenches him to the skin. Such being the 
 charms of this favored region, the reader will easily con- 
 ceive 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 twist- 
 ing 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 feed- 
 ing 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 con- 
 tumacious 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 con- 
 templating 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!" 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 31 
 
 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 vacantiy 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 some day or 
 other, and then a pretty plight we should be in I Now I 
 am convinced that the only way for us is to have every 
 man in 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." 
 
32 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 "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 pre- 
 cautions at all to guard against surprise. My own con- 
 victions arc 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 post- 
 pone such burdensome precautions until there should be 
 some actual need for them; but he shook his head dubi- 
 ously. The captain's sense of miUtary propriety had been 
 severely shocked by what he considered the irregular pro- 
 ceedings of the party; and this was not the first time he 
 had expressed himsdf upon the subject. But his convic- 
 tions 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, "wiU 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 extenave 
 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; imtil, looking back, we saw 
 the prairie behind us stretching away to the horizon, with- 
 out a horseman or a wagon in sight. 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 33 
 
 "Now," said the captain, "I thinU 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 captaiQ. 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 horse- 
 men riding through the water; and among the dingy 
 habiliments 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 to- 
 ward 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. 
 
34 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE "big blue" 
 
 A man so various that he seemed to be 
 Not one, but all mankind's epitome; 
 Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong, 
 Was everything by starts, and nothing long. 
 But, in the space of one revolving moon. 
 Was gamester, chemist, fiddler, and buffoon. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 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 pre- 
 vailing 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 Independ- 
 ence raised a great outcry; the men themselves were seri- 
 ously 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 35 
 
 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 imbroken carpet of fresh green grass. Here and there 
 a crow, or a raven, or a turkey-buzzard, relieved the uni- 
 formity. 
 
 "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 ap- 
 proval, being exceedingly strong, or, as he expressed it, 
 "right black." 
 
36 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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," re- 
 plied 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 moccasin," 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 our- 
 selves." 
 
 We set out together; and as we approached the bushes, 
 which were at some distance, we found the ground be- 
 coming rather treacherous. We could only get along by 
 stepping upon large clumps of tall rank grass, with fathom- 
 less 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 sepa- 
 rated, 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 water- 
 wOlows, covered with their caterpiUar-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, lan- 
 guidly 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 
 
Thk California and Oregon Trail 37 
 
 at the bottom, whence several large air bubbles struggled 
 lazily to the top. Some little spotted frogs instantly fol- 
 lowed 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 grape-vines. 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 for- 
 ward. Our perseverance was at last rewarded; for several 
 rods farther on, we emerged upon a little level grassy nook 
 among the brushwood, and by an extraordinary dispensa- 
 tion of fortune, the weeds and floating sticks, which else-. 
 
gS The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 where 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 closed hands; it seemed rea- 
 sonably 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 
 aU directions from their native mud and slime and swarm- 
 ing 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 per- 
 plexed 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 re- 
 coil. "The brutes won't sting." 
 
 At this I knocked one down with my hat, and discovered 
 him to be no other than a "dor-bug" ; 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 39 
 
 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 sud- 
 denly 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 bul- 
 lets were humming over our heads. In a moment some- 
 thing 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 iast, we hoped to be exempt from invasion. 
 But all precaution was fruitless. The dor-bugs 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 cov- 
 ered with dor-bugs, 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 
 
40 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 were heard lamentations and curses; for 
 half the horses had broken 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 lanquid 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 thunder- 
 clouds 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 tiie densest 
 fold of the cloud the flash leaped out, quivering again and 
 again down to the edge of the prairie; and at the same 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 41 
 
 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 \is, leveling the tall grass by the side of the 
 path. 
 
 "Gome on; we must ride for it!" shouted Shaw, rush- 
 ing 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 sad- 
 dles; 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 roar- 
 ing 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 
 effectually. 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, threat- 
 
42 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 ened to overspread the whole area within the tent, hold- 
 ing 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 hori- 
 zontal 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 
 awhile 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 
 
The Califorimia and Oregon Trail 43 
 
 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, d,renched 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, af- 
 fecting 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 ejacula- 
 tion 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 stoUd countenance, at his brother's 
 side. 
 
 "Exhilarating weather, captain!" 
 
 "Oh, delightful, dehghtful!" 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 
 
44 The California and Oregoi^ Trail 
 
 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 medita- 
 ting 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 per- 
 secuted 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 mil- 
 itary 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 nui- 
 sance that disturbed it. But again the captain's easy good- 
 nature recoiled from the task. The somewhat vigorous 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 45 
 
 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 sur- 
 rounded with the trophies of his rod and gun; the walls 
 were plentifully garnished, he told us, with moose-homs 
 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 king- 
 doms. 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 buffsilo, and the claws of a grizzly bear; so he 
 and R. struck a league to travel in company. Jack fol- 
 lowed 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 the 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 
 
46 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 break- 
 fast. R. was a well-formed and rather good-looking man, 
 some thirty years old; considerably younger than the cap- 
 tain. He wore a beard and mustache of the oakum com- 
 plexion, 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 Eiin'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 hav- 
 ing spent his life among the wildest and most remote of 
 the Indian tribes, had imbibed much of their dark, vin- 
 dictive 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 inter- 
 fered with the exercise of these important functions. I 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 47 
 
 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; 
 Kdnglake'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 un- 
 equivocal manner; but Jack, not caring to defend his point 
 against so authoritative a declaration, walked away whist- 
 ling, 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, 
 philosophy or fashion. The part I bore in the conversa- 
 tion was by no means a prominent one; it was only neces- 
 
48 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 sary 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 rough-shod, from morn- 
 ing 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 ref- 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 49 
 
 uge among the trees. R. joined them, and they soon drove 
 her out. We watched their evolutions as they galloped 
 around her, 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 
 penthouse 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 an^ety'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 laugh- 
 ing 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 
 
50 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 com- 
 mitted her, while he himself rode forward in his old capac- 
 ity of vedette. We were approaching a long hne 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 re- 
 sumed her place in our procession. She walked on until 
 we encamped, when R. firmly approaching with his enor- 
 mous 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 Httle brooks all that morning; but on traversing 
 the dense woods that lined the banks of the Blue, we found 
 that 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 51 
 
 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 inces- 
 santly; 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 Eunusingly incon- 
 sistent; for when he saw that the men would not do as he 
 told them, he wisely accommodated himself to circum- 
 stances, 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 re- 
 fractory mountain. Shaw smiled significantly; R. observed 
 it, and, approaching with a countenance of lofty indigna- 
 tion, 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 comers, 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. 
 
52 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE PLATTE AND THE DESERT 
 
 Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild. 
 The seat of desolation? 
 
 Paradise Lost. 
 
 Here have we war for war, and blood for blood. 
 
 Kino John. 
 
 We were now arrived at the close of our solitary jour- 
 neyings along the St. Joseph's trail. On the evening of 
 the 23rd 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 
 loneKness of the prairie, reached our ears — ^peals of laugh- 
 ter, 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 driz- 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 53 
 
 zling moisture of the evening. Another followed, a stout, 
 square built, intelligent looking man, who announced him- 
 self as leader of an emigremt 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 abimdant and melancholy traces 
 of their progress throughout the whole course of the jour- 
 ney. 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, 1 845 
 
 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 catde following behind. HaH a dozen 
 yellow-vLsaged Missourians, moimted on horseback, were 
 cursing and shouting among them; their lank angular pro- 
 
54 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 portions enveloped in brown homespun, evidendy 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 curios- 
 ity. 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 dis- 
 content was fomented 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 appre- 
 hension 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 55 
 
 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 extraor- 
 dinary 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 coining 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 
 
56 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 repeated instances of high-handed dealing sufficiently ex- 
 asperated 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 farther 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 satis- 
 faction 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 quiedy 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 our- 
 selves in our blankets, and sat down by the fire; and 
 Delorier, combining his culinary functions vwth 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 California and Oregon Trail 57 
 
 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 hostihty than robbing 
 travelens of their horses and mules, though, indeed a 
 Pawnee's forbearance 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 per- 
 chance 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 noislessly 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 soimd. 
 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 repUed 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, ydps, and whines — aU mingled as it were 
 together, sounded from the prairie, not far off, as if a whole 
 
58 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 concalve 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 re- 
 doubled emphasis, the musician being apparently indignant 
 at the successful efforts of a rival. They all proceeded 
 from the throat of one litde 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 dis- 
 cipline, 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 forget- 
 fubiess 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 dark- 
 ness, 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' £ind 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 59 
 
 the hour; for I and the beasts were all that had conscious- 
 ness 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 West- 
 port. 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 char- 
 acteristic rashness or ignorance, behind them. Their neg- 
 lect had nearly cost them dear; for just before we came 
 up, half a dozen Indians approached, and sedng them ap- 
 parently 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 litde 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 south- 
 ward. 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 
 
6o The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 open- 
 ing, 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, yeHed 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 sMlled in the use 
 of the rifle, but foimd themselves wholly out of their ele- 
 ment on the prairie. None of them had ever seen a buf- 
 falo, 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 mul- 
 titude of little black specks in motion upon its surface. 
 
 "Take your rifles, boys," said Kearsley, "and we'll have 
 fresh meat for supper." This inducement was quite suf- 
 ficient. The ten men left their wagons and set out in hot 
 haste, some on horseback and some on foot, in pursuit of 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 6i 
 
 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 con- 
 fronted by about thirty mounted Pawnees! The amaze- 
 ment 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 imagi- 
 nation, 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 wildness. 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 shad- 
 owy 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 stem 
 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 
 
l6s The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 be- 
 tween 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 nar- 
 row sandy plain, reaching like an outstretched belt nearly 
 to the Rocky Mountains. Two lines of sand-hiUs, 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 monot- 
 ony 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 scat- 
 tered 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 montonous 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 63 
 
 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 tJhe prairie. 
 
 They were the Pawnees whom Kearsley had encoun- 
 tered 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 In- 
 dians when meditating mischief or conscious of ill-desert. 
 I went out and met them; and had an amicable confer- 
 ence 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 dis- 
 tance, 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 re- 
 covered oxen, and whistling in utter contempt of the 
 Pawnee nation. His party was encamped within two 
 
64 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 fuU 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 re- 
 mained in camp for the rest of a gloomy and lowering 
 day. The emigrants Jilso encamped near at hand. We, 
 being first on the ground, had appropriated all the wood 
 within reach; so that our fire alone blazed cheerily. 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 65 
 
 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 ex- 
 pression, as if their owner might be the wilUng 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 
 
 Twice twenty leagues 
 Beyond remotest smoke of hunter's camp, 
 Roams the majestic brute, in herds that shake 
 The earth with thundering steps. 
 
 Bryant. 
 
 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 the bois de vache, which bums exactly like 
 peat, producing no unpleasant effects. The wagons one 
 morning had left the camp; Shaw and I were already on 
 horseback, but Henry ChatiUon 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 exagger- 
 ated appreciation of his merits, he had christened "Five 
 
66 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 taU 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 disap- 
 pearing as they bounded awkwardly along; while the 
 antelope, with the simple curiosity peculiar to them, would 
 often approach us 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 67 
 
 reptile-like prickly-pear. They were gashed with number- 
 less 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 round 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 con- 
 cealed 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 buf- 
 falo 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 dis- 
 appeared over the ridge of the hiU. Henry rose to his 
 feet, and stood looking after them. 
 
 "You have missed them," said I. 
 
68 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 "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 buflfalo. 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 vio- 
 lently 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 imi- 
 tate him. Old Hendrick recoiled with horror and indig- 
 nation when I endeavored to tie the meat to the strings 
 of rawhide, 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. Scarcdy 
 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 sun- 
 set. 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 direc- 
 tion, and the little mounds of fresh earth around their 
 holes were about as numerous as the hills in a corn-field; 
 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 California and Oregon Trail 69 
 
 the force of the wind, and the other collapsed in propor- 
 tion, 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 a heat so sultry and languid that 
 the captain excused himself on that account from way- 
 laying 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 cap- 
 tain had always professed. He had been out on the after- 
 noon 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 trans- 
 atlantic 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 hUls, lash- 
 ing his horse with the recklessness of a Rocky Mountain 
 rider. Unfortunately for the poor animal he was the prop- 
 perty of R., against whom Sorel entertained an unbounded 
 aversion. The captain himself, it seemed, had also at- 
 tempted to "run" a buffalo, but though a good and prac- 
 ticed 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 fol- 
 lowing morning Henry Chatillon, looking over the ocean- 
 like expanse, saw near the foot of the distant hills some- 
 thing that looked like a band of buffalo. He was not sure, 
 he said, but at all events, if they were buffalo, there was 
 
70 The California and Oreoon Trail 
 
 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 counte- 
 nance. 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 de- 
 clared 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 buflfalo 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." 
 
 "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 inextri- 
 cable medley in his brain. He trotted on in silence be- 
 tween 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 
 
 * 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^Iies in wait to kill them. 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 71 
 
 we saw Henry and the broad-chested pony coming toward 
 us at a gallop. 
 
 "Here's old Papm and Frederic, down from Fort Lara- 
 mie!" 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 Mexi- 
 cans, 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 as- 
 similating themselves to their savage associates, 
 
 I shook hands with the bourgeois, and delivered the let- 
 ter; then the boats swung round into the stream and 
 
72 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 floated away. They had reason for haste, for abeady 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 navi- 
 gate 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 ap- 
 palling 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 In- 
 dians 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 Httle 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 73 
 
 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 travel- 
 ing 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 possi- 
 ble, 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 condenmed 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. Never- 
 theless, had he been of our own party, I have no doubt 
 he would in like manner have escaped scot-free. But the 
 emigrants went farther than mere forbearance: they de- 
 creed that siace 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 buU, roam- 
 ing the prairie by himself in misanthropic seclusion; but 
 there might be more behind the hills. Dreading the mo- 
 notony 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 
 
74 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 incumbrances. We rode for some five or six miles, and 
 saw no living thing but vs^olves, 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 hol- 
 lows, cut Ijy 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 pos- 
 sibly 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 hiU, 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 iucreased; our horses 
 showed signs of the utmost fear, bounding violentiy aside 
 as we approached, and refusing to enter among the herd. 
 The buffalo now broke into several small bodies, scamper- 
 ing 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 hiU and down hill, 
 his ponderous hoofs striking the prairie like sledge-hammers. 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 75 
 
 He showed a curious mixture of eagerness and terror, strain- 
 ing to overtake the panic-stricken herd, but constantly 
 recoiUng in dismay as we drew near. The fugitives, in- 
 deed, offered no very attractive spectacle, with their enor- 
 mous 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, un- 
 buckled 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 incontroUable. Gaining 
 the top of the ridge, I saw nothing of the buffalo; they 
 had all vanished amid the intricacies of the hills and hol- 
 lows. 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 
 
76 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 left, and then we had another long chase. About a dozen 
 buUs 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, 
 when 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 buUet 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 land- 
 marks 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 cer- 
 tainly reach it. So I turned and rode about two hours in 
 that direction. The prairie changed as I advanced, soften- 
 ing away into easier undulations, but nothing like the 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 77 
 
 Platte appeared, nor any sign of a human being; the same 
 wild endless expanse lay around me stiU; and to all ap- 
 pearance I was as far from my object as ever. I began 
 now to consider myself in danger of being lost; and there- 
 fore, reining in my horse, summoned the scanty share of 
 woodcraft that I possessed (if that term be 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 scram- 
 bled 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 buUs 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, rufiianlike wolves sneaked 
 through the hoUows 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 
 
78 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 litde 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 In- 
 dians 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 gUded 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; £ind 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 beeties, 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 through- 
 out 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 79 
 
 from the verge of the plain. By a singular coincidence, 
 almost at the same moment two horsemen appeared com- 
 ing 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 coun- 
 try, 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; for 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 re- 
 flected 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 
 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 ex- 
 pressed 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!" 
 
8o The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 apprehen- 
 sions, 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 
 Kcntuckian, an athletic fellow, with a fine intelligent face, 
 and in his manners and conversation he showed the essen- 
 tial characteristics of a gentleman. Our conversation 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 8i 
 
 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 Vni 
 
 TAKING FRENCH LEAVE 
 
 Parting is such sweet sorrow ! 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 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 httle 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, 
 
82 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 min- 
 utes 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 hun- 
 dred in number, who, with a tremendous yell, came pour- 
 ing 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 83 
 
 "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 motion- 
 less 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 sink- 
 ing 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 ex- 
 tricated, 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 
 
84 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 some- 
 times 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 pros- 
 perity in the colonial time, must have encountered strange 
 vicissitudes. Imported, perhaps, originally from England; 
 then, vkdth the dechning 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 inter- 
 minable journey to Oregon. But the stem 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 wheeKng 
 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 confed- 
 erates 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 move- 
 ments of the party, which he knew that we, being Yankees, 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 85 
 
 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 vwth much patience. We 
 resolved to leave camp early in the morning, and push for- 
 ward 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 whUe 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 appre- 
 hended would fall upon us. But the austerity of the cap- 
 tain'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 
 
86 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 
 the 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 stem 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 en- 
 countered 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 imi- 
 tate; 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 87 
 
 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 malig- 
 nity 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 plxmge 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 Hen- 
 drick; the former was harnessed to the cart in an instant. 
 "Avance done!" 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 fet- 
 locks 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 
 
88 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 sus- 
 picious 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 Mor- 
 mons, 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 de- 
 manded our names, where we came from, where we were 
 going, and what was out 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, generos- 
 ity, 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 
 
The California: and Oregon Trail 89 
 
 of the third encamped by the well-known spring on Scott's 
 Bluff. 
 
 Henry Chatillon and I rode out in the morning, and de- 
 scending 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 prac- 
 ticed 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 evolu- 
 tions. "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 bounded 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 war- 
 rior 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 
 
go The California antd Oregon Trail 
 
 his long hair was gathered in a clump behind, to the top 
 of which was attached transversely, both by way of orna- 
 ment 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, com- 
 pleted 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 
 eying us as we approached. This was the chief, whom 
 Henry called "Oid Smoke." Just behind him his young- 
 est 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 91 
 
 of metal that tinkled with every movement of the animal. 
 The girl had a light clear complexion, enUvened 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 
 meeuis of a species of clay found on the prairie, and orna- 
 mented with beads, arrayed in figures more gay than taste- 
 ful, 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 chil- 
 dren 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 stretch- 
 ing a few buffalo robes, or the comer 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 medi- 
 cine bag, his bow and quiver, his lance and his pipe, raised 
 
92 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 stream- 
 ing loose in the wind, and nothing but the tattered frag- 
 ment 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 Le 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 Da- 
 kotas consist in horses, and of these "The Hog" had accu- 
 mulated 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. 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 93 
 
 and his Kttle 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 matrimo- 
 nial 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 here- 
 tofore, but trees were growing on its crumbling banks 
 and there was a nook of grass between the water and the 
 lull. 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 land- 
 scape 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 set- 
 ting 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, smok- 
 ing 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 
 
94 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 over- 
 whelming 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 peep- 
 ing 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 leg- 
 gings 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 fron- 
 tier; and, relieving us of our rifles with ready politeness, 
 led the way into the principal apartment of his establish- 
 ment. This was a room ten feet square. The walls and 
 floor were of black mud, and the roof of rough timber; 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 95 
 
 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, cuid a pipe and tobacco pouch, garnished the 
 walls, and rifles rested in a corner. There was no furniture 
 except a sort of rough setde, 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 comer 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 comer 
 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 grov^Ti 
 rather shabby; our clothes had burst into rags and tatters; 
 and what was worse, we had very little means of renova- 
 tion. 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 
 
96 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 
 await 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 hUls 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 perpen- 
 dicular 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 oppo- 
 site 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 97 
 
 approaching the bank with a countenance of cool indif- 
 ference, 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 Kttle 
 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 
 
 'Tis true they are a lawless brood. 
 But rough in form, nor mild in mood. 
 
 The Bride of Abydos. 
 
 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 buf- 
 falo 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 off- 
 spring, restless and vociferous, rambled in every direction 
 through the fort; and the trappers, traders, and engagis 
 
gS The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 French- 
 man, 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 bam. 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 buflfalo robes. 
 These being brought and spread upon the floor formed our 
 beds; much better ones than we had of late been accus- 
 tomed to. Our arrangements made, we stepped out to the 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 99 
 
 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 litde 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 nu- 
 merous 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 east- 
 ward. 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 comers. 
 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 store- 
 rooms, 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 the presence of dangerous 
 Indians, the horses and mules of the fort are crowded for 
 safe-keeping. The main entrance has two gates, with an 
 
100 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 arched passage intervening. A litde 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 com- 
 munication with those within through this narrow aper- 
 ture. 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 Lara- 
 mie; where, though men are frequently killed in its neigh- 
 borhood, 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 semi- 
 circle before us. The pipe was now to be lighted and 
 passed roimd 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 per- 
 formed the honorable exploit of killing a man, they were 
 
The California and Oregon Trail ioi 
 
 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 ut- 
 terly indifferent. They will not trouble themselves to in- 
 quire 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 ob- 
 served 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 Uke 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, rang- 
 ing 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 rehcs 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 
 
102 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 sixty horses approaching the fort. These were the animak 
 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 be- 
 fore his swarthy face, rode at the rear of the disorderly 
 troop, urging them up the ascent. In a moment the 
 narrow corral was thronged vnth the half-wild horses, kick- 
 ing, biting, and crowding restlessly together. 
 
 The discordant jingling of a beU, 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 buffedo meat — an excellent thing for strengthen- 
 ing 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 stand- 
 ing; while the ordinary Canadian engagis 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 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 103 
 
 clay partition, was another apartment, 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 en- 
 sconced 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 pas- 
 sage-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 per- 
 sons 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 ques- 
 tioned, he said that Smoke's village was close at hand. 
 Accordingly only a few minutes elapsed before the hiUs 
 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 
 
104 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 do- 
 mestic 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 su- 
 perbly 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, sput- 
 tering and making wry mouths as it splashed against their 
 faces. Some of the dogs, encumbered by their load, 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 105 
 
 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 spy-glass. 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 as- 
 cending 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 emi- 
 grants 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 awk- 
 ward 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, ran- 
 sacked ever 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 
 
loS The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 pro- 
 ceeded to business. The men occupied themselves in pro- 
 curing 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 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 as 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 abso- 
 lutely nothing of the country and its inhabitants; they 
 had already experienced much ntiisfortune, and appre- 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 107 
 
 hended 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 occa- 
 sion 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 ap- 
 proach, "I reckon I won't trade!" 
 
 Some friend of his had 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 un- 
 fortunate, 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 danger- 
 ous enemies. The Dakota saw clearly enough the pertur- 
 bation 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, as it arrives in 
 succession at the fort, and demand a feast. Smoke's village 
 had come with this express design, having made several 
 days' journey with no other object than that of enjoying 
 a cup of coffee and two are 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 an- 
 
io8 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 ticipation; and, arriving here, they seated themselves in 
 a semicircle. Smoke occupied the center, with his war- 
 riors on either hand; the young men and boys next suc- 
 ceeded, 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 ex- 
 asperated 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 the other western bands 
 of the Diikota, are thorough savages, unchanged by any 
 contact with civilization. Not one of them can speak an 
 European tongue, or has ever visited an American settle- 
 ment. UntU 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 hcuidful 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 109 
 
 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 a dance in 
 the area, leading them round and roimd 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 inflanmiation 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 accommoda- 
 tion, and we had seated ourselves upon it, than a patient 
 made her appearance: the chiefs daughter herself, who, 
 to do her justice, was the best-looking girl in the village. 
 Being on excellent terms with the physician, she placed 
 
no The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 comer 
 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 for- 
 ward, very unwillingly, and exhibited a pair of eyes that 
 had nearly disappeared from excess of inflammation. No 
 sooner had the doctor fastened his gripe 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 weU-grown 
 black puppies, comfortably nestled among some ^uffalo 
 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 llie 
 blaze of a fire, imtil 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail hi 
 
 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 mean- 
 time 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. 
 
 NOTE 
 
 Somewhat more than a year from this time Shaw happened to be 
 in New York, and comingr one morning down the steps of the Astor 
 House, encountered a small newsboy with a bundle of penny papers 
 under his arm, who screamed in his ear, "Another great battle in 
 Mexico!" Shaw bought a paper, and having perused the glorious 
 intelligence, was looking over the remaining columns, when the 
 following paragraph attracted his notice. 
 
 "English Traveling Sportsmen. — Among the notable arrivals in 
 town are two English gentlemen, William and John C, Esqrs., at 
 the Clinton Hotel, on their return home after an extended Buffalo 
 hunting tour in Oregon and the wild West. Their party crossed 
 the continent in March, 1846, since when our travelers have seen the 
 wonders of our great West, the Sandwich Islands, and the no less 
 agreeable coast of Western Mexico, California, and Peru. With the 
 real zeal of sportsmen they have pursued adventure whenever it has 
 offered, and returned with not only a correct knowledge of the West, 
 but with many a trophy that shows they have found the grand sport 
 
112 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 they sought. The account of Oregon given by those observing trav- 
 elers is most glowing, and though upon a pleasure trip, the advan- 
 tages to be realized by commercial men have not been overlooked, 
 and they prophesy for that "Western state" a prosperity not ex- 
 ceeded at the least. The fisheries are spoken of as the best in the 
 country, and only equaled by the rare facilities for agriculture. A 
 trip like this now closed is a rare undertakirig, but as interesting 
 as rare to those who are capable of a full appreciation of all the won- 
 ders that met them in the magniflcent region they have traversed." 
 
 In some admiration at the heroic light in which Jack and the 
 captain were here set forth, Shaw pocketed the newspaper, and 
 proceeded to make inquiry after his old fellow travelers. Jack was 
 out of town, but the captain was quietly established at his hotel. 
 Except that the red mustache was shorn away, he was in all respect 
 the same man whom we had left upon the South Pork of the Platte. 
 Every recollection of former diiterences had vanished from his mind, 
 and he greeted his visitor most cordially. "Where is R.?" asked 
 Shaw. "Gone to the devil," hastily replied the captain; "that is, 
 Jack and I parted from him at Oregon City, and haven't seen him 
 since." He next proceeded to give an account of his journeyings 
 after leaving us at Fort Laramie. No sooner, it seemed, had he 
 done so, than he and Jack began to slaughter the buffalo with un- 
 relenting fury, but when they reached the other side of the South 
 Pass their rifles were laid by as useless, since there were neither 
 Indians nor game to exercise them upon. From this point the journey, 
 as the captain expressed it, was a great bore. When they reached 
 the mouth of the Columbia, he and Jack sailed for the Sandwich 
 Islands, whence they proceeded to Panama, across the Isthmus, and 
 came by sea to New Orleans. 
 
 Shaw and our friend spent the evening together, and when they 
 finally separated at two o'clock in the morning, the captain's ruddy 
 face was ruddier than ever. 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE WAR PARTIES 
 
 By the nine gods he swore it, 
 
 And named a trysting day, 
 And bade his messengers ride forth 
 East and west and south and north, 
 
 To summon his array. 
 
 Lays of Ancient Rome. 
 
 The summer of 1846 was a season of much warlike 
 excitement among all the western bands of the Dakota. 
 In 1 845 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 113 
 
 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 send- 
 ing the scalp of the slain partisan, together with a small 
 parcel of tobacco atfached, to his tribesmen and relations. 
 They had employed old Vaskiss, the trader, as their mes- 
 senger, 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 £ill 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 thou- 
 sand souls, were slowly creeping over the prairies and tend- 
 ing towards the common center at La Bonte's Camp, on 
 the Platte. Here their warlike rites were to be celebrated 
 with more than ordinary solemnity, and a thousand war- 
 riors, as it was said, were to set out for the enemy's 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 cu- 
 riosity on this subject, and having failed completely to 
 gratify it by reading, I resolved to have recourse to obser- 
 vation. I wished to satisfy myself with regard to the poa- 
 tion 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 sup- 
 erstitions, 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 
 
114 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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, ap- 
 parently 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 impul- 
 sive 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 as 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 con- 
 nected for years by the strongest ties which in that country 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 115 
 
 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 heJf 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, with- 
 out the least beneficial effect, and having no medical ad- 
 viser, 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, along-haired Canadian, named Raymond, with a face 
 like an owl's, contrasting oddly enough with Ddorier's mer- 
 curial 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 
 dfesolate 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 com- 
 placency, carried The Horse's dragoon sword in his hand. 
 
ii6 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 delighting apparendy 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 Ray- 
 mond 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 hands, 
 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 the 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 wdth recollections of home. As 
 we emerged from the trees, a rattlesnake, as large as a 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 117 
 
 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 of 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 ante- 
 lope 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 litde, 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 a 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, cir- 
 cling 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 
 
ii8 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 Whirlwind, who would certainly pass this way in his prog- 
 ress 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 imcertainty 
 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 certJiin 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 sus- 
 pended 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 
 buUet pouch of the owner, together with his long red 
 pipe, and a rich quiver of otter-skin, with a bow and ar- 
 rows; for Reynal, an Indiem in most things but color, chose 
 to hunt buffalo with these primitive weapons. In the 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 119 
 
 darkness of this cavemlike 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 con- 
 cerning his own achievements, or perchance engaged in 
 the more profitable occupation of cooking some prepara- 
 tion of prairie dehcacies. 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 ostenta- 
 tious 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 com- 
 municate 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 deso- 
 late scene would assume a new aspect, the horses were 
 driven io. They had been grazing all day in the neighbor- 
 ing 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 
 
120 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 com- 
 fortable enough; at least it was so to Shaw, for I was 
 tormented with illness and vexed by the delay in the ac- 
 complishment of my designs. When a respite in my dis- 
 order 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 neigh- 
 boring prairie-dog village. Around our fire at night we 
 employed ourselves in inveighihg 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 asleqp. 
 
The California and Oregon Trail lai 
 
 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 mis- 
 sion 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 pa- 
 tience. 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 of- 
 fered 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 unfortu- 
 nate 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 
 
122 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 made an exchange of horses to our mutual advantage; and 
 Paul, thinking himself well treated, had declared every- 
 where that the white man had a good heart. He was a Da- 
 kota from Missouri, a reputed son of the half-breed inter- 
 preter, 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 en- 
 camped 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 heard 
 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 ruf- 
 fin 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 123 
 
 number, came stealing through the country, killing strag- 
 glers 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 feet 
 high, protected them in front. The Grows might have 
 swept over the breastwork and exterminated their enemies; 
 but though outnumbering them tenfold, they did not 
 dream of storming the little fortification. Such a pro- 
 ceeding 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, 
 boasiting 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 Hke the Indians themselves. He left hii4 
 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 
 
124 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 he caught one by the long loose hair and dragging him 
 down tomjihawked him; then grasping another by the belt 
 at his waist, he struck him also a stimning 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, "may be 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 very 
 copious stock of Missouri whisky, by drinking it on the 
 spot. Here were maudlin squaws stretched on piles of 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 125 
 
 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 dis- 
 played openly at their sides. In the middle of the room 
 a tall, lank man, with a dingy broadcloth coat, was ha- 
 ranguing 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 mo- 
 ment to his lips, forgetting that he had drained the con- 
 tents 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 tall 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 Lara- 
 mie. 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 
 
126 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 leave. I thought it a strange thing that a man should set 
 out alone and on foot for the prairie, I soon got an ex- 
 planation. 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 oppro- 
 brious 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 hostUe 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," sdd 
 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; 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 137 
 
 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 prepaxations for the expedition were 
 too much for his fickle, inconstant disposition. That morn- 
 ing 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 quietiy in his lodge and 
 smoke his pipe, like a wise man. The Whirlwind's purpose 
 was evidendy 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 Whirl- 
 wind, however, had merely thrown the firebrand; the con- 
 flagration was become general. All the western bands of 
 the Dakota were bent on war; and as I heard from Mc- 
 Cluskey, six large villages were already gathered on a 
 Uttle stream, forty mUes distant, and were daily calling to 
 the Great Spirit to aid them in their enterprise. McCluskey 
 had just left them 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 
 
128 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 result; 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 enter- 
 prise that had already brought them three hundred miles. 
 They seemed like ungovemed 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 cere- 
 monies 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 prob- 
 ability 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 a 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 wdll 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 buck- 
 skin frock was black and polished with time and grease, 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 129 
 
 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 an- 
 other trapper, who was standing by; a strong, brutal-look- 
 ing 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 your 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 be- 
 yond. But "the more haste, the worse speed." I proved 
 the truth of the proverb by the time I reached the hills 
 
130 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 ^im, 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 sage-bushes 
 before me. As he leaped gracefully not thirty yards be- 
 fore my horse, I fired, and instandy he spun round and 
 feU. 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 hiUs, 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 a 
 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 skillful 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 for- 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 131 
 
 ward. 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 trad- 
 ing fort were visible. I reached them at twilight. It was 
 far from pleasant, in that uncertain Ught, to be pushing 
 through the dense trees and shrubbery of the grove beyond. 
 I listened anxiously for the foot-fall of man or beast. Noth- 
 ing 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 ap- 
 proached. 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 descent into 
 the meadows where we were encamped. While I was 
 looking in vain for the light of the fire, Hendrick, with 
 keener preceptions, gave a loud neigh, which was im- 
 mediately 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 with- 
 out 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 
 
132 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 mes- 
 sage, 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 cer- 
 tainly have destroyed them without mercy had they met. 
 They had advanced only a mile of two, when they dis- 
 cerned 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 horse- 
 man disappeared; then they set out again- Henry was rid- 
 ing 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 In- 
 dians 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," 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 133 
 
 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 pres- 
 ents, 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 on a sudden 
 the crowd of wild faces, motionless as bronze. The silence 
 continued imbroken. It was a relief to Shaw when day- 
 light 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. 
 
134 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 
 
 Fierce are Albania's children; yet they lack 
 Not virtues, were those virtues more mature ; 
 
 Where is the foe that ever saw their back? 
 Who can so well the toil of war endure? 
 
 CnrLDE Harold. 
 
 Reynal heard guns fired one day, at the distance of a 
 mile or two from the camp. He grew nervous inst£intly. 
 Visions of Crow war parties began to haunt his imagina- 
 tion; 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 135 
 
 less rough and hardy, used to lie half the day in the shade 
 of our tree lolling on the grass, lazily smoking, and teUing 
 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 Rey- 
 nal'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 In- 
 dian 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 com- 
 pound name which he inherited from his father, the most 
 powerful chief in the OgallaUa 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 In- 
 dians, 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?" 
 
136 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 "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 wel- 
 comed this news most cordially, and congratulated our- 
 selves 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 ren- 
 dezvous at La Bonte's Camp. 
 
 For that and several succeeding days, Mahto-Tatonka 
 and his friends remained our guests. They devoured thq 
 relics of our meals; they filled the pipe for us and also 
 helped us to smoke it. Sometimes they stretched them- 
 selves 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 soli- 
 tary 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 squaUd 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 137 
 
 art. While we were yet at a distance, we observed a 
 greatly increased population of various colors and dimen- 
 sions, swarming around our quiet encampment. Moran, 
 the trapper, having been absent for a day of 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 delibera- 
 tion, 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 them- 
 selves 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 aristo- 
 cratic circle. His relatives occupied but a contemptible 
 position in Ogallalla society; for among these wild dem- 
 ocrats of the prairie, as among us, there are virtual dis- 
 tinctions 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 emi- 
 grant 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 
 
138 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 
 Hke 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 honey- 
 moon. 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, 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 139 
 
 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 careering on horse- 
 back, or sedately stalking in their long white robes. The 
 Whirlwind was come at last ! One question yet remained 
 to be answered: "WiU he go to the war, in order that we, 
 with so respectable an escort, may pass over to the some- 
 what 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 promi- 
 nent 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 foma 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 com- 
 mand respect and fear. Sometimes he is a mere nominal 
 
140 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 chief; sometimes his authority is Httle 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 sta- 
 tion. 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 Teu- 
 tonic chiefs of old, he ingratiates himself with his young 
 men by making them presents, thereby often impoverish- 
 ing 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 bandSj 
 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 wander- 
 ing community assumes much of the patriarchal character. 
 A people so loosely united, torn, too, with rankling feuds 
 and jealousies, can have little power or efficiency. 
 
 The western Dakota have no fixed habitations. Hunt- 
 ing 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 141 
 
 them with almost all the necessaries of life; with habita- 
 tions, 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 tribeis 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 hand- 
 fuls 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 power- 
 ful stimulus they would be like the unwarlike tribes be- 
 yond 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 war- 
 riors, passing the pipe around, joking, telling stories, and 
 making themselves merry, after their fashion. We were 
 also infested by the little copper-colored naked boys and 
 snake-eyed girls. They would come up to us, muttering 
 certain words, which being interpreted conveyed the con- 
 
142 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 cise invitation, "Come and eat." Then we would rise, 
 cursing the pertinacity of Dakota hospitahty, 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 entertain- 
 ment looks like an outgushing of good will; but doubtless 
 one-haK 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 promi- 
 nent 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; tiie 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 illus- 
 trative of a superstitious custom that prevails in full force 
 among many of the Indian tribes. He was one of a pow- 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 143 
 
 erful 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 iDy his weakened and 
 excited state, he fancied, like all Indians, that he saw super- 
 natural revelations. Again and agaiin the form of an ante- 
 lope 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. x^ 
 
 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 
 
144 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 conse- 
 quences of thwarting his imperious will were too formidable 
 to be encountered. Woe to those who incurred his dis- 
 pleasure ! He would strike them or stab them on the spot; 
 and this act, which, if attempted by any other chief, would 
 instandy 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 littie 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 pro- 
 claimed 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, euid 
 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 145 
 
 Gompany'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 tjie ground. Rouleau was present, and told me the 
 particulars. The tumult became general, and was not 
 quelled imtil 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 com- 
 plexion 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 stole 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 con- 
 tent, his vengeance falls asleep, and all danger from that 
 
146 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 quarter is aveited. 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 an unrivaled charm in the eyes of the other. Per- 
 haps 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 dbg 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 trap- 
 pings 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 iall, he was but an 
 Indian. See him as he lies there in the sun before our 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 147 
 
 tent, kicking his heek 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 tomorrow their favorite 
 young partisan goes out against the enemy. His superb 
 headdress is adorned with a crest of the war eagle's feath- 
 ers, 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 sc£ilp-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; ver- 
 milion-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 ad- 
 miration 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 OgaUalla 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 
 
148 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 the 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 chil- 
 dren 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 wan- 
 dered alone on the prairie, without weapon of any kind; 
 without shoes, moccasins, or any other clothing than an 
 old jacket and f)antaloons; 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 149 
 
 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 
 com 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 Rey- 
 nal 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 tihie 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 
 raise 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 wjis a fool to do so, but 
 he must have meat. This we absolutely refused, to the 
 
150 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 greed- 
 iness, 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, vwth 
 merry laughter and screaming. But when the sun was 
 just resting above the broken peaks, and the purple moun- 
 tains 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 toma- 
 hawks 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. 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 151 
 
 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 exag- 
 gerate 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 re- 
 vealing 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 Ughts 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 yeUs, 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 
 
152 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 wallc without reeling like a drunken man, 
 and when I rose from my seat upon the ground the land- 
 scape 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 pur- 
 suing 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 dis- 
 order 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 waJked 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 California and Oregon Trail 153 
 
 the end of that time I was weaker than before, but the 
 disorder seemed shaken in its stronghold and very gradu- 
 ally 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 re- 
 gained 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 he 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 alent 
 forests, that I fancied were concealed there. 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 ILL LUCK 
 
 One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear. 
 
 When they reack'd the hall door, and the charger stood near; 
 
 So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, 
 
 So light to the saddle before her he sprung! 
 
 "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; 
 
 They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. 
 
 Marmion. 
 
 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 
 
154 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 eflfect 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 wjagons, as if he were ap- 
 proaching 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 impru- 
 dent 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 aU 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 an small independent war 
 party against the enemy. Their final determination left 
 us in som^ 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 Whirlwind's, 
 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail, 155 
 
 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 HiUs. 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. An- 
 ticipating 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 ist 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 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 sav- 
 ages. 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 horse- 
 man 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 cJn a wall. It rapidly grew larger 
 as it approached. 
 
 "White man, I b'lieve," said Henry; "look how heride ! 
 
156 The California and Oregon Trah. 
 
 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 trap- 
 per. 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 cer- 
 tainly 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 coun- 
 cil, 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 dovra the descent and spreading them- 
 selves 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 157 
 
 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 yoimg 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 fvill 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 backs; 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 aU 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 
 
158 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 excite 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 three men, the four trappers following us, with 
 the Indian family of Moran. We traveled until night. 
 I suffered not a litde from pain and weakness. We en- 
 camped 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 Biso- 
 nette's arrival we resumed our journey, traversing a forlorn 
 and dreary monotony of sim-scorched plains, where no 
 hving 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 159 
 
 that Eiftemoon 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 pros- 
 tration. 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 
 cHnging reptiles. A plain, flat and hard, and with scarcely 
 the vestige of grass, lay before us, and a line of tall mis- 
 shapen 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 hstened 
 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 en- 
 campments and swarming with Ufe, but a vast unbroken 
 desert stretching away before us league upon league, with- 
 out a bush or a tree or anything that had Ufe. 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 ac- 
 complish effectually the design which had led me an ardu- 
 ous 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 
 
i6o The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 attempt to leave the country until my object was com- 
 pletely 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 war- 
 like ceremonies. The scarcity of huSdlo 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 noth- 
 ing 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 soli- 
 tary old tree, which seemed the only place fit for encamp- 
 ment. 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 fur- 
 nished 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 
 
 I tread. 
 With fainting steps and slow. 
 Where wilds immeasurably spread 
 Seem lengthening as I go. 
 
 Gou>sMrrH. 
 
 At last we had reached La Bonte's Camp, toward which 
 •ur eyes had turned so long. Of all weary hours, those that 
 passed between noon and sunset of the day when we ar- 
 
The California and Oregon Trail i6i 
 
 rived there may bear away the palm of exquisite discom- 
 fort. 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 
 chmbed 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 aroimd 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 pur- 
 pose by means less objectionable. 
 
 The rifle of Henry Chatillon was necessary for the sub- 
 sistence of the party in my absence; so I called Raymond, 
 and ordered him to prepare to set out with me. Ray- 
 mond 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 
 
1 62 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 sleep- 
 ing under the cart. The Indians kept dose within their 
 lodge except the newly mjuried pair, who were seated to- 
 gether under an awning of buffalo robes, and the old 
 conjurer, who, with his hard, emaciated face and gaunt 
 ribs, was perched aloft Uke a turkey-buzzard among the 
 dead branches of an old tree, constandy 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 Greek, 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 prepa- 
 rations for the journey. After supper, Henry Chatillon 
 and I lay by the fire, discusang the properties of that 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 163 
 
 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 vnth 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 foot- 
 steps, 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 wdth 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. 
 
 "TTie 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 starded his horse, who 
 broke loose, and for two hours Shaw tried in vain to catch 
 him. Sunset approached, and it was twelve nules 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 
 
164 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 performed in darkness. His moccasins were worn to tat- 
 ters and his feet severely lacerated. He sat down to eat, 
 however, with the usual equanimity of his temper not at 
 all disturbed by his misfortime, 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 men- 
 tion 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 w£is getting ready. 
 We sat dov«i 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 smimal, 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 biiflalo skin, a leather bag 
 of flour, and a smaller one of tea were all secured behind, 
 and a long trail-rope was wound rotmd her neck. Ray- 
 mond 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 ist 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 reso- 
 lute spirit was of no avail. Two days after I left him 
 he sent Delorier to the fort with the cart and baggage, 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 165 
 
 and set out for the mountains withf Henry Chatillon; but 
 a tremendous 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 moun- 
 tains, 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 seriously 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 over its 
 rough, shaggy arms. Under the scorching heat these mel- 
 ancholy 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 moun- 
 tains of New England traversed in days of health and 
 buoyancy, rose like a reality before my fancy. In passing 
 
1 66 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 icy 
 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 litde 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 jmswered 
 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 awake until daylight. Then we turned them loose, 
 still hobbled, to feed for an hour before starting. We 
 were getting ready for 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. 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 167 
 
 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, stUl fet- 
 tered, 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 "Sucre!" 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 vwthout great effort. Not then having learned 
 the sound philosophy of yielding to disproportionate ob- 
 stacles, I resolved to continue in any event the pursuit of 
 
1 68 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 uncertaiaty and danger. To remain sta- 
 tionary £ind 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 pro- 
 visions, 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 start- 
 ling sight caught my eye. A smaH, dark object, like a 
 human head, suddenly appeared, and vanished among the 
 thick bushes along the stream below. In that country every 
 stranger is a suspected enemy. Instinctively I threw for- 
 ward 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. Raymraid 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 rmles; and here with great difficulty he 
 had succeeded in catching them. I saw that he was un- 
 armed, 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 169 
 
 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 Ray- 
 mond. 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 hoHows 
 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 moun- 
 tains frowned more gloomily, there was a low muttering 
 of thunder, and dense blask masses of cloud rose heavily 
 behind the broken peaks. At first they were gayly fringed 
 with silver by the afternoon sim, but soon the thick black- 
 ness 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 ele- 
 ments. 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 de- 
 
170 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 scending, 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 mountain-tops 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 171 
 
 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 fiutterings 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 ani- 
 mals 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 fea- 
 tures 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 vio- 
 lently, 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 clam- 
 bering 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 
 
17a The Gaufornia and Oregon Trail 
 
 of escape. His glistening eyes turned up toward my face 
 with so piteous a look that is was with feelings of infinite 
 compunction that I shot him through the head with a pistol. 
 Raymond skinned and cut him up, and we himg the fore- 
 quarters 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 anx- 
 iously 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 be- 
 hind 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. Encour- 
 aged 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 foimd 
 half a dozen tracks, some made by men and some by 
 chUdren. 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 vdth the fur- 
 rows made by the lodge-poles that had been dragged 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 173 
 
 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 wonder- 
 fully. 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 cuid fell flat on her side. Qjiin- 
 ing 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 iU-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 dint 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 
 
174 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 the plain, and these were frequently broken by the foot- 
 prints 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 litde 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 a clew to guide us. The broken plain ex- 
 panded 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 prcdrie. When we 
 reached it the bare tops of the mountains were still bright- 
 ened 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 cdthough 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 encamp- 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 175 
 
 ment. 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 in- 
 vigorating 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 
 
176 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 entertjun a very 
 lively sense of the ludicrous. 
 
 Raymond's saddle-girth slipped; and while I proceeded 
 he was stopping behind to repeiir the mischief. I came to 
 the top of a Httle 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, overarched 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 177 
 
 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. Ray- 
 mond'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 beUeve, 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 moun- 
 tains. There was a plain before us, totaUy barren and 
 thickly peopled in many parts with the litde 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 shrub- 
 bery 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. 
 
178 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 that seemed at times to hem us in on the right and on the 
 left, before us and behind! Another scene in a few mo- 
 ments 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. Bumble-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 wilder- 
 ness. 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 re- 
 freshment. 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 tak- 
 ing 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 become very dangerous, 
 that we were entering the range of the Snakes, Arapahoes 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 179 
 
 and Gros-ventre Blackfeet, and that if any of their wan- 
 dering 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 have 
 seen rivaled. The mountain was cracked from top to bot- 
 tom, 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, foam- 
 ing eunong 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 shrub- 
 bery, that clung in every crevice, and fringed vrith 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 moun- 
 tain 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. 
 
i8o The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 buf- 
 falo 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, more- 
 over, 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 roimd 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 pranie 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 be- 
 fore 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail i8i 
 
 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 some- 
 what serious character; and to those who are unacquainted 
 with Indians, it may seem strange that our chief appre- 
 hensions 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 Ray- 
 mond 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 Proven^aux, 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 imper- 
 sonation of all that is wild and backwoodsmanlike, 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 asso- 
 ciation, 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. 
 
1 82 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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, scru- 
 tinizing 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 hunters 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 cer- 
 tainly 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 pl^ 
 perfectly flat, spreading on the right and left, without ap- 
 parent limit, and bounded in front by a long broken line 
 of hills, ten or twelve miles distant. All was open and ex- 
 posed 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 de- 
 scended the hill and began to cross the plain. We had 
 come so far that I knew perfectly well neither Pauline's 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 183 
 
 limbs nor my own could cany 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 ex- 
 tensive pools of water, glistening in the distjuice. As we 
 approached them, wolves and antelope bounded away 
 through the tall grass that grew in their vicinity, and 
 flocks of large white plover flew screaming over their sur- 
 face. 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 offer- 
 ing 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 
 
184 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 the peak of the Medicme-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 Greek 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 dis- 
 tinguish 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, stand- 
 ing 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 
 
 They waste as — ay — ^like April snow. 
 In the warm noon, we shrink away; 
 
 And fast they follow, as we go 
 Toward the setting day. 
 
 Bryant. 
 
 Such a narrative as this is hardly the place for portray- 
 ing 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 185 
 
 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 Ufe. 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 sayages. 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 wiQ 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 
 
1 86 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 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 jmd 
 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!" 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 187 
 
 "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 foimd 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 come out immediately and took our horses. I put 
 aside the leather flap 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 intrud- 
 ing 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 
 
1 88 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 conver- 
 sation went forward. Meanwhile a squaw placed before 
 the two guests a wooden bowl of boiled buffalo meat, but 
 imhappily 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 liie 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 thimder 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 California and Oregon Trail 189 
 
 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 asso- 
 ciation which, among other mystic functions, claimed 
 the exclusive power and privilege of fighting the thunder. 
 Whenever a storm which they wished to avert was threat- 
 ening, 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 smol- 
 dering 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 
 
190 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 moment all would be bright as day; then the flames would 
 die away, and fitful flashes from the embers would illu- 
 mine the lodge, and then leave it in darkness. Then all 
 the light would wholly fade, and the lodge and aU within 
 it be involved again in obscurity. 
 
 As I left the lodge next morning, I was saluted by 
 howKng and yelping 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 sleiek; 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 191 
 
 a scream of delight, snatched up the prize, and vanished 
 with it into her lodge. For a few more trifles I engaged 
 the servdces 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 briskly at work sweeping 
 out the lodge for the approaching festivity. I conflded 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 Ray- 
 mond walked across the area of the village, to the admira- 
 tion of the inhabitants, carrying the two ketties 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 
 
192 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 sub- 
 stantial part of the meal, I thought it had a particularly 
 curious and uninviting color. 
 
 "Oh!" said ReynaJ, "there was not tea enough, so I 
 stirred some soot in the kettie, 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 con- 
 cluded, 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 propor- 
 tions. 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. 
 
 "How! how!" 
 
 "There the Meneasko 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 193 
 
 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 ! how ! 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. 
 
194 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 Httle 
 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 inter- 
 pret 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 on 
 the dusky figures around them. I went over and sat by the 
 lodge of Reynal. The Eagle-Feather, who was a son of 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 195 
 
 Mene-Seela, and brother of my host the Big Crow, w£is 
 seated there akeady, 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 wait- 
 ing 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 
 
196 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 gUttering. 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, Uttle naked children were run- 
 ning along on foot, and numberless dogs were scampering 
 among the feet of the horses. The young braves, gaudy 
 with pjiint 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 def- 
 erence. With the rough prairie and the broken hiUs for 
 its background, the restless scene was striking and pictur- 
 esque beyond description. Days and weeks made me fa- 
 miliar 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 succes- 
 sively 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 197 
 
 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, spread- 
 ing 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 uncon- 
 scious 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 per- 
 fect 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 hasc 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 calam- 
 ity; and in a moment all around was wrapped in shadow. 
 I looked behind. The Indians had stopped to prepare for 
 
igS The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 the approaching storm, and the dark, dense mass of sav- 
 ages 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 
 quitk 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 paissing 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 
 wfere in the lodge, and one of them taking my arm held 
 it against her own, while a general laugh and scream of 
 admiration was 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 mfle 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 ar- 
 ticles. Some left even their lodges, and contented them- 
 selves with carrying a few hides to make a shelter from the 
 sun and rain. Half the inhabitants set out in the after- 
 noon, with loaded pack horses, toward the mountains. 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 199 
 
 Here they suspended the dried meat upon trees, where 
 the wolves and grizzly bears could not get at it. All re- 
 turned 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 sev- 
 eral young men were riding about the country as scouts; 
 and at lengtii 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. Horse- 
 men darted away in pursuit, and we could see from the 
 distance that one or two of the buffalo were killed. Ray- 
 mond 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 mju-ket. 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 
 
200 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 priests don't many their women, and why should I many 
 mine?" 
 
 This honorable mention of the Mexican clergy intro- 
 duced 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 than can for a mo- 
 ment compete in swiftness with this httle 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 him- 
 self. A few moments after we witnessed a more serious 
 sport. A shaggy buffalo bull bounded out from a neigh- 
 boring 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 foam- 
 ing jaws, was straining his unwieldy strength to the ut- 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 201 
 
 most. 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 light- 
 ning 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 fol- 
 lowing 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 pKed with such won- 
 derful 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 crack- 
 ing 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 
 
202 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 the appetite of wolves. The faces of most of them, be- 
 smeared with blood from ear to ear, looked grim and 
 horrible enough. My friend the White Shield proffered 
 me a marrowbone, so skiDfully 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 after- 
 noon again set forward. This double movement was con- 
 trary to the usual practice of the Indians, but all were 
 very anxious to reach the hunting ground, kill the neces- 
 sary 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 men- 
 tioned 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 advjmced up the side of the stream. Mene-Seela 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 203 
 
 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 em- 
 barrassment. At last he pointed, or seemed to point, them 
 westward. Metie-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 ac 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, 
 
204 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 re- 
 duced 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 open- 
 ing 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 dis- 
 appeared, 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 buUs. The wind blew from them to the vil- 
 lage, and such was their bhndness and stupidity that they 
 were advancing upon the enemy without the least con- 
 sciousness of his presence. Raymond told me that two 
 young 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 pe- 
 culiar 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 205 
 
 retire. Very slowly, and with an air of the gravest and 
 most majestic deliberation, he began to turn around, 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 soon stopped, and 
 while the crowd stood looking at him at a respectful dis- 
 tance, 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 GAMP 
 
 The Pers£ owt of Northamberlands, 
 
 And a vowe to God mayde he, 
 That he wolde hunte in the mountayns 
 
 Off Chyviat within dayes thre, 
 In the mauger of dought£ Dogles, 
 
 And all that ever with him be. 
 
 Chevy Chase. 
 
 Long before daybreak the Indians broke up their camp. 
 The women of Mene-Seda'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 
 
2o6 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 
 vbice. 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 pre- 
 paring 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 farther 
 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 v^dth 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 pur- 
 suit, 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 tmbroken 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 207 
 
 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 mUe 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 move- 
 ments among the Indians this is always more or less the 
 case; but it was especially so in the present instance, be- 
 cause 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 assume 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 sage bushes, 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 suc- 
 cession 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 horse- 
 men threw themselves to the ground, knelt on the sand, 
 sna,tched 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 how- 
 ever proved to be nothing more than old straggling bulls, 
 feeding upon the neighboring plains, who would stare for 
 
2o8 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 gen- 
 eral 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 pro- 
 tested 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 raga- 
 muffin 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 bridl& 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 209 
 
 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 re- 
 quired 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 num- 
 ber, 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 com- 
 pact mass. I have no farther 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 quicksands of 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 use- 
 lessly 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. 
 
210 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 himdred 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 assaU 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 douds 
 of dust, and the horsemen darting in pursuit. While we 
 were charging on one side, our companions had attacked 
 the bewildered aind 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 fol- 
 lowed 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 at 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 quicksands, 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 211 
 
 Pauline's exhausted strength. We could not gain an inch 
 upon the poor fugitives. At last, however, they came fuU 
 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 some- 
 where 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 gal- 
 loped 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 ra- 
 vines 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 «f 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 disap- 
 peared 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 dex- 
 terity 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 
 
212 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 chil- 
 dren 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 213 
 
 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 vil- 
 lage with whom I would have trusted myself alone without 
 suspicion, and the only one from whom I would have re- 
 ceived a gift or a service without the certainty that it pro- 
 ceeded 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 pre- 
 ceded. But the old man accompanied his words with such 
 admirable pantomime that translation was hardly neces- 
 sary. 
 
 He said that when he was very young, and had never 
 yet seen a white man, he and three or four of his compan- 
 ions 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 dis- 
 
214 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 tance 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, en- 
 tirely 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 vsdth 
 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 instandy 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 itales 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 espe- 
 cially to their dreams. In order to convey to the enemy 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 8 15 
 
 (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 
 reaUty: 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 cov- 
 ered 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 superannuated old men, and a few lazy and 
 worthless young ones. These, together with the dogs, now 
 growp 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, yoimg 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 drder 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 im- 
 perfectly 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 
 
2i6 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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. In spite of all medical experience, this solid 
 fare, without bread or salt, seemed to agree with me ad- 
 mirably. 
 
 "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 ex- 
 hausted and rather ill-humored, I walked back to the vil- 
 lage. 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 trap- 
 ping 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 littie 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 house- 
 hold. All was quiet in the village. Though the hunters 
 had not gone out that day, they lay sleeping in their lodges. 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 217 
 
 and most of the women were silently engaged in their heavy 
 tasks. A few young men were playing at 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 httle 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 Wash- 
 tay, or the Good Woman, brought us a large bowl of 
 Wasna, and went into an ecstasy of delight when I pre- 
 sented 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 sage-bushes. Some young men left the village, and 
 soon returned, driving in before them jdl the horses, hun- 
 dreds 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 
 
2i8 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 hand half a dozen squibs and serpents, which I had made 
 one day when encamped upon Larsunie Creek, out of gun- 
 powder and charcoal, and the leaves of "Fremont's Expedi- 
 tion," rolled round a stout lead pencil. I waited till I con- 
 trived 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 
 art 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 wctc scattered about, examined them with 
 eager curiosity to discover their mysterious secret. From 
 that time forward I enjoyed great repute as a "fire- 
 medidne." 
 
 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, Jind gashing her legs with a knife till they were 
 covered with blood. Just a year before, a young man be- 
 longing 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, 
 calKng on the Great Spirit to aid them in their enterprise. 
 While I was listening. Rouleau, with a laugh on his care- 
 less 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 
 
The California and Orecson Trail aig 
 
 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 intelli- 
 gence and a power of understanding speech to the inferior 
 animals, to whom, indeed, according to many of their tra- 
 ditions, 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 
 
220 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 uncom- 
 fortable one. It consisted of soft buffalo robes laid to- 
 gether on the ground, and a pillow made of whitened deer- 
 skin 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 do- 
 mestic arrangements, for she was bustiing 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 
 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 221 
 
 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 annoy- 
 ance. 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 hfe 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 ab- 
 surd 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 con- 
 traries; 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 particu- 
 larly 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, go- 
 ing through his dolorous performances with a most busi- 
 ness-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 
 damor, resembling no sound that I have ever heard, except 
 perhaps the frightful howling of wolves that we used some- 
 times 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 
 
228 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 dis- 
 cordant 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 In- 
 dians, were very fond of their children, whom they in- 
 dulged 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 litde 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 bal- 
 ance 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 pre- 
 cocious 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 223 
 
 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 rea- 
 sons, he came back, seated himself in his usual place, and 
 began to smoke with an air of the utmost tranquillity and 
 self-satisfaction. 
 
 I was sitting in the lodge with him on that very after- 
 noon, 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 al- 
 ready understood their origin. £ach of his arms was 
 marked as if deeply gashed with a kirife at regular inter- 
 vals, and there were other scars also, of a different charac- 
 ter, on his back and on either breast. They were the traces 
 of those formidable tortures which these Indians, in com- 
 mon 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 In- 
 dians, he was a great braggart and utterly regzirdless 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 fcM" me to omit it. Pointing out 
 
224 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 of the opening of the lodge toward the Medicine-Bow 
 Mountain, not many 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. 
 They then 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 particu- 
 lars much too revolting to mention. His features were 
 remarkably mild and open, without the fierceness of ex- 
 pression 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 youth- 
 ful 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 war- 
 riors 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 eJso 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 225 
 
 old national antipathies, and was now both iii act and in- 
 clination 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 brightiy. Eleven young men had prepared them- 
 selves 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 In- 
 dian, 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 OgaUalla do- 
 mestic 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 con- 
 cluded, and he and I were seated cross-legged on a buf- 
 falo 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-im- 
 portance. 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 littie 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 character- 
 istic of an Indian. He begged of me a little powder and 
 
226 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 mourn- 
 fully on the ground. At last he began to speak in a low 
 tone: 
 
 "I am a brave man," he said; "all the yoimg 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 vnll 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 227 
 
 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 re- 
 mained 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 him- 
 self 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 fab- 
 rication to excuse his remaining at home. 
 
 The White Shield was a warrior of noted powers. Very 
 probably, he would have received a mortal wound without 
 the 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 en- 
 coimter 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 man- 
 hood is wasted, and his strength drained away, when he 
 can see no enemy to resist and defy, the boldest warrior 
 
228 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 imder 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 
 
 Ours the wild life, in tumult still to range. 
 From toil to rest, and joy in every change; 
 The exulting sense, the pulse's maddening play, 
 That thrills the wanderer of the trackless wayj 
 That for itself can woo the approaching fight. 
 And turn what some deem danger to delight; 
 Come when it will we snatch the life of life; 
 When lost, what recks it by disease or strife. 
 
 The Corsair. 
 
 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 coun- 
 try 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 de- 
 clared themselves enemies to the whites, and threatened 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 229 
 
 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 Laramie, 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 away 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 farther mischief. At length, 
 just before we came into the country, one of them, by an 
 act of the basest treachery, kiUed 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 out- 
 breaks of native ferocity. No sooner was the murder com- 
 
230 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 mitted 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 fast- 
 nesses. 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 
 accqpt. 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 ap- 
 peared. 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 Dakato 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 vwth suitable powers, 
 been stationed at Fort Laramie, and having accepted the 
 offer of the Arapahoes to deliver up the murderer, had or- 
 dered 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 en- 
 deavored to turn them from their purpose; but Rouleau 
 and Saraphin only laughed at the danger. On the morn- 
 ing 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. 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 231 
 
 Still the two trappers continued their preparations for de- 
 parture. 
 
 Saraphin was a tall, powerful fellow, with a suUen 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 of 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 In- 
 dian wardrobe; and though he was of course obliged to 
 leave her behind him during his expeditions, yet this haz- 
 ardous necessity did not at all trouble him, for his disposi- 
 tion was the very reverse of jealous. If at any time he had 
 not lavished the whole of the precarious profits of his vo- 
 cation 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 substi- 
 tuted. As the men of that region are by no means re- 
 markable 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 expedi- 
 tions. For the rest of the year he would be lounging about 
 the fort, or encamped with his friends in its vicinity, la^y 
 hunting or enjoying all the luxury of inaction; but when 
 once in pursuit of the beaver, he was involved in extreme 
 privations and desperate perils. When in the midst of his 
 
232 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 game and his enemies, hand and foot, eye and ear, are 
 incessantly active. Frequendy he must content himself 
 with devouring his evening meal uncooked, lest the light 
 of his fire should attract the eyes of some wandering In- 
 dian; 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 un- 
 able to trace his footsteps in the gloom. This is the life led 
 by scores of men in the Rocky Moimtains and their vicin- 
 ity. 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 metde 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, resdess charm in the basilisk eye 
 of danger, and few men perhaps remain long iij 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 coimtenance, 
 like a surly bulldog's, was in advance; but Rouleau, clam- 
 bering gayly into his seat, kicked his horse's sides, flourished 
 his whip in the air, and trotted briskly over the prairie, 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 233 
 
 trolling forth a Canadian song at the top of his lungs. 
 Reynal looked after them with his face of brutal selfishness. 
 
 "WeU," 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 sea- 
 son'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 tdl 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 abun- 
 dance which during this time had prevailed in the camp 
 there were no instances of individual privation; for al- 
 though 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 groimd, 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 dig- 
 nity which an Indian always assumes when in council, or 
 in the presence of white men whom he distrusts. The 
 
234 The Caufornia and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 with- 
 drew 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 vil- 
 lage. 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 coun- 
 tenance, 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 pre- 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 235 
 
 vent 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 long 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, Kke the flight of beetles on a summer eve- 
 ning, 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 fir- 
 ing had entirdy 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 stiU glittered with an unnatural luster, as the warriors 
 slowly withdrew to their lodges. This fortunate suppres- 
 sion of the disturbance was owing to a few of the old men, 
 less pugnacious than Mene-Seela, who boldly ran in be- 
 tween tiie 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 
 
236 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 recon- 
 ciliation was going forward, and that a white man would 
 be an vmwelcome 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 disturb- 
 ance, or were merely lamentations for relatives slain in 
 some former war expeditions, I could not distinctly ascer- 
 tain. 
 
 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, con- 
 nected with the purposes of their superstitions, their war- 
 fare, 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 hjur, 
 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 ani- 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 237 
 
 mal into his possession, he made the owner a present of an- 
 other horse nearly equal in value. According to the cus- 
 toms 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 ac- 
 cepted 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 vil- 
 lage 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 mortal 
 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 ut- 
 most 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 function- 
 aries in an Indian village. The office is one of consider- 
 able 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 oc- 
 casionally 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 
 
238 Thk California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 
 
 To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell. 
 
 To slowly trace the forest's shady scene. 
 
 Where things that own not man's dominion dwell. 
 
 And mortal fopt hath ne'er; or rarely been; 
 
 To climb the trackless mountain all unseen. 
 
 With the wild flock that never needs a fold; 
 
 Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean; 
 
 This is not solitude; 'tis but to hold 
 
 Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unrQlled. 
 
 Childe Harold. 
 
 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, trail- 
 ing 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, dovwi the bottom of which a brook came wind- 
 ing, 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 roeks, 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 
 clajnbering up and dovwi 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, 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 239 
 
 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 ob- 
 ject that had brought them there; that is, the obtaining 
 poles for supporting their new lodges. Half the popula- 
 tion, 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 diving 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 mo- 
 ment, 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. 
 
240 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 still- 
 ness 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 moun- 
 tain. 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 dis- 
 tance 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 flimg 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 
 startHng 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 fre- 
 quent 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. 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 241 
 
 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 peace- 
 ful 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 mountain- 
 side. 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 still- 
 ness. 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 feehng once more secure, I began again to move for- 
 ward. 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 ant- 
 lers 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. 
 
842 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 yoimg 
 Indian companions, they have spent months in total seclu- 
 sion. 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 re- 
 sound 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 
 
 Come^ shall we go and kill us venison? 
 And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools. 
 Being native burghers of this desert city. 
 Should in their own confines, with forked heads. 
 Have their round haunches gored. 
 
 As You Like It. 
 
 The camp was full of the newly-cut lodge-poles; some, 
 already prepared, were stacked together, white suid glisten- 
 ing, to dry and harden in the sun; others were lying on 
 tihe 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, 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 243 
 
 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 rmles an hour, but she is as good for the moun- 
 tains as a mule." 
 
 I mounted the black mule which Raymond usually rode. 
 She wjis a very fine and powerful animal, gentle and man- 
 ageable 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. 
 
244 Tut:. California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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°. 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 positions 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 245 
 
 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 de- 
 tested woods. When next we came forth from their- 
 dancing shadow and sunlight, we found ourselves stand- 
 ing 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 out 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 rummaging too much about 
 these movmtains; 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 Kght 
 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 vex- 
 ation 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 vaUey, the bottom of which 
 was covered with the stiff wild-sage bushes and marked 
 
!246 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 moun- 
 tains, 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 be- 
 hind 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 undu- 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 247 
 
 lations 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 to 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 fuU career. Weakened as I was, I was flung 
 forcibly to the ground, and my rifle, falling close to 
 my head, went off with the 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 moimted 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 for- 
 ward 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 
 
248 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 hxmter, 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 In- 
 dians 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 reclining 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 249 
 
 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-con- 
 trol; 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 ia search of game, and no 
 young hunter in the village had been so active or so fortu- 
 nate 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 ver- 
 miKon, 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 be- 
 fore 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 battie. I have 
 no doubt that the handsome smooth-faced boy burned 
 with a keen desire to flesh 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. 
 
250 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 littie pocket 
 looking-glass which I gave him. As for the rest of the 
 day, he divided it between eating and slewing, 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 for- 
 ward 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 HaU-Storm's friend, 
 the Rabbit, be passed by without notice. The Hail-Storm 
 and he were inseparable: they ate, slept, and hunted to- 
 gether, 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 251 
 
 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 2ind the fires were lighted round 
 the lodges, a select family circle convened in the neighbor- 
 hood 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 prospects 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. Ray- 
 mond 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 bash- 
 ful) 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 nickname, 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 whoBy 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 surroimding moimtains. I was accompanied 
 by a faithful friend, my rifle, the only friend indeed on 
 whose prompt assistance in time of trouble I could im- 
 plicitly rely. Most of the Indians in the village, it is true,. 
 
252 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 im- 
 pulses 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 be- 
 tween steep cliffs far into the bosom of the mountain. 
 I began to ascend along its bottom, pushing my way on- 
 ward 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 my- 
 self 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- 
 Seda, my best friend in the village. As I had approached 
 noiselessly v«th 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 statute, among the rocks 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 353 
 
 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 the 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 conjec- 
 ture 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 re- 
 moved 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 in- 
 fluence. 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 unsub- 
 stantial 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 tail pe£ik rising among the woods. Some- 
 
254 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 thing 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 walk- 
 ing along the sunny verge of a precipice, seated myself on 
 its extreme point. Looking between the moimtain 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 stem features. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 PASSAGE OF THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 Dear Nature is the kindest mother still, 
 Though always changing, in her aspect mild; 
 From her bare bosom let me take my fill. 
 Her never weaned, though not her favored child. 
 Oh, she is fairest in her features wild. 
 When nothing polished dares pollute her path; 
 On me by day and night she ever smiled. 
 Though I have marked her where none other hath. 
 And sought her more and more, and loved her best in wrath. 
 
 Childe Harold. 
 
 When I took leave of Shaw at La Bonte's Csunp, I 
 promised that I would meet him at Fort Laramie on the 
 I St 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 tovi^ard the fort. To do so at this point was 
 impossible, because there was no opening; and in order 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 255 
 
 to find a passage we were obliged to go twelve or four- 
 teen 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 litde 
 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 jJl 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 ques- 
 tion 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 ade of a young squaw, to whom he was 
 addressing various insinuating compliments. All the old 
 
256 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 
 imlucky 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 Ray- 
 mond 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 moun- 
 tain. 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 moun- 
 tain, ascended among 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 257 
 
 fifty or sixty sheep, almost within rifle-shot, clattering up- 
 ward among the rocks, and endeavoring, after their usual 
 custom, to reach the righest 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 fuU-grown male. He 
 had a pair of horns twisted Uke 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 out 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 of 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 moying 
 forward, among the hills. On the following day the 
 heights gathered around us, and the passage of the moun- 
 tains 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 
 
258 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 in folds 
 about his loins, his stately and graceful figure was 
 fuUy displayed; and while he sat his horse in an easy 
 attitude, the long feathere 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 fea- 
 tures with 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 littie grassy recess, where some goose- 
 berry 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 California and Oregon Trail 259 
 
 the fniit that before we were in motion again the van of 
 the village came in view. An old woman appeared, lead- 
 ing down her pack horse among the rocks above. Savage 
 after savage followed, and the Kttle dell was soon crowded 
 with the throng. 
 
 That morning's march was one not easily to be forgot- 
 ten. It led us through a sublime waste, a wilderness of 
 mountains and pine forests, over which the spirit of loneli- 
 ness 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 cheer- 
 ing 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 rec- 
 ollections 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 dif- 
 ficult, I saw at a little distance on our right a narrow open- 
 ing 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 un- 
 known 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 
 
26o The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 it had no tenants except a few hawks and owls, who, dis- 
 mayed at my intrusion, flapped hoarsely away among the 
 shaggy branches. I moved forward, determined to ex- 
 plore 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 stim- 
 ulated 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 surpris- 
 ing distinctness. In that perilous wilderness, eight hun- 
 dred miles removed beyond the faintest vestige of civiliza- 
 tion, 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 foun- 
 dation 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 thdr robes of 
 black, and the grated window from whence I could look 
 out, a forbidden indulgence, upon the melancholy Coli- 
 seum and the crumbling ruins of the Eternal City. The 
 mighty glaciers of the Spliigen 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 re- 
 membering 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 261 
 
 men, women, and children, dogs and horses, still filing 
 slowly across the littie 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 littie farther on I 
 found a very small meadow, set deeply among steep moun- 
 tains; and here the whole village had encamped. The 
 littie spot was crowded with the confused and disorderly 
 host. Some of the lodges were already completely pre- 
 pared, or the squaws perhaps were busy in drawing the 
 heavy coverings of skin over the bare poles. Others were 
 as yet mere skeletcais, while others still — ^poles, covering, 
 and all — lay scattered in complete disorder on the ground 
 among buffalo robes, bales of meat, doijiestic 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 
 littie bows in their hands, looking down upon the 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 lisdess 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 
 
262 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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, com- 
 pletely overshadowed by tall trees' and dense undergrowth. 
 In this cool and shady retreat a number of girls were 
 assembled, sitting together on rocks and fallen logs, dis- 
 cussing the latest gossip of the village, or laughing and 
 throwing water with their hands at the intruding Mene- 
 aska. 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 im- 
 mediately disappear down the maw of his voracious con- 
 queror. 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 batde." 
 
 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 263 
 
 ascended a neighboring hill, whose rocky summit com- 
 manded a wide view over the surrounding wilderness. 
 The sun was still glaring through the stiflf 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 sur- 
 rounding crags. 
 
 I found a circle of smokers seated in their usual place; 
 that is, on the ground before the lodge of a certain war- 
 rior, 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 ist 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 
 
264 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 to stir, and the lodge-coverings fluttered and rustled as 
 the squaws pulled them down in preparation for depar- 
 ture. 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 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 en- 
 compassed it; the woods were fresh and cool in the 
 early morning; the peaks of the mountains were wreathed 
 vwth 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 fol- 
 lowed 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, 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 265 
 
 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 war- 
 riors, 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 far- 
 
266 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 ther, the view changed rapidly. The burning mountains 
 were behind us, and through the open valleys in front 
 we could see the oceanlike 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 all his 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 ex- 
 claimed: "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 heat 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 267 
 
 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 vou 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 In- 
 dians 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 ugfiness of his face and the ghastly width of 
 his mouth dwell vividly in my recollection. The antelope 
 
268 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 cotton-wood trees that bordered liie 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, fol- 
 lowed 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 growhng ominously. 
 
 "We will camp there," 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, 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 269 
 
 for the big drops began to patter down. Soon we 
 came in sight of the poplar saplings that grew about 
 the mouth of the httle 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. Bend- 
 ing 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 Ray- 
 mond. 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, growing like a fiery ball of copper, we 
 were ten miles distant from the Fort. At length, from the 
 broken summit of a tall sandy bluflf 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 bound- 
 less desolation. I stopped my horse, and sat for a 
 
270 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 horse- 
 back, 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 com- 
 panion and our noble-hearted guide. My appearance was 
 equally gratifying to Shaw, who was beginning to en- 
 tertain 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 com- 
 pany, 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 con- 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 271 
 
 trive 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 apart- 
 ment usually occupied by the absent bourgeois. In one 
 corner was a soft and luxurious 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 I 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 
 
 Of antres vast, and deserts idle. 
 Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven. 
 
 Othello. 
 
 On the day of my arrival at Fort Laramie, Shaw and I 
 were lounging on two buffalo robes in the large apart- 
 ment hospitably assigned to us; Henry ChatUlon 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, eying 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." 
 
272 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 I gave him a small leather bag containing some of excel- 
 lent 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 mix- 
 ture; 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 Indian. 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 farther risks. They intended to pursue the route 
 southward along the foot of the moimtains 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 273 
 
 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 com- 
 panions for the head of the Arkansas. He sent us pre- 
 viously 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 home- 
 ward 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 set- 
 tlement 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 ad- 
 vised us by no means to attempt this southward journey 
 with fewer than fifteen or twenty men. The danger con- 
 sists 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 Arapa- 
 hoes 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 
 
274 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 of us, 
 then, 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 con- 
 tentment 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 after- 
 noon, we bade a final adieu to its hospitable gateway. 
 Again Shaw and I were riding side by side on the prairie. 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 275 
 
 For the first fifty miles we had coinpanions 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 skiU 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, RouviUe 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 ortho- 
 dox fashion of braiding up a horse's tail, telling apocryphal 
 stories how he had killed a buffalo bull with a knife, hav- 
 ing 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 
 
276 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 camp, chattering like some frolicksome 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 com- 
 panion Troche sat silently on the grass, not speaking a word, 
 but keeping a vigilant eye on a very ugly httle 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 chang- 
 ing 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 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 fim 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 277 
 
 view. Immediately after it appeared again. But now it 
 seemed quite near to us; and as we looked at it in aston- 
 ishment, 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 curi- 
 ous mixture of mirth and mortification. His hawk's eye 
 had been so completely deceived by the peculiar atmos- 
 phere that he had mistaken two large crows at the dis- 
 tance 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 condition 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 Uttle 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 expres- 
 sion. We inquired what was the matter; when it appeared 
 that Bisonette had sent him from this place to Fort Lara- 
 mie with the sole object of bringing back a supply of 
 tobacco. Our rattlebrain 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 
 
878 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 Paw- 
 nee, JSibille, 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 suf- 
 fered 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 dechned 
 to pass the mountains along with the rest. The Indians 
 in Bisonette's camp consisted of these very famihes, and 
 many of them came to me that evening to inquire after 
 their relatives and friends. They were not a little morti- 
 fied 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 poimded up, stones and all, and spread on 
 buffalo robes, to dry in the sun; they were then eaten with- 
 out 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 wdth 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 279 
 
 lodge, he sent his little son to invite all the white men, 
 and all the more distinguished Indians, to a feast. The 
 guests arrived and sat wedged together, shoulder to shoul- 
 der, 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, strenu- 
 ous 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 hos- 
 pitality. The Stabber next produced his chopping 
 board, on which he prepared the mixture for smoking, 
 and filled several pipes, which circulated among the com- 
 pany. 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 whita 
 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-homed 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 
 
28o The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 him that all the Mexicans had gone out to a great buflfalo 
 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 gath- 
 ered 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 nlottled 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 Dakota were pres- 
 ent, wrapped from head to foot in their heavy robes 
 of whitened hide. There were also a considerable num- 
 ber 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 the wilderness, and who 
 love the camp fire better than the domestic hearth. They 
 are contented and happy in the midst of hardship, priva- 
 tion, and danger. Their cheerfulness and gayety is irre- 
 pressible, 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 extraordi- 
 nary composition, being according to the common' saying 
 half Indian, half white man, and half devil. Antoine Le 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 281 
 
 Rouge was the most conspicuous among them, with his 
 loose pantaloons and his fluttering calico shirt. A hand- 
 kerchief 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 vwth 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 the 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 Ught 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 pres- 
 ence 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 
 
282 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 fran- 
 tic 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 hun- 
 dred 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 imtoward incident occurred. 
 We were encamped by the side of a little brook in an ex- 
 tensive 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 283 
 
 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 hob- 
 bled they had traveled three nules 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 botde 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 homed 
 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 imder 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 vis- 
 itors. At length, one morning, about the middle of win- 
 ter, 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 sym- 
 pathy 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 
 
a84 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 together, with the little mounds which they make around 
 the mouth of their burrows, and small squeaking voices 
 yelpiug at us as we passed along. The noses of the inhabi- 
 tants 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 drew 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 com- 
 munity would make their appearance above ground. We 
 would see them gathered in large knots around the burrow 
 of some favorite citizen. There they would aU sit erect, 
 their tails spread out on the ground, and their paws hang- 
 ing down before their white breasts, chattering and squeak- 
 ing 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 are 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 litde 
 marmots is worthy of closer attention than one is able to 
 give when rushing by forced marches through their coun- 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 285 
 
 try, with his thoughts engrossed by objects of greater 
 moment. 
 
 On the fifth day after leaving Bisonette's camp we saw 
 late m the afternoon what we supposed to be a consider- 
 able 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 Cottonwood 
 trees that grew along the bank, lamentably abused by 
 Ughtning 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 pe- 
 cuHar conical form. I happened to look again and stiU 
 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 dissolviag 
 away, it still towered aloft in the midst of them, fixed and 
 immovable. It must, thought I, be the summit of a moun- 
 tain, and yet its height 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, 
 
286 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 pre- 
 cision. 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 shadov^ry 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-dis- 
 posed 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 jomney. 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 shat- 
 tered by Shaw's bullet. As Delorier held him out at arm's 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 287 
 
 length with an exulting grin his tail, which stUl 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 kiUed 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 trjiil 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 flimg down. The area within 
 
288 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 farther 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 encamp- 
 ment of Arapahoes. There were about fifty fires still 
 smoldering on the ground, and it was evident from numer- 
 ous 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 hiUs 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 ChatiDon 
 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 289 
 
 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 soli- 
 tudes on the night of the 1 6th 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 groimd 
 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 buf- 
 falo. Henry primed his rifle afresh and galloped for- 
 ward. 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 cir- 
 cle. 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 bel- 
 lows, the blood spouting up in jets from the bullet-holes. 
 
ago The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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, pronoimced 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 Deloiier, looking 
 roimd vwth 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 horse- 
 men in rapid motion. Henry Chatillon, with Shaw and 
 myself, galloped toward them to rcconnoiter, 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 our- 
 selves were advancing, looked exactly like a line of horse- 
 men. 
 
 We encamped among ravines and hollows, through 
 which a little brook was foaming angrily. Before sun- 
 rise in the morning the snow-covered mountains were 
 beautifully tinged with a delicate rose color. A noble spec- 
 tacle 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, 
 aU revealed for an instant, and then disappearing from 
 the view. One could not but recall the stanza of "Childe 
 Harold:" 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 291 
 
 Mom dawns, and with it stem 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 moun- 
 taineer" 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 tUl the rage of the 
 torrent had passed. 
 
 The clouds opened at the point where they first had 
 gathered, and the whole sublime congregation of moun- 
 tains 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 stiU 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 
 
292 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 into it. When we stopped at noon, we were within ax 
 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 fuU 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 hiU, 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 catde 
 were grazing rose the low mud walls of the Pueblo. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE PUEBLO AND BENT's FORT 
 
 It came to pass that, when he did address 
 
 Himself to quit at length this mountain land. 
 
 Combined marauders halfway barred egress. 
 
 And wasted far and near with glaive and brand. 
 
 Chiuie Harold. 
 
 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, sur- 
 rounded by a wall of mud, miserably cracked and dilapi- 
 dated. 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 293 
 
 would prevent his going farther, he was quietly waiting 
 till the conquest of the country should allow him to pro- 
 ceed. He seemed to consider himself bound to do the hon- 
 ors of the place. Shaking us warmly by the hand, 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 apart- 
 ment 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 sump- 
 tuously decorated, and here three or four Spanish girls, 
 one of them very pretty, were baking cakes at a mud 
 fireplace in the comer. 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 fash- 
 ion, 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 dis- 
 cussing 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 
 
294 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 jurt 
 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 pugna- 
 cious 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 post- 
 poned leaving the settlements imtil 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 CaJifomia. 
 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. 
 Pasang out of the gate, we could look down the little val- 
 ley of the Arkansas; a beautiful scene, and doubly so to 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 295 
 
 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 com and vegetables, and invite us to help our- 
 selves to whatever we wished from the fields around the 
 Pueblo. 
 
 The inhabitants were in daUy apprehensions of an 
 inroad from more formidable consumers than ourselves. 
 Every year at the time when the com 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 Arapa- 
 hoes take them at their word, help themselves most lib- 
 erally, 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 stead- 
 ily, 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 
 
296 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 it from the other side. Their buckskin frocks were soaked 
 through by the rain, and clung fast to their Umbs 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 satis- 
 factory than before, and we had discharged him as soon 
 as we arrived at the former place; so that the party, our- 
 selves included, was now reduced to four. There was some 
 imcertainty 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 Coman- 
 ches, 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 hos- 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 297 
 
 tility. 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, where 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, more- 
 over, 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 
 Ccune in sight of it, for it is visible from a considerable dis- 
 tance, 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 soldiary. 
 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 
 
298 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 walk aroimd. 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 con- 
 fidence 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 f oimd 
 among the mountains. At the heel of one of his moc- 
 casins 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 
 dose, curly black beard. An old greasy calico handker- 
 chief 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 frontier, who 
 dragged his long limbs over the ground as if he were too 
 lazy for the effort. He had a sleepy gray eye, a retreat- 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 299 
 
 ing chin, an open mouth and a protruding upper lip, 
 which gave him jm air of exquisite indolence and helpless- 
 ness. 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 trad- 
 ing 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. 
 
300 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 TETE ROUGEj THE VOLUNTEER 
 
 Ah, me ! what evils do environ 
 
 The man that meddles with cold iron. 
 
 HUDIBRAS. 
 
 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 porch, 
 to smoke with some Cheyenne Indians whom we foimd 
 there. In a few minutes we saw an extraordinary Uttle 
 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 
 surroimded 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 discon- 
 solate, and told so lamentable a story that at last we con- 
 sented, 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 pronovmce it, one day coolly christened him 
 Tete Rouge, in honor of his red curls. He had at different 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 301 
 
 times been derk 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 campaigns would be an agreeable 
 recreation, he had joined a company oi St. Louis vol- 
 unteers. 
 
 "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 groimd. 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 unfor- 
 timate volunteer lost his senses outright. In spite of the 
 doctor, however, he eventually recovered; though between 
 
302 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 mihtary dress and his 
 most unmiUtary 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 magnif- 
 icent 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 com- 
 panions had seized upon the insulted charger, and har- 
 nessed 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. For- 
 tunately 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 appearfd 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 compos- 
 ure. Being stimulated by a blow from behind she con- 
 sented to move, and walked nearly to the other side of the 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 303 
 
 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 capacities for prjiirie travel- 
 ing, Tete proceeded to supply himself with provisions for 
 the journey, and with this view he applied to a quarter- 
 master's assistant who was in the fort. This official had 
 a face as sour as vinegar, being in a state of chronic indig- 
 nation 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 disap- 
 peared 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 gready dis- 
 turb 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 asso- 
 ciate was in fresh trouble. A man was holding the mule 
 for him in the middle of the fort, while he tried to put 
 
304 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 per- 
 fectly 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 Uttle 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 Gur- 
 ney 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." 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 305 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 INDL\N ALARMS 
 
 To all the sensual world proclaim. 
 
 One crowded hour of glorious life 
 Were worth an age without a name. 
 
 Scott. 
 
 We began our journey for the frontier settlements on 
 the 27th of August, and certainly a more ragamuffin caval- 
 cade 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 buU-hide 
 coiled around his neck, which by no means added to the 
 beauty of his appearance. Our saddles and all our equip- 
 ments 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 fur- 
 niture 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 beggers, we crept 
 slowly from day to day along the monotonous banks of 
 the Arkansas. Tete Rouge gave constant trouble, for he 
 
3o6 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 could never catch his mule, saddle her, or indeed do any- 
 thing 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 com- 
 pound 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°. His pantaloons were dec- 
 orated 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 307 
 
 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 be- 
 longed 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 
 
3o8 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 traQ, 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, trav- 
 eling 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 gay, 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 sup- 
 
The Caufornm; and Oregon Trail 309 
 
 plies he had obtained by a stratagem on which he greatly 
 plumed himself, and he was extremely vexed and aston- 
 ished 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 orddr 
 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 aU 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 WOTiderfuUy. 
 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 be- 
 tween 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 fuU two hundred lodges 
 standing in the midst of a grassy meadow at some dis- 
 tance beyond the river, while for a mile aroxmd and 
 on either bank of the Arkansas were scattered some fif- 
 teen hundred horses and mules graang together in bands, 
 
310 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 Uttle 
 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 eamesdy 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 mountJiins. 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 re- 
 newing his threats of the previous yeeir, 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 Cha- 
 tillon, 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 311 
 
 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 
 pronunciation 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 in- 
 credible quantities. The lodges were pitched in a very 
 wide circle. They resembled those of the Dakota in every- 
 thing 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 loosen- 
 ing the trail-ropes from our horses' necks, held them se- 
 curely, and sat down before the entrance, with our rifles 
 laid across our laps. The chief came out and shook us 
 
312 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 waU of savage faces. Some of 
 the Indians crouched Jiround us on the ground; others 
 again sat behind them; others, stooping, looked over their 
 heads; while many more stood crowded behind, stretch- 
 ing 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; £ill 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 
 dose 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 dis- 
 tribution 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 313 
 
 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, grin- 
 ning with delight, their native ugliness considerably en- 
 hanced 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 Ara- 
 pahoes. 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 neigh- 
 borhood 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 wjirriors 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 un- 
 wonted luxury as we passed along. When about a nule 
 from the village I turned and looked back over the undu- 
 lating 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 
 
314 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 the white covering of our little cart on the opposite bank. 
 When he 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 con- 
 tortions 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 ag^n. 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 Cha- 
 tillon stooped to look at him in his retirement, and remarked 
 in his quiet manner that an Indian would kill ten such 
 men and laugh aU 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 hun- 
 dreds were howling in concert in our immediate neighbor- 
 hood. 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 315 
 
 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 buflfalo 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 repeat- 
 edly 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 littie 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 vmder the cart. Soon after 
 I fell into a sound sleep from which I was aroused by a 
 hand shaking me by the shouldev. Looking up, I saw 
 Tete Rouge stooping over me with his face quite pale and 
 his eyes dQated 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 Incfians, 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 at- 
 tention. There would be no time for exjimination, and 
 so directing Tete Rouge to show me which way the In- 
 dians had gone, I took my rifle, in obedience to a thought- 
 less impulse, and left the camp. I followed the river back 
 for two or three hundred yards, Hstening and looking 
 anxiously on every side. In the dark prairie on the right 
 
3i6 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 Girmey declared that he was cra2y; 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, imtil he was directed to go to bed and not 
 alarm the camp again if he saw the whole Arapahoe 
 village coining. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE CHASE 
 
 Mightiest of all the beasts of chase. 
 
 That roam in woody Caledon, 
 Crashing the forest in this race 
 
 The mountain Bull comes thundering on. 
 
 Cadyow Castle. 
 
 The country before us was now thronged with buffalo, 
 and a sketch of the manner of hunting them wiU 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 Amer- 
 ican 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 317 
 
 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 deHght 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 
 Uke 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 
 weU 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 con- 
 tinue 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 
 himter 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's sake carry three or four 
 bullets in the mouth; the powder is poured down the 
 
3i8 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 prob- 
 ably 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 ram- 
 rod, usually hung by a string from the neck, but this ma- 
 terially increases the difficulty of loading. The bows and 
 arrows which the Indians use in running buffalo have many 
 advantages over firearms, 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 wUd-sage bushes. The most formidable obstruc- 
 tions, 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 honey- 
 combed. 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 prob- 
 ably killed. Yet accidents in buffalo running happen less 
 frequently than one would suppose; in the recklessness of 
 the chase, the himter 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 for- 
 mer, one neither breaks down his horse nor endangers his 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 319 
 
 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 neces- 
 sary 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 con- 
 stantly 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. 
 
320 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 who, raising their shaggy heads, would gaze in stupid 
 amazement at the approaching horsemen, and then break- 
 ing 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 thou- 
 sands 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 tem- 
 porary 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 di- 
 rection 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 number- 
 less black carcasses, while the remnants of the herd, scat- 
 tered 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 aUghted by the side of a cow, into which he had 
 shot five or six arrows, and his squaw, who had fol- 
 lowed him on horseback to the hunt, was giving him a 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 321 
 
 draught of water out of a canteen, purchased or plun- 
 dered 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 imposiag spec- 
 tacle 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 to- 
 gether 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 litde 
 columns of dust where the buffalo were roUing 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 bel- 
 lowing. 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 morn- 
 ing 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 cover- 
 , ing, biting his pipe between his teeth and grinning with 
 excitement. 
 
 "Lend me your gun, Delorier," said I. 
 
 "Oui, monsieur, out" said Delorier, tugging with might 
 and main to stop the mule, which seemed obstinately bent 
 on going forward. Then everything but his moccasins dis- 
 appeared as he crawled into the cart and pulled at the gim 
 to extricate it. 
 
 "Is it loaded?" I asked. 
 
 "Oui, bien chargi; you'll kill, mon bourgeois; yes, you'll 
 kill — c'est un bon fusil." 
 
 I handed hiim my rifle and rode forward to Shaw. 
 
 "Are you ready?" he asked. 
 
322 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 "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 power- 
 ful brutes, ignorant of their own strength, were flying in a 
 panic from the approach of two feeble horsemen. To re- 
 main 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 California and Oregon Trail 323 
 
 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 cUnging 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 
 
324 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 tumul- 
 tuous crowd. Immediately after I selected another, and 
 urging forward Pauline, shot into her both pistols in suc- 
 cession. 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 ex- 
 ploded. 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 325 
 
 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 the 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 aston- 
 ishment, 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 dis- 
 tinguished 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 bowl- 
 ings of wolves the hoarse bellowing of the buffalo, like the 
 ocean beating upon a distant coast. 
 
326 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE BUFFALO CAMP 
 
 In pastures measureless as air. 
 The bison is my noble game. 
 
 Bryant. 
 
 No one in the camp was more active than Jim Giomey, 
 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 mount- 
 ed 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, 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 327 
 
 "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 despera- 
 tion 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 boast- 
 ed 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 
 
328 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 fore- 
 most bull was disappearing behind the summit of the 
 swell, we saw him in the act of assaihng 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 walk- 
 ing 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 aU three of them came 
 back, their horses loaded with the choicest parts of the 
 meat; we kept two of the cows for ourselves jmd 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 sue- 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 329 
 
 cessful 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 pre- 
 pare provisions for our journey to the frontier, which as 
 we supposed might occupy about a month. Had the dis- 
 tance 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 Califor- 
 nia 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 our- 
 selves. 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 ex- 
 panse 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 ani- 
 mated 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 amuse- 
 ments were 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 woimd, with what pro- 
 found contentment of mind he beholds him fall. The cows 
 
330 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 un- 
 relenting 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 the purpose of commerce 
 and for making the lodges of the Indians; and the destruc- 
 tion 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 opposide 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 twen- 
 ty yards, it may be, of the point where the path 
 enters the river. Here he sits down quietly on the sand. 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 331 
 
 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 plung- 
 ing, down comes the buffalo upon the river-bed below. 
 He steps out in full sight upon the sands. Just before 
 him a nmnel 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 ab- 
 straction, 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 
 fore-leg, 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 
 
333 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 crawl- 
 ing. 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 com- 
 ing 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 pr^rie was almost tenant- 
 less; but a great multitude of buffalo had suddenly 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 333 
 
 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 con- 
 sisted 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 stiU, their heads all fac- 
 ing 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 suc- 
 ceeded, 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 scat- 
 tered in various directions. Henry, knife in hand, was 
 stooping over a dead cow, cutting away the best and fat- 
 test 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 
 
334 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 buflFalo 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 
 corhpanions. 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 neces- 
 sary 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 compan- 
 ions 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 335 
 
 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 pri- 
 vation; Tete Rouge never had a whim which he would 
 not gratify at the first moment he was able. Henry more- 
 over was the most distinterested 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 pur- 
 pose 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 inordi- 
 nate. 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 
 
336 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 trouble- 
 some; 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 his 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. 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 337 
 
 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 inflic- 
 tion 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 
 
338 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 
 aU 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 buUets 
 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 stiU there; and Tete 
 Rouge, declaring that he would kiU the bird of America, 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 339 
 
 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 that 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 coursed 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 gal- 
 loped leisurely over the sand not half a stone's throw dis- 
 tant. 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. Hav- 
 ing 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 
 
340 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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-buUet 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 above 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 kiUed a bull 
 within rifle-shot of the camp; that night the wolves made a 
 fearful howling close at hand, and in the morning the car- 
 cass was completely hollowed out by these voracious 
 feeders. 
 
 After we had remained four days at this canip we pre- 
 pared to leave it. We had for our own part abdut five 
 himdred 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 east- 
 ward. 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 341 
 
 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 roam- 
 ing 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 over- 
 head, and the dead buU near the camp w£is 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 remziin, 
 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 
 
 They quitted not their harness bright. 
 Neither by day nor yet by night; 
 They lay down to rest 
 With corselet laced, 
 Pillowed on buckler cold and hard. 
 They carved at the meal 
 With, gloves of steel. 
 And they drank the red wine though the helmet barred. 
 
 The Lay of the Last Minstrel. 
 
 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 
 
342 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 com- 
 panies 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 excel- 
 lent 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 modem 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 oflf 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 343 
 
 invaders five to one. An eagle flev^ over the Americans, 
 and a deep murmur rose along their lines. The enemy's 
 batteries opened; long they remeiined under fire, but when 
 at length the word was given, they shouted and ran for- 
 ward. In one of the divisions, when midway to thfe 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 bag- 
 gage were taken, and among the rest a wagon laden with 
 cords, which the Mexicans, in the fullness of their confi- 
 dence, 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, pre- 
 cisely similcU' 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 strag- 
 gled 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 gath- 
 ered 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. 
 
344 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 mihtary 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 homespung 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 breed- 
 ing; 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 345 
 
 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 can- 
 non 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 with- 
 
346 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 out 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 Dolorier by the depar- 
 ture 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 Gumey 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, chat- 
 tered, gesticulated, and hurled forth a volley of incoherent 
 words in broken English at the astonished Tete Rouge. 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 347 
 
 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 mani- 
 fest 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 van- 
 ished, 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 bull 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 prowl- 
 ing 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 
 
348 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 impossible to kill them when in that position, and stepping 
 upon the summit I pursued them over the high arid 
 table-land. 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 scutded away through the sandy chasms; a buU 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 motion- 
 less. In this manner I chased them for about two miles, 
 imtil 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 dovwi, 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 buU would step forward, and gaze at 
 me with a grim and stupid countenance; then he would 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 349 
 
 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 
 roimd, 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 suc- 
 cession. The rest were not at all discomposed at this; 
 they kept on bellowing and butting and rolling on the 
 ground as before. Henry ChatiUon always cautioned us 
 to keep perfectly quiet in the presence of a wounded buf- 
 falo, 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 ante- 
 lope 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 stiU 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 emer- 
 gency; so I turned round and threw a stone at the bulls. 
 
350 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 They received it with the utmost indifiFerence. Feeling 
 myself insulted at their refusal to be frightened, I swimg 
 my hat, shouted, and made a show of running toward 
 them; at this they crowded together and galloped off, leav- 
 ing 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 were 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 gentiy 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 vsdth long leaps he 
 bounded out of the camp. Jumping up, I fired after 
 him when he was about thirty yards distant; the melan- 
 choly 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 out 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 351 
 
 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 Gumey 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 sec them buffalo?" said EUis, "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 aght 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 gal- 
 loping 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. 
 This 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 acquisi- 
 tion, 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 
 
352 The California, and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 for- 
 ward 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 embar- 
 rassed 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 per- 
 turbation, and after much effort James's 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 353 
 
 his attack with a furious rush. The only ahemative was 
 to run away or be killed. I took to flight, and the bull, , 
 bristling with fury, pvu-sued 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 buUet 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 carmot 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 stand- 
 ing 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, consist- 
 ing 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 
 
354 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 Gumey 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; pis- 
 tols 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. Coining on at a hand-gallop, they soon 
 overtook us, and clidmed 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 Gumey. 
 
 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 diimer 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 posi- 
 tion to receive his death-wound. He was a grim old vet- 
 eran. His loves and his battles were over for that sea- 
 son, 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 355 
 
 which he had been wallowing. He showed all his ribs 
 whenever he moved. He looked like some grizzly old ruf- 
 fian 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 noth- 
 ing but his two fore feet 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 fore- 
 head 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 terms 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 beplastered with mud. 
 It was a tempting sight. I forgot my prudent intentions, 
 and fired my rifle; a pistol would have served at that dis- 
 tance. Round spun old bull like a top, and away he gal- 
 loped over the prairie. He ran some distance, and even 
 ascended a considerable hill, before he lay down and 
 
356 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 fig- 
 ure 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 moimtains; 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 prac- 
 titioner. 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 yeUow hair was all in disorder; 
 one of his arms supplied the place of a pillow; his panta- 
 loons 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 doc- 
 tor. Up sprang the learned Dobbs, and, sitting upright, 
 rubbed his eyes and looked about him in great bewilder- 
 ment. I regretted the necessity of disturbing him, and 
 said I had come to ask professional advice. "Your sys- 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 357 
 
 tem, sir, is in a disordered state," said he solemnly, after 
 a short examination. 
 
 I inquired what might be the particular species of dis- 
 order. 
 
 "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. A 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 pick- 
 eted 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; sol- 
 emnly swaying to and fro, it advanced steadily upon us. 
 Henry, half vexed and half amused jumped up, spread 
 
358 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 out his arms, and shouted. The invader was an old buf- 
 falo 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 suid 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 thunder-storm 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 vwnd. 
 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 agjiin. "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 con- 
 vinced that what they saw were Indians. Shaw silently 
 withdrew to call Henry, and they all lay watching in the 
 same postion. Henry's eye is one of the best on the prairie. 
 He detected after a while the true nature of the moving 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 359 
 
 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 
 
 And some are in a far couhtree. 
 
 And some all restlessly at home: 
 But never more, ah never, we 
 Shall meet to revel and to roam. 
 
 Siege of Corinth. 
 
 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 shallow 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 feed- 
 ing 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 descend- 
 ing the broad declivity in front. These were the Mormon 
 battalion in the service of government, together with a 
 considerable number of Missouri volunteers. The Mor- 
 mons 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, 
 
360 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 half-patriarchal appearance of these armed fanatics, thus 
 on their way with their wives and children, to found, it 
 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 Missouri- 
 ans. 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 obscur- 
 ity that the tents were falling and the ranks rapidly form- 
 ing; 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 F6. 
 
 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 encamp- 
 ing 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, advanc- 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 361 
 
 ing 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 salu- 
 tation 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 InjuUj 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. 
 
362 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 In the morning at breakfast, Tete Rouge once more re- 
 lated this story. We hardly knew how much of it to be- 
 lieve, though after some cross-questioning we failed to 
 discover any flaw in the njirrative. Passing by the wagon- 
 er'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 In- 
 dian'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 ap- 
 proached 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 dis- 
 tance, 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 rat- 
 tling volley of musketry. A score of long-legged Mis- 
 sourians 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 marks- 
 men; all cracked away at once, and yet not a buffalo fell. 
 In fact the animal is so tenacious of life that it requires 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 363 
 
 no little knowledge of anatomy to kill it, and it is very 
 seldom that a novice succeeds in his first attempt at ap- 
 proaching. The balked Missourians were excessively morti- 
 fied, especially when Henry told them that if they had 
 kept quiet he would have killed meat enough in ten min- 
 utes 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 Littie 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 arches 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 cluster- 
 
364 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 ing 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 Co- 
 manches began a regular series of hostiUties on the Arkan- 
 sas 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 grand-children 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 had 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 af- 
 fectionate 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 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 365 
 
 evening we came to our last encamiung ground. Some 
 pigs belonging to a Shawanoe 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 re- 
 sponse. The fiat went forth "That pig must die," and a 
 rifle was leveled forthwith at the countenance of the plump- 
 est porker. Just then a wagon train, with some twenty 
 Missourians, came out from among the trees. The marks- 
 man 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 circum- 
 stances would permit, and that is saying but very little. 
 In spite of the dreary rain of yesterday, tiiiere 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 In- 
 dian farmers. Every field and meadow bespoke the ex- 
 uberant fertility of die 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 out- 
 skirts. 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 fra- 
 grant 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 
 
366 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 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 simlight 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, strik- 
 ing through the broad leaves and Ughting 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 at- 
 tractions 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 
 myseK 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 Vogd'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 dis- 
 posed of, we hired a wagon and drove on to Kansas 
 Landing. Here we were again received under the hospit- 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 367 
 
 able roof of our old friend Colonel Chick, and seated under 
 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 ex- 
 pressed 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 
 Lajeunesse was to play the fiddle. We told him we would 
 certainly come, but before the evening arrived a steam- 
 boat, which came down from Fort Leavenworth, pre- 
 vented 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 put off; "when you go another time to de Rocky 
 Montagues 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 
 Gumey 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 sandbars. 
 We passed the steamer Amelia crowded with a roaring 
 crew of disbanded volunteers, swearing, drinking, gam- 
 bling, 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 comer of the storeroom. In the morning 
 
368 The California and Oregon Trail 
 
 we hardly recognized each other; a frock of broadcloth had 
 supplanted the frock of buck-skin; well-fitted pantaloons 
 took the place of the Indian leggins, 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 re- 
 ceived 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 an- 
 other 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 bar-keeper, at the clerk's instigation, re- 
 fused 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 }iim 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, 
 
The California and Oregon Trail 369 
 
 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 appearzince. 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 steamboats we 
 saw once more the familiar features of home. 
 
 * I cannot take leave of the reader without adding a word of the 
 guide who had served us throughout with such zeal and fidelity. 
 Indeed his services had far surpassed the terms of his engagement. 
 Yet whoever had been his employers, or to whatever closeness of 
 intercourse they might have thought fit to admit him, he would never 
 have changed the bearing of quiet respect which he considered due 
 to his bourgois. If sincerity and honor, a boundless generosity of 
 spirit, a delicate regard to the feelings of others, and a nice percep- 
 tion of what was due to them, are the essential characteristics of a 
 gentleman, then Henry Chatillon deserves the title. He could not vmte 
 his own name, and he had spent his life among savages. In him sprang 
 up spontaneously those qualities which all the refinements of life, and 
 intercourse with the highest and best of the better part of mankind, 
 fail to awaken in the brutish nature of some men. In spite of his 
 bloody calling, Henry was always humane and merciful; he was gentle 
 as a woman, though braver than a lion. He acted aright from the 
 free impulses of his large and generous nature. A certain species of 
 selfishness is essential to the sternness of spirit which bears down 
 opposition and subjects the will of others to its own. Henry's char- 
 acter was of an opposite stamp. His easy good-nature almost 
 amounted to weakness; yet while it unfitted him for any position of 
 command, it secured the esteem and good-will of all those who were 
 not jealous of his skill and reputation. 
 
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