The Awakening Of The Desert Part 13

"In the meantime Oo-je-an-a-he-ah and Jules had talked together of their future, and the Chief had given his royal sanction to their alliance. On the second evening after Jules' arrival at his camp, a broad-shouldered, heavily-moustached man entered the camp, and called for Jules La Chance. 'He is up at the Crow village,' was the reply.

"'Will you send for him to come here at once, and say to him that Paul Des Jardines desires to see him on an important matter of business?'

"'Well, I'll go for him myself,' said the man, 'but Jules is on rather an important mission himself. We think that he is arranging to take the daughter of the Chief of the Crows, and Father DeSmet, the Jesuit missionary, is in the village, and Jules having been brought up a Catholic, you know what that means.'

"'Then rush--it is the more important that you bring him here at once.'

"In an hour Paul and Jules were sitting on a rock near their camp, and Paul told of the very young Indian girl, the finest looking one he had ever seen, who had been compelled to fly to the hills because of her having saved Jules and his party, an act which also caused a defeat of the Sioux, because of information which he (Jules) must have given to the Crows.

"'Well,' said Jules, 'that girl, Oo-jan-ge, is the finest I ever saw, but the fact is, I am in a devil of a fix. This girl here whom I wish to marry is a jewel, the finest in the tribe, and I almost fixed the matter up to marry her before I saw Oo-jan-ge. Father DeSmet is in the village and Oo-je-an-a-he-ah has a notion that she would like to give him something to do that is not common in the tribe, a Catholic wedding. My mother was a Catholic, but I am little or nothing in those matters.'

"'Well,' said Paul, 'Oo-jan-ge is now right over here at my camp. As we were traveling through the Sioux country she put herself under our protection until she could see you. She feels that she is regarded as a traitor by her tribe, and is a voluntary exile and I am going to see that justice is done for her.'"

Tom Soon had proceeded thus far in his story, when he paused to relight his pipe, but before scratching the match he looked directly toward the Warne girls and said, with an air of great seriousness, "Now young ladies, understanding that both of these Indian girls loved Jules La Chance, and that he was as much attracted to one as to the other, what should he do?" The discussion in reply would have given Tom time to have lighted a dozen pipes. Jules was pledged to the Crow girl, and that was a sacred contract said one. Well enough, said another, he gave Oo-jan-ge his ring, and if she had not sacrificed herself probably Jules might not have lived to marry either girl. "Well, tell us quickly how he did finally solve the problem," asked another. "Easiest thing in the world,"

replied Tom,--"if you only know how. He married both of the girls, of course. There was no other square way of doing the business. Of course, Father DeSmet was not in it, but the thing was all fixed up in good shape. Jules was a square man and wouldn't do a mean trick. You have heard the old adage, 'When in Rome do as the Romans do,' so when among the Indians, do as the Indians do.

"Hongs-kay-de, the son of a well-known Puncah Chief, and who also became 'The great Chief,' as his name indicates, married four girls in one day.

They were the daughters of as many leading men of his tribe, the ages of each being between twelve and fifteen years. Hongs-kay-de himself was only eighteen. Of course, he distinguished himself in this act, but his bravery made him the hero of his tribe. The fathers of the four brides were present as parties to the transaction. Later Mr. Chouteau of St.

Louis, the fur trader, and Major Sanford, the agent for the Upper Missouri Indians--in the thirties, with Catlin the artist, all were guests at the home of the young chief and saw all the brides, who were reported to be very happy. The event is a matter of history. The Indian girls usually mature and marry young. Among the warring tribes so many men are killed in battle that some means must be adopted to give all the girls a square deal for a home. It is, therefore, common for the chiefs of many of the tribes to have more than one wife. A few of the ranchmen have two Indian wives. I have told you of the incident that you may know more of western life, as it sometimes is where there is no law to regulate these matters, but I must now say good-night." And Tom was off toward his camp. Having no confirmation of the story of Jules' wedding I am unable to vouch for its historic accuracy.

In the morning we made an early start. We were informed that from Red b.u.t.tes a road laid out by J. M. Bozeman in 1863 branched off, running through the country of the Crow Indians to the Missouri River in Montana. Bozeman City received its name in honor of that pioneer. In the year preceding that of our visit, this so-called "cut-off" was the scene of several serious Indian skirmishes, in which General Sully figured conspicuously. In one of the engagements he reported having killed about six hundred Sioux Indians. Our course, however, took us along the old Oregon trail toward South Pa.s.s. Crossing a barren valley of alkaline deserts, we reached the soda lake, which is indicated on the charts of the old explorers. There were two double teams there from the Bear River Valley, the wagons of which were being loaded with the saleratus, which they stated was pure. Such employment seemed rather hazardous in view of the existing Indian troubles. On former trips, they had received thirty-five cents per pound for their loads. Professor W. H. Reed of the University of Wyoming states to me that the soils in this part of Wyoming are mostly clay and contain soda deposited in ancient times, in the mesozoic age. The clays are exceedingly rich in alkaline salts or the salts of sodium. The melting snows and rains penetrate these soils, dissolving the soda, and it is washed into the sinks. The waters evaporate leaving the soda as a salt in the bed of the lakes. Professor Reed, who has thoroughly prospected these lakes, reports having found over 12 feet in depth of solid crystals. It glistened in the sunlight as if it might be free from foreign matter.

Four miles farther on we crossed the Sweet.w.a.ter River and camped. Near this point is Independence Rock, a conspicuous, though not a lofty, granite dome, which has long been a landmark on that trail. It is mentioned in the chronicles of the first Mormon emigrants, who camped there June 21, 1847, at which time the names of some persons were found painted upon one of its cliffs. So far as I can learn, both from written and oral accounts, it is not now known who gave the Rock its name.

Mention of it by its present name is made in Fremont's reports of his explorations, also in the reports of the Reverend Samuel Parker, who visited it in 1835. Again, in 1836, Parker, with his bride, and the Reverend Marcus Whitman and his bride, paused here on their remarkable wedding tour, which has become historic. These two young brides appear to be the first white women that ever crossed the Continent.

Independence Rock, therefore, seems to have been a halting place for all travelers on the Oregon trail, and was known as such before that pathway received a name.

CHAPTER XIX

CAMP FIRE YARNS AT THREE CROSSINGS

The Prince of Darkness has been highly honored by the trappers in the West in the nomenclature of various freaks of nature, in the same manner, though perhaps not with the same devout spirit, as the names of saints have been perpetuated by the early Christian fathers, who established their missions in the southwest along the trail of the Spanish conquerors.

The names applied to objects often afford a clue to the character of the men who first applied them. Although no signs of human life or habitation were visible along this part of the Sweet.w.a.ter, not only because of hostile Indians but chiefly because of predatory outlaws, who were said to live in seclusion in these mountains, this location had won and maintained a very bad repute. It is, therefore, not strange that the remarkable cleft in the vast pile of granite through which the rushing torrent of the Sweet.w.a.ter here crowds its way, became known as Devil's Gate. When we saw the dark and ma.s.sive walls of the shadowy opening looming upon our right, we were almost prepared to see his Satanic Majesty or some of his minions emerge from its imposing portals, but as all seemed to be serene, we might safely conclude that,

"From his brimstone bed at break of day A-walking the Devil is gone, To look at his snug, little farm of the World, And see how his stock went on--"

This chasm is about six miles from Independence Rock, and there were believed to be many herds of stolen stock concealed back in the valleys beyond what would seem to be an eastern spur of the Sweet.w.a.ter range of mountains. Ben, Fred, Paul and I undertook an exploration of the summit of the mountain and also of the gorge, which we entered at the point from which the stream emerges from the chasm. We followed up the right bank of the river, clambering over the rocky sh.o.r.e, all of which proved rather an easy task. From a slight elevation we were able to look through the entire extent of the chasm, which appeared to be about twelve hundred feet in length, and varied from four to ten rods in width. In the narrowest pa.s.s it is compressed within walls hardly more than two rods apart. The sides of the cliffs rise to a height of about four hundred feet. Why and how the river forced its way through this isolated, granite cone, seems a mystery, as there is apparently no obstacle to prevent its flowing undisturbed round the lower borders of the south slope. Some great convulsion of nature must have split the mountain through its center and opened this channel. The chasm was certainly not formed by erosion, for the sides of the cliff expose a face of grey, weather-stained granite, with perpendicular seams and scoriated trap rock.

Reaching the narrowest point in the gorge we found it impossible to proceed further, as the swift, foaming waters of the rapids swept along the base of the high walls, rushing over and between the broken ma.s.ses of rock that had tumbled down, leaving no footing near the banks of the stream.

At this narrow point we discovered four or five groups of names painted upon the face of a granite cliff and beneath a low, over-hanging rock that protected them from the tempest. Among them, neatly printed with blue ink, were what appeared to be the names of the members of a small party. The last name in this group was Emily Wheeler and was followed by the date July, 1864. We thought little more of this young explorer until, on the following day, while riding a few miles westward beyond Devil's Gate, my attention was attracted to a small board standing about a fourth of a mile south of the trail and apparently placed there to mark the spot. Led by curiosity, I rode through the sage brush and found upon a little barren knoll a grave at which the board had been squarely set. Upon this marker painted in blue ink, were the following words: "To the memory of Emily Wheeler, who died July 19, 1864--age 17 years." It was the same name, the same month, and the same neat lettering that we had seen on the cliff and it was printed with the same kind of ink. On the rocks I remembered having seen below the names and also in blue ink the word "Illinois." We, therefore, inferred that the party came from that state. There were crowded into those few words painted in blue the outlines of a sad story. They fairly ill.u.s.trated an experience that befell nearly every party of emigrants, who in those days made the long and hazardous trip across that country. Some one without doubt knows the rest of the story of Emily Wheeler and the different circ.u.mstances under which the two inscriptions were written. It would appear that her friends were compelled to leave her in that far away wilderness, over which the Arapahoe hunted his game, where,

"No tears embalm her tomb, None but the dews by twilight given, Where not a sigh disturbs the gloom, None but the whispering winds of heaven."

The Sweet.w.a.ter River becomes smooth and placid immediately after it emerges from the Devil's Gate, flowing on quietly through picturesque scenery. Westward from this point the granite ridges rise from the northern bank of the river in rugged cliffs. The country in general, while very interesting, is barren, the chief vegetation being the artemesia or wild sage, which in those parts is found growing to a large size, so as to furnish very good fuel.

On the evening of July 26, 1866, we camped at Three Crossings, forty-two miles west of Platte Bridge. Within a few rods it was necessary to ford the rapidly running Sweet.w.a.ter three times. The number of these crossings doubtless gave rise to the name by which this place seems to have been known. It was also recognized as one of the most dangerous sections of the western country for peaceful travelers, by reason not only of the frequent attacks of Indians, but also of the fact that bands of white thieves and robbers had made their headquarters near there somewhere in the mountains, and were quite as much to be feared as were the savages. In 1865 William F. Cody (who became known as Buffalo Bill) accepted this precarious route as a stage driver, and here met with some of the experiences that contributed to his fame.

In the following season, the year of our trip, the stages were transferred to the southern route on account of these frequent Indian raids and attacks of robbers. On one trip, near Three Crossings, Cody sustained an attack of several hundred Sioux. The Division Agent sat upon the box of the stage with Cody. There were also seven pa.s.sengers inside the stage, all well armed, as was almost the invariable custom.

Cody applied the lash to the horses, amid a shower of arrows, some piercing the stage, some wounding the frightened animals. The agent who sat with Cody was also dangerously wounded. The men inside the box kept themselves busy with their rifles and revolvers from their less exposed position, and as the stage rattled over the rocky road brought a few of the savages low and held the enemy at bay. It was a running fight in which the bleeding and terrified horses fully bore their part. Cody was able to reach Three Crossings, where men at the station joined in the fight and forced the Indians to fall back. I am informed by Colonel Cody that this is the event which in the earlier days of his Wild West show he endeavored to picture in as realistic a manner as possible, with a score of tamed red men with repeating rifles.

After our supper a few of us forded the river and climbed some distance up into the mountain, obtaining a fine view of the country and incidentally creating no little diversion by rolling huge, detached rocks found on the edge of the cliffs in terrific and resistless course down to the valley beneath. A young man from Creighton's outfit, no more than sixteen years of age, accompanied us, and finally at parting announced that he would return by a different path from that which we were taking. The days at that season of the year being long, we concluded the day's journey before sunset. Dropping down to rest, after reaching camp, we heard a voice faintly sounding, as if from the sky. It came from the youth, who was still far up the mountain side and that moment in the full light of the setting sun. He was evidently seeking to attract our attention to his perilous position, for he was poised at a dizzy height, several hundred feet above us on a very slight projection, where he appeared like a moving speck. From his point of observation he was unable to decide upon the safest course for descent. The air being very still, his friends from across the river were able to advise him as to the difficulties below him. His voice could be heard distinctly from the distance. In his descent, his garments had already been torn to shreds as the result of sliding down the rough rocks, and now, as he informed us, the soles of his boots were so slippery that he could not retain his footing. The boots were soon rattling down the cliffs. Plans were made to secure a rope, which might be lowered to him from above, leaving one end fastened at a higher point. The night, however, was fast coming. Watchers, who could do little for him, expected at almost any moment to see his body tumble down the cliffs. The youth was favored by the twilight, long after he was lost to our sight in the dim shadows. It was some time after dark when friends bore the little fellow across the river, where others quickly gathered. He was bleeding and torn. The flesh on the soles of his feet was worn nearly to the bone. Although physically almost a wreck, he had such youthful vigor as in a few days put him again on duty.

When the night closed upon us, our camps were pitched along the south bank of the clear Sweet.w.a.ter River. At the west, the campfire of Creighton's train lighted up a little circle, around which were gathered the drivers, except such as were standing guard for the stock. In our camp nearby, the tin plates had been retired and Deacon Cobb and some others of the older members of the party had gone to bed early to keep warm; for the night, although bright and beautiful, was cool.

Having in mind some extravagance in the use of fuel, Ben, Fred, and I had harvested a good supply of sage brush, which we turned in at the Warne camp with the view of making the evening as cheerful as possible.

Everything there was in readiness, when we chanced to meet Tom Soon and succeeded in leading him down to the big fire, where welcome was accorded him and the seat of honor, on the end of an empty water keg.

During a little preliminary conversation, and as if settling down to the peaceful enjoyment of his comfortable environment, he mechanically drew out his tobacco pouch and slowly filled his pipe, lighting it with a burning stick found near the edge of the fire.

Mr. Warne was half reclining upon some robes, his three daughters nestling very close to him, and his wife, in a more dignified position, occupied a camp chair nearby. The rest of our party completed the circle. From time to time one would tell a story and others would hum a tune, while all watched the changing pictures in the fire or a sudden flash of light from the burning sticks which now and then, for a moment, illuminated the figures in the circle.

We were anxious to hear more from Tom, and finally when he had concluded a graphic description of a war-dance which he had recently witnessed, one of the young ladies said, "Mr. Soon, can you tell us why Indian warriors wear so many feathers and decorate their heads in so grand a fashion, while their women dress more simply? Does it not seem childish?"

"Well," Tom replied, "Indians are creatures who follow their tribal fashions, but their fashions don't change very much. An incident now comes to my mind that shows how the fashions of others sometimes impress the Red Man and also an old fellow like me, when those fashions are seen for the first time. Two or three years ago, Billy Comstock, the scout, and I were instructed to talk with some Ogallalla Chiefs, and arrange to have them visit Washington City and see the Great Father, President Lincoln. It was believed that if they could learn from personal observation that the country was great and powerful, they would not wish longer to fight the whites. Well, we induced them to go, so I went with them and the Indian Agent as far as St. Louis. We stayed over night at the Planter's House, in that city. I had been out West a long time and was almost as green as the Indians were, concerning the existing fashions and customs of civilized people. Well, we got rooms for them, but what does a wild Indian know about a bed? Of course the blankets were all over the floor and so were the Chiefs. They couldn't get into a bed any more than they could use the things on the table. They thought the pillows were the funniest things they ever saw. One of the Indians was astonished on approaching a big looking gla.s.s. He thought he saw a warrior that he had never seen before coming right at him. But what do you think they did when they saw the women on the street? It was about that time when women began to wear big dresses and hooped skirts. I had never myself seen such dresses until then. They didn't wear them when I was a boy. The Indians were starting up the sidewalk through the crowd, in a sort of single file as they generally do, and three fine women came along wearing those big dresses and grand bonnets on their heads. Of course the women didn't realize how strange they appeared to us, but they were interested in the Indians and stopped to look at the Chiefs who wore blankets and big feathers. The Indians were also interested in the women, and they stopped in front of the ladies, who wore skirts almost big enough for tents, and strange feathers in their bonnets. For a minute both parties looked at each other's toggery.

"The Indians were astonished to see the women so big around and wearing such gorgeous things on their heads. Of course the ladies quickly looked the Indians all over at a glance, just as they would at any curious thing in a show, and as they have a right to, and they especially looked at the feathers on the Indians' heads. At the same time the Chiefs, who were equally interested in the ladies' dresses, almost surrounded the women, before they realized the situation. You know that an Indian feels that it is proper to examine carefully anything that interests him. The Indians do that when they come into our cabins, in fact, it is their custom, so they proceeded at once to examine the ladies' wardrobe very carefully, before the ladies realized that they themselves were also objects of interest; but the Indians did not go very far in their investigation, for the women gave a yell loud enough for any Sioux and broke into a run. Some of the white people's fashions seem to be as ridiculous to the wild Indian as theirs are to you, and may be more so, for you see pictures of other people, and the Indians do not."

"That's all right, Tom," said Mr. Warne, "fashion is sometimes only a freak."

An old fellow with a big red mustache, whose name I failed to obtain, but who was addressed as Conk, standing somewhat in the background, overheard Tom's story. At its conclusion, he broke in with a remark--"Say, Tom, don't you remember about that a.s.siniboine Wi-jun-jun, the son of the Chief, who went to Washington?"

"Yes, of course I do," was the reply, "but let's have it."

We all called for the story, and as nearly as can be given from memoranda that I took at the time, his talk ran like this:

"I ain't much on telling stories," (said the trapper) "but some of these young Indian bucks are about as much dandies as any of the white folks. You know Major Sanford was the Indian Agent for the a.s.siniboine tribe, and as a lot of chiefs from other tribes were going down the Missouri to go to see the President in Washington, he went for Wi-jun-jun, because he was tall and wore more feathers and put on more d--d style with his people than any other Injun on the river."

"Don't swear, Conk," interjected Tom.

"Excuse me, ladies,--but as I was saying, he would go around on the steamboat when he was going down the river, so the people and the other Injuns would look at him just as fine dressed white men do when they think they are better than common folks. But he was a d--d good fighter!

Excuse my swearing, ladies.

"Well, he got to Washington with the rest of 'em and thought he was a devil of a fellow, when everybody, men and women, looked at him,--more'n they did at the rest of 'em. He and the rest of 'em were took aroun' to see the ships and the cannon and they went to the theatre, and he sot where everybody could see him. They knew the Injuns were going to be there, but that d--d fool--excuse my swearin,' ladies--that d--d fool thought he was a devil of a fellow. He felt bigger than ever when they wanted his clothes and feathers to hang up in some show place there, so he let'em have'em in trade for some American soldiers' clothes made for a general,--and the Agent agreed to let him wear his Injun clothes until he got back as far as St. Louis.

"They boarded the first steamboat that Mr. Chouteau sent up the river that spring, and Sanford went with 'em and took Wi-jun-jun into his room on the boat, and helped him change his clothes, for how in h.e.l.l--excuse my swearing, ladies--could an Injun get into a general's clothes, and get 'em on right?

"After a while when he came out on deck, he had on a blue broadcloth general's coat, with high collar and with gilt epaulets on the shoulders, and a tall beaver hat. He had on a belt with a big sword, and he had on long-top high-heeled boots. He had learned on this trip to smoke cigars, and Sanford brought him out and was as solemn as a funeral, and Wi-jun-jun was smoking a cigar, and marched out on deck with all that toggery on. The sword got between his legs and his hat was on the back of his head and his long black hair hung down behind. There wasn't only a few white pa.s.sengers on the steamboat and they got tired of him pretty soon, but when they all got to the Yellowstone, of course, Major Sanford and his Injuns got off at their town, and that cuss--excuse my swearing, ladies--that d--d cuss walked up through their village and for awhile wouldn't look at any of 'em--even his wife. But Sanford had give him two bottles of whiskey, and they both stuck out of his split-tail coat pockets, and pretty soon he commenced on the whiskey. The next day the sleeves of his coat were on his wife's legs for leggins, which she thought was pretty fine, and the gold lace of his clothes were on women in the tribe, and the epaulet things were in their hair, and the dandy purty soon hadn't a d--d thing left--excuse my swearing, ladies--but I hear'n you talking about how feathers looked to you on an Injun and I thought of that d--d a.s.sinboine--excuse my swearing, ladies; I've got so use to it out here I can't help it. The thing is, he had shown himself off in soldiers' clothes and don't you see, ladies, that an Injun must wear Injuns' clothes or he looks like--well, I came purty near swearing,--but Injun clothes and feathers are all right for Injuns, but ain't worth a d.a.m.n for white people."

The trapper bit a big piece from his plug of tobacco, while he received favorable expressions concerning the history, which he had given and yet--

"Jack was embarra.s.sed--never hero more-- And as he knew not what to say--he swore."

Many years after our party camped near Red b.u.t.tes, the writer discovered in the second volume of Elliot Coues' notes on _Forty Years a Fur Trader_, a brief description of the visit of Wi-jun-jun to Washington and the gift to him of the general's outfit. The portrait of the warrior-dude is preserved in the Catlin collection.