Thirty-One Years on the Plains and in the Mountains Part 25

The same day that I left the Fort, Jim Beckwith came down to the boat bringing my horses, twelve in number, and after buying our outfit for camping, provisions, and so on, we bought quite a lot of beads, blankets, cheap rings and such goods as we could trade to the Indians for furs.

The following day we pulled for the trapping region, by way of the old San Jose mission, and from there to the old mission of San Gabriel, thence across the Mojave desert. From there we struck out for the mouth of the Gila river, and crossed just where it empties into the Colorado. We then traveled up what is known as Salt river, some distance from where we crossed the Gila. This was early in January, and we found plenty of beaver that were easy to catch.

No trapping had been done in that region for several years.

Besides, we thought at the time, and it so proved, that we were entirely out of the way of hostile Indians.

Here we put in two months trapping, with splendid success. Then, as it was getting too late in the season to trap, Jim proposed that we take our little stock of goods, or a portion of it, and visit the Pima tribe of Indians, which we found to be not as great a distance away as we had supposed, it being only about forty miles to their village.

They all knew us and were glad to see us. The chief and some other of the head men were out on their annual hunt, and we did not get to see them, as we only stayed two days, during which time they treated us the very best they knew how. They had plenty of vegetables such as turnips, onions, potatoes, sweet potatoes, etc.

While on this visit a certain young Indian got to be a great friend to me, but I am sorry to say that I have forgotten his name. He had a sister whose name was Nawasa, who also got to be a warm friend of mine, and I must say, that, although an Indian, she was a lady in her way, and I thought, really, that she was the best looking Indian I had ever seen.

The evening that we were to start back to our camp, Nawasa came to me and told me in Spanish that her brother wanted to see me, and that he had something to tell me. I started off with her, and after we had gone a short distance I asked her where her brother was, and she pointed to a bunch of bushes, saying he was there.

On my arrival at the spot I asked him what he wished to say to me.

I knew he had something private and important to say, otherwise he would not have called me to an out-of-the-way place like that.

He raised to his feet and looked around to see if there was any one in sight, and said in Spanish:, "Sit down here, me and my sister have something to tell you."

He started in by saying that the Apaches were very bad Indians, and that they had killed many of my friends; which showed that he considered all white people my friends.

"Six or seven years ago," he continued, "they killed a man, his wife, and two boys, and took two girls prisoners. A long time ago the smallest girl died and the big girl buried her."

At this, Nawasa spoke and said: "Many times I have gone with her to the village and heard her sing a pretty song, but I could not understand a word of it."

I asked if this girl was living yet.

Nawasa said: "Yes, I see her every few days."

I asked her what size the girl was, and from what I could learn she was almost grown.

I asked her if the girl was satisfied, and she thought she was not, saying she was held a prisoner and had to do the work for the Indian families, or lodges, as she termed them. She said the work consisted of getting the wood and water, and whatever little cooking was to be done.

The reader will understand that while the Apaches were hostile toward the whites, and the Pimas were not, yet the two tribes were always on peaceable terms. But I could see at a glance that those two Indians felt a deep interest in that white girl. I asked Nawasa how far it was to where the white girl was. After studying awhile, she said it was about six hours, meaning six hours' ride.

I asked her when she would see the girl again, and she made me understand that if it would please me, or be of any benefit to the girl, she could see her most any day, saying that she went near the village to gather huckleberries, this being the time of year the red huckleberries are ripe in this country.

I told them that I would come back in four days, and then I would go with them to that place to gather huckleberries.

I wanted to look over the ground before laying my plans for taking the girl, provided she wished to leave the Indians.

This ended the conversation, so we went back to camp, where I found Jim Beckwith and a crowd of Indians joking, smoking and having a good time generally, for, as I have said before, this was the most sociable tribe of Indians that I ever saw.

On our arrival at camp, Jim asked me in Spanish where I had been, and when he saw the Indian girl, said: "Oh, I see; you have been off courting;" and then he and the Indians had a laugh at my expense.

I did not say anything to Jim about what I had heard until the next day.

We started early in order to make the trip in one day. I told him the story just as I had it from the two Indians, and told him that I was going to try to get the girl away from the Apaches if she wanted to leave them.

I rode along some distance, apparently in a deep study, and he finally turned to me and said:

"I think you had better let that gal alone, for then. Apaches is the wust Injuns in the hull country. If you make the attempt and they ever git on your track, they'll run you down in spite o'

you."

To the readers of this book I will say I never was more astonished in my life, than I was to hear Jim Beckwith talk as he did. In all the time that I had been with him, this was the first time I had ever seen the slightest indication of his showing the white feather, as we termed it. It seemed to me he had lost all his nerve.

I said: "Jim, my mind is made up; if that white girl is dissatisfied and wants to leave the Indians, I am going to make the attempt, and trust to luck for the balance."

From that time until the day I was to go back to the village, he tried in every way he could think of to persuade me not to make the attempt, but I told him there was no use talking, that I looked upon it as being my duty, knowing that the girl was a slave to those Indians.

On the day appointed I saddled Mexico and started for the Pima village. I met the two young Indians about two miles from the village, where they had come to meet me, and they were both riding one horse, Nawasa riding behind her brother. When I met them she jumped off from behind her brother and said she wanted to try my horse to see how he rode, and she got on Mexico behind me and rode to camp.

I stayed at the village that night, and the next morning the three of us started out to gather huckleberries.

After we were on the ground and were busying ourselves gathering berries, Nawasa said:

"If you will go on that little hill"--pointing to a hill near by-- "at noon to-morrow, I will bring the white girl here to this tree, and you can see her for yourself."

She made me promise her not to go any nearer the Apache camp at this time, for, said she, "If they suspect anything wrong, the white girl will be traded off to the Indians in Mexico for a slave."

After making arrangements to meet the next day, Nawasa rode off toward the Apache town, and her brother and I rode back to the Pima village.

The following day I rode back in company with my young Indian friend to within two or three miles of the berry-patch, where we separated, and I rode out to the ridge that Nawasa had pointed out to me the day previous.

I saw them standing by the tree, as she had said. I put my gla.s.s to my eyes and saw sure enough that it was a white girl with Nawasa, and that she looked very sad.

I then rode back to the Pima village. That same night the two young Indians both came home, but they would not say a word while at camp. It seemed that they would not under any consideration have let any of the other Indians know what they were up to, so the next morning when I started home they took their horses and rode with me about two miles.

After we had got away from the village some distance, I asked Nawasa if the white girl still wanted to leave the Apaches, and she said, "Yes, she would like very much to leave them, but was afraid; as the Apaches had told her that if she ever tried to get away and was caught, she would be sold to the Mexican Indians as a slave, and there she would have to work in the fields, which would be much harder work than she has to do where she is."

I told Nawasa that if she would bring the white girl out on the same ridge that I had rode on, I would give her five strings of beads, and I would give her one string to give to the white girl.

She promised that she would try, and that she would do her best.

I agreed to be back in eight days and see what arrangements had been made, and to let her know when I would be ready to take the girl.

When I got back, Jim asked me what I would do with the girl if I was successful in getting her away from the Indians. I told him I would take her to Fort Yuma.

"And what in the name of G.o.d will you do with her when you get to Fort Yuma?" said Jim.

I told him that if Mrs. Jackson was there, which I was confident she was, that I would leave the girl with her, and that I had no fears but that the girl would be taken care of in the very best manner that Mrs. Jackson could provide for her.

Jim said: "If the girl is satisfied with the Injuns, why don't you let her alone? She don't know anything but Injun ways, and she never will."

I told him that my mind was thoroughly made up, and I would rescue that girl from the Indians or lose my scalp in the attempt. And now don't say any more about it, for it will do no good.

He said: "Go ahead and do as you please, as you have always got to have your own way about things, anyhow."

I said: "Yes, Jim; when I know I am right, I propose to have my own way."