Thirty-One Years on the Plains and in the Mountains Part 38

We pushed on, on the main road, and sure enough right in the little valley where I had told the captain to camp, we saw a band of buffalo feeding. We all made a dash for them, and succeeded in killing five fat buffalo, and on the ground, enough for the entire train.

As soon as the train was corralled and the stock turned loose, we appointed four men, who claimed to know something of butchering, to cut up and distribute the meat among the people of the train.

Up to this time the darkey cook had not been seen since I came over the hill in company with those Indians. A certain lady in the train said she thought that when he saw the Indians coming he had run off and hid in the sage brush, but after the fires were started he crawled out of one of the wagons where he had been hid, and claimed that he had been asleep all this time and did not know anything about any "Injuns," but it was a difficult matter to make the people in the train believe this yarn. I had the Indians build their fire outside of the corral, and while they were preparing their meat I went around and collected bread enough of different ones in the train for them, also a bowl of mola.s.ses. After all had their supper over I proposed to the Indians that we have a dance.

This dance is what they call a dance of peace, and is carried on in a manner like this: They--or all that wish to partic.i.p.ate in the dance--form in a circle around the camp-fire, singing, or rather humming, a certain tune. I went to the people of the train and told them that the Indians and myself were going to have a peace dance, and all that wished to see it could come to the camp- fire and look on. I think every man, woman and child came out to see the dance, which lasted about two hours. After the dance was over one of the young Indians in the crowd came to me and said if I would interpret for him he would be pleased to make a speech for my friends, providing they were willing for him to do so. When he told the other Indians he was going to make a speech they all sat down in a circle around the camp-fire, seventeen in number, and were perfectly silent. I told them that this young Indian wanted to know if they would care to hear him make a speech. All were anxious to hear him, which would be something new to them. I told them that he would make the speech in his own language and I would interpret it word for word as near as I knew how.

When I told him they would be pleased to hear from him he walked up to me, laid his hand on my shoulder, and said:

"I have known this friend of mine a great many years. A long time ago when he use to come to our village, we always killed a dog, and after we would have a feast on dog meat, we always smoked the pipe of peace, and all of the Arapahoes are his friends."

He continued this manner of speaking about fifteen minutes, to the amus.e.m.e.nt of the entire train, and when he took his seat he wanted some one else to speak, but no one would attempt to respond to him, thus winding up the amus.e.m.e.nts for the evening.

In a conversation that evening with the Indians, they told me their business out there, which was to keep the Sioux Indians off of their hunting ground.

The Sioux and they were on friendly terms, but sometimes the Sioux would steal over on their hunting ground. They proposed to accompany us through the dangerous part of the country.

The morning following I told the men in the train of the generous proposition which the Indians had made me, and told them if they would furnish the Indians with bread they would keep them in meat.

I also told them that we were now in the most dangerous part of the Sioux country, and that as long as those Indians were with us we were in no danger whatever from the fact that when the Sioux saw those Indians with us we were supposed to be their friends, and they dare not trouble us in the least.

This, however, was more than agreeable to the entire train, relieving the scouts of their duty, also the night guards. I made arrangements with the Indians to travel three days, and we then pulled out. Just when we were almost ready to start, one young lady in the crowd said to me; "Captain, I want to ask you one question, and will you tell me the truth?" I said: "Most a.s.suredly I will." She said: "I want to know whether it was true that when you visited those Indians they always killed a dog and ate the meat?"

I told her it was true as gospel, and said we always considered dog meat the finest in the land, and only the chief and his most intimate friends were able to afford dog meat. She said she was astonished to hear me talk in such a manner. She said: "The most laughable part of the proceedings the evening before was the action of the darkey cook, Bab, who stood away back in the outer edge of the crowd when you and those Indians were dancing. You could have knocked his eyes off with a frying-pan and not have touched his face."

All went well. The Indians traveled with us three days as they had agreed to, which brought us to the head of Bitter creek. We killed a few buffalo all along the way, and when the Indians were ready to leave us they had killed all the meat that the train could take care of.

This being as far as they had agreed to accompany us, they were to start back the following morning and that night we had another peace dance. The Indians invited all in the train to partic.i.p.ate in the dance, but none would take a part; so they and myself had the dancing to ourselves again The next morning when they were ready to leave us I told the people in the train to all come outside of the corral, both old and young, and form in line so those Indians could shake hands with all of them, telling them that they had done us a great favor in escorting us through the dangerous part of the country, and that this shaking hands they considered a great token of friendship.

This request was complied with, and the Indians all pa.s.sed down the line of people, shaking hands with each one. After they were done shaking hands with all the train they all came and shook hands with me, mounted their ponies, and rode away as fast as their horses could run.

We pulled on for Fort Bridger, all going smoothly, for we were in the Bitter creek country and had no fear of Indians in that section. The day we arrived at Fort Bridger we sent four men on ahead to ascertain, if possible, where Bannock was. Here they met, by chance, some men from what was then called East Bannock and from them we learned just where Bannock was located, it being on a west tributary of the Missouri river. We also learned from these parties that there was a great excitement at this time over mines that had been struck some eighty miles east of Bannock, on what was known as Alder Gulch, or Stinking Water, but they were not able to advise us as to whether or not we could get there with wagons.

Now I knew just where we wanted to go, and we took what was known as the Landers cut-off, and pulled for Fort Hall, reaching the fort without encountering any trouble with the Indians or otherwise. The second day after pa.s.sing Fort Hall, while we were crossing Snake river, we met a crowd of miners just from Alder Gulch, on their way to Denver, Colorado, for their families. From them we learned where Alder Gulch was, and those miners spoke in such high terms of the richness of that place that a great many in the train wanted to go there instead of going to Bannock, while others wanted to go to Bannock, that being where they had started.

That night they took a vote to decide as to which place they should go, which resulted in favor of Alder Gulch, so we pulled for Alder Gulch instead of Bannock.

We were now in the Bannock country. I did not hear of any depredations being committed by the Indians, but I used all precautions possible in order to prevent a surprise by the redskins.

Every few days we would meet a little squad of miners, all telling exciting stories about the richness of Alder Gulch. They were going home to their families with the expectation of moving them out there the following spring; most of their families being in Denver, Colorado. This all helped to create an anxiety among the people to push on and get through as quick as possible.

They moved somewhat faster now than before, reaching Virginia City, Montana, about the last of September, this being the trading point for Alder Gulch. Here we stopped and the train paid me off.

I stayed around there about three weeks. One day while I was at Virginia City two men, Boon and Bivian, who owned the only store of any note in Virginia City at that time, came to me and said that they had a train of twenty-two wagons some where on the road, but just where they did not know, and they wished to employ me to go and pilot it in, as their men with the train were all inexperienced in that line of business, and not acquainted with the road, not having been over any part of it before, and they were afraid that through carelessness they might fall into the hands of Indians.

The train was loaded, princ.i.p.ally, with flour, bacon, sugar, coffee and tobacco. Flour was then worth twenty-five dollars per hundred, bacon forty cents a pound, and other things in proportion. On the twentieth of September I took two horses and started off to meet the freight train.

Three days from the time I left Virginia City I crossed the summit of the Rocky Mountains and it was snowing hard. I thought it doubtful whether or not they would be able to cross the mountains this winter, but I went on, and met them between Fort Hall and Soda Springs. I gave the wagon-boss a letter which Boon and Bivian had sent him, and after reading the letter he asked me if I thought they could cross the range this fall. I told him that it was about one hundred and eighty miles from there to the summit, and if he could make that distance in ten days he would be able to get through, but if not, he could not cross the mountains this fall. He said it would be impossible to make it in that length of time, as the cattle were all getting very poor and weak and the teams very heavily loaded. The next morning I struck out, taking another man with me, to try and find if possible, another ford on Snake river some thirty or forty miles above the old crossing, knowing if I could do that it Would save us two or three days'

travel, and might be the means of our getting across the mountains that fall. I told the wagon-boss that I would meet him at Fort Hall, so in company with one other man, I struck straight across the country for Snake river. The second day about noon we reached the river, and that afternoon we succeeded in finding a good ford, which we called the Island ford, there being a little island just above.

We camped on Snake river bottom that night, and the next morning about daybreak we were on our journey for Fort Hall, reaching the fort one day ahead of the train. Here we waited until the train arrived. From Fort Hall we struck out for Snake river. This was all an open country, with the exception of sagebrush. The first night after leaving the fort snow fell four inches deep on the valley, and I felt satisfied then that we would not be able to cross the mountains that winter. The next day the snow all melted in the valley, but hung low at the foot of the mountains.

The third day after leaving Fort Hall we reached Snake river, and were successful in getting across without any mishap whatever.

This new ford is near where Pocatello, Idaho, now stands. The first night after crossing the river we camped on a little stream, which I gave the name of Rock creek, and I am told that it is still known by that name. That night the snow fell one foot deep.

I told the wagon-boss the next morning that he was at his journey's end for the present fill. We unloaded one wagon and he took one wagon to haul his camping outfit and provisions for the winter, and returned to the river bottom for the purpose of wintering his stock there. Another man and myself went to work to make two pairs of snow shoes, for which we had to use the side- boards of a wagon, there being no timber suitable in reach for that purpose. We were three days preparing for this trip, by which time the snow had settled.

All being in readiness the morning of the fourth day in this camp I, accompanied by two other men started on horseback, one man going along to bring the horses back, and the other to accompany me across the mountains. We rode to within ten miles of the summit of the mountains. Here the snow was nearly two and a half inches deep. Our horses were unable to get anything to eat except the branches of quaking asp trees that we cut and carried to them. The next morning we saddled our horses, one of my companions started back again, and we mounted our snow shoes and started to climb the mountain, this being my second attempt to travel on snow shoes. I was somewhat awkward at this new undertaking, and you can rest a.s.sured that I was tired when I reached the summit of the mountains, which took the greater part of the day. Each had a pair of blankets and enough provisions strapped on his back for the trip.

After reaching the summit of the mountain and starting down on the other side we found it much easier traveling. We worked hard all day and made what we thought to be twelve miles, camping that night in the fir timber. It was a cold, disagreeable night, with our one pair of blankets each, we consoled ourselves that it was much pleasanter than to have been here afoot and alone, and no blankets at all. The second day's travel after crossing the summit of this mountain we met a freight train on its return to Salt Lake City. This train was owned by a man named G.o.ddard. It had been across the mountains with a load of freight and was returning, like our train on the opposite side and was unable to proceed farther, having to return to the low lands for the purpose of wintering the stock. We abandoned our snow shoes and procured conveyance to Virginia City. Messrs. Boon and Bivian were glad to know that their train was safe from the hands of the hostiles, but they said they would lose ten thousand dollars by not getting it across the mountains that fall. These men having a room at the rear of their store where they slept and did their cooking, kindly proposed that I should stop and winter with them, which hospitable offer I accepted.

At this time a stage ran from here to Bannock and from Bannock to Boise and from Boise to Salt Lake City, and the news was coming in every day of both stage and train robberies along this line, and it actually got so bad that it was not at all safe for a man to step outside of his own door after dark, if it was known that he had any money. These robbers were known in those days as "road agents."

CHAPTER XXVII.

ORGANIZATION OF A VIGILANCE COMMITTEE.--END OF THE NOTORIOUS SLADE--ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS FOR A "CROW-BAIT" HORSE.--FLOUR A DOLLAR A POUND.

About this time what was known as a vigilance committee was organized at Virginia City, and other points along the stage line, for protection against desperadoes. During the winter I was not out much, and all the news I could get was from persons who came to the store to trade.

One morning in the latter part of January I went out after a bucket of water at daylight, and happening to cast my eyes up a hillside I could see sentinels walking to and fro I could not understand it. On returning to the house I mentioned the matter to Messrs. Boon and Bivian. They smiled and said: "We understand all that," and they explained the whole thing to me. One of them said: "There will be some fun to-day," and the other replied: "Yes, a little hemp-pulling."

"Yes," responded the other, "that is what I meant." And then--in our western vernacular--I "tumbled to the racket."

By the time we had breakfast over people were beginning to come in to trade, and happening to look down the street I saw forty or fifty men all well armed come marching up the street in the direction of the store They marched up to a large gambling house, called the Shades. There they halted while some of them went in and returned, bringing with them a man by the name of Jack Gallagher.

There was a log cabin immediately across the street with a fireplace in it, and to this house they marched Gallagher and put him inside.

Leaving a strong guard around the cabin, the balance of them started out as if hunting some one else. In a short time they came marching another man to the cabin by the name of Boone Helm, who had one hand tied up. It seemed to comfort Gallagher to know that he was going to have company on the long trip by the short route, and "misery likes company."

The third man was brought in a few minutes later whose name was Hank Parrish, the fourth and last that day being Clubfoot George.

They were all placed in the log cabin under a strong guard.

About the middle of the afternoon the crowd rea.s.sembled at the cabin jail, took the prisoners out, and marched them up the street. Mr. Boone and I walked down the street by the side of the crowd, and after they had gone one block, for some reason they came to a halt, when Boone Helm sang out in the most profane language he could have uttered, saying: "Hang me if you intend to, or I will have to go and warm my sore hand."

They marched on up the street to where there was a new log house that had been recently built and not yet covered. That had been prepared for this neck-tie party by placing four dry goods boxes in a row in the house. The four men were led in and placed on the boxes and a rope placed around each of their necks thrown over a joist above and made fast to a sleeper below.

While they were tying the rope around Jack Gallagher's neck--his hands already having been tied behind him--a perfect stream of oaths was pouring from his lips, and about the last words he uttered were: "I hope to meet you all in the bottomest pits of h.e.l.l." These words were uttered not more than a minute before the box was kicked from under him.

After this little hanging-bee everything was quiet until near spring, when there came to town a man by the name of Slade, who was full of noisy whiskey, and started in to paint the town red.

This man was the same Slade that used to be stage agent on the Overland road. He was also the same man that in the year 1852 cut an old man's ears off while he was tied to a snubbing post in a horse corrall, where he had been taken by the cowardly curs that were at that time in the employ of Slade simply because he, Jule, would not vacate the ranch where Julesburg was afterward established. After severing both ears from his head they shot him down like a dog while he was tied and helpless.

While in Virginia City this time Slade made threats against several people, and during his spree did something, I never knew just what, and a warrant was sworn out and placed in the hands of a marshal for his arrest. The marshal found him in a gambling house, and in some way managed to get him into the court-room before he suspected anything, not reading the warrant to him until they were in the court-room.

When informed that he was under arrest, Slade did not wait to hear the warrant read, but jerked it from the hands of the officer, tore it in two, wadded it up in his hands and threw it on the floor and stamped on it with his foot. Then he turned and walked out, and was in no wise backward in telling the officer, as well as the judge of the court, what his opinion was of such proceedings.

About the middle of that afternoon the Vigilantes, some twenty in number, came to where Slade was standing, took him in charge, and marched him off up the street. I happened to be standing near when they took him in tow and followed close in the rear while they were marching him off to the place of execution. I don't think that he drew three breaths during that time but what he was pleading for his life.