Thirty-One Years on the Plains and in the Mountains Part 9

We returned by the way of Bent's Fort, as Uncle Kit wished to employ the best men he could get to trap for him the coming winter. On our way to the fort, which was four hundred miles from the proposed trapping ground, Uncle Kit told me that he would have to leave me in charge the coming winter, as he was going to the City of Mexico on business, but said that he would come out and get the camps established and return to Taos with the horses before going there.

We found plenty of men at Bent's Fort, and, as usual, they were all broke, having squandered the money earned the winter before for whiskey and card playing. Uncle Kit experienced no trouble in getting all the men he wanted, but had to furnish them with traps and provisions--which took considerable money--he to have half of the furs caught by each of them. Everything being understood we returned to Taos, the men agreeing to meet us there two weeks later. They were all on hand at the appointed time, but there being a large party to outfit it took some weeks to make preparations for the trip, there being eleven in the crowd. It was about the last of October when we arrived at the trapping-ground ready to begin work.

There was a man in the crowd named Charlie Jones, who was an old friend of Johnnie West, and they and I lived in the same cabin that winter. One morning after we had got fixed up comfortably in our winter quarters and Uncle Kit had returned to Taos with the horses, Charlie Jones waked us up very early, saying that there was a light snow and he thought we would be able to get a bear if we got out early. We rolled out, got breakfast and were off as soon as it was light enough to see.

There were three small ridges, all pointing to our cabin; Johnnie West took up the right-hand ridge, Charlie Jones the left and I the middle one. The ridges were open, with scattering pine trees here and there, but along the creek was heavy timber and a dense growth of underbrush. While walking along up the ridge, keeping a sharp lookout for bear, I came in sight of Johnnie West, who beckoned me to cross over to where he was, saying that in the thicket, which covered about an acre of ground, there was a small bear. I proposed calling Charlie Jones over before entering the thicket, but Johnnie said no, as it was such a small bear that Charlie would get mad and would not speak to either of us for a week if we should call him over for such a little bear, "and if we cannot kill that bear," he continued, "we had better quit the mountains."

We both c.o.c.ked our guns and started into the brush side by side.

When near the center of the thicket I saw the bear raise on its haunches. The snow was falling from the bushes so thickly that it was almost impossible to get a bead on him, but I fired, anyway, and hit too low, thus failing to bring him down.

He made a rush for us, but Johnnie had saved his charge in case I failed to kill, but the snow was falling from the bushes so fast and thick that he could not get a shot at the bear as he rushed for us, so we were both compelled to flee for our lives, Johnnie to the hillside, while I took down the canyon, jumping the small logs and falling over the large ones and riding down the brush, while I could almost feel the bear's breath on my posterior at every jump, and had it not been that West had saved his charge, you would now be reading some other book--certainly not this one, as it would never have been written.

Just as we crossed a little opening, Johnnie fired, the ball cutting Bear's jugular vein and also his windpipe, but the bear still seemed to have a "hankering" after me and kept coming for several yards.

After its windpipe was severed, the bear made a louder noise than ever, but not knowing the cause, I thought he was nearer me and I strained every nerve and fibre of my body to widen the distance between us, as I almost imagined his teeth clashing down on me, while Johnnie West was yelling: "Run, Willie; run for your life!"

Well I rather think I was running some about that time, for just then I came to a big log, and I jumped, climbed and fell over it, in fact, I never knew exactly how I did get over it; however, I fell on one side of the log, utterly exhausted, and the bear, not being able to get over, fell on the other side and died.

Of all the hunting and Indian fighting I have ever done, I never had anything to scare me as did that little, insignificant bear.

Charlie Jones, hearing the two shots and Johnnie yelling for me to run, came to the scene and had no little fun with me for running from so small a bear, saying: "If a little bear like that were to come at me, I would take it by the tail and beat its brains out against a tree."

By the time the boys got the bear dressed, I had recovered sufficiently from my run and excitement to help carry the meat to the cabin, which was only a few rods away, as in our foot-race we had been running in direction of the camp. The boys had a great deal of sport at my expense, and many times during the winter I was reminded of the bear hunt, in which the bear hunted me.

After we had got everything nicely fixed up in our new quarters, Johnnie West one evening got down his sachel, took out a book and sat and read till bed time. The following evening when he took the book up again, I asked him what he was reading, and he said, "Robinson Crusoe." I asked him why he did not read aloud so the rest of us could hear, and he did read aloud until bed time. I told him I would give anything if I could read as he did. So he said if I would try to learn, he would teach me to read that winter as good as he could. I a.s.sured him there would be nothing lacking on my part, so the next night I took my first lesson. At that time I did not know all the letters, but I was determined to learn to read. In a very short time I had learned all my letters, and being possessed of a great memory, I learned very fast, and Johnnie, seeing I was so determined in the matter, spared no pains in teaching me, and by the next spring I could read Robinson Crusoe myself. Having a start, I could learn of my own accord, and to Johnnie West I am greatly indebted for the limited education I now possess; and were he now living I could not express to him my grat.i.tude for his labors as my tutor in that lonely wilderness, hundreds of miles from any white man's habitation. And, although my education is quite limited, yet what little I do possess has been of great value to me through life.

We had good success trapping this winter, until about the first of January, when we had an unusual heavy fall of snow in the mountains which drove all the game to the lowlands, nothing being left that was fit for meat except a few mountain sheep, and the snow made it very inconvenient getting around to attend to the traps. In the latter part of February I asked Charlie Jones one day to go down to Mountain Phil's camp and see if there was anything that he wanted, as we had kept all the extra supplies at our camp. Mountain Phil and his Klooch--that being the name he called his squaw, which is also the Arapahoe name for wife--were staying alone about ten miles further down the country from where we were located.

On Charlie Jones' return, he said: "It seems that Mountain Phil has been faring better than any of us, for he has been able to kill his meat at camp, thereby saving him the trouble of having to get out and hunt for it."

Johnnie and I did not understand what he meant by this. So, after hesitating a moment, Jones said: "Boys, if I should tell you what I know about Mountain Phil, you would not believe it, but as sure as you live he has killed his squaw and eaten most of her, and he has left his camp."

We insisted that he must be mistaken, but he declared that he was not, saying he had seen the bones in the cabin, and further investigation had developed the fact that he had beyond any doubt killed and eaten his Indian wife.

From that time on, Mountain Phil went by the name of the American Cannibal until his death, which was--if my memory serves me right--in 1863 or '64, at Virginia City, Mont.

After the snow had settled so that a person could travel on top of it, I took my gun and stole out one day to see if I could not kill a mountain sheep. As I clambered up the mountain I looked about one hundred yards or so ahead of me on a cliff of rock, and saw a panther, which I supposed was looking out for the same kind of game that I was. I fired and killed her the first shot and started to skin her, when I heard the kittens, or young panthers, crying up in the rocks near where I had shot the old one. My first thought then was what a nice pet I would have if I could only get hold of those young panthers. I was afraid to crawl into the cave for fear the other old panther might come in on me, so I cut a forked stick and twisted in their fur and in that way managed to pull them out, all the time keeping a sharp lookout for the other old one. I took the two young panthers to the cabin and made pets of them. They grew to be very watchful; nothing could move without their knowing it. The female grew to be very tame, and a more affectionate creature I never saw. But it was different with the male. When he was six months old he got to be very cross, and I had to keep him tied up. One day I went out to feed them and he drew back and slapped me, and I shot him on the spot with my pistol. The female I kept until she was considerably over a year old, when I sold her for one hundred dollars to an Englishman named Mace, and had I only known it, that panther was worth five hundred dollars. I had taught her many tricks.

She could count ten, by putting her paw on the ground ten times, and would do various other tricks, but when asked by any other person than her master to perform, she would shake her head and would not allow any one else to touch her. I always tied her up when going out for a hunt, and when I would return she would cry and scream so shrill that it would almost raise the hat on a man's head until I would untie her. She never was contented until she could get to lick my face, and I never saw a dog more watchful than she.

It was in the month of April that Uncle Kit came in with a pack- train for the furs, the snowfall having been so heavy that he could not get in earlier. Our catch had been light, as we had more snow that winter than has ever been known before or since in the history of that country. Uncle Kit was, however, very well satisfied with our work, with the exception of Mountain Phil, whom he had furnished for the winter, and who had not caught a beaver.

We soon had our traps and furs together, loaded up and were on our way to New Mexico.

The third day about noon we reached the Cache-la-Poudre, where we again ran on to the American Cannibal. We stopped here to let our horses feed and to partake of some refreshments ourselves. Uncle Kit, after giving Mountain Phil a lecture for his past conduct, said:

"Phil, if ever you and I are out together in the mountains and run short of provisions, I will shoot you down as I would a wolf, before you get hungry."

Phil asked him why he would do so, and Carson replied: "Because I wouldn't take the chances of being killed and eaten up by a cannibal like you."

It might be well to give a brief description of this cannibal. He was a large, raw-boned man, who would weigh about two hundred and fifty pounds, though he was not very fleshy. He always wore his hair long and never combed it, also wore his beard long and never sheared or combed that. His hair grew down on his forehead almost to his eyes. In fact he looked more like an animal than a human being.

Three days' travel brought us to South Platte, where we crossed the river and made camp on a little stream called Sand Creek. It was our custom to stake our saddle horses out at night as near camp as good gra.s.s could be found. The following morning Johnnie West and myself had been out after the pack animals, and on our return when within about a quarter of a mile from camp, we heard a rumbling noise that sounded like a band of buffalo in a stampede.

We looked off to our right and saw a large herd of horses, driven by seven Ute Indians, who were pushing them at the greatest possible speed. We urged our horses in the direction of camp as fast as possible. As soon as we were in sight of camp, we gave the alarm and every man sprang to his gun, mounted his horse and was ready to receive them. The Indians did not see us until they had run the herd of horses almost into our camp. Our saddle horses being fresh, we succeeded in killing the seven Indians before they got far away, and captured the herd of horses, which proved to be a herd they had stolen from the Arapahoe Indians the night before, and in less than an hour, Gray Eagle, the Arapahoe chief, came along in pursuit, accompanied by fifty of his select warriors. When Uncle Kit showed him the dead Utes, he walked up to one of them, gave him a kick and said: "Lo-mis-mo-cay-o-te," which means, "All the same as cayote."

Gray Eagle gave us each a horse, thanked us very kindly and returned to his village with his animals.

We proceeded on our journey to Santa Fe, which took us twelve days. Here we met our old friend, Joe Favor, who we had sold our furs to the year before, and who bought them again this season.

Furs being still higher this year, notwithstanding our small catch, Uncle Kit did fairly well out of his winter's trapping.

After settling up with Uncle Kit, Mr. Favor called me into the store and presented me with a single-shot, silver-mounted pistol, also a knife that weighed two and one-fourth pounds, that had been manufactured in St. Louis. We stopped at Santa Fe and rested two days, after which time Uncle Kit, Johnnie West, myself and my pet panther returned home to Taos, which was a distance of ninety miles from Santa Fe.

CHAPTER VI.

TWO BOYS RIDE TO THE CITY OF MEXICO. ELEVEN HUNDRED MILES OF TRIAL, DANGER AND DUTY---A GIFT HORSE.--THE WIND RIVER MOUNTAINS.

It was now the spring of 1850. I was eighteen years old and beginning to think myself a man. Uncle Kit asked me to go to the City of Mexico, saying that he owed a man there two hundred and fifty dollars, and wished to pay him. He also told me that he would have Juan, the Mexican boy, accompany me on the journey, but cautioned me not to let any one know that I had money. "For," said he, "them Mexican guerrillas would kill you if they knew you had money about you."

The reader can fancy two boys at the age of eighteen, starting out on a trip of eleven hundred miles, over a wild country, with no settlement except hostile Indians and Mexicans, who are worse than Indians if they know a person has money about him. At that time there were no roads across the country in that direction; nothing but a trail--a part of the way not even that--and the whole country full of Mexican guerrillas--or, as we would term them, Mexican robbers--who made it a business to murder people whom they suspected of having money, and who would even ma.s.sacre whole trains of emigrants, take what money they might have, their provisions and clothing, burn their wagons and drive their stock away. The fact is that many of the depredations committed in those days, for which the Indians were blamed, were done by those fiendish Mexicans.

When the time arrived for starting and we were mounted, Uncle Kit, Johnnie West and Mr. Hughes came out to bid us good-bye.

Johnnie West said: "Well, I am afraid I shall never see you again, for those Mexican guerrillas are worse than Indians, especially when they think a traveler has money about him."

All this helped to put me on my guard, and I didn't even tell Juan that I had money with me.

We started on our journey with two saddled horses and one pack- horse each. We met numerous little bands of Navajoe Indians, but they being on good terms with the whites, gave us no trouble, whatever. We also met numerous little squads of Mexican guerrillas, but they not suspecting two boys as young as we were with having money, did not disturb us. Uncle Kit had sent the shabbiest looking horses along that he had, in order to deceive them. Every band of Mexicans that we met on our trip would ask us where we were from, where we were going and our business. I always told them that I was from Taos, and was going to the City of Mexico to see a friend, and they would pa.s.s on.

The first river we came to, Juan asked me if I could swim. I told him that I did not know, as I had never had a trial. We stripped down, tied our clothing about our shoulders and mounted our horses again.

I wanted Juan to take the lead and let me drive the horses after him, but he thought we had best ride side by side and let the pack-animals follow, so in case of accident we could help each other. We made it across safe, and from this time on we never hesitated at a stream.

We were thirty-one days making the trip to the City of Mexico.

I found Mr. Reed at his residence and paid the two hundred and fifty dollars to him. He was much astonished at Uncle Kit sending two boys eleven hundred miles to pay so small a debt, and said that he had not expected to get the money until such time as Carson might be coming that way on other business, for it was so far that he would not have gone after it and taken the chances of crossing the country between the City of Mexico and Taos, as we had done, for the two hundred and fifty dollars.

But Uncle Kit owed this money and had agreed to pay it at a certain time, and he, like many other frontiersman, valued his word more than he did his gold.

We laid over two days at the City of Mexico in order to let our horses rest. The day before we were to start, Mr. Reed, who had invited us to his residence to board while in the City, went out to where our horses were, and seeing that one of the horses had a sore back, told me that he would make me a present of a horse that, if I took good care of, would be able to carry me the entire trip.

I named this horse Mexico, and as will be seen later, he proved to be a n.o.ble saddle-horse, which I kept and rode for seven years.

We made the trip home somewhat quicker than we did on our way out, being better acquainted with the country, and so could make better time.

We were just two months making the round trip, arriving at Taos two weeks sooner than Uncle Kit had expected us. Johnnie West and Mr. Hughes were glad to see us return, for it was more than they expected.