 | CHAPTER VIII. The trapper's bride, or, Spirit of adventure |  |
8. CHAPTER VIII.
The next morning when they came
to the breakfast table they missed the
two guests of the previous evening; and
inquiring of their host after them, he
told them they had been gone many
hours, and ere this time were many miles
distant on their journey. After breakfast
Charles said to Le Beaux that he was
anxious, as soon as possible, to be on his
way, and asked him when he should be
ready to leave. Le Beaux replied that
a very short time would be sufficient for
him to prepare himself; that he only
wished to make some slight, trifling repairs
on his rifle, for damage which it
sustained on his last scout, and then, said
he, I am at your service. He could be
ready at noon, he further said, if it would
accommodate them. Charles thanked
him for his kindness, and after a little
further consideration about the baggage
they were to take, and the route they
were to pursue, they concluded to be all
ready, if possible, to leave the following
day.
By the advice of Le Beaux, our friends
supplied themselves with Indian leggins
and moccasins, which they purchased
from the owner of the cabin. Le Beaux
immediately set about repairing his rifle.
He loved it with a love strong and lasting
as that he bore his favorite dog; it was
indeed his most cherished friend, and he
always carried it with him wherever he
went. He allowed no one but himself
to handle it. It was a remarkable piece,
not from its beauty, though the barrel
was one of the finest I ever saw. It was
very long—more than six feet—and very
heavy. It carried a large ball, and in his
hands was a most dangerous weapon to
encounter. It may seem almost incredible,
but it is nevertheless true, that he
could hit within the size of a dollar at
five hundred yards distance, and thought
it no remarkable performance either.—
He had popped off many a red skin in
his day who had rashly exposed himself,
at more than that distance, deeming himself
safe and out of the reach of mortal
power.
His repairs were soon finished, and in
a neat, skillful style, too. The rifle polished
and cleansed, a labor which even a
nice sportsman would have deemed unnecessary,
for it looked as trim when he
began as if just from the hands of the
maker; but he suffered not even a spark
of dust or powder stain to remain upon
it: always saying when addressed with
regard to it, “one cannot do too much
for so old, so good a friend, if he has a
spark of gratitude about him.” After he
had finished his own matters, at the request
of our friends he inspected their
preparations. He found it necessary
for them to throw aside many superfluous
articles which they had stored away
with their baggage, and reduce their
package to the smallest possible size, embracing
all that was necessary and that
even would be desirable for them to carry
with them; saying that the less they
took with them the better, as often in
changing their hunting grounds and going
from one place to another, they would
along with them; and perhaps for a considerable
distance. In addition to their
present list of articles, he procured for
each a leathern bag, or pouch, in which
they should carry their food and beverage;
such an one as it is usual for hunters
to take with them on similar expeditions.
All these things were attended to
during the day. The remaining baggage
they were not to take with them, was
carefully stowed into their trunks, and
by the advice of Le Beaux sent a short
distance down the river, to be kept by
one of his friends until they returned.—
There was a bale or two, however, which
contained Jonathan's stock and assortment
of goods for Indian traffic, a part
of which was at present to be left at the
cabin, the remainder was to be carried
upon pack horses along with our little
party, and Le Beaux promised to see that
the rest should be forwarded in season to
him, after they were established in good
quarters. These arrangements occupied
the whole day, and they were fairly
through and everything ready for a start.
Supper hour had come.
“Beef for half a dozen,” said the Yankee,
when he took his chair at the board,
“I feel as hungry as a half-starved bear.”
“I reckon we can satisfy your cravings,
young man. Just cut away at
that venison there,” pointing to a large
dish of steak that would have fed a regiment—if
there were not too many in it,
always understood of course.
Jonathan did his best, and then was
laughed at by his host as a man of a
weak stomach, and a mighty small eater.
“Why,” said he, after having devoured
about four times the amount Jonathan had
stowed away, “I don't kinder feel like
eatin' much of anything to-night. I have
been kinder out o' sorts for two or three
days.”
Jonathan said nothing, but opened his
eyes an inch or an inch and a half wider
than usual, and then adjourned. Charles
soon followed him; and, as on the preceding
evening, they took their seats in
front of the cabin, having first lighted
their cigars, and again entered into conversation
with Le Beaux. In answer to
some question put to him by Jonathan,
whose curiosity had been much excited
by the story of Ottahontas, and his interest
in him being alive, he wished to know
something more of his family. In answer
to his questions, I say then, Le
Beaux gave them the following narrative,
which is a brief sketch in the life of the
Valley Chief, the father of Ottahontas:
“In the rich lands which lay between
the Rapid and Platte rivers were located
the domains of this great chieftain, and
here was the home of his people. Frequent
wars with the surrounding fierce
and hostile tribes, who made repeated
predatory excursions into their peaceful
encampment (for they were more than
any other tribe of Indians disposed to
cultivate the earth, and imitate the whites
in their manners and mode of living) had
greatly reduced their numbers and much
impoverished them during the few years
that passed previous to the time when the
remnant of this unhappy tribe were so
unexpectedly, and so cruelly fallen upon
and destroyed, as we have related in the
story of Ottahontas. The ruling chief,
as I have said, was the father of Ottahontas,
and known among the wild tribes
of the region as the Valley Chief, having
derived his title from the lands he possessed.
In his lineal ancestors the tribe
had for many generations found their
leading and most distinguished chiefs.—
They had, from father to son, handed
down their family line those striking qualities
and marked traits of character in all
their shining lustre and brilliancy, which
at all times ensure the respect and draw
to their possessors the admiration of savage
nations: brave and foremost in war;
quick to avenge the wrongs of their tribe;
distinguished above the boldest and most
expert for their daring and skill in the
chase; in council, grave, calm, deliberate
and dignified in their bearing; wise and
prudent in their advice, they swayed the
councils of their tribe for many years,
with great honor to themselves, and received
the grateful approbation, and enjoyed
the deep, strong attachment of the
nation at large. But in the early life of
the Valley Chief a succession of disasters
and defeats happened to the tribe,
not at all owing to any want of ability,
or lack of efforts on the part of their
fatal in their results, as mysterious and
inscrutable in their origin; parts and
links in that great chain of circumstances
and events by which the mighty Ruler
of the world accomplishes his designs.—
For the fulfillment of some great purpose,
the red man is fast fading away from the
land of his fathers, and is destined ere
long to be swept from the face of the
earth.
The powerful tribes of Black-feet and
Sioux, (whose hunting grounds lay north
and north-west of this tribe, in the region
watered by the Loup Fork river, which
runs easterly and empties itself into the
Platte near the junction of the latter with
the Missouri) were jealous of the growing
prosperity and increasing wealth which
attended his tribe—or remnant of a tribe
rather—from a friendly and constant intercourse
with the whites, from which
they added to their wealth by traffic.—
Besides these foes, on the other side to
the south were the hunting grounds and
villages of the Pawnees, a fierce, warlike
and numerous tribe. All these tribes at
various times and on repeated occasions,
made war upon their less numerous and
more peaceably disposed neighbors for
the sake of plunder, and many were the
bloody encounters that took place between
them. In all these the Valley
Chief showed himself worthy of the line
of chieftains from whom he had sprung.
With coolness and intrepid bravery he
led his warriors in the forefront and thickest
of the battle. Loudest of all rung
his shrill and terrible cry, as he rushed
upon his foes in the deadly strife: and
last of all was he to retire when borne
back by the irresistible force of overpowering
numbers. His feats of personal
prowess were themes of his nation's
praise; the glory of his tribe; the
wonder and terror of his enemies: and
with pride the young men of the tribe
were pointed to their chief as their model
in the practice of war.
“Who,” said they “can follow the
war path with feet as swift and untiring
as our great chief? Whose eye like his
can trace the lightest foot-print, or bounding
steps that have been traced upon the
thick grass in the wild woods and path
less forest? Or who can meet his deadliest
foe with heart so great, so bold?”—
Could the labors of any single hand, or
the wisdom of any one great mind have
arrested the doom of his people, then
had the Valley Chief done it. But fate
had destined otherwise. Notwithstanding
the losses which his enemies suffered
when they encountered this brave chief:
notwithstanding the repulses they often
met with, from an enemy as far inferior
to them in numbers as they were superior
to them in bravery, skill, and all the
devices of savage warfare; yet did their
unconquerable and restless hate inspire
them again and again to attack their brave
foe; and these struggles were most disastrous
to both parties. They fought to
the death; hand to hand they grappled
with each other, and not until very many
had fallen, and the ranks became thinned,
or accident had brought an end to them,
did these obstinate, desperate fights cease.
By these means the tribe of the Valley
Chief was greatly weakened, and his
ranks much thinned. The warriors that
went on the war-path came back no
more to council; they heard no longer
the exulting, inspiring war-cry of their
great chief, and the voices of their desolate
squaws was changed into mourning
and lamentation.
At last by these oft repeated battles,
reduced to a little band, by the counsel of
their no less wise than brave chief, they
left their homes and sought new lands
nearer the friendly abode of the white
man, and at the time this last remnant
were cut off by the Black-feet, and Ottahontas
alone escaped, they were living in
their new home, whither after the lapse
of a few years their remorseless enemies
had followed them, to wreak their vengeance
upon them for the death of many
of their bravest warriors that had fallen
by the hands of this bold tribe, when
fighting for their homes and in defence
of their families: this, too, after they had
stripped them of their wealth, which first
awakened their savage envy, and after
they had moreover driven them by repeated
aggressions from their ancient
home. Though eternal hate had been
long declared between them; though the
most bitter hostility had ever since their
yet up to the time when the ruin of the
Valley Chief and his people was accomplished,
during a period of several years
immediately following their removal, they
had limited their operations to chance
encounters, and gratified their feelings of
bitter hate by falling upon and killing the
straggling members of either party whenever
opportunity offered. The destructive
and desolating battles among them
had ceased; partly because their enemies
saw no further hope of plunder, having
stolen all they possessed already, and
partly because they feared the pale faces,
who were the friends of their foes, and
they were living under their protection.
“It was in these chance encounters in
the wild forests,” said Le Beaux, “that
the great heart and wonderful powers of
the father of Ottahontas were shown, but
I will not tax your patience in relating
them; this only will I speak of, as one
of many which happened to him. It
was late in the fall of the year, and the
tribe were but poorly supplied with food,
when one morning the chief, with a chosen
band of his remaining hunters and
warriors, armed for war as well as prepared
for the chase, a custom which they
constantly followed, left their home to
seek for buffalo on a small prairie which
was distant some fifty miles from their
village to the south, in the valley of the
river Platte. This section of country is
extremely fertile, and here vast herds of
buffalo find abundant food. It is also
one of the most beautiful sections of land
in all the wide West. Through the fertile
and green-clad vales, flow murmuring
streams of crystal water, that wind in
varying and ever changing curves and
rounded turnings, as on they flow to the
sea. There is one larger than the rest,
that rules over all the rest and receives
their voluntary tribute to swell its tide.—
The breadth of this river is about two
hundred feet; its current swift at the head
of the valley where it enters these fair
fields of nature; its smooth flow is occasionally
broken by rapids; there, too,
on either side, rise the red precipices,
perpendicular, and in some parts projecting
and overhanging the bed of the river
like huge arches cut from the solid cliffs,
which tower on high sometimes two, and
even four hundred feet, crowned with
green summits, on which the lofty whispering
pines in scattered clumps are growing;
rearing their stately heads as it seems
to the eye of the beholder even to the
very clouds, that ever hang in white piles
above this spot. There, for hundreds of
years, like bands of faithful, untiring sentinels,
they have stood, as if to guard the
approach to this romantic and picturesque
spot. Amongst and around the clumps
of pine, grew the cherry with its bright,
shining leaf, and the currant with its dark
green coat; here and there were varied
and bright colored wild flowers, all uniting
in bestowing a pleasing variety to the
luxuriant foliage that covered the earth.
Viewed in the bright sunshine of a clear,
pleasant morning, the scenery was truly
of a most striking and romantic character,
full of beauty and loveliness: a beauty
derived in part from the picturesque disposition
of the objects, and the vivid contrasts
of colors here presented to the eye.
It was to this place the Valley Chief and
his band took their way to hunt the buffalo
which come to these green valleys to
feed. When he left his home, he calculated
the probability of meeting with some
one or more straggling parties of his enemies,
either at the prairie or on the route;
and, therefore, he proceeded with great
caution on his path. Carefully and
constantly did he look out for any marks
or signs which should indicate the presence
or vicinity of any foe; but no trails
nor fresh foot-prints did they discover on
their route—nothing which at all could
awaken their ready fears, or forbode
danger.
“The next day, at noon, they reached
the borders of the prairie where they
were to hunt. As they looked over the
wide slope of this vast, natural grass
field, they could see distinctly herd after
herd of buffalo, feeding quietly in various
parts of it; and they felt convinced,
from what they saw, that there were no
other hunters on the prairie besides
themselves. And joyfully they laid
their plans for a hunt early the next
morning. Now they would refresh
themselves with supper and sleep, and
give their horses a chance for a meal in
By the first streaks of light that hailed
the morn of the next day, they were
stirring, and prepared for the hunt.
Carefully and cautiously they approached
the herd, in such a manner that they
might not startle them by their catching
scent of them through the air. To
avoid this, they came upon them in the
face of the wind. On reaching them,
they easily secreted themselves near
them; and then carefully selecting the
fattest and finest of the herd that passed
by them, they shot them down. So
adroitly and dexterously did they accomplish
this, that the herd were not only
not frightened away, but did not notice
the havoc that was making in their
ranks, but kept on feeding in fancied security.
When they had killed sufficient
to satisfy their wishes, they came openly
forth from their covert lurking place; and
the buffalo, seeing them, took to flight
at once, rushing at full speed across the
open prairie, for the friendly forests that
loomed up in the distance, skirting the
sides of the prairie with a deep, dark
green fringe. As the whole herd followed
on, passing close upon each other,
they looked almost like one vast moving
mass, and the ground, for miles around,
shook beneath their heavy tramp, while
a low, but wide-spreading sound, like
the rumbling noise of an earthquake, or
the distant mutterings of stifled thunder,
filled the air.
“But now, the ground being cleared,
our party commenced the labor of dressing
those they had killed. This task
they executed with wonderful rapidity,
skill, and neatness. They bore the carcasses
to that point on the verge of the
prairie where their camp lay, having
first cut them into pieces suitable for
drying and packing. This occupied
them for the remainder of the day. At
night they made a luxuriant and bountiful
supper upon the dainty bits chosen
from their game. A sharp labor during
the day gave them sharp appetites, and
also brought them quiet, profound sleep.
“The next day the same process was
repeated, with equal success; and in
this manner they hunted for several successive
days, without disturbance from
any quarter, or without any event of importance
transpiring with them. But,
on the morning of the sixth day, the
chief came hastily into the camp, and in
a few, earnest words, told them he had
seen a party of Blackfeet some miles
above, and that they were evidently on
their way to this spot, with the intention
of hunting here.
“They consist,” said he, “of several
renowned braves and the most famous
warriors and hunters of the tribe; and,
as far as I could judge from the observations
I made, are more than double
our number. I am confident they did
not see me while I was watching them,
and I think, also, from the careless, unguarded
manner they journey, that they
are not aware that any other party is in
the neighborhood.” He then, in a short
speech, in which he recounted the
wrongs they had suffered from their
hands, and the bitter enmity that was
cherished by them against his own people,
revived afresh the spirit of hate
which slumbered in their breasts, and
closed by urging them to seize the advantage
his discovery had afforded them,
and avenge themselves upon them.
All hailed his proposition with eagerness
and excited hope. He concluded by
laying before them the plan for attacking
which he had hastily formed. He proposed
to meet them in a narrow pass at
the hills, a few miles above where they
were, and there lay in ambush for them.
“For,” said he, “they will pass through
this defile, which is directly on their
route, and then we can fall upon them
ere they know of our presence, and
destroy them.” His plan was received
with great readiness and unanimity, not
one dissenting; and under his direction,
in a few minutes every man, with his
rifle loaded and his tomahawk at his
belt, left the camp and followed, with
noiseless, stealthy steps, their brave chief
through the woods. Arriving at the pass
where he was to meet them, he divided
his party into two equal divisions, arranging
them on either side of the defile,
and after a few hasty directions, in which
he bade them be cautious, and each single
out the enemy in front of him with
sure aim, he advanced a little beyond
the attack. They quickly concealed
themselves behind the trees, and, in silence
as complete as utter desolation,
commenced their watch. They had not
long thus to wait; for soon they both
heard and saw their enemies approaching,
in the careless manner their chief
had described, not dreaming that, in this
wild, silent spot, a foe was watching and
lying in wait for them, more bitter, more
dreadful than the most dreaded beast of
the woods. Just as they entered the
fatal pass, their chief rose slowly from
his hiding place, and carefully scanning
their ranks, waited until they had fairly
advanced to that part where his trusty
warriors were lying on both sides of
them, ready to spring forth at his word;
then he shouted his terrible war cry,
till the forests rang again. At the same
moment he raised his rifle to his shoulder,
and, taking unerring aim, he sent a
ball through the heart of a leader in the
ranks of his foes. He fell from his affrighted
steed, and rolled, in the last
struggles of death, on the grass. Quick
as echo answers to the call, did the responsive
shouts and war cries of his
warriors reply to his signal; and on
both sides of his surprised and startled
foes rose the fearful, the dreaded war
whoop of their bitterest, deadliest enemies,
and quick as thought the flash of
their fatal rifles gleamed in the dark
woods above and around them. True
to their chief's command, each had
chosen his victim, and marked him for
certain destruction; for every shot, an
enemy tumbled to the ground; and while
the entrapped Blackfeet were striving
with all their power to subdue their
frantic chargers, the Valley Chief had
dropped his rifle, and, tomahawk in
hand, sprung after them. His followers
sprung after him. Already had he struck
down one, and another of his hated foes,
panic-struck and confused for a few minutes.
So complete was the surprise,
they remained, as it were, stupified and
confounded; but, soon bringing in their
horses, they rallied, and closing in the
mortal struggle, they fought with desperation.
The Valley Chief had greatly
underrated their numbers—instead of
being double his own force, they were
more than three times all his warriors;
but such was the suddenness and power
of the attack—such was the force of
the Valley chief's arm—so quick and
deadly were his blows, that they were
utterly deceived, and imagined an over-powering
force was with him, and
fought only with desperation—without
hope, without order.
“With three strong warriors opposed
to his single arm in the midst of the carnage,
the Valley chief found himself at
length engaged; they were the sole survivors
of their party. Already exhausted
and faint from his mighty exertions,
he was compelled for a moment to fall
back, but rallying again as quickly, it
seemed as if more than a giant's strength
had been lent him. For flourishing his
tomahawk around him, he parried all
the blows aimed at him; in return he
dealt them such irresistible blows as
beat down their guard and crushed them
before him. All three, one after another
fell by his single hand. He, alone, had
slain in the encounter, eight of the accursed
Blackfeet, and well had his brave
warriors sustained him; nobly had they
acquitted themselves; and sweet was
the feast of vengeance they had tasted.
But of all that large party opposed to
them, not one had escaped. Of his own
party, four only were wounded, not one
killed.
“Having scalped their enemies, they
stripped their carcasses of everything,
and left them where they fell, to be the
prey of wild beasts and carrion birds, or
else to rot unburied and unhonored.—
Their horses, their rifles, their other
weapons, all of their effects, they took
as the spoils of war. This day's labors
brought their hunt to a close; they had
already taken sufficient buffalo to supply
all their wants and wishes. This
unexpected encounter, and the success
which followed it, by throwing a large
number of horses into their hands, afforded
them the means of carrying home
with them all the game they had taken,
and the largest part of which, they would
otherwise have been obliged to leave and
return again for, with pack horses.
“So long as this great chief lived,”
his enemies. In single encounter he
never met his equal, and often did he
engage them at very great odds, and triumph
over them. He was from first to
last, the fast firm friend of the whites,
with whom he mingled much, and to
whom he rendered many important services.
But the manner in which he
finally met his death you have already
heard. I was often a guest at his lodge,
and learnt to love him for his noble,
generous nature—for his high souled
principles—for the great, constant fortitude
of spirit which ever supported him
in all his sore, heavy troubles, and in
the midst of those crushing, desolating
reverses of fortune and successive calamities
that fell upon his tribe. Nothing
could break his spirit or sink him, but
death, and not even that—it only took
him away from our eyes, where we cannot
behold his deeds. But death came
at last and claimed him as his own, and
now, of all his tribe Ottahontas alone remains.”
Such was the story Le Beaux told
of the Valley Chief. As he proceeded
his feelings seemed deeply moved, and
when he concluded, he folded his arms
upon his chest and remained silent, like
one in whom the grief and sorrows of
by-gone days have been awakened
afresh.
“As it was late in the evening,” said
Charles, (whose words we shall hereafter
use,) we soon left him, sitting there
motionless, absorbed in his own secret,
profound reflections. With the first
light of morning, Le Beaux called us,
telling us at the same time that our horses
had arrived, and also that breakfast
was waiting for us. As we both agreed
that it was too bad to keep so good a
friend waiting, we hastened immediately
to pay our respects to our steaming warm
friend. Having performed this duty to
our satisfaction, we next went out to inspect
the horses which Le Beaux had
procured for us, and which were to bear
us on our journey; for we had intrusted
to him this task, and he had sent to a
friend for them the day before, from
whom, he assured us, he could obtain
just what we wanted. They were the
genuine mustangs, or wild horses which
had been caught by the Indians on the
prairies, and afterwards broken to the
bridle. They were dark bay horses, and
looked enough alike to be brothers.—
They were considerably under the common
size, well made, with close small
limbs, rather short bodies, long shaggy
manes and tails. Their eyes were perhaps
the most striking feature about them.
They looked exceedingly wild and fiery;
the round and full pupil that glowed
like a tiger's eye, was very unlike the domestic
horse in this respect, whose eye
is ordinarily mild and quiet. Their
chests were broad and deep, indicating
great strength and power of endurance.
On the whole, I was very well pleased
with the appearance of my purchase.
We now set about preparing our packs
for a start; the hounds were plentifully
supplied with meat, and stood by the
door stowing it away as readily as the
two-legged dogs often do in a pinch.—
During this performance, my cousin began
and concluded his examination of
the horses; he was well acquainted with
horse flesh, and knew the marks and
points about a horse as well as a professed
jockey. I stood near Le Beaux,
who was looking on while Jonathan
went through with his scrutiny of the
beasts; he was apparently pleased with
the remarks of the Yankee, which escaped
him from time to time, sometimes
in the form of a soliloquy, sometimes to
one, sometimes to the other of us, as he
discovered the good points about the
horses and pointed them out. When he
had completed this task:
“Well,” said he, in a satisfied, positive
tone, “better built, more hardy,
tough, trim, sleek looking ponies I never
have seen; I am sure by the cut of the
critters and the flash of the eye, they are
regular grit, high mettled devils: just
look at their windows, Charles; did
you ever see a keener, sharper, more
fiery eye-ball in the head of man or
beast, in your life? I'll be bound we
shall have some fine scampers on the
backs of those fellows, this winter,
Charles. I should just like to see the
buffalo that would pretend to take a turn
with them; I'd take him off his legs
Just let's see you mount that little critter,
Charles; take care, you'll have to mind
your p's and q's, or he'll give you a
wist. I say, Le Beaux,” said he at
he same breath, turning to that individual.
“are these nags well broken?”
Le Beaux, smiling at his question, replied
that they were accounted two of
the best trained hunters in those regions,
“to be sure, they were in a sort, wild
nags and a man must have a care when
he mounted them, for they might be a
little frisky.”
“Well, I guess they might,” said
Jonathan, “but I never saw the horse
yet I was afraid to ride, and as one of
these is to be my companion and servant,
I'll mount him, if you please, and
try his qualifications for the office.”
Le Beaux said he knew the horse
well, and he would hold him by the bit
while he mounted; then unfastening the
bridle, he led him to a short distance
from the cabin into the open ground.—
Jonathan, without hesitation leaped upon
his back. No sooner did he touch him,
than he started; Le Beaux spoke to him,
and still kept hold of the bit, until Jonathan
was fairly seated, and had taken
possession of the bridle; then telling
him to be ready, let go his hold, and at
the same time stepped aside. At the
same instant, the horse gave a leap, and
off he went like a streak of light, jumping,
leaping, and performing a variety of
wild pranks, all with the view to throw
off the incumbrance. But it was no
use: Jonathan sat him like a true
knight. Nothing the agile and fiery animal
could do, could move him. He at
first gave him loose rein, and allowed
him to show off all his tricks and capers
then reining him with a strong hand,
he spoke kindly to him and patted his
neck with one hand; very soon he was
completely subdued and obediently acknowledged
his master. When he returned
to his companions he was eloquent
in the praise of his horse. His
gait, he said, was as easy as the motion
of a cradle, and from his start he knew,
and felt assured his speed was tremendous,
and on occasion, would defy the
pursuit of any foe, however well mounted.
Le Beaux and myself, who had
watched this first exhibition of his
horsemanship with great interest, expressed
our admiration at the skill with
which he managed him, and the grace
with which he sat him.
“Well,” said Jonathan, “he is just
the critter I guessed he was: he knows
when he finds his master. But, I tell
you, it is no boy's play to ride him,
that's a fact.” At the same time, dismounting
and holding him by the bridle,
he said to Charles, “It's your turn, now,
cousin; come, let's see what sort of a
beast you've got there.”
Charles at once mounted his horse,
and in better style, too, than his cousin,
resolving not to be outdone by him.
Catching the bridle, as he jumped upon
him, quick as thought away bounded the
horse, rearing, jumping, and plunging,
first to one side then to the other, like a
mad bull. Charles sat him as firmly as
though he were a part and parcel of him,
and quickly bringing him in, he turned
about, and, at an easy pace, rode him to
the starting place.
Le Beaux and Jonathan both could
not help expressing their surprise at the
readiness with which he had humbled
the proud spirited steed.
“You are both excellent riders,” said
the Guide. “Few men, unaccustomed
to them, could have kept the saddle the
first trial. I rarely ever saw horses
managed so well; but I am very glad
to find you such excellent horsemen;
for it is truly one of the most necessary
qualifications for those who travel these
western wilds.”
Our little party now made all possible
dispatch, fastening the luggage upon the
the pack horses which were to bear it,
and having accomplished this, they bade
adieu to their host, and mounted their
now tractable and quiet horses, and set
forth.
But, excuse us, kind friends, we are a
little too fast. We have forgotten, in
our interest for our two cousins, to say
a word as to the figure and equipments
of our worthy guide, an omission by no
means pardonable. Therefore, just curb
your impatience for a few minutes, as
we have done the fiery-footed steeds,
guide, as we have before said, had a
strong built, powerful, heavy frame; and
now as he stood by the side of his
horse, ready to mount, we will try to describe
him to you. He was dressed in
complete hunting costume; he wore
about the upper part of his body, and
around his shoulders and chest, a blue
checked cotton shirt; under this a close
vest of dressed deer-skin, which fitted
tight to his body; a pair of stout woolen
trowsers, of a gray color, covered his
nether limbs; over these were drawn
a pair of deer-skin leggins, of enormous
size, reaching from his ankles to his
thighs, where a broad, strong leathern
belt confined them in their place, and
served also as a girdle; from one side of
this belt hung a long sheathed hunting
knife; into the other side he had stuck
a huge hatchet, with a head like a tomahawk,
that would prove a very terrible
weapon in the hands of its muscular
possessor, in a close fight; his head was
covered with a close seal-skin cap, while
his feet were encased in thick deer-skin
moccasins. This completed his costume,
from head to foot. On one arm
rested that long, heavy rifle, which we
have elsewhere mentioned, and which
was his inseparable companion. His
horse seemed to have been selected with
admirable discernment and judgment for
the labor he was to perform, and the
burden he was to bear. Instead of
mustang, he was a large, powerful animal,
and looked like a thoroughbred
English hunter. His frame was large
and muscular, at the same time symmetrical
and elegantly proportioned, and
well built for speed. His head was
finely formed, and quite small; his neck
beautifully arched, and adorned with a
long, glossy, silken mane; his haunches
smoothly rounded; his legs firmly knit
and trimly jointed, showed him to be,
at all points, a perfect a beautiful horse,
and one of great value. He seemed
to be much attached to his master, and
manifested his affection by rubbing his
head against him gently, as he stood by
him, and seeking the caresses Le Beaux
was wont to bestow upon him. Our
guide, before mounting him, stroked his
head with his hand, and patted his shining
neck fondly, saying, at the same
time, in his ear, “We're off again, my
old Rover, on a long hunt, with brave
young followers: you must show them
what you're made of before we get
back again.” The horse proudly raised
his head, and, glancing around him
with flashing eye, seemed as if he understood
his words, and would in this
way answer him according to his wishes.
Le Beaux then mounted him. He remained
perfectly quiet until his master
was fairly seated upon his back, and did
not offer to move till his master, speaking
to him, raised the bridle from his
neck. Then, as if conscious that he
was the object of our friends' gaze, he
stepped slowly and proudly forth, shaking
his waving mane, and distending his
broad nostrils, and snuffing the air.
For a few minutes our guide allowed
him to show himself in this way, then
curbing him, he turned, rode back, and
gave a few last instructions to Le Pere
and Le Noir, the half-breeds who were
to take charge of the pack horses, pointing
out to them the route they were to
take; then, in a rapid pace, he joined
our friends, when all three proceeded
on their expedition.
The first day after leaving the rendezvous,
which was about one hundred
miles to the northwest of Council Bluff,
they traveled about forty miles in a
westerly direction, or rather southwesterly,
through a rich, fertile country, but
wild and uncultivated. They were now
at last launched upon the broad expanse
of forest that stretched away hundreds
of miles to the west, even to the shores
of the boundless Pacific. All this vast
tract is possessed by nomadic tribes of
natives, who hold these lands as their
hunting grounds, and over which they
roam in restless activity. During this
day's progress they came into the district
held by the Pawnees, which extends
for many miles along the course
of the Loup Fork and Platte rivers.
This tribe are exceedingly crafty and
treacherous, and by no means well disposed
towards the whites, with whom
they have mingled much and from such
intercourse learned only vice and evil.
lands, in small parties, during the summer
and fall months, engaged in hunting
and fishing in those beautiful forests and
running streams, and often, too, in predatory
excursions, entered into both for
the sake of plunder and to gratify their
burning love of war. Indeed, they are
always at war with some one or another
of the neighboring tribes, and often is
the sleeping solitude of those mighty forests
startled by the wild shouts and terrible
war cries of those grim warriors of
the woods. Unlike civilized nations,
they do not conduct their wars by regular
pitched battles. Victory may destroy
and exterminate a tribe, but never
does it conquer or subdue them—they
are unconquerable. The spirit of the
native American is stronger than life—
it is stronger than death even. If the
red warrior falls in battle, the shout of
defiance lingers to the last breath upon
his lips. If he, by the fortune of war,
is made a prisoner, the most cruel and
agonizing torture of his captors cannot
make him swerve for an instant from his
firm purpose; no cruelties or tortures
can draw from him his secret, or force a
submission from him; the most rich and
seductive promises, the most tender and
moving entreaties, fall alike unheeded
upon his ears. The obstinate and unconquerable
tenacity with which the
American Indian holds his purpose, has
ever excited the wonder and astonishment
of the civilized nations of the
world. When tied to the stake, to be
burnt alive, (a mode of treating captured
enemies not unfrequent with them,) and
while the consuming flames that wrap
him in a mantle of fire are kindling
around him, he preserves, unflinchingly,
unmoved, the haughty scorn and lofty
disdain which he always professes for
his foes. Tears and entreaty he leaves
to women and pale faces. And should
any unlucky wight so far forget himself
as to show any, though it may be but
slight, exhibition of suffering in the
presence of his enemies, or so far yield
to the promptings of a craven heart as
to parley with his captors for ransom,
he is forever disgraced. His memory,
if he dies, is held in contempt; if he
escapes, he is treated like a squaw, forevermore
unfit for the noble and manly
arts of war. Sometimes he is even
destroyed by his own tribe: when they
spare his life, it is only that he may
become their slave and degraded servant.
His life is less tolerable than the pains
of death. Surprise and cunning are the
means they use most frequently to over-come
their enemies; and these qualifications
are esteemed by them not less
than true bravery. Hatred is ever cherished
among hostile tribes. They never
forget or forgive an injury; and whenever
and wherever they meet, the deadly
strife ensues. So long as a single member
of the desolated, inimical tribe remains,
the destroyers have in him a
mortal foe.
We have made this short digression
in our truthful tale, in this place, deeming
it highly proper and becoming, since
we have led our hero among a strange
and new people, to say thus much concerning
them.
| CHAPTER VIII. The trapper's bride, or, Spirit of adventure | |