University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.

It is unnecessary to weary the reader
with farther detail of mountain life. Unless
in cases of extreme peril, from savages or

wild beasts, the seenes are monotonous;
and enough I think has already been
recorded to give a correct idea of life as
it is, with all its dangers and hardships,
beyond the boundaries of civilization. I
may therefore be permitted to press forward—annihilate
time and space—only
pausing occasionally to give something
new, or out of the regular routine of
every day adventure.

It was my intention on leaving Fort
Hall, to make the best of my way toward
Taos — a small Mexican village, much
frequented by mountaineers, situated in
the country of Texas, on the western side
of an arm of the Green Mountains, some
fifty or sixty miles north of Santa Fé, and
on a small tributary of the Rio Grande.
This was to be my first destination, and
where I was in hopes to gain some intelligence
of my friend, from the many adventurers
there collected — the traveling
representatives of all the territories as
well as Mexico. It was possible, too, I
might fall in with Leni Leoti (which the
reader will bear in mind is the Indian
name of Prairie Flower), and her tribe,
from whom I had sanguine expectations of
gaining some information, either good or
bad. If Prairie Flower had, as I inferred
from what Black George imparted, actually
been in search of Charles Huntly, I could
at once gain the result and extent of her
operations, and shape my own accordingly.
With this view of the matter, as may
readily be supposed, I felt no little anxiety
to see her, and on no route, to my thinking,
would I be more likely to find her, than on
the one I had chosen and was now pursuing.

Making the best of our way over the
hills, we struck the Bear river on the third
day from leaving Fort Hall. This river,
which takes its rise in the very heart of
the mountain range to which it gives name,
presents the curious phenomenon of a
stream running adverse ways, and nearly
parallel to itself, for a distance of from
one to two hundred miles. Beginning, as
just stated, in the very center of the Bear
River Mountains, it dashes away northward
on its devious course, for a hundred
and fifty or two hundred miles, and then,
encircling a high ridge with the bend of
an ox how, runs southward nearly the
same distance, enlarging with numerous
tributaries, and empties at last into the
Great Salt Lake, within fifty or seventy-five
miles of its own head waters. Formerly
this stream was much resorted to
by trappers, who here found beaver very
numerous, and mountain game in abundance.
Beaver dams, in process of decay,
may here and there be seen at the present
day, and, at rare intervals, a thriving settlement
of the little fellows themselves;
but, as Black George remarked with a
sigh of regret:

“It aint what it used to was, no how.”

Soon after we had camped, Black
George, who ever had an eye to business,
started out in search of game, and soon
returned with the intelligence that “beaver
sign was about,” and forthwith proceeded
to get his traps, which he had brought
along in his possibles.

“What are you going to do?” 1 inquired.

“Make 'em come, hoss—nothin short.”

As I had never witnessed the modus
operandi of catching beaver, I expressed
a desire to do so, which was responded to
with:

“Come on, Bosson, and I'll put ye
through.”

Taking our way to the river, which was
here rather shallow, Black George led me
down some two hundred yards, and then
directed my attention to some small tracks
made in the muddy bottom of the stream,
along the margin of the water.

“Them's the sign, d'ye see! and thar's
fur about, sartin, or this nigger don't know
beaver.”

Saying this, the old mountaineer proceeded
to set his traps, of which he had
some five or six. Moistening a small stick
in his “medicine,” as he termed it—an
oily substance obtained from a gland of
the beaver—he fastened it to the trap, and
then placed the latter in the “run” of the
animal, just under the edge of the water,
securing it to a sapling on the bank by a
small cord. Another cord led off from
the trap several feet, and was attached to
a “floating stick”—so called from its
floating on the water—by which appendage
the trapper, in case the beaver caught
makes off with his property, is enabled to
recover it.

“And now,” said I, when he had done,

“what inducement has the animal to become
your victim?”

“Why he gits to be my meat you
mean?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I'll jest explanify—though maybe
I'll not git it out as scientiferic nor
some folks—for's I said sometime ago,
edication never come in this child's line.
Ye see, it's jest this: beaver's like I've
hearn say women-folks was. He's got an
orful cur'osity, and it gits him into bad
snaps without his intendin it. Ye see,
he'll come along here arter a while, and
he'll smell that thar “medicine,” and
think maybe thar's another beaver about
—leastwise he'll want to know purty bad—
and so he'll come smellin round, and afore
he knows it, `he's put his foot in't,' and
is a gone beaver. Augh!”

Having delivered himself of this, Black
George coolly continued his operations, till
all his traps were set, and then together
we returned to our camp. On arriving,
I found that the beaver mania had taken
possession of Black George's companions,
who were in consequence absent with like
sinister designs against the harmless little
fellows.

On returning with the old mountaineer
in the morning, I soon discovered he had
“made a raise,” as he expressed it, “of
three old 'uns and a kitten.” The other
trappers were somewhat successful also;
so that on that fatal night, no less than a
dozen beaver lost their “run” forever.

Before raising camp, my mountain
friends proceeded to skin the animals,
scrape the inside of the pelts of fat and
all superfluous matter, and then stretch
them on hoops for drying—after which
they were ready for packing. This latter
is done by turning the fur inside, putting
several together and fastening them with
cords, when they are tightly pressed into
the possibles of the trapper, and thus conveyed
on mules to the rendezvous-market,
sometimes one place and sometimes another.

The labor of the trapper is very severe,
and his perils without number. Some
times he traps on his own account—alone,
or with two or three associates—and sometimes
for a company. In the first instance,
his cognomen is the “free trapper;” in
the last, the “hired hand.” In either
case, however, his hardships are the same,
He sets off to the mountains, as soon as
the spring rains are over, and there generally
remains till the approaching storms of
autumn drive him to winter quarters,
where his time is spent in all kinds of dissipation
to which he is accessible. If he
makes a fortune in the summer, he spends
it in the winter, and returns to his vocation
in the spring as poor as when he started
the year previous; and not unfrequently
worse off; for if a “free trapper,” ten to
one but he sacrifices his animals in some
drunken, gambling spree, and is forced to
go out on credit, or as a “hired hand.”
He braves all kind of weather in his business,
and all kinds of danger, from the
common accidents of the mountains, to his
conflicts with wild beasts, and wilder and
more ferocious savages. But he is a philosopher,
and does not mind trifles. So he
escapes with a whole skin, or even with
life, he looks upon his hardships, encounters
and mishaps, only as so much literary
stock, to be retailed out to his companions
over a warm fire, a euchre deck, and a
can of whisky.

Seeking the best beaver regions, he
scans carefully all the rivers, creeks, and
rivulets in the vicinity for “beaver sign,”
regardless of danger. If he finds a tree
across a stream, he gives it close attention,
to ascertain whether it is there by accident,
by human design, or whether it is
“thrown” by the animal of his search for
the purpose of damming the water. If
the first or second, he passes on; if the
last, he begins his search for the “run of
the critter.” He carefully scrutinizes all
the banks, and peers under them for
“beaver tracks.” If he finds any, his
next examination is to ascertain whether
they are “old” or “fresh.” If the latter,
then his traps are set forthwith, in the
manner already shown.

In his daily routine of business, he not
unfrequently encounters terrible storms of
rain or snow — the former suflicient to
deluge him and raise rivulets to rivers—
and the latter to bury him, without almost
superhuman exertions, far from mortal eye,
and there hold him to perish,

These are the least of his dangers. He

is often attacked by wild beasts, when
nothing but his presence of mind, his coolness
and good marksmanship, can extricate
him from his difficulty; and yet he rarely
fails to come off conqueror. Escaping
these, he must be continually on his guard
against his worst foe, the wily Indian; so
that he can never approach a bush with
the surety that a treacherous ball may not
put a close to his mortal career, and all
his hard earnings pass into the hands of
an enemy he ever hates with the bitterness
of concentrated passion. With all
these dangers, and hardships, and vicissitudes,
your bona fide trapper loves his
calling, would not be content to follow any
other and is in general a rough, jolly,
dare-devil sort of fellow, who not unfrequently
attains to the appointed age of
man, and at last “goes under” with all
the stoicism of a martyr,

Continuing our course, but in a more
easterly direction, we at length quitted the
mountains and descended to a large, beautiful,
rolling prairie, with little or no vegetation
but short buffalo grass. Taking our
way over this, we had been about half a
day out, and were beginning to lose sight
of the lower ranges of hills, when we
heard a deep rumbling, like heavy thunder
or a distant earthquake, and our guide
came to a sudden halt, exclaiming:

“Le Diable!”

“Howly jabers! what is it, now?”
cried Teddy.

“Hist!” exclaimed Black George. “I'll
be dog-gone ef I don't think we're chawed
up this time, sure as sin!”

“What is it?” I echoed.

“Von grande stampede, by gar!”
answered Pierre.

“Stampede of what, I pray?”

“Buffler,” replied Black George, sententiously.

“Where are they?”

“Yonder they is now—here a-ways they
soon will be;” and as he spoke, he pointed
over the plain with his finger.

Following the direction with my eyes,
I beheld in the distance a cloud of dust,
which rolled upward like a morning fog,
through which, and in which, I could
occasionally catch a glimpse of the huge
animals, as they bounded forward with
railroad velocity.

“What is to be done?” I cried.

“Grin and bear it,” responded the old
trapper.

“But we shall be trodden to death
See! they are coming this way!”

“Can't die younger,” was the cool
rejoinder.

“But can we not fly?”

“Howly mother of Mary!” shouted
Teddy, worked up to a keen pitch of
excitement; “it's fly we must, sure, as if
the divil was afther us, barring that our
flying must be did on baasts, as have no
wings, now, but long legs, jist”

“What for you run, eh?” grinned the
Frenchman. “Him catche you, by gar!
just so easy as you catche him, von leetle,
tam—vot you call him—musquito, eh!”

“It's no use o' showing them critters our
backs,” rejoined Black George. “Heyar's
what don't turn back on nothin that's got
hair.”

“Well,” continued I, “you may do as
you please; but as for myself, I have no
desire to stand in my tracks and die without
an effort.”

Saying this I wheeled my horse and,
was just in the act of putting spurs to him,
when Black George suddenly dashed up
along side and caught my bridle.

“See heyar, boy—don't go to runnin—
or you'll discomflumicate yourself oudaciously—you
will, by —! Eh, Pierre?”

“Certainment, by gar!” answered the
guide; and then both burst into a hearty
laugh.

“What do you mean?” cried I, in
astonishment, unable to comprehend their
singular actions; and I turned to the other
mountaineers, who were sitting quietly on
their horses, and inquired if they did not
think there was danger.

“Thar's al'ays danger,” replied one,
“in times like this; but thar's no safety in
runnin.”

“For Heaven's sake, what are we to do,
then? Stay here quietly and get run over?”

Black George gave a quiet laugh, and
the Frenchman proceeded to take snuff.
This was too much for my patience. I
felt myself insulted, and jerking away my
rein from the hand of the trapper, I
exclaimed indignantly:

“I do not stay here to be the butt of
any party. Teddy, follow me!”

The next moment I was dashing over
the prairie at the full speed of my horse,
and the Irishman, to use a nautical phrase,
close in my wake, whooping and shouting
with delight at what he considered a narrow
escape. The direction we had taken
was the same as that pursued by the running
buffalo; and we could only hope for
ultimate safety, by reaching some huge
tree, rock, or other obstacle to their progress,
in advance of them. How far we
would have to run to accomplish this, there
was no telling; for as far as the eye could
reach ahead of us, we saw nothing but
the same monotonous rolling plain. The
herd, thundering on in our rear, was so
numerous and broad, that an attempt to
ride out of its way, by turning to the right
or left, could not be thought of — as the
velocity of the animals would be certain to
bring a wing upon us, ere we could clear
their lines. There was nothing for it,
then, but a dead race; and I will be free
to own, the thought of this fairly chilled
my blood. Exposed as I had been to all
kinds of danger, I had never felt more
alarmed and, depressed in spirits than now.
What could my companions mean by their
indifference and levity? Was it possible
that, having given themselves up for lost,
the excitement had stupified some, and
turned the brains of others? Horrible
thought! I shuddered, and turned on my
horse to look back. There they stood
dismounted, rifles in hand, and, just beyond
them, the mighty host still booming
forward. Poor fellows! all hope with
them is over, I thought; and with a sigh
at their fate, I withdrew my gaze and
urged on my steed.

On, on we sped, for a mile or more,
when I ventured another look behind me.
Judge of my surprise, on beholding a long
line of buffalo to the right and left, rushing
away in different directions, while directly
before me, nothing was visible but my
friends, who, on perceiving me look back,
made signs for me to halt and await them.
I did so, and in a few minutes they came
up laughing.

“Why, Bosson,” said Black George,
waggishly, “I hope as how you've run the
skeer out o' ye by this time; for I'll be
dog-gone ef you can't travel a few, on
pertikelar occasions!”

“Oui, Monsieur,” added Pierre, “vous
'ave von le plus grande—vot you call him
—locomotion, eh?”

“But how, in the name of all that is
wonderful, did you escape,” rejoined I.

“Just as nateral as barkin to a pup.”
answered Black George. “We didn't
none on us hev no fear no time; and was
only jest playin possum, to see ef we could
make your hair stand; never 'spectin,
though, you was a-goin to put out and
leave us.”

“But pray tell me how you extricated
yourselves?” said I, feeling rather crestfallen
at my recent unheroic display.

“Why, jest as easy as shootin—and jest
that, hoss, and nothin else.”

“Explain yourself.”

“Well then, we kind o' waited till them
critters got up, so as we could see thar
peepers shine, and then we all burnt
powder and tumbled over two or three
leaders. This skeered them as was behind,
and they jest sniffed, and snorted, and sot
off ayther ways like darnation. It warnt
anything wonderful—that warnt—and it
'ud been onnateral for 'em to done anything
else.”

“I say, your honor,” rejoined Teddy,
with a significant wink, “it's like, now,
we've made jackasses o' ourselves, barring
your honor.”

“Very like,” returned I biting my lips
with vexation, “all but the barring.”

The truth is, I felt much as one caught
in a mean act, and I would have given no
small sum to have had the joke on some
one else. I detected many a quiet smile
curling the lips of my companions, when
they thought I did not notice them, and I
knew by this they were laughing in their
sleeves, as the saying is; but, being in my
service, did not care to irritate my feelings
by a more open display. It was very galling
to a sensitive person to know he has
made himself ridiculous, and is a private
subject of jest with his inferiors. It is no
use for one under such circumstances to
fret, and foam, and show temper. No!
such things only make the matter worse.
The best way is to come out boldly, own
to the joke, and join in the laugh. Acting
upon this, I said:

“Friends, I have made a fool of myself
—I am aware of it—and you are at liberty
to enjoy the joke to its full extent. But
remember, you must not spread it! and
when we reach a station, consider me your
debtor for a `heavy wet,' all round.”

This proved a decided hit. All laughed
freely at the time, and that was the last I
heard of it, till I fulfilled my liquor pledge
at Uintah Fort, when Black George ventured
the toast, “Buffler and a run,”
which was followed with roars of mirth at
my expense, and there the matter ended.