THE OLD SANTA FE TRAIL, COLONEL HENRY INMAN [well read books .txt] 📗

Indian Territory, Waiting With An Immense Wagon-Train

Of Supplies For The Arrival Of General Custer'S Command, The Famous

Seventh Cavalry, And Also The Nineteenth Kansas, Which Were Supposed

To Be Lost, Or Wandering aimlessly Somewhere In the Region South Of Us.

 

 

 

I Had Been Ordered to That Point By General Sheridan, With Instructions

To Keep Fires Constantly Burning On Three Or Four Of The Highest

Peaks In the Vicinity Of Our Camp, Until The Lost Troops Should Be

Guided to The Spot By Our Signals.  These Signals Were Veritable

Pillars Of Fire By Night And Pillars Of Cloud By Day; For There Was

An Abundance Of Wood And Hundreds Of Men Ready To Feed the Hungry Flames.

 

 

 

It Was More Than Two Weeks Before General Custer And His Famished

Troopers Began To Straggle In.  During That Period Of Anxious Waiting

We Lived almost Exclusively On Wild Turkey, And Longed for Nature'S

Meat--The Buffalo; But There Were None Of The Shaggy Beasts At That

Time In the Vicinity, So We Had To Content Ourselves With The Birds,

Of Which We Became Heartily Tired.

 

 

 

For Several Days After Our Arrival On The Creek, The Men Had Been

Urging Uncle John To Tell Them Another Story Of His Early Adventures;

But The Old Trapper Was In one Of His Silent Moods--He Frequently Had

Them--And Could Not Be Persuaded to Emerge From His Shell Of Reticence

Despite Their Most Earnest Entreaties.  I Knew It Would Be Of No Use

For Me To Press Him.  I Could, Of Course, Order Him To Any Duty, And

He Would Promptly Obey; But His Tongue, Like The Hand Of Douglas,

Was His Own.  I Knew, Also, That When He Got Ready, Which Would Be

When Some Incident Of Camp-Life Inspired him, He Would Be As Garrulous

As Ever.

 

 

 

One Evening Just Before Supper, A Party Of Enlisted men Who Had Been

Up The Creek To Catch Fish, But Had Failed to Take Anything Owing To

The Frozen Condition Of The Stream, Returned with The Skeleton Of

A Cheyenne Indian Which They Had Picked up On The Battle-Ground Of

A Month Previously--One Of Custer'S Victims In his Engagement With

Black Kettle.  This Was The Incentive Uncle John Required.  As He

Gazed on The Bleached bones Of The Warrior, He Said: "Boys, I'M Going

To Tell You A Good Long Story To-Night.  Them Ingin'S Bones Has Put

Me In mind Of It.  After We'Ve Eat, If You Fellows Wants To Hear It,

Come Down To Headquarters Tent, And I'Ll Give It To You."

 

 

 

Of Course Word Was Rapidly Passed from One To Another, As The Whole

Camp Was Eager To Hear The Old Trapper Again.  In a Short Time,

Every Man Not On Guard Or Detailed to Keep Up The Signals On The

Hills Gathered around The Dying Embers Of The Cook'S Fire In front Of

My Tent; The Enlisted men And Teamsters In groups By Themselves,

The Officers A Little Closer In a Circle, In the Centre Of Which

Uncle John Sat.

 

 

 

The Night Was Cold, The Sky Covered with Great Fleecy Patches,

Through Which The Full Moon, Just Fairly Risen, Appeared to Be Racing,

Under The Effect Of That Optical Illusion Caused by The Rapidly

Moving Clouds.  The Coyotes Had Commenced their Nocturnal Concert

In The Timbered recesses Of The Creek Not Far Away, And On The

Battle-Field A Short Distance Beyond, As They Battened and Fought

Over The Dead Warriors And The Carcasses Of Twelve Hundred ponies

Killed in that Terrible Slaughter By The Intrepid Custer And His

Troopers.  The Signals On The Hills Leaped into The Crisp Air Like

The Tongues Of Dragons In the Myths Of The Ancients; In fact,

The Whole Aspect Of The Place, As We Sat Around The Blazing Logs Of

Our Camp-Fire, Was Weird And Uncanny.

 

 

 

Every One Was Eager For The Veteran Guide To Begin His Tale; But As

I Knew He Could Not Proceed without Smoking, I Passed him My Pouch

Of Lone Jack--The Brand Par Excellence In the Army At That Time.

 

 

 

Uncle John Loaded his Corn-Cob, Picked up A Live Coal, And, Pressing

It Down On The Tobacco With His Thumb, Commenced to Puff Vigorously.

As Soon As His Withered old Face Was Half Hidden In a Cloud Of Smoke,

He Opened his Story In his Stereotyped way.  I Relate It Just As He

Told It, But Divested of Much Of Its Dialect, So Difficult To Write:--

 

 

 

"Well, Boys, It'S A Good Many Years Ago, In june, 1845, If I Don'T

Disremember.  I Was About Forty-Three, And Had Been In the Mountains

And On The Plains More Than Nineteen Seasons.  You See, I Went Out

There In 1826.  There Warn'T No Roads, Nuthin' But The Santa Fe Trail,

In Them Days, And Ingins And Varmints.

 

 

 

"There Was Four Of Us.  Me, Bill Comstock, Dick Curtis, And Al Thorpe.

Dick Was Took In by The Utes Two Years Afterwards At The Foot Of The

Spanish Peaks, And Al Was Killed by The Apaches At Pawnee Rock, In 1847.

 

 

 

"We'D Been Trapping Up On Medicine Bow For More Than Three Years

Together, And Had A Pile Of Beaver, Otter, Mink, And Other Varmint'S

Skins Cached in the Hills, Which We Know'D Was Worth A Heap Of Money;

So We Concluded to Take Them To The River That Summer.  We Started

From Our Trapping Camp In april, And 'Long 'Bout The Middle Of June

Reached the Arkansas, Near What Is Know'D As Point O' Rocks.  You All

Know Where Them Is On The Trail West Of Fort Dodge, And How Them

Rocks Rises Up Out Of The Prairie Sudden-Like.  We Was A Travelling

'Long Mighty Easy, For We Was All Afoot, And Had Hoofed it The Whole

Distance, More Than Six Hundred miles, Driving Five Good Mules Ahead

Of Us.  Our Furs Was Packed on Four Of Them, And The Other Carried

Our Blankets, Extry Ammunition, Frying-Pan, Coffee-Pot, And What

Little Grub We Had, For We Was Obliged to Depend Upon Buffalo,

Antelope, And Jack-Rabbits; But, Boys, I Tell You There Was Millions

Of 'Em In them Days.

 

 

 

"We Had Just Got Into Camp At Point O' Rocks.  It Was 'Bout Four

O'Clock In the Afternoon; None Of Us Carried watches, We Always

Reckoned time By The Sun, And Could Generally Guess Mighty Close, Too.

It Was Powerful Hot, I Remember.  We'D Hobbled our Mules Close To The

Ledge, Where The Grass Was Good, So They Couldn'T Be Stampeded, As

We Know'D We Was In the Pawnee Country, And They Was The Most Ornery

Ingins On The Plains.  We Know'D Nothing That Was White Ever Came By

That Part Of The Trail Without Having a Scrimmage With The Red devils.

 

 

 

"Well, We Hadn'T More Than Took Our Dinner, When Them Mules Give

A Terrible Snort, And Tried to Break And Run, Getting awful Oneasy

All To Once.  Them Critters Can Tell When Ingins Is Around.  They'S

Better Than A Dozen Dogs.  I Don'T Know How They Can Tell, But They

Just Naturally Do.

 

 

 

"In Less Than Five Minutes After Them Mules Began To Worry, Stopped

Eating, And Had Their Ears Pricked up A Trying To Look Over The Ledge

Towards The River, We Heard A Sharp Firing Down On The Trail, Which

Didn'T Appear To Be More Than A Hundred yards Off.  You Ought To Seen

Us Grab Our Rifles Sudden, And Run Out From Behind Them Rocks, Where

We Was A Camping, So Comfortable-Like, And Just Going To Light Our

Pipes For A Good Smoke.  It Didn'T Take Us No Time To Get Down On To

The Trail, Where We Seen A Mexican Bull Train, That We Know'D Must

Have Come From Santa Fe, And Which Had Stopped and Was Trying To Corral.

More Than Sixty Painted pawnees Was A Circling around The Outfit,

Howling as Only Them Can Howl, And Pouring a Shower Of Arrows Into

The Oxen.  Some Was Shaking Their Buffalo-Robes, Trying To Stampede

The Critters, So They Could Kill The Men Easier.

 

 

 

"We Lit Out Mighty Lively, Soon As We Seen What Was Going On, And

Reached the Head Of The Train Just As The Last Wagon, That Was

Furtherest Down The Trail, Nigh A Quarter Of A Mile Off, Was Cut Out

By Part Of The Band.  Then We Seen A Man, A Woman, And A Little Boy

Jump Out, And Run To Get Shet Of The Ingins What Had Cut Out The

Wagon From The Rest Of The Train.  One Of The Red devils Killed the

Man And Scalped him, While The Other Pulled the Woman Up In front

Of Him, And Rid Off Into The Sand Hills, And Out Of Sight In a Minute.

Then The One What Had Killed her Husband Started for The Boy, Who Was

A Running For The Train As Fast As His Little Legs Could Go.  But We

Was Nigh Enough Then; And Just As The Ingin Was Reaching Down From

His Pony For The Kid, Al Thorpe--He Was A Powerful Fine Shot--Draw'D Up

His Gun And Took The Red cuss Off His Critter Without The Paint-Bedaubed

Devil Know'N' What Struck Him.

 

 

 

"The Boy, Seeing Us, Broke And Run For Where We Was, And I Reckon

The Rest Of The Ingins Seen Us Then For The First Time, Too.  We Was

Up With The Train Now, Which Was Kind O' Halfway Corralled, And

Dick Curtis Picked up The Child--He Warn'T More Than Seven Years Old--

And Throw'D Him Gently Into One Of The Wagons, Where He'D Be Out Of

The Way; For We Know'D There Was Going To Be Considerable More

Fighting Before Night.  We Know'D, Too, We Americans Would Have To Do

The Heft Of It, As Them Mexican Bull-Whackers Warn'T Much Account,

Nohow, Except To Cavort Around And Swear In spanish, Which They

Hadn'T Done Nothing Else Since We'D Come Up To The Train; Besides,

Their Miserable Guns Warn'T Much Better Than So Many Bows And Arrows.

 

 

 

"We Americans Talked together For A Few Moments As To What Was Best

To Be Did, While The Ingins All This Time Was Keeping Up A Lively

Fire For Them.  We Made As Strong A Corral Of The Wagons As We Could,

Driving Out What Oxen The Mexicans Had Put In the One They Had Made,

But You Can'T Do Much With Only Nine Wagons, Nohow.  Fortunately,

While We Was Fixing Things, The Red cusses Suddenly Retreated out Of

The Range Of Our Rifles, And We First Thought They Had Cleared out

For Good.  We Soon Discovered, However, They Were Only Holding a

Pow-Wow; For In a Few Minutes Back They Come, Mounted on Their Ponies,

With All Their Fixin'S And Fresh War-Paint On.

 

 

 

"Then They Commenced to Circle Around Us Again, Coming a Little

Nearer--Ingin Fashion--Every Time They Rid Off And Back.  It Wasn'T

Long Before They Got In easy Range, When They Slung Themselves On

The Off-Side Of Their Ponies And Let Fly Their Arrows And Balls From

Under Their Critters' Necks.  Their Guns Warn'T Much 'Count, Being

Only Old English Muskets What Had Come From The Hudson Bay Fur Company,

So They Didn'T Do No Harm That Round, Except To Scare The Mexicans,

Which Commenced to Cross Themselves And Pray And Swear.

 

 

 

"We Four Americans Warn'T Idle When Them Ingins Come A Charging Up;

We Kept Our Eye Skinned, And Whenever We Could Draw A Bead, One Of

Them Tumbled off His Pony, You Bet!  When They'D Come Back For Their

Dead--We'D Already Killed three Of Them--We Had A Big Advantage, Wasted

No Shots, And Dropped four Of Them; One Apiece, And You Never Heard

Ingins Howl So.  It Was Getting Kind O' Dark By This Time, And The

Varmints Didn'T Seem Anxious To Fight Any More, But Went Down To The

River And Scooted off Into The Sand Hills On The Other Side.

We Waited more Than Half An Hour For Them, But As They Didn'T Come

Back, Concluded we'D Better Light Out Too.  We Told The Mexicans To

Yoke Up, And As Good Luck Would Have It They Found All The Cattle

Close By, Excepting Them What Pulled the Wagon What The Ingins Had

Cut Out, And As It Was Way Down The Trail, We Had To Abandon It;

For It Was Too Dark To Hunt It Up, As We Had No Time To Fool Away.

 

 

 

"We Put All Our Outfit Into The Train; It Wasn'T Loaded, But Going

Empty To The Missouri, To Fetch Back A Sawmill For New Mexico.

Then We Made A Soft Bed in the Middle Wagon Out Of Blankets For The

Kid, And Rolled out 'Bout Ten O'Clock, Meaning To Put As Many Miles

Between Us And Them Ingins As The Oxen Could Stand.  We Four Hoofed it

Along For A While, Then Rid A Piece, Catching a Nap Now And Then As

Best We Could, For We Was Monstrous Tired.  By Daylight We'D Made

Fourteen Miles, And Was Obliged to Stop To Let The Cattle Graze.

We Boiled our Coffee, Fried some Meat, And