154CHAPTER XIIINDIAN WARFARE IN CALIFORNIA
One of America’s great naval commanders—Captain Henry Augustus Wise—made use of the opportunity afforded him by the Mexican War of 1846-7 to collect material for a very engrossing account of some Indians concerning whom little was then known: the coast Comanches of Lower California and Mexico. The Captain—a cousin of Governor Wise of Virginia, and an intimate friend of Rear-Admiral Wilkes—was at that time second lieutenant of the man-of-warIndependence, a steamship which was cruising between San Francisco and the Gulf of California.
His first acquaintance with the Western redskins was when he was sent ashore at Monterey, a hundred and twenty miles south of San Francisco, to reconnoitre the country and offer protection—or, if need be, a means of escape—to any United States subjects settled in the district. Let it be remembered that the California of that day was vastly different even from the California of two years later. Its hidden gold was only known to the Comanches and other Shoshonee tribes, and a few Mexican Spaniards; Monterey was still the capital, while “Frisco” was but a little155market-town; above all, the Yankees had as yet scarce more than a foothold in the state, the greater part of it being (till the end of that war) under Mexican sway; and the coast Indians had not yet had their own virtues knocked out of them and replaced by the vices of the white diggers of ’49.
Lieutenant Wise and his boat’s crew, on leaving the town, began to make their way down-country between the coast and the Buonaventura River, relying for hospitality mainly on the American settlers, many of whom did a thriving and regular trade in skins. They found the district tolerably quiet, though there were reports of various fierce battles between the Comanches and their old enemies the Apaches, many of the latter being, it was said, in the pay of the Mexicans. It was at a trappers’ camp that Wise heard this piece of news, a queer little circle of log-huts erected on a wide clearing in one of the river forests which they came upon by accident late one afternoon. The trappers—all of them American or American-Irish—gave a very cordial welcome to the little party, though they would not at first admit the necessity for their offer of protection.
“See here,” said one of them. “The Mexicans are shifting down south right hard, and all you’re likely to see, you’ve seen in Monterey. Your ship, or else some other, has bombarded Santa Barbara already; and, like as not, is clearing San Diego out by now. As for the redskins, take an old stager’s advice and let ’em fight it out theirselves. There’s one lot we’d like very well to get hold of, but the rest we don’t vally a cuss.”
“Who are they?” asked Wise, sitting down to the156meal of grilled deer’s meat that was set before him.
“More’n we can tell ye. Some o’ that coyotero lot that have learned to use a rifle; for gun-stealing and horse and rifle-lifting they’ve got no living ekals. Last week they killed two of our fellows at a camp up the river; scalped ’em; broke open the magazine, and got away with all the powder and lead, as well as half a dozen spare guns. ’Twas no good the rest going to look for ’em when they came home; p’raps they were half a hundred miles away by then.”
“I’ve had orders to seize all firearms found on Indians,” said the lieutenant.
“And don’t forget it,” said one of his hosts. “Take my word, them guns, and a good many hundreds beside, have gone down-country to the Mexicans; and the Injuns are allowed to keep all the horses and eat all the mules for their reward.”
“Eat the mules?”
“What else? Whatwon’tApaches eat, for that matter? How do you reckon they come to be calledcoyoteros? Half of ’em ’d live on coyotes” (prairie wolves) “and never touch anything more Christian, if they had their way. Well; I s’pose we’ll get a visit from ’em next; so far we’ve lost nothing but horses.”
“Are all of you in camp now?” asked Wise. At present he had only seen fourteen men.
“No; there’s six gone across the river to trade for horses; for, barring what they’re riding, we’ve only got one left, and he’s sick. If the redskins come ever so, we can’t run after ’em.”
“I can stay till the day after to-morrow, if you157think they’re likely to come within that time. I daren’t stay longer, for we’re to join the ship at San Diego on the twenty-sixth.”
“Wal; there’s eleven of you, and that’s a big help; we shan’t say no,” said the head trapper. “They might come to-night; might not come for another six months. You needn’t fear for your men’s rations; they won’t starve.”
When bed-time came, Wise posted five sentries, who were to be relieved after four hours’ duty, and went to the hut set aside for him with his mind at ease. He was in his first sleep, when he became drowsily conscious that the report of a rifle was fitting itself into his dreams. Too tired after his long march to be much affected by it, he was sleeping peacefully on, when the familiar, hoarse voice of the boatswain roused him effectually.
“Guard, turn out!—All hands on deck; come on, there.”
Sailor-like, he was on his feet and into his boots in a couple of seconds, and was running out, sword in hand, before the cry could be repeated.
“Hy-yah; hy-yah!” someone was shouting; and the boatswain was answering grimly:
“Yes;we’ll‘hy-yah’ ye. Git off’n them horses will ye?”
By the firelight Wise could make out three mounted Indians, a fourth on foot, and, near him, a dead horse that had, no doubt, fallen before the sentry’s rifle. Around them stood his ten sailors, every man with his rifle covering one or other of the redskins; while the trappers, less accustomed to abrupt night-calls, appeared158more slowly, rubbing their eyes and cocking their guns.
“Hy-yah! Hy-yah, Mason!” Again the high-pitched nasal voice.
The head trapper, who came stumbling out of his hut, shouted a few words in the Shoshonee dialect, and, immediately after:
“Don’t fire, there; don’t let ’em fire, Mr. Wise; they’ve copped the wrong men. These are friends; Comanches,” and a great laugh from the trappers echoed over the camp.
“I challenged ’em first,” said the sentry who had fired. “How wasIto know who they was?”
Mason, the chief trapper, spoke for a moment or two with the redskin who had hailed him; then signed to him and his companions to take their seats by the fire.
“Stop here, Lootenant, will you? They want to have a bit of a palaver with us.”
As they dismounted, Wise could see that the Comanches were tall, well-made men, very different from the Creeks and Choctaws of the Atlantic coast. All had moccasins, and three of them wore sleeveless jackets of leather; while the fourth was habited in a magnificent “buffalo” robe. Each had either the tail of a polecat or a bunch of leather snippings in lieu of it, tied to either heel; the front half of their moccasins was painted blue, the other half red. But what struck the officer most forcibly was the remarkable thickness and length of the Indians’ hair, which descended almost to their heels. Alas for human vanity; three parts of those tresses were false; their own hair and somebody else’s, together with a liberal159supply of horses’ tails, were all matted together with fat, and secured at the top by their feather head-dresses.
Mason approached the subject in curt, business-like fashion, rapidly translating to the rest all that the Indians said, and cutting very short the embroideries, formalities, and courtesy-titles contained in their address. It appeared that Comanche scouts had reported a march of the Apaches towards their own camp; they were several hundred strong, and were coming across country from the Rio del Norte direction.
“Last time we drove them away with great slaughter,” continued the Comanche chief; “but they are more now, and many of them have guns; they are more confident too, for our scouts learn that they have inflicted a great defeat on white men.”
“Ask him whereabouts,” said Wise hurriedly.
“In Sonora, it is understood.”
“Surely he doesn’t expect us to join him?” muttered Wise.
“No; no sich thing. He’s only come to say he’s moving his camp from the Buonaventura, so that we mustn’t rely on help from his tribe as heretofore, until they’ve met and whipped the Apaches. His tribe have always been the best o’ friends with us. Say, it’llbea battle; not a make-believe; but bear in mind what I said; keep out’n it.”
“If these Apaches are coming from the del Norte, they’ll probably not be the same as the ones we expect.”
“Never no tellings; they’re here to-day, and goodness knows where to-morrow.”
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“Then I’ll stay as long as I said,” answered the lieutenant; and he went back to finish his night’s rest.
When he turned out in the morning the Comanches had long gone and the trappers were discussing plans, some advocating going about their work as usual, since the seamen were there to guard the camp; the rest insisting that both parties ought to lie hidden within the camp and give it the appearance of being entirely deserted. As the Apaches, being mounted, would have such an enormous advantage, whether in the open field or in eluding pursuit, Wise and Mason decided upon the latter course, and positions were being assigned to the men, when, all in a moment, a dozen rifles blazed out from beyond the edge of the clearing; bullets rattled against the huts, and two of the trappers fell back wounded.
A roar of vengeance rose from all except the sailors, who, catching their officer’s eye, at once sent an answering volley among the trees.
“They’re on foot,” screamed one trapper as he snatched up his gun and ran like a madman across the clearing. “Come on, boys; there they go.”
“Fall in,” said Wise shortly; then turned to Mason. “This is a bad business for you chaps—but we must go to work in a proper fashion. You can spot their trail better than we; go on, we’ll follow you.”
With the exception of the delirious person who had already gone in pursuit, the trappers collected in an orderly manner, each man swiftly examining his stock of ammunition and snatching up whatever food lay to hand; and all were ready to start at a sign from Mason.
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The noisy man was soon caught up with, bidden to hold his tongue and go back to attend to his two wounded comrades, and the chase began in good earnest. Every trapper had his special business to attend to, for the trail of each Indian had to be discovered, and, from the fact that all the twelve men were soon following a separate course, Wise gathered that the redskins had more or less dispersed in their flight. He merely occupied himself with keeping his men together, and as nearly as possible in touch with all of the trappers. For half an hour they proceeded at an easy trot, and so came to a long, narrow pool. Mason gave a single whistle and stopped, and everyone closed in on him.
“Strangers,” he murmured. His mates knew what he meant. The redskins had halted here in doubt about the depth; the stillness of the water showed that it had not been disturbed recently, and the trail proved that they had turned both left and right. “Three of you cross; if you don’t signal in two minutes we shall divide and follow both trails.”
The men knew well enough that just here the pool was but five feet deep at the very most, and three of them ran through it. Mason took out his watch, and, just after the final second had expired, a whistle was heard ahead. The main trail had been found. With their guns held high above their heads, the Yankees slid down the bank and crossed the water, and the double began again.
“Without they’ve got horses waiting for ’em, this looks like a ‘find,’” said Mason over his shoulder. “We shall come slap on to the prairie this way; and that’s as level as a billiard-table for nigh on ten miles;162and we’ve gained a rare big pull in crossing the pond.”
It was as he had said; in about another half-hour the forest came to an abrupt end.
“There they go,” shouted one excitable man; and this time a cheer rose from the sailors. The Indians, twelve of them, were scarcely a mile away, walking and running by turns, and to all appearances beginning to knock up, though they made a fresh spurt at sight of their pursuers.
The lieutenant now felt himself in a difficult position. These trappers had seen two of their friends shot down—perhaps killed—only an hour or so ago; and, though the average man of Anglo-Saxon blood (save him of cheap and nasty melodrama) is far too manly a fellow to be able to nourish revenge for an indefinite period, he may be a dangerous customer while the memory of a grievance is still fresh. Wise badly wanted the fugitives’ muskets; he wanted to arrest the owners of them; if need were, to hang them, in requital of their murderous attack; but he did not want to see them riddled with bullets and hacked with bowie-knives by men wild with passion.
“I think you’d better leave this to us now,” he whispered to Mason, who was a man open to reason. The old trapper shook his head, however.
“I wish I could,” he said, “but it’s no use trying. They’ve got a good many old scores against the varmints, and this one coming atop—Wal!”
“Then it’s going to be a race,” said the lieutenant, with decision; and he bade his men quicken their double, in the faint hope of their being able to outrun163the trappers. But, as things turned out, the difficulty was removed from his hands. For some few minutes he had noticed a thick mass of moving figures across the plain some distance farther to the left than the point for which the Indians were making. At first he had taken them for cattle; but, on closer inspection, he saw that they were mounted men. He pointed them out to Mason, who was now twenty yards behind.
“Yes; I see ’em,” he shouted. “It’s a battle; Comanches and Apaches, I count.”
In the sailors’ excitement they almost forgot the objects of their pursuit, though these were again showing unmistakable signs of breaking down.
“Now, lads; one good spurt and we’ll be within range,” said Wise. “Never mind about what’s going on over there.”
But it was not in human nature not to watch what could be seen of the combat; Wise himself could not resist the temptation; one side was already taking flight, shooting at their pursuers as they went; and the two forces formed, with Wise’s men, two converging lines which would very soon meet.
“The Apaches have had enough; they’re making for the mountains, and this here other lot of reptiles’ll get away on the first horses they can come near,” shouted Mason from behind.
In a few minutes the first of the Indian forces was only half a mile away from the sailors’ line of march. No doubt they had come to the hopeless stage in Indian warfare; the stage at which all arrows or bullets have been shot away and it is a question either164of close fighting—for which they have neither strength nor stomach—or of flight. But, strangely enough, the Indians on foot made no attempt to join their brethren; instead, they wheeled more than ever to the right.
For the next few minutes, things were little more than a confused blur to Wise; the dust was flying; he scarcely knew one party from the other; he was bewildered by the yelling of both, and by the lightning speed at which pursued and pursuers moved; in fact, he knew nothing definitely till a shout of triumph arose from the trappers behind.
“Got ’em!”
The Comanches, abandoning the hope of overtaking their enemy, had wheeled suddenly, and closed round the twelve scattering Apaches who were on foot.
“Guess it’s out of our hands now, anyway,” said Wise to the boatswain. Just then two of the Comanches turned their horses and cantered up to the sailors; at the same time the trappers joined them from behind, impelled by curiosity; and Wise heard old Mason talking with one of the men who had entered the camp the night before.
“He says, does the young white chief—that’syou, gov’nor—want them Mexicans? If not, they calculatetheycan find a use for ’em.”
“Mexicans?” said Wise.
“Ay; what do ye think of ’em? Mexican spies and gun-runners, dressed and painted up as Apaches, as I’m a sinner. If we’d had a redskin with us he’d ha’ seen through ’em in a jiff.”
The pseudo-Apaches were soon bound and, despite165the protest of the trappers, taken in charge by Wise, who handed them over to the first military picket he met. They were one of the many parties sent out by the Mexicans to steal guns, ammunition, horses, and information, and had visited the trappers’ camp that morning in the hope of making a haul of weapons. Finding it garrisoned they had run away again, venting their disappointment in a hasty volley at the men who wore the Government uniform, secure, as they flattered themselves, from pursuit through the trappers’ having no horses. Lieutenant Wise had many more exciting adventures before that war was ended, but these did not again bring him in touch with the warfare of redskins, whether genuine or sham.
166CHAPTER XIIIWITH THE AYMARAS AND MOXOS
There is no part of the American continent, save perhaps Guatemala (and, of course, the Arctic Regions), where the Indian race has survived in such power and—relatively—such numbers as in Bolivia. At the last census, the entire population of the republic was two millions, and of that number the whites, blacks, and half-bloods together amounted to less than three hundred thousand. The coast Indians belong mainly to the Colla (more commonly called Aymara) tribe of the Quechuan family, and, unlike the average redskin, are square and squat in build; long in the arms and body and short in the legs; many of them have passed their lives entirely on the mountains and have never seen a lowland river or town.
In Bolivia there is no British Consulate, for Britishers there are almost as rare as Samoyeds; but as a rule there is some semi-official chargé d’affaires in residence. From 1848 to 1855 this office was filled by a young Englishman of Italian extraction—Hugh de Bonelli; and much of that time he passed exclusively among Indians; hunting, sight-seeing, mountaineering, and collecting natural history specimens.
In mixing among the Aymaras, one of the first167things he discovered was that, though himself an exceptionally good walker, he was a baby at such exercise when pitted against them. While staying at a native village on Lake Titicaca, he expressed a wish to visit a spot rather less attractive than the Sahara—the Atacama Desert, to wit, which lies between the coast and the Andes. Plenty of men were willing to guide him, though they cautioned him that they could not be spared for more than a day or two, because a general meeting of the tribe was about to take place. Now as the lake lies more than twelve thousand feet above the sea-level, and when this prodigious descent had been made, there would be several miles to traverse on foot, he wisely abandoned the project. Nevertheless, being curious to test the truth of the reports he had heard as to their long walks, he accompanied a party of Aymaras who were bound for the far end of the lake with loads of silver.
They started at sunrise, and the mountain air being deliciously cool, he was not at first incommoded by the pace at which they went. But that pace was five miles an hour!
He kept up easily the first two hours, and, with considerably more difficulty, the second two; five miles in one hour, and twenty in four hours, are however, not quite the same thing; and when he had walked the twenty-second mile, he was ready to drop from fatigue and hunger. Yet they showed no signs of being about to stop; and conversation was not easy, for only one of the number understood Spanish, and that very scantily; the language of the Aymaras being almost pure Quechuan, i.e. the tongue of the168ancient Incas, who founded their wonderful empire when we English were vainly endeavouring to ward off invasion by the Normans. He explained that he was both tired and hungry, and, at last growing desperate, inquired where he could get a mule. Happily that article was obtainable at a village which they were now approaching, and, his curiosity thoroughly aroused as to how far they intended going, he ambled on after them (for they had not deigned to stop while he concluded his bargain), caught them, and kept up with them, though he was now almost too stiff to sit his mule and too tired to enjoy the food which he had brought with him.
The thirty-fifth mile was reached before those energetic Indians stopped, and de Bonelli wished he had with him some of the people who make the sweeping statement that “all Indians are lazy.” He expected to see them bivouac for at least a couple of hours; instead of this, not one man sat down; all stood or lounged, as though they knew by instinct that the walker who allows his muscles to relax completely is doubling the strain of the after walk; and the standing only lasted long enough to enable them to eat their meal—twenty minutes at the outside. Then on again.Seventy milesdid these indolent wretches walk between sunrise and sunset, only stopping for that one brief meal. It sounds incredible, but even greater distances are stated, on the best authority, to have been covered by members of this wonderful tribe.
De Bonelli found a contrast when, after some weeks’169condor and wild-cat shooting in the mountains, he descended to the lowlands and moved for a while among the Moxos of the Beni River. A member of this tribe had come up to Titicaca, as ambassador from his cacique, to treat for the barter of copper and turtle-oil for mountain silver; and the inquiring traveller was glad to engage him as a guide to the Lower Beni, which he was anxious to trace as far as its junction with the Mamore, the chief feeder of the Madeira River.
De Bonelli was bound to admit that the Moxo was to be preferred as a companion; he was chatty, light-hearted, and witty, whereas the Aymaras had a sort of Puritan austerity and were devoid of sense of humour; he spoke Spanish and they did not; and further, he considered twenty miles—with a four hours’ siesta between the two tens—an ample day’s walk. Better still, on the fourth day he produced a canoe from a cunning hiding-place among the undergrowth by the river, and thenceforward the journey became a luxurious holiday; for the woods on either bank were, to all intents and purposes, orchards, the fish was delicious and easily caught, and the Moxo guide kept the boat well supplied with venison and peccary-pork.
The Indian’s destination was a large village about fifty miles from the Brazilian frontier, and, as the canoe drew near to it, de Bonelli observed that they were continually overtaking or being overtaken by other canoes; not tiny boats, manned singly or by twos, such as he had seen higher up the river, but large family concerns; houseboats, literally; for170everyone carried a family and all the cooking utensils, tools, weapons, toys, etc., that it might require.
“It is the great egg-gathering,” said the Moxo enthusiastically.
“Do you mean that the whole tribe is turning out to go bird’s-nesting?” asked the white man with good-humoured contempt.
“Our birds are water-birds, with houses on their backs,” laughed the Indian. “Turtles!”
“Even then I shouldn’t have thought several hundred people were required to take the eggs.”
“You shall judge presently, Señor. The cacique was sending out the order for the people to collect when I left. No one may touch the eggs till he grants permission.”
They found the Indian village overflowing with detachments of new arrivals. De Bonelli was introduced to the cacique, who was so overjoyed by the present of a silver-mounted pistol that he was ready to place the whole town and its resources at his visitor’s feet.
“Pray stay among us as long as you will,” he said. “Our egg-taking begins to-morrow and will last for about a week; but, after that, I and my tribe will be at your service, and I can promise you better hunting than you have seen with the gloomy Aymaras.”
The noise in and around the village aroused the traveller at an early hour in the morning, and he strolled out from his tent to survey the neighbourhood. Since the previous night the village had swelled to four times its size; for on every side pyramidal tents had been erected by the simple process of sticking171three poles in the ground, sloping so that the tops met, and covering the spaces between the poles with mats made of grass or palm-leaves. The cacique was already at breakfast, which he begged his guest to share; and, when it was finished, he said:
“You will do me the favour to ride in my canoe. Then you will be able to see all my people at once.”
They proceeded to the water-edge and found all the tribe—nearly two hundred men with their wives and children—seated in canoes and impatiently awaiting their chief’s arrival as the signal to start. The moment he and his guest were embarked, a great shout went up and paddling began with a will, the canoes moving at such a rate that the journey to the “turtle-ground,” five miles away, seemed to occupy no time. Arrived here the chief’s paddlers drew in and he and de Bonelli landed, the tribe following in due order of importance.
As an amateur naturalist the chargé d’affaires knew something of the habits of the turtle, but he was not prepared for many things which he saw that day. Turtles seldom lay their eggs immediately by the water; as often as not they choose a place half a mile or more away from it. In this case the row of “nests” took the form of a long sand-bank which lay between two fringes of trees, and this, the traveller learned, had been stealthily and jealously watched by spies from the village for some weeks past, so that there could be no mistaking the spot. Behind the cacique walked a man with a drum, and, as soon as the bank was reached, a short “call” was beaten and all the men, every one carrying a paddle, collected round him. The chief made a short speech, enjoining patience,172industry, and good temper, and then began to portion off the bank among the men, each family thus being entitled to whatever they might find in their patch.
The reader is probably aware that the turtle, like many other reptiles, deposits her eggs in the ground, and carefully covers them with sand or soft earth. Through this covering the fierce sun of the tropics can easily penetrate, and in a short time—if left alone—the young are hatched. And what a family! One to two hundred eggs, and sometimes more, are laid by this prolific creature.[2]When every man had taken up his station at his “claim,” his wife and children went and stood at the other side of the bank opposite him, and everyone waited breathlessly for the signal to begin; for etiquette forbade the stirring of a single egg till the cacique had formally opened the patch which belonged to him. He made a sign to the drummer, who handed him a paddle, with which he turned over a spadeful of earth. Immediately there followed a long roll of the drum, and every man struck his paddle into the ground and began to dig.
De Bonelli could scarcely believe his eyes; the place seemed alive with turtle-eggs; yellowish, globular objects considerably larger than a golf-ball, with a soft but very tough shell. As fast as a “nest” was turned out by the digger, his wife and children collected the eggs, throwing them into bags, baskets, or copper pots; and, by evening, the canoes were so full that it was a wonder how the families stowed themselves away.
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The return journey was like the home-coming of a party of hop-pickers, for jubilation and noise, the only difference being that these benighted Moxos were perfectly sober, and that their singing consisted mainly of hymns in a mixture of Spanish, native dialect, and truly barbarous Latin, instead of music-hall songs. On reaching the village each family carried its share of eggs to its tent and piled them up outside, and a feast of some of these delicacies followed, recalling the “herring-breakfasts” in which the more old-fashioned of our fishermen indulge at the opening of the season.
The next day the digging was continued, though no opening ceremony was observed, each man beginning when he thought fit; and this went on for five days, most of which time de Bonelli spent in teaching the cacique the use of firearms—a task which he would probably better have left undone—and in shooting jaguars and alligators. The sixth day was passed in the village, for the eggs were now all gathered and all the tribe were busy converting their eggs into oil.
Large copper tanks were filled with the eggs; those Indians who had come from a distance and could not borrow tanks, borrowed small canoes for the purpose, which seemed to do equally well; and the owners set to work to break the eggs, which they did by beating them with sticks, stones, paddles, or anything that came handy. In some cases the younger men and boys jumped into the tank and danced on them, as though they were treading a wine-press; and by and by the various receptacles were half full of a dirty yellow mash. The women now came toiling up from the river-bank with pots of water, which they poured174into the tanks till the mixture rose nearly to the top.
By this time the dinner and siesta-hour had come round, and the tanks were left to take care of themselves; good care, too, thought de Bonelli, as he walked round, an hour or two later, with the chief. While the workers slept, the sun had done their work for them; had warmed the tanks, freed the oleaginous particles contained in the eggs, and now the top of every tank was several inches deep in oil, which the Indians were preparing to skim off and bale into their cooking-pots; the skimming being done by means of large shells. By evening the whole village was dotted with small fires over which hung pots of oil; and the oil, thus clarified, was ultimately poured into earthenware pots, corked up, and ready to be exported to the towns for use in lamps, or carried up the river and across country to the hills, where the Aymaras were willing to pay high prices in silver for a product which could be used for fuel, light, or even food.
175CHAPTER XIVA SPORTING TRIP ACROSS THE PRAIRIES
There is nothing extraordinary to the English reader in a man’s making a sixteen-hundred-mile journey across lonesome prairies and mountain-ranges, where railways are almost unknown and fierce tribes of savages abound, merely for the sake of shooting big game; for if we do not take our pleasures sadly, we at least are proud to devote to our sports as much energy and self-discipline as another nation would bestow on its politics or monetary interests.
After a good deal of rambling through the eastern States, Mr. Henry Coke, brother of the second Earl of Leicester, found himself wandering one morning, in the year 1850, about the streets of St. Louis, already sickened of town life and eager for something more wholesome and natural. Generally it is only in story-books that a happy coincidence suddenly arises to help a man out of a difficulty; but real life also has its chance meetings and its odd bits of luck, and so Mr. Coke thought when, on turning a corner, he found his arm seized by an old Cambridge chum of whom he had heard nothing for three years.
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“Why, man, what are you doing here?” he demanded.
“Packing up. I’m off for the Columbia River to-morrow, salmon-fishing. You’d better come and make a sixth; I’m travelling with four Canadian chaps; everything’s arranged: horses, waggons, mules, stores, and even a redskin guide.”
There was no resisting such a temptation, especially as Coke had never been farther west than Kansas City, had only caught salmon in Norway and Scotland, had never seen a bison or a grisly except in a show, and had never met with any Indians who were not perfectly respectable and law-abiding. Therefore he never dreamt of hesitating, but hastened away to make a few necessary purchases, and, the next morning, presented himself at his friends’ inn, where he found nine mules, eight riding-horses, and two waggons drawn up, and his friend’s valet vainly endeavouring to get into conversation with a particularly morose-looking Indian who sat on the front-board of one of the waggons.
The early days of the journey were occupied by the sportsmen, as such days generally are, in getting to know one another and in settling down to a novel mode of life. The young Canadians were the sons of a wealthy stock-breeder and were taking a year’s furlough in order to see the States; and no more valuable companions could have been found; for, if they were ignorant of the route, there was not much left for them to learn where prairie and forest life and the ways of Indians and wild beasts were concerned. For the first week or so the party managed each night to put up at some wayside inn or farm; but they no177sooner came on to the wilds of Kansas than the mere aspect of the country was sufficient to tell them that they had probably bidden good-bye to eastern civilisation. The way that now lay before them, if seen from a balloon, would have looked like a gigantic staircase whose treads sloped slightly upwards and whose uprights were low, ragged-faced bluffs that seemed to hint at the advisability of abandoning the waggons as henceforth useless, and teaching the horses and mules to take flying ten-foot jumps. The guide, however, seemed fairly confident in his ability to find suitable inclines, and at least for some fifty miles they were able to follow a very rough track that was a guide in itself.
But the Indian—one of the Crow tribe—grew more sullen and silent and discontented as each new platform of ground was reached; so much so, that George Dumont, the eldest of the Canadians, who was perfectly familiar with the Siouan tongue, began to question him closely as to the cause of his grumbling demeanour.
“It is no use trying to go any farther,” said the Crow moodily. “The next bluff is quite impassable.”
“Then why didn’t you say so before we left St. Louis?”
The Indian shelved the question. “And even if it were not, the country here is full of Comanches and Pawnees and Shoshonees. Did I not warn you ofthat?”
“Oh, if that’s all,” said the Canadian, laughing, “don’t frighten yourself. They won’t hurt us.”
The Indian shrugged his shoulders and said no more; but presently he stood up on the footboard and, attracting178Dumont’s attention, pointed triumphantly to a bluff about a furlong ahead, which had been hitherto concealed by a ridge of rising ground dotted with pine-trees. Coke, who had been riding some way in advance with his friend, now hurried back to Dumont’s side.
“What do you make of this?” he said, pointing to the bluff. “Fred’s ridden off to the right to try and find a slope, and I’m just off the opposite way.”
Dumont rode with him as far as the obstruction and examined it more carefully; it was a sheer precipice, twelve feet high.
“Right you are,” he said. “Try and find a slope, and I’ll wait here for the other fellows.”
Two hours later the men met again; the two scouts had ridden ten miles along the cliff-foot either way, only to find that there was no spot where the waggons could possibly be raised. Meanwhile, two of the Dumonts had scooped footholds for themselves and climbed to the higher level, which they pronounced to be a beautiful grass plain, studded with little conical hills; and by the aid of a telescope they had seen large herds of bison going on ahead towards the Platte River.
“Then we must go on,” said Coke, “even if we have to haul the waggons after us, or cut a roadway.”
The others were of the same mind, but the sun had just set, and whatever their plans might be, they would have to stand over till to-morrow. The fire was lit and all were sitting down to supper when someone asked:
“Where’s the redskin?”
The redskin had gone, bag and baggage (someone else’s baggage).
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“Why, he’s collared your new gun, Coke,” shouted Fred, who had jumped up into the waggon in which the Indian had ridden and was making a hurried search, “And—whew! my little valise as well.”
The gun was a large-bore rifle of a new pattern, which Coke had only obtained with difficulty at the last moment; but even this theft, annoying as it was, was of minor importance compared with the disappearance of the valise, which contained all such maps and charts as its owner had been able to procure, some money, and his letters of introduction to people in Washington and across the boundary.
“Mounted or on foot?” asked Paul Dumont, the youngest of the brothers.
“Horses and mules all here, sir,” reported the manservant after a brisk look round.
“Then come on, Coke; up with you,” said young Paul. “We’ll have him,” and taking the two best of the horses, they were soon galloping along the path by which they had come. In a few minutes they were past the ridge with its little belt of trees, beyond which all was plain sailing—or would have been if only the light could have lasted a little longer; for here was only a treeless, imperceptibly sloping plain where even an Indian could scarcely hope to conceal himself.
“Fellow must be a perfect ass to think he could get away from us here,” said Coke. “There you are; there goes the gentleman.”
A couple of miles ahead was a dark, moving dot, evidently the Indian trotting along at a good round pace.
“Ass enough to know that there’s precious little180twilight now, at any rate,” said Paul ruefully, as he urged on his horse. “And there’s no moon till after midnight.”
They rode the next mile in silence, and, at the end of it, were no longer able to distinguish the fleeing figure with any degree of certainty. In another few minutes they were at the spot where they had first seen the Indian, but there was hardly enough light for even the keen-sighted Canadian to detect any trail.
“It’s no use thinking of giving up,” he said. “We must have the bag if we ride all night for it.”
Again they spurred the horses to a gallop, peering all the while on either side of them; and in this manner they covered another few miles. Farther than this the Indian could not possibly have gone in the time.
“Better divide, and prowl round,” said Coke. “Fire a pistol if you see anything, and I’ll do the same.”
He rode away at a gentle trot, pausing now and then to listen. After half an hour of this he heard the pop of a pistol a good way behind him, yet distinct enough in the silent night air. Wheeling round, he looked steadily before him in the hope of seeing the flash of a second report. This came after a few seconds, and he at once responded to it.
But even before he saw the flash he had noticed something else of far more importance: a little glow of flame on the ground a few miles away, somewhere about in the direction which Dumont had started to follow. And now, coming towards him, was the steady thud of a horse’s hoofs.
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“That you, Paul?”
“Ay; come on,” sounded from a mounted figure that was beginning to stand out indistinctly against the blue-black of the sky. The two young men were soon together again, and Dumont pointed towards the flame.
“Redskins. Thought I’d better come back and meet you first.”
“How many?”
“I could make out three. They couldn’t hear my shots with the wind this way; I didn’t hear yours; only saw the flash. Now for a little bit of spying. Are you well loaded up?”
They were soon within a pistol-shot of the fire, in the light of which shone the bodies of three Indians, naked as far as the waist. The Englishman’s heart beat with excitement, for as yet he had never been so close to Indians who were real savages. A few more steps and then the Indians, not to be taken altogether by surprise, sprang erect and stood with bowstrings stretched.
“Pawnees, I think,” said Dumont, reining up. He shouted some words in the Siouan dialect, and was answered by what seemed to Coke merely a series of grunts.
Again the Canadian spoke, and on receiving a brief reply moved on again.
“Come on,” he said triumphantly. “They’ve got him; they’ve got our man.”
As the two white men, stiff and hungry, got down from their saddles, the Pawnees advanced cautiously to meet them, their bows still bent. Paul, however, made some masonic motions with his hands which were182understood as meaning peace, and each returned his arrow to his quiver.
A conversation began which, to the Englishman, was very much worse than any Greek, and so gave him leisure to look about him. Now that his eyes had become accustomed to the glare of the fire, the first thing he saw clearly was the runaway guide, bound so tightly with thongs that the poor creature could not move an inch. Near him lay the stolen rifle and his friend’s valise, the latter disgorging papers through an opening which had been slashed along one side of it.
Regardless of a murmur of protest from the savages, young Dumont picked up the gun and handed it to its owner, and having satisfied himself that none of the papers were missing, strapped the bag across his own shoulder.
“You must pay us for them,” said the Pawnees discontentedly.
“Yes, yes; all right. Come to our camp in the morning, and we’ll give you what is reasonable. What do you propose doing with this man?”
“We shall take him to our camp.”
“I’ll swear you shan’t,” said Dumont in English; for he knew what sort of mercy a trespassing Crow might expect from the Pawnees.
“Tell them we’ll fight them or we’ll buy the chap of them, which they like,” said Coke, when the position was explained to him.
A debate followed in which Paul showed himself a shrewd bargainer. He and Coke totted up their available assets, and eventually about a quarter of a pint of whisky, a penknife, a steel watch-chain, and183four or five shillings’ worth of small silver were offered as the Crow’s ransom, and accepted, much to the astonishment of Coke, who, in his innocence, had been about to add a valuable ring and a pair of pocket-pistols to the purchase-money. He stooped and cut the prisoner’s bonds, and that worthy, in obedience to a threatening hint from Dumont, fled into the darkness.
The Indians were amicably inclined, and not only shared their supper of broiled deer’s meat with the travellers, but agreed to call for them at the camp in the morning and lead them to a point where the waggons could easily be drawn up to the higher platform; and on this good understanding the young men rode away. The new guides were as good as their word, and appeared on their little mustangs before Coke’s party had finished breakfast. They appeared to be one of several small scouting parties sent out from a main camp farther on to gather intelligence as to a reported advance of the Crow Indians against them; and were now returning to their head-quarters beyond the Platte River. Instructed by them, the sportsmen moved along the bluff to a place about three miles farther than Coke had ridden on the previous afternoon; and there found a tolerably easy incline, up which the waggons were soon dragged.
By the side of the first of the hills seen the day before, the noonday halt was made. The Pawnees still continued very friendly, the more so on discovering that nothing but the desire to do battle with bisons and grisly bears had brought the pale-faces so far.
“To-morrow we will show you many bisons,” they said; and they certainly kept their promise.