This stretched him on the floor
"This stretched him on the floor. In a moment, I was seated on his chest, and his hands were secured and pinioned."—Page 30.
All had been effected so rapidly, that I was again upon my feet, before the by-standers had recovered from their surprise, and, it might almost seem, before the criminal could realize what had occurred.
The persons who had been so suddenly rendered mute by the rapidity of my assault upon the scoundrel, now found tongue. They approached me in an anything but friendly guise, demanding what all this meant, and why I had assaulted "Jackson" in this cowardly fashion. Only two or three, as I ought to mention, had given him this name, and these were decidedly the most disreputable-looking individuals present. Naturally enough, opening my coat, I displayed my official badge, and told them of the murder which the fellow hadcommitted on the morning just passed, for plunder. The two or three I have alluded to as calling him by name, slunk out, while the rest, changing their tone, complimented me warmly upon the coolness and skill with which they were pleased to say the arrest had been made.
As for myself, I must own that when I looked at the thew and muscle of my prostrate captive, I was far more inclined to compliment myself upon the recklessness with which I had, single-handed, effected his capture.
Word was immediately despatched to the sheriff, and, by the following morning, Jackson was safely lodged in the jail at Waukegan, the county seat of Lake County. Shortly after this, he was indicted by the Grand Jury, and a change ofvenuehaving been granted, he was removed for trial to Chicago; where, pleading guilty, he was sentenced to be hanged, and paid the penalty of his crime upon the gallows.
As for my poor friend Lewis, he had already pleaded guilty to manslaughter, and been sentenced to imprisonment for eight years. He died before the term of his imprisonment had expired.
In those days, in the West, justice was far shorter and sharper than it has recently been in New York. There was more pride in the detection of crime, and considerably readier justice in its punishment. Red-handed murder had especially little chance of escaping the prompt retribution of the Law, and it will, I think, be granted by the inhabitants of the metropolis that the consequent fear was a tolerably fair degree of preservation for human life, considering the character of the various elements from which life in that portion of the States was then composed.
Having shortly after this returned to my home, I assumed the position of under-sheriff to my parent, and lived for several months somewhat quietly, being lionized in no small degree by my friends and neighbors on account of the capture of Jackson. In a few months, however, Pinkerton, who had evidently considered me a good "utility" man in the detective line, wanted my services again. He was engaged in ferreting out a gang of counterfeiters and horse-thieves, who had been circulating bad notes, and thinning out the stables above Chicago. Their base of operations had been made by them at the foot of Little Dalls, now called Dallton. This was some twenty miles above Portage City.
Excitement was the only thing I lacked while under my father's wing, and consequently, in spite of his remonstrances, I determined upon accepting the offer of employment which Pinkerton made me.
Starting at once, after seeing my chief, I joined the party with whom I was to work, at Madison. Here, after laying our plans, or rather, arranging for the execution of those Pinkerton had laid out for us, we separated, with the understanding that wherever we met, we were to proceed as if we had been strangers. The following day, myself and a companion found ourselves at Big Bull Falls. It would be unnecessary to trace out our after-route from place to place. For some time we discovered nothing which might afford any clue to the object of our search. At last we arrived at Grandfather Bull Falls, when something occurred which convinced us we had continued too far in that direction. We consequently returned, and took a straight line towards Black River Woods.
By the bye, the man who gave them this name must have had a hide tanned to the toughness of a leather boot, or he certainly never would have omitted to commemorate the plague of the mosquitoes which infest it.
Of all sections of the country populated with this delightful insect, that I have ever crossed, this is decidedly the worst. So much so, that I believe it must have been that part of it, in which the man we have heard of, took refuge from these winged atrocities under an old steam-boiler, amusing himself while in his fancied security by clamping their murderous beaks, with an old hammer he chanced to have with him, to the iron shell through which they were penetrating. The result of this style of proceeding was perfectly unforeseen by him. In some hour and a half, the muscle of the trapped mosquitoes was sufficiently strong for them to raise the iron shell and fly off with it.
Be this as it may, it is a complete purgatory. You, in vain, try to smash one mosquito whose fangs you feel in your forehead. While doing so, another fastens on your nose, and half a dozen more upon either cheek. The amount of profanity they caused on the tongue of myself and my companion, I even now look back upon, with considerable contrition.
The whole of this portion of the country, as far as Black River, was under Mosquito dominion; and when we quitted it, it was with the sincere hope, upon my part, that nothing might oblige me to revisit it.
When we once more met the balance of our party at Stevens Point, which had been as unsuccessful as ourselves in tracking out the game, it is now a question to me how our swollen and disfigured faces could be at all recognizable.
After some consultation, it was decided that portion of the party should strike for the Little Eauclaire River, while another should go up the larger stream called the Big Eauclaire. Myself and companion remained for a few days at this place, and finding nothing determinate, dressed ourselves as raftsmen,—in red shirts and overalls, making up our minds to separate. Then, I hired myself out to run the Caughnaut Rapids, on a trip to Plover Portage.
It was on our way in return, when "gigging back," as the raftsmen term it, that I first caught a glimpse of success. One of the pilots, had to employ a term well used in the west and south of the States, "cottoned" to me. This was probably on account of my youth and apparent verdancy, as well as my muscle. I was just the sort of fellow he evidently supposed could be employed as a green hand in his illegal calling. We had been talking of the ways of living in the West one morning, when he said:
"Look here, young fellow, thar's many a way of making enough to live, that's easier than your'n is."
"How is that?"
"D'yer see this?"
At the same time he pulled out of his pocket a lot of "queer," or counterfeit bills. He must have had more than two hundred dollars of bogus money of different denominations—fives, threes, and twos—with him.
D'yer see this
"'D'yer see this?'"At the same time he pulled out of his pocket, a lot of 'queer' or counterfeit bills."—Page 34.
"How rich you be!" I ejaculated, with an innocent look of wonder.
"Do you think so?" he asked, with a sly wink and chuckle.
"Good Lord!" I cried out, as if the idea had just come to me. "They're not—"
"Ya-as! They ar'—but don't make sich a row about seeing them."
As he said this, he glanced around as if he had been afraid somebody might have been within earshot of us.
"I only wish I could get hold of some of the blamed stuff."
"If yer do," replied he, "I'll introduce yer to them as makes it."
"Will you—re-eelly, do that?"
"Ya-as! young fellow, I will."
Accordingly, we started on the day after our return down the river, and having passed Dutchman's Rapids, entered upon what is called the jaws of the Little Dalls, at the Shingle. Thence, going by the Devil's Elbow and the Sag safely enough, we came out at the foot of the Dalls proper. Here my companion showed me the entrance to the cave in which the work of the gang was carried on.
He then told me I would have to wait at Portage City, until he could see his fellows in the business and obtain their permission to introduce a new recruit to them. Otherwise, it might be dangerous.
Afterwards, he himself returned to the neighborhood of the Sag.
While remaining at Portage, I met portions of my party, to whom I communicated the success I had met with. After talking the matter over with them, it was suggested by me that I should enter into the drinking-saloon business, which would not only afford me an apparent opportunity for disposing of the false money, but render it easy for me to bring my companions in contact with the counterfeiters. This was agreed upon, and when the pilot returned, I suggested it to him. Heliterally jumped at the idea, and ostensibly helped me in hunting up a location for mydébûtin rum-selling, as well as vouching for me most strongly to the individual from whom I hired it. The rascal was well known in the place.
The whole of the time since I had arrived in Portage City, I was in constant correspondence with Pinkerton, who thoroughly approved of every step I was taking, and gave me to understand he would be ready at any moment to join me.
Well! my saloon was opened, and liquor-drinking was in full blast in it. The pilot was as good as his word. At different times, he brought down to me most of his accomplices, or rather of his employers, and I quickly became a sort of licensed favorite with them. Of course, if I had been detected in "shoving the queer," and found myself within the grasp of the law, they wouldn't have cared one red cent, but while I apparently bought their bogus notes, I was the best of fellows living. In the meantime, I had gradually introduced them to most of my companions, some of whom also took portion of their spurious money, paying for it in good cash. It must be admitted that the whole of the gang were capital judges of the genuineness of any of, or all, the currency of the various States. "Wild-cat" notes nothing could induce them to take in exchange, even for any of their own shinplasters.
Shortly after this, I found that the counterfeiters were to have a full meeting in the cave, which I had now several times visited. It was, I had reason to believe from what the pilot told me, for the purpose of dividing the spoils of the last mouth, which had been, so he hinted to me, unusually large.
My chief was immediately notified.
Very soon after, he joined me, with the United States Marshal, and made arrangements with the sheriff and city marshal to pounce upon the whole gang.
I say, he joined me. But this is scarcely the case, as he only saw me once previously to the night on which I knew they were to meet at the cave.
Arrangements, under his shrewd supervision, were capitally made. The cave had two entrances, one at the side of it, some considerable distance from the main one. A part of his men, with a section of the local police, under the United States and city marshals, were to be placed there to prevent any chance of escape. Himself and the sheriff of Portage were to be conducted by me to the main entrance. It would be needless to say, that as a desperate resistance to us was within the probable chances, every man in either party was well armed. Our suspicions respecting this were not, however, destined to be realized. Pinkerton's precautionary measures had been too well taken. When we were discovered, a rush had been made for the other entrance. Here, they found out that they had been completely trapped.
Then, rightly believing that the party at the main entrance was the principal one, they returned, and had a parley with the sheriff and Pinkerton, or rather with the last, ultimately coming out and surrendering.
After having been handcuffed, and placed in the boats, part of our men were left in the cave to secure the spoils, while the rest of us returned with our prisoners to Portage. It was one of the largest hauls of counterfeiters, with their implements of trade and spurious money, as well as a fair amount of good paper, whichhad up to that time ever been made in the West, and redounded very much to the credit of my chief, as well as myself—the last, mainly on account of the warm way in which he was pleased to compliment the share I had taken in it. Most certainly it resulted in the breaking up of the gang at that time known as the Guy Fox band, whose depredations had extended for several years from the Lakes to the Gulf. It had been the terror of the country, as it had resorted to every species of crime with the view of furthering their schemes. In due time they were all convicted and sent for various terms to the Penitentiary. All of them had the satisfaction of serving out their time, with one solitary exception. This was my friend the pilot of the raft, whose wish to make me a tool had led to their apprehension.
He was not, in every respect, a bad fellow, and his look of bewildered astonishment when, with the handcuffs on his hands, he saw me on the boat with Pinkerton, was so miserably pitiable, that I could not help feeling some tenderness towards him.
In the fulness of my heart, I spoke to my chief about him on the same night after our return to Portage.
"I will see about it, Mose," he replied, with a dry smile. "But, if you had as long an experience as I have, you would know how useless mercy would be to him. What is in the bone will out in the flesh."
The fellow was released, upon Pinkerton's application, some twelve months afterwards, and, as I have heard, verified my chief's appreciation of rascality. It has been said he was shot by a stalwart farmer, some three years afterwards, in the neighborhood of Dubuque, Iowa, in consequence of an attempt at highway robbery.This fact, however, I am unable to verify. So, let my readers charitably hope, the lesson he had received bore the good fruit of turning him again into the paths of honesty.
Under the Shadow of my own Vine and Fig-tree—Too much Sympathy—Again in the Theatre—My First Trip across the Plains—A Fiddle as a Sensation—The Free Fight—My First Lesson in Swimming—Wanted, a New Bow—Judgment on a Whiskey-drinker—The Third Time—Out He Goes—A Stampede—Growing into Favor—The Horse-thieves—Military Judgment.
Under the Shadow of my own Vine and Fig-tree—Too much Sympathy—Again in the Theatre—My First Trip across the Plains—A Fiddle as a Sensation—The Free Fight—My First Lesson in Swimming—Wanted, a New Bow—Judgment on a Whiskey-drinker—The Third Time—Out He Goes—A Stampede—Growing into Favor—The Horse-thieves—Military Judgment.
For a brief time, I again returned to my father, who had been unwilling that I should rejoin Pinkerton. He could stand my being deputy-sheriff under his own eye, but he did not relish my becoming a regular detective.
However, his term of office as sheriff was now expired, and I told him:
"I must do something."
"So you shall," he replied. "There is a nice little farm at some fifteen miles distant. I will buy it for you."
I had never yet resided under what Scripture calls "the shadow of my own vine and fig-tree." The idea struck me in a favorable light, and I cordially accepted his offer, although somewhat doubting my capacity in an agricultural line.
However, the die was cast, and in a few weeks I had settled down in the original occupation of our common parent, having at the same time become a married man.
It must be admitted that from the very start I found wedlock infinitely more agreeable than tilling the soil.
My previous almost nomadic style of existence hadto a great measure incapacitated me for this wearisomely primitive style of life. It was of no use trying to relish it. Luckily, there are all sorts of temperaments in this world, or what would humanity do for wheat, corn, and garden-stuff. My nature was decidedly not adapted to raising them.
My wife saw my utter incapability as a farmer. She was a good little soul, and frequently condoled with me on it.
This was the very worst thing, possibly, that she could have done. It added edge to my disgust with it. Night after night, when the day's work was over, were spent by me in querulously grumbling, and by her in consoling my discontent at my condition in life.
At length the farming season ended, and then my detestation of agriculture was doomed to be inconceivably heightened.
While I had out-of-door occupation, I could stand its regular monotony. Without it, what was there for me to do? I could but wander round the yard, and look at my pigs, fodder my cattle, take a stroll to the next farm, some three miles away, return to my little wife, expect her to console me, and then retire to bed, with the expectation of awaking to another day of the same humdrum existence.
My life had a necessity for positive activity.
The good little soul to whom I was married saw this; possibly too late. However this was, it came about that, with her full consent, although not without many tears on her part, and a considerable quantity of gloomy sorrow on mine, I left her at home, and struck out once more into the world.
It would be useless to narrate every incident of thiswinter, but in the spring of 1855 I brought up at St. Joseph, Missouri.
Here, Maggie Mitchell was at this period playing as a "star," and to her I was indebted for a short engagement in the Theatre. It lasted for six weeks. When it came to a conclusion, I determined upon visiting California, at that time the Ophir and Golconda of the further side of this continent. However, it was no use starting with the small means I then had, unless some positive manner of living in San Francisco, at my first arrival there, was secured. Therefore, I telegraphed to Thomas McGuire, of McGuire's Opera House, who was about to open the New Metropolitan Theatre. In reply, he offered me an engagement for the September following. It was a long time to wait, but luckily I had recently become acquainted with John Crim, of the firm of Crim, Ebright and Coutts, who was organizing a party to cross the Plains.
He spoke to me about joining them, and in almost less time than it takes me to pen these few lines, I had arranged to accompany him.
It was upon the 6th of May, after having written a long and lovingly explanatory letter to my wife, I started from St. Joseph.
There were three hundred and seventy-five head of horses, and seventy-five men, all thoroughly armed and equipped. Each of them was furnished with a Sharp's carbine with sabre-bayonet, and a revolver. It was almost like the moving of a little army. The organization had been made in thorough military style, and perhaps with even more discipline, being under the command of Captain Crim himself.
Naturally, I was almost a total stranger to all of themexcept our leader, but I soon began to form acquaintances, and in a few days became more especially linked in friendship with Dave Horner, the brother to Puss Horner, and the blacksmith of the party. The last was a sturdy Englishman, rejoicing in thesobriquet, by which he was commonly known amongst us, of Brighton Bill.
Our first halting-place was opposite Marysville, on the Big Blue River.
It then consisted of some four or five rough stone houses, covered with dirt, half a dozenadobehuts, as I have since learnt to call them, and a gambling hell, specially designed to pigeon emigrants in those delightful games known as Three-card Monte, the Strap Game, and others of an equally holy and pleasant character. This building, only of one story, was also the station at which the Pony Express changed horses.
After supper, Brighton Bill, Horner, and Pigeon—thus denominated because his outside attire was a swallow-tailed coat—strolled through Marysville. It was the first settlement we had struck since leaving St. Joseph, and we were curious about the customs, habits, and style of living of the place. In any case, I was so decidedly.
Dave had brought his violin with him. He was a capital fiddler, and in travelling across the plains, it is not always necessary to leave our business behind us. Dave certainly carried the means of displaying his accomplishment with him.
That fiddle created a veritable sensation. It might have been imagined that none of the inhabitants of Marysville had ever seen a fiddle before. His music was taken in exchange for whiskey, cigars, and anything else we wanted. Indeed, I began to believe thatCaptain Crim might run the risk of losing Horner as a member of the party. It almost seemed to me, as if, in a day or two, Dave might have become the owner of the whole settlement. However, in supposing this, I had not precisely calculated the full effects of temper and whiskey upon Brighton Bill. He began to feel the effects of the latter and by degrees lost the former. A somewhat scurrilously jocose allusion to his nationality was made by one of the natives. The indignant Briton no sooner heard it, than he struck out, right from the shoulder, in true Johnny Bull fashion. The offending native went down on the sandy soil of the High Street of Marysville as if he had been projected by a catapult.
Some few rows I had seen in my life before this, but never such a free fight as followed.
The whole of the male portion of the settlement (by the bye, it was nearly all of it) joined in themêlée.
Had it not been for the assistance of many of our companions, who had also amused themselves with an exploring tour through Marysville, we might have got the worst of it. Luckily, they took a hand in the game, which saved us. Pistol-shots were, however, freely interchanged, and an individual was dropped, who had just drawn a bead upon Bill, with a bullet behind his ear.
After this, we retreated in as good order as we could, towards the river which lay between us and the spot where our camp was pitched.
The darkness of night had, however, by this time, fallen upon us, and being strangers, our party managed to become separated. Horner and myself kept together, but when we reached the stream, it was at a different portion of it from that where the skiff lay that had borne us over. We knew not which side to turn.
While standing there, we heard the sound of oars; or, more properly, of a means of propulsion bearing an equal consanguinity to oars and paddles. They were peculiar to the Plains at that time. What was to be done? If we had shouted to our friends, we should have disclosed our whereabouts to our enemies.
Horner, however, was a man of educational resource, and volunteered to swim across and return with the skiff for me, as I was unable to accompany him.
It may be imagined I felt some repugnance at being left to the mercy of Marysville, if it should chance to find me. Searching around, I stumbled over something, which, on examination, I discovered was an old "dug-out," or species of impromptu ark. To this I at once determined upon committing myself and my fortunes, with a broad piece of board which I found at some little distance. This might serve as a paddle. Accordingly, as Horner plunged into the river, I availed myself of it. But the cursed thing gave me a lesson I have never since forgotten, when the chance was given me to remember it. It is contained in the old proverbial saying, "look before you leap." The dug-out had a hole in it. Scarcely had it got a dozen yards from the shore, than it was fast filling. In a few yards more, it was under water; and for the sake of remaining above its unpleasantly chilly surface, I, very considerately, let it go to—the bottom.
This was the worst fix I had yet found myself in.
But there is no lane without a turning, although it must be confessed some of these turnings are occasionally sharp and rough. Thinking my last moment was come, and that some time next morning my unconscious body might arrive on shore some miles lower down theriver, to afford a meal to the stray dogs or crows of this part of the country, I struck out recklessly in a battle for as much more of life as I could possibly keep.
A few moments passed. Great Heaven! I did not sink. I was actually swimming.
"Where are you, Dave?" I shouted out, joyously.
"Here, old boy!" was the cheery answer.
That single exclamation settled my wish for conversation while in the Big Blue River. It had filled my mouth with water, and was very nearly on the point of bringing my first lesson in swimming to a most abrupt close. So I kept my tongue quiet, until at length I arrived drippingly joyous at the further side of the stream.
Horner was, necessarily, there before me, and assisted me to mount the bank.
"I thought, Mose, you told me you couldn't swim."
"Nor could I, Dave! You know, necessity is the mother of invention."
"So it seems," he dryly replied. "I only wish it would find me a new bow for my fiddle. The blackguards smashed that."
"It was lucky," I said, "they left you a whole skin."
"Upon my word! it was so," was his answer.
We then from the summit of the bank looked round us, and saw the welcome glow of our smouldering camp-fires, some half a mile below.
Horner spent the remainder of that night, after our return, in attending to his violin. The truth is, it needed it. I, however, slept soundly, and was awoke on the following morning at an early hour in very fair trim. The truth is, early experience had taught me what the results of bad whiskey are, and led me torefrain from an unhealthy indulgence in that exhilarating class of strong drink. But few of our companions had been as prudent. Brighton Bill and Dave more expressly felt the full effects of it; and with a parched tongue, and a splitting headache, heaped their fullest maledictions upon Marysville, and all the ungodly dwellers in that location, during the whole of that day.
His cold-water bath on the preceding night had, however, so modified the effects of whiskey upon Horner, that I was unprepared to find him so depraved in his appetite for it.
He was indifferent how he got it, whether clandestinely, to use the mildest possible phrase, or not. Happening to be on guard one night at our camping-place, he felt this thirst strong upon him. Not having the means of gratification with him, he actually bored a hole in one of the whiskey-barrels, and made free with its contents by means of a straw. In the morning he was what politeness would call "frightfully overcome." In good old Saxon, he was drunk.
Now Captain Crim had a holy horror of peculation—more especially, perhaps, of whiskey-peculation, when it was committed in the manner Dave had been guilty of. Nor in truth do I much blame him. Instead of boring the hole near the top of the barrel, and insuring himself merely sufficient, Horner had bored it about one-third down. He had also omitted to plug it up when he had satisfied himself. There was perhaps some reason for this, as when he had finished drinking he might have failed again to find the aperture.
At all events, when Captain Crim rose in the morning, one-third of the whiskey had dispersed itself over the bottom of the wagon devoted to its carriage, andHorner's guilt was self-evident, putting his own state entirely out of the question.
A drum-head, or rather a whiskey-barrel, court-martial was immediately called together. The impenitent, because scarcely conscious, thief was arraigned, tried, and found guilty. Sentence was, however, suspended. This was partly, because, at the moment, he would have failed to comprehend its justice. More so, because it was hoped that when restored to complete consciousness, his friends might have influence enough with him to prevent the recurrence of so gross a breach of the laws of social equity. At first it appeared it would have done so. But again he fell from the high standard of morality on the Plains, and the captain had determined upon expelling him from the camp. Brighton Bill and myself headed the rest of the party in a strong remonstrance. At first Crim was disposed to defy us, but finding us all united in the wish to save the poor fellow, finally gave way.
The luckless Dave swore himself to perennial sobriety. But, alas! he once more fell from grace, in an emigrant-train. Then Captain Crim insisted with Spartan justice on the rigid execution of the lately postponed sentence.
What could be said upon his behalf? Those who had been willing to deal kindly with him upon the score of his fiddle, could find no word to urge in his favor. Possibly, in their eyes the liquor he had been guilty of abstracting was of greater present value, even, than his violin. One only of us stuck to him. This was a relative, I believe a nephew, of our captain.
"If you turn Dave out, you shall turn me, too;" he said pluckily.
Crim's lips whitened.
"Then, by the Lord!" he said. "Out you both go."
And out both did go, with such provisions as might be immediately necessary, horses, arms, and a sufficiency of powder and shot to last them until they were picked up by another train or scalped by the Indians. The last, however, I doubt, as although I never again heard of Dave Horner, I have reason to believe his companion is now settled in Sacramento, and is a prosperous merchant in that thriving city.
Until we arrived at Ash Hollow, on the south side of the North Platte, nothing of any moment occurred. Here as we were camping, a magnificent and noted bay horse, called Captain Fisher, took fright and started off at a furious pace with a number of the stock. In fact, it was a regular stampede, and one of the most exciting sights I had ever seen. However, I had no more than the first moment to enjoy it in. Action was a necessity, and my old circus-training stood me in good stead, to be of some service. I darted after the bay with a speed that nearly equalled his own. How long this would have held out, it is, of course, impossible for me to say. Something, however, caused Captain Fisher to swerve across my line of pursuit. Leaping, rather than running after him, I succeeded in grasping him by the rope attached to the hackamoor or halter. His terrified speed was so great that I was thrown upon the ground and dragged by him for a considerable distance. But for my long experience as a boy on the sawdust of the arena, it would have been absolutely useless for me to have attempted regaining my feet. How I escaped serious bodily injury from the remainder of the stampeded horses, I never knew. Escape I however did, aswell as again recover a standing or rather a running position. The rest of the business was now comparatively easy—indeed, a mere matter of time. Clinging to the rope, I compelled him to slacken his pace, until, at last, I succeeded in grasping the affrighted animal by the mane and vaulting upon his back. There, I was the master, and he was not long in finding it out.
It was about three miles from our halting-place when I succeeded in turning him. The remainder of the stampeded horses followed us. Thoroughly cowed by his past fright, and the certainty that he had to do as I chose, we arrived at the camp.
All my mates crowded round me with congratulations, and Captain Crim shook me by the hand as I leapt from the back of the other Captain with a warmth that was at the least as effective as it was affecting. It was the second time he had honored me. The first occasion was when I had entered upon my service with him in St. Joseph. Nor did his second grip mean nothing. It established me, with him, from that hour, as a prime favorite.
In the vicinity of Chimney Rock, we encountered an apparently agreeable party of some half-dozen travellers, who applied for permission to travel with our train. Captain Crim complied with their request, extending to them the camp privileges on condition of their complying with its necessary restrictions. Our new friends seemed not only grateful for his hospitable kindness, but too eager to display their gratitude.
They continued with us some two days, without exciting any suspicion.
During the second night after their admission to the camp, it happened to be my watch, and while on myrounds, I seemed to notice a movement in some of the animals which indicated that all was not perfectly as it should be. They did not seem as quiet as usual.
Bending closer to the earth and gazing along it, with my eyes covered by my hand from the glare of the camp-fires, I saw some description of animal, which I at once supposed was a coyote or Prairie-wolf. As yet, such an animal was unknown to me. To make assurance doubly sure, I raised my rifle to my shoulder, and in another instant should have blazed away at it, when it suddenly straightened itself up, yelling out frantically:
"For God's sake, don't shoot!"
"Come in, then," was my answer.
As the fellow gradually sneaked nearer to me, it seemed that I recognized him. And, very certainly, when he was within the light of the camp-fires, I did so. It was one of the party of agreeable gentlemen whom our captain had hospitably permitted to travel with us. The scoundrel had been tampering with the fastenings of our horses, preparatory to stealing them.
Never shall I forget Captain Crim's look of unutterable horror at the fellow, when I woke him up in his tent, with my prisoner. The indignation which he had exhibited on poor Dave Horner's third detection in whiskey-stealing, was nothing to it.
"A darned horse-thief! Who'd ever have thought it!"
"I assure you, Captain—"
"Hold your tongue, you infernal rascal, or, by Heaven! I'll make short work of you and your companions."
"Let me explain, my dear sir!" he whined.
"Have them all turned out, Mose!" thundered Crim."They are lucky to have me to deal with them. Any one else would have hanged the whole lot."
By this time, the whole camp was alive, more especially our forty-eight hour acquaintances. These disowned the culprit, as a stranger who had but recently joined them. Their defence was, however, too thin; and as the ominous murmur arose around them that—
"Lynching would be the shortest and best settlement of the matter"—
It was concluded by them, it would be wisest to obey. This, the more especially, as I had collected some dozen of my immediate friends, who stood ominously close to me, with rifles in hand, and six-shooters very palpably visible.
In another ten minutes, they had all left the camp.
When we arrived at Fort Laramie, Crim reported this gang of marauding horse-thieves to the officer in command of that post. Several days on our route beyond the fort, we were overtaken by the Pony Express, and learned that this very band had been captured in its immediate vicinity. Military justice is very prompt. It may make an occasional mistake, although not often. They had all been hung.
Caught by the Indians—A Pleasant Ride—One Pitying Face—Benefit of being a Mason—The Evil Eye—Indian Beauty and Indian Eating—The Offer of Marriage—Declining it, makes me a Friend—A Second and More Tempting Offer—Declining it, does not make me an Enemy—Pulling up my Stakes with Honor—The Pony Express—Again with the Train.
Caught by the Indians—A Pleasant Ride—One Pitying Face—Benefit of being a Mason—The Evil Eye—Indian Beauty and Indian Eating—The Offer of Marriage—Declining it, makes me a Friend—A Second and More Tempting Offer—Declining it, does not make me an Enemy—Pulling up my Stakes with Honor—The Pony Express—Again with the Train.
Previous to our reaching Fort Laramie, we had been able to procure plenty of fresh meat.
The antelope and buffalo had almost seemed waiting for our rifles. Now, however, we met with few or none of either of these, and the scarcity began to be severely felt.
Even Captain Crim grew more peppery with us than he had before been, and Brighton Bill lost his usual ruddy jollity.
Consequently, one morning, I started out with a determination to find fresh meat or die. To tell the truth, it came very near to being the latter.
As yet, all the Indians we had met with on the Plains had been of friendly tribes, and at this time no danger was anticipated. I was already some six or seven miles from our train, on the upper side of the North Platte, past what they call the Rattlesnake Hills, when I beheld approaching me a party of Indians. At this time, I was unaware what tribe they were, although now I should pretty readily be able to tell that they were Cheyennes. These are generally hostile to the whites,unless overawed by superior numbers. I necessarily mean, a proportionately superior number—about one, perhaps, to three. The party approached me in an apparently friendly manner, or else the fleet gelding I was mounted on might easily have distanced them. On approaching nearer, they requested, in the usual Indian manner, for tobacco or powder. The first, I readily enough gave them. The latter I was not inclined to part with. Suddenly one of the Indians drew closer to me, and laid his hand on my rifle. I pulled it back from him, and at the same moment was grasped round the waist from behind, by a savage whom I had not previously noticed.
My desperate struggles were in vain. I was torn from my horse, and in a few moments more found myself weaponless, with my arms pinioned behind me, and lashed on the back of one of their ponies. The raw hide-whangs round my waist were tied so tightly as almost to stop the circulation.
The animal was then turned loose, and followed with whoop and yell by the savages as if they had been nothing else than a band of devils. The Cheyenne who was probably their chief had appropriated my horse. How madly I wished that Charlie would throw the red demon as he galloped after me, shouting and whooping like an incarnate fiend.
In that mad race, for at the moment I almost fancied the Indians and myself were all lunatics on a wild race to the infernal regions, what a paroxysm of despairing thought rushed through my mind. Was I to go out of life something like the dying snuff of a candle, without one free blow in a square fight? And these were the Indians I had read of as a boy, these cowardly, sneakingred curs, who had not dared to give me a chance for my life. Great God! Where was Brighton Bill and my other companions? What would Captain Crim say if he ever heard of this? Then I thought of my father, Pinkerton, Maggie Mitchell; and, as my wife's face rose on my vision—my good little wife, I could or would think no more. All became momentarily a blank. Again, however, I returned to my senses. I heard the whooping yell of the red devil who was astride of my gelding, Charlie, and I cursed him in good round Saxon, as if he could understand me.
But what is the use of dwelling upon this. After a ride of some two hours and a half, in a fashion I had never expected to attempt, my captors came in sight of an Indian village.
Here I was cut loose from the pony upon which I had performed the most painful feat of horsemanship I had ever attempted, and dragged instead of led into the presence of the chief of the tribe. All the inhabitants of the village surrounded me. Squaws, old and young, papooses of either sex, and all the components of an Indian mob, were crowding around the white captive.
One only face I saw which displayed anything like pity. It was that of an Indian girl of some sixteen years. Whether it was pretty or ugly, I knew not. I only felt that I saw sorrow in her large and star-like eyes, as they gazed upon me.
Curiously enough, they gave me a sensation of hope. The moment before I had been madly desiring that the drama of life, with me, might come to an end. Now, I began to think and weigh my chances, which, to own up, at the present moment appeared slim enough for safety.
My hands and arms seemed almost dead, and some minutes elapsed before they recovered the consciousness of life. Looking in the face of the chief, I saw that he was an old man. As in great age it not unfrequently happens, his face had regained somewhat of the kindliness of youth. At any rate it lacked the repulsive character which marked that of my captor. Suddenly, it seemed to me—was I dreaming? No! This time, I was certain of it. He had made the Masonic sign of distress. The girl's sympathetic glance had been palpably an omen of good.
Trembling with agitation I responded.
What immediately followed I am unable to recall. Indeed, I doubt whether at the time I was thoroughly conscious of it.
When I undoubtedly had fully recovered my presence of mind, I found that matters had completely changed for me. The death at the stake, which had seemed to be my destiny, had faded from my senses. The red devils almost seemed to have been transmuted into copper-colored angels. I was seated on a buffalo-robe, and some of the elder squaws were bathing my swollen limbs with cooling lotions, and looking—gratitude was almost compelling me to say what literal truth cannot. They certainly did not look in any wise amiable or handsome.
While this was going on, a tall and splendidly formed specimen of the red man entered the hut. He was dressed in a robe or tunic, magnificently embroidered with shells and beads. He had evidently been sent for by the chief, as I soon discovered, because he was able to speak English. The only blemish in his personal appearance was a sort of dip in his right eyebrow, whichpartially closed the organ beneath. White superstition might possibly have gifted him with the evil eye. The Indian name he bore somewhat corresponded with this, as he was called Par-a-wau, or "The Warning Devil."
First, addressing the chief (I afterwards found this was Old Spotted Tail) in their own tongue, he received an answer.
Then turning to me, he extended his hand and gave me the Masonic grip. After this, he seated himself beside me, and addressed me in my own tongue, asking how I came upon the hunting-grounds of the Cheyennes, where I was from, and whither I was going? When he had received my answers and repeated them to the chief in the tongue of their tribe, he next began to inquire very minutely about Masonry among the palefaces. In subsequent conversations with him, for in the present case I had only to reply, I found that the Indians had first been initiated in its mysteries by the agents of the Hudson Bay Company. Neither had it been much carried beyond the northern and western tribes. This was learnt from Par-a-wau, when I began to feel perfectly at ease with him.
At this time I was merely a captive, although I had, from the mere chance of Old Spotted Tail's appreciation of my personal appearance, escaped the risk of no longer being one, by the most speedy means of escape from life my red acquaintances could have devised for me, consistently with their own amusement. Be it remembered, in stating this fact, individual vanity bears no part—the Indian idea of comeliness being very much the reverse, in general, of the white man's idea of that desirable qualification.
After his examination of me had been brought to anend, he made an oration of some length to the aged Cheyenne chief. He had risen to his feet as he did so, and the grace of his movements, with his full and rollingly sonorous voice, might have done credit to the best of our own orators. Indeed, so completely did his gesture translate his speech, that I could almost follow every word of the appeal he was making for me. He was evidently pleading for my pardon. This I feel I should have received, if I am sufficiently a judge of human features to have translated the benign savageness of Old Spotted Tail's countenance. But there are always two sides to a question, and the young chief, who had appropriated not only myself but my gelding, Charlie, now put in for a long talk. I could swear he was not half as eloquent as Par-a-wau. However, what he said in a harsh voice, and with a large amount of what might be called temperate wrath, settled the question in discussion. The elders of the tribe gave him, twice or thrice, that discordant grunt of acquiescence which Fenimore Cooper, the modern writer, has translated more musically as—
"Ugh!"
Consequently Old Spotted Tail pronounced a few words, and my red lawyer—so I began to consider Warning Devil, although I had been unable to fee him—turning to me, said in English:
"Will my brother come with Par-a-wau to his dwelling?"
Of course I would, because I must. How, indeed, could I do otherwise? So I followed him. The fact is, I had begun to entertain a certain degree of liking for the chief with the evil eye. He had befriended me. If my Cheyenne captivity had been a long one, Iscarcely doubt that this liking would have ripened. However, I had now to accompany him. Let my readers conceive how great was my astonishment when I entered his hut after him, to find my first glance riveted by his daughter.
She was the Indian maiden whose look of sympathizing pity had, some two hours previously, called back my numbed senses to new life and hope.
"Will Clo-ke-ta provide my brother food?"
She too, then, spoke, or at any rate comprehended, my language, for she made no reply, but began to busy herself in preparing an Indian meal. During the time which elapsed before it was ready, I was able in a most satisfactory manner to take an inventory of her personal attractions. These I shall, however, refrain from inflicting upon my readers. Let it be sufficient to say that she was one of the most beautiful children of the red man (if not the only really beautiful one) I had ever seen.
Perhaps it was well for me, that while I was watching her every supple and graceful movement, the thought of the dear little wife who was waiting for me in the far East, appealed to my love for her.
Otherwise, it may have been possible that I might have forgotten civilization forever. The nomadic life had always great attractions for me. Where could I more thoroughly have indulged in it, than as the son-in-law of Warning Devil, and the owner of such a charming squaw as Clo-ke-ta might have proved to me? However, this was a wrong, as well as not altogether agreeable, reflection.
Turning my head with something like a sigh on my lips to Par-a-wau, I saw that his one unhidden eye was fixed steadily upon me.
"My brother is sad," he said. "But the trees are not always green. He must wait in peace until they once more bud."
He had scarcely interpreted the meaning of my sigh. Yet his poetical words (whatever nonsense may be prated about them by novelists, such Indians as I have met with rarely display any trace of poetical feeling) brought me thoroughly back to my present position, and I asked him:
"How long I should have to remain a captive with the Cheyennes?"
This he was unable to say, but he informed me Old Spotted Tail had granted me the freedom of the village, although with the precaution that an Indian guard should accompany me whenever Par-a-wau could not.
Clo-ke-ta now had the meal prepared, which was a very satisfactory spread for an appetite which had been unattended to since the early hour in which I left Captain Crim's camp. The jerked antelope and the roasted maize were in truth excellent, and if I only had been offered a horn of whiskey to wash it down with, I might not altogether have regretted the dinner I had lost. This, especially when I now remember the bright eyes and raven hair of her who attended to the need of my inner man.
The fancy, which Old Spotted Tail had evidently taken for me, was destined to exhibit itself in true Indian fashion.
He offered me one of his own daughters in marriage.
But I was not educated in Mormonism; and even had I been, it may be questionable, while I daily saw Clo-ke-ta, whether El-eu-e-na, which was the name of the chief's daughter, would have had any attractions forme. She was not particularly interesting in appearance. Whether she had any fancy for my luckless self or not, it would be impossible for me to say. An Indian girl's affections do not count for much in the eyes of their fathers. In spite of this, I most respectfully declined the alluring offer, through Par-a-wau, with, as he afterwards informed me, the most profound expression of thankfulness for the undeserved honor Old Spotted Tail had done me.
This seemed to me, as I listened without understanding, to greatly gratify the chief who had captured me, and led to a result that was infinitely more gratifying to myself, as he aspired to the honor of registering himself as one of Old Spotted Tail's sons-in-law.
On the same evening, however, I was destined to a really far greater temptation. It was after the evening meal, and I was seated near Par-a-wau. His child was putting away the willow platters and other means of serving up and disposing of the food she had, as customary, prepared. While she was attending to her domestic duties, Warning Devil, without any warning, addressed me.
"My brother has keen eyes."
"They are sharp enough at times, but they could not keep me out of the hands of the Cheyennes."
"He knows that El-eu-e-na is not fair to look on." I could not help laughing as he said this. "Nor would she make a good squaw. She could not prepare the buffalo or the antelope, nor clean my brother's rifle, nor embroider his moccasins, as a great chief needs that she should." What the deuce was he coming to? I was not doomed to wait long, for after a pause he addressed me this question in an affirmative manner,which I at once understood. "My brother has seen Clo-ke-ta?"
"Yes!"
"And what does he think of her?"
For my life, I could not have helped casting a swift glance at the Indian girl. She was standing near us, with her eyes veiled by their brown lids, and a crimson blush glowing through her dusky skin, over her cheeks, forehead, neck, and all of the upper portion of her person which was exposed. So fierily red was this flush, I could not help seeing it even in the gathering gloom.
"Cannot my father see with his own eyes," I replied. "She is as fair as the young red morning."
This was said by me in a grave and reserved tone, which among men of my own race would have precluded the continuance of the parent in what I felt he had been about to say. But I had not counted truly upon the Indian nature. My present gravity was the exact reproduction of his own. It was so unlike my usual manner, that he evidently supposed I had taken the matter he was about to propose into serious consideration. He consequently again spoke.
"If my brother will take Clo-ke-ta as his squaw, he shall be to Par-a-wau as a son, in place of the young warrior who is dead. He knows, for he has seen what Clo-ke-ta can do for her father's friend. She will do more for him who marries her. Shall it be as Par-a-wau says?"
It must frankly be admitted that for one moment the loveliness of the face I had just seen, and which I dared not again glance at, made me waver. Then, the memory of my wife and my own actual father rushed acrossme with passionate force, and I spoke. I was no longer a coward.
Looking up, I told the noble savage—for I have the right to call him noble—all. I told him that I was already married, and had my father still living; that if I were to do what he had offered me the means of doing, I should bring a stain upon my name their tenderness might never blot from it.