On finding myself at the ranche
"On finding myself at the ranche, I was a decided object of curiosity and jeering comment to those with whom I was about to make my temporary home."—Page 92.
As this thought crossed me, a kindly hand was laid upon my shoulder, and a cheery voice cried out:
"My boy! you surely did not think I had forgotten you?"
It was Captain Crim who spoke. He had ridden into the town for the express purpose of recommending me to Governor Roop, with whom he was an old acquaintance. It would be useless, as well as a gross piece of vanity, were I here to relate all my late leader said of me. It will be enough to state here, his words were more than enough. The Governor gave him his ready assurance that I should want for nothing, until my former health and energy were completely restored.
Then, turning to me, he bade me follow him. Onarriving at the only hotel in the place, he told the landlord to give me the best room in the house, and allow me to remain as long as I desired. The account was to be charged to himself.
It would be impossible for me to keep my engagement in San Francisco, on the tenth of the coming September. Indeed, I had requested Captain Crim, before quitting the train, to explain this to McGuire. As for my dear little wife, to whom I had written so hopefully from St. Joseph, what could I now say to her? I dared not write. In spite of Crim's kindness, and the even greater kindness of the Governor to a perfect stranger, that afternoon and evening were passed by me in a condition of extreme depression.
With the next morning, a happier state of mind came. For the first time in many weeks, I had slept in a decent bed. It was certainly not a palatial hotel, yet my breakfast was a better one, as well as more approximating to civilization, than any I had recently enjoyed. The sun shone through the curtainless windows in an inspiring way. The movement of the life around me was different from that which I had recently experienced. In fact, all, for the time, seemed new. The complete change had already comparatively reinvigorated me.
From this moment I began rapidly to recover my health, and in a few weeks was able to look around for such employment as the place could afford.
Nothing available could be found.
During this period, I had frequently met with miners and conversed with them. The chances and struggles of their life had a considerable attraction for me. At last I decided upon "prospecting" for gold. Success in this appeared to offer me the only possibility I couldsee of repaying Governor Roop what I had cost him (his kindness to me it would be impossible to repay) and leaving the ranche, like an honest man. After spending some two weeks with little or no success, I, at length, established what I believed to be a good claim in Light's Cañon.
Honestly, I may say that I went to work with a will. Fortune, however, was long in coming. For many weeks, I made merely enough from my claim to whet my appetite for more.
Perseverance however generally pays. At last I made more than enough to pay my debts. A few days after accomplishing this, I had cancelled my debt to him who had so kindly befriended me. Then, as the winter had begun somewhat earlier than usual, with many thanks to the Governor, I located in Susanville, where I decided to remain until the spring.
The truth is, I had already tasted the keenest excitement I had yet found in life, because it is the most fluctuating and uncertain. The chances in gold-prospecting and gold-digging are so variable, that I defy any young man who has once tempted them, readily to put them from him. The poor devil who has been at it for months, and gained merely enough to sustain his existence, may, in a single afternoon, find his toil munificently rewarded. Like the gambler, he stakes. It is not money, so much as life and work. A single hour may possibly give him a thousand-fold the value of that which he, perchance, considers an almost worthless stake.
After Gold—The Pah-ute and Washo Indians—Running off Stock—Paying Tribute—The Oath of Vengeance—Some Silver Bullets—"Knowing Dem Vellers"—An Ungirthed Saddle—The Unbalanced Account—Recruiting—The Buckskin Rangers—A Little Biography—My New Horse—A Storm in the Mountains—Unintentional Firing—Out of the Tempest.
After Gold—The Pah-ute and Washo Indians—Running off Stock—Paying Tribute—The Oath of Vengeance—Some Silver Bullets—"Knowing Dem Vellers"—An Ungirthed Saddle—The Unbalanced Account—Recruiting—The Buckskin Rangers—A Little Biography—My New Horse—A Storm in the Mountains—Unintentional Firing—Out of the Tempest.
It is unnecessary for me to detail the events of my campaign for gold during the following year and a half. At this moment, wealth seemed within my grasp, and in the next I might be mourning over or cursing my unrealized hopes. However, in 1857, wearied out with my apparently vain battle with Fortune, chance called me to another field of adventure.
There were in that year, all told, very certainly no more than seventy or seventy-five persons living in the Valley of Honey Lake. Of these, the larger proportion were engaged in ranching and stock-raising. Among them, the leading men were, after Governor Roop, Peter Lassen, W. T. C. Elliott, more familiarly known as Ruff Elliott, the Bass Boys, David Titherington, Tom Harvey, the Spencers, Captain W. Hill Naileigh, David Blanchard, Albert Smith, Orlando Streschley, Ed Mulrooney, Laninger, Storff, Watson, Kingsberry, Doc. Slater, and a few others.
At this time, the Washo and Pah-ute Indians were in the neighborhood. Occasionally, they appeared quite friendly, and would do a spell of work for the settlers,taking provisions in payment for such labor as they might choose to do.
No sooner, however, had they a good supply on hand than they would indulge in their natural propensity for stealing stock, frequently running off thirty or forty head of cattle at a time. It made no difference to them whether these were working oxen or milch cows, so long as they had horns. As none of the settlers were wealthy men, this unscrupulous appetite for marauding upon their stock was exceedingly disgusting. Treaty after treaty had been made with the Indians, and were equally worthless, whenever they had a fair show for stealing cattle with the chance of escaping retributive justice.
At length, the matter came to a head. The red robbers had run off nearly the whole of the stock belonging to a particular friend of mine. The nearest neighbors held an immediate meeting and determined, if possible, upon tracking the rascals and bringing them to book.
Arming ourselves, we started at once in pursuit. Striking their trail, which was very plain, we continued after them for the best part of two days.
In the noon of the second day, discovering that they were pursued, the Indians resorted to the cowardly expedient of killing the whole of the cattle. They cut open their sides, and let out their intestines, afterwards scaling the side of the mountain, to the north-east of the valley in which we had sighted them.
It was a lamentably pitiable spectacle to see the poor brutes moaning their moan of death, with their glazing eyes turned upon those who had come too late to save them.
Out of gun-shot, the Pah-utes—for the cruel scoundrelsbelonged to this tribe—taunted us in no very heroic style. This was effected by extending their hands in front of their noses, as well as by a most expressive and insulting pantomimic slap on a very significant portion of their bodies. Blackguardism seems confined to no special race or country. So, at least, it appears to me.
After a brief council of war, pursuit was decided upon, and we began to mount the precipice. Harry Arnold was with me, and we managed to delude the Indians into the belief that they were beyond the range of our rifles, by letting the few shots we considered it advisable to fire, fall short of them. This ruse tempted one of them on an eminence at some distance, to repeat his aggravating gesture.
"I believe I can pick that scamp off with my old Kentucky rifle, Harry!"
"He's more than three hundred and fifty yards off, Mose!"
"I don't think he is."
"If any man can fetch him, you or I can. It's worth trying."
He had scarcely concluded when the crack of my rifle was heard.
The Pah-ute, who had been standing up in a more defiantly noble position than previously, uttered a loud yell, bounding into the air and rolling over the edge of the cliff, on to the rocks below.
His mashed and mangled body furnished me with his scalp. The shot, however, fair as it was, had been an ill-advised one. Its result was, that when we reached the bluff on which he had been standing, not another of the red scoundrels was visible. Nor did any of them show themselves after this, even at double the distancewhich had tempted him to indulge in such an insulting gesticulation.
On returning home, we found the whole of the valley, or, rather, those of its inhabitants who had not formed part of our party, in a state of intense excitement. The Indians had threatened a general massacre of the whites in it, if they refused immediately to leave it. It may be readily imagined, the death of the Pah-ute brave was ill-adapted to mollify such a determination. Under these circumstances, it was decided, should the affair come to the worst, on giving the red-skins as warm a reception as was in our power. But, in the meantime, Peter Lassen and one or two of the older settlers, with Governor Roop, were despatched to Pyramid Lake to hold a conference with Win-a-muc-ca, the Pah-ute chief, and, if they could do so, make a treaty with him.
This was effected. We had to give a certain number of head of cattle, several thousand pounds of flour, sugar, and tobacco, as well as many other small articles, in order to remain unmolested. It was neither more nor less than tribute.
It is said that years bring wisdom. In any case Age had decided against an Indian war in the neighborhood of Honey Lake Valley. Youth necessarily had to submit.
The demands of this treaty were a severe drain upon the settlement, the more especially as the winter set in early, with unusual severity. We were for more than four months shut in from the outer world, not even being able to reach Indian Valley, where we had been accustomed to have our wheat ground. It was ground during this time in a coffee-mill, and being out of coffee, we were compelled to use roasted barley as a substitute.In addition to this, we had robbed ourselves of blankets to supply the Indians; and in this comparatively destitute condition, it was at times a difficult matter to supply the wants of the women and children.
Towards the close of the following year the Indians again became troublesome, until, in 1859, another treaty was patched up with them.
During this period one of the most popular and estimable men in the settlement, named Painter, was shot by a party of Pah-utes, who were in ambush at the head of Surprise Valley. Intelligence of this was brought us, by two or three companions who had been with him.
Painter's brother Ben applied to myself and some others to accompany him and bury the body. When we reached the spot, we found it cut and mutilated in the most frightful manner. Ben, with the rest of us, kneeling beside it, took a solemn oath to be avenged, whenever the opportunity was afforded us. Having then buried the body, we named the valley Painter's Cañon. It holds this name to the present day.
In the fall of the same year, a report spread that a man called Foreman had struck a valuable silver-mine in the vicinity of Black Rock. This was the same place, in which one of the settlers had discovered a large lump of silver ore. His name was Harding. Being on a hunting expedition at the time, and out of lead, he had run it into bullets.
A tolerable degree of excitement was caused amongst us, by the confirmation of previous suppositions, we presumed was thus given. But Black Rock was more than a hundred and twenty miles beyond Susanville, on the north-west side of Queen's River Desert. Its distanceprevented many from going to prospect the place. However, after two or three days' talk over the matter, old Pete Lassen, with a man named Clapp, myself, and two other of the boys, determined upon verifying this report. On the following day, therefore, striking the old Emigrant Road, and continuing it as far as Granite Creek, our little party followed the Granite range of mountains up to Stove-pipe Springs. Thence, we crossed them to the Black Rock range. On the whole of the way, recently, we had encountered wandering Indians. They had seemed very friendly. We were, however, in a section of the country which the red-skins evidently considered their rightful property.
The place of encampment this night, selected by Uncle Peter, was very unfavorably situated. But when I advised him to allow me to select a more defensible location, on higher ground than that adjoining the small creek which he had chosen, the old German was obstinate.
"Tamn it, my poy! Don't you 'spose I know dem vellers. Dey von't hurt old Pete. You must give dem some crub, my poy! Dat ish all dey vants."
"That may be, Uncle Peter," I replied; "but I wouldn't trust the last three or four lots of red devils we have met, out of the range of my rifle."
Just at this moment a party of some dozen Indians approached the little camp, and the peaceful Peter motioning them with his hand, shouted out:
"Comes t'here!"
Understanding his inviting action, if not his words, they flocked around him. The old Dutchman gave them some bread, meat, and tobacco. Before they left us, he added to these things some powder and caps.
"A very dangerous gift," as I grumbled out in a low tone of voice.
When, after having got all they could, they quitted us, I expressed my wish to Uncle Pete to stand on guard during the night.
"Don't be a tamned vool!" was his reply. "I dink you ar' scared of dem Injins. If you vants, go on de hill, and leaff old Pete by himself. I hafe no vear."
Irritated by his answer, I blurted out:
"As you are determined to stay here, Uncle Peter, we'll not leave you."
But although, shortly after, the rest who were with him followed the old Dutchman's example, and after a smoke—the usual night-cap of the scout or trapper, spread out their blankets and prepared for rest, I was unable to do so. The unerring presentiment, which, without inspiring terror, tells us to be prepared for danger ahead, kept me on the watch. It was, therefore, at an early hour I aroused the camp.
"I'll pet," exclaimed the Dutchman, wrathful at what he considered his untimely wakening, turning to Clapp, "dat Mose vas not sleep all night."
"I tell you," was my sharp reply, "we had better get out of this place, cursed quickly!"
All of them, the old man excepted, turned out. In spite of Clapp's remonstrances, he, however, re-rolling himself in his blanket, petulantly exclaimed:
"Vell! I shleeps, some more."
It was scarcely a quarter of an hour after this, when we were fired upon from the craggy rocks which commanded our position. This volley slaughtered two of our doomed band. With very pardonable anger, although I have since regretted this ebullition of temper,I administered a sharp kick to the form of Uncle Peter, who was rolling out of his blankets.
"Get up, at once," I sung out. "I suppose you'll follow my advice, now."
"Dey von't hurt old Pete," he responded, "so I vill get my plankets."
Thoroughly out of patience with him, I leaped into my saddle, and it was none too soon. Another volley took down Clapp, who was just mounting. Thinking, at last, there might be some danger, the Dutchman made a spring for Clapp's horse. In consequence of the saddle not being properly girthed, it slid round with him, and he fell to the ground. Before he could spring to his feet, the concealed Indians had put two bullets through his body. Then, quitting their hiding-place, they rushed upon me. One ball from my rifle settled the foremost of them. With a vigorous thrust from my heels to the flanks of the horse I was mounted on, I shook out my bridle and fled, in the midst of a perfect shower of bullets and arrows. All but one of the last missed me. This inflicted a scalp-wound, and for a moment I reeled in my saddle.
Turning immediately after, I once more raised my rifle, and had the satisfaction of wiping out one more Indian life, as a partial payment for the four they had taken.
Fairly out of danger of pursuit, I groaned over the death of Peter Lassen and my three companions.
No longer, my anger (the results had amply proved its justice) reproached him for the obstinate hardihood with which he had so untowardly ended our silver-hunting expedition.
Nevertheless, I was in no position to indulge either inwrath or sorrow. My present course was to be determined on. After a brief counsel with myself, I decided on continuing my flight through that part of the country settlers called the Desert. Few trees or rising hills marked this. Consequently I should here have less chance of risking a second Indian ambuscade. Indeed, on approaching Granite Creek, surrounding indications betrayed the presence of red-skins in the neighborhood, and although in want of water for myself and the animal I was mounted on, I preferred taking my chances on the comparatively barren plain.
The monument erected to Peter Lassen
"The monument erected to Peter Lassen in Honey Lake Valley."—Page 103.
Providentially, about nightfall I reached a spring. Here I dismounted, and gave my horse some two hours' rest.
Remounting, I then continued my way, piloting myself by the stars, as a fugitive on the Plains has frequently to do, if, as in the present case, although there was no moon, the night is clear enough to afford such a series of guide-posts to the wanderer.
Sunrise brought me to Smoke Creek. After another short rest, I again pulled out for Susanville.
The last fifty miles was hard work for the worn-out and jaded animal, whose enduring bottom had so largely contributed to my escape.
All in Susanville and around it were struck with horror, when I detailed the circumstances of the slaughter, from which I was the sole survivor. A large portion of the prominent settlers, amongst which Governor Roop was the most influential, coincided with me in denouncing all further treaties with the treacherous Indians, whether Pah-utes or of any other tribe.
However, some who had families, and were not unreasonably apprehensive for their safety in the event ofa continuous struggle, warmly opposed our views. At this time, they believed that the red-skins around us numbered some eight or ten thousand.
In the face of their opposition, with the co-operation of Governor Roop, I determined upon a plan of action.
The first man I spoke to about joining me was Harry Arnold. He was a good shot, and a man of dauntless courage—not knowing what an impossibility might be. Not only did he consent to work with me, but gave me invaluable assistance in drawing together such tough and determined fellows as each of us could rely upon. Amongst these was Ben Painter, Luther Spencer, David Blanchard, my old friend Brighton Bill, Butch' Hasbrouck, and a number of others, as good men as ever rammed a ball down a rifle. In all, on the succeeding day, when we compared notes, we found twenty-four men had signed the roll, and pledged themselves to readiness at twenty minutes' notice. Both agreeing these were enough, we met on the following day in Willow Creek Valley, some fourteen to sixteen miles north of Susanville, where we completed our organization. The company was to take the name of theBuckskin Rangers, of which I was to be the captain. Harry Arnold and Ben Painter were chosen as my first and second lieutenants, while every one else was to act as an orderly sergeant, as well as his own commissary. Our agreement was that we should all dress in buckskin, at our own expense. Indeed, every man was to furnish his entire fit-out, complete for active service.
It will afterwards be seen, what this active service actually meant.
The next thing we had to do, was to select our horses.Jack Bird, settled at the lower end of Honey Lake, owned a large stock. Besides presenting me with one of his own special favorites, to which he had given the name of the Tipton Slasher, he contributed to mounting the Rangers, most liberally.
The animal he gave me was a dapple iron-gray, partly of Spanish stock, with fine clean limbs, and of great speed and endurance. When Jack gave it to me, he said:
"Look here, Mose! if you ever let a darned red-skin catch you, it will be when you are not on Tip's back."
So much for the horse. Now, for myself.
Here was another change in my life. Circus-rider, pop-corn merchant, actor, detective, enlisted in an emigrant-train, gold-digger, and engaged with stock, I was now a ranger, and about to start in a new avocation. Hitherto, the red men I had come across had been looking after me and mine. Now, I was about to look after them.
The wild, dense forest, the gigantic mountains, the untrodden wilderness, sweeping beneath the sky with its varying swell, the unbroken waste and desert with the savage dwellers in it, whose crimson hands were against all civilization and gory with the uncounted murders of the white man, were now to furnish me with all the delight my nature could crave from a life of constant excitement. If I thought of my home and my friends, hundreds upon hundreds of miles away from me, I fear, at this time, it was with no inconsolable feelings of regret. In truth, I was about to become the veritable pioneer and protector of the scarcely-rooted civilization in which my lot had lately been cast. What chance was there I could over-much think of the past, in theabsolute toil and the positive demand for vital activity of the present?
I was now about twenty-four years of age. My frame always promising strength, had become robust and powerful. Nature had gifted me with a sufficiently good constitution, as well as some considerable amount of energy. In addition to this, I possessed self-confidence enough to render me equal to the position in which fortune and adventure had placed me.
By the bye, it may be as well for me here to say a few words respecting Jack Bird, who was commonly called by his acquaintances "the" Captain.
About fifty-five years of age, and rather above the medium height, he possessed a powerful frame. Of dark complexion, and with piercing hazel eyes; he was a Mississipian, or, as he was used to say, he "came from old Massisip." In a word, a native, as he himself told me, of Arkansas, he was a splendid specimen of the class of men raised between civilized life and the extreme frontier of that civilization. Thus he had been made a backwoodsman by nature and predisposition, as well as necessity. With an active and energetic mind, he had carved out for himself in this wild country, a comparative fortune.
Had he been reared in New York State, he might have grown to the proportions of a Vanderbilt.
As, however, he had neither ferries to cross, nor railways to lay out, he occupied himself in traversing mountains, and in creating settlements. Not having legislatures to buy up, his restless energy had occupied itself in the control of savage life. An emigrant to California in 1849, he had engaged at first in mining. Afterwards, he went into stock-raising. It had been in 1857that he settled on the boundaries of Honey Lake. Here he remained, until the close of the late war. Then, he decided upon returning for a brief period to his old homestead. He was, however, doomed never to reach it. Starting overland by stage, he was slaughtered, with the driver and other of the passengers, by the Indians, and never reached the place of his birth. He was one of the far too numerous victims, thrust forward by the restless progress of the day, in the face of the red savages, who have up to the present time been sheltered under the protecting ægis of our Government. A nobler, kinder-hearted, and franker man, perhaps, I have never met with.
It was somewhat previous to the formation of the Buckskin Rangers, to whose efficiency he had so largely and liberally contributed, that new silver-mines had been discovered, near what is now known as Virginia City, as well as in Gold Hill near Carson City, in Nevada. This discovery had created considerable excitement, and a large number of fortune-seekers were already flocking to the mines. The Indians, however, were quite as active as the searchers after wealth. Scarcely a day passed which was unmarked by the murder of some poor prospector, in that vicinity.
Their scalped remains invariably attested the means by which they had met their death.
The red-skins seemed almost as ubiquitous as devils. Wherever they passed, the trail of blood was left behind them.
In order to put a stop to their murderous depredations, Major Ormsby, at that period, well known throughout the country, in the neighborhood of Carson City, formed a company. Another smaller company, whichhad organized in Virginia City, for the same purpose, and already started out for the Pyramid Mountains, near the Reservation, had also joined him. Altogether, this party numbered something over one hundred and fifty men.
Large as this body was, it was destined to meet with ill-luck, or, probably, I should give it a much graver name.
Finding that the Indians had retreated into the mountains, Ormsby determined on advancing upon them, and driving them from their stronghold.
In doing so, he probably counted upon punishing them with a severity, which should free the neighborhood for some length of time from their murderous presence.
Whether it arose from his ignorance of the mode of warfare pursued by the red-skins, or from his over-confidence in his own numbers, it would be impossible now to determine. All I know is, that Ormsby's command was met with a terrific fire, which drove them back.
Whilst they were in full retreat, their enemies broke from their cover, and created a thorough panic in their ranks.
This resulted in a frightful disaster. Out of the hundred and fifty men, barely nineteen made their escape, the Major himself being among the slain.
The news of this terrific slaughter spread from settlement to settlement in the vicinity, like wildfire. But, previously, having heard of Major Ormsby's intended movement, the Rangers had decided upon lending him a helping hand. I had consequently moved with them from Honey Lake, upon the opposite side of Pyramid Mountains. On our way there, we had picked up aconsiderable number of volunteers, and counted some forty-five or fifty men in all. On reaching the base of the mountains, I found that it would be impossible to use our horses in any farther advance. We consequently decided upon leaving our four-footed companions, and I detailed half a dozen of our party to look after their safety.
After carefully examining our weapons, we then cautiously commenced ascending the rocky declivity.
Scarcely had we counted upon the almost immediate result of this step. Some three quarters of an hour after, we entered on a heavy mist or fog, which gradually became thicker and more dense, until it almost felt like a wet and sodden blanket, actually saturating us to the skin.
Suddenly, from the midst of this sheet of gloom, burst a spear of lightning. No! not a spear. It was, or seemed to be, one broad sheet of flame, which actually enveloped us, for the moment, blinding our eyes, and rendering us unable to see any of our companions.
This flash was followed by another and another, with incredible rapidity, until their scathing glow seemed almost continuous, while the roll of the unintermittent thunder made the mountain-side tremble beneath our feet.
By the first effect of this fearful storm, all our rifles had been instantly and involuntarily discharged. Stalwart men, who would have kept their feet in any ordinary commotion of the elements, were prostrated on the earth. Brave men, who had faced danger of almost every description, trembled like the veriest children. Their bronzed cheeks whitened with fear, and when able to stand, their knees quivered under them withterror. Perhaps none of us expected to escape from that shroud of living light alive. Very certainly I did not, and am not ashamed to own, that, in the midst of the rolling thunder, a cry to God for mercy, which none but the Almighty One Himself could possibly have heard, broke from my panting lips.
Possibly, that unpremeditated appeal was listened to. Soon after the flashes relaxed their continuity, and in its occasional pauses the thunder might have allowed the voice of any who had spoken to be heard. Gradually, the tempest passed away, and I heard a rough male voice say:
"The Lord be thanked!"
There was, in all probability, not one of us, un-churchgoing and reckless as we had all for many years been, who did not, within his own heart, re-echo that solitary thanksgiving.
Scouting and its Results—Caught Napping—Frantic with Terror—"Who have been Trimmed so Neatly"—My Fat Friend in a Pickle—Perspiration and Bullets—The Request to "swap" Trees—Virtue its own Reward—High Treason to Uncle Sam—Going out for Game—An Unpleasant Meeting—The Tussle for Life—Putting an End to an Oration—"A Tuff 'Un."
Scouting and its Results—Caught Napping—Frantic with Terror—"Who have been Trimmed so Neatly"—My Fat Friend in a Pickle—Perspiration and Bullets—The Request to "swap" Trees—Virtue its own Reward—High Treason to Uncle Sam—Going out for Game—An Unpleasant Meeting—The Tussle for Life—Putting an End to an Oration—"A Tuff 'Un."
Orders were shortly after given to continue the ascent, and in a sufficiently brief space of time, we had mounted above the belt of dark clouds, which were now drifting along the mountain-side beneath us, into a fresh and warm sunshine.
The revulsion in our feelings was almost instantaneous. Those who had quaked before, were now inclined to jeer at their own fright. Lips that had been whitened with terror were now actually laughing. Indeed, I much doubt whether he, whose involuntary audible piety had announced its feelings a few moments since, would have thanked any of us for reminding him of the exclamation. Very certainly, none of us did. We had, at any rate, the grace, not, in our present security, to scoff at the thanks in which we had so cordially although quietly participated.
When we were thoroughly above the heavily wet mass of cloud, we paused to rest and dry our clothing.
Then, having examined our weapons and reloaded them, we continued our progress in the direction in which it was supposed the Indians were to be found.
Night at last overtook us, and orders were given for camping. After a brief sleep of some four hours, with Harry Arnold, Butch' Hasbrouck, and Brighton Bill, I started out to find the position of the Indians. After we had moved in almost complete silence for a distance of some three miles, the faint light of their camp-fires might be seen by us. Touching Butch' and Bill, I in a whisper ordered both of them to remain where we then stood, and with Arnold crept quietly in the direction of the dying embers. Here, in their presumed security, were slumbering the men who had slain nearly the whole of Major Ormsby's party.
As yet, we were unaware of this fact, and I had only the knowledge of old Pete's death, and those of my other three companions, to square with the red rascals, whether they had any hand in that affair or not.
In consequence of this, I and Harry took a good survey of their situation, and, as noiselessly as we had approached it, returned to our own camp, taking Butch' and Brighton Bill with us, on our way. There we speedily aroused all the boys, and telling them we had spotted the game, bade them make ready. The night was clear and cold, although cloudy overhead, and in five minutes more we were upon our way, with an imperative injunction, upon my part, of perfect silence. This was perhaps needless, as few of the Rangers or those who had volunteered with us were novices in Indian fighting.
When I had, with Arnold, made my reconnoissance, we had thoroughly examined the position of the Indian camp. It was placed upon the summit of a precipice some two hundred and fifty feet in height, which beetled over a cleft or ravine in the mountain of considerable width.
On the side which we had approached it, it had been entirely unguarded.
Had it not been for their defeat of the large party under Major Ormsby on the preceding day, they would, even in such a position, scarcely have neglected to keep a watch.
However, now, from our side of the mountain, they had not any suspicion of the possibility of an attack.
But, although unable to count their positive number, Harry Arnold and myself had seen that they were exceedingly numerous; at the very least, six or seven times outnumbering our own party. It was, therefore, a matter of absolute necessity for us, even in taking them by surprise, to secure every possible advantage of position, in order to counterbalance this disproportion. To the left of the camp, in the rear of the plateau occupied by the slumbering red men, the ground rose more precipitously than it did on the side from which, some three hours earlier, we approached them. A portion of the boys, under the command of Arnold, was therefore detailed to this spot, while the remainder crouched under cover where it, at the time, was.
After this we waited impatiently for the rapidly coming dawn. This was a necessity, that we might have sufficient light to catch the sights of our rifles. We dared not throw away a single shot.
A long red streak, like a band of flame, colored the eastern horizon when the Indians began to stir. The first of the unconscious savages had risen to his feet, when my order rung out sharp and clear:
"Fire!"
The red-skin fell, and in an instant all was terror and confusion in the doomed camp.
Startled and confused by the sudden volley which was delivered with slaughterously fatal precision, the scarcely awakened red-skins leapt to their feet. Then came a volley from the party of Rangers with Harry Arnold. It was followed by another from mine. I had taken the precaution of ordering every other man to fire with each discharge, so as to give the preceding marksmen time to reload. Like clock-work rang out our deadly rifles, each shot dropping a man.
Fright had almost maddened the Indians, from the first intimation we had given them of our presence. Some ran from side to side of the plateau, looking vainly for a chance to escape. Others attempted to scale the declivity on which my portion of the boys were posted, and the rocks above which Harry held his position, in the very face of our fire. A few stood and endeavored to return us what we were giving them. However, they were considerably below either party; consequently, their shots rattled on the rocky sides of either slope short of us.
Again and again our untiring volleys rang out on the no longer quiet dawn.
Then, actually frantic with terror, many of the doomed savages leapt from the brink of the precipice. Others contrived to scramble over the broken edge of it, on the precarious and jutting portions of which they would scarcely, even in mid-day, under other circumstances, have trodden. In less than probably ten minutes from our first fire, not a living Indian remained in the camp where they had lately been sleeping. On examining this—for it would have been useless and, perhaps, dangerous for us to follow the runaways—we found enough to convince us that the white men had lately beenseverely punished. Scalps, shot-pouches, and carbines, with other tokens, were hurriedly left behind in their flight, to testify to this.
"We were not quick enough after the red devils, Mose!"
Arnold said this, as, with a positively qualmish sensation in my throat, I was standing upon that stony stretch of level ground which was now reekingly slippery with blood.
"We had better leave at once for the place where our horses are."
"I'd like to know who the whites were the darned scoundrels have trimmed so neatly?"
While saying this, he was meditatively turning over two scalps which lay on the gore-stained rock, beside a motionless red-skin, now as scalpless as the bodies from which he had taken them.
"P'raps," ejaculated Brighton Bill, whose feelings had in the last few years marvellously changed in regard to the legitimate manner of fighting the red-skins, "they be some o' Hormsby's chaps."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Harry.
"Bill!" I said, "do you think the Major would have been such an idiot as to get trapped by the red skunks?"
"Why not? 'E mightn't be h'as thundering cute as you h'are, Cap!"
Unfortunately, as we soon discovered, my English friend was right in his supposition.
The sun had just risen when we started on our return, and before we reached the place where we had picketed our horses under guard the preceding day, we fell in with two of the survivors of the ill-fated party, and learned from them the details of the massacre, forwhich we had unwittingly just taken so large and wholesale a vengeance. This information completely obliterated every trace of compunction, for the morning's even more wholesale slaughter, which I had previously felt.
Crossing over to the south side of Honey Lake Valley, we followed it up to Captain Bird's old ranche.
After passing it, we found every house and farm empty and stripped of all that was in any way portable. The whole of the stock had also been driven off. But for the tramp of our hoofs, this portion of the valley would have been as silent as a desert.
"I'd say, Cap!" exclaimed Butch', "the cuss'd red devils had been here, too—only there are no dead men, laying round promisc'ous like."
Upon reaching Epstine's Ranche, we discovered the meaning of this. The owner, Joe, here informed us, the news of Ormsby's death, and that of most of the men with him, had reached the upper end of the valley on the day before. A complete terror had seized upon the whole of those then dwelling in it, and a general stampede had taken place amongst them for Dr. Slater's Ranche, above what is now the town of Janesville.
"Howev'r I guess'd I'd wait a bit, and see what turn'd up."
He was fingering his rifle, as he made the last observation. But on receiving the information of our retaliation his face brightened, and he gave utterance to a guttural exclamation of fierce and somewhat blasphemous delight, to which it will be needless for the pen to do justice.
On arriving at the ranche where he had told us his brother settlers had taken refuge, we found the men hard at work building a regular stockade around acabin, which had the year previous been erected for the double purpose of a school-house and Masonic Hall. In spite of the joy with which our intelligence was received, they did not however desist from their labors. And, possibly, they were right, as the Indian troubles continued, and though the savages refrained from positively besieging the stockade while the Buckskin Rangers were around, they on one or two occasions ran off large quantities of the stock.
During the remainder of the season, we were occupied in a continuous scouting through this entire section of the country.
It was during one of our expeditions that Tom Harvey, one of us, was the subject of a good joke.
Human nature, in whatever situation it may be placed, has always a ludicrous side. Commonly, indeed, humor would almost appear to be the twin-sister of sorrow. They would, indeed, seem to walk through life, leaning upon each other, and hand in hand, to the very edge of the grave. The marvellous creations of Shakespeare's genius partake well-nigh equally of Tragedy and Comedy. Even so was it with the Buckskin Rangers, and their leader may be pardoned if he presumes to recall one of those creations (without the remotest hope of rivalling the intellect he has just called attention to) with the view of justifying himself.
"Falstaff" was most undeniably, as he has been drawn by the great dramatist, a fat man. Wherever fat can be found, the spirit of Fun almost invariably selects it as the subject or perpetrator of a joke. Now Tom was a man of enormous dimensions, if not in length, very certainly in width. Brighton Bill once said of him, that:
"Hif 'e was 'ammered hout, 'e would be long henough to reach the Nor' Pole, hand find Sir John Franklin."
If he had not been slenderer than Tom, I think his scalp, the moment after Bill had uttered this observation, might very possibly have been in the possession of Harvey.
However, this is a digression.
On one of our numerous scouts we had left our horses, guarded as usual, and were passing up a small valley, covered with a scattering growth of diminutive and remarkably lean trees, when some Indians, concealed in a small grove immediately in front of us, pulled trigger. Luckily their fire drew no blood. But, as in such cases, it is natural for him who is the subject of such an unexpected attention to jump behind anything which may be at hand, to shelter himself, we, each of us, made for the largest and nearest tree. None of them were sufficiently broad to make any of us a tolerably good cover.
In this situation, Tom also made for a tree.
Its exaggeratedly narrow trunk, merely concealed his head and the centre of his prodigious frame. Butch', who was nearest to him, could not help crying out.
"Look out, Fattee, or we shall only have the middle of yer left."
"Hold your darned tongue, you infernal fool!" roared out Harvey.
While saying this he had dodged to the one side of the tree, to escape an arrow which whistled by the other. With commendable judgment, he lost no time in leaping to the side he had left. This exertion of agility saved him from a bullet.
Butch' had drawn a bead on the head of the red-skinwho had fired the last, and with a yell of agony, he toppled over, struck by the Ranger's unerring ball.
"I forgive you, old boy," panted out Tom, as he leapt back once more.