Читать книгу Captain W.F. Drannan – Chief of Scouts - William F. Drannan - Страница 5

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It was early in the spring of fifty when Kit Carson, Jim Bridger, and myself met at Bent's Fort, which was on the head waters, of the Arkansas river. Bridger and I had just got in from our winter's trapping ground and had disposed of our furs to a very good advantage; Carson had just returned from a trip back east. Carson said to Bridger, "Now Jim, I'll tell you what I want you to do. I want you and Will (meaning me) to go over to Fort Kerney and escort emigrants across to California this season, for the gold excitement back in the eastern states is something wonderful, and there will be thousands of emigrants going to the gold fields of California, and they do not know the danger they will have to contend with, and you two men can save thousands of lives this summer by going to Fort Kerney and meeting the emigrants there and escorting them through. Now boys, you must understand that this undertaking is no child's play. In doing this apparently many times you will seem to take your lives in your own hands, for the Indians will be worse on the plains this year than they ever have been. At the present time there is no protection for the emigrant from the time they get twenty-five miles west of Fort Kerney, until they cross the Sierra Nevada mountains, and there are to be so many renegades from justice from Illinois and Missouri that it is going to be fearful this season, for the renegade is really worse in some respects than the Indian. He invariably has two objects in view. He gets the Indian to commit the murder which is a satisfaction to him without any personal risk besides the plunder he gets. I know, boys, you can get good wages out of this thing, and I want you to take hold of it, and you, Jim, I know have no better friend than Gen. Kerney, and he will assist you boys in every way he can. I almost feel as though I ought to go myself, but I cannot leave my family at the present time; now, Jim, will you go?" Bridger jumped up, rubbed his hands together and said, "I'll be dog goned if I won't, if Will goes with me."

To which I replied, "I will go with you, and I think the quicker we start the better it will be for all parties concerned." Carson said, "You can't start too soon, for the emigrants will be arriving at Fort Kerney by the time you get there."

The next morning Jim and I were up and had an early breakfast and were ready to start. Uncle Kit said to us, "Now boys, when you come back this fall I want you to come and see me and tell me what kind of luck you have had, and all the news."

We now bid him good bye, and we were off.

I will here inform the reader that Carson had taught me to call him Uncle Kit when I was fourteen years old, and I always addressed him in that way. Jim and I were off for Fort Kerney, which was a journey of about three hundred miles and not a sign of civilization on the whole trip. It was a wild Indian country the entire distance, but we knew where the hostile Indians were and also the friendly Indians. Consequently we reached Fort Kerney without having any trouble.

We met Gen. Kerney, who was glad to see us. He said, "Boys, where in the name of common sense are you going to?"

We explained to him in a few words our business. After hearing our plans the Gen. said, "I am certainly glad to know that someone will take hold of this thing, for I am sure that there will be more emigrants massacred this year than has ever been in any other. I will tell you why I think so. All the Indians from here to the Sierra-Nevada mountains are in the war-path; in the second place the emigrants who are coming from the east have no idea what they have to contend with, and I dread the consequences."

While this conversation was taking place a soldier rode in that had been on picket duty and said to the Gen., "I saw some covered wagons going into camp down on Deer Creek about five miles from here. Where do you suppose they are going, Gen?"

To which Gen. Kerney replied, "They are going to California, and you will see hundreds of them inside the next two weeks."

Jim Bridger said, "Well, Willie, come on and let's see what we can do with them."

As we were leaving the Fort Gen. Kerney said to us, "Boys, come back and stay all night with me, I want you to make my quarters your home while you are waiting for the emigrants to arrive."

Bridger answered, "Thank you, Gen. We will be glad to do so, and we may want you to recommend us to the emigrants."

To which the Gen. answered, "I will take pleasure in doing so."

Bridger and I rode down to where the emigrants were in camp, and we found the most excited people I ever saw in my life. They had passed through one of the most terrible experiences that had ever occurred on the frontier. There were thirty wagons in the train, and they were all from the southeastern part of Missouri, and it seemed that there was one man in the train by the name of Rebel who at the time they had left home had sworn that he would kill the first Indian he came across. This opportunity occurred this morning about five miles back of where we met them. The train was moving along slowly when this man "Rebel" saw a squaw sitting on a log with a papoose in her arms, nursing. He shot her down; she was a Kiawah squaw, and it was right on the edge of their village where he killed her in cold blood. The Kiawahs were a very strong tribe, but up to this time they had never been hostile to the whites; but this deed so enraged the warriors that they came out in a body and surrounded the emigrants and demanded them to give up the man who had shot the squaw. Of course, his comrades tried not to give him to them, but the Indians told them if they did not give the man to them, they would kill them all. So knowing that the whole train was at the mercy of the Indians, they gave the man to them. The Indians dragged him about a hundred yards and tied him to a tree, and then they skinned him alive and then turned him loose. One of the men told us that the butchered creature lived about an hour, suffering the most intense agony. They had just buried him when we rode into the camp. The woman and some of the men talked about the dreadful thing; one of the men said it was a comfort to know that he had no family with him here or back home to grieve at his dreadful death.

On hearing this remark Jim said, "You are the most lucky outfit I ever saw. Any other tribe of Indians this side of the Rocky Mountains would not have left one of you to have told the tale, and it is just such darned fools as that man that stir up the Indians, to do so much deviltry."

Until this time there had been but a few of the emigrants near us. We were both dressed in buck-skin, and they did not know what to make of us. The young girls and some of the young men were very shy. They had never seen anyone dressed in buck-skin before. An elderly woman came to us and said, "Ain't you two men what they call mountaineers?" Jim answered, "Yes, marm, I reckon, we are."

She replied, "Well, if you are, my old man wants you to come and eat supper with we'ns."

Jim turned to me and laughed. "Shall we go and eat with them, Willie?" he asked. I answered, "Yes, let's get acquainted with everybody."

We went with the old lady to their tent, which was but a few steps from where we stood. When she had presented us to her old man as she called him, she said to him, "Jim, I know these men can tell you what to do." He shook hands with us, saying, "I don't know what in the world we are going to do. I believe the Indians will kill us all if we try to go any further, and I know they will if we go back."

By this time there was quite a crowd around us.

I said to Jim, "Why don't you tell the people, what we can do for them?" Jim then said, "why, dog gorn it, this boy and I can take you all through to California and not be troubled with the Indians if there is no more durned fools among you to be a-shooting squaws. But you will have to do just as we tell you to do." And looking over the ground he asked, "Who is your captain? I want to see him."

The old man said, "Want to see our Capt'n? We hain't got any capt'n, got no use for one." Jim then asked, "Who puts out your guards around the camp at night?"

"Guards? Didn't know we had to have any."

Jim looked the astonishment he felt as he said, "Why, dad-blame-it man, you won't get a hundred miles from here before all of you will be killed."

At that moment one of the men said, "Who is this coming?"

We all looked in the direction he was, and we saw it was Gen. Kerney. When he rode up to us Bridger said, "Gen., what do you think? These people have no captain and have no one to guard the camp at night."

The Gen. answered, "Is that possible? How in the name of god have they got here without being massacred?" And then, addressing the men that stood near he said, "Gentlemen, you had better make some arrangement with my friends here to pilot you across to California; for I assure you that if these men go with you and you follow their directions, you will reach your journey's end in safety."

Just then the Gen. looked down the road, and he said, "Look there!"

We all looked, and we saw another long train of emigrants coming towards us. They drove up near us and prepared to go into camp. This was a mixed train. Some came from Illinois, some from Indiana, and a few families from the state of Ohio.

Jim and I mounted our horses and rode with the Gen. down among the new emigrants. They had heard all about the skinning of the white man and were terribly excited about it. They asked the Gen. what was best for them to do. A great many of them wanted to turn and go back. Finally the Gen. said to them, "Here are two as good men as there are in the mountains. They are thoroughly reliable and understand the Indians' habits perfectly. Now, my friends, the best thing you can do is to organize yourselves into company, select your captain and then make some arrangement with these men to pilot you through, for I tell you now, there will be more trouble on the plains this year than has ever been known before with the Indians. Now gentlemen, we must leave you, but we will come back in the morning and see what decision you have come to."

At this time two men stepped up to Jim Bridger and me and said, "Why can't you two stay all night with us? We've got plenty to eat, and you both can sleep in our tent."

Jim answered, "We don't want to sleep in any tent. We've got our blankets, and we will sleep under that tree," pointing to a tree near us.

The Gen. said, "Mr. Bridger, you boys had better stay here tonight, for you have lots of business to talk over."

Jim and I dismounted, staked our horses out and went to supper. After supper Jim said, "Now, you want to get together and elect a captain."

One man said, "All right, I'll go and notify the entire camp, and we will call a meeting at once." Which was done. As soon as the crowd gathered, they called on Jim to tell them what to do. Jim mounted the tongue of a wagon and said, "Now, men, the first thing to do is to elect a Captain, and we must take the name of every able-bodied man in this outfit, for you will have to put out camp guards and picket guards every night. Now, pick out your men, and I'll put it to a vote."

Some called for Mr. Davis, and some for Mr. Thomas; both men came forward. Jim said, "now, Mr. Davis, get up on this wagon tongue and I'll make a mark, and we'll see if the crowd wants you for their Captain." Jim took a stick and made a mark on the ground from the wagon tongue clear out through the crowd. He then said, "All that want Mr. Davis for Captain will step to the right of this line, and they that favor Mr. Thomas will keep to the left of the line." About three fourths of the men stepped to the right of the line, which made Davis Captain. As soon as Davis was declared Captain, he said, "Now friends, we must hire these men to escort us to California; if there is anybody here that is not in favor of this let him say so now."

But everyone shouted, "Yes! yes!"

Davis turned to us and said, "What is your price for the trip?"

Jim said to me, "What do you say, Will?"

I replied, "It is worth four dollars a day each."

Jim told the Captain that we would go for four dollars a day to be paid each of us every Saturday night, and if at the end of the first week we had not given satisfaction, we would quit. Davis put it to a vote, and it was carried in our favor.

The balance of the evening was spent in making arrangements to commence drilling the men. In the morning Jim said to me, "Now, Will, I'll take charge of the wagons and you take charge of the scouts."

I told the Captain that I wanted him to select seven good men that owned their horses. I wanted to drill them to act as scouts. Jim said, "Yes, we want to get to drilling every body tomorrow morning."

We put in four hard days' work at this business, and then we were ready for the trail, and we pulled out on our long and tedious journey to the land of gold.

There were four hundred and eighty-six men and ninety women in the train, and they had one hundred and forty-eight wagons. Every thing moved smoothly until we were near the head of the North Platte river. We were now in the Sioux country, and I began to see a plenty of Indian sign. Jim and I had arranged that a certain signal meant for him to corral the wagons at once. As I was crossing the divide at the head of Sweet Water, I discovered quite a band of Indians coming directly towards the train, but I did not think they had seen it yet. I rode back as fast as my horse could carry me. When I saw the train, I signaled to Jim to corral, and I never saw such a number of wagons corralled so quickly before or since, as they were. Jim told the women and children to leave the wagon and go inside the corral, and he told the men to stand outside with their guns, ready for action, but to hold their fire until he gave the word, and he said, "When you shoot, shoot to kill; and do your duty as brave men should."

In a moment, the Indians were in sight, coming over the hill at full speed. When they saw the wagons, they gave the war whoop. This scared the women, and they began to cry and scream and cling to their children. Jim jumped up on a wagon tongue and shouted at the top of his voice "For God's sake, women, keep still, or you will all be killed."

This had the effect that he desired, and there was not a word or sound out of them. When the Indians were within a hundred yards from us, their yelling was terrible to hear.

Jim now said, "Now boys, give it to them, and let the red devils have something to yell about," and I never saw men stand up and fight better than these emigrants. They were fighting for their mothers' and wives' and children's lives, and they did it bravely. In a few minutes the fight was over, and what was left of the Indians got away in short order. We did not lose a man, and only one was slightly wounded. There were sixty-three dead warriors left on the field, and we captured twenty horses.

It was six miles from here to the nearest water, so we had to drive that distance to find a place to camp. We reached the camping ground a little before sunset. After attending to the teams and stationing the guards for the night Cap't. Davis came to Jim and me and said, "The ladies want to give you a reception tonight."

Jim said, "What for?" Davis replied, "Saving our lives from those horrible savages." Jim answered, "Why, durn it all, ain't that what you are paying us for? We just done our duty and no more, as we intend to do all the way to California."

By this time there was a dozen women around us. With the others was a middle-aged woman. She said, "Now, you men with the buck-skin clothes, come and take supper with us. It is now all ready."

Jim said, "Come, Willie, let's go and eat, for I am hungry and tired too."

While we were eating supper, three or four young ladies came up to us and asked me if I didn't want to dance.

"The boys are cleaning off the ground now, and I want you for my first pardner," she said with a smile and a blush. Jim said, "Will can't dance anything but the scalp dance." One of the girls said, "What kind of a dance is that?"

Jim replied, "If the Indians had got some of your scalps this afternoon you would have known something about it by this time."

Jim told them that when the Indians scalped a young girl, they took the scalp to their wigwam and then gave a dance to show the young squaws what a brave deed they had done, "and all you girls had better watch out that they don't have some of your scalps to dance around before you get to California; but if you wish us to, Will and I will dance the scalp dance tonight, so you can see how it is done."

When they had the ground all fixed for the dance, Jim and I took our handkerchiefs and put them on a couple of sticks, stuck the sticks into the ground and went through the Indian scalp dance, making all the hideous motions with jumps and screams, loud enough to start the hair from its roots, after which Jim explained to them this strange custom, telling them that if any of them was unfortunate enough to fall into the Indians' hands this was the performance that would be had around their scalps.

The girls said with a shudder they had seen enough of that kind of dancing without the Indians showing them. The lady who had invited us to supper said, "Now girls, you see what these men have done for us, they have saved our lives, and do you realize the obligation we are under to them? Now let us do everything we can for their comfort until we reach California."

And I must say I never saw more kind-hearted people than these men and women were to us all the way, on this long and dangerous journey.

We had no more trouble with the Indians until we had crossed Green river. We were now in the Ute country. At this time the Utes were considered to be one of the most hostile tribes in the West. That night Jim asked me what route I thought best to take, by the way of Salt Lake or Landers Cut Off. I said, "Jim, Landers Cut Off is the shortest and safest route from the fact that the Indians are in the southern part of the territory at this time of year, and I do not believe we shall have much more trouble with them on this trip." Which proved to be true. We saw no more Indians until we reached the Humbolt river. Just above the Sink of Humbolt about the middle of the afternoon I saw quite a band of Indians heading directly for the train. I signaled Jim to corral, which he did at once.

In a few moments they were upon us. As we were out on an open prairie, we had a good sight of the Indians before they reached us; I saw by the leader's dress that it was a chief that was leading them. His head dress was composed of eagles' feathers, and he rode some thirty or forty yards ahead of the other warriors. When in gun shot of me I fired at him and brought him down. When he fell from his horse the rest of the Indians wheeled their horses and fled, but the chief was the only one that fell. As soon as they were gone I took the scalp off the dead chief's head. When we went into camp that evening, Jim told the emigrants what a great thing I had done in shooting the chief. "There is no knowing how many lives he saved by that one shot in the right time."

Then all the emigrants gathered around me to see the scalp of the Indian; they had never seen such a sight before; each of the young ladies wanted a quill from the Indian's head dress; and they asked me what I would take for one of them; I told them the quills were not for sale.

At this time the lady who had invited Jim and me to eat with her so many times came up to us, and she said, "Girls, I can tell you how you can get these quills." They all asked at once, "How is that, aunty?"

"Each one of you give him a kiss for a quill," she laughed, and of all the blushing I ever saw the young girls that surrounded me beat the record. Jim grinned and said, "I'll be dog goned if I don't buy the scalp and the feathers and take all the kisses myself."

This made a general laugh. I told Jim that he was too selfish, and that I would not share the kisses with him, that I would give the scalp to him and the feathers to the elder lady, and she could divide the feathers among the girls. The girls clapped their hands and shouted, "Good! good!"

Jim said that was just his luck, he was always left out in the cold.

In a few days we were on the top of the Sierra Nevada mountains. We told the emigrants that they were entirely out of danger and did not need our services any longer, so we would not put them to any more expense by going further with them. As this was Saturday evening the emigrants proposed going into camp until Monday morning and that Jim and I should stay and visit with them. We accepted the invitation, and Sunday was passed in pleasant converse with these most agreeable people, and I will say here that of all the emigrants I ever piloted across the plains none ever exceeded these men and women in politeness and good nature, not only to Jim and me, but to each other, for through all that long and trying journey there was no unkindness shown by any of them, and if we would have accepted all the provisions they offered us it would have taken a pack train to have carried it through. Every lady in the train tried to get up some little extra bite for us to eat on the way back. The reader may imagine our surprise when Monday morning came and we saw the amount of stuff they brought to us. Jim said, "Why ladies we haven't any wagon to haul this stuff, and we have only one pack horse and he can just pack our blankets and a little more. Besides, we won't have time to eat these goodies on the road. Supposing the Indians get after us? We would have to drop them and the red skins would get it all."

We now packed up and were ready to put out. We mounted our horses, bid them "good bye" and were off.

Nothing of interest occurred until we got near Green river. Here we met Jim Beckwith and Bob Simson. Jim Bridger and I had just gone into camp when they rode up. After they had shaken hands with us Jim Beckwith said, "Boys, you are just the parties we are looking for."

Bridger asked Beckwith what he had been doing and where he had been since we parted at Bent's Fort last spring. Beckwith replied that he had been with a train of emigrants just now who were on the way to California, and they had camped over on Black's Fort. The cholera had broken out among them soon after they crossed the Platte River, and from then up to yesterday they had buried more or less every day. There had been no new cases since yesterday, and they were laying over to let the people rest and get their strength, and they expected to start out tomorrow morning, and turning to me Beckwith said, "Will, I want you to go with us for there is another train of emigrants over on the Salt Lake route."

At this time there were two routes between the Green river and the Humboldt; one by the way of Salt Lake and the other by Lander's Cut off. Beckwith said, "Those emigrants going by the Salt Lake route have no guide, and I am afraid when they strike the Humboldt they will all be massacred, for they will be right in the heart of the Pi-Ute country, and you know this tribe is on the war path, and I want you to go on and overtake them and see them safely through, or else stay with this train and I will go myself and take care of them. We want the two trains to meet at the mouth of Lone Canyon, and then we will go up Long Canyon to Honey lake and then cross the Sierra Nevada."

I turned to Jim Bridger and said, "Jim, what do you think of this proposition?"

Jim said he thought it a good thing for me to do; the responsibility would give me more confidence in myself. "You know, Will, you have always depended on Carson or me at all times, and this trip will teach you to depend on yourself."

I saddled my horse and went with Beckwith back to the emigrants' camp. It was arranged that I was to take charge of the scouts and Simson to take charge of the other train, and Beckwith would go on and overtake the other train, and the train that reached the mouth of Long Canyon where it empties into Truckey river first must wait for the other train.

At this point the two trails divided, one going up the Truckey by the Donna lake route and the other up Long Canyon by Honey lake, the latter being considered the best route.

The next morning we pulled out. I had good luck all the way through, having no trouble with the Indians, arriving at Long Canyon three days ahead of Jim Beckwith.

In my train there was an old man with his wife and a son and daughter; they seemed to be very peculiar dispositioned people, always wanting to camp by themselves and having nothing to say to any one. When we reached Long Canyon, Simson told the emigrants that we would wait until the other train arrived, which news greatly pleased the most of them, but the old man and his family seemed to be all upset at the idea of laying over, and the next morning they harnessed up their horses. While they were doing this, Simson called my attention to them and said, "Let's go and see what they mean."

I asked the man what he was going to do with his team. He replied that he was going to hook them to the wagon and was going to California. I said, "You certainly are not going to start on such a journey alone, are you? You are liable to be all killed by the Indians before you get twenty miles from here."

The old man shrugged his shoulders and said, "Why, gol darn it, we hain't seen an Injin in the last three hundred miles, and I don't believe there is one this side of them mountains," and he pointed towards the Sierra Nevada mountains. "And if we did meet any they wouldn't bother us for we hain't got much grub, and our horses is too poor for them to want."

I told him, he must not go alone, the road was too dangerous, and besides the other train might come at any moment, and then we could all pull out in safety. He said, "I own that wagon and them horses, and I own pretty much every thing in that wagon and I think I will do just as I please with them." I insisted on his waiting until the other train came up, he said, he would not wait any longer, that he was going to go right now. I left him and walked back to the camp; I asked the men if any of them had any influence with that old man out there.

"If you have for god's sake use it and persuade him to not leave us, for if he starts out alone he, nor any of his family will reach Honey lake alive."

Just then one of the men said, "I have known that man ten years and I know that all the advice all these people could give him would be wasted breath and the less said to him the better it will be."

I then went back to Simson who had charge of the wagons and said to him, "What shall we do with that old man? He is hitching up to leave us which will be sure death to him and his family. If he goes had we not better take his team away from him and save his life and his family's?"

Simson said, he would consult with the other men and see what they thought about it. After he had talked with the other men a short time, twenty or thirty of them went out where the old man was hitching up his team. What they said to him I do not know. When I got to him he was about ready to pull out; he said, "I'm going now and you men can come when you please and I don't give a D'. whether you come at all of not."

This was the last we ever saw of the old man or his son.

Three days later Jim Bridger arrived with his train, and then we all pulled out together by the way of Honey lake. The first night after leaving camp Jim Bridger, Simson and myself had a talk about the old man who had left us. Jim said. "I don't suppose we shall ever hear of him again," and turning to me he said, "Will, it will take us two days to go to Honey Lake; now tomorrow morning suppose you pick out of your scout force eight good men, take two days' rations and your blankets with you and rush on ahead to the Lake and see if you can find them. It may be possible that some of them are alive, but I don't think you will find one of them. Now, Will, be careful and don't take any desperate chances; if you find they have been taken prisoners keep track of them until we get there."

The next morning I and my men were off bright and early. We reached the lake about three o'clock in the afternoon, where we struck the lake there was scattering timber for quite a ways up and down and here we found the old man's wagon. The wagon cover, his tent, and his team, were gone; his cooking utensils were setting around the fire which was still burning. Almost every thing was gone from the wagon, but there was no sign of a fight. Neither could we see any white men's tracks; but moccasin tracks were plenty. We sat down and ate our luncheon: as soon as we finished eating we started to trail the Indians to find out what had become of the whites. We had gone but a short distance when I discovered the tracks of the two women; then we knew that they had been captured by the Indians. I said, "I want you men to take this side of the ridge and watch for Indians all the time, and you must watch me also; when you see me throw up my hat come at once and be sure to not shout, but signal to each other by whistling or holding up your hands and be sure to have your signals understood among yourselves. And another thing I want to say to you, if you see any Indian, signal to me, at once. Now I am going to take the trail of these white women, and if I need your assistance I will signal, and you must all get to me as quick as possible."

All being understood I started on the trail of the white women. I hadn't followed the trail over a half a mile, when I saw one of the men running towards me at full speed; when he reached me he said, "We have found a dead man, and he is stuck full of arrows."

I mounted my horse and accompanied him to where the body lay. I recognized it at once; it was the son of the old man who had left us three days before. His clothes were gone except his shirt and pants, and his body was almost filled with arrows. I said, "This is one of the party, and the other is a prisoner, or we shall find his body not far from here. Let us scatter out and search this grove of timber thoroughly; perhaps we may find the other body; and be careful to watch out for the Indians, for they are liable to run upon us any time."

We had not gone more than two hundred yards before we found the old man's body; it was laying behind a log with every indication of a hand-to-hand fight. One arrow was stuck in his body near the heart, and there were several tomahawk's wounds on the head and shoulders, which showed that he died game.

It was getting late in the afternoon so I proposed to the men that we take the bodies back to where we had found their camp, as we had no way of burying the bodies in a decent manner, we had to wait until the train came up to us. We laid the bodies side by side under a tree and then we went into camp for the night as there was good grass for the horses. We staked them out close to camp. We had seen no Indians all day, so we did not think it necessary to put out guards around the camp that night, and we all laid down and went to sleep.

The next morning we were up and had an early breakfast; that done, I said, "Now, men I want two of you to go back and meet Bridger and tell him what we have found and pilot him here to this camp, and he will attend to the burying of these bodies; I would rather you should choose among your selves who shall go back."

One man by the name of Boyd and another whose name was Taluck said they would go. These men were both from Missouri; I then told them to tell Bridger that I was a going to start on the trail of the white women at once, and for him to camp here and that he would hear from me tonight, whether I found them or not.

The rest of the men and I started on the trail; three went on one side and three on the other, and I took the trail; I cautioned the men to keep a sharp look out for the Indians all the time, and if they saw any Indians to signal to me at once. I had followed the trail some five or six miles when it led me to a little stream of water in a small grove of timber. Here I found where the Indians had camped; the fire was still burning which convinced me that the Indians had camped there the night before. I also saw where the two women had been tied to a tree. I followed them a short distance and saw that the band we were following had met a larger band, and they had all gone off together in a northerly direction. We were now near the north end of Honey lake, and I had about given up hopes of ever seeing the women again, but I did not tell my thoughts to my companions. The trail was so plain that I now mounted my horse; we followed at a pretty rapid gate two or three miles, when we saw that a few tracks had turned directly towards the lake. I dismounted and examined them and found the two shoe tracks went with the small party. I was now convinced that this was a party of squaws going to the lake to fish; and I felt more encouraged to keep up the pursuit. We were within a mile of the lake at this time. We rode as fast as we could and keep the trail in sight. We soon came in sight of the lake; looking to the right I saw a small band of squaws building a fire. I called the men to me and told them that I believed the women we were looking for were with those squaws, and if they were, I thought we could rescue them.

"I think our best plan will be to ride slowly until they see us and then make a dash as fast as our horses can carry us; if the white women are with them, we will ride right up to them, if they are tied I will jump down and cut them loose," and pointing at two of the men I said, "You two men will take them up behind you and take the lead back, and the rest of us will protect you."

We did not ride much farther before the squaws discovered us at which they began to shout, "Hyha," which meant "They're coming they're coming."

In a moment we were in their midst, and sure enough the women were there and tied fast to a small tree, a short distance from where the squaws were building the fire.

What happened in the next few minutes I could never describe. The women knew me at once and with cries and laughter, touching, beyond description greeted me.

In an instant I was off my horse and cutting them loose from the tree, at the same time the men were circling around us with guns cocked ready to shoot the first squaw that interfered with us.

To my great surprise I did not see a bow or arrow among them or a tomahawk either; as quick as I had the women loose I helped them up behind the men I had selected to take them away from captivity back to meet the train. As soon as we had left them of all the noise I ever heard those squaws made the worst. I think they did this so the bucks might know that they had lost their captives and might come to their assistance. Where the bucks were I never knew. After riding four or five miles we slacked our speed, and the women began telling us how the whole thing had occurred. It seemed they had got to the camping ground early in the afternoon of the second day after leaving us and instead of staking out their horses they turned them loose, and about dusk the old man and his son went out to look for the horses, were gone a couple of hours and came back without them. This made them all very uneasy. The next morning just at break of day the old man and his son took their guns and started out again to hunt for their horses, and the mother and daughter made a fire and cooked breakfast. The sun was about an hour high, and they were sitting near the fire waiting for the men to come back when they heard the report of a gun; they thought the men were coming back and were shooting some game. They had no idea there was an Indian near them. In the course of a half an hour they heard the second shot, and in a few minutes the Indians were upon them, and they knew that the men were both dead, because the Indians had both of their guns and were holding them up and yelling and dancing with fiendish glee. The Indians grabbed them and tied their hands behind them and then they tore down their tent, took the wagon cover off and everything out of the wagon that they could carry off.

"The bucks did the things up in bundles, and the squaws packed them on their backs, and they were expecting every minute to be killed. After the squaws had gone the bucks ate everything they could find that was cooked, and the squaws that you found us with made us go with them to the north end of the lake and there they camped that night. They tied us with our backs to a little tree; we could not lay down and what little sleep we got we took sitting up; we had not had a bit of breakfast that morning when the Indians came upon us; it was all ready, and we were waiting for our men folks to come back, and we have had nothing since, but a little piece of broiled fish with no salt on it."

Until now I had not said anything about our finding the dead bodies of their men, I thought it better to tell them now rather than wait until we reached camp, as I thought the shock would be less when they came to see the condition they were in.

Before I had finished telling the condition of the bodies when we found them, I was afraid the young lady would faint, she seemed to take the horrid news much harder than her mother did.

When we got to camp we found that Bridger had been there some two hours ahead of us and had men digging the graves and others tearing up the wagon box to make coffins to bury the bodies in.

We took the women to a family they were acquainted with and left them in their care. After they had been given something to eat they went where the bodies lay and looked at them, and with sobs of bitter grief bent over them; which made my heart ache in sympathy for them in their loneliness.

The next morning we laid them away into their lonely graves in as decent a manner as we could, and in sadness left them.

Through the influence of Jim Bridger arrangements were made with two families to take these two ladies with them to California. Just before noon Jim came to me and said, "We will stay here until tomorrow morning; I would like you to take four or five men who have good horses and go around the north end of the lake and find out, if you can, if the Piutes are gathering together in a large band. It is about the time of year for the Piutes to leave this part of the country, but if they are gathering in a large band they are bent on giving us trouble, and we will have to make preparations to defend our selves. In three days more if we have good luck we shall be out of the hostile Indian country."

We had an early dinner and four others and myself set out for the head of the lake, we rode hard all that afternoon and to our great surprise we never saw an Indian. We passed a number of camps where they had been, but their trails all showed that they had pulled out for the north. Seeing this we turned back and struck the emigrant trail about ten miles from where Jim was camped. Just as we struck the emigrants trail I looked off to the south about a quarter of a mile and saw nine head of horses, and they were heading in the same direction we were going. I called the other men's attention to them and said, "Let's capture those Indian ponies." You may imagine our surprise when we got near them to find they were not Indian ponies but good American horses and several of them had collar marks on them showing that they had been worked lately. We drove them on to camp, and when we put them in the corral we found them to be perfectly gentle. Bridger and the balance of the men came to see them, and every man had his own view where they had come from. But we never knew for certain whom they belonged to. The next morning we pulled out very early. The third day we crossed the Sierra Nevada mountains without any thing of interest happening to us. In two days more we reached the Sacramento river. We were now about forty miles above Sacramento City, California. We camped here about the middle of the afternoon. It being Saturday Jim thought we would rest the balance of the day. After we had eaten our dinner Jim called all the men of the train together and told them that they were out of all danger now from the Indians and would have no further use for a guide and that our contract with them was ended, and that he and I would like to start back for New Mexico Monday morning. In a short time they settled up with us, paying us our due with grateful thanks for our care of them on their dangerous journey. I now went to the men who were with me when I found the horses. I said, "Some of those horses belong to you, how many do you want?"

They all looked surprised, and one said, "They are not our horses, they are yours. You found them."

I answered, "Now, boys, that is not fair; drive them up and let me select three and you may have the balance to divide as you choose among you."

This seemed to please them; and they drove the horses up at once. I chose the three I liked best, and I afterwards found them all to be good saddle horses. Bridger and I now went to work making our pack saddles and getting ready for our long and tedious journey back to New Mexico, a journey where wild beasts and still wilder savages might lurk behind any tree or bush, a journey where at that time all one could see for hundreds of miles was thick forests, and trackless prairies; a journey of danger and fatigue which the people of this later day of rapid travel could not be made to understand.

The next morning after breakfast was over a man came to me and said, Mrs. Lynch and her daughter Lizzie would like to see me. These were the two ladies I had rescued from the Indians. I had not spoken to them since I left them with Bridger at the camp near Honey Lake. As I came near to the elder lady she came to meet me and holding out her hand, clasping mine she said, "Are you going to leave us tomorrow?"

I answered, "That is what we intended to do."

She then burst into tears, and amid her sobs said, "We can never pay you for what you have done for us."

At this moment the young girl appeared, and as she gave me her hand her mother said, "He is going to leave us, and we can never pay him for what he has done for us"; at this the girl commenced to cry too and it was some minutes before I could talk to them. When they had quieted down I said, "Ladies, you owe me nothing, I only done my duty, and I would do the same thing over again for you or any one else under the circumstances that existed." Then the elder lady said, "If it hadn't been for you we might never have seen a white person again."

I asked her, what state they were from. She said they came from Wright country, Missouri, and that she had a brother there that was amply able to come and take them back, but she would not ask him to do so for she never wanted to cross the plains again. She said she had a few dollars left that the Indians didn't get, and she thought Lizzie and she could find something to do to get a living. I gave them all the encouragement I could, bid them good bye and went back to Jim.

By the time dinner was ready Jim and I had our pack saddles and every thing ready to put on our horses. While we were eating dinner as many as thirty ladies came to us to inquire what they could give us to take with us to eat on our journey. I was amused at Bridger. After each lady had told what she had to give us, some had cakes, some had pie, and some had boiled meat and some had bread; Jim straightened up and said, "Why dog-gorn it ladies, we ain't got no wagon and we couldn't take one if we had one the route we are going which will be through the mountains all the way with no road or trail. We are going horse back and we can only take about a hundred pounds on our pack horses. Now, ladies, we are a thousand times obliged to you all but all we want is some bread and a little meat, enough to do us a couple of days, and then we will be where we can shoot all the meat we want; it is a poor hunter that could not get enough grub for himself in the country we are going through."

The next morning when we were getting ready to start the women commenced bringing in bread and meat for us and we had to take enough to last us a week, we could not take less without hurting their feelings. When we were all ready to start, the whole company came to bid us "good bye." Men and women, old and young, all came, and amid hand clasps from the men and tears and smiles from the women we mounted our horses and were off.

We followed the trail we had come, back as far as Truckey river, and just below where Reno stands now, we met the remnant of an emigrant train and according to their story they had had nothing but trouble from the time they struck the head of Bitter Creek until the day before we met them. They said they had lost twenty seven men and fourteen women and a number of cattle and horses. They were very much surprised when we told them of the train we had just piloted through to California without losing one that staid with us. We told them of the dreadful fate of old Mr. Lynch and his son.

As night was coming on we camped in company with these people. Next morning we crossed Truckey river and struck out in a south east direction, leaving the site where Virginia city now stands a little to our right going by the sink of the Carson River. Here we camped and laid over one day to give our horses a rest. Before we left here we filled our canteens with water. Bridger told me that for the next fifty miles it was the poorest watered country in the United States. Said he: "There is plenty of water, but it is so full of alkali it is not fit to drink; it is dangerous for both men and beasts."

Jim took the lead all day, and when we came to a little stream of water he would get down and taste the water while I held the horses to keep them from drinking. It was about four o'clock that afternoon before we found water that was fit to drink; here we camped for the night.

Jim said, "From this on we may look for Indians; we are now in the Ute country and tomorrow night we will be in the Apache country. Now we must avoid the large streams for the Apaches are almost always to be found near the large streams at this time of year. Their hunting season is about over now, and they go to the large streams to catch fish and for the benefit of a milder climate. If we keep on the high ridges and mountains away from the large streams we will have no trouble with the Indians and what is better for us we can get all the game we want without any exertion."

The next day we were traveling along on a high ridge in the south east corner of what is now the State of Nevada. We looked off to the south at a little valley that was perhaps a half a mile from us, and there we saw a grand sight. There must have been at least a hundred elk and amongst them two very large old bucks fighting. Their horns were something immense, and strange to say all the rest of the band stood still, watching the fight. At last Jim said, "Will, I believe I will break up that fight."

He jumped to the ground, raised his gun and fired. At the sound of the gun all of the band ran away except the two who were fighting. I laughed and said, "Jim, I thought you were going to stop that fight."

He replied, "Give me your gun, and I will stop it."

This time I handed him my gun, and he squatted down and took a rest on his knee and fired. At the crack of the gun one of the elks fell to his knees, but got up and ran for all that was in him, and that was the last we saw of the elk. I told Jim he had spoilt the fun, and we had got no meat out of it. He grinned and said, "Oh durn it that old elk was too old to eat any way."

We went on and camped at the head of a little stream that emptied into

Green river. The sun was perhaps an hour high, when we went into camp.

As soon as we had staked out our horses Jim said, "Now Will, I will get

the supper, if you will go out and see if you can get some meat."

I answered, "That suits me to a T. Jim."

I took my gun and started for a little ridge. I had not gone over a hundred yards when I saw five deer coming directly towards me. Among them were two spring fawns. I dropped down at the root of a tree and waited until they came to within fifty yards of me; I then fired and broke one of the fawns' necks, and the rest of the flock came near running over me, and over Jim also. I picked up my fawn and went back to camp. Jim said, "I don't want you to go hunting anymore Will."

I said, "Why not?" He said, "If you do I shall have to stand guard over the camp to keep the deer from tramping every thing we have into the ground"; and he pointed to the tracks of the deer not ten feet from the fire. This convinced us that these deer had never heard the report of a gun before. We were now in the extreme south east end of Nevada, and I don't imagine a white man had ever been through that part of the country before. On this trip we traveled some twelve or fifteen hundred miles, and we never saw a white person the whole way, and not even the sign of one.

At this time when a little more than a half of a century has passed there are portions of this same country that could not be rode over from the fact that it is all fenced in and cultivated. If we had been told then that we would live to see railroads crossing every part of this country we would have thought the person insane to ever think of such a thing at a time when there was not a foot of rail-road as far west as Missouri.

We had broiled venison for supper that night, the first we had eaten for some time, and the reader may be sure we enjoyed it.

Next morning we pulled out of here quite early and crossed Green river just above the mouth of Blue River. We were now in the greatest game country I had ever seen then or ever have seen since. We traveled up this stream three days, and I do not think there was a half an hour at any one time that we were out of sight of game of some kind. There was the Bison which is a species of Buffalo, Elk, Deer, Black Bear, and Antelope. We crossed the main divide of the Rocky Mountains at the head of the Arkansas River. That night we camped within a few miles of what since has become the far-famed camp and now city of Leadville.

We were now out of the hostile Indian country, and so we did not have to be so cautious in traveling days or camping at night.

While we were traveling down the Arkansas river I saw a sight I had never seen before and never have since. Two Buck Deer locked fast together by their horns. I had been told of such things and have since, but that is the only time I ever saw it myself. We were very near them before we saw them. They were in a little open prairie. I called Jim's attention to them as soon as I saw them. He said, "I'll be gol durned if that ain't the second time I ever saw such a sight, and now we will have some fun out of them bucks."

We dismounted and walked up near them, and by the looks of the ground which was torn and tramped for quite a distance we decided that they had been in that condition quite a while. Jim said, "How in the plague, Will, are we going to get these critters apart? They are too plaguey poor to eat, so we don't want to kill them, and they will die if we leave them in this fix; what shall we do, Will?"

I thought a minute and said, "Can't we take our little ax and chop one of their horns off?"

He said, "I hadn't thought of that, but bring me the ax and I will try it."

I ran to the pack horse and got the ax. He said, "Now you go back to the horses; for if I get them loose they may want to fight us."

So I went to the horses and looked back to see what Jim was doing. He went up to them with the ax drawn ready to strike but it was quite a bit before they were quiet enough for him to get a good hit at them. At last he made a strike and down went one of the deer. Instead of striking the deer's horn he struck him right back of the horn and killed him instantly; when Jim saw what he had done he made another hit at the dead buck's horn and freed the live one, which ran thirty or forty yards and stopped and turned around and shook his head at us a half a dozen times and then he trotted away as if nothing had happened.

Jim laughed and said, "He never stopped to thank us, did he? Well he ain't much different from some people." I said, "Why, Jim he meant "thank you" when he shook his head at us; that is all the way he could say it, you know," to which he replied, "Well, I saved one of them any way."

Nothing occurred of interest from this time on until we reached our journey's end at Taos, New Mexico. Here we found Uncle Kit and his wife both enjoying good health and a warm welcome for his boy Willie, and his old friend Jim Bridger.

After supper that night we told Uncle Kit that we had traveled from the Sacramento river, California to Taos, New Mexico in thirty-three days, and that we never saw a hostile Indian on the trip, and neither had had any trouble of any kind to detain us a half an hour on the whole trip. He said, "That is a wonderful story to hear, when there are so many wild Indians in that part of the country. Now boys tell me what route you came."

We marked out the route by different streams and mountains. He looked at the map we had drawn and said, "I will venture to say there is not two men in all the country that could make that trip over that route and get through alive. I will say again, boys, it is some thing wonderful to think of, and you must have been protected by a higher power than your selves to get through in safety."

We staid with Uncle Kit a couple of weeks and rested up, and then we struck out for Bent's Fort to make up our crew to go to our trapping ground for our winter's work.

Uncle Kit accompanied us to Bent's Fort; and all the trappers were anxious to get in his employ from the fact that the report had gone out that the Sioux and the Utes were on the war path, and all the trappers knew that these two tribes were the strongest hostile tribes in the west, and when fifty miles from Bent's Fort we never knew that we were safe and the trappers all had confidence in Uncle Kit's judgment that he seldom made a mistake in locating his trapping ground, and further more he had more influence with the Indians than any other man in the country, so they worked rather for him than take chances with any one else.

The next morning after we reached Bent's Fort I heard Mr. Bent and Mr. Roubidoux talking with Carson in regard to the trappers. Mr. Bent said, "Carson, I wish you would take as many as you can handle, for they all have an Indian scare on them and are afraid to go out, and every one of them is indebted to us for board now; and we can not afford to support them if they loaf around here all winter," to which Carson replied, "I can handle five or six of them, and that is all I want, I can not afford to take men out in the mountains and board them all winter for nothing." After thinking a minute Carson asked, "How many of the men have their own traps and blankets?"

Mr. Roubidoux said, he thought nearly all of the trappers at the Fort had their own trapping outfits with them. Carson said he would think it over and see what he could do for them. That afternoon Carson and Bridger had a talk with regard to how many men they should take with them. Uncle Kit said, "We haven't horses enough to carry more than three or four besides us three." Bridger said, "That will not make any difference, if they want to go they can foot it from here to the head of South Platte as that's where we are going to trap this winter; and when they are through in the spring they can foot it back again. We have nine pack horses besides our saddle horses, and we can pack out to the trapping grounds, an outfit for five or six men besides our own all in good shape."

That afternoon Uncle Kit and Bridger made arrangements with six men to go with us to the head of South Platte to trap Beaver that winter. Carson and Bridger agreed to furnish them with flour, coffee, salt, and tobacco for which Carson and Bridger were to have half of the furs that each man caught, Carson and Bridger to pack the grub and every thing else out to the trapping ground and also to pack the furs and all their other things back to Bent's Fort in the Spring. After Carson and Bridger had selected the six men they wanted, it seemed as though all the trappers at the Fort wanted to go with them. Carson told them he had engaged all he could handle. The next two days we spent in getting ready to go to our trapping grounds. On the morning of the third day every thing in readiness we bid farewell to all the people at the Fort and struck out for the trapping grounds and our winter's work. The men that had to walk did not wait for us but started as soon as they had breakfast.

Uncle Kit told them where we would camp the first night. They got there before we did, and they had killed the fattest deer I ever saw and had killed a Cub Bear. They were skinning them when we got to camp. The deer was a spike buck and when he was skinned he was as white as a sheep from pure fat. The reader may be sure we were not long in unpacking and getting ready for supper; every one was tired and hungry for we had not had any thing to eat since morning. For my supper I roasted two of the cub's feet, and I have never enjoyed a meal since that tasted better. While we were eating Jim Bridger looked at me and said, "Will, you have the best of me tonight, but when we get to the Beaver grounds I'll have a Beaver's tail roasted for my supper and then I'll be even with you."

I never saw a band of men enjoy a meal more than those men did that night. In this climate people have better appetites than any climate I have ever been. I think the reason for this was the air was so pure and invigorating and it naturally required more food to sustain the body and keep it in good health, and at that time sickness was very rare in that part of the country. It would seem unreasonable to tell how much meat a man ate at one meal, especially when out on a trip like this when he was out in the open air all the time, night as well as day.

The third day after leaving this camp we struck the South Platte river, and now we had another change of meat, which was mountain sheep. This is in my opinion the best wild game that roams the forest.

We made an early camp that night and Uncle Kit said to Jim Bridger and me, "You two boys get the meat for supper and the rest of us will look after the horses." We picked up our guns and started up the river; we had not gone far when in looking up on a high bluff we saw a band of mountain sheep. Jim said, "Now if we can reach that little canyon," and he pointed to one just ahead of us, "without them fellows seeing us we will sure have something good for supper." This we succeeded in doing and then we crawled around until we were within fifty yards of our game. We selected a couple of spring lambs and fired and brought them both down. When the men at the camp heard the firing a couple of the men came running to help us bring our game to camp. We soon had it dressed and ready for cooking, and it was good and every one of the men ate as if they enjoyed it as much as I did. While we were eating supper Jim told us a story of his coming in contact with a panther that had just killed a sheep, and he said it was a miracle that it did not kill him. He was coming down a bluff on a little trail and as good luck had it he had his gun in his hand. The panther had the sheep behind a rock and as the panther sprang at him he fired and broke its neck.

"It was the luckiest shot I ever fired," said he, "for if I had not had my gun all ready to fire he would have torn me to pieces before I could have helped myself."

Uncle Kit said, "Well, Jim, you were in about as close a place as I got into once. I went out from my camp fire one night perhaps forty yards to a small tree. I didn't have any pistol or gun with me, I had nothing but my hunting knife to protect myself with when a half-grown panther sprang out of the tree on me and, maybe you think I didn't have a lively time there with him for a few minutes, but I finally got the best of him by cutting him almost to pieces. He tore my buck skin breeches and coat pretty near off me and left this scar on my arm before I finished him," and Carson pulled his sleeve up and showed us a scar that must have been torn almost to the bone.

Two days from this we reached the place where we made our headquarters for the winter. That night the men talked it over and made their plans how many should camp together. They agreed that there should be three in each camp as there were nine of us in all. That made the number even in each camp. Next morning they all put out leaving me to look out for the horses and things in general.

For the benefit of the reader I will explain how we arranged a camp where a number of men were associated together in trapping beaver. We built our camps about four miles apart which gave each camp two miles square to work on, and this was ample room, for this was a new field and Beaver was as thick as rats around a wharf.

While they were gone I took my gun and started out to take a little stroll around where the horses were feeding. I had gone but a short distance when I looked up. On a mountain, north of me I saw a band of elk with perhaps seventy five or a hundred in it, and they were coming directly towards me; I was satisfied in my mind that they were going to the river to get water. I dropped down behind a log and waited for them to come close to me. The nearest one was twenty yards from me when I fired. I shot at a two-year-old heifer and broke her neck. I then went back to camp to see if any of the men had come in as it was near noon. I thought some of them would be back and sure enough in a few minutes they all came together; I told them what I had done, and Uncle Kit said, "Jim and I will get dinner and the balance of you go and help Willie bring in his cow."

We found her in fine condition. We soon had her skinned and in camp, and we found dinner ready when we got back. After dinner Uncle Kit said, "Come boys let's pack up and move to our camp which is only about a half a mile from here, and tomorrow, while Jim and me are at work on our shanty, Willie can help you to move to your quarters, and you can be building your shanties, so we can get to work as soon as possible."

We gathered every thing together and moved it to the ground where we were going to make our winter quarters, and Uncle Kit and Jim selected the place to build our cabin, and the men all turned to and went to chopping the logs and putting up the cabin. By night the body of the cabin was almost up, but the reader must bear in mind that this was not a very large house. It was ten feet one way, and twelve the other, with a fire place built in one corner. They built the walls of the shack seven foot high and then covered it with small poles, covered the poles with fine bows and then there was from six to eight inches of dirt packed on them and the cracks were stuffed with mud. The door was split out of logs called puncheons and was fastened together with wooden pins, driven into holes, bored with an auger. This way of building a house to live in through the winter may seem strange to the readers who are accustomed to all the luxuries of the modern home of civilization; but we considered our cabin very good quarters, and we were very comfortable that winter.

The first morning after we were settled in our new home we commenced setting traps for Beaver. Jim Bridger was the lucky man of the whole outfit in catching Beaver all that winter. Each man had twelve traps which was called a string, and a number of times that winter Bridger had a beaver in every one of his traps in the morning. I had watched him set his traps many times and I tried to imitate him in every particular, but I never had the luck he had.

Uncle Kit told me a number of times that winter that it was a good trapper that made an average of catching five Beaver a day, during the trapping season. We were all very successful this winter. Beaver was very plentiful, as there had never been any trappers in this part of the country before, and besides that was an exceptional good winter for trapping. The winter was quite cold, but there was not much snow all winter for that country. We stayed here and trapped until the very last of March, and when we had the furs all baled and ready for packing we found we did not have horses enough to take them all out at one time, so Uncle Kit and Jim Bridger packed the seven horses and rode the other two and struck out for Bent's Fort, telling us they would come back as soon as they could make the trip; and to our surprise they were back on the tenth day.

We had everything ready for them to break up camp when they came back, and we had all we could carry the second time. All of the nine horses were packed, and we all had to walk to Bent's Fort.

After we left the Platte we took up a stream called Sand Creek which leads to the divide between the Platte and the Arkansas rivers. After we camped that night Carson said to the boys, "Now we have had a pretty good variety of meat this winter, but we haven't had any antelope, but we are in the greatest country for antelope in the west now. Can't one of you boys kill one tomorrow for supper? But I am sorry for Jim and Will for Jim can't get a Beaver's tail off of it, and there won't be any bear's foot for Will to eat."

Jim answered, "You needn't worry about Will and me, for we may make you sorry twice, for when we get at the Antelope there may not be enough for the balance of you."

After breakfast next morning two of the men struck ahead in order to get the antelope. Near the trail about ten o'clock we overtook them, and they had killed two nice young antelope. One said that if they had had ammunition enough with them they could have loaded the train with antelope. That day we saw a number of bands of antelope, and I venture to say there were as many as eight hundred or a thousand in each band.

At supper that night Jim Bridger and I convinced Uncle Kit that we had not lost our appetite, if we didn't have Beaver's tail and Bear's foot for supper.

The second day after leaving this camp we landed at Bent's Fort about the middle of the afternoon. That evening and all the next day Carson and Bridger were counting the pelts and paying off the men for the furs they had trapped during the winter. Each man had a mark of his own which he put on all his hides as he took them off the animal. I noticed one man always clipped the left ear; that was his mark. Having a private mark for each man saved a great deal of trouble and dispute when the time came to separate the furs and give each man his due.

I heard Carson and Bridger talking after they had settled with the men, and Bridger said, "We have done twice as well as I expected we would do the past winter."

Carson answered, "Jim, we had an extra good crew of men. Every man worked for all that was in him and when they earned a dollar for themselves they earned one for us. I am more than satisfied with our winter's work and what it brought us."

He then asked Jim and me what we intended to do that summer; Jim answered, "We are going back to Fort Kerney to pilot emigrants across to California, and it is time we were off now, for I believe by the first of May there will be lots of emigrants there, and we want to get there, and get the first train out, and if it is possible we are going to make two trips across the plains this season."