THE OLD SANTA FE TRAIL by COLONEL HENRY INMAN (best fiction novels of all time .TXT) 📕

Caravan Went On To Mora, And After We'D Bid Good-By

To Mrs. Dale And Paul, Before Which I Give The Boy Two Hundred dollars

For Himself, Me, Thorpe, And Curtis Pulled out With Our Team North

For Frenchman'S Creek, And I Never Felt So Miserable Before Nor Since

As I Did Parting With The Kid That Morning.  I Hain'T Never Seen Him

Since; But He Must Be Nigh Forty Now.  Mebby He Went Into The War And

Was Killed; Mebby He Got To Be A General, But I Hain'T Forgot Him."

 

 

 

Uncle John Knocked the Ashes Out Of His Pipe, And Without Saying

Another Word Went Into The Tent.  In a Few Moments The Camp Was As

Quiet As A Country Village On Sunday, Excepting The Occasional Howling

Of A Hungry Wolf Down In the Timbered recesses Of The Washita, Or The

Crackling and Sputtering Of The Signal Fires On The Hilltops.

 

 

 

In A Few Days Afterward, We Were Camping On Hackberry Creek, In the

Indian Territory.  We Had Been Living On Wild Turkey, As Before For

Some Time, And Still Longed for A Change.  At Last One Of My Hunters

Succeeded in bagging a Dozen Or More Quails.  Late That Evening,

When My Cook Brought The Delicious Little Birds, Beautifully Spitted

And Broiled on Peeled willow Twigs, Into My Tent, I Passed one To

Uncle John.  Much To The Surprise Of Every One, He Refused.  He Said,

"Boys, I Don'T Eat No Quail!"

 

 

 

We Looked at Him In astonishment; For He Was Somewhat Of A Gourmand,

And Prided himself Upon The "Faculty," As He Termed it, Of Being able

To Eat Anything, From A Piece Of Jerked buffalo-Hide To The Juiciest

Young Antelope Steak.

 

 

 

I Remonstrated with The Venerable Guide; Said To Him, "You Are Making

A Terrible Mistake, Uncle John.  Tomorrow I Expect To Leave Here, And

As We Are Going Directly Away From The Buffalo Country, We Don'T Know

When We Shall Strike Fresh Meat Again.  You'D Better Try One," And

I Again Proffered one Of The Birds.

 

 

 

"Boys," Said He Again, "I Don'T Tech Quail; I Hain'T Eat One For

More Than Twenty Years.  One Of The Little Cusses Saved my Life Once,

And I Swore Right Thar And Then That I Would Starve First; And I Have

Kept My Oath, Though I'Ve Seen The Time Mighty Often Sence I Could

A Killed 'Em With My Quirt, When All I Had To Chaw On For Four Days

Was The Soles Of A Greasy Pair Of Old Moccasins.

 

 

 

"Well, Boys, It'S A Good Many Years Ago--In June, If I Don'T Disremember,

1847.  We Was A Coming In from Way Up In cache Le Poudre And From

Yellowstone Lake, Whar We'D Been A Trapping For Two Seasons.  We Was

A Working Our Way Slowly Back To Independence, Missouri, Where We Was

A Going To Get A New Outfit.  Let'S See, There Was Me, And A Man By

The Name Of Boyd, And Lew Thorp--Lew Was A Working For Colonel Boone

At The Time--And Two More Men, Whose Names I Disremember Now, And A

Nigger Wench We Had For A Cook.  We Had Mighty Good Luck, And Had

A Big Pile Of Skins; And The Indians Never Troubled us Till We Got

Down On Pawnee Bottom, This Side Of Pawnee Rock.  We All Of Us Had

Mighty Good Ponies, But Thorp Had A Team And Wagon, Which He Was

Driving For Colonel Boone.

 

 

 

"We Had Went Into Camp On Pawnee Bottom Airly In the Afternoon, And

I Told The Boys To Look Out For Ingins--For I Knowed ef We Was To Have

Any Trouble With Them It Would Be Somewhere In that Vicinity.  But We

Didn'T See A Darned redskin That Night, Nor The Sign Of One.

 

 

 

"The Wolves Howled considerable, And Come Pretty Close To The Fire

For The Bacon Rinds We'D Throwed away After Supper.

 

 

 

"You See The Buffalo Was Scurse Right Thar Then--It Was The Wrong

Time O' Year.  They Generally Don'T Get Down On To The Arkansas

Till About September, And When They'Re Scurse The Wolves And Coyotes

Are Mighty Sassy, And Will Steal A Piece Of Bacon Rind Right Out Of

The Pan, If You Don'T Watch 'Em.  So We Picketed our Ponies A Little

Closer Before We Turned in, And We All Went To Sleep Except One,

Who Sort O' Kept Watch On The Stock.

 

 

 

"I Was Out O' My Blankets Mighty Airly Next Morning, For I Was Kind

O' Suspicious.  I Could Always Tell When Ingins Was Prowling around,

And I Had A Sort Of Present'Ment Something Was Going To Happen

--I Didn'T Like The Way The Coyotes Kept Yelling--So I Rested kind O'

Oneasy Like, And Was Out Among The Ponies By The First Streak O'

Daylight.

 

 

 

"About The Time I Could See Things, I Discovered three Or Four

Buffalo Grazing Off On The Creek Bottom, About A Half-Mile Away,

And I Started for My Rifle, Thinking I Would Examine Her.

 

 

 

"Pretty Soon I Seed thorp And Boyd Crawl Out O' Their Blankets, Too,

And I Called their Attention To The Buffalo, Which Was Still Feeding

Undisturbed.

 

 

 

"We'D Been Kind O' Scurse Of Fresh Meat For A Couple Of Weeks--Ever

Since We Left The Platte--Except A Jack-Rabbit Or Cottontail, And I

Knowed the Boys Would Be Wanting To Get A Quarter Or Two Of A Good

Fat Cow, If We Could Find One In the Herd, So That Was The Reason

I Pointed 'Em Out To 'Em.

 

 

 

"The Dew, You See, Was Mighty Heavy, And The Grass In the Bottom

Was As Wet As If It Had Been Raining For A Month, And I Didn'T Care

To Go Down Whar The Buffalo Was Just Then--I Knowed we Had Plenty

Of Time, And As Soon As The Sun Was Up It Would Dry Right Off.  So I

Got On To One Of The Ponies And Led the Others Down To The Spring

Near Camp To Water Them While The Wench Was A Getting Breakfast, And

Some O' The Rest O' The Outfit Was A Fixing The Saddles And Greasing

The Wagon.

 

 

 

"Just As I Was Coming Back--It Had Growed quite Light Then--I Seed boyd

And Thorp Start Out From Camp With Their Rifles And Make For The

Buffalo; So I Picketed the Ponies, Gets My Rifle, And Starts Off Too.

 

 

 

"By The Time I'D Reached the Edge Of The Bottom, Thorp And Boyd Was

A Crawling Up On To A Young Bull Way Off To The Right, And I Lit Out

For A Fat Cow I Seen Bunched up With The Rest Of The Herd On The Left.

 

 

 

"The Grass Was Mighty Tall On Some Parts Of The Arkansas Bottom In them

Days, And I Got Within Easy Shooting Range Without The Herd Seeing Me.

 

 

 

"The Buffalo Was Now Between Me And Thorp And Boyd, And They Was

Furtherest From Camp.  I Could See Them Over The Top Of The Grass

Kind O' Edging Up To The Bull, And I Kept A Crawling On My Hands And

Knees Toward The Cow, And When I Got About A Hundred and Fifty Yards

Of Her, I Pulled up My Rifle And Drawed a Bead.

 

 

 

"Just As I Was Running My Eyes Along The Bar'L, A Darned little Quail

Flew Right Out From Under My Feet And Lit Exactly On My Front Sight

And Of Course Cut Off My Aim--We Didn'T Shoot Reckless In those Days;

Every Shot Had To Tell, Or A Man Was The Laughing-Stock For A Month

If He Missed his Game.

 

 

 

"I Shook The Little Critter Off And Brought Up My Rifle Again When,

Durn My Skin, If The Bird Didn'T Light Right On To The Same Place;

At The Same Time My Eyes Grow'D Kind O' Hazy-Like And In a Minute

I Didn'T Know Nothing.

 

 

 

"When I Come To, The Quail Was Gone, I Heerd A Couple Of Rifle Shots,

And Right In front Of Where The Bull Had Stood And Close To Thorp And

Boyd, Half A Dozen Ingins Jumped up Out O' The Tall Grass And, Firing

Into The Two Men, Killed thorp Instantly And Wounded boyd.

 

 

 

"He And Me Got To Camp--Keeping Off The Ingins, Who Knowed i Was Loaded--

When We, With The Rest Of The Outfit, Drove The Red devils Away.

 

 

 

"They Was Apaches, And The Fellow That Shot Thorp Was A Half-Breed

Nigger And Apache.  He Scalped thorp And Carred off The Whole Upper

Part Of His Skull With It.  He Got Thorp'S Rifle And Bullet-Pouch Too,

And His Knife.

 

 

 

"We Buried thorp In the Bottom There, And Some Of The Party Cut Their

Names On The Stones That They Covered his Body Up With, To Keep The

Coyotes From Eating Up His Bones.

 

 

 

"Boyd Got On To The River With Us All Right, And I Never Heerd Of Him

After We Separated at Booneville.  We Pulled out Soon After The

Indians Left, But We Didn'T Get No Buffalo-Meat.

 

 

 

"You See, Boys, If I'D A Fired into That Cow, The Devils Would A

Had Me Before I Could A Got A Patch On My Ball--Didn'T Have No

Breech-Loaders In them Days, And It Took As Much Judgment To Know

How To Load A Rifle Properly As It Did To Shoot It.

 

 

 

"Them Ingins Knowed all That--They Knowed i Hadn'T Fired, So They

Kept A Respectable Distance.  I Would A Fired, But The Quail Saved

My Life By Interfering With My Sight--And That'S The Reason I Don'T

Eat No Quail.  I Hain'T Superstitious, But I Don'T Believe They Was

Meant To Be Eat."

 

 

 

Uncle John Stuck To His Text, I Believe, Until He Died, And You

Could Never Disabuse His Mind Of The Idea That The Quail Lighting

On His Rifle Was Not A Special Interposition Of Providence.

 

 

 

Only Four Years After He Told His Story, In 1872, One Of The Newly

Established settlers, Living a Few Miles West Of Larned on Pawnee

Bottom, Having Observed in one Of His Fields A Singular Depression,

Resembling an Old Grave, Determined to Dig Down And See If There Was

Any Special Cause For The Strange Indentation On His Land.

 

 

 

A Couple Of Feet Below The Surface He Discovered several Flat Pieces

Of Stone, On One Of Which The Words "Washington" And "J. Hildreth"

Were Rudely Cut, Also A Line Separating Them, And Underneath:

"December Tenth" And "J. M., 1850."  On Another Was Carved the Name

"J. H. Shell," With Other Characters That Could Not Be Deciphered.

On A Third Stone Were The Initials "H. R., 1847"; Underneath Which

Was Plainly Cut "J. R. Boyd," And Still Beneath "J. R. Pring."

At The Very Bottom Of The Excavation Were Found The Lower Portion

Of The Skull, One Or Two Ribs, And One Of The Bones Of The Leg Of

A Human Being.  The Piece Of Skull Was Found Near The Centre Of The

Grave, For Such It Certainly Was.

 

 

 

At The Time Of The Discovery I Was In larned, And I Immediately

Consulted my Book Of Notes And Memoranda Taken Hurriedly At Intervals

On The Plains And In the Mountains, During More Than Half My Lifetime,

To See If I Could Find Anything That Would Solve The Mystery Attached

To The Quiet Prairie-Grave And Its Contents, And I Then Recalled

Uncle John Smith'S Story Of The Quail As Related to Me At My Camp.

I Also Met Colonel A. G. Boone That Winter In washington; He Remembered

The Circumstances Well.  Thorp Was Working For Him, As Smith Had

Said, And Was Killed by An Apache, Who, In scalping Him, Tore The

Half Of His Head Away, And It Was Thus Found Mutilated, So

Many Years Afterward.

 

 

 

Uncle John Was In one Of His Garrulous Moods That Night, And As We

Were Not By Any Means Tired of Hearing The Veteran Trapper Talk,

Without Much Urging He Told Us The Following Tale:--

 

 

 

"Well, Boys, Thirty Years Ago, Beaver, Mink, And Otter Was Found In

Abundacious Quantities On All The Streams In the Rocky Mountains.

The Trade In them Furs Was A Paying Business, For The Little Army

Of Us Fellows Called trappers.  They Ain'T Any Of 'Em Left Now,

No Mor'N The Animals We Used to Hunt.  We Had To Move About From

Place To Place, Just As If We Was So Many Ingins.  Sometimes We'D

Construct Little Cabins In the Timber, Or A Dugout Where The Game

Was Plenty, Where We'D Stay Maybe For A Month Or Two, And Once In

A While--Though Not Often--A Whole Year.

 

 

 

"The Ingins Was Our Mortal Enemies; They'D Get A Scalp From Our

Fellows Occasionally, But For Every One They Had Of Ours We Had

A Dozen Of Theirs.

 

 

 

"In The Summer Of 1846, There Was A Little Half Dugout, Half Cabin,

Opposite The Mouth Of Frenchman'S Creek, Put Up By Bill Thorpe,

Al Boyd, And Rube Stevens.  Bill And Al Was Men Grown, And Know'D

More 'Bout The Prairies And Timber Than The Ingins Themselves.

They'D Hired out To The Northwest Fur Company When They Was Mere Kids,

And Kept On Trapping Ever