Oregon Trail — Chapter XIII. Hunting Indians

HUNTING INDIANS

At last we had reached La Bonte’s Camp, toward which our eyes had turned so long.

Of all weary hours, those that passed between noon and sunset of the day when we arrived there may bear away the palm of exquisite discomfort.

I lay under the tree reflecting on what course to pursue, watching the shadows which seemed never to move, and the sun which remained fixed in the sky, and hoping every moment to see the men and horses of Bisonette emerging from the woods.

Shaw and Henry had ridden out on a scouting expedition, and did not return until the sun was setting.

There was nothing very cheering in their faces nor in the news they brought.

“We have been ten miles from here,” said Shaw.

“We climbed the highest butte we could find, and could not see a buffalo or Indian; nothing but prairie for twenty miles around us.

” Henry’s horse was quite disabled by clambering up and down the sides of ravines, and Shaw’s was severely fatigued.

After supper that evening, as we sat around the fire, I proposed to Shaw to wait one day longer in hopes of Bisonette’s arrival, and if he should not come to send Delorier with the cart and baggage back to Fort Laramie, while we ourselves followed The Whirlwind’s village and attempted to overtake it as it passed the mountains.

Shaw, not having the same motive for hunting Indians that I had, was averse to the plan; I therefore resolved to go alone.

This design I adopted very unwillingly, for I knew that in the present state of my health the attempt would be extremely unpleasant, and, as I considered, hazardous.

I hoped that Bisonette would appear in the course of the following day, and bring us some information by which to direct our course, and enable me to accomplish my purpose by means less objectionable.

The rifle of Henry Chatillon was necessary for the subsistence of the party in my absence; so I called Raymond, and ordered him to prepare to set out with me.

Raymond rolled his eyes vacantly about, but at length, having succeeded in grappling with the idea, he withdrew to his bed under the cart.

He was a heavy-molded fellow, with a broad face exactly like an owl’s, expressing the most impenetrable stupidity and entire self-confidence.

As for his good qualities, he had a sort of stubborn fidelity, an insensibility to danger, and a kind of instinct or sagacity, which sometimes led him right, where better heads than his were at a loss.

Besides this, he knew very well how to handle a rifle and picket a horse.

Through the following day the sun glared down upon us with a pitiless, penetrating heat.

The distant blue prairie seemed quivering under it.

The lodge of our Indian associates was baking in the rays, and our rifles, as they leaned against the tree, were too hot for the touch.

There was a dead silence through our camp and all around it, unbroken except by the hum of gnats and mosquitoes.

The men, resting their foreheads on their arms, were sleeping under the cart.

The Indians kept close within their lodge except the newly married pair, who were seated together under an awning of buffalo robes, and the old conjurer, who, with his hard, emaciated face and gaunt ribs, was perched aloft like a turkey-buzzard among the dead branches of an old tree, constantly on the lookout for enemies.

He would have made a capital shot.

A rifle bullet, skillfully planted, would have brought him tumbling to the ground.

Surely, I thought, there could be no more harm in shooting such a hideous old villain, to see how ugly he would look when he was dead, than in shooting the detestable vulture which he resembled.

We dined, and then Shaw saddled his horse.

“I will ride back,” said he, “to Horseshoe Creek, and see if Bisonette is there.

” “I would go with you,” I answered, “but I must reserve all the strength I have.

” The afternoon dragged away at last.

I occupied myself in cleaning my rifle and pistols, and making other preparations for the journey.

After supper, Henry Chatillon and I lay by the fire, discussing the properties of that admirable weapon, the rifle, in the use of which he could fairly outrival Leatherstocking himself.

It was late before I wrapped myself in my blanket and lay down for the night, with my head on my saddle.

Shaw had not returned, but this gave no uneasiness, for we presumed that he had fallen in with Bisonette, and was spending the night with him.

For a day or two past I had gained in strength and health, but about midnight an attack of pain awoke me, and for some hours I felt no inclination to sleep.

The moon was quivering on the broad breast of the Platte; nothing could be heard except those low inexplicable sounds, like whisperings and footsteps, which no one who has spent the night alone amid deserts and forests will be at a loss to understand.

As I was falling asleep, a familiar voice, shouting from the distance, awoke me again.

A rapid step approached the camp, and Shaw on foot, with his gun in his hand, hastily entered.

“Where’s your horse?

” said I, raising myself on my elbow.

“Lost!

” said Shaw.

“Where’s Delorier?

” “There,” I replied, pointing to a confused mass of blankets and buffalo robes.

Shaw touched them with the butt of his gun, and up sprang our faithful Canadian.

“Come, Delorier; stir up the fire, and get me something to eat.

” “Where’s Bisonette?

” asked I. “The Lord knows; there’s nobody at Horseshoe Creek.

” Shaw had gone back to the spot where we had encamped two days before, and finding nothing there but the ashes of our fires, he had tied his horse to the tree while he bathed in the stream.

Something startled his horse, who broke loose, and for two hours Shaw tried in vain to catch him.

Sunset approached, and it was twelve miles to camp.

So he abandoned the attempt, and set out on foot to join us.

The greater part of his perilous and solitary work was performed in darkness.

His moccasins were worn to tatters and his feet severely lacerated.

He sat down to eat, however, with the usual equanimity of his temper not at all disturbed by his misfortune, and my last recollection before falling asleep was of Shaw, seated cross-legged before the fire, smoking his pipe.

The horse, I may as well mention here, was found the next morning by Henry Chatillon.

When I awoke again there was a fresh damp smell in the air, a gray twilight involved the prairie, and above its eastern verge was a streak of cold red sky.

I called to the men, and in a moment a fire was blazing brightly in the dim morning light, and breakfast was getting ready.

We sat down together on the grass, to the last civilized meal which Raymond and I were destined to enjoy for some time.

“Now, bring in the horses.

” My little mare Pauline was soon standing by the fire.

She was a fleet, hardy, and gentle animal, christened after Paul Dorion, from whom I had procured her in exchange for Pontiac.

She did not look as if equipped for a morning pleasure ride.

In front of the black, high-bowed mountain saddle, holsters, with heavy pistols, were fastened.

A pair of saddle bags, a blanket tightly rolled, a small parcel of Indian presents tied up in a buffalo skin, a leather bag of flour, and a smaller one of tea were all secured behind, and a long trail-rope was wound round her neck.

Raymond had a strong black mule, equipped in a similar manner.

We crammed our powder-horns to the throat, and mounted.

“I will meet you at Fort Laramie on the 1st of August,” said I to Shaw.

“That is,” replied he, “if we don’t meet before that.

I think I shall follow after you in a day or two.

” This in fact he attempted, and he would have succeeded if he had not encountered obstacles against which his resolute spirit was of no avail.

Two days after I left him he sent Delorier to the fort with the cart and baggage, and set out for the mountains with Henry Chatillon; but a tremendous thunderstorm had deluged the prairie, and nearly obliterated not only our trail but that of the Indians themselves.

They followed along the base of the mountains, at a loss in which direction to go.

They encamped there, and in the morning Shaw found himself poisoned by ivy in such a manner that it was impossible for him to travel.

So they turned back reluctantly toward Fort Laramie.

Shaw’s limbs were swollen to double their usual size, and he rode in great pain.

They encamped again within twenty miles of the fort, and reached it early on the following morning.

Shaw lay seriously ill for a week, and remained at the fort till I rejoined him some time after.

To return to my own story.

We shook hands with our friends, rode out upon the prairie, and clambering the sandy hollows that were channeled in the sides of the hills gained the high plains above.

If a curse had been pronounced upon the land it could not have worn an aspect of more dreary and forlorn barrenness.

There were abrupt broken hills, deep hollows, and wide plains; but all alike glared with an insupportable whiteness under the burning sun.

The country, as if parched by the heat, had cracked into innumerable fissures and ravines, that not a little impeded our progress.

Their steep sides were white and raw, and along the bottom we several times discovered the broad tracks of the terrific grizzly bear, nowhere more abundant than in this region.

The ridges of the hills were hard as rock, and strewn with pebbles of flint and coarse red jasper; looking from them, there was nothing to relieve the desert uniformity of the prospect, save here and there a pine-tree clinging at the edge of a ravine, and stretching out its rough, shaggy arms.

Under the scorching heat these melancholy trees diffused their peculiar resinous odor through the sultry air.

There was something in it, as I approached them, that recalled old associations; the pine-clad mountains of New England, traversed in days of health and buoyancy, rose like a reality before my fancy.

In passing that arid waste I was goaded with a morbid thirst produced by my disorder, and I thought with a longing desire on the crystal treasure poured in such wasteful profusion from our thousand hills.

Shutting my eyes, I more than half believed that I heard the deep plunging and gurgling of waters in the bowels of the shaded rocks.

I could see their dark ice glittering far down amid the crevices, and the cold drops trickling from the long green mosses.

When noon came, we found a little stream, with a few trees and bushes;

and here we rested for an hour.

Then we traveled on, guided by the sun, until, just before sunset, we reached another stream, called Bitter Cotton-wood Creek.

A thick growth of bushes and old storm-beaten trees grew at intervals along its bank.

Near the foot of one of the trees we flung down our saddles, and hobbling our horses turned them loose to feed.

The little stream was clear and swift, and ran musically on its white sands.

Small water birds were splashing in the shallows, and filling the air with their cries and flutterings.

The sun was just sinking among gold and crimson clouds behind Mount Laramie.

I well remember how I lay upon a log by the margin of the water, and watched the restless motions of the little fish in a deep still nook below.

Strange to say, I seemed to have gained strength since the morning, and almost felt a sense of returning health.

We built our fire.

Night came, and the wolves began to howl.

One deep voice commenced, and it was answered in awful responses from the hills, the plains, and the woods along the stream above and below us.

Such sounds need not and do not disturb one’s sleep upon the prairie.

We picketed the mare and the mule close at our feet, and did not wake until daylight.

Then we turned them loose, still hobbled, to feed for an hour before starting.

We were getting ready our morning’s meal, when Raymond saw an antelope at half a mile’s distance, and said he would go and shoot it.

“Your business,” said.

I, “is to look after the animals.

I am too weak to do much, if anything happens to them, and you must keep within sight of the camp.

” Raymond promised, and set out with his rifle in his hand.

The animals had passed across the stream, and were feeding among the long grass on the other side, much tormented by the attacks of the numerous large green-headed flies.

As I watched them, I saw them go down into a hollow, and as several minutes elapsed without their reappearing, I waded through the stream to look after them.

To my vexation and alarm I discovered them at a great distance, galloping away at full speed, Pauline in advance, with her hobbles broken, and the mule, still fettered, following with awkward leaps.

I fired my rifle and shouted to recall Raymond.

In a moment he came running through the stream, with a red handkerchief bound round his head.

I pointed to the fugitives, and ordered him to pursue them.

Muttering a “Sacre!

” between his teeth, he set out at full speed, still swinging his rifle in his hand.

I walked up to the top of a hill, and looking away over the prairie, could just distinguish the runaways, still at full gallop.

Returning to the fire, I sat down at the foot of a tree.

Wearily and anxiously hour after hour passed away.

The old loose bark dangling from the trunk behind me flapped to and fro in the wind, and the mosquitoes kept up their incessant drowsy humming; but other than this, there was no sight nor sound of life throughout the burning landscape.

The sun rose higher and higher, until the shadows fell almost perpendicularly, and I knew that it must be noon.

It seemed scarcely possible that the animals could be recovered.

If they were not, my situation was one of serious difficulty.

Shaw, when I left him had decided to move that morning, but whither he had not determined.

To look for him would be a vain attempt.

Fort Laramie was forty miles distant, and I could not walk a mile without great effort.

Not then having learned the sound philosophy of yielding to disproportionate obstacles, I resolved to continue in any event the pursuit of the Indians.

Only one plan occurred to me; this was to send Raymond to the fort with an order for more horses, while I remained on the spot, awaiting his return, which might take place within three days.

But the adoption of this resolution did not wholly allay my anxiety, for it involved both uncertainty and danger.

To remain stationary and alone for three days, in a country full of dangerous Indians, was not the most flattering of prospects; and protracted as my Indian hunt must be by such delay, it was not easy to foretell its ultimate result.

Revolving these matters, I grew hungry; and as our stock of provisions, except four or five pounds of flour, was by this time exhausted, I left the camp to see what game I could find.

Nothing could be seen except four or five large curlew, which, with their loud screaming, were wheeling over my head, and now and then alighting upon the prairie.

I shot two of them, and was about returning, when a startling sight caught my eye.

A

small, dark object, like a human head, suddenly appeared, and vanished among the thick hushes along the stream below.

In that country every stranger is a suspected enemy.

Instinctively I threw forward the muzzle of my rifle.

In a moment the bushes were violently shaken, two heads, but not human heads, protruded, and to my great joy I recognized the downcast, disconsolate countenance of the black mule and the yellow visage of Pauline.

Raymond came upon the mule, pale and haggard, complaining of a fiery pain in his chest.

I took charge of the animals while he kneeled down by the side of the stream to drink.

He had kept the runaways in sight as far as the Side Fork of Laramie Creek, a distance of more than ten miles; and here with great difficulty he had succeeded in catching them.

I saw that he was unarmed, and asked him what he had done with his rifle.

It had encumbered him in his pursuit, and he had dropped it on the prairie, thinking that he could find it on his return; but in this he had failed.

The loss might prove a very formidable one.

I was too much rejoiced however at the recovery of the animals to think much about it; and having made some tea for Raymond in a tin vessel which we had brought with us, I told him that I would give him two hours for resting before we set out again.

He had eaten nothing that day; but having no appetite, he lay down immediately to sleep.

I

picketed the animals among the richest grass that I could find, and made fires of green wood to protect them from the flies; then sitting down again by the tree, I watched the slow movements of the sun, begrudging every moment that passed.

The time I had mentioned expired, and I awoke Raymond.

We saddled and set out again, but first we went in search of the lost rifle, and in the course of an hour Raymond was fortunate enough to find it.

Then we turned westward, and moved over the hills and hollows at a slow pace toward the Black Hills.

The heat no longer tormented us, for a cloud was before the sun.

Yet that day shall never be marked with white in my calendar.

The air began to grow fresh and cool, the distant mountains frowned more gloomily, there was a low muttering of thunder, and dense black masses of cloud rose heavily behind the broken peaks.

At first they were gayly fringed with silver by the afternoon sun, but soon the thick blackness overspread the whole sky, and the desert around us was wrapped in deep gloom.

I scarcely heeded it at the time, but now I cannot but feel that there was an awful sublimity in the hoarse murmuring of the thunder, in the somber shadows that involved the mountains and the plain.

The storm broke.

It came upon us with a zigzag blinding flash, with a terrific crash of thunder, and with a hurricane that howled over the prairie, dashing floods of water against us.

Raymond looked round, and cursed the merciless elements.

There seemed no shelter near, but we discerned at length a deep ravine gashed in the level prairie, and saw half way down its side an old pine tree, whose rough horizontal boughs formed a sort of penthouse against the tempest.

We found a practicable passage, and hastily descending, fastened our animals to some large loose stones at the bottom; then climbing up, we drew our blankets over our heads, and seated ourselves close beneath the old tree.

Perhaps I was no competent judge of time, but it seemed to me that we were sitting there a full hour, while around us poured a deluge of rain, through which the rocks on the opposite side of the gulf were barely visible.

The first burst of the tempest soon subsided, but the rain poured steadily.

At length Raymond grew impatient, and scrambling out of the ravine, he gained the level prairie above.

“What does the weather look like?

” asked I, from my seat under the tree.

“It looks bad,” he answered; “dark all around,” and again he descended and sat down by my side.

Some ten minutes elapsed.

“Go up again,” said I, “and take another look;” and he clambered up the precipice.

“Well, how is it?

” “Just the same, only I see one little bright spot over the top of the mountain.

” The rain by this time had begun to abate; and going down to the bottom of the ravine, we loosened the animals, who were standing up to their knees in water.

Leading them up the rocky throat of the ravine, we reached the plain above.

“Am I,” I thought to myself, “the same man who a few months since, was seated, a quiet student of BELLES-LETTRES, in a cushioned arm-chair by a sea-coal fire?

” All around us was obscurity; but the bright spot above the mountaintops grew wider and ruddier, until at length the clouds drew apart, and a flood of sunbeams poured down from heaven, streaming along the precipices, and involving them in a thin blue haze, as soft and lovely as that which wraps the Apennines on an evening in spring.

Rapidly the clouds were broken and scattered, like routed legions of evil spirits.

The plain lay basking in sunbeams around us; a rainbow arched the desert from north to south, and far in front a line of woods seemed inviting us to refreshment and repose.

When we reached them, they were glistening with prismatic dewdrops, and enlivened by the song and flutterings of a hundred birds.

Strange winged insects, benumbed by the rain, were clinging to the leaves and the bark of the trees.

Raymond kindled a fire with great difficulty.

The animals turned eagerly to feed on the soft rich grass, while I, wrapping myself in my blanket, lay down and gazed on the evening landscape.

The mountains, whose stern features had lowered upon us with so gloomy and awful a frown, now seemed lighted up with a serene, benignant smile, and the green waving undulations of the plain were gladdened with the rich sunshine.

Wet, ill, and wearied as I was, my spirit grew lighter at the view, and I drew from it an augury of good for my future prospects.

When morning came, Raymond awoke, coughing violently, though I had apparently received no injury.

We mounted, crossed the little stream, pushed through the trees, and began our journey over the plain beyond.

And now, as we rode slowly along, we looked anxiously on every hand for traces of the Indians, not doubting that the village had passed somewhere in that vicinity; but the scanty shriveled grass was not more than three or four inches high, and the ground was of such unyielding hardness that a host might have marched over it and left scarcely a trace of its passage.

Up hill and down hill, and clambering through ravines, we continued our journey.

As we were skirting the foot of a hill I saw Raymond, who was some rods in advance, suddenly jerking the reins of his mule.

Sliding from his seat, and running in a crouching posture up a hollow, he disappeared; and then in an instant I heard the sharp quick crack of his rifle.

A wounded antelope came running on three legs over the hill.

I lashed Pauline and made after him.

My fleet little mare soon brought me by his side, and after leaping and bounding for a few moments in vain, he stood still, as if despairing of escape.

His glistening eyes turned up toward my face with so piteous a look that it was with feelings of infinite compunction that I shot him through the head with a pistol.

Raymond skinned and cut him up, and we hung the forequarters to our saddles, much rejoiced that our exhausted stock of provisions was renewed in such good time.

Gaining the top of a hill, we could see along the cloudy verge of the prairie before us lines of trees and shadowy groves that marked the course of Laramie Creek.

Some time before noon we reached its banks and began anxiously to search them for footprints of the Indians.

We followed the stream for several miles, now on the shore and now wading in the water, scrutinizing every sand-bar and every muddy bank.

So long was the search that we began to fear that we had left the trail undiscovered behind us.

At length I heard Raymond shouting, and saw him jump from his mule to examine some object under the shelving bank.

I

rode up to his side.

It was the clear and palpable impression of an Indian moccasin.

Encouraged by this we continued our search, and at last some appearances on a soft surface of earth not far from the shore attracted my eye; and going to examine them I found half a dozen tracks, some made by men and some by children.

Just then Raymond observed across the stream the mouth of a small branch entering it from the south.

He forded the water, rode in at the opening, and in a moment I heard him shouting again, so I passed over and joined him.

The little branch had a broad sandy bed, along which the water trickled in a scanty stream; and on either bank the bushes were so close that the view was completely intercepted.

I found Raymond stooping over the footprints of three or four horses.

Proceeding we found those of a man, then those of a child, then those of more horses; and at last the bushes on each bank were beaten down and broken, and the sand plowed up with a multitude of footsteps, and scored across with the furrows made by the lodge-poles that had been dragged through.

It was now certain that we had found the trail.

I pushed through the bushes, and at a little distance on the prairie beyond found the ashes of a hundred and fifty lodge fires, with bones and pieces of buffalo robes scattered around them, and in some instances the pickets to which horses had been secured still standing in the ground.

Elated by our success we selected a convenient tree, and turning the animals loose, prepared to make a meal from the fat haunch of our victim.

Hardship and exposure had thriven with me wonderfully.

I had gained both health and strength since leaving La Bonte’s Camp.

Raymond and I made a hearty meal together in high spirits, for we rashly presumed that having found one end of the trail we should have little difficulty in reaching the other.

But when the animals were led in we found that our old ill luck had not ceased to follow us close.

As I was saddling Pauline I saw that her eye was as dull as lead, and the hue of her yellow coat visibly darkened.

I placed my foot in the stirrup to mount, when instantly she staggered and fell flat on her side.

Gaining her feet with an effort she stood by the fire with a drooping head.

Whether she had been bitten by a snake or poisoned by some noxious plant or attacked by a sudden disorder, it was hard to say; but at all events her sickness was sufficiently ill-timed and unfortunate.

I succeeded in a second attempt to mount her, and with a slow pace we moved forward on the trail of the Indians.

It led us up a hill and over a dreary plain; and here, to our great mortification, the traces almost disappeared, for the ground was hard as adamant; and if its flinty surface had ever retained the print of a hoof, the marks had been washed away by the deluge of yesterday.

An Indian village, in its disorderly march, is scattered over the prairie, often to the width of full half a mile; so that its trail is nowhere clearly marked, and the task of following it is made doubly wearisome and difficult.

By good fortune plenty of large ant-hills, a yard or more in diameter, were scattered over the plain, and these were frequently broken by the footprints of men and horses, and marked by traces of the lodge-poles.

The succulent leaves of the prickly-pear, also bruised from the same causes, helped a little to guide us; so inch by inch we moved along.

Often we lost the trail altogether, and then would recover it again, but late in the afternoon we found ourselves totally at fault.

We stood alone without clew to guide us.

The broken plain expanded for league after league around us, and in front the long dark ridge of mountains was stretching from north to south.

Mount Laramie, a little on our right, towered high above the rest and from a dark valley just beyond one of its lower declivities, we discerned volumes of white smoke slowly rolling up into the clear air.

“I think,” said Raymond, “some Indians must be there.

Perhaps we had better go.

” But this plan was not rashly to be adopted, and we determined still to continue our search after the lost trail.

Our good stars prompted us to this decision, for we afterward had reason to believe, from information given us by the Indians, that the smoke was raised as a decoy by a Crow war party.

Evening was coming on, and there was no wood or water nearer than the foot of the mountains.

So thither we turned, directing our course toward the point where Laramie Creek issues forth upon the prairie.

When we reached it the bare tops of the mountains were still brightened with sunshine.

The little river was breaking with a vehement and angry current from its dark prison.

There was something in the near vicinity of the mountains, in the loud surging of the rapids, wonderfully cheering and exhilarating; for although once as familiar as home itself, they had been for months strangers to my experience.

There was a rich grass-plot by the river’s bank, surrounded by low ridges, which would effectually screen ourselves and our fire from the sight of wandering Indians.

Here among the grass I observed numerous circles of large stones, which, as Raymond said, were traces of a Dakota winter encampment.

We lay down and did not awake till the sun was up.

A large rock projected from the shore, and behind it the deep water was slowly eddying round and round.

The temptation was irresistible.

I threw off my clothes, leaped in, suffered myself to be borne once round with the current, and then, seizing the strong root of a water plant, drew myself to the shore.

The effect was so invigorating and refreshing that I mistook it for returning health.

“Pauline,” thought I, as I led the little mare up to be saddled, “only thrive as I do, and you and I will have sport yet among the buffalo beyond these mountains.

” But scarcely were we mounted and on our way before the momentary glow passed.

Again I hung as usual in my seat, scarcely able to hold myself erect.

“Look yonder,” said Raymond; “you see that big hollow there; the Indians must have gone that way, if they went anywhere about here.

” We reached the gap, which was like a deep notch cut into the mountain ridge, and here we soon discerned an ant-hill furrowed with the mark of a lodge-pole.

This was quite enough; there could be no doubt now.

As we rode on, the opening growing narrower, the Indians had been compelled to march in closer order, and the traces became numerous and distinct.

The gap terminated in a rocky gateway, leading into a rough passage upward, between two precipitous mountains.

Here grass and weeds were bruised to fragments by the throng that had passed through.

We moved slowly over the rocks, up the passage; and in this toilsome manner we advanced for an hour or two, bare precipices, hundreds of feet high, shooting up on either hand.

Raymond, with his hardy mule, was a few rods before me, when we came to the foot of an ascent steeper than the rest, and which I trusted might prove the highest point of the defile.

Pauline strained upward for a few yards, moaning and stumbling, and then came to a dead stop, unable to proceed further.

I dismounted, and attempted to lead her; but my own exhausted strength soon gave out; so I loosened the trail-rope from her neck, and tying it round my arm, crawled up on my hands and knees.

I gained the top, totally exhausted, the sweat drops trickling from my forehead.

Pauline stood like a statue by my side, her shadow falling upon the scorching rock; and in this shade, for there was no other, I lay for some time, scarcely able to move a limb.

All around the black crags, sharp as needles at the top, stood glowing in the sun, without a tree, or a bush, or a blade of grass, to cover their precipitous sides.

The whole scene seemed parched with a pitiless, insufferable heat.

After a while I could mount again, and we moved on, descending the rocky defile on its western side.

Thinking of that morning’s journey, it has sometimes seemed to me that there was something ridiculous in my position; a man, armed to the teeth, but wholly unable to fight, and equally so to run away, traversing a dangerous wilderness, on a sick horse.

But these thoughts were retrospective, for at the time I was in too grave a mood to entertain a very lively sense of the ludicrous.

Raymond’s saddle-girth slipped; and while I proceeded he was stopping behind to repair the mischief.

I came to the top of a little declivity, where a most welcome sight greeted my eye; a nook of fresh green grass nestled among the cliffs, sunny clumps of bushes on one side, and shaggy old pine trees leaning forward from the rocks on the other.

A shrill, familiar voice saluted me, and recalled me to days of boyhood; that of the insect called the “locust” by New England schoolboys, which was fast clinging among the heated boughs of the old pine trees.

Then, too, as I passed the bushes, the low sound of falling water reached my ear.

Pauline turned of her own accord, and pushing through the boughs we found a black rock, over-arched by the cool green canopy.

An icy stream was pouring from its side into a wide basin of white sand, from whence it had no visible outlet, but filtered through into the soil below.

While I filled a tin cup at the spring, Pauline was eagerly plunging her head deep in the pool.

Other visitors had been there before us.

All around in the soft soil were the footprints of elk, deer, and the Rocky Mountain sheep; and the grizzly bear too had left the recent prints of his broad foot, with its frightful array of claws.

Among these mountains was his home.

Soon after leaving the spring we found a little grassy plain, encircled by the mountains, and marked, to our great joy, with all the traces of an Indian camp.

Raymond’s practiced eye detected certain signs by which he recognized the spot where Reynal’s lodge had been pitched and his horses picketed.

I approached, and stood looking at the place.

Reynal and I had, I believe, hardly a feeling in common.

I disliked the fellow, and it perplexed me a good deal to understand why I should look with so much interest on the ashes of his fire, when between him and me there seemed no other bond of sympathy than the slender and precarious one of a kindred race.

In half an hour from this we were clear of the mountains.

There was a plain before us, totally barren and thickly peopled in many parts with the little prairie dogs, who sat at the mouths of their burrows and yelped at us as we passed.

The plain, as we thought, was about six miles wide; but it cost us two hours to cross it.

Then another mountain range rose before us, grander and more wild than the last had been.

Far out of the dense shrubbery that clothed the steeps for a thousand feet shot up black crags, all leaning one way, and shattered by storms and thunder into grim and threatening shapes.

As we entered a narrow passage on the trail of the Indians, they impended frightfully on one side, above our heads.

Our course was through dense woods, in the shade and twinkling sunlight of overhanging boughs.

I would I could recall to mind all the startling combinations that presented themselves, as winding from side to side of the passage, to avoid its obstructions, we could see, glancing at intervals through the foliage, the awful forms of the gigantic cliffs, that seemed at times to hem us in on the right and on the left, before us and behind!

Another scene in a few moments greeted us; a tract of gray and sunny woods, broken into knolls and hollows, enlivened by birds and interspersed with flowers.

Among the rest I recognized the mellow whistle of the robin, an old familiar friend whom I had scarce expected to meet in such a place.

Humble-bees too were buzzing heavily about the flowers; and of these a species of larkspur caught my eye, more appropriate, it should seem, to cultivated gardens than to a remote wilderness.

Instantly it recalled a multitude of dormant and delightful recollections.

Leaving behind us this spot and its associations, a sight soon presented itself, characteristic of that warlike region.

In an open space, fenced in by high rocks, stood two Indian forts, of a square form, rudely built of sticks and logs.

They were somewhat ruinous, having probably been constructed the year before.

Each might have contained about twenty men.

Perhaps in this gloomy spot some party had been beset by their enemies, and those scowling rocks and blasted trees might not long since have looked down on a conflict unchronicled and unknown.