He had many particulars to
give them concerning the Blackfeet Indians, a restless and
predatory tribe, who had conceived
An implacable hostility to the
white men, in consequence of one of their warriors having been
killed by Captain Lewis, while attempting to steal horses.
Through the country infested by these savages the expedition
would have to proceed, and Colter was urgent in reiterating the
precautions that ought to be observed respecting them. He had
himself experienced their vindictive cruelty, and his story
deserves particular citation, as showing the hairbreadth
adventures to which these solitary rovers of the wilderness are
exposed.
Colter, with the hardihood of a regular trapper, had cast himself
loose from the party of Lewis and Clarke in the very heart of the
wilderness, and had remained to trap beaver alone on the head
waters of the Missouri. Here he fell in with another lonely
trapper, like himself, named Potts, and they agreed to keep
together. They were in the very region of the terrible Blackfeet,
at that time thirsting to revenge the death of their companion,
and knew that they had to expect no mercy at their hands. They
were obliged to keep concealed all day in the woody margins of
the rivers, setting their traps after nightfall and taking them
up before daybreak. It was running a fearful risk for the sake of
a few beaver skins; but such is the life of the trapper.
They were on a branch of the Missouri called Jefferson Fork, and
had set their traps at night, about six miles up a small river
that emptied into the fork. Early in the morning they ascended
the river in a canoe, to examine the traps. The banks on each
side were high and perpendicular, and cast a shade over the
stream. As they were softly paddling along, they heard the
trampling of many feet upon the banks. Colter immediately gave
the alarm of "Indians!" and was for instant retreat. Potts
scoffed at him for being frightened by the trampling of a herd of
buffaloes. Colter checked his uneasiness and paddled forward.
They had not gone much further when frightful whoops and yells
burst forth from each side of the river, and several hundred
Indians appeared on either bank. Signs were made to the
unfortunate trappers to come on shore. They were obliged to
comply. Before they could get out of their canoe, a savage seized
the rifle belonging to Potts. Colter sprang on shore, wrestled
the weapon from the hands of the Indian, and restored it to his
companion, who was still in the canoe, and immediately pushed
into the stream. There was the sharp twang of a bow, and Potts
cried out that he was wounded. Colter urged him to come on shore
and submit, as his only chance for life; but the other knew there
was no prospect of mercy, and determined to die game. Leveling
his rifle, he shot one of the savages dead on the spot. The next
moment he fell himself, pierced with innumerable arrows.
The vengeance of the savages now turned upon Colter. He was
stripped naked, and, having some knowledge of the Blackfoot
language, overheard a consultation as to the mode of despatching
him, so as to derive the greatest amusement from his death. Some
were for setting him up as a mark, and having a trial of skill at
his expense. The chief, however, was for nobler sport. He seized
Colter by the shoulder, and demanded if he could run fast. The
unfortunate trapper was too well acquainted with Indian customs
not to comprehend the drift of the question. He knew he was to
run for his life, to furnish a kind of human hunt to his
persecutors. Though in reality he was noted among his brother
hunters for swiftness of foot, he assured the chief that he was a
very bad runner. His stratagem gained him some vantage ground. He
was led by the chief into the prairie, about four hundred yards
from the main body of savages, and then turned loose to save
himself if he could. A tremendous yell let him know that the
whole pack of bloodhounds were off in full cry. Colter flew
rather than ran; he was astonished at his own speed; but he had
six miles of prairie to traverse before he should reach the
Jefferson Fork of the Missouri; how could he hope to hold out
such a distance with the fearful odds of several hundred to one
against him! The plain, too, abounded with the prickly pear,
which wounded his naked feet. Still he fled on, dreading each
moment to hear the twang of a bow, and to feel an arrow quivering
at his heart. He did not even dare to look round, lest he should
lose an inch of that distance on which his life depended. He had
run nearly half way across the plain when the sound of pursuit
grew somewhat fainter, and he ventured to turn his head. The main
body of his pursuers were a considerable distance behind; several
of the fastest runners were scattered in the advance; while a
swift-footed warrior, armed with a spear, was not more than a
hundred yards behind him.
Inspired with new hope, Colter redoubled his exertions, but
strained himself to such a degree, that the blood gushed from his
mouth and nostrils, and streamed down his breast. He arrived
within a mile of the river. The sound of footsteps gathered upon
him. A glance behind showed his pursuer within twenty yards, and
preparing to launch his spear. Stopping short he turned round and
spread out his arms. The savage, confounded by this sudden
action, attempted to stop and hurl his spear, but fell in the
very act. His spear stuck in the ground, and the shaft broke in
his hand. Colter plucked up the pointed part, pinned the savage
to the earth, and continued his flight.
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