The night after we left the
Ridge-path we encamped close to the river. At sunset we saw a train
of wagons encamping on the trail about three miles off; and though we
saw them distinctly, our little cart, as it afterward proved,
entirely escaped their view. For some days Tete Rouge had been
longing eagerly after a dram of whisky. So, resolving to improve the
present opportunity, he mounted his horse James, slung his canteen
over his shoulder, and set forth in search of his favorite liquor.
Some hours passed without his returning. We thought that he was
lost, or perhaps that some stray Indian had snapped him up. While
the rest fell asleep I remained on guard. Late at night a tremulous
voice saluted me from the darkness, and Tete Rouge and James soon
became visible, advancing toward the camp. Tete Rouge was in much
agitation and big with some important tidings. Sitting down on the
shaft of the cart, he told the following story:
When he left the camp he had no idea, he said, how late it was. By
the time he approached the wagoners it was perfectly dark; and as he
saw them all sitting around their fires within the circle of wagons,
their guns laid by their sides, he thought he might as well give
warning of his approach, in order to prevent a disagreeable mistake.
Raising his voice to the highest pitch, he screamed out in prolonged
accents, "Camp, ahoy!" This eccentric salutation produced anything
but the desired result. Hearing such hideous sounds proceeding from
the outer darkness, the wagoners thought that the whole Pawnee nation
were about to break in and take their scalps. Up they sprang staring
with terror. Each man snatched his gun; some stood behind the
wagons; some threw themselves flat on the ground, and in an instant
twenty cocked muskets were leveled full at the horrified Tete Rouge,
who just then began to be visible through the darkness.
"Thar they come," cried the master wagoner, "fire, fire! shoot that
feller."
"No, no!" screamed Tete Rouge, in an ecstasy of fright; "don't fire,
don't! I'm a friend, I'm an American citizen!"
"You're a friend, be you?" cried a gruff voice from the wagons; "then
what are you yelling out thar for, like a wild Injun. Come along up
here if you're a man."
"Keep your guns p'inted at him," added the master wagoner, "maybe
he's a decoy, like."
Tete Rouge in utter bewilderment made his approach, with the gaping
muzzles of the muskets still before his eyes. He succeeded at last
in explaining his character and situation, and the Missourians
admitted him into camp. He got no whisky; but as he represented
himself as a great invalid, and suffering much from coarse fare, they
made up a contribution for him of rice, biscuit, and sugar from their
own rations.
In the morning at breakfast, Tete Rouge once more related this story.
We hardly knew how much of it to believe, though after some cross-
questioning we failed to discover any flaw in the narrative. Passing
by the wagoner's camp, they confirmed Tete Rouge's account in every
particular.
"I wouldn't have been in that feller's place," said one of them, "for
the biggest heap of money in Missouri."
To Tete Rouge's great wrath they expressed a firm conviction that he
was crazy. We left them after giving them the advice not to trouble
themselves about war-whoops in future, since they would be apt to
feel an Indian's arrow before they heard his voice.
A day or two after, we had an adventure of another sort with a party
of wagoners. Henry and I rode forward to hunt. After that day there
was no probability that we should meet with buffalo, and we were
anxious to kill one for the sake of fresh meat. They were so wild
that we hunted all the morning in vain, but at noon as we approached
Cow Creek we saw a large band feeding near its margin. Cow Creek is
densely lined with trees which intercept the view beyond, and it
runs, as we afterward found, at the bottom of a deep trench. We
approached by riding along the bottom of a ravine. When we were near
enough, I held the horses while Henry crept toward the buffalo. I
saw him take his seat within shooting distance, prepare his rifle,
and look about to select his victim. The death of a fat cow was
certain, when suddenly a great smoke arose from the bed of the Creek
with a rattling volley of musketry. A score of long-legged
Missourians leaped out from among the trees and ran after the
buffalo, who one and all took to their heels and vanished. These
fellows had crawled up the bed of the Creek to within a hundred yards
of the buffalo. Never was there a fairer chance for a shot. They
were good marksmen; all cracked away at once, and yet not a buffalo
fell. In fact, the animal is so tenacious of life that it requires
no little knowledge of anatomy to kill it, and it is very seldom that
a novice succeeds in his first attempt at approaching. The balked
Missourians were excessively mortified, especially when Henry told
them if they had kept quiet he would have killed meat enough in ten
minutes to feed their whole party. Our friends, who were at no great
distance, hearing such a formidable fusillade, thought the Indians
had fired the volley for our benefit. Shaw came galloping on to
reconnoiter and learn if we were yet in the land of the living.
