When Sunset Came, And At That Hour The Wild And Desolate Scene Would
Assume A New Aspect, The Horses Were Driven In.
They had been
grazing all day in the neighboring meadow, but now they were picketed
close about the camp.
As the prairie darkened we sat and conversed
around the fire, until becoming drowsy we spread our saddles on the
ground, wrapped our blankets around us and lay down. We never placed
a guard, having by this time become too indolent; but Henry Chatillon
folded his loaded rifle in the same blanket with himself, observing
that he always took it to bed with him when he camped in that place.
Henry was too bold a man to use such a precaution without good cause.
We had a hint now and then that our situation was none of the safest;
several Crow war parties were known to be in the vicinity, and one of
them, that passed here some time before, had peeled the bark from a
neighboring tree, and engraved upon the white wood certain
hieroglyphics, to signify that they had invaded the territories of
their enemies, the Dakota, and set them at defiance. One morning a
thick mist covered the whole country. Shaw and Henry went out to
ride, and soon came back with a startling piece of intelligence; they
had found within rifle-shot of our camp the recent trail of about
thirty horsemen. They could not be whites, and they could not be
Dakota, since we knew no such parties to be in the neighborhood;
therefore they must be Crows. Thanks to that friendly mist, we had
escaped a hard battle; they would inevitably have attacked us and our
Indian companions had they seen our camp. Whatever doubts we might
have entertained, were quite removed a day or two after, by two or
three Dakota, who came to us with an account of having hidden in a
ravine on that very morning, from whence they saw and counted the
Crows; they said that they followed them, carefully keeping out of
sight, as they passed up Chugwater; that here the Crows discovered
five dead bodies of Dakota, placed according to the national custom
in trees, and flinging them to the ground, they held their guns
against them and blew them to atoms.
If our camp were not altogether safe, still it was comfortable
enough; at least it was so to Shaw, for I was tormented with illness
and vexed by the delay in the accomplishment of my designs. When a
respite in my disorder gave me some returning strength, I rode out
well-armed upon the prairie, or bathed with Shaw in the stream, or
waged a petty warfare with the inhabitants of a neighborhood prairie-
dog village. Around our fire at night we employed ourselves in
inveighing against the fickleness and inconstancy of Indians, and
execrating The Whirlwind and all his village. At last the thing grew
insufferable.
"To-morrow morning," said I, "I will start for the fort, and see if I
can hear any news there." Late that evening, when the fire had sunk
low, and all the camp were asleep, a loud cry sounded from the
darkness. Henry started up, recognized the voice, replied to it, and
our dandy friend, The Horse, rode in among us, just returned from his
mission to the village. He coolly picketed his mare, without saying
a word, sat down by the fire and began to eat, but his imperturbable
philosophy was too much for our patience. Where was the village?
about fifty miles south of us; it was moving slowly and would not
arrive in less than a week; and where was Henry's squaw? coming as
fast as she could with Mahto-Tatonka, and the rest of her brothers,
but she would never reach us, for she was dying, and asking every
moment for Henry. Henry's manly face became clouded and downcast; he
said that if we were willing he would go in the morning to find her,
at which Shaw offered to accompany him.
We saddled our horses at sunrise. Reynal protested vehemently
against being left alone, with nobody but the two Canadians and the
young Indians, when enemies were in the neighborhood. Disregarding
his complaints, we left him, and coming to the mouth of Chugwater,
separated, Shaw and Henry turning to the right, up the bank of the
stream, while I made for the fort.
Taking leave for a while of my friend and the unfortunate squaw, I
will relate by way of episode what I saw and did at Fort Laramie. It
was not more than eighteen miles distant, and I reached it in three
hours; a shriveled little figure, wrapped from head to foot in a
dingy white Canadian capote, stood in the gateway, holding by a cord
of bull's hide a shaggy wild horse, which he had lately caught. His
sharp prominent features, and his little keen snakelike eyes, looked
out from beneath the shadowy hood of the capote, which was drawn over
his head exactly like the cowl of a Capuchin friar. His face was
extremely thin and like an old piece of leather, and his mouth spread
from ear to ear. Extending his long wiry hand, he welcomed me with
something more cordial than the ordinary cold salute of an Indian,
for we were excellent friends. He had made an exchange of horses to
our mutual advantage; and Paul, thinking himself well-treated, had
declared everywhere that the white man had a good heart. He was a
Dakota from the Missouri, a reputed son of the half-breed
interpreter, Pierre Dorion, so often mentioned in Irving's "Astoria."
He said that he was going to Richard's trading house to sell his
horse to some emigrants who were encamped there, and asked me to go
with him. We forded the stream together, Paul dragging his wild
charge behind him. As we passed over the sandy plains beyond, he
grew quite communicative. Paul was a cosmopolitan in his way; he had
been to the settlements of the whites, and visited in peace and war
most of the tribes within the range of a thousand miles.
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