X.
A Gray Wolf.
It is difficult, if not impossible, to find the derivation of some of the Spanish or Mexican words and phrases then in use by the Santa Fé traders. For instance, the word “cavayard,” I have used and spelled as it was pronounced by these unlettered plainsmen and as applied by them to the bunch of loose cattle and horses driven behind the train. The pure Castilian has undoubtedly suffered many changes in New Mexico, among the lower classes particularly. The Spanish words used by these plainsmen had been both Mexicanized and then Missourianized until so changed and corrupted as to be hardly recognizable at all. This word “cavayard,” they declared, was of Spanish origin; if so it must have been a corruption of “caballar”—pronounced “cavallyar,” meaning an attendant on horses. The derivation of the word “hornada,” which we found given to the dry stretch between the Arkansas and Cimarron is equally obscure.
Among the teamsters was a Mexican, whose name I have forgotten. One morning Captain Chiles got up earlier than usual, at break of day, in fact, and, while waking up the men he discovered this Mexican beating one of his oxen severely with bow of the ox yoke. This was a gross violation of the rules, but when Captain Chiles censured him in pretty strong language he talked back to him in a threatening manner. Thereupon the captain, drawing one of the two navy pistols swinging to a belt around his waist, holding it in one hand, and with a heavy blacksnake whip in the other, advanced upon him and proceeded to give him a severe flogging with the whip. The Mexican was held fast by the threatening aspects of the navy pistol pointed at him all the while until he had received a very severe flogging. The following night the Mexican “skipped out,” and was never seen by us afterwards, but no doubt made his way to the settlements of New Mexico, then not more than 200 miles distant.
Hunting game, other than buffalo, along the Santa Fé trail at that date was, to one attached to a train and dependent upon its movements, necessarily confined to a narrow scope of country on either side of the road, within a mile or two. It was impossible to know at what moment one might meet with Indians and be attacked by them. At that time of the year the game was kept back from the highway by the frequent passage of trains, while a few miles off from the road there was no trouble to find antelope and white-tail deer. I was compelled to hunt alone or not at all. My friend Reece had become too much worn out by the travel and his continued ill health to take much interest in hunting, while Captain Chiles was kept busy with his duties about the train. But I was continually on the lookout for game; I rarely traveled the road, but would ride a mile or so from it on one side or the other, always carrying my holster pistols, and usually, in addition the big shotgun belonging to Captain Chiles.
My buffalo horse seemed to have a very clear understanding of travel over the plains, having, as before stated, the experience of a journey from California to Missouri the previous year. He seemed to have an instinctive idea of the locality of the train, even when it was traveling, and often when riding him a mile or more from the road and completely out of sight, when given the rein he would instantly change his course in the proper direction to intercept the train.
Riding thus alone on one occasion, some distance ahead of the train, I saw a large gray wolf galloping across my course, going towards the road. I determined to give him a chase, and after him I went. The wolf increased his speed, and, urging my horse to his best, we went flying across the road 100 yards in front of the train and in full view of it. As we flew by, the entire company of teamsters gave us an encouraging whoop, but whether designed for me or the wolf I was not able to determine. I had followed the big fellow closely for a mile, emptying at him, if not in him, the entire twelve chambers of my revolvers. At one time I got within twenty feet of him, but not having any ammunition for reloading with me, nor time for recharging my pistols if I had, he disappeared over the ridge and I saw nothing more of him.
Many days passed and many weary miles were traveled of which I have no remembrance whatever and I am only attempting to relate such adventures as were indelibly impressed upon my memory, the frosts of forty-three winters having passed over my head since this journey was made. I cannot recollect what I thought of the probability of those vast plains ever being occupied or cultivated as homes for white people.
Whetstone creek, which the road crossed near the boundary of New Mexico, was one of the localities of special interest to me. Back on my father’s farm in Missouri I had often whetted my pocketknife on a stone belonging to my old overseer friend who said he had obtained it on this creek. But none of our trainmen were familiar with the route or the locality, or could tell me where the whetstone quarry was to be found, and I was disappointed in not being able to discover it after making a diligent search for it. And now the spurs of the Raton mountains loomed up in the distance ahead of us, a novel and interesting sight to many of the company, some of whom had never seen any greater elevation than the big hills of Western Missouri, and the drivers swore and cracked their whips with renewed vigor and animation.