CHAPTER XXX
ALLIES WITH COPPER-COLORED SKINS
When Mayhew made that dire announcement it sent a foreboding of coming trouble straight to the hearts of his young companions.
If the wily red men had succeeded in surrounding them, so that there was no chance of escape, they might as well give up all hope of saving themselves from capture. Poor Roger, who had so recently been brimming over with confidence concerning the ultimate success of their expedition to the camp of the Frenchmen, now found himself sinking once more into a pit of despair.
“What had we better do, Mayhew?” asked Dick, grimly.
“That is for you to decide,” replied the scout. “Each one will have to follow his own bent. As for myself, I know well that capture would mean death at the stake for me. So I shall fight to the last gasp, and, if the chance comes, try to make my escape as I did before. A man can die but once, and better in battle than by fire.”
Dick hardly knew what to say or do. He had a charge in his gun, it is true, and with ordinary luck that might account for a single Indian; but would it be the part of wisdom to enrage the savages by this rash act?
He turned to the right and to the left. Yes, even as Mayhew had said, there were enemies concealed everywhere, for he could see feathered heads rising from behind various sheltering bushes.
Flight seemed impossible, and, while the thought of surrender chilled his blood, it began to look as though there might be no other course.
Then all at once Roger heard his cousin give a low cry. It was not alarm that rang in that utterance, but rather sudden surprise, even hope. Roger could not guess what it meant, but turning toward his comrade, he seized hold of his arm and stared in the other’s face.
To his amazement Roger saw what looked like an expanding smile beginning to appear there. He feared Dick must be going out of his mind when he could show signs of pleasure upon facing such a terrible condition as that by which they were now confronted.
“Mayhew, look again!” cried Dick. “Pay closer attention to the feathers in their scalp-locks! Tell me if they are not different from the feathers the Blackfeet wear!”
It was the frontiersman now who uttered a cry.
“Yes, yes, you are right, boy! These are not Blackfoot braves!”
“They are Sioux warriors, and, it may be, fresh from the village of our friend, the chief, Running Elk!” said Dick.
Roger found his voice at hearing that glorious news.
“Try them, Dick!” he exclaimed, excitedly. “Give them the sign the chief taught us! Let them know we are friends, and not enemies! Yes, I can tell the feathers are those of our friends, the Sioux. It is going to be all right after all!”
Dick meanwhile took out a piece of white linen he had with him and started to wave it.
At the same time he made certain gesticulations with his other hand that would have a meaning in the eyes of Sioux braves, if, as they hoped, these hidden red men proved to be such.
At first no notice was taken of his signals. Perhaps the wily warriors suspected that it might be some sort of trap to catch them unawares; but, as Dick continued his motions, they presently met with a response.
Several Indians cautiously arose to their feet, making responsive gestures. Then they started to advance toward the spot where the three palefaces stood.
“Why,” exploded Roger, “look at every bush giving up a brave! There must be twenty of them, all told. How lucky for us they are Sioux, and not Blackfeet, the allies of Lascelles.”
From every quarter the Indians now advanced, forming a complete cordon around Dick and his friends, who awaited their coming calmly, confident as to the result of the meeting.
“Dick,” said Roger, “I am sure I know that man in the lead, with the feathers of a chief in his long black hair, and the bears’ claws around his neck.”
“Yes,” the other remarked, “I was just going to say the same thing. He is a sub-chief by the name of Beaver Tail. Surely he should remember us, and what we did to make his chief our friend.”
“Will he remember us, do you think?” continued Roger, apprehensively.
“Have no fear,” Dick assured him; “all will be well. An Indian, once a friend, can be depended on forever. I am only too glad now I held my fire.”
As the first of the Indians came up, the boys waited anxiously to see whether they would be recognized by the sub-chief. To their satisfaction Beaver Tail immediately greeted them as friends, after the manner of his tribe.
Others of the warriors must also have discovered that they had seen two of the palefaces among the lodges in their home village, for there were numerous grunts and friendly nods among them.
“How can we let Beaver Tail know what we are here for, and beg him to help us save Williams from the Frenchmen?” Dick now asked. “The chances are that not one of the braves or the chief himself can speak a word of English. Shall we make signs in the snow, and tell him that way?”
“Leave it to me, lad,” Mayhew told him. “I have a little smattering of the Sioux tongue, for once upon a time I was a prisoner among their wigwams for months. With the aid of signs I shall be able to tell him the story of how we seek Williams, the man who was in your company at the time their chief set you free. And they will, I feel sure, help us carry out our plan.”
Both the pioneer boys watched Mayhew with intense eagerness as he faced Beaver Tail and commenced to speak to him in his own language. The chief looked astonished and pleased as well, for he had never dreamed that a paleface could talk in the Dacotah tongue. (Note 10.)
While Mayhew was talking Dick watched the face of Beaver Tail. He could see that by degrees the chief was catching the drift of what the guide tried to explain. Of course this consisted in the main of their desire to overtake Williams, who had set off on a hunting trip, and more to the effect of how he had been unlucky enough to fall into the hands of the Blackfeet, who were acting in conjunction with certain French traders.
It was a clever idea on the part of the guide to bring in the Blackfeet, because, as he very well knew, there was never-ending war between that tribe and the Sioux. This would make Beaver Tail all the more willing, even eager, to lend his aid in effecting the rescue of Williams.
Step by step Mayhew advanced. When his limited stock of words failed him, the guide resorted to crude drawings on the snow, at which device he seemed to be quite adept, if the boys could judge from the chorus of “how-how” that broke from the crowd of braves after each effort in this line, and which they judged meant appreciation on the part of the interested onlookers.
Finally the guide had reached the conclusion. He must have asked Beaver Tail to help the paleface friends of the great chief, Running Elk, to rescue their companion from the hated enemy, because the Indian was nodding his head as though the proposition struck him favorably.
Then he commenced talking in return. When he saw from the puzzled expression on the face of Mayhew that the frontiersman failed to catch the idea he was trying to express, the chief turned to the sign language, upon which his race have always relied when communicating with each other, or to commemorate great events such as glorious victories.
“What does he say, Mayhew?” asked Roger.
“He knows where the Frenchmen have their camp, and it is, as we believed, over on the big water,” replied the guide.
“Good! And will he take us there, and help us rescue Jasper?” continued Roger.
“He says he will,” Mayhew announced, with a happy smile on his weatherbeaten face, for things had taken a decided turn in their favor, and he began to imagine himself back in the main camp, ready to make another attempt at taking that message down to the mouth of the Missouri River.
“When?” continued the impatient Roger.
“We can be heading over that way as soon as we feel like it,” the guide explained. “The lake is about seven miles from here, as near as I can make him out from his sign drawing. Once we get close by we must wait for night to come. It is against Injun nature to ever make an attack in broad daylight, when it can be avoided.”
“So long as they do not injure Jasper it will not matter much,” Roger admitted.
“If they have not hurt him up to now I do not think anything is going to happen before night comes around,” Dick told him.
As there was nothing more to be arranged Mayhew managed to tell the chief that they gladly accepted his offer of assistance, and placed themselves wholly in his hands. Perhaps the artful frontiersman, knowing the nature of all Indians, managed to convey more or less flattery in his speech. At any rate Beaver Tail gave evidences of being greatly pleased by it, and even went around shaking hands with the three palefaces, in the same way he had seen the head chief, Running Elk, do on a former occasion.
It was a fortunate thing for the exploring expedition that members of their party had been able to make friends with this tribe of the powerful Sioux nation so early in their invasion of the hunting grounds of these Western Indians.
Dick and Roger had shot a savage panther that was about to leap from the limb of a tree upon an old Indian squaw and a little girl. Later on, when the boys found themselves prisoners of the Sioux, this squaw, who turned out to be a sister of the great chief, Running Elk, and the child Dove Eye his own daughter, saved their lives; and from that time on the Sioux, at least that particular tribe, were on friendly terms with the explorers.
Accompanied by that host of fighting warriors, Dick and his party pushed on into the east for several hours, not trying to make any fast time, however, since they were in no particular hurry to arrive before evening.
“If you have been taking notice of the fact, Dick,” Mayhew remarked, as he drew alongside the others, “we have our backs full on the westering sun.”
“Yes,” Dick returned, “I did take note of that, and it tells us you were right; the lake, and the camp of the Frenchmen as well, lie straight to the east.”
“Look up, Roger; what do you see?” demanded the guide.
“Our old friends, the crows, flying in flocks, all in a straight line, and heading into the sun. Listen to them cawing; but somehow or other the sound doesn’t ‘rile’ me as it did before. In fact, I rather like to hear it, because I can fancy they are saying: ‘You are on the right track, the camp is only a little way ahead, and good luck to you!’”
Dick laughed softly.
“That is only because you are happy now, while before you had a heavy load on your mind. As none of us can understand crow talk we must let it go by. See how they rise in the air when they glimpse us. Wary old rascals that they are, they scent danger a mile off.”
“And, as we must be getting near the big water now,” interposed Mayhew, “it may be just as well that we forego talking except in whispers. There can be no telling about those crafty Blackfeet; some of them may be roving around, on the lookout for meat, and spy us. Leave it all to the chief, and let us copy everything they do, so as to show Beaver Tail we have handed the whole job over to him.”
After that not a word passed between the three comrades above their breath, as they moved along in company with the dusky crew.
CHAPTER XXXI
THE CAMP ON THE BIG WATER
“There is the big water, Dick!” said Roger, in the ear of his cousin, as he chanced to peer through a narrow opening in the dense woods beyond.
“And the chief has called a halt, which looks as though we were not to go any further just now,” Dick added.
They could catch a glimpse of what looked like an inland sea. The wind was raising whitecaps on the tops of the waves, as they rolled past toward the south. As far as the eye could reach the same broad expanse of clear crystal water lay. The Indians did well to call it the “big water,” though to-day it is marked on the map as Yellowstone Lake.
A spy was sent out while the remainder of the party remained in hiding. This was about an hour from sundown. He came back as the last glow was fading in the western sky, and there was a consultation between the chief and his leading warriors.
“Try to find out how the land lies, and what the plan of campaign will be,” Dick told Mayhew.
The guide returned presently with all the information they required.
“As near as I can tell,” he explained to the boys, “the spy brings in the news that the Blackfeet have mostly departed, and only the four Frenchmen are left in the camp.”
“But I hope they have left Jasper behind also,” exclaimed Roger, taking fresh alarm. “You remember we were told by Lascelles that he meant to try to get the Indians to carry him far away to their village, and either adopt him into the tribe, or else burn him at the stake.”
“Make your mind easy on that score,” Mayhew assured him.
“Then he is still in the camp?” asked the boy.
“Yes, the spy saw him there, tied to a tree,” Mayhew continued. “One of the Frenchmen gave him a kick in passing, like the coward that he is. I used to believe the French were gentlemen, but my opinion has changed.”
“Oh! you must not judge all Frenchmen by these rascals,” said Dick. “They are of the bad kind. Perhaps Jasper will be glad of a chance to return that kick with interest before sun-up.”
“And if he doesn’t, I will!” asserted Roger, impulsively, for he hated a coward and a bully above all things.
“What does Beaver Tail mean to do?” Dick asked.
“I think his first act will be to send the spy back again, so as to keep track of what is going on in the French camp,” Mayhew told him. “Then at a later hour all of us will creep over and surround the place. Any Blackfeet who may be found are apt to be given a short shrift, because they are the mortal foes of the Sioux; but I do not believe the traders will be harmed, unless they should be unwise enough to shoot one of Beaver Tail’s warriors.”
Shortly afterwards Dick saw the same skillful scout go forth, and he knew that Mayhew had guessed the truth when he said a close watch was to be kept over the camp on the lake shore.
In good time the signal would be given for the general advance. Until then, all of them must possess their souls in patience. As the cold of the night increased it was likely to prove no laughing matter, since they were unprovided with blankets, and dared not build a fire. Still, with success so close to their hands, the pioneer boys felt that they could put up with almost anything.
How slowly the time passed, in spite of all these brave resolutions! Roger found it necessary several times to get up and, as noiselessly as possible, thresh his arms around him, so as to start his stagnant blood into renewed circulation. Had it not been for this expedient he believed he would be unable to respond when finally the signal was given to move on.
When it appeared to Roger that many hours must have passed, he was elated to discover that the chief, Beaver Tail, had begun to show signs of life. He had been sitting like a block of stone, simply casting a look up at the stars occasionally, as though one of the heavenly bodies must reach a certain altitude before the time could be reckoned as up.
This must have been a signal to the others, for immediately each warrior was on his moccasined feet, and on every side bows could be seen being strung in readiness for twanging, while quivers of arrows were fastened over the left shoulder of each soft-footed brave.
Once the expedition was in motion, the chill soon left Roger’s body. In its place he experienced a gratifying warmth that must have started through the increased pumping of his youthful heart due to excitement.
The boys found as they advanced that the crafty Sioux chief had made as complete arrangements as any war captain could have done. He had divided his force into three sections of about equal numbers. One of these was sent ahead, and it was easy to surmise that the duty of these warriors was to proceed to the further extremity of the Frenchmen’s camp, so as to cut off escape from that quarter.
A second lot could come up from the rear, while those with whom the palefaces and Beaver Tail himself were associated advanced along the shore of the lake, and expected to reach the vicinity of the camp in that way.
The boys had never gazed upon a body of water anything like the size of that lake, though accustomed to the big Missouri River in flood-time, when it was miles from shore to shore. Once they had cruised down to the Mississippi in company with Roger’s father, Sandy Armstrong, who had built a big canoe and wanted to revisit the place where, as a lad, he had had a temporary home.
Seen in the sheen of the starlight, the lake looked as though it might be an ocean in itself, for no further shore was visible. Roger wondered if this was what the sea resembled, and if he and Dick would really be permitted to continue on with the explorers, cross the rocky range of mountains, and finally bring up on the golden strand of the Pacific Ocean.
But there was a glimmering light close by, which he surmised was a smoldering fire in the French traders’ camp. Carefully they continued to creep forward. It gave Roger a thrill to realize that he was in the company of savages such as his father and grandfather had fought in the years gone by; but who were now their best of friends. What wonderful stories he and Dick would have to tell should they live through all these manifold perils to return safely home, and resume their old places at the domestic fireside.
Both boys were secretly hoping that Lascelles and his compatriots would not be so foolhardy as to attempt to resist. Bad as these men were, the boys did not wish to see them butchered, as they undoubtedly would be should they fire on the Sioux, or even wound one of Beaver Tail’s warriors.
As for any stray Blackfeet who may have remained in camp while the main body was off somewhere, if they got in the way of the Sioux arrows or tomahawks that was their lookout; the boys could not be expected to include them in the scheme of general amnesty.
The attack was not to be started until certain signals announced that all the detachments had reached the positions assigned to them by the chief. When he heard the howl of a wolf given with a certain little twist at the finish, and then also caught the cry of the screech-owl, he would feel assured that nothing remained to be done but order a concerted assault.
Indians have always had a certain set plan for their surprises. No matter how slyly they crept up on blockhouse or camp or border fort, when a certain time arrived they felt it was absolutely necessary to break out in ferocious yells. No doubt this was done partly to give freedom to their pent-up feelings, and, at the same time, add to the alarm of those whom they were attacking.
Dick and Roger knew this fact. They had had some little experience themselves in connection with Indians. Besides this, they had heard innumerable stories from Grandfather David concerning those days along the Ohio, when the tribes from the Great Lakes to the southern border of Kentucky were all on the warpath, and seeking day and night to destroy the hardy pioneers.
This being the case, neither of the lads felt any surprise when there arose a series of the most dreadful yells. The warriors whom they accompanied added to the din with all their might, at the same time springing forward and running in the direction of the near by camp.
From every quarter arose that deafening clamor. It must have struck terror to the hearts of the Frenchmen, even though they may have fancied that they were friendly with all the tribes of the far Northwest, because of their dealings in the matter of buying the stores of pelts collected by the red men.
There was nothing for the boys to do but keep company with the braves as they thus closed in on the surrounded camp. Already they could see signs of tremendous excitement in that quarter, as the inmates, alarmed by the clamor of many tongues, turned this way and that, hardly knowing whether to run, or else raise up their hands in token of submission.
Several dusky figures were discovered by the light of the fire darting into the thickets close to the camp. These must be the few Blackfoot braves who, for some reason, had been left behind. They knew there would be no mercy for them at the hands of their mortal foes, the Sioux, and on that account they preferred taking their chances in the brush and half-darkness.
Had it not been for that horrid din, perhaps the boys might have caught the sharp twang of bowstrings; they might also have heard the death cries of those who met the flight of those swiftly-driven arrows, with their tips of jagged flint.
Just then it mattered nothing to Dick and Roger whether any of the Blackfeet managed to run the gauntlet and escape or not; their thoughts were all taken up with the hope and expectation of finding that one for whom they had long sought, Jasper Williams, whose signature at the bottom of a new document would mean so much to the folks at home.
As they entered the camp they saw a cluster of figures standing with fear-blanched faces. The flickering firelight showed the boys that Lascelles was there, and the smooth-faced young man, cowering at his side, must be his son, Alexis, whom accounts reported as being as great a rascal as his father. Besides, there were two more of the traders.
At sight of the boys whom he had so greatly wronged Lascelles cried out something. Neither of them could exactly understand its nature; but Dick fancied the cowardly Frenchman must be pleading with them to have his life spared.
“Hold up your hands, and they may not harm you; but under no conditions try to run away or you are dead men!” was what he flung out at them as he ran past.
Roger was at his heels. The guide, with wonderful good sense, gave the fire a little kick in passing, which had the effect of starting up quite a bright blaze. By the aid of this light they could see what was going on.
Already a number of the Sioux had entered the camp. Their appearance, with flourishing hatchets and knives, doubtless chilled the blood of the Frenchmen, knowing as they now did that these braves of Running Elk must be on the most friendly terms with Dick and Roger Armstrong.
Dick looked further. It was, however, the keen-eyed Roger who chanced to be the first to discover what they were searching for.
“This way, Dick; here he is, tied to this tree!” he cried.
As Dick leaped after him he saw that there was indeed some one bound fast to a tree, a white man at that; and the firelight disclosed the fact that it was Jasper Williams.
CHAPTER XXXII
A WELL WON VICTORY—CONCLUSION
The astonishment of Jasper Williams was apparent as he saw Dick and Roger Armstrong before him. Up to that time he had supposed the attack to be simply one of those ordinary Indian surprises to be expected when white men are hunting on ground that the tribes of the Northwest claimed as their own territory.
“Saving me seems to be getting quite a habit with you lads,” he told them, as his bonds were hurriedly severed, and he could grasp a hand of each. “How did the news reach camp; and what made the captain allow you to start out almost alone into this heathen land in order to rescue me?”
Dick quickly informed him concerning the reason for their presence.
“We did not dream that you were in trouble,” he said. “Mayhew, who was taking the document to our people down on the Missouri, was robbed of the paper. He came back to the camp to let us know; and we could see the fine hand of that French trader over there back of it.”
“François Lascelles!” cried the hunter, as a look of understanding crossed his rugged features. “Now I begin to see what it all means. He was afraid you would get another signature from me, and to block the game he had me taken prisoner by the Blackfeet. Why,” he added, in a burst of anger, “they even threatened to carry me off to their village and make me teach their squaws how white women sew and bake bread, and all such civilized ways!”
“We immediately started out to overtake you,” continued Dick, “and Mayhew insisted on being one of our party. What strange adventures we have met with you shall hear about another time; for I take it that you do not mean after this to head any further into such a terrible country?”
Williams shrugged his broad shoulders, and made a wry face.
“I suppose, lads, I would be a fool to try it, since my comrades deserted me,” he told them.
“Yes,” replied Roger, “we met them on the way, and both Hardy and Mordaunt vowed nothing could tempt them to go a step further. What with the working of the Evil Spirit, and the danger from hostile reds, they had had enough.”
“We are glad to hear you say such a sensible thing,” Dick added, “because this does not seem like a white man’s country. Only for our good luck in meeting these friendly Sioux, who come from the village of Running Elk, we might have had a much harder time in getting you free. But it is all right now!”
“The sooner we start back to the camp the better I will be pleased,” Williams admitted. “Then there’s that document we ought to have on its way. What will you do with the Frenchmen?”
“If we let them go free now,” affirmed Roger, “no matter how they give us their solemn word of honor, I believe Lascelles would try to intercept our messenger again.”
“You are right about that, son,” said Williams, warmly. “Better let the Indians knock them on the head, and have done with it. They surely deserve little mercy at your hands.”
Dick, however, could not agree to such a thing.
“No,” he said, firmly, “if Beaver Tail will agree to take them to camp with us, I believe Captain Lewis will hold them as hostages until Mayhew has had time to get so far along on his journey east that he can not be headed again. After that the Frenchmen might be turned loose.”
Between Williams and Mayhew this was explained to Beaver Tail, who agreed. Nothing was said about a reward, but Dick had already made up his mind that he would endeavor to induce the two captains in charge of the exploring party to deal generously with the Sioux in this respect.
“It will not be thrown away, either,” he told Williams, “because to have Running Elk and his tribe friendly with us might mean much for the success of our trip when spring comes.”
Naturally Lascelles and his comrades were very much concerned as to what their fate was going to be. When they heard what Dick had to say they seemed rather pleased, though the old trader frowned, and muttered to himself from time to time, as though he did not like the idea of being frustrated in his cherished scheme.
There was apparently no help for it, unless he wished to try to escape, when the chances were he would be quickly hunted down and lose his scalp to the Sioux.
Accordingly a start was made for the camp, the entire band of Indians accompanying the boys and the Frenchmen. During that weary march the old trader was given an opportunity of learning about the character of the two lads whom he had been pursuing so heartlessly, with the intention of robbing their parents of the property that he claimed through a flaw in the title.
Whether this knowledge did him any good or not it would be impossible to say. He was too old to change his ways of life, and, while openly protesting to have seen a light, so that he would no longer try to injure the Armstrongs, Dick and Roger put little faith in his repentance.
When finally the camp was reached the prisoners were handed over to the care of some of the soldiers accompanying the expedition, who were charged with the task of seeing that none of them escaped.
Jasper Williams readily signed another document which Captain Lewis himself arranged, and both the leaders of the expedition put their names down as witnesses. Then Mayhew started once more for the lower Missouri. The other two messengers had agreed to wait at a certain place for him to join them; and he believed he still had ample time to arrive before the specified time would be up.
When the two boys waved him farewell they felt that a great load had been taken from their shoulders.
“This time there should be nothing to prevent him from reaching our homes and delivering the precious paper, besides our letters,” said Dick.
“Something seems to tell me he will do it,” added Roger, “and so I have decided not to let it worry me any longer. We will keep Lascelles and his son here for some weeks, so that they will be powerless to catch up with Mayhew, even if they wished to try it. And Beaver Tail seemed greatly pleased with the generous way Captain Lewis treated him, too, so we have made good friends of the Sioux.”
“He gave the chief a gun and some ammunition,” remarked Dick. “He was as pleased with it as a child would be with a new toy. And every brave also received something to show that we wanted them to be our friends. But the dinner we gave them did not seem to reach the right spot. I saw more than one slyly throw the tea away when they thought no one was looking.”
“They will stick to roast dog as a feast dish,” laughed Roger. “I was afraid at one time there might be trouble between the Mandans and the Sioux, for they are old rivals of the chase and the warpath. But Captain Lewis managed to patch up a truce that may last while we are here, at any rate, even if the old warfare breaks out again afterwards.”
“It took a good deal of talk, though,” suggested Roger, “to induce the Mandans to hide those old Sioux scalps they had swinging about their teepees. If the braves of Running Elk had glimpsed those nothing could have kept them from making trouble. But it is simply wonderful what power Captain Lewis has over men.”
“If we ever do set eyes on the great ocean that lies far beyond the range of rocky mountains,” Dick affirmed, “it will be owing mostly to the cleverness of the President’s private secretary.”
History has recorded the facts, and the young pioneer in stating his opinion was only saying what other men have conceded.
A few days after Mayhew left the camp, well provisioned and armed for his dangerous trip over the back trail, winter set in in earnest. The boys were well satisfied to be so comfortably housed and among friends, instead of wandering amidst those strange scenes of which they never seemed to tire of talking, where the earth appeared to be on fire deep down under the outer crust, and continually spouted those colossal streams of steaming water.
The four Frenchmen were kept prisoners until several weeks had elapsed, and then allowed to go. They had a cache somewhere, they admitted, with an abundance of ammunition as well as other supplies, so there was little fear of their perishing in the severity of the winter weather.
As the days and weeks drifted along Dick and Roger carried out many of their little plans. They hunted when the weather admitted, and accompanied Jasper Williams on trapping jaunts that covered several days. They also had intercourse with the peculiar Mandan Indians, and learned a multitude of interesting things connected with the tribe called the “White Indians,” a race which has always been a mystery to historians.
As the long winter drew near a close the boys began to feel their pulses thrill in anticipation of being once more on the move with their faces turned toward the magical setting sun.
The talk around the fires was all of the wonders that still awaited them beyond the chain of mountains of which they heard so much. Every scrap of information was garnered and repeated. Captain Lewis lost no opportunity to learn new facts, or rumors concerning what they might expect to meet in their further advance into the country which up to then had never known the impression of a white man’s foot.
It can be easily understood, then, that as the snows began to melt with the gradual increase of the sun’s warmth in the early spring, preparations were feverishly undertaken for a start. And in that camp there was none more deeply interested in the final outcome than were our two pioneer boys.
“I think we’ll see some wonderful sights,” said Roger.
“Perhaps,” was the answer Dick made.
How the forward march into the Great Unknown was resumed, and what adventures fell to the lot of our young heroes, will be related in the next volume of this series, to be called “The Pioneer Boys of the Columbia”; but, come what may, it is not likely that they will witness anything more wonderful than the marvels they encountered in the territory of the Yellowstone.
NOTES
Note 1 (page 7)
When, in 1803, the new Republic purchased from France for fifteen million dollars what was then known as the territory of Louisiana, the United States extended its boundaries toward the unknown West where it was believed a mighty range of mountains divided the continent, while far beyond lay the Pacific Ocean. The territory included practically what is now covered by the States of Montana, North and South Dakota, Nebraska, Minnesota, Iowa, Kansas, Arkansas, Louisiana, Indian Territory, and part of Colorado.
President Jefferson wished to aid the settlers along the Mississippi, who wanted more room for expansion toward the setting sun, and accordingly, on his recommendation, Congress authorized the sending of an exploring expedition to ascertain what lay beyond the limits of the new land, and, if possible, to go all the way to the ocean.
Captain Meriwether Lewis, the President’s private secretary, together with Captain William Clark, was placed in charge of the expedition, which started from St. Louis early in 1804. It consisted of nine young Kentuckians, fourteen United States soldiers, two French voyageurs to serve as interpreters among the Indians whom they expected to encounter, and a black servant for Captain Clark. Some frontiersmen also joined them before they left the last trading post. On May 24th this little expedition left the mouth of the Missouri, and plunged into the then unknown wilderness, not knowing whether a single soul of the party would ever live to come back again with a record of the wonders they had seen, and the perils they had encountered.
History tells us that they wintered at the Mandan village near the headwaters of the Missouri and that strange river which the Indians called Yellowstone, on account of the predominating color along its banks. The following spring the Lewis and Clark expedition continued on its way, reaching the Columbia River, and following it down until, at its mouth, they beheld the goal of all their hopes, the glorious ocean that lay bathed in the glow of the setting sun.
Note 2 (page 26)
In those days, when the Indians of the Northwest did not have the Great White Father at Washington to supply them with rations and fresh beef, it was customary for the various tribes to participate in annual fall hunts, so that sufficient meat might be procured to last them through the long, cold winters.
Sometimes they went after buffalo, which at that day were to be found in immense herds, and often the most wanton destruction was indulged in, traps being laid whereby the great animals were driven by hundreds over some precipice, so that the Indians hardly bothered taking anything but the tongues of their victims, which they cured by drying in the smoke of their fires. In spite of this slaughter the herds continued to increase until modern man, with his repeating rifle, made his appearance, at the time the first railroad was being built across the continent, when they quickly reached the point of practical extermination.
More often the meat obtained in these fall hunts was venison. This the Indians cured by drying in the sun. Thus prepared, it would keep for any length of time, if not allowed to get wet. It is not the nicest food an epicure might select, being dark-looking, and often as hard as flint; but pemmican, as this dried venison is called, can be made into a palatable dish when properly cooked.
When an Indian was sent on a trip of perhaps two hundred miles, to take a message to another tribe, he would simply carry along with him in his pouch a handful of this pemmican, which would serve him as a means of sustenance throughout his long journey, washed down with an occasional drink from some spring that he would discover on the trail.
Note 3 (page 128)
Probably the giant geyser which performed such a splendid service for our two young heroes was the one known for many years as Old Faithful, from the fact that, while other geysers in Yellowstone Park may seem grander on occasion, they are often erratic in their flow, and not to be depended on. Old Faithful has often been described, and is an object of such general interest among the visitors to the National Park that a large hotel has been built so close that one can sit in an easy-chair within a few hundred yards, and view its spectacular upheaval.
It seems to come every sixty-five minutes, to a dot, and the great white column rises with a roar from one to two hundred feet into the air, continuing for possibly the space of five minutes. New beauties are to be discovered with almost every eruption, according to the weather, and the hour of the day or night. Sunrise, sunset, moonlight sway the great steaming column into a thousand fantastic forms. When the geyser is quiet one may approach the crater, an oblong opening about two by six feet, with a quiet pool of crystal water.
Some say the deposits around the crater indicate an age of tens, if not hundreds of thousands of years. When Columbus discovered America this great column played at regular intervals in the primal solitude; when Lief Erickson landed it was unspeakably old, but glorious as ever; when Christ was on earth its strange beauty fell on the eye of the infrequent savage who gazed on it with superstitious awe; long before the reputed date of creation it played and coruscated in the sunlight.
No wonder, then, that those, who stop to think, gaze with wonder on Old Faithful and that the Indians, at the time the Lewis and Clark expedition crossed the continent, held it in awe and reverence.
Note 4 (page 162)
The grizzly bear has never been found east of a certain line marked by spurs of the mighty Rocky Mountains. At the time the Lewis and Clark expedition penetrated the wilderness lying between the settlements along the lower Missouri and the far distant Coast Range of mountains, in what is now known as California, very little was known of this most terrible of all the wild animals native to North America; indeed, some big game hunters put the grizzly ahead of the African lion or the tiger of the Indian jungle so far as ferocity and toughness goes.
Vague stories drifted to the ears of white hunters about a monster bear which terrified the red men of the West. They had even seen the claws strung around the neck of some chief who had won his high position after having killed one of these fearful creatures in a hand-to-hand fight.
When the explorers finally returned to civilization they brought with them the most amazing stories of things they had seen; but undoubtedly nothing surpassed their descriptions of the grizzly bear’s ten lives, and the fearful strength which the animal possessed.
In these modern days of soft-nosed bullets, and the exploding kind that do such fearful execution upon striking the game, it may not be so difficult to bring down old “Eph,” as Western men call the grizzly; but a score or more of years ago men declared that they had known such an animal to be hit with twenty shots, and yet seem to mind his wounds no more than if they were flea-bites.
It can be seen, then, that, in slaying a grizzly, Dick and his cousin Roger were really accomplishing what in those days was a stupendous feat. Their success must be laid partly to good luck, and the fact that they were able to send their lead to a vital spot. Ordinary wounds will have little or no effect upon a tough grizzly, save to further enrage the beast, and make him more fierce than ever.
Unless they are heavily armed, or can gain the shelter of a convenient tree, wise hunters usually let such a dangerous animal severely alone when coming unexpectedly upon him in the rocky canyons where he loves to prowl.
Note 5 (page 181)
The first real intimation the world received concerning the wonders of what is now Yellowstone Park can be said to have come through the experiences of a trapper by the name of Colter. He was made prisoner by the hostile Blackfeet in the early part of the nineteenth century, and, after being tortured by them, managed to escape. When he afterwards reached civilization he had some marvelous tales to tell about a land of steaming pools; of springs of boiling water, that at intervals shot hundreds of feet into the air; of seething cauldrons of pitch; of strange lakes and rivers; as well as of rocks and clay that bore the diversified colors of the rainbow. Of course, his rough friends laughed at his stories, and gave them little credence. Indeed, it was believed that the sufferings of the trapper had made him somewhat light in the head. They treated his accounts with derision, and classed the tales with those of Gulliver and Munchausen. But, in later years, everything Colter had told was amply verified, showing that he had actually been in the region now known as Yellowstone Park.
It was not until 1869 that a well-equipped prospecting party was sent out by private enterprise to ascertain the truth about this supposedly mythical region of awe-inspiring wonders. Thirty-six days were spent on the trip, and the party saw such amazing things that, as the account tells us, some of them “were unwilling on their return to risk their reputation for veracity by relating the wonders of that unequaled country.”
To-day, the tourist is taken into the Park and shown everything that is worth seeing with the least degree of discomfort. And there is nothing in the Old World that can at all compare with the natural wonders to be found on the great Government Reservation, the lake itself being the gem of them all, for it covers something like one hundred and fifty square miles, and is as clear as crystal.
Note 6 (page 191)
As a rule the Indians of the Great Northwest seemed to avoid the region now known as Yellowstone Park, even though it abounded in game, because of superstitious fears connected with the mysterious working of the spouting geysers, which they believed to be the evidence of the Evil One opposed to the Good Manitou. Occasionally the Blackfeet or the Crows invaded the borders when in need of fresh meat. Some lodges of a fragment of the Snake Indians have been found, a miserable tribe known as Sheep-eaters; but the powerful Sioux, the Mandans, and the Nez Perces tribes avoided the district as though it were truly accursed.
The most important Indian trail in the Park was that known as the Great Bannock Trail. It extended from Henry Lake across the Gallatin Range to Mammoth Hot Springs, where it was joined by another coming up the valley of the Gardiner. Thence it led across the Black-tail Deer plateau to the ford above Tower Falls; thence up the Lamor Valley, forking at Soda Butte, and reaching the Bighorn Valley by way of Clark’s Falls and the Stinking-water River. The trail was certainly a very ancient and much traveled one. It had become a deep furrow in the grassy slopes, and is still distinctly visible in places, though unused for a quarter of a century.
Arrows and spear heads have been discovered in considerable numbers. Some of the early explorers also found more recent and perishable evidence of the presence of Indians in the Park in the shape of rude wick-e-ups, brush enclosures, and similar contrivances of the Sheep-killers.
Note 7 (page 196)
Of all the tribes west of the Mississippi, even including the warlike Sioux, none gave the venturesome paleface adventurers who wandered into that country more trouble than the Blackfoot Indians. Like the Flatheads, and some other tribes, they had their main villages far up amidst the pine-clad mountains where enemies could hardly reach them without long and dangerous journeys. From these eyries they were accustomed to sally forth, either on some grand hunt for a winter’s supply of meat, or else to strike a sudden blow at some tribe with which they were at war.
When game grew scarce in their customary hunting grounds, some of these bold braves were in the habit of taking longer hunts, and had frequently approached the border of the Land of Wonders. As a rule they avoided the country of the spouting geysers, because they believed an Evil Spirit dwelt there.
The habits of these Indians differed from those of the Mandans, because they were by nature of a much wilder disposition, utterly untamable. To this day the remnants of the old Blackfoot tribe are not to be compared with other civilized aborigines who have taken to the plow and the cottage. The Mandans themselves suffered so severely from smallpox, introduced into the tribe through connection with the whites, that long years ago they became extinct.
Note 8 (page 221)
The usual medicine man of all the Indian tribes of North America in the days of the pioneers was as big a humbug as could be imagined. He usually held his position through craftiness, and the ability to make the tribe believe that he was in direct communication with the Great Spirit or Manitou. It was therefore a matter of some moment for the native doctor to “make good” when he had promised that victory would crown the efforts of the warriors going forth to battle, or otherwise his life might pay the penalty.
When it came to treating disease he seldom gave even the commonest herbs, rather trusting to incantations in order to frighten off the evil thing that had fastened on the sick person. Thus tomtoms were beaten, chants given, and the medicine man himself would perform a weird dance around the sick one, making music to accompany his gesticulations by rattling gourds in which stones had been slipped, jingling the metal ornaments on his apparel, and in every imaginable way trying to “conjure” the maker of the spell that had been laid upon the afflicted one.
Sometimes the invalid got well in spite of everything, and great was the jubilation of the tribe; on the other hand if death came and took a victim it was easy for the medicine man to find some excuse.
Perhaps the Blackfoot chief, Black Otter, may have seen white doctors cure their patients by giving them medicine; or else learned of it through intercourse with French traders, such as Lascelles. However that might be, it was not so very singular for some of his braves to have become afflicted with the same desire to be treated by a paleface medicine man. This, then, would account for the eagerness with which those who had received wounds in the affray between the Blackfeet and the invaders of the Enchanted Land agreed to let young Dick Armstrong attend to their hurts. Deep down in their hearts they must have realized that the way of the palefaces was much superior to the crude methods in vogue with their native medicine man.
Note 9 (page 246)
This incident of an Indian’s gratitude is not of an unusual character. The history of early pioneer days shows many such. The red men were savage and cruel fighters, crafty, and not to be trusted in many ways; but they possessed several noble characteristics that will always stand out boldly when the good and bad are contrasted.
Many instances are on record which prove that the Indian could be grateful for benefits bestowed, though he might sooner choose to die than ask a favor.
The brave whose wounded shoulder Dick had so skillfully treated evidently saw no reason why he should call out and alarm the camp when he discovered the paleface boys escaping. He probably had no special liking for the French trader, and it was Lascelles who seemed to be most concerned in the keeping of the two white lads. Perhaps, even, he had some reason to dislike the trader; or he may have felt, deep down in his heart, a secret admiration for the boys who could thus hoodwink a dozen Blackfoot braves.
Note 10 (page 308)
The Sioux proper, known among themselves and by other Indian tribes as Dacotahs, were originally one of the most extensively diffused nations of the Great West. From the Upper Mississippi, where they mingled with the northern race of Chippewas, to the Missouri, and far in the Northwest toward the country of the Blackfeet, the tribes of this family occupied the boundless prairie.
It was in the country of the Sioux, on a high ridge separating the head-waters of the St. Peter’s from the Missouri, that the far-famed quarry of red pipestone lay. It was originally deemed a neutral ground where hostile tribes from far and near might resort to secure a supply of this all-essential want of the Indian, for all their pipes were made of this peculiar hard clay.
To use the stone for any other purposes was to the Indians an act of sacrilege. They looked upon it as priceless medicine. At a meeting of chiefs which Mr. Catlin, the historical writer, attended near this quarry many years ago he heard some remarkable expressions used. “You see,” said one chief, holding a pipe close to his arm, “this pipe is part of our own flesh.” Another said: “If the white man takes away a piece of the red pipestone, it is a hole in our flesh, and the blood will always run.” A third expressed his feelings in a still more remarkable way: “We love to go to the Pipe-Stone, and get a piece for our pipes; but we ask the Great Spirit first. If the white men go to it they will take it out, and not fill up the holes again and the Great Spirit will be offended.”
Besides the Sioux there were to be found at times in this region the Flatheads, the Ojibbeways, the Assinaboias, the Crows, the Blackfeet, and several lesser tribes. Among them there was almost constant warfare. While the Blackfeet and others had plenty of game in their own lands, they were now and then seized with a desire to dare the anger of the Sioux and hunt the buffalo over the territory claimed as their preserves by the latter. And many fierce battles took place because of this belligerency.