Our orders were to march no further; and, as a protection
          to the trade, it was like the establishment of a ferry
          to the mid-channel of a river.

          Up to this time, traders had always used mules or horses.
          Our oxen were an experiment, and it succeeded admirably;
          they even did better when water was very scarce, which is
          an important consideration.

          A few hours after the departure of the trading company,
          as we enjoyed a quiet rest on a hot afternoon, we saw
          beyond the river a number of horsemen riding furiously
          toward our camp.  We all flocked out of the tents to hear
          the news, for they were soon recognized as traders.
          They stated that the caravan had been attacked, about
          six miles off in the sand hills, by an innumerable host
          of Indians; that some of their companions had been killed;
          and they had run, of course, for help.  There was not a
          moment's hesitation; the word was given, and the tents
          vanished as if by magic.  The oxen which were grazing
          near by were speedily yoked to the wagons, and into the
          river we marched.  Then I deemed myself the most unlucky
          of men; a day or two before, while eating my breakfast,
          with my coffee in a tin cup—notorious among chemists and
          campaigners for keeping it hot—it was upset into my shoe,
          and on pulling off the stocking, it so happened that the
          skin came with it.  Being thus hors de combat, I sought to
          enter the combat on a horse, which was allowed; but I was
          put in command of the rear guard to bring up the baggage
          train.  It grew late, and the wagons crossed slowly;
          for the river unluckily took that particular time to
          rise fast, and, before all were over, we had to swim it,
          and by moonlight.  We reached the encampment at one o'clock
          at night.  All was quiet, and remained so until dawn,
          when, at the sound of our bugles, the pickets reported
          they saw a number of Indians moving off.  On looking
          around us, we perceived ourselves and the caravan in the
          most unfavorable defenceless situation possible—in the
          area of a natural amphitheatre of sand hills, about fifty
          feet high, and within gun-shot all around.  There was
          the narrowest practicable entrance and outlet.

          We ascertained that some mounted traders, in spite of all
          remonstrance and command, had ridden on in advance, and
          when in the narrow pass beyond this spot, had been suddenly
          beset by about fifty Indians; all fled and escaped save one,
          who, mounted on a mule, was abandoned by his companions,
          overtaken, and slain.  The Indians, perhaps, equalled the
          traders in number, but notwithstanding their extraordinary
          advantage of ground, dared not attack them when they
          made a stand among their wagons; and the latter, all well
          armed, were afraid to make a single charge, which would
          have scattered their enemies like sheep.

          Having buried the poor fellow's body, and killed an ox for
          breakfast, we left this sand hollow, which would soon have
          been roasting hot, and advancing through the defile—of
          which we took care to occupy the commanding ground—
          proceeded to escort the traders at least one day's march
          further.

          When the next morning broke clear and cloudless, the command
          was confronted by one of those terrible hot winds, still
          frequent on the plains.  The oxen with lolling tongues
          were incapable of going on; the train was halted, and the
          suffering animals unyoked, but they stood motionless,
          making no attempt to graze.  Late that afternoon, the
          caravan pushed on for about ten miles, where was the
          sandy bed of a dry creek, and fortunately, not far from
          the Trail, up the stream, a pool of water and an acre
          or two of grass was discovered.  On the surface of the
          water floated thick the dead bodies of small fish, which
          the intense heat of the sun that day had killed.

          Arriving at this point, it was determined to march no
          further into the Mexican territory.  At the first light
          next day we were in motion to return to the river and
          the American line, and no further adventure befell us.

While permanently encamped at Chouteau's Island, which is situated in the Arkansas River, the term of enlistment of four of the soldiers of Captain Cooke's command expired, and they were discharged. In his journal he says:

          Contrary to all advice they determined to return to
          Missouri.  After having marched several hundred miles
          over a prairie country, being often on high hills
          commanding a vast prospect, without seeing a human being
          or a sign of one, and, save the trail we followed, not
          the slightest indication that the country had ever been
          visited by man, it was exceedingly difficult to credit
          that lurking foes were around us, and spying our motions.
          It was so with these men; and being armed, they set out
          on the first of August on foot for the settlements.
          That same night three of the four returned.  They reported
          that, after walking about fifteen miles, they were
          surrounded by thirty mounted Indians.  A wary old soldier
          of their number succeeded in extricating them before any
          hostile act had been committed; but one of them, highly
          elated and pleased at their forbearance, insisted on
          returning among them to give them tobacco and shake hands.
          In this friendly act he was shot down.  The Indians
          stripped him in an incredibly short time, and as quickly
          dispersed to avoid a shot; and the old soldier, after
          cautioning the others to reserve their fire, fired among
          them, and probably with some effect.  Had the others done
          the same, the Indians would have rushed upon them before
          they could have reloaded.  They managed to make good
          their retreat in safety to our camp.

          We were instructed to wait here for the return of the
          caravan, which was expected early in October.
          Our provisions consisted of salt and half rations of flour,
          besides a reserve of fifteen days' full rations—as to the
          rest, we were dependent upon hunting.  When the buffalo
          became scarce, or the grass bad, we marched to other
          ground, thus roving up and down the river for eighty
          miles.  The first thing we did after camping was to dig
          and construct, with flour barrels, a well in front of
          each company; water was always found at the depth of
          from two to four feet varying with the corresponding
          height of the river, but clear and cool.  Next we would
          build sod fire-places; these, with network platforms of
          buffalo hide, used for smoking and drying meat, formed a
          tolerable additional defence, at least against mounted men.

          Hunting was a military duty, done by detail, parties of
          fifteen or twenty going out with a wagon.  Completely
          isolated, and beyond support or even communication,
          in the midst of many thousands of Indians, the utmost
          vigilance was maintained.  Officer of the guard every
          fourth night; I was always awake and generally in motion
          the whole time of duty.  Night alarms were frequent; when,
          as we all slept in our clothes, we were accustomed to
          assemble instantly, and with scarcely a word spoken,
          take our places in the grass in front of each face of
          the camp, where, however wet, we sometimes lay for hours.

          While encamped a few miles below Chouteau's Island, on the
          eleventh of August, an alarm was given, and we were under
          arms for an hour until daylight.  During the morning,
          Indians were seen a mile or two off, leading their horses
          through the ravines.  A captain, however, with eighteen
          men was sent across the river after buffalo, which we saw
          half a mile distant.  In his absence, a large body of
          Indians came galloping down the river, as if to charge
          the camp, but the cattle were secured in good time.
          A company, of which I was lieutenant, was ordered to
          cross the river and support the first.  We waded in some
          disorder through the quicksands and current, and just
          as we neared a dry sandbar in the middle, a volley was
          fired at us by a band of Indians, who that moment rode
          to the water's edge.  The balls whistled very near,
          but without damage; I felt an involuntary twitch of
          the neck, and wishing to return the compliment instantly,
          I stooped down, and the company fired over my head,
          with what execution was not perceived, as the Indians
          immediately retired out of our view.  This had passed
          in half a minute, and we were astonished to see, a little
          above, among some bushes on the same bar, the party we had
          been sent to support, and we heard that they had abandoned
          one of the hunters, who had been killed.  We then saw,
          on the bank we had just left, a formidable body of the
          enemy in close order, and hoping to surprise them,
          we ascended the bed of the river.  In crossing the channel
          we were up to the arm-pits, but when we emerged on the
          bank, we found that the Indians had detected the movement,
          and retreated.  Casting eyes beyond the river, I saw a
          number of the Indians riding on both sides of a wagon
          and team which had been deserted, urging the animals
          rapidly toward the hills.  At this juncture the adjutant
          sent an order to cross and recover the body of the slain
          hunter, who was an old soldier and a favourite.  He was
          brought in with an arrow still transfixing his breast,
          but his scalp was gone.

          On the fourteenth of October, we again marched on our
          return.  Soon after, we saw smokes arise over the distant
          hills; evidently signals, indicating to different parties
          of Indians our separation and march, but whether preparatory
          to an attack upon the Mexicans or ourselves, or rather
          our immense drove of animals, we could only guess.

          Our march was constantly attended by great collections
          of buffalo, which seemed to have a general muster, perhaps
          for migration.  Sometimes a hundred or two—a fragment
          from the multitude—would approach within two or three
          hundred yards of the column, and threaten a charge which
          would have proved disastrous to the mules and their drivers.

          Under the friendly cover of the shades of evening, on the
          eighth of November, our tatterdemalion veterans marched
          into Fort Leavenworth, and took quiet possession of the
          miserable huts and sheds left by the Third Infantry in
          the preceding May.





CHAPTER VI. A ROMANTIC TRAGEDY.

As early as November, 1842, a rumour was current in Santa Fe, and along the line of the Trail, that parties of Texans had left the Republic for the purpose of attacking and robbing the caravans to the United States which were owned wholly by Mexicans. In consequence of this, several Americans were accused of being spies and acting in collusion with the Texans; many were arrested and carried to Santa Fe, but nothing could be proved against them, and the rumours of the intended purposes of the Texans died out.

Very early in May, however, of the following year, 1843, a certain Colonel Snively did organize a small force, comprising about two hundred men, which he led from Northern Texas, his home, to the line of the Trail, with the intention of attacking and robbing the Mexican caravans which were expected to cross the plains that month and in June.

When he arrived at the Arkansas River, he was there reinforced by another Texan colonel, named Warfield with another small command. Gregg says:

          This officer, with about twenty men, had some time
          previously attacked the village of Mora, on the Mexican
          frontier, killing five men, and driving off a number
          of horses.  They were afterward followed by a party of
          Mexicans, however, who stampeded and carried away, not only
          their own horses, but those of the Texans.  Being left
          afoot, the latter burned their saddles, and walked to
          Bent's Fort, where they were disbanded; whence Warfield
          passed to Snively's camp, as before mentioned.

          The Texans now advanced along the Santa Fe Trail, beyond
          the sand hills south of the Arkansas, when they discovered
          that a party of Mexicans had passed toward the river.
          They soon came upon them, and a skirmish ensuing, eighteen
          Mexicans were killed, and as many wounded, five of whom
          afterward died.  The Texans suffered no injury, though
          the Mexicans were a hundred in number.  The rest were all
          taken prisoners except two, who escaped and bore the news
          to General Armijo, who was encamped with a large force
          at Cold Spring, one hundred and forty miles beyond.

Kit Carson figured conspicuously in this fight, or, rather, immediately afterward. His recital differs somewhat from Gregg's account, but the stories substantially agree. Kit said that in April, previously to the assault upon Armijo's caravan, he had hired out as hunter to Bent's and Colonel St. Vrain's train caravan, which was then making its annual tour eastwardly. When he arrived at the crossing of Walnut Creek,22 he found the encampment of Captain Philip St. George Cooke, of the United States army, who had been detailed with his command to escort the caravans to the New Mexican boundary. His force consisted of four troops of dragoons. The captain informed Carson that coming on behind him from the States was a caravan belonging to a very wealthy Mexican.

It was a richly loaded train, and in order to insure its better protection while passing through that portion of the country infested by the blood-thirsty Comanches and Apaches, the majordomo in charge had hired one hundred Mexicans as a guard. The teamsters and others belonging to the caravan had heard that a large body of Texans were lying in wait for them, and intended to murder and plunder them in retaliation for the way Armijo had treated some Texan prisoners he had got in his power at Santa Fe some time before. Of course, it was the duty of the United States troops to escort this caravan to the New Mexico line, but there their duty would end, as they had no authority to cross the border. The Mexicans belonging to the caravan were afraid they would be at the mercy of the Texans after they had parted company with the soldiers, and when Kit Carson met them, they, knowing the famous trapper and mountaineer well, asked him to take a letter to Armijo, who was then governor of New Mexico, and resided in Santa Fe, for which service they would give him three hundred dollars in advance. The letter contained a statement of the fears they entertained, and requested the general to send Mexican troops at once to meet them.

Carson, who was then not blessed with much money, eagerly accepted the task, and immediately started on the trail for Bent's Fort, in company with another old mountaineer and bosom friend named Owens. In a short time they arrived at the Fort, where Owens decided not to go any further, because they were informed by the men at Bent's that the Utes had broken out, and were scattered along the Trail at the most dangerous points, and he was fearful that his life would be endangered if he attempted to make Santa Fe.

Kit, however, nothing daunted, and determined to do the duty for which he had been rewarded so munificently, started out alone on his perilous trip. Mr. Bent kindly furnished him with the best and fastest horse he had in his stables, but Kit, realizing the dangers to which he would be exposed, walked, leading his animal, ready to mount him at a moment's notice; thus keeping him in a condition that would enable Carson to fly and make his escape if the savages tried to capture him. His knowledge of the Indian character, and wonderful alertness in moments of peril, served him well; for he reached the village of the hostile Indians without their discovering his proximity. Hiding himself in a rocky, bush-covered canyon, he stayed there until night came on, when he continued his journey in the darkness.

He took the trail to Taos, where he arrived in two or three days, and presented his letter to the alcalde, to be sent on to Santa Fe by special messenger.

He was to remain at Taos until an answer from the governor arrived, and then return with it as rapidly as possible to the train. While at Taos, he was informed that Armijo had already sent out a company of one hundred soldiers to meet the caravan, and was to follow in person, with a thousand more.

This first hundred were those attacked by Colonel Snively, as related by Gregg, who says that two survived, who carried the news of the disaster to Armijo at Cold Spring; but Carson told me that only one got away, by successfully catching, during the heat of the fight, a Texan pony already saddled, that was grazing around loose. With him he made Armijo's camp and related to the Mexican general the details of the terribly unequal battle. Armijo, upon receipt of the news, "turned tail," and retreated to Santa Fe.

Before Armijo left Santa Fe with his command, he had received the letter which Carson had brought from the caravan, and immediately sent one in reply for Carson to carry back, thinking that the old mountaineer might reach the wagons before he did. Carson, with his usual promptness, started on the Trail for the caravan, and came up with it while it was escorted by the dragoons, thus saving it from the fate that the Texans intended for it, as they dared not attempt any interference in the presence of the United States troops.

The rumour current in Santa Fe in relation to a probable raid of parties of Texans along the line of the Trail, for the purpose of attacking and robbing the caravans of the wealthy Mexican traders, was received with so little credence by the prominent citizens of the country, that several native trains left for the Missouri River without their proprietors having the slightest apprehension that they would not reach their destination, and make the return trip in safety.

Among those who had no fear of marauders was Don Antonio Jose Chavez, who, in February, 1843, left Santa Fe for Independence with an outfit consisting of a number of wagons, his private coach, several servants and other retainers. Don Antonio was a very wealthy Mexican engaged in a general mercantile business on a large scale in Albuquerque, who made all his purchases of goods in St. Louis, which was then the depot of supplies for the whole mountain region. He necessarily carried with him on these journeys a large amount of money, in silver, which was the legal currency of the country, and made but one trip yearly to replenish the stock of goods required in his extensive trade in all parts of Mexico.

Upon his arrival at Westport Landing, as Kansas City was then called, he would take the steamboat for St. Louis, leaving his coach, wagons, servants, and other appointments of his caravan behind him in the village of Westport, a few miles from the Landing.

Westport was at that time, like all steamboat towns in the era of water navigation, the harbor of as great a lot of ruffians as ever escaped the gallows. There was especially a noted gang of land pirates, the members of which had long indulged in speculations regarding the probable wealth of the Mexican Don, and how much coin he generally carried with him. They knew that it must be considerable from the quantity of goods that always came by boat with him from St. Louis.

At last a devilish plot was arranged to get hold of the rich trader's money. Nine men were concerned in the robbery, nearly all of whom were residents of the vicinity of Westport; their leader was one John McDaniel, recently from Texas, from which government he claimed to hold a captain's commission, and one of their number was a doctor. It was evidently the intention of this band to join Warfield's party on the Arkansas, and engage in a general robbery of the freight caravans of the Santa Fe Trail belonging to the Mexicans; but they had determined that Chavez should be their first victim, and in order to learn when he intended to leave Santa Fe on his next trip east, they sent their spies out on the great highway.

They did not dare attempt their contemplated robbery, and murder if necessary, in the State of Missouri, for there were too many citizens of the border who would never have permitted such a thing to go unpunished; so they knew that their only chance was to effect it in the Indian country of Kansas, where there was little or no law.

Cow Creek, which debouches into the Arkansas at Hutchinson, where the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad crosses the historic little stream,23 was, like Big and Little Coon creeks, a most dangerous point in the transcontinental passage of freight caravans and overland coaches, in the days of the commerce of the prairies. It was on this purling little prairie brook that McDaniel's band lay in wait for the arrival of the ill-fated Don Antonio, whose imposing equipage came along, intending to encamp on the bank, one of the usual stopping-places on the route.

The Don was taken a few miles south of the Trail, and his baggage rifled. All of his party were immediately murdered, but the wealthy owner of the caravan was spared for a few moments in order to make a confession of where his money was concealed, after which he was shot down in cold blood, and his body thrown into a ravine.

It appears, however, that the ruffians had not completed their bloody work so effectually as they thought; for one of the Mexican's teamsters escaped, and, making his way to Leavenworth, reported the crime, and was soon on his way back to the Trail, guiding a detachment of United States troops in pursuit of the murderers.

John Hobbs, scout, trapper, and veteran plainsman, happened to be hunting buffalo on Pawnee Fork, on the ground where Larned is now situated, with a party from Bent's Fort. They were just on the point of crossing the Trail at the mouth of the Pawnee when the soldiers from Fort Leavenworth came along, and from them Hobbs and his companions first learned of the murder of Chavez on Cow Creek. As the men who were out hunting were all familiar with every foot of the region they were then in, the commanding officer of the troops induced them to accompany him in his search for the murderers.

Hobbs and his men cheerfully accepted the invitation, and in about four days met the band of cut-throats on the broad Trail, they little dreaming that the government had taken a hand in the matter. The band tried to escape by flight, but Hobbs shot the doctor's horse from under him, and a soldier killed another member of the band, when the remainder surrendered.

The money, about twelve or fifteen thousand dollars,24 was all recovered, and the murderers taken to St. Louis, where some were hung and some imprisoned, the doctor escaping the death penalty by turning state's evidence. His sentence was incarceration in the penitentiary, from which he was pardoned after remaining there two years. Hobbs met the doctor some years after in San Francisco. He was then leading an honest life, publishing a newspaper, and begged his captor not to expose him.

The money taken from the robbers was placed in charge of Colonel Owens, a friend of the Chavez family and a leading Santa Fe trader. He continued on to the river, purchased a stock of goods, and sent back the caravan to Santa Fe in charge of Doctor Conley of Boonville, Missouri.

Arriving at his destination, the widow of the deceased Chavez employed the good doctor to sell the goods and take the sole supervision of her immense business interests, and there is a touch of romance attached to the terrible Kansas tragedy, which lies in the fact that the doctor in about two years married the rich widow, and lived very happily for about a decade, dying then on one of the large estates in New Mexico, which he had acquired by his fortunate union with the amiable Mexican lady.





CHAPTER VII. MEXICO DECLARES WAR.

Mexico declared war against the United States in April, 1846. In the following May, Congress passed an act authorizing the President to call into the field fifty thousand volunteers, designed to operate against Mexico at three distinct points, and consisting of the Southern Wing, or the Army of Occupation, the Army of the Centre, and the Army of the West, the latter to direct its march upon the city of Santa Fe. The original plan was, however, somewhat changed, and General Kearney, who commanded the Army of the West, divided his forces into three separate commands. The first he led in person to the Pacific coast. One thousand volunteers, under command of Colonel A. W. Doniphan, were to make a descent upon the State of Chihuahua, while the remainder and greater part of the forces, under Colonel Sterling Price, were to garrison Santa Fe after its capture.

There is a pretty fiction told of the breaking out of the war between Mexico and the United States. Early in the spring of 1846, before it was known or even conjectured that a state of war would be declared to exist between this government and Mexico, a caravan of twenty-nine traders, on their way from Independence to Santa Fe, beheld, just after a storm and a little before sunset, a perfectly distinct image of the Bird of Liberty, the American eagle, on the disc of the sun. When they saw it they simultaneously and almost involuntarily exclaimed that in less than twelve months the Eagle of Liberty would spread his broad plumes over the plains of the West, and that the flag of our country would wave over the cities of New Mexico and Chihuahua. The student of the classics will remember that just before the assassination of Julius Caesar, both Brutus and Cassius, while in their places in the Roman Senate, saw chariots of fire in the sky. One story is as true, probably, as the other, though separated by centuries of time.

The Army of the West, under General Stephen W. Kearney, consisted of two batteries of artillery, commanded by Major Clark; three squadrons of the First United States Dragoons, commanded by Major Sumner; the First Regiment of Missouri Cavalry, commanded by Colonel Doniphan, and two companies of infantry, commanded by Captain Aubrey. This force marched in detached columns from Fort Leavenworth, and on the 1st of August, 1846, concentrated in camp on the Santa Fe Trail, nine miles below Bent's Fort.

Accompanying the expedition was a party of the United States topographical engineers, under command of Lieutenant W. H. Emory.25 In writing of this expedition, so far as its march relates to the Old Santa Fe Trail, I shall quote freely from Emory's report and Doniphan's historian.26

The practicability of marching a large army over the waste, uncultivated, uninhabited prairie regions of the West was universally regarded as problematical, but the expedition proved completely successful. Provisions were conveyed in wagons, and beef-cattle driven along for the use of the men. These animals subsisted entirely by grazing. To secure them from straying off at night, they were driven into corrals formed of the wagons, or tethered to an iron picket-pin driven into the ground about fifteen inches. At the outset of the expedition many laughable scenes took place. Our horses were generally wild, fiery, and unused to military trappings and equipments. Amidst the fluttering of banners, the sounding of bugles, the rattling of artillery, the clattering of sabres and also of cooking utensils, some of them took fright and scampered pell-mell over the wide prairie. Rider, arms and accoutrements, saddles, saddle-bags, tin cups, and coffee-pots, were frequently left far behind in the chase. No very serious or fatal accident, however, occurred from this cause, and all was right as soon as the affrighted animals were recovered.

The Army of the West was, perhaps, composed of as fine material as any other body of troops then in the field. The volunteer corps consisted almost entirely of young men of the country.

On the 9th of July, a separate detachment of the troops arrived at the Little Arkansas, where the Santa Fe Trail crosses that stream—now in McPherson County, Kansas. The mosquitoes, gnats, and black flies swarmed in that locality and nearly drove the men and animals frantic. While resting there, a courier came from the commands of General Kearney and Colonel Doniphan, stating that their men were in a starving condition, and asking for such provisions as could be spared. Lieutenant-Colonel Ruff of Doniphan's regiment, in command of the troops now camped on the Little Arkansas, was almost destitute himself. He had sent couriers forward to Pawnee Fork to stop a train of provisions at that point and have it wait there until he came up with his force, and he now directed the courier from Kearney to proceed to the same place and halt as many wagons loaded with supplies, as would suffice to furnish the three detachments with rations. One of the couriers, in attempting to ford the fork of the Pawnee, which was bank-full, was drowned. His body was found and given a military funeral; he was the first man lost on the expedition after it had reached the great plains, one having been drowned in the Missouri, at Fort Leavenworth, before the troops left.

The author of Doniphan's Expedition says:

          In approaching the Arkansas, a landscape of the most
          imposing and picturesque nature makes its appearance.
          While the green, glossy undulations of the prairie to
          the right seem to spread out in infinite succession,
          like waves subsiding after a storm, and covered with
          herds of gambolling buffalo, on the left, towering to
          the height of seventy-five to a hundred feet, rise the
          sun-gilt summits of the sand hills, along the base of
          which winds the broad, majestic river, bespeckled with
          verdant islets, thickly beset with cottonwood timber,
          the sand hills resembling heaps of driven snow.

I refer to this statement to show how wonderfully the settlement of the region has changed the physical aspect of that portion bordering the Arkansas River. Now those sand hills are covered with verdure, and this metamorphosis has taken place within the last thirty years; for the author of this work well remembers how the great sand dunes used to shine in the sunlight, when he first saw them a third of a century ago. In coming from Fort Leavenworth up the Smoky Hill route to the Santa Fe Trail, where the former joined the latter at Pawnee Rock, the contour of the Arkansas could be easily traced by the white sand hills referred to, long before it was reached.

On the 15th of July the combined forces formed a junction at Pawnee Fork, now within the city limits of Larned, Kansas. The river was impassable, but General Kearney, with the characteristic energy of his family, determined not to be delayed, and to that end caused great trees to be cut down and their trunks thrown across the stream, over which the army passed, carrying in their arms the sick, the baggage, tents, and other paraphernalia; the animals being forced to swim. The empty bodies of the wagons, fastened to their running gear, were floated across by means of ropes, and hauled up the slippery bank by the troops. This required two whole days; and on the morning of the 17th, not an accident having occurred, the entire column was en route again, the infantry, as is declared in the official reports, keeping pace with the cavalry right along. Their feet, however, became terribly blistered, and, like the Continentals at Valley Forge, their tracks were marked with blood.

In a day or two after the command had left Pawnee Fork, while camping in a beautiful spot on the bank of the Arkansas, an officer, Major Howard, who had been sent forward to Santa Fe some time previously by the general to learn something of the feeling of the people in relation to submitting to the government of the United States, returned and reported

          that the common people, or plebeians, were inclined to
          favour the conditions of peace proposed by General Kearney;
          viz. that if they would lay down their arms and take the
          oath of allegiance to the government of the United States,
          they should, to all intents and purposes, become citizens
          of the same republic, receiving the protection and enjoying
          the liberties guaranteed to other American citizens; but
          that the patricians who held the offices and ruled the
          country were hostile, and were making warlike preparations.
          He added, further, that two thousand three hundred men
          were already armed for the defence of the capital, and
          that others were assembling at Taos.
This intelligence created quite a sensation in camp, and it was
believed, and earnestly hoped, that the entrance of the troops into
Santa Fe would be desperately opposed; such is the pugnacious character
of the average American the moment he dons the uniform of a soldier.

The army arrived at the Cimarron crossing of the Arkansas on the 20th, and during the march of nearly thirty miles from their last camp, a herd of about four hundred buffalo suddenly emerged from the Arkansas, and broke through the long column. In an instant the troops charged upon the surprised animals with guns, pistols, and even drawn sabres, and many of the huge beasts were slaughtered as they went dashing and thundering among the excited troopers and infantrymen.

On the 29th an express from Bent's Fort brought news to General Kearney from Santa Fe that Governor Armijo had called the chief men together to deliberate on the best means of defending the city; that hostile preparations were rapidly going on in all parts of New Mexico; and that the American advance would be vigorously opposed. Some Mexican prisoners were taken near Bent's Fort, with blank letters on their persons addressed to the general; it was supposed this piece of ingenuity was resorted to to deceive the American residents at the fort. These men were thought to be spies sent out from Santa Fe to get an idea of the strength of the army; so they were shown everything in and around camp, and then allowed to depart in peace for Santa Fe, to report what they had seen.

On the same date, the Army of the West crossed the Arkansas and camped on Mexican soil about eight miles below Bent's Fort, and now the utmost vigilance was exercised; for the troops had not only to keep a sharp lookout for the Mexicans, but for the wily Comanches, in whose country their camp was located. Strong picket and camp guards were posted, and the animals turned loose to graze, guarded by a large force. Notwithstanding the care taken to confine them within certain limits, a pack of wolves rushed through the herd, and in an instant it was stampeded, and there ensued a scene of the wildest confusion. More than a thousand horses were dashing madly over the prairie, their rage and fright increased at every jump by the lariats and picket-pins which they had pulled up, and which lashed them like so many whips. After desperate exertions by the troops, the majority were recovered from thirty to fifty miles distant; nearly a hundred, however, were absolutely lost and never seen again.

At this camp the troops were visited by the war chief of the Arapahoes, who manifested great surprise at the big guns, and declared that the Mexicans would not stand a moment before such terrible instruments of death, but would escape to the mountains with the utmost despatch.

On the 1st of August a new camp near Bent's Fort was established, from whence twenty men under Lieutenant de Courcy, with orders to proceed through the mountains to the valley of Taos, to learn something of the disposition and intentions of the people, and to rejoin General Kearney on the road to Santa Fe. Lieutenant de Courcy, in his official itinerary, relates the following anecdote:

          We took three pack-mules laden with provisions, and as
          we did not expect to be long absent, the men took no extra
          clothing.  Three days after we left the column our mules
          fell down, and neither gentle means nor the points of our
          sabres had the least effect in inducing them to rise.
          Their term of service with Uncle Sam was out.  "What's to
          be done?" said the sergeant.  "Dismount!" said I.
          "Off with your shirts and drawers, men! tie up the sleeves
          and legs, and each man bag one-twentieth part of the flour!"
          Having done this, the bacon was distributed to the men also,
          and tied to the cruppers of their saddles.  Thus loaded,
          we pushed on, without the slightest fear of our provision
          train being cut off.

          The march upon Santa Fe was resumed on the 2d of August.
          As we passed Bent's Fort the American flag was raised,
          in compliment to our troops, and, like our own, streamed
          most animatingly in the gale that swept from the desert,
          while the tops of the houses were crowded with Mexican girls
          and Indian squaws, intently beholding the American army.

On the 15th of the month, the army neared Las Vegas; when two spies who had been sent on in advance to see how matters stood returned and reported that two thousand Mexicans were camped at the pass a few miles beyond the village, where they intended to offer battle.

Upon receipt of this news, the general immediately formed a line of battle. The United States dragoons with the St. Louis mounted volunteers were stationed in front, Major Clark with the battalion of volunteer light artillery in the centre, and Colonel Doniphan's regiment in the rear. The companies of volunteer infantry were deployed on each side of the line of march as flankers. The supply trains were next in order, with Captain Walton's mounted company as rear guard. There was also a strong advance guard. The cartridges were hastily distributed; the cannon swabbed and rigged; the port-fires burning, and every rifle loaded.

In passing through the streets of the curious-looking village of Las Vegas, the army was halted, and from the roof of a large house General Kearney administered to the chief officers of the place the oath of allegiance to the United States, using the sacred cross instead of the Bible. This act completed, on marched the exultant troops toward the canyon where it had been promised them that they should meet the enemy.

On the night of the 16th, while encamped on the Pecos River, near the village of San Jose, the pickets captured a son of the Mexican General Salezar, who was acting the rôle of a spy, and two other soldiers of the Mexican army. Salezar was kept a close prisoner; but the two privates were by order of General Kearney escorted through the camp and shown the cannon, after which they were allowed to depart, so that they might tell what they had seen. It was learned afterward that they represented the American army as composed of five thousand troops, and possessing so many cannons that they were not able to count them.

When Armijo was certain that the Army of the West was really approaching Santa Fe, he assembled seven thousand troops, part of them well armed, and the remainder indifferently so. The Mexican general had written a note to General Kearney the day before the capture of the spies, saying that he would meet him on the following day.

General Kearney, at this, hastened on, arriving at the mouth of the Apache canyon at noon, with his whole force ready and anxious to try the mettle of the Mexicans in battle. Emory in his Reconnoissance says:

          The sun shone with dazzling brightness; the guidons and
          colours of each squadron, regiment, and battalion were
          for the first time unfurled.  The drooping horses seemed
          to take courage from the gay array.  The trumpeters
          sounded "to horse" with spirit, and the hills multiplied
          and re-echoed the call.  All wore the aspect of a gala day.
          About the middle of the day's march the two Pueblo Indians,
          previously sent to sound the chief men of that formidable
          tribe, were seen in the distance, at full speed, with arms
          and legs both thumping the sides of their mules at every
          stride.  Something was now surely in the wind.  The smaller
          and foremost of the two dashed up to the general, his face
          radiant with joy, and exclaimed:

          "They are in the canyon, my brave; pluck up your courage
          and push them out."  As soon as his extravagant delight at
          the prospect of a fight, and the pleasure of communicating
          the news, had subsided, he gave a pretty accurate idea
          of Armijo's force and position.

          Shortly afterwards a rumour reached the camp that the
          two thousand Mexicans assembled in the canyon to oppose us,
          have quarrelled among themselves; and that Armijo, taking
          advantage of the dissensions, has fled with his dragoons
          and artillery to the south.  It is well known that he has
          been averse to a battle, but some of his people threatened
          his life if he refused to fight.  He had been, for some
          days, more in fear of his own people than of the American
          army, having seen what they are blind to—the hopelessness
          of resistance.

          As we approached the ancient town of Pecos, a large fat
          fellow, mounted on a mule, came toward us at full speed,
          and, extending his hand to the general, congratulated him
          on the arrival of himself and army.  He said with a roar
          of laughter, "Armijo and his troops have gone to h—-ll,
          and the canyon is all clear."

On reaching the canyon, it was found to be true that the Mexican troops had dispersed and fled to the mountains, just as the old Arapahoe chief had said they would. There, however, they commenced to fortify, by chopping away the timber so that their artillery could play to better advantage upon the American lines, and by throwing up temporary breastworks. It was ascertained afterward, on undoubted authority, that Armijo had an army of nearly seven thousand Mexicans, with six pieces of artillery, and the advantage of ground, yet he allowed General Kearney, with a force of less than two thousand, to march through the almost impregnable gorge, and on to the capital of the Province, without any attempt to oppose him.

Thus was New Mexico conquered with but little loss relatively. For the further details of the movements of the Army of the West, the reader is referred to general history, as this book, necessarily, treats only of that portion of its march and the incidents connected with it while travelling the Santa Fe Trail.