The horses of saddle trains would sometimes “stray away,”—often those of freighters,—and, since time was money, and strangers might not understand the “range,” the Indians were employed to hunt for the straying animals, and paid liberally if they succeeded; and thus it made the stock of other trains restless, and often they would run away—and so the business increased, and the Indians grew wealthier, notwithstanding their own sometimes followed off a rope in the hands of white men.
The road, along which this stream of miners poured, left the valley of Umatilla on the Reservation, leading up the mountains. Near the foot of the hill, but with a deep ravine or gulch intervening, and on another hill,—part really of the valley, though sloping toward the former,—was The “Trading Post,”—Indian’s sutler store. ’Twas here that saddle trains and “Walker’s line,” halted for the night, or “to noon” and rest, after travelling a fourteen-mile “stretch.”
The “Walker” passengers were already worn out,
with heavy packs of picks and pans, bottles and blankets. The situation of the post, with reference to the mountain, was to an observer like standing on the sloping roof of one house and measuring the “pitch” of the one adjoining, making it seem much steeper than it really is. So with this mountain. True, it required a broad upward sweep of vision to take in the height. On the first bench, one mile above, the trains and men seemed to be transformed into dogs and boys. On the second bench, two miles up, they looked still smaller. On the third, three miles up, they very closely resembled Punch and Judy driving a team of poodles. The Indians found here a market for their horses, and sometimes did a livery business, in Indian style.
A stalwart son of Erin, standing against the wall of the store to “rest his pack,” after looking at the trail leading up the mountain, said to the merchant doing business there, “I say, misther, is it up that hill we go?” Hearing an affirmative answer, he looked again at each bench, his brow growing darker the higher his eye went; at length he gave vent to his estimate of the undertaking by saying, “By the howly St. Patrick, if me own mother was here in the shape of a mule, I’d ride her up that hill, sure! I say, Misther Injun, wouldn’t you sell us a bit of a pony for to carry our blankets an’ things over the mountain with?”
The Indian had been in business long enough to understand that, and replied, “Now-wit-ka mi-ka pot-luetch. Chic-a, mon, ni-ka is-cum, cu-i-tan!”—“Och! Mister Injun, don’t be makin’ fun of a fellow, now, will ye? It’s very sore me feet is, a-carrying me pick and pan and cooking-traps. Why don’t you talk like a
dacent American gentleman?”—“Wake-ic-ta-cum-tux,” said Tip-tip-a-noor, the Indian. “Don’t be playin’ your dirty tongue on me now, or I’ll spoil your beautiful face so I will.”
Drawing his arms out of the straps that had kept the pack in position on his shoulders, and lowering it “aisy,” to save the bottle, he began to make demonstrations of hostile character, when Mr. Flippin, the post-trader, explained that Tip-tip-a-noos had replied to his first request, “Yes, you show the money, and I will furnish the horse;” and he had replied to the second, “I don’t understand you.”—“And is that all he says? Shure, he is a nice man, so he is. Shan’t I swaten his mouth wid a dhrop from me bottle?”—“No,” says Flip., “that won’t do.”—“Away wid yees; shure, this is a free counthry, and can’t a man do as he plases with his own?”—“Not much,” replied Flip. “I say now, Mike, will you join me in the byin’ of a bit of a pony for to carry our blankets and things?”
The man addressed as Mike assented to the proposal, and soon Tip-tip-a-noos brought a small pinto calico-colored horse; and after some dickering the trade was completed by Pat, through pantomimic signs, giving Tip to understand, that if he would follow down into the gulch, out of sight of Flip., he would give him a bottle of whiskey, in addition to the twenty dollars.
The pony was turned over to Pat and Mike. The next move was to adjust the packs on the Cayuse. This was not easily done. First, because the pony did not understand Pat’s jargon; second, they had not reckoned on the absence of a pack-saddle. Flip., always ready to accommodate the travelling public, for