“Well, it isn’t our quarrel, that’s sure,” declared the lieutenant. “The Indians can fight their own fights, and we’ll mind our own business. The Arapahoes would like nothing better than to array the Utes against us.”
Southward still, over the dividing range into the South Park they hastened; and at the western verge sounded the warning, again:
“Injuns! Injuns!”
A mounted party of dusky, long-haired figures were descending from a ridge which intersected the valley, before. If these were pesky Arapahoes, once more, perhaps seeking the white men to escort them to the battle, then the company must watch out.
“Make for those islands, boys,” ordered the lieutenant; and into the shallow river, to a willow patch, plashed the Frémont and Carson men.
“Those are squaws,” cried Captain Walker.
Ute squaws they proved to be. They eagerly hastened to the company, and with gestures and loud exclamations and weeping told their story. Beyond the ridge was their village; early that morning the Arapahoes had charged it, killed four men including the head chief, and driven off many horses to a forted hollow a mile below. But the brave Ute warriors, 300, had rallied and pursued them; and now a great fight was in progress. If the white men would help the Utes their friends kill those dogs of Arapahoes, they should have the best horses at the village to carry them into the battle.
“Let’s get out o’ hyar. Have to get out o’ hyar. More trouble,” announced Kit, shaking his head at the clamor of the Ute women.
Speedily the cavalcade was put in motion, to abandon the dangerous neighborhood. Vainly the Ute women followed, urging, wailing, and plucking at the clothing of the white men, to bid them join in the fight. Turning off at the ridge, and keeping it between them and the village, with a line of scouts riding the summit to watch the other side, the company left the valley as rapidly as possible. Soon the women must cease their urging, and gallop back to their village. The spiteful cracks of rifles, and the whoops of the red warriors, now were plainly heard; gazing down from a break in the ridge Oliver and all could see the Ute village, in disorder, with dead and wounded being hurriedly brought in. However, according to the Ute women, their braves were having the best of the fight. It was the opinion of Kit and other mountain-men, also, that warrior for warrior, the Utes could whip the Arapahoes.
With course southeast, the company crossed from the South Park to the tributaries of the Upper Arkansas; and penetrating through the rugged country lying between Cripple Creek and Cañon City, Colorado, on June 28 arrived at the Arkansas River itself. Old friend was the Arkansas, for now below, on it, waited Bent’s Fort, at the crossroads of the long trail.