For other weapons, the Indians had spears made of small pine-tree shafts about twelve feet long and a steel spike about four inches in length. When they were not using their spears, they would take the spike off the shaft, sharpen it, and keep it in a little buckskin scabbard. They traded with the whites for knives and tomahawks and guns.
Old Morogonai told me many things about his experiences with the white man. He was not unfriendly towards them, but he felt that they had often mistreated the Indians, and caused a good deal of unnecessary suffering and trouble for both the red men and the whites.
“At one time,” he said, “an emigrant train, on its way to Oregon, camped at Humboldt Springs. Some of Pocatello’s Indians went to the camp to swap buckskins for flour. The white men took three of their squaws and drove the rest of the Indians away. That made the Indians mad. They gathered a large band of Indians, followed the train, and killed every one of the white men in it. Then they took all their stock and clothing and food and weapons, and afterwards set fire to the wagons.”
“At another time,” he said, “some mail carriers drove a band of fine big horses up to my camp of Indians and asked me to take care of the animals for them for two moons, then they would come and give us fifteen red blankets. They had stolen the horses from an emigrant train. We did not know this, however, so we agreed to take care of the animals for them.
“In a few days the emigrants found the tracks of their horses around our camp and thinking we had stolen them, they began to shoot before they gave my Indians a chance to explain. After shooting seven of my braves, they rode off, driving with them not only their own horses but some of ours.
“I was away at the time with most of my men. When I returned, I found my oldest boy and five other Indians dead and another dying. I gathered what was left of my band and that night we set out in hot pursuit of the whites; but it was eight days before I got a chance to get even. There were a good many men in the camp and they kept a strong guard at night. On the eighth night it grew very stormy, we skipped in through the darkness, stampeded their horses, and got away with twenty-two of them. The whites followed us, and they would have overtaken us, if we had not run into a large camp of Pocatello’s Indians. We did not stop, but kept right on going.
“When the emigrants came up to Pocatello’s band, they pitched into these Indians without waiting for explanations. A big fight followed and men were killed on both sides, but the Indians finally got the worst of it. The best of it was that we got away with the horses.
“After we got back to the main tribe, Washakie happened to hear about the trouble and he sent for me. I told him the full story. He said that he did not blame me; but it was a bad scrape and he did not want any trouble with the whites.
“He advised me to keep away from the road where the white men travel, and have nothing to do with them; ‘for,’ said he, ‘they have crooked tongues; no one can believe what they have to say.’”
