In the Old West

by George Frederick Augustus Ruxton

"Do'ee hyar now? I was nigh upon gut-shootin' some of e'e—I was now; thought e'e was darned Rapahos, I did, and cached right off."

"Ho, Bill! what, old hoss! not gone under yet?" cried both the hunters. "Give us your paw."

"Do'ee now, if hyar arn't them boys as was rubbed out on Lodge Pole (creek) a time ago. Do'ee hyar? if this ain't some now, I wouldn't say so."

Leaving old Bill Williams and our two friends to exchange their rough but hearty greetings, we will glance at that old worthy's history since the time when we left him câching in the fire and smoke on the Indian battle-ground in the Rocky Mountains. He had escaped fire and smoke, or he would not have been here on Arkansa with his old grizzled Nez-perce steed. On that occasion the veteran mountaineer had lost his two pack-animals and all his beaver. He was not the man, however, to want a horse or mule as long as an Indian village was near at hand. Skulking, therefore, by day in canyon and deep gorges of the mountains, and traveling by night, he followed closely on the trail of the victorious savages, bided his time, struck his "coup," and recovered a pair of pack-horses, which was all he required. Ever since, he had been trapping alone in all parts of the mountains; had visited the rendezvous but twice for short periods, and then with full packs of beaver; and was now on his way to Bent's Fort, to dispose of his present loads of peltry, enjoy one good carouse on Taos whisky, and then return to some hole or comer in the mountains which he knew of, to follow in the spring his solitary avocation. He too had had his share of troubles, and had many Indian scrapes, but passed safely through all, and scarcely cared to talk of what he had done, so matter-of-fact to him were the most extraordinary of his perilous adventures.

Arrived at Bent's Fort, the party disposed of their cavallada, and then,—respect for the pardonable weaknesses of our mountain friends prompts us to draw a veil over the furious orgies that ensued. A number of hunters and trappers were in from their hunting-grounds, and a village of Shians and some lodges of Kioways were camped round the fort. As long as the liquor lasted—and there was good store of alcohol as well as of Taos whisky—the Arkansa resounded with furious mirth, not unmixed with graver scenes; for your mountaineer, ever quarrelsome in his cups, is quick to give and take offense when rifles alone can settle the difference, and much blood is spilt upon the prairie in his wild and frequent quarrels.

Bent's Port * is situated on the left or northern bank of the river Arkansa, about one hundred miles from the foot of the Rocky Mountains—on a low and level bluff of the prairie which here slopes gradually to the water's edge. The walls are built entirely of adobes—or sun-burned bricks—in the form of a hollow square, at two corners of which are circular flanking towers of the same material. The entrance is by a large gateway into the square, round which are the rooms occupied by the traders and employes of the host. These are small in size, with walls colored by a whitewash made of clay found in the prairie. Their flat roofs are defended along the exterior by parapets of adobe, to serve as a cover to marksmen firing from the top; and along the coping grow plants of cactus of all the varieties common in the plains. In the center of the square is the press for packing the furs; and there are three large rooms, one used as a store and magazine, another as a council-room, where the Indians assemble for their "talks," whilst the third is the common dining-hall, where the traders, trappers, and hunters, and all employes, feast upon the best provender the game-covered country affords. Over the culinary department presided of late years a fair lady of color, Charlotte by name, who was, as she loved to say, "de onlee lady in de dam Injun country," and who, moreover, was celebrated from Long's Peak to the Cumbres Espanolâs for slapjacks and pumpkin pies.

* Sometimes called Fort William, from one of the two Bent
brothers who founded it in 1829. It was destroyed in 1852.
(Ed.)

Here congregate at certain seasons the merchants of the plains and mountains, with their stocks of peltry. Chiefs of the Shian, the Kio-way, and Arapaho, sit in solemn conclave with the head traders, and smoke the calumet over their real and imaginary grievances. Now O-cun-no-whurst, the Yellow Wolf, grand chief of the Shian, complains of certain grave offenses against the dignity of his nation! A trader from the "big lodge" (the fort) has been in his village, and before the trade was opened, in laying the customary chief's gift "on the prairie" has not "opened his hand," but "squeezed out his present between his fingers," grudgingly and with too sparing measure. This was hard to bear, but the Yellow Wolf would say no more!

Tah-kai-buhl, or, "He Who Jumps," is deputed from the Kioway to warn the white traders not to proceed to the Canadian to trade with the Comanche. That nation is mad—a "heap mad" with the whites, and has "dug up the hatchet" to "rub out" all who enter its country. The Kioway loves the pale-face, and gives him warning (and "He Who Jumps" looks as if he deserves something "on the prairie" for his information).

Shawh-noh-qua-mish, "The Peeled Lodge-pole," is there to excuse his Arapaho braves, who lately made free with a band of horses belonging to the fort. He promises the like shall never happen again, and he, Shawh-noh-qua-mish, speaks with a "single tongue." Over clouds of tobacco and kinnik-kinnik these grave affairs are settled and terms arranged.