The next morning the boys told me that they dug up the grave
and found some bones; they dug up a quarter of an acre of
ground and never got the colour of a piece of gold; then they
“tumbled.”
CHAPTER XIX. KIT CARSON ON THE YELLOWSTONE.
One of the Old American Fur Company's trappers by the name of Frazier, as often told of him around the camp-fire, was one of those athletic men who could outrun, outjump, and throw down any man among the more than a hundred with whom he associated at the time. He was the best off-hand shot in the whole crowd, and possessed of a remarkably steady nerve. He met with his death in a curious way. Once when away up the Platte he with one of his companions were hunting for game in an aspen grove. Suddenly an immense grizzly bear came ambling along about fifty yards away, evidently unaware of his enemy, man, being near him. Frazier told his comrade to take to a tree, while he would behind one of the others and kill the beast. He raised his rifle, fired, and the bullet lodged just above the bear's eye. As the ball struck him, the animal seemed intuitively to get the direction from which it came, and started for Frazier. The aspens have a very smooth, slippery bark and are very difficult to climb. Frazier failed to get high enough to be out of reach of the dying and enraged bear, and in a few minutes was a mangled mass at the foot of the tree, both he and the bear dead.
The majority of people, probably, imagine that the white man learned the art of trapping from the Indian; but the converse is the case. The savages, long before their contact with the white man, silently crept along the banks of the creeks and, caching themselves in the brush on their margin, with a patience characteristic of the race, waited for the beaver to show himself in the shallow water, or crawl on the banks, when they killed him with their stone-pointed arrows. The process was a tedious one, and they earnestly desired to know of some other method of capturing the wary little animal, so necessary in their domestic economy. So to their intense satisfaction, when the white man came among them, they saw him walk boldly along the streams and place a curious instrument in the water, which caught the beaver and held him until the trapper was ready to take him out.
With their usual shyness the Indians watched the white man's method from the underbrush skirting the margin of the creeks, and when the trapper had left, they stole his trap and carried it off to their village. A long time elapsed before the savage learned how to use the trap which had so interested him. It was not until the white man taught him that he learned how to watch the beaver at work in the pale moonlight; how to know where the beaver-houses were, the proper method of placing the trap, its peculiar bait, and then to leave it to catch the beaver.
The following story was told many years ago by George P. Belden, and it is the second instance of Indian elopement that has come under the observation of the authors of this book. It occurred some time in the early '40's.
The Ogallallas and Brûlés were once the most powerful tribes on the plains, and were particularly friendly. The chief of the Brûlés was an old and experienced warrior. The chief of the Ogallallas had a son whose name was Souk. The old Brûlé frequently noticed the young Ogallalla, and seemed mightily pleased with him. On one or two occasions he spoke to Souk encouragingly, and one day went so far as to invite him to visit his tribe, and spend a few days at his lodge. These visits were often repeated, and it was during one of them Souk met the daughter of his friend, who was the belle of her tribe, and, besides her great personal charms, was esteemed to be the most virtuous and accomplished young woman in the nation. It did not take long for her to make an impression on the heart of Souk, and soon both the young people found themselves over head and ears in love with each other.
The Indian girl was proud of her lover, as well she might be, for he was only twenty-eight years of age, tall, handsome, good-tempered, and manly in his deportment. Besides these considerations in his favour, he was virtually the head of his tribe, and no warrior was more renowned for deeds of valour. A born chief, the idol of his aged father, prepossessing in his appearance, already the leader of his band and its chief warrior. He was just such a person as was likely to move the heart and excite the admiration of a young girl.
Chaf-fa-ly-a was the only daughter of the Brûlé chief, and the spoiled pet of her father. She was tall, lithe, and agile as an antelope. She could ride the wildest steed in her father's herds, and no maiden in the tribe could shoot her painted bow so well, so daintily braid her hair, or bead moccasins as nicely as Chaf-fa-ly-a. Giving all the love of her passionate nature to Souk, he loved her with all the strength of his manly heart in return. Day after day the lovers lingered side by side, sat under the shade of the great trees by the clear-running brook, or hand in hand gathered wild flowers in the shadows of the hills.
Sometimes Souk was at the village of his father, but he always made haste to excuse himself, and hurried back to the camp of the Brûlé chief. In truth he was never content, except when by the side of the bewitching Chaf-fa-ly-a. The old men knew of the growing attachment between their children, and seemed rather to encourage than to oppose it. Chaf-fa-ly-a was buoyantly happy, and a golden future seemed opening up before her. Souk often reflected how happy he would be when he and his darling were married; and frequently at night, when the stars were out, the young lovers would sit for hours and plan the future happiness of themselves and the people over whom they would rule.