On the following day our two parties came up with a large mule outfit known as Kuykendall's train. Its captain, who was familiar with the country, informed us that if we desired to go by the South Pass we were on the wrong trail, that the one which we were now taking was known as the "cut off" and soon trended to the North. We must return to Horseshoe Creek. It was then discovered that the emigrants represented two parties, one of which also decided to go by the South Pass. The entire train was halted for re-organization, after which those who were to retrace their course turned their teams toward the east and ranged them along side by side with the main body.
Travelers often remember with great pleasure the passing acquaintance of those who have been agreeable companions for a brief time in foreign travel on the luxurious steamers upon the ocean, or on the Nile; and possibly even more interesting might such acquaintance become in lands outside the beaten paths pursued by one's own countrymen. This, however, can hardly compare with the profound interest and concern that one feels toward the companions of a wandering life in the wilderness, where travelers are held together for mutual support and protection. Thus it was on our separation from this party of emigrants and the train of freighters, whose trying ordeal was soon to come. Some of the members promised to communicate with us at Salt Lake City and inform us concerning their trip. With expressions of mutual good will and hopes for each other's safety, we parted and moved on in opposite directions, while slowly the unpitying distance widened between us.
"One ship drives East, another drives West,
While the self-same breezes blow;
'Tis the set of the sails, and not the gales
That bids them where to go."
It may be stated here that the emigrant party did communicate with us. It was not many weeks after our arrival in Salt Lake, that two of the young men came to that city and informed us that after we turned back they had moved on in advance of the big mule train and near the close of the day after we separated and while their wagons were corralled in camp, they were surrounded by savages. Being well armed, they resisted a prolonged attack. Every animal they had was captured and run off by the Indians. The party was relieved by a detachment of mounted soldiers who, through some agency to them unknown, had learned that they were in trouble. The women passed through the ordeal bravely, fighting side by side with their husbands and brothers, well knowing what capture would mean to them. After but little loss of life they were enabled to move their wagons by consolidation with the other outfit, which had a similar experience. This attack took place on the 15th of July after assurances from the post sutler and others at Fort Laramie that the Indians were satisfied and no trouble need be expected. Red Cloud and his band, scattered through that country, were on the warpath.
Our party, in company with the emigrants who had decided to retrace their steps on reaching the proper trail, proceeded onward toward the west. The road was rough with many steep inclines but there were fine streams like LaBonte and LaParelle, which afforded welcome camp grounds. Although the days were hot and clear, the nights were cool, and the two parties naturally gravitated toward each other around the camp fires. The younger travelers fortunately found others of a similar age. Three young ladies, ranging in age from eighteen to twenty-two years, were a rare sight in that country. But they were with us, and living in a manner that indicated they had been accustomed to many of the good things of a well-ordered home. The most luxurious banquet in which I was permitted to share in those days was spread one evening before our bacon and coffee had been served. Some liberal slices of peach pie were sent to us from our neighbor's camp—dried peach pie, of course, but peach pie nevertheless. Fast for weeks on dried paste and bacon scraps; travel every day from morning till night over difficult roads; and then in the cool of some evening, when hungry and empty, receive a peach pie made by a woman who knows how to make it, and you know what a banquet really means. As it was said to have been the first occasion during their trip on which they had undertaken to prepare this kind of pastry, we recognized the event as a special dispensation. Fred was absent from the train on the following day for an unusual length of time, and sufficiently long almost to cause uneasiness on our part, but when I saw him come in with an antelope over his saddle, I knew the girls in the other camp would have the choicest cut of antelope steak for breakfast.
In time, after climbing over hills and traversing rough prairies, we reached Fort Caspar, near which was the only bridge across the North Platte River. On receiving orders that we should not be permitted to proceed beyond the west valley until the regulation number of wagons and men had been assembled, we were allowed to cross. A toll of five dollars per wagon enabled us to reach the other shore. We passed on three-fourths of a mile beyond the bridge, where the parties separated and camped.
[CHAPTER XVII]
Wild Midnight Revelry in the Caspar Hills
THERE are spots in foreign lands, the objects of never-failing interest because of some heroic deeds with which they are associated, the memory of which has been perpetuated in history. Our camp near Caspar happened to be pitched upon a spot glorified by the blood of heroes as brave and patriotic as the Spartans who fell at Thermopylae. The desperate conflict of our soldiers upon this Wyoming field against overwhelming numbers was hardly less dramatic than was that of the Greeks and well deserves an honored place in the memory of Americans. Hardly two rods from our camp there stood a little monument marking the spot where a few months prior to our visit Lieutenant Caspar W. Collins and his little band were slain while voluntarily making a valorous and almost hopeless effort to save the lives of a score of comrades, in the face of thousands of desperate and blood-thirsty savages. Although we had some previous knowledge of this tragedy, our first impulse was to recross the river to the post and from eye witnesses learn the particulars of the thrilling battle. As soon as our supper was eaten, four of our party started down stream toward the bridge. The post formerly known as Platte Bridge had now, in recognition of Collins' valorous deed, been named Fort Caspar, by order of Major General Pope commanding.