So far as travel was concerned, each day was but the tiresome repetition of the preceding one, with very slight variations. When we arrived at Fort Laramie we stopped for some three or four hours. We crossed the river and made a friendly visit to the officers of the fort. We found them to be true American soldiers and gentlemen. The commandant told us that he had heard of the Pawnee difficulty, and had sent an officer and a squad of soldiers to enquire into the affair. He was very anxious to hear from us a statement of the whole matter. I gave him as full a statement as I was able to, and both of us were of the opinion that it was precipitated by the want of proper discipline and control of the men in the train. This may not be very flattering to the white men, but it is the truth, notwithstanding.
I am not a military man, but I was not impressed with the idea that Laramie, surrounded as it is by an amphitheatre of commanding hills, was a fit site for a fort. As against an enemy with modern artillery, I thought it to be hopelessly defenceless. As against Indians it possibly might do. But then, I knew nothing of Plevna, similarly situated, and so heroically defended by the Turks against a superior and well-equipped Russian army.
Leaving Fort Laramie, we now entered the Black Hills country. After a two-days' journey in the hills, finding grass, water and wood in great abundance, we concluded to rest for two days for laundry and recuperative purposes. Our horses began to show the effects of the journey, and the want of their accustomed food. No animal has the power of endurance of man, unless it may be the wolf, "whose long gallop," says the poet, "can tire the hounds' deep hate and hunter's fire."
On the first day of our rest I accompanied the hunters into the hills for game. About three miles from camp, on a wooded side-hill, they came across a band of fifteen or more of elk and succeeded in killing three of them. I was not in at the killing, but caught a distant view of the noble antlered monarchs of the forest, as they sped away to deeper and safer retreats in the depths of the woods. As we did not kill for the love of slaughter, but for food, we declared the day's hunt a success, and prepared our meat for transportation to the camp, in the usual manner. I have killed quite a number of elk since that time in the mountains of Oregon, but I have never seen one larger than one of those, although I have seen much larger and finer antlers than adorned the heads of any of them. The purpose of the antlers, in my judgment, is not to furnish the animal a weapon in fight, but as a protection to his shoulders as he dashes through the brush in flight from an enemy or in pursuit of his mate. When he moves swiftly he elevates his nose until his face is nearly in a line with his back; the antlers, extending back on each side of the shoulders, thus affording them protection. The bucks always lead in such flights, and to a certain extent open the way; hence the females have no need, or not so much need, of such protection. Somewhat disappointed with my failure to get a shot at an elk on the preceding day, I again accompanied the hunters. We made a wide circuit through the hills, some of which were covered with timber, while others were bald. That it was a country abounding in game was manifest in the signs appearing everywhere. We saw a few antelope in full flight and out of range; we also startled from his sylvan couch a black-tailed buck, being the first of the deer kind seen in our journey. One of the hunters sent a ball after him as he bounded through the brush and timber, but, unscathed, he dashed on. As the day was fast waning we turned our horses' heads campward, and commenced the ascent of quite a high hill to take an observation of our latitude and longitude, and also to determine the exact location of our camp and the best route to it. The western side of this hill was covered with brush and fallen and dead timber. While we were standing on the top viewing the topography of the surrounding country, a large cinnamon bear, affrighted by our presence, started from his lair, and in all probability his patrimonial jungle, and dashed at a furious speed down through the brush and over the logs and rocks of this steep side-hill. We emptied our rifles at him as he plunged downward at such headlong speed. But one ball struck him and that broke his right shoulder, much diminishing his speed and almost entirely destroying his climbing powers. We soon came upon him at the foot of the hill in a bad humor, but we quickly ended his career. He was in fine condition; his estimated weight was from 275 to 300 pounds. We removed the pelt, with his feet, and took them into camp as a matter of curiosity; we also took the meat into camp, but it was not much relished. The hide as well as most of the meat was given to begging Indians.
At Laramie a man and his wife and one child—a little girl between seven and eight years of age—asked permission to travel with us. The man had started the year before, got as far as Laramie and had remained there during the winter. His team consisted of four yoke of young oxen, well conditioned for the trip. He had a hired man to drive them. He had a band of forty heifers and cows. Many of the cows were giving milk; thinking a little milk in our coffee would give it a home flavor, we readily acceded to the request. We helped him to drive his loose stock and do the milking. When we asked her, by politeness called his better half, for a small quantity of milk, we found that we were dealing with a Shylock. She had milk for sale, but not to give away. We were about to strike when the husband intimated that our canteens were useful. We took the hint, and after that, somehow, our coffee changed its color. To cut this narration short, let me say that while he was six feet tall and well proportioned, he stood still higher in the class of antivertebrates—henpecked nincompoops—than any specimen of the genus homo I have ever known; and she stood higher in her class of imperious virago. How a child, sweet in her disposition, and lovable in all her ways, could be the issue of such a union, was a mystery to us all. Afterwards I had the pleasure of saving the little girl from drowning in the crossing of Port Neuf near Fort Hall. A majority of the company voted to go by way of Fort Hall and to cross the Port Neuf near its junction with the Snake, instead of crossing it higher up, thus keeping continuously on the highlands. I protested, but finally yielded to this almost unanimous desire. I think the agreeable companionship of some of the factors of the company with whom we had become acquainted, at Soda or Steamboat Springs on Bear River, had much to do with this determination. From the Fort, where we were hospitably entertained, to the bluff and road beyond the Port Neuf was about five miles. The water of the Snake and the Port Neuf had but recently overflowed the valley between the two, and left it a miry quicksand morass, almost impossible of passing. It took us three days of hard labor and strenuous efforts to reach the bluffs. The heavily-loaded wagon of the nincompoop and the virago was almost constantly mired. We had little to do with him, but with her it was a constant conflict. At last we got her wagon to the river. He was on the highlands with the loose stock. The river for twenty feet or more was from seven to ten feet in depth. With a true team and a proper wagon this space could be safely passed. Her team, however, consisting of a horse and a mule, when they reached deep water made a lunge, then balked. The wagon filled with water and the current turned it over. She had insisted on driving and on having the little girl with her in the wagon. When it went over quite a number of us young men, who had been working nearly all day in our drawers and undershirts, plunged into the stream, and as we passed over the cover of the sinking wagon seized it and stripped it from its bows. Close beside me the little girl popped up; I seized her, and with a few strokes took her to shore, with no damage done her save a good wetting. It was a question, for a short time, whether the virago would drown the young men who were trying to save her, or they would succeed in their efforts. I went to their assistance and we brought her to the shore, but she needed the doctor's assistance. She had in ballast more water than was necessary, and by a rolling process was forced to give it up. Their team having been safely extricated—the wagon and its contents on shore, and soon transported to highlands, we found among their contents a large demijohn of first class brandy, to all appearances never opened, probably because the Snake country had not been reached; and as the dominant owner of said brandy was suffering from the too free use of water, we all drank to the toast, with a delicate courtesy, for her speedy delivery. Oblivious of the fearful danger of microbes, each tipped the demijohn at an angle and for a duration of time suited to the occasion. This spiritual passage having become historic, we hitched up our teams and journeyed onward to a creek about two miles distant, where we camped for the night. Next morning we bade a sorrowful adieu to the sweet, and much-loved and sprightly daughter of our train and our whilom companions, and resumed our journey down the left bank of the Snake River. This road led us over a desolate and treeless plain of sage-brush and grease-wood. The sun, at times, sent down its rays with scorching power. The alkaline dust, betimes rolled up in suffocating volumes. The pleasures of the chase were at an end. This dreary and waterless plain was not the abode of animal life, save the lizard, the horn toad and the rattlesnake. Game was said to be plentiful in the foothills and mountains, but they were too far away. The few Indians scattered along the river and the far-separated and uncertain tributaries had, I am informed, no organized tribal relation, but were the vagabonds driven off by contiguous tribes. Their subsistance was precarious, consisting of fish, grasshoppers, crickets or black locusts, and an occasional rabbit. But two incidents worthy of narration occurred in our journey down the river. One was a stampede of our horses by the Indians about two o'clock a. m. One of the four men detailed to guard them on that night informed me that he was unwell, and I took his place. The horses were on excellent grass a little over a mile from camp. A short time before sundown we rolled up our blankets and with our arms, departed for our night's work. We all took a careful survey of the surroundings and the horses, and then two of us rolled ourselves up in our blankets to be awakened at one o'clock a. m. Promptly at that time we were called. The watchmen reported that all was well; but the horses seemed a little restless and uneasy, and the watchmen thought that wolves were prowling around in the sage-brush, and although unseen by them, the presence of the wolves was detected by the keener scent and clearer vision of the horses.
The night was star light and clear. The moon, when our watch commenced, was just lifting its pale head above the eastern hills. We made a circuit of the herd and passed among and through them, for some were spanselled and others had long trail ropes about their necks. Finding all things in a satisfactory condition, my companion took his position on the left of the center of the herd, and I a similar position on the right. Scarcely had we got to our position when a small band, or party, of Indians suddenly arose from the sage-brush about midway between us, and, with a wild whoop and flourish of blankets, startled the horses and sent them, with all the speed they were capable of making, towards the distant western hills. I fired a shot at long range in the direction of the perfidious savages, but I am quite certain that it did them no harm. They immediately disappeared, however, in the thick sage-brush, and I saw no more of them until I had succeeded in stopping the horses. I got hold of several trail-ropes, one of which belonged to my favorite riding mare; I quickly mounted her, and with a dash I was soon in front of the affrighted animals. I talked to them; they knew my voice and stopped. The horse looks to his master as his protector. I have seen many proofs of this fact in my lonely wanderings in the hills and mountains, with no companion but my faithful horse. Such a horse always knows where you are; if he does not, he will take your trail and come to you. If in a strange wood, and you get separated from him, he will often whinny; but I am digressing.
After having succeeded in stopping the affrighted animals, I took a careful survey of my desolate surroundings. I saw to my left three Indians standing on a slightly elevated ground, and I raised my rifle to fire. They saw my movement and they quickly dropped to the ground. I sent a bullet as near as I could to the spot; and while I think it did them no injury, yet it was a notice that I was armed, and an admonition not to come within range. I was satisfied that they were unarmed, save with bows and arrows, which, to be effective, required both ambush and a short range; so, although five or six miles from camp, I was fearful of neither.
I saw that the horses, hobbled or spanselled, were very much impeded in their ability to travel, only being able to go by short jumps. Dismounting, I unbuckled some and cut the hobbles of others. About three miles from camp I met a rescuing party, among whom was my guard companion. I was inclined to blame him for not accompanying me in my wild race, but I have long since forgiven him. Such an incident was not uncommon in the early migrations to this coast. The attempts were numerous, but generally not as successful as this one.
The next day, early in the morning, as we were moving slowly along at the foot of a high and bald ridge, whose top was enveloped in fog, we heard coming from the top a shrill voice saying in prolonged accents, "Steal Hoss—God dam!" Some thought it to be the voice of an angel; others said that if the voice was that of an angel, it must have come from a fallen angel, because the language was very improper for one retaining his first estate; while others suggested that it was nothing, but an extract, or echo from my soliloquy, as I dodged through the sage-brush and grease-wood on that awful night in hot pursuit, of our affrighted and fleeing horses. Despite the plausibility of this last suggestion, I adhere to Lord Byron's contention that the anatheme was the nucleus of England's native eloquence; and if so, why not of Indian oratory?
After passing around the point of this angelic ridge, the road diverges to the westward from Snake River and passes over some high, bald ridges separating it from Burnt River.