Daniel Boone by John Stevens Cabot Abbott: Chapter 13

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter thirteen of Daniel Boone by John S. C Abbot.
This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recorded by
Alison Hester, Chapter thirteen, A New Home. At the time
when Colonel Boone crossed the Mississippi and entered Missouri, the
Spanish government, then in possession of that territory, being anxious

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to promote the settlement of the country, gave a very
cordial welcome to all emigrants. The fame of Colonel Boone,
as one of the most bold and valuable of pioneers,
had preceded him. The Lieutenant governor under the Spanish Crown,
who resided at Saint Louis, received him with marked attention
and gave him the assurance that ample portions of land

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should be given to him and his family. Colonel Boone
took up his residence with his son in what is
called the Femme Osage District. The Spanish authorities appointed him
Commandant of the district, which was an office of both
civil and military power. His commission was July eleventh, eighteen hundred. Remote,

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as was this region from the Atlantic States, bold adventurers,
lured by the prospect of obtaining large tracts of land,
were rapidly pouring in. Instead of collecting together, they scattered
wildly over the vast domain. Don Charles, the Spanish governor,
gave Colonel Boone eight thousand acres of land on the

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north side of the Missouri River. By the law of
the providence, he was bound to build upon some part
of this land a house within a year, and also
to obtain a confirmation of the grant from the representative
of the Spanish crown then residing in New Orleans. Both
of these precautions the simple minded man neglected to adopt.

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To visit New Orleans required a journey through the wilderness
of more than a thousand miles. Though he might float
down the stream in his boat, he would be exposed
continually to attacks from the Indians on its banks, and
when ready to return, he could not surmount the rapid
current of the river in his boat, but would be
compelled to traverse the winding banks, often through almost impenetrable

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forests and morasses. His duties as syndic or justice of
the peace also occupied much of his time, and the
Lieutenant Governor at Saint Louis agreed to dispense with his
residence upon his lands in addition to this, Colonel Boone
had no doubt that the country would soon come under
the power of the United States, and he could not

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believe the United States government would disturb his title. Soon
after Boone's immigration to Missouri, the Emperor Napoleon, by treaty
with Spain, obtained possession of the whole of the vast
region west of the Mississippi and Missouri, then known as Louisiana,
and the region was transferred to France. It is a

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curious fact in the history of Boone, passing through such
wonderful adventures, that he had been a subject of George
the Second, George the third, a citizen of the United States,
of the temporary nationality of Transylvania, an adopted son and
citizen of the Shawnese tribe of Indians, a subject of
Charles the fourth of Spain, and now he found himself

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a subject of the First Napoleon, whose empire was then
filling the world with its renown. Not long after this,
the Emperor sold the country, as we have recorded, to
the United States, saying that with prophetic wisdom which characterized
this extraordinary man, I have now given England a rival

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upon the seas. The fulfillment of this prophecy has since
then been every hour in process of development. Colonel Boone
seems to have been very happy in his new home.
He still enjoyed his favorite pursuit of hunting, for the
forests around him were filled with game and with animals,
whose rich furs were every year becoming more valuable. The

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distinguished naturalist J. J. Audubon visited him in his solitary
retreat and spent a night with him. In his Ornithological Biography,
he gives the following narrative which he received from Boone
that evening as they sat at the cabin fire. We
give the story in the words of the narrator, Daniel Boone,

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or as he was usually called in the Western Country.
Colonel Boone happened to spend a night with me under
the same roof more than twenty years ago. We had
returned from a shooting excursion, in the course of which
his extraordinary skill in the management of the rifle had
been fully displayed. On retiring to the room appropriated to
that remarkable individual and myself for the night, I felt

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anxious to know more of his exploits and adventures than
I did, and accordingly took the liberty of proposing numerous
questions to him. The stature and general appearance of this
wanderer of the Western forests approached the gigantic. His chest
was broad and prominent, his muscular powers displayed them themselves
in every limb. His countenance gave indication of his great courage, enterprise,

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and perseverance. And when he spoke, the very motion of
his lips brought the impression that whatever he uttered could
not be otherwise than strictly true. I undressed, while he
merely took off his hunting shirt and arranged a few
folds of blankets on the floor, choosing rather to lie there,
as he observed, than on the softest bed. When we

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had both disposed of ourselves, each after his own fashion,
he related to me the following account of his powers
of memory, which I lay before your kind reader in
his own words, hoping that the simplicity of his style
may prove interesting to you. I was once, said he,
on a hunting expedition on the banks of the Green River,

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when the lower parts of Kentucky were still in the
hands of nature, and none but the sons of the
soil were looked upon as its lawful proprietors. We Virginians
had for some time been waging a war of ins
prusion upon them, and I, among the rest, rambled through
the woods in pursuit of their race, as I now
would follow the tracks of any ravenous animal. The Indians

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outwitted me one dark night, and I was as unexpectedly
as suddenly made a prisoner by them. The trick had
been managed with great skill, for no sooner had I
extinguished the fire of my camp and laid me down
to rest in full security, as I thought, than I
felt seized by an undistinguishable number of hands, and was

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immediately pinioned as if about to be led to the
scaffold for execution. To have attempted to be refractory would
have proved useless and dangerous to my life, and I
suffered myself to be removed from my camp to theirs
a few miles distant, without uttering a word of complaint.
You are aware, I dare say that to act in

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this manner was the best policy, as you understand that
by so doing I proved the Indians at once that
I was born and bred as fear fearless of death
as any of themselves. When we reached the camp, great
rejoicings were exhibited. Two squalls and a few papooses appeared
particularly delighted at the sight of me, and I was

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assured by every unequivocal gesture and word that on the
morrow the mortal enemy of the Red Skins would cease
to live. I never opened my lips, but was busy
contriving some scheme which might enable me to give the
rascals a slip before dawn. The women immediately fell a
searching about my hunting shirt for whatever they might think valuable,

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and fortunately for me, soon found my flask filled with
strong whiskey. A terrific grin was exhibited on their murderous countenances,
while my heart throbbed with joy at the anticipation of
their intoxication. The crew began immediately to beat their bellies
and sing as they passed the bottle from mouth to mouth.

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How often did I wish the flask tender times its
side and filled with aquafortis. I observed that the squalls
drank more freely than the warriors, and again my spirits
were about to be depressed when the report of a
gun was heard at a distance. The Indians all jumped
to their feet. The singing and drinking were both brought

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to a stand, and I saw with inexpressible joy the
men walk off to some distance and talk to the squalls.
I knew that they were consulting about me, and I
foresaw that in a few moments the warriors would go
to discover the calls of the gun having been fired
so near their camp. I expected that the squalls would
be left to guard me. Well, sir, it was just

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so they returned. The men took up their guns and
walked away. The squalls sat down again, and in less
than five minutes had my bottle up to their dirty mouths,
gurgling down their throats the remains of the whiskey. With pleasure.
Did I see them becoming more and more drunk, until
the liquor took such hold of them that it was

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quite impossible for these women to be of any service.
They tumbled down, rolled about, and began to snore. When I,
having no other chance of freeing myself from the cords
that fastened me, rolled over and over towards the fire,
and after a short time burned them asunder. I rose
on my feet, snatched up my rifle and for once

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in my life spared that of the Indians. I now
recollected how desirous I once or twice felt to lay
open the skulls of the wretches with my tomahawk. But
when I again thought upon killing beings unprepared and unable
to defend themselves, it looked like murder without need, and
I gave up the idea. But Sir, I felt determined

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to mark the spot, and, walking to a thrifty ash sapling,
I cut out of it three large chips and ran off.
I soon reached the river, soon crossed it, and threw
myself into the cane brakes, imitating the tracks of an
Indian with my feet, so that no chance might be
left for those from whom I had escaped to overtake me.

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It is now nearly twenty years since this happened, and
more than five since I left the White Settlement, which
I might never probably have visited again, had I not
been called upon as a witness in a law suit
which was pending in Kentucky, and which I really believe
would never have been settled had I not come forward
and established the beginning of a certain boundary line. The

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story is this sir mister Blank moved from Old Virginia
into Kentucky, and, having a large tract granted to him
in the new state, laid claim to a certain parcel
of land adjoining the Green River, and, as chance would
have it, took for one of his corners the very
ash tree on which I had made my mark, beginning,

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as it is expressed in the deed, had an ash
marked by three distinct notches of the tomahawk of a
white man. The tree had grown much and the bark
had covered the marks. But somehow or other, mister Blank
had heard from some one all that I have already
said to you, and, thinking that I might remember the
spot alluded to in the deed, but which was no

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longer discoverable, wrote for me to come and try at
least to find the place or the tree. His letter
mentioned that all my expenses should be paid. And, not
caring much about once more going back to Kentucky, I
started and met mister Blank. After some conversation, the affair
with the Indians came to my recollection. I considered for

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a while, and began to think that, after all, I
could find the very spot as well as the tree,
if it were yet standing. Mister Blank and I mounted
our horses, and off we went to the green river bottoms.
After some difficulty, for you must be aware, sir, that
great changes have taken place in those woods, I found

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at last the spot where I had crossed the river, and,
waiting for the moon to rise, made for the course
in which I thought the ash trees grew. On approaching
the place, I felt as if the Indians were there still,
and as if I were still a prisoner among them.
Mister Blank and I camped near what I conceived the spot,
and waited until the return of day. At the rising

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of the sun, I was on foot, and, after a
good deal of musing, thought that an ash tree then
in sight must be the very one on which I
had made my mark. I felt as if there could
be no doubt about it, and mentioned my thought to
mister Blank. Well, Colonel Boone said, he if you think so,
I hope that it may prove true. But we must

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have some witnesses. Do you stay hereabouts and I will
go and bring back some of the settlers whom I know.
I agreed. Mister Blank trotted off, and I, to pass
the time, rambled about to see if a deer was
still living in the land. But ah, sir, what a
wonderful difference thirty years makes in a country. Why, at

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the time when I was caught by the Indians, you
would not have walked out in any direction more than
a mile without shooting a buck or a bear. There
were then thousands of buffaloes on the hills in Kentucky.
The land looked as if it never would become poor,
and to hunt in those days was a pleasure indeed.
But when I was left to myself on the banks

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of the Green River, I dare say, for the last
time in my life, a few signs only of the
deer were seen, and as to a deer itself, I
saw none. Mister Blank returned accompanied by three gentlemen. They
looked upon me as if I had been Washington himself,
and walked to the ash tree, which I now call

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my own, as if in quest of a long lost treasure.
I took an axe from one of them and cut
a few chips off the bark. Still no signs were
to be seen, so I cut again, until I thought
it time to be cautious, and I scraped and worked
away with my butcher knife until I did come to
where my tomahawk had left an impression on the wood.

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We now went regularly to work and scraped at the
tree with care, until three hacks as plain as any
three notches ever were, could be seen. Mister Blank and
the other gentlemen were astonished, and I must allow that
I was as much surprised as pleased myself. I made
affidavit of this remarkable occurrence. In presence of these gentlemen,

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mister Blank gained his calls. I left Green River forever
and came to where we are now, And sir, I
wish you a good night. The life of this wonderful
man was filled with similar adventures, many of which can
now never be recalled. The following narrative will give the
reader an idea of the scenes which were continually occurring

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in those bloody conflicts between the white settlers and the Indians.
A widow was residing in a lonely log cabin, remote
from any settlers in what is now bourbon Ca County, Kentucky.
Her lonely hut consisted of but two rooms. One the
aged widow occupied herself with two sons and a widowed

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daughter with an infant child. The other was tenanted by
her three unmarried daughters, the oldest of whom was twenty
years of age. It was eleven o'clock at night, and
the members of the industrious family and their lonely habitation
had retired, with the exception of one of the daughters
and one of the sons, who was keeping her company.

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Some indications of danger had alarmed the young man, though
he kept his fears to himself. The cry, apparently of
owls in an adjoining forest, was heard, answering each other
in a rather unusual way. The horses in the enclosure
by the side of the house, who seemed to have
an instinct informing them of the approach of the Indians,

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seemed much excited and galloped around, snorting with terror. Soon
steps were heard in the yard, and immediately several loud
knocks were made at the door, with someone inquiring in
good English, who keeps this house. The young man, very imprudently,
was just unbarring the door when the mother sprang from

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the bed, exclaiming that they were Indians. The whole family
was immediately aroused, and the young men seized their guns.
The Indians now threw off all disguise and began to
thunder at the door, endeavoring to break it down through
a loophole prepared for such an emergency. A rifle shot

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discharged at the savages compelled a precipitate retreat. Soon, however,
they cautiously returned and attacking the other end of the cabin,
where they found a point not exposed to the fire
from within. They succeeded at length in breaking through and
entered the room occupied by the three girls. One of
them they seized and bound. Her sister made desperate resistance

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and stabbed one of the Indians to the heart with
a large knife which she was using at the loom.
They immediately tomahawked her, and she fell dead upon the
floor the little girl. In the gloom of midnight, they
had overlooked. The poor little thing ran out of the door,
and might have escaped had she not, in her terror,
lost all self control and ran around the house, wringing

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her hands and crying bitterly. The brothers, agonized by the
cries of their little sisters, were just about opening the
door to rush out to her rescue, when their more
prudent mother declared that the child must be abandoned to
its fate, that any attempt to save her would not
only be unavailing, but would insure the certain destruction of

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them all. Just then the child uttered a most frantic scream.
They heard the dull sound as of a tomahawk falling
upon the brain. There were a few convulsive moans, and
all again was silent. It was but too evident to
all what these sounds signified. Presently, the crackling of flames

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was heard, and through the portholes could be seen the
glare of the rising conflagration, while the shouts of the
savages grew more exultant. They had set fire to the
end of the building occupied by the daughters. The logs
were dry as tender, and the devouring element was soon
enveloping the whole building in its fatal embrace. To remain

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in the cabin was certain death in its most appalling form.
And rushing out there was a baer possibility that some
might escape, there was no time for reflection. The hot,
stifling flames and smothering smoke were rolling in upon them.
And when they opened the door and rushed out into
the outer air, endeavoring as soon as possible to reach

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the gloom of the forest, the old lady, aided by
her eldest son, ran in one direction towards a fence,
while the other daughter, with her infant in her arms,
accompanied by the younger of the brothers, ran in another direction.
The fire was blaze, using so fiercely as to shed
all around the light of day. The old lady had

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just reached the fence when several rifle balls pierced her
body and she fell dead. Her son almost miraculously escaped, and,
leaping the fence, plunged into the forest and disappeared. The
other party was pursued by the Indians, with loud yells,
throwing down their guns which they had discharged. The savages

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rushed upon the young man and his sister with their
gleaming tomahawks. Gallantly, the brother defended his sister, firing upon
the savages as they came rushing on, and then assailing
them with the butt of his musket, which he wielded
with the fury of despair. He fought with such herculean
strength as to draw the attention of all the savages

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upon himself, and thus gave his sister an opportunity of escaping.
He soon, however, fell beneath their tomahawks, and was in
the morning found scalped and mangled in the most shocking manner.
Of this family of eight persons, two only escaped from
this awful scene of midnight massacre. The neighborhood was immediately aroused.

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The second daughter was carried off a captive by the savages.
The fate of the poor girl awakened the deepest sympathy,
and by daylight thirty men were assembled on horseback under
the command of Colonel Edwards to pursue the Indians. Fortunately,
a light snow had fallen during the night, Thus it
was impossible for the savages to conceal their trail, and

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they were followed on the full gallop. The wretches knew
full well that they would not be allowed to retire unmolested.
They fled with the utmost precipitation, seeking to gain the
mountainous region which bordered upon the Licking River. A hound
accompanied the pursuing party. The sagoshous animal was very eager
in the chase. As the trail became fresh and the

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scent indicated that the foe was nearly overtaken, the hound,
rushing forward, began to bay very loudly. This gave the
Indians the alarm. Finding the strength of their captive failing
so that she could no longer continue the rapid flight,
they struck their tomahawks into her brain and left her
bleeding and dying upon the snow. Her friends soon came

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up and found her in the convulsions of death. Her
brothers sprang from his horse and tried in vain to
stop the effusion of blood. She seemed to recognize him,
gave him her hand, uttered a few inarticulate words, and died.
The pursuit was then continued with new ardor, and in
about twenty minutes the avenging white men came within sight

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of the savages. With considerable military sagacity, The Indians had
taken position upon a steep and narrow ridge, and seemed
desirous of magnifying their numbers in the eyes of their
pursuers by running from tree to tree and making the
forest resound with their hideous yells. The pursuers were, however,

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too well acquainted with Indian warfare to be deceived by
this childish artifice. They dismounted, tied their horses, and endeavored
to surround the enemy so as to cut off his retreat,
but the cunning Indians, leaving two of their number behind
to delay the pursuit by deceiving the white men into
the conviction that they were all there, fled to the mountains.

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One of this heroic rear guard for remaining under the circumstances,
was the almost certain surrendered of themselves to death, was
instantly shot. The other, badly wounded, was tracked for a
long distance by his blood upon the snow. At length
his trail was lost in a running stream. Night came
a dismal night of rain, long and dark. In the morning,

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the snow had melted, every trace of the retreat of
the enemy was obliterated, and the further pursuit of the
foe was relinquished. Colonel Boone, deprived of his property by
the unrelenting processes of pitiless law, had left content, impoverished,
and in debt. His rifle was almost the only property
he took with him beyond the Mississippi. The rich acres

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which had been assigned to him there were then of
but little more value than so many acres of the sky.
Though he was so far away from his creditors that
it was almost impossible that they should ever annoy him. Still,
the honest hearted man was oppressed by the consciousness of
his debts and was very anxious to pay them. The
forests were full of game, many of the animals furnishing

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very valuable furs. He took his rifle, some pack horses,
and accompanied by a single black servant boy, repaired to
the banks of the Osage River to spend the winter
in hunting. Here he was taken dangerously sick, and was
apprehensive that he should die. We know not what were
his religious thoughts upon this occasion, but his calmness in

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view of death, taken in connection with his blameless, conscientious
and reflective of life, and with the fact that subsequently
he had become an openly avowed disciple of Jesus, indicate
that then he found peace in view of pardoned sin
through faith in the atonement of Jesus Christ. He pointed
out to the black boy the place where should he

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die he wished to be buried. He gave very minute
directions in reference to his burial and the disposal of
his rifle, blankets, and peltry. Mister Peck in the following
language describes this interesting incident in the life of the pioneer.
On another occasion, he took pack horses and went to

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the country on the Assage River, taking for a camp
keeper a Negro boy about twelve or fourteen years of age.
Soon after preparing his camp and laying his supplies for
the winter, he was taken sick and lay a long
time in camp. The horses were hobbled out on the range.
After a period of stormy weather, there came a pleasant

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and delightful full day, and Boone felt able to walk
out with his staff, for he was quite feeble. He
took the boy to the summit of a small eminence
and marked out the ground in shape and size of
a grave, and then he gave the following directions. He
instructed the boy, in case of his death, to wash
and lay his body straight, wrapped up in one of

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the cleanest blankets. He was then to construct a kind
of shovel, and with that instrument and the hatchet to
dig a grave exactly as he had marked it out.
He was then to drag the body to the place
and put it in the grave, which he was directed
to cover up. Putting posts at the head and foot
poles were to be placed around and above the surface.

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The trees to be marked so that the place could
easily be found by his friends. The horses were to
be caught, the blankets and skins gathered up, with some
special instructions about the old rifle, and various messages to
his family. All these directions were given, as the boy
afterwards declared, with entire calmness, and as if he were

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given instructions about ordinary business. He soon recovered, broke up
his camp, and returned homeward without the usual signs of
a winter's hunt. One rider says Colonel Boone went on
a trapping excursion up the Grand River. This stream rises
in the southern part of Iowa and flows in a
southerly course into the Missouri. He was entirely alone, paddling

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his canoe up the lonely banks of the Missouri. He
entered the Grand River and established his camp in a silent,
sheltered cove where an experienced hunter would with difficulty find it.
Here he first laid in his supply of venison, turkeys,
and bear's meat, and then commenced his trapping operation, where
no sound of his rifle would disturb the beavers, and

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no smell of gunpowder would excite their alarm. Every morning
he took the circuit of his traps, visiting them all
in turn. Much to his alarm, he one morning encountered
a large encampment of Indians in his vicinity, engaged in hunting.
He immediately retreated to his camp and secreted himself. Fortunately

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for him, quite a deep snow fell that night, which
covered his traps. But this same snow prevented him from
leaving his camp lest his footprints should be discovered. For
twenty days. He continued thus secreted, occasionally at midnight, venturing
to cook a little food when there was no danger
that the smoke of his fire would reveal his retreat.

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At length, the enemy departed and he was released from
his long imprisonment. He subsequently stated that never in his
life had he felt so much anxiety for so long
a period lest the Indians should discover his traps and
search out his camp. It seems that the object of
Colonel Boone in these long hunting excursions was to obtain

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furs that he might pay the debts which he still
owed in Kentucky. A man of life less tender conscience
would no longer have troubled himself about them. He was
far removed from any importunity on the part of his
creditors or from any annoyance through the law. Still, his
debts caused him much solicitude, and he could not rest

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in peace until they were fully paid. After two or
three seasons of this energetic hunting, Colonel Boone succeeded in
obtaining a sufficient quantity of firs to enable him, by
their sale, to pay all his debts. With this object
in view, he set out on his long journey of
several hundred miles through an almost trackless wilderness to Kentucky.

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He saw every creditor and paid every dollar. Upon his return,
Colonel Boone had just one half dollar in his pocket,
but he said triumphantly to his friends, who eagerly gathered
around him, now I am ready and willing to die.
I am relieved from a burden which has long oppressed me.
I have paid all my debts. When no one will

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say when I am gone. Boone was a dishonest man.
I am perfectly willing to die. In the year eighteen
o three, the territory west of the Mississippi came into
the possession of the United States, the whole region embracing
what is now Missouri was then called the territory of Louisiana.
Soon after this, a commission was appointed, consisting of three

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able and impartial men, to investigate the validity of the
claims to land granted by the action of the Spanish government. Again,
poor Boone was caught in the meshes of the law.
It was found that he had not occupied the land
which had been granted him, that he had not gone
to New Orleans to perfect his title, and that his

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claim was utterly worthless. Poor Boone, seventy four years old,
and the second grasp you have made upon the West
has been powerless. You have risked life and lost the
life next dearest, your own, for the West, in all
its fearful death, has looked you in the face, and
you have moved on to conquer the soil, which you

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did but conquer that it might be denied to you.
You have been the architect of the prosperity of others,
but your own crumbles each time as you are about
to occupy it. When he lost his farm in Boonsborough,
he did not linger around in complainings, but went quietly away,
returning only to fulfill the obligations he had incurred and Now,

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this last decision came even at old age, to leave
Daniel Boone, the pioneer of the West, unable to give
a title deed to a solitary acre. The fur trade
was at this time very lucrative. Many who were engaged
in it accumulated large fortunes. It was in this traffic
that John Jacob Astor laid the foundations of his immense wealth.

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A guide of Major Long stated that he had purchased
of an Indian one hundred and twenty beaver skins for
two blankets, two gallons of rum, and pocket mirror. The
skins he took to Montreal, where he sold them for
over four hundred dollars. In the employment of the fur companies,
the trappers are of two kinds, called the hired hands

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and the free trapper. The former is employed by the month,
receiving regular wages and bringing in all the furs which
he can obtain, be they more or less, he receives
his stipulated monthly wages. The free trapper is supplied by
the company with traps and certain other conveniences, with which
he plunges into the forest on his own hook, engaging, however,

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to sell to the company at a stipulated price, whatever
furs he may secure. The outfit of the trapper as
he penetrated the vast and trackless region of gloomy forests,
treeless prairies, and solitary rivers spreading everywhere around him, generally
consisted of two or three horses, one for the saddle

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and the others for packs containing his equipment of traps, ammunition, blankets,
cooking utensils, et cetera. In preparation for passing lonely months
in the far away solitudes, he would endeavor to find,
if possible, a region which neither the white man nor
the Indian had ever visited. The dress of the hunter

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consisted of a strong shirt of well dressed and pliant
buckskin ornamented with long fringes. The vanity of dress, if
it may be so called, followed him into regions where
no eye but his own could see its beauties. His
pantaloons were also made of buckskin, decorated with variously colored

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porcupine quills, and with long fringes down the outside of
his leg moccasins, often quite gorgeously embroidered, fitted closely to
his feet, A very flexible hat or cap covered his head.
Generally a felt obtained from some Indian trader. There was
suspended over his left shoulder, so as to hang beneath

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his right arm, a powder horn and bullet pouch. In
the latter he carried balls, flints, steel, and various odds
and ends. A long heavy rifle he bore upon his shoulder.
A belt of buckskin, buckled tightly around the waist, held
a large butcher knife in a sheath of stout buffalo hide,

(33:24):
and also a buckskin case containing a whetstone. A small
hatchet or tomahawk was also attached to this belt. Thus
rigged and in a new dress, the hunter of good
proportions presented a very picturesque aspect. With no little pride.
He exhibited himself at the trading posts, where not only

(33:45):
the squalls and the children, but veteran hunters and Indian
braves contemplated his person with admiration. Thus provided the hunter,
more frequently alone, but sometimes accompanied by two or three others,
set out for the mountain streams as early in the
spring as the melting ice would enable him to commence
operations against the beaver. Arrived on his hunting ground, he

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carefully ascends some creek or stream, examining the banks with
practiced eye to discern any sign of the presence of
beaver or of any other animal whose fur would prove valuable.
If a cottonwood tree lies prostrate, he examines it to
see if it has been cut down by the sharp
tooth of the beaver, and if so, whether it has
been cut down for food or to furnish material for

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damming a stream. If the track of a beaver is
seen in the mud, he follows the track until he
finds a good place to set his steel trap in
the run of the animal, hiding it under water and
carefully attaching it by a chain to a bush or tree,
or to some picket driven into the bank. A float
strip is also made fast to the trap, so that

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should the beaver chance to break away with the trap,
this float upon the surface at the end of a
cord a few feet long would point out the position
of the trap. When a lodge is discovered, the trap
is set at the edge of the dam, at the
point where the animal passes from deep to shoal water.
Early in the morning, the hunter always mounts his mule

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and examines his traps. The captured animals are skinned and
the tails, which are a great dainty, carefully packed into
the camp. The skin is then stretched over a hoop
or framework of ocher twigs and is allowed to dry,
the flesh and fatty substance being carefully scraped off. When dry,

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it is folded into a square sheet, the fur turned inward,
and the bundle, containing from about ten to twenty skins,
lightly pressed and corded, is ready for transportation. During the hunt,
regardless of Indian vicinity, the fearless trapper wanders far and
near in search of sign. His nerves must ever be

(35:55):
in a state of tension, and his mind ever present
at his call. His eagle eye sweeps around the country
and in an instant detects any foreign appearance. A turned leaf,
a blade of grass pressed down, the uneasiness of wild animals,
the flight of birds are all paragraphs to him, written

(36:15):
in nature's legible hand and plainest language. All the wits
of the subtile savage are called into play to gain
an advantage over the wily woodsman. But with the instinct
of the primitive man, the white hunter has the advantage
of a civilized mind, and thus provided seldom fails to
outwit under equal advantages the cunning savage. Sometimes the Indian,

(36:40):
following on his trail, watches him set his traps on
a shrub belted stream, and passing up the bed like
bruce of old, so that he may leave no track.
He lies in wait in the bushes until the hunter
comes to examine, then, waiting until he approaches his ambush
within a few feet, Whiz flies the home drawn arrow,

(37:00):
never failing at such close quarters to bring the victim
to the ground. For one white scalp, however, that dangles
in the smoke of an Indian lodge. A dozen black
ones at the end of the hunt ornament the campfire
of the rendezvous. At a certain time, when the hunt
is over or they have loaded their pack animals, the

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trappers proceed to their rendezvous, the locality of which has
been previously agreed upon, and here the traders and agents
of the fur companies await them with such assortments of
goods as their hearty customers may require, including generally a
fair supply of alcohol. The trappers drop in singy and
in small bands, bringing their packs of beaver to this

(37:44):
mountain market, not unfrequently to the value of one thousand
dollars each the produce of one hunt. The dissipation of
the rendezvous, however, soon turns the trapper's pocket inside out.
The goods brought by the traders, although of the most
inferior quality, are sold at enormous prices. Coffee twenty and

(38:05):
thirty shillings a pint cup, which is the usual measure,
tobacco fetches ten and fifteen shillings, a plug, alcohol from
twenty to fifty shillings a pint, gunpowder sixteen shillings a
pint cup, and all other articles at proportionately exorbitant prices.
The rendezvous is one continued scene of drunkenness, gambling, brawling,

(38:28):
and fighting so long as the money and credit of
the trappers last. Seated Indian fashion around the fires with
a blanket spread before them, groups are seen with their
decks of cards, playing poker and seven up their regular
mountain games. The steaks are beaver, which is here current coin,
and when the fur is gone, their horses, mules, rifles

(38:50):
and shirts, hunting packs and breeches are staked. Deering gamblers
make the rounds of the camp, challenging each other to
play for the highest stay. His horse his squaw if
he has one, and, as once happened, his scalp. A
trapper often squanders the produce of his hunt, amounting to
hundreds of dollars in a couple of hours, and supplied

(39:14):
on credit with another equipment, leaves the rendezvous for another expedition,
which has the same result time after time. Although one
tolerably successful hunt would enable him to return to the
settlements and civilized life with an ample sum to purchase
and stock a farm, and enjoy himself in ease and
comfort for the remainder of his days, these annual gatherings

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are often the scene of bloody duels, for over their
cups and cards, no men are more quarrelsome than your mountaineers.
Rifles at twenty paces settle all differences, and, as may
be imagined, the fall of one or other of the
combatants is certain, or, as sometimes happens, both fall at
the same fire. End of Chapter thirteen,