CHAPTER XIX
Camp Fire Yarns at Three Crossings
THE Prince of Darkness has been highly honored by the trappers in the West in the nomenclature of various freaks of nature, in the same manner, though perhaps not with the same devout spirit, as the names of saints have been perpetuated by the early Christian fathers, who established their missions in the southwest along the trail of the Spanish conquerors.
The names applied to objects often afford a clue to the character of the men who first applied them. Although no signs of human life or habitation were visible along this part of the Sweetwater, not only because of hostile Indians but chiefly because of predatory outlaws, who were said to live in seclusion in these mountains, this location had won and maintained a very bad repute. It is, therefore, not strange that the remarkable cleft in the vast pile of granite through which the rushing torrent of the Sweetwater here crowds its way, became known as Devil's Gate. When we saw the dark and massive walls of the shadowy opening looming upon our right, we were almost prepared to see his Satanic Majesty or some of his minions emerge from its imposing portals, but as all seemed to be serene, we might safely conclude that,
"From his brimstone bed at break of day
A-walking the Devil is gone,
To look at his snug, little farm of the World,
And see how his stock went on – "
This chasm is about six miles from Independence Rock, and there were believed to be many herds of stolen stock concealed back in the valleys beyond what would seem to be an eastern spur of the Sweetwater range of mountains. Ben, Fred, Paul and I undertook an exploration of the summit of the mountain and also of the gorge, which we entered at the point from which the stream emerges from the chasm. We followed up the right bank of the river, clambering over the rocky shore, all of which proved rather an easy task. From a slight elevation we were able to look through the entire extent of the chasm, which appeared to be about twelve hundred feet in length, and varied from four to ten rods in width. In the narrowest pass it is compressed within walls hardly more than two rods apart. The sides of the cliffs rise to a height of about four hundred feet. Why and how the river forced its way through this isolated, granite cone, seems a mystery, as there is apparently no obstacle to prevent its flowing undisturbed round the lower borders of the south slope. Some great convulsion of nature must have split the mountain through its center and opened this channel. The chasm was certainly not formed by erosion, for the sides of the cliff expose a face of grey, weather-stained granite, with perpendicular seams and scoriated trap rock.
Reaching the narrowest point in the gorge we found it impossible to proceed further, as the swift, foaming waters of the rapids swept along the base of the high walls, rushing over and between the broken masses of rock that had tumbled down, leaving no footing near the banks of the stream.
At this narrow point we discovered four or five groups of names painted upon the face of a granite cliff and beneath a low, over-hanging rock that protected them from the tempest. Among them, neatly printed with blue ink, were what appeared to be the names of the members of a small party. The last name in this group was Emily Wheeler and was followed by the date July, 1864. We thought little more of this young explorer until, on the following day, while riding a few miles westward beyond Devil's Gate, my attention was attracted to a small board standing about a fourth of a mile south of the trail and apparently placed there to mark the spot. Led by curiosity, I rode through the sage brush and found upon a little barren knoll a grave at which the board had been squarely set. Upon this marker painted in blue ink, were the following words: "To the memory of Emily Wheeler, who died July 19, 1864 – age 17 years." It was the same name, the same month, and the same neat lettering that we had seen on the cliff and it was printed with the same kind of ink. On the rocks I remembered having seen below the names and also in blue ink the word "Illinois." We, therefore, inferred that the party came from that state. There were crowded into those few words painted in blue the outlines of a sad story. They fairly illustrated an experience that befell nearly every party of emigrants, who in those days made the long and hazardous trip across that country. Some one without doubt knows the rest of the story of Emily Wheeler and the different circumstances under which the two inscriptions were written. It would appear that her friends were compelled to leave her in that far away wilderness, over which the Arapahoe hunted his game, where,
"No tears embalm her tomb,
None but the dews by twilight given,
Where not a sigh disturbs the gloom,
None but the whispering winds of heaven."
The Sweetwater River becomes smooth and placid immediately after it emerges from the Devil's Gate, flowing on quietly through picturesque scenery. Westward from this point the granite ridges rise from the northern bank of the river in rugged cliffs. The country in general, while very interesting, is barren, the chief vegetation being the artemesia or wild sage, which in those parts is found growing to a large size, so as to furnish very good fuel.
On the evening of July 26, 1866, we camped at Three Crossings, forty-two miles west of Platte Bridge. Within a few rods it was necessary to ford the rapidly running Sweetwater three times. The number of these crossings doubtless gave rise to the name by which this place seems to have been known. It was also recognized as one of the most dangerous sections of the western country for peaceful travelers, by reason not only of the frequent attacks of Indians, but also of the fact that bands of white thieves and robbers had made their headquarters near there somewhere in the mountains, and were quite as much to be feared as were the savages. In 1865 William F. Cody (who became known as Buffalo Bill) accepted this precarious route as a stage driver, and here met with some of the experiences that contributed to his fame.
In the following season, the year of our trip, the stages were transferred to the southern route on account of these frequent Indian raids and attacks of robbers. On one trip, near Three Crossings, Cody sustained an attack of several hundred Sioux. The Division Agent sat upon the box of the stage with Cody. There were also seven passengers inside the stage, all well armed, as was almost the invariable custom. Cody applied the lash to the horses, amid a shower of arrows, some piercing the stage, some wounding the frightened animals. The agent who sat with Cody was also dangerously wounded. The men inside the box kept themselves busy with their rifles and revolvers from their less exposed position, and as the stage rattled over the rocky road brought a few of the savages low and held the enemy at bay. It was a running fight in which the bleeding and terrified horses fully bore their part. Cody was able to reach Three Crossings, where men at the station joined in the fight and forced the Indians to fall back. I am informed by Colonel Cody that this is the event which in the earlier days of his Wild West show he endeavored to picture in as realistic a manner as possible, with a score of tamed red men with repeating rifles.
After our supper a few of us forded the river and climbed some distance up into the mountain, obtaining a fine view of the country and incidentally creating no little diversion by rolling huge, detached rocks found on the edge of the cliffs in terrific and resistless course down to the valley beneath. A young man from Creighton's outfit, no more than sixteen years of age, accompanied us, and finally at parting announced that he would return by a different path from that which we were taking. The days at that season of the year being long, we concluded the day's journey before sunset. Dropping down to rest, after reaching camp, we heard a voice faintly sounding, as if from the sky. It came from the youth, who was still far up the mountain side and that moment in the full light of the setting sun. He was evidently seeking to attract our attention to his perilous position, for he was poised at a dizzy height, several hundred feet above us on a very slight projection, where he appeared like a moving speck. From his point of observation he was unable to decide upon the safest course for descent. The air being very still, his friends from across the river were able to advise him as to the difficulties below him. His voice could be heard distinctly from the distance. In his descent, his garments had already been torn to shreds as the result of sliding down the rough rocks, and now, as he informed us, the soles of his boots were so slippery that he could not retain his footing. The boots were soon rattling down the cliffs. Plans were made to secure a rope, which might be lowered to him from above, leaving one end fastened at a higher point. The night, however, was fast coming. Watchers, who could do little for him, expected at almost any moment to see his body tumble down the cliffs. The youth was favored by the twilight, long after he was lost to our sight in the dim shadows. It was some time after dark when friends bore the little fellow across the river, where others quickly gathered. He was bleeding and torn. The flesh on the soles of his feet was worn nearly to the bone. Although physically almost a wreck, he had such youthful vigor as in a few days put him again on duty.
When the night closed upon us, our camps were pitched along the south bank of the clear Sweetwater River. At the west, the campfire of Creighton's train lighted up a little circle, around which were gathered the drivers, except such as were standing guard for the stock. In our camp nearby, the tin plates had been retired and Deacon Cobb and some others of the older members of the party had gone to bed early to keep warm; for the night, although bright and beautiful, was cool.
Having in mind some extravagance in the use of fuel, Ben, Fred, and I had harvested a good supply of sage brush, which we turned in at the Warne camp with the view of making the evening as cheerful as possible. Everything there was in readiness, when we chanced to meet Tom Soon and succeeded in leading him down to the big fire, where welcome was accorded him and the seat of honor, on the end of an empty water keg. During a little preliminary conversation, and as if settling down to the peaceful enjoyment of his comfortable environment, he mechanically drew out his tobacco pouch and slowly filled his pipe, lighting it with a burning stick found near the edge of the fire.
Mr. Warne was half reclining upon some robes, his three daughters nestling very close to him, and his wife, in a more dignified position, occupied a camp chair nearby. The rest of our party completed the circle. From time to time one would tell a story and others would hum a tune, while all watched the changing pictures in the fire or a sudden flash of light from the burning sticks which now and then, for a moment, illuminated the figures in the circle.
We were anxious to hear more from Tom, and finally when he had concluded a graphic description of a war-dance which he had recently witnessed, one of the young ladies said, "Mr. Soon, can you tell us why Indian warriors wear so many feathers and decorate their heads in so grand a fashion, while their women dress more simply? Does it not seem childish?"
"Well," Tom replied, "Indians are creatures who follow their tribal fashions, but their fashions don't change very much. An incident now comes to my mind that shows how the fashions of others sometimes impress the Red Man and also an old fellow like me, when those fashions are seen for the first time. Two or three years ago, Billy Comstock, the scout, and I were instructed to talk with some Ogallalla Chiefs, and arrange to have them visit Washington City and see the Great Father, President Lincoln. It was believed that if they could learn from personal observation that the country was great and powerful, they would not wish longer to fight the whites. Well, we induced them to go, so I went with them and the Indian Agent as far as St. Louis. We stayed over night at the Planter's House, in that city. I had been out West a long time and was almost as green as the Indians were, concerning the existing fashions and customs of civilized people. Well, we got rooms for them, but what does a wild Indian know about a bed? Of course the blankets were all over the floor and so were the Chiefs. They couldn't get into a bed any more than they could use the things on the table. They thought the pillows were the funniest things they ever saw. One of the Indians was astonished on approaching a big looking glass. He thought he saw a warrior that he had never seen before coming right at him. But what do you think they did when they saw the women on the street? It was about that time when women began to wear big dresses and hooped skirts. I had never myself seen such dresses until then. They didn't wear them when I was a boy. The Indians were starting up the sidewalk through the crowd, in a sort of single file as they generally do, and three fine women came along wearing those big dresses and grand bonnets on their heads. Of course the women didn't realize how strange they appeared to us, but they were interested in the Indians and stopped to look at the Chiefs who wore blankets and big feathers. The Indians were also interested in the women, and they stopped in front of the ladies, who wore skirts almost big enough for tents, and strange feathers in their bonnets. For a minute both parties looked at each other's toggery.
"The Indians were astonished to see the women so big around and wearing such gorgeous things on their heads. Of course the ladies quickly looked the Indians all over at a glance, just as they would at any curious thing in a show, and as they have a right to, and they especially looked at the feathers on the Indians' heads. At the same time the Chiefs, who were equally interested in the ladies' dresses, almost surrounded the women, before they realized the situation. You know that an Indian feels that it is proper to examine carefully anything that interests him. The Indians do that when they come into our cabins, in fact, it is their custom, so they proceeded at once to examine the ladies' wardrobe very carefully, before the ladies realized that they themselves were also objects of interest; but the Indians did not go very far in their investigation, for the women gave a yell loud enough for any Sioux and broke into a run. Some of the white people's fashions seem to be as ridiculous to the wild Indian as theirs are to you, and may be more so, for you see pictures of other people, and the Indians do not."
"That's all right, Tom," said Mr. Warne, "fashion is sometimes only a freak."
An old fellow with a big red mustache, whose name I failed to obtain, but who was addressed as Conk, standing somewhat in the background, overheard Tom's story. At its conclusion, he broke in with a remark – "Say, Tom, don't you remember about that Assiniboine Wi-jun-jun, the son of the Chief, who went to Washington?"
"Yes, of course I do," was the reply, "but let's have it."
We all called for the story, and as nearly as can be given from memoranda that I took at the time, his talk ran like this:
"I ain't much on telling stories," (said the trapper) "but some of these young Indian bucks are about as much dandies as any of the white folks. You know Major Sanford was the Indian Agent for the Assiniboine tribe, and as a lot of chiefs from other tribes were going down the Missouri to go to see the President in Washington, he went for Wi-jun-jun, because he was tall and wore more feathers and put on more d – d style with his people than any other Injun on the river."
"Don't swear, Conk," interjected Tom.
"Excuse me, ladies, – but as I was saying, he would go around on the steamboat when he was going down the river, so the people and the other Injuns would look at him just as fine dressed white men do when they think they are better than common folks. But he was a d – d good fighter! Excuse my swearing, ladies.
"Well, he got to Washington with the rest of 'em and thought he was a devil of a fellow, when everybody, men and women, looked at him, – more'n they did at the rest of 'em. He and the rest of 'em were took aroun' to see the ships and the cannon and they went to the theatre, and he sot where everybody could see him. They knew the Injuns were going to be there, but that d – d fool – excuse my swearin,' ladies – that d – d fool thought he was a devil of a fellow. He felt bigger than ever when they wanted his clothes and feathers to hang up in some show place there, so he let'em have'em in trade for some American soldiers' clothes made for a general, – and the Agent agreed to let him wear his Injun clothes until he got back as far as St. Louis.
"They boarded the first steamboat that Mr. Chouteau sent up the river that spring, and Sanford went with 'em and took Wi-jun-jun into his room on the boat, and helped him change his clothes, for how in hell – excuse my swearing, ladies – could an Injun get into a general's clothes, and get 'em on right?
"After a while when he came out on deck, he had on a blue broadcloth general's coat, with high collar and with gilt epaulets on the shoulders, and a tall beaver hat. He had on a belt with a big sword, and he had on long-top high-heeled boots. He had learned on this trip to smoke cigars, and Sanford brought him out and was as solemn as a funeral, and Wi-jun-jun was smoking a cigar, and marched out on deck with all that toggery on. The sword got between his legs and his hat was on the back of his head and his long black hair hung down behind. There wasn't only a few white passengers on the steamboat and they got tired of him pretty soon, but when they all got to the Yellowstone, of course, Major Sanford and his Injuns got off at their town, and that cuss – excuse my swearing, ladies – that d – d cuss walked up through their village and for awhile wouldn't look at any of 'em – even his wife. But Sanford had give him two bottles of whiskey, and they both stuck out of his split-tail coat pockets, and pretty soon he commenced on the whiskey. The next day the sleeves of his coat were on his wife's legs for leggins, which she thought was pretty fine, and the gold lace of his clothes were on women in the tribe, and the epaulet things were in their hair, and the dandy purty soon hadn't a d – d thing left – excuse my swearing, ladies – but I hear'n you talking about how feathers looked to you on an Injun and I thought of that d – d Assinboine – excuse my swearing, ladies; I've got so use to it out here I can't help it. The thing is, he had shown himself off in soldiers' clothes and don't you see, ladies, that an Injun must wear Injuns' clothes or he looks like – well, I came purty near swearing, – but Injun clothes and feathers are all right for Injuns, but ain't worth a damn for white people."
The trapper bit a big piece from his plug of tobacco, while he received favorable expressions concerning the history, which he had given and yet —
"Jack was embarrassed – never hero more —
And as he knew not what to say – he swore."
Many years after our party camped near Red Buttes, the writer discovered in the second volume of Elliot Coues' notes on Forty Years a Fur Trader, a brief description of the visit of Wi-jun-jun to Washington and the gift to him of the general's outfit. The portrait of the warrior-dude is preserved in the Catlin collection.
The mild profanity with which the tale was decorated can hardly be omitted without robbing it of its peculiar western flavor. Dan Trippe, who had been listening, finally said, "Mr. Soon, you referred a moment ago to Billy Comstock. Some of us also knew him very well. A few years ago Comstock was well known in Colorado."
"He was," replied Tom, "and he helped might'ly in that Sand Creek affair. Of course, we know him as Buffalo Bill."
Tom was asked to tell about that fight. "I know all about it," he replied, "but I don't know as it's right to tell the women about these Indian scalpings." Tom was assured that when women were out where things were going on, they were no more nervous than men were. They all had guns and ought to know the true condition of things.
"All right," said Tom. "Well, it was like this. A year ago last August the Indians began a series of raids, going for everything and everybody along the stage route from Julesburg east. I think they cleaned out every ranch and attacked every train and stage that passed in that two hundred and fifty or three hundred miles. More than forty people were killed by them. The most severe fight was at Liberty Farm, east of Fort Kearney near where you crossed the Little Blue River. There was a small train of wagons loaded with goods for George Tritch of Denver. The entire party of whites were killed, including a stage driver and the station keeper, and there was a young woman there named Mrs. Eubanks, and her child, whom they did not then kill, and the Indians run them off, and that is really what brought on the Sand Creek Battle. The Indians were Arapahoes. The people of Denver were greatly excited when the news reached there. Before his train was attacked Tritch had heard of the troubles, and having so many valuable goods coming along that line he talked with Colonel Chivington, and they arranged with Billy Comstock and Oliver Wiggins to go out at once, and ascertain where the Indians were, and what they were then planning to do. Billy went down the Republican River and Wiggins went down the Platte. They were good scouts and spoke Arapahoe well. Billy had been interpreter for the government several times. He knew many of the Chiefs. Billy's route was away from the line of travel. He overtook a large party of Arapahoes quite a way down the Republican, and after he had watched their movements for awhile, he run up to the Platte and reported, and then he went back and had a talk with the Indians. He kept watch on that band, but it was another party of Indians who made the raid that I have told of. After the Liberty Farm massacre, Comstock and Wiggins with a few soldiers from the Plum Creek Station started out and followed the Indians southward and overtook them. They saw the young woman riding behind Chief Two Face, and then Billy and his soldiers had a fight with the Indians, but the soldiers were greatly outnumbered and lost most of their horses.
"In November, Colonel Chivington started out with his forces and after one long night march, the scouts led them to Sand Creek, where they surrounded the Indian village and then the fight was on. It was a slaughter. Chivington said to his soldiers, 'Nits make lice,' which meant that it was a battle to the finish, and that they need not stop with the old Indians; women and children were to be killed as well.
"Some people criticized Colonel Chivington very bitterly, declaring that this warfare was brutal and uncivilized, but the people of Denver gave him a gold mounted rifle as a token of their good will. The Chief and three or four others escaped in the night with Mrs. Eubanks and they were caught later and strung up. The queerest thing about the hanging was that the Colonel of the troops who caught the Chiefs telegraphed to General Connor, in command of the department, that he had the devils in chains. General Connor replied, 'Then hang them in chains,' and it was done mighty quick. In a little time the Colonel received another message from General Connor, instructing him to bring the scoundrels to Julesburg, because he had decided to give them a trial. The Colonel telegraphed back to the effect that he 'obeyed his first message before he received the second.'"
When Tom had finished this recital, the camp fires had nearly all gone out on the shore of the river, and the bright moon was lighting up the southern slopes of the Sweetwater Mountains. Through the stillness of the night was heard the occasional bark of a few coyotes and its echo reflected from the adjacent mountain-side. Our party separated and slowly wandered along the river to their respective camps. The manner in which Cody wrested from Comstock the sobriquet Buffalo Bill, has been explained in another chapter.