THE OLD SANTA FE TRAIL by COLONEL HENRY INMAN (any book recommendations txt) 📖

Sound Of The Ingins, We Just Got Up And Lit Out Mighty Lively

For The Place We'D Left Our Companions.  We Met Them Coming Slowly

On 'Bout Two Miles From The Ingin Camp, And Telling 'Em What Was Up

We Started to Help The Trappers What The Devils Was Agoing To Burn.

We Wasn'T Half So Long In getting at The Camp As Ike And Me Was

In Going, And We Soon Come Within Good Range For Our Rifles.

 

 

 

"The Ingins Was Still Unsuspicious, And We Spread Ourselves In a

Sort Of Half Circle So As To Kind O' Surround Them, And At A Signal

I Give, Seven Rifles Cracked at Once, And As Many Of The Injins Was

Dropped right In their Tracks; A Second Volley, For The Red devils

Had Not Got Their Senses Yet, Tumbled seven More Corpses Upon The

Pile, And Then We White Men Jumped in with Our Knives And Clubbed

Rifles, And There Was A Lively Scrimmage For A Few Minutes.  The Few

Ingins What Wasn'T Killed fought Like Devils, But As We Was Getting

The Best Of 'Em Every Second They Turned tail And Ran.

 

 

 

"We'D Heard The Firing Of The Fight At The Cabin Just In time; And

As We Cut The Rawhide Strings That Bound The Fellows To The Trees,

Ike, Who Was A Right Fine Shot And Had Killed three At One Time,

Said: 'I Always Like To Get Two Or Three Of The Red devils In a Line

Before I Pull The Trigger; It Saves Lead.'

 

 

 

"Then We All Went Back To Our Camp And Made A Night Of It, Feasting

On The Elk We Had Killed, And Talking Over The Wonderful Escape Of

The Boys And Little Rube."

Chapter XVI (Kit Carson)

Of The Famous Men Whose Lives Are So Interwoven With The History

Of The Old Santa Fe Trail That The Story Of The Great Highway Is

Largely Made Up Of Their Individual Exploits And Acts Of Bravery,

It Has Been My Fortune To Have Known Nearly All Intimately, During

More Than A Third Of A Century Passed on The Great Plains And In

The Rocky Mountains.

 

 

 

First Of All, Christopher, Or Kit, Carson, As He Is Familiarly Known

To The World, Stands At The Head And Front Of Celebrated frontiersmen,

Trappers, Scouts, Guides, And Indian Fighters.

 

 

 

I Knew Him Well Through A Series Of Years, To The Date Of His Death

In 1868, But I Shall Confine Myself To The Events Of His Remarkable

Career Along The Line Of The Trail And Its Immediate Environs.

In 1826 A Party Of Santa Fe Traders Passing Near His Father'S Home

In Howard County, Missouri, Young Kit, Who Was Then But Seventeen

Years Old, Joined the Caravan As Hunter.  He Was Already An Expert

With The Rifle, And Thus Commenced his Life Of Adventure On The

Great Plains And In the Rocky Mountains.

 

 

 

His First Exhibition Of That Nerve And Coolness In the Presence Of

Danger Which Marked his Whole Life Was In this Initial Trip Across

The Plains.  When The Caravan Had Arrived at The Arkansas River,

Somewhere In the Vicinity Of The Great Bend Of That Stream, One Of

The Teamsters, While Carelessly Pulling His Rifle Toward Him By The

Barrel, Discharged the Weapon And Received the Ball In his Arm,

Completely Crushing The Bones.  The Blood From The Wound Flowed so

Copiously That He Nearly Lost His Life Before It Could Be Arrested.

He Was Fixed up, However, And The Caravan Proceeded on Its Journey,

The Man Thinking No More Seriously Of His Injured arm.  In a Few Days,

However, The Wound Began To Indicate That Gangrene Had Set In, And

It Was Determined that Only By An Amputation Was It Possible For Him

To Live Beyond A Few Days.  Every One Of The Older Men Of The Caravan

Positively Declined to Attempt The Operation, As There Were No

Instruments Of Any Kind.  At This Juncture Kit, Realizing The Extreme

Necessity Of Prompt Action, Stepped forward And Offered to Do The Job.

He Told The Unfortunate Sufferer That He Had Had No Experience In

Such Matters, But That As No One Else Would Do It, He Would Take

The Chances.  All The Tools That Kit Could Find Were A Razor, A Saw,

And The King-Bolt Of A Wagon.  He Cut The Flesh With The Razor,

Sawed through The Bone As If It Had Been A Piece Of Joist, And Seared

The Horrible Wound With The King-Bolt, Which He Had Heated to A

White Glow, For The Purpose Of Stopping The Flow Of Blood That

Naturally Followed such Rude Surgery.  The Operation Was A Complete

Success; The Man Lived many Years Afterward, And Was With His Surgeon

In Many An Expedition.

 

 

 

In The Early Days Of The Commerce Of The Prairies, Carson Was The

Hunter At Bent'S Fort For A Period Of Eight Years.  There Were About

Forty Men Employed at The Place; And When The Game Was Found In

Abundance In the Mountains, It Was A Relatively Easy Task And Just

Suited to His Love Of Sport, But When It Grew Scarce, As It Often

Did, His Prowess Was Tasked to Its Utmost To Keep The Forty Mouths

From Crying For Food.  He Became Such An Unerring Shot With The

Rifle During That Time That He Was Called the "Nestor Of The Rocky

Mountains."  His Favourite Game Was The Buffalo, Although He Killed

Countless Numbers Of Other Animals.

 

 

 

All Of The Plains Tribes Of Indians, As Did The Powerful Utes Of

The Mountains, Knew Him Well; For He Had Often Visited in their

Camps, Sat In their Lodges, Smoked the Pipe, And Played with Their

Little Boys.  The Latter Fact May Not Appear Of Much Consequence,

But There Are No People On Earth Who Have A Greater Love For Their

Boy Children Than The Savages Of America.  The Indians All Feared

Him, Too, At The Same Time That They Respected his Excellent Judgment,

And Frequently Were Governed by His Wise Counsel.  The Following

Story Will Show His Power In this Direction.  The Sioux, One Of The

Most Numerous And Warlike Tribes At That Time, Had Encroached upon

The Hunting-Grounds Of The Southern Indians, And The Latter Had Many

A Skirmish With Them On The Banks Of The Arkansas Along The Line Of

The Trail.  Carson, Who Was In the Upper Valley Of The River, Was

Sent For To Come Down And Help Them Drive The Obnoxious Sioux Back

To Their Own Stamping-Ground.  He Left Fort Bent, And Went With The

Party Of Comanche Messengers To The Main Camp Of That Tribe And The

Arapahoes, With Whom They Had United.  Upon His Arrival, He Was Told

That The Sioux Had A Thousand Warriors And Many Rifles, And The

Comanches And Arapahoes Were Afraid Of Them On Account Of The Great

Disparity Of Numbers, But That If He Would Go With Them On The

War-Path, They Felt Assured they Could Overcome Their Enemies.

Carson, However, Instead Of Encouraging The Comanches And Arapahoes

To Fight, Induced them To Negotiate With The Sioux.  He Was Sent

As Mediator, And So Successfully Accomplished his Mission That The

Intruding Tribe Consented to Leave The Hunting-Grounds Of The

Comanches As Soon As The Buffalo Season Was Over; Which They Did,

And There Was No More Trouble.

 

 

 

After Many Adventures In california With Fremont, Carson, With His

Inseparable Friend, L. B. Maxwell, Embarked in the Wool-Raising

Industry.  Shortly After They Had Established themselves On Their

Ranch, The Apaches Made One Of Their Frequent Murdering and Plundering

Raids Through Northern New Mexico, Killing Defenceless Women And

Children, Running Off Stock Of All Kinds, And Laying Waste Every

Little Ranch They Came Across In their Wild Foray.  Not Very Far

From The City Of Santa Fe, They Ruthlessly Butchered a Mr. White

And His Son, Though Three Of Their Number Were Slain By The Brave

Gentlemen Before They Were Overpowered.  Other Of The Blood-Thirsty

Savages Carried away The Women And Children Of The Desolated home

And Took Them To Their Mountain Retreat In the Vicinity Of Las Vegas.

Mr. White Was A Highly Respected merchant, And News Of This Outrage

Spreading Rapidly Through The Settlements, It Was Determined that

The Savages Should Not Go Without Punishment This Time, At Least.

Carson'S Reputation As An Indian Fighter Was At Its Height, So The

Natives Of The Country Sent For Him, And Declined to Move Until

He Came.  For Some Unexplained reason, After He Arrived at Las Vegas,

He Was Not Placed in charge Of The Posse, That Position Having

Already Been Given To A Frenchman.  Carson, As Was Usual With Him,

Never Murmured because He Was Assigned to A Subordinate Position,

But Took His Place, Ready To Do His Part In whatever Capacity.

 

 

 

The Party Set Out For The Stronghold Of The Savages, And Rode Night

And Day On The Trail Of The Murderers, Hoping To Surprise Them And

Recapture The Women And Children; But So Much Time Had Been Wasted

In Delays, That Carson Feared they Would Only Find The Mutilated

Bodies Of The Poor Captives.  In a Few Days After Leaving Las Vegas,

The Retreat Of The Savages Was Discovered in the Fastness Of The

Mountains, Where They Had Fortified themselves In such A Manner That

They Could Resist Ten Times The Number Of Their Pursuers.  Carson,

As Soon As He Saw Them, Without A Second'S Hesitation, And Giving

A Characteristic Yell, Dashed in, Expecting, Of Course, That The Men

Would Follow Him; But They Only Stood In gaping Wonderment At His

Bravery, Not Daring To Venture After Him.  He Did Not Discover His

Dilemma Until He Had Advanced so Far Alone That Escape Seemed

Impossible.  But Here His Coolness, Which Always Served him In the

Moment Of Supreme Danger, Saved his Scalp.  As The Savages Turned

On Him, He Threw Himself On The Off Side Of His Horse, Indian Fashion,

For He Was As Expert In a Trick Of That Kind As The Savages Themselves,

And Rode Back To The Little Command.  He Had Six Arrows In his Horse

And A Bullet Through His Coat!

 

 

 

The Indians In those Days Were Poorly Armed, And Did Not Long

Follow Up The Pursuit After Carson; For, Observing The Squad Of

Mounted mexicans, They Retreated to The Top Of A Rocky Prominence,

From Which Point They Could Watch Every Movement Of The Whites.

Carson Was Raging at The Apathy, Not To Say Cowardice, Of The Men

Who Had Sent For Him To Join Them, But He Kept His Counsel To Himself;

For He Was Anxious To Save The Captured women And Children.  He Talked

To The Men Very Earnestly, However, Exhorting Them Not To Flinch

In The Duty They Had Come So Far To Perform, And For Which He Had

Come At Their Call.  This Had The Desired effect; For He Induced

Them To Make A Charge, Which Was Gallantly Performed, And In such

A Brave Manner That The Indians Fled, Scarcely Making an Effort To

Defend Themselves.  Five Of Their Number Were Killed at The Furious

Onset Of The Mexicans, But Unfortunately, As He Anticipated, Only

The Murdered corpses Of The Women And Children Were The Result Of

The Victory.

 

 

 

President Polk Appointed carson To A Second Lieutenancy,[48] And His

First Official Duty Was Conducting Fifty Soldiers Under His Command

Through The Country Of The Comanches, Who Were Then At War With The

Whites.  A Fight Occurred at A Place Known As Point Of Rocks,[49]

Where On Arriving, Carson Found A Company Of Volunteers For The

Mexican War, And Camped near Them.  About Dawn The Next Morning,

All The Animals Of The Volunteers Were Captured by A Band Of Indians,

While The Herders Were Conducting Them To The River-Bottom To Graze.

The Herders Had No Weapons, And Luckily, In the Confusion Attending

The Bold Theft, Ran Into Carson'S Camp; And As He, With His Men,

Were Ready With Their Rifles, They Recaptured the Oxen, But The

Horses Were Successfully Driven Off By Their Captors.

 

 

 

Several Of The Savages Were Mortally Wounded by Carson'S Prompt

Charge, As Signs After They Had Cleared out Proved; But The Indian

Custom Of Tying The Wounded on Their Ponies Precluded the Chance Of

Taking any Scalps.  The Wily Comanche, Like The Arab