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

Morning Found Baker Without A Cent Of Money; He Had Lost

Everything.  His Entire Plans Were Thus Frustrated, And He Returned

To The Mountains, Hunting With The Indians Until He Died.

 

 

 

Jim Baker'S Opinions Of The Wild Indians Of The Great Plains And

The Mountains Were Very Decided: "That They Are The Most Onsartinist

Varmints In all Creation, An' I Reckon Thar Not More'N Half Human;

For You Never Seed a Human, Arter You'D Fed an' Treated him To The

Best Fixin'S In your Lodge, Jis Turn Round And Steal All Your Horses,

Or Ary Other Thing He Could Lay His Hands On.  No, Not Adzactly.

He Would Feel Kind O' Grateful, And Ask You To Spread A Blanket In

His Lodge Ef You Ever Came His Way.  But The Injin Don'T Care Shucks

For You, And Is Ready To Do You A Lot Of Mischief As Soon As He Quits

Your Feed.  No, Cap.," He Said To Marcy When Relating This, "It'S Not

The Right Way To Make 'Em Gifts To Buy A Peace; But Ef I War Gov'Nor

Of These United states, I'Ll Tell What I'D Do.  I'D Invite 'Em All

To A Big Feast, And Make 'Em Think I Wanted to Have A Talk; And As

Soon As I Got 'Em Together, I'D Light In and Raise The Har Of Half

Of 'Em, And Then T'Other Half Would Be Mighty Glad To Make Terms

That Would Stick.  That'S The Way I'D Make A Treaty With The Dog'Oned

Red-Bellied varmints; And As Sure As You'Re Born, Cap., That'S The

Only Way."

 

 

 

The General, When He First Met Baker, Inquired of Him If He Had

Travelled much Over The Settlements Of The United states Before He

Came To The Mountains; To Which He Said: "Right Smart, Right Smart,

Cap."  He Then Asked whether He Had Visited new York Or New Orleans.

"No, I Hasn'T, Cap., But I'Ll Tell You Whar I Have Been.  I'Ve Been

Mighty Nigh All Over Four Counties In the State Of Illinois!"

 

 

 

He Was Very Fond Of His Squaw And Children, And Usually Treated

Them Kindly; Only When He Was In liquor Did He At All Maltreat Them.

 

 

 

Once He Came Over Into New Mexico, Where General Marcy Was Stationed

At The Time, And Determined that For The Time Being He Would Cast

Aside His Leggings, Moccasins, And Other Mountain Dress, And Wear

A Civilized wardrobe.  Accordingly, He Fitted himself Out With One.

When Marcy Met Him Shortly After He Had Donned the Strange Clothes,

He Had Undergone Such An Entire Change That The General Remarked

He Should Hardly Have Known Him.  He Did Not Take Kindly To This,

And Said: "Consarn These Store Butes, Cap.; They Choke My Feet Like

H---L."  It Was The First Time In twenty Years That He Had Worn

Anything On His Feet But Moccasins, And They Were Not Ready For The

Torture Inflicted by Breaking In a New Pair Of Absurdly Fitting

Boots.  He Soon Threw Them Away, And Resumed the Softer Foot-Gear

Of The Mountains.

 

 

 

Baker Was A Famous Bear Hunter, And Had Been At The Death Of Many

A Grizzly.  On One Occasion He Was Setting His Traps With A Comrade

On The Head Waters Of The Arkansas, When They Suddenly Met Two Young

Grizzly Bears About The Size Of Full-Grown Dogs.  Baker Remarked

To His Friend That If They Could "Light In and Kill The Varmints"

With Their Knives, It Would Be A Big Thing To Boast Of.  They Both

Accordingly Laid Aside Their Rifles And "Lit In," Baker Attacking

One And His Comrade The Other.  The Bears Immediately Raised

Themselves On Their Haunches, And Were Ready For The Encounter.

Baker Ran Around, Endeavouring To Get In a Blow From Behind With His

Long Knife; But The Young Brute He Had Tackled was Too Quick For

Him, And Turned as He Went Around So As Always To Confront Him

Face To Face.  He Knew If He Came Within Reach Of His Claws, That

Although Young, He Could Inflict A Formidable Wound; Moreover, He Was

In Fear That The Howls Of The Cubs Would Bring The Infuriated mother

To Their Rescue, When The Hunters' Chances Of Getting away Would

Be Slim.  These Thoughts Floated hurriedly Through His Mind, And

Made Him Desirous To End The Fight As Soon As He Could.  He Made

Many Vicious Lunges At The Bear, But The Animal Invariably Warded

Them Off With His Strong Fore Legs Like A Boxer.  This Kind Of

Tactics, However, Cost The Lively Beast Several Severe Cuts On His

Shoulders, Which Made Him The More Furious.  At Length He Took The

Offensive, And With His Month Frothing With Rage, Bounded toward

Baker, Who Caught And Wrestled with Him, Succeeding In giving Him

A Death-Wound Under The Ribs.

 

 

 

While All This Was Going On, His Comrade Had Been Furiously Engaged

With The Other Bear, And By This Time Had Become Greatly Exhausted,

With The Odds Decidedly Against Him.  He Entreated baker To Come To

His Assistance At Once, Which He Did; But Much To His Astonishment,

As Soon As He Entered the Second Contest His Comrade Ran Off, Leaving

Him To Fight The Battle Alone.  He Was, However, Again Victorious,

And Soon Had The Satisfaction Of Seeing His Two Antagonists Stretched

Out In front Of Him, But As He Expressed it, "I Made My Mind Up I'D

Never Fight Nary Nother Grizzly Without A Good Shootin'-Iron In my Paws."

 

 

 

He Established a Little Store At The Crossing Of Green River, And

Had For Some Time Been Doing a Fair Business In trafficking With

The Emigrants And Trading With The Indians; But Shortly A Frenchman

Came To The Same Locality And Set Up A Rival Establishment, Which,

Of Course, Divided the Limited trade, And Naturally Reduced the

Income Of Baker'S Business.

 

 

 

This Engendered a Bitter Feeling Of Hostility, Which Soon Culminated

In A Cessation Of All Social Intercourse Between The Two Men.  About

This Time General Marcy Arrived there On His Way To California, And

He Describes The Situation Of Affairs Thus:--

 

 

 

"I Found Baker Standing In his Door, With A Revolver Loaded and

Cocked in each Hand, Very Drunk And Immensely Excited.  I Dismounted

And Asked him The Cause Of All This Disturbance.  He Answered: 'That

Thar Yaller-Bellied, Toad-Eatin' Parly Voo, Over Thar, An' Me, We'Ve

Been Havin' A Small Chance Of A Scrimmage To-Day.  The Sneakin'

Pole-Cat, I'Ll Raise His Har Yet, Ef He Don'T Quit These Diggins'!'

 

 

 

"It Seems That They Had An Altercation In the Morning, Which Ended

In A Challenge, When They Ran To Their Cabins, Seized their Revolvers,

And From The Doors, Which Were Only About A Hundred yards From Each

Other, Fired.  Then They Retired to Their Cabins, Took A Drink Of

Whiskey, Reloaded their Revolvers, And Again Renewed the Combat.

This Strange Duel Had Been Going On For Several Hours When I Arrived,

But, Fortunately For Them, The Whiskey Had Such An Effect On Their

Nerves That Their Aim Was Very Unsteady, And None Of The Shots Had

As Yet Taken Effect.

 

 

 

"I Took Away Baker'S Revolvers, Telling Him How Ashamed i Was To

Find A Man Of His Usually Good Sense Making Such A Fool Of Himself.

He Gave In quietly, Saying That He Knew I Was His Friend, But Did Not

Think I Would Wish To Have Him Take Insults From A Cowardly Frenchman.

 

 

 

"The Following Morning at Daylight Jim Called at My Tent To Bid Me

Good-By, And Seemed very Sorry For What Had Occurred the Day Before.

He Stated that This Was The First Time Since His Return From

New Mexico That He Had Allowed himself To Drink Whiskey, And When

The Whiskey Was In him He Had 'Nary Sense.'"

 

 

 

Among The Many Men Who Have Distinguished themselves As Mountaineers,

Traders, And Indian Fighters Along The Line Of The Old Trail, Was

One Who Eventually Became The Head Chief Of One Of The Most Numerous

And Valorous Tribes Of North American Savages--James P. Beckwourth.

Estimates Of Him Vary Considerably.  Francis Parkman, The Historian,

Who I Think Never Saw Him And Writes Merely From Hearsay, Says:

"He Is A Ruffian Of The Worst Class; Bloody And Treacherous, Without

Honor Or Honesty; Such, At Least, Is The Character He Bears On The

Great Plains.  Yet In his Case The Standard Rules Of Character Fail;

For Though He Will Stab A Man In his Slumber, He Will Also Do The

Most Desperate And Daring acts."

 

 

 

I Never Saw Beckwourth, But I Have Heard Of Him From Those Of My

Mountaineer Friends Who Knew Him Intimately; I Think That He Died

Long Before Parkman Made His Tour To The Rocky Mountains.  Colonel

Boone, The Bents, Carson, Maxwell, And Others Ascribed to Him No

Such Traits As Those Given By Parkman, And As To His Honesty, It Is

An Unquestioned fact That Beckwourth Was The Most Honest Trader

Among The Indians Of All Who Were Then Engaged in the Business.

As Kit Carson And Colonel Boone Were The Only Indian Agents Whom

I Ever Knew Or Heard Of That Dealt Honestly With The Various Tribes,

As They Were Always Ready To Acknowledge, And The Withdrawal Of The

Former By The Government Was The Cause Of A Great War, So Also

Beckwourth Was An Honest Indian Trader.

 

 

 

He Was A Born Leader Of Men, And Was Known From The Yellowstone To

The Rio Grande, From Santa Fe To Independence, And In st. Louis.

From The Latter Town He Ran Away When A Boy With A Party Of Trappers,

And Himself Became One Of The Most Successful Of That Hardy Class.

The Woman Who Bore Him Had Played in her Childhood Beneath The Palm

Trees Of Africa; His Father Was A Native Of France, And Went To The

Banks Of The Wild Mississippi Of His Own Free Will, But Probably

Also From Reasons Of Political Interest To His Government.

 

 

 

In Person Beckwourth Was Of Medium Height And Great Muscular Power,

Quick Of Apprehension, And With Courage Of The Highest Order.

Probably No Man Ever Met With More Personal Adventures Involving

Danger To Life, Even Among The Mountaineers And Trappers Who Early

In The Century Faced the Perils Of The Remote Frontier.  From His

Neck He Always Wore Suspended a Perforated bullet, With A Large

Oblong Bead On Each Side Of It, Tied in place By A Single Thread

Of Sinew.  This Amulet He Obtained while Chief Of The Crows,[52]

And It Was His "Medicine," With Which He Excited the Superstition

Of His Warriors.

 

 

 

His Success As A Trader Among The Various Tribes Of Indians Has

Never Been Surpassed; For His Close Intimacy With Them Made Him

Know What Would Best Please Their Taste, And They Bought Of Him

When Other Traders Stood Idly At Their Stockades, Waiting almost

Hopelessly For Customers.

 

 

 

But Beckwourth Himself Said: "The Traffic In whiskey For Indian

Property Was One Of The Most Infernal Practices Ever Entered into By

Man.  Let The Most Casual Thinker Sit Down And Figure Up The Profits

On A Forty-Gallon Cask Of Alcohol, And He Will Be Thunderstruck, Or

Rather Whiskey-Struck.  When It Was To Be Disposed of, Four Gallons

Of Water Were Added to Each Gallon Of Alcohol.  In two Hundred gallons

There Are Sixteen Hundred pints, For Each One Of Which The Trader

Got A Buffalo-Robe Worth Five Dollars.  The Indian Women Toiled many

Long Weeks To Dress Those Sixteen Hundred robes.  The White Traders

Got Them For Worse Than Nothing; For The Poor Indian Mother Hid

Herself And Her Children Until The Effect Of The Poison Passed away

From The Husband And Father, Who Loved them When He Had No Whiskey,

And Abused and Killed them When He Had.  Six Thousand Dollars For

Sixty Gallons Of Alcohol!  Is It A Wonder With Such Profits That

Men Got Rich Who Were Engaged in the Fur Trade?  Or Was It A Miracle

That The Buffalo Were Gradually Exterminated?--Killed with So Little

Remorse That The Hides, Among The Indians Themselves, Were Known

By The Appellation Of 'A Pint Of Whiskey.'"

 

 

 

Beckwourth Claims To Have Established the Pueblo Where The Beautiful

City Of Pueblo, Colorado, Is Now Situated.  He Says: "On The 1St

Of October, 1842, On The Upper Arkansas, I Erected a Trading-Post

And Opened a Successful Business.  In a Very Short Time I Was Joined

By From Fifteen To Twenty Free Trappers, With Their Families.

We All United our Labour And Constructed an Adobe Fort Sixty Yards

Square.  By The Following Spring It Had Grown Into Quite A Little

Settlement, And We Gave It The Name Of Pueblo."