THE PUEBLO AND BENT'S FORT
We approached the gate of the Pueblo.It was a wretched species of fort of most primitive construction, being nothing more than a large square inclosure, surrounded by a wall of mud, miserably cracked and dilapidated.The slender pickets that surmounted it were half broken down, and the gate dangled on its wooden hinges so loosely, that to open or shut it seemed likely to fling it down altogether.Two or three squalid Mexicans, with their broad hats, and their vile faces overgrown with hair, were lounging about the bank of the river in front of it.They disappeared as they saw us approach; and as we rode up to the gate a light active little figure came out to meet us.
It was our old friend Richard.He had come from Fort Laramie on a trading expedition to Taos; but finding, when he reached the Pueblo, that the war would prevent his going farther, he was quietly waiting till the conquest of the country should allow him to proceed.He seemed to consider himself bound to do the honors of the place.
Shaking us warmly by the hands, he led the way into the area.
Here we saw his large Santa Fe wagons standing together.A few squaws and Spanish women, and a few Mexicans, as mean and miserable as the place itself, were lazily sauntering about.Richard conducted us to the state apartment of the Pueblo, a small mud room, very neatly finished, considering the material, and garnished with a crucifix, a looking-glass, a picture of the Virgin, and a rusty horse pistol.There were no chairs, but instead of them a number of chests and boxes ranged about the room.There was another room beyond, less sumptuously decorated, and here three or four Spanish girls, one of them very pretty, were baking cakes at a mud fireplace in the corner.
They brought out a poncho, which they spread upon the floor by way of table-cloth.A supper, which seemed to us luxurious, was soon laid out upon it, and folded buffalo robes were placed around it to receive the guests.Two or three Americans, besides ourselves, were present.We sat down Turkish fashion, and began to inquire the news.
Richard told us that, about three weeks before, General Kearny's army had left Bent's Fort to march against Santa Fe; that when last heard from they were approaching the mountainous defiles that led to the city.One of the Americans produced a dingy newspaper, containing an account of the battles of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma.While we were discussing these matters, the doorway was darkened by a tall, shambling fellow, who stood with his hands in his pockets taking a leisurely survey of the premises before he entered.He wore brown homespun pantaloons, much too short for his legs, and a pistol and bowie knife stuck in his belt.His head and one eye were enveloped in a huge bandage of white linen.Having completed his observations, he came slouching in and sat down on a chest.Eight or ten more of the same stamp followed, and very coolly arranging themselves about the room, began to stare at the company.Shaw and I looked at each other.We were forcibly reminded of the Oregon emigrants, though these unwelcome visitors had a certain glitter of the eye, and a compression of the lips, which distinguished them from our old acquaintances of the prairie.They began to catechise us at once, inquiring whence we had come, what we meant to do next, and what were our future prospects in life.
The man with the bandaged head had met with an untoward accident a few days before.He was going down to the river to bring water, and was pushing through the young willows which covered the low ground, when he came unawares upon a grizzly bear, which, having just eaten a buffalo bull, had lain down to sleep off the meal.The bear rose on his hind legs, and gave the intruder such a blow with his paw that he laid his forehead entirely bare, clawed off the front of his scalp, and narrowly missed one of his eyes.Fortunately he was not in a very pugnacious mood, being surfeited with his late meal.The man's companions, who were close behind, raised a shout and the bear walked away, crushing down the willows in his leisurely retreat.
These men belonged to a party of Mormons, who, out of a well-grounded fear of the other emigrants, had postponed leaving the settlements until all the rest were gone.On account of this delay they did not reach Fort Laramie until it was too late to continue their journey to California.Hearing that there was good land at the head of the Arkansas, they crossed over under the guidance of Richard, and were now preparing to spend the winter at a spot about half a mile from the Pueblo.
When we took leave of Richard, it was near sunset.Passing out of the gate, we could look down the little valley of the Arkansas; a beautiful scene, and doubly so to our eyes, so long accustomed to deserts and mountains.Tall woods lined the river, with green meadows on either hand; and high bluffs, quietly basking in the sunlight, flanked the narrow valley.A Mexican on horseback was driving a herd of cattle toward the gate, and our little white tent, which the men had pitched under a large tree in the meadow, made a very pleasing feature in the scene.When we reached it, we found that Richard had sent a Mexican to bring us an abundant supply of green corn and vegetables, and invite us to help ourselves to whatever we wished from the fields around the Pueblo.
