INDIAN ALARMS
We began our journey for the frontier settlements on the 27th of August, and certainly a more ragamuffin cavalcade never was seen on the banks of the Upper Arkansas.Of the large and fine horses with which we had left the frontier in the spring, not one remained; we had supplied their place with the rough breed of the prairie, as hardy as mules and almost as ugly; we had also with us a number of the latter detestable animals.In spite of their strength and hardihood, several of the band were already worn down by hard service and hard fare, and as none of them were shod, they were fast becoming foot-sore.Every horse and mule had a cord of twisted bull-hide coiled around his neck, which by no means added to the beauty of his appearance.Our saddles and all our equipments were by this time lamentably worn and battered, and our weapons had become dull and rusty.The dress of the riders fully corresponded with the dilapidated furniture of our horses, and of the whole party none made a more disreputable appearance than my friend and I.Shaw had for an upper garment an old red flannel shirt, flying open in front and belted around him like a frock; while I, in absence of other clothing, was attired in a time-worn suit of leather.
Thus, happy and careless as so many beggars, we crept slowly from day to day along the monotonous banks of the Arkansas.Tete Rouge gave constant trouble, for he could never catch his mule, saddle her, or indeed do anything else without assistance.Every day he had some new ailment, real or imaginary, to complain of.At one moment he would be woebegone and disconsolate, and the next he would be visited with a violent flow of spirits, to which he could only give vent by incessant laughing, whistling, and telling stories.When other resources failed, we used to amuse ourselves by tormenting him; a fair compensation for the trouble he cost us.Tete Rouge rather enjoyed being laughed at, for he was an odd compound of weakness, eccentricity, and good-nature.He made a figure worthy of a painter as he paced along before us, perched on the back of his mule, and enveloped in a huge buffalo-robe coat, which some charitable person had given him at the fort.This extraordinary garment, which would have contained two men of his size, he chose, for some reason best known to himself, to wear inside out, and he never took it off, even in the hottest weather.It was fluttering all over with seams and tatters, and the hide was so old and rotten that it broke out every day in a new place.Just at the top of it a large pile of red curls was visible, with his little cap set jauntily upon one side, to give him a military air.His seat in the saddle was no less remarkable than his person and equipment.He pressed one leg close against his mule's side, and thrust the other out at an angle of 45 degrees.His pantaloons were decorated with a military red stripe, of which he was extremely vain; but being much too short, the whole length of his boots was usually visible below them.His blanket, loosely rolled up into a large bundle, dangled at the back of his saddle, where he carried it tied with a string.Four or five times a day it would fall to the ground.Every few minutes he would drop his pipe, his knife, his flint and steel, or a piece of tobacco, and have to scramble down to pick them up.In doing this he would contrive to get in everybody's way; and as the most of the party were by no means remarkable for a fastidious choice of language, a storm of anathemas would be showered upon him, half in earnest and half in jest, until Tete Rouge would declare that there was no comfort in life, and that he never saw such fellows before.
Only a day or two after leaving Bent's Fort Henry Chatillon rode forward to hunt, and took Ellis along with him.After they had been some time absent we saw them coming down the hill, driving three dragoon-horses, which had escaped from their owners on the march, or perhaps had given out and been abandoned.One of them was in tolerable condition, but the others were much emaciated and severely bitten by the wolves.Reduced as they were we carried two of them to the settlements, and Henry exchanged the third with the Arapahoes for an excellent mule.
On the day after, when we had stopped to rest at noon, a long train of Santa Fe wagons came up and trailed slowly past us in their picturesque procession.They belonged to a trader named Magoffin, whose brother, with a number of other men, came over and sat down around us on the grass.The news they brought was not of the most pleasing complexion.According to their accounts, the trail below was in a very dangerous state.They had repeatedly detected Indians prowling at night around their camps; and the large party which had left Bent's Fort a few weeks previous to our own departure had been attacked, and a man named Swan, from Massachusetts, had been killed.
His companions had buried the body; but when Magoffin found his grave, which was near a place called the Caches, the Indians had dug up and scalped him, and the wolves had shockingly mangled his remains.As an offset to this intelligence, they gave us the welcome information that the buffalo were numerous at a few days' journey below.
