CHAPTER V.
ON THE CACHE-LA-POUDRE.—VISIT FROM GRAY EAGLE, CHIEF OF THE ARAPAHOES.—A BEAR-HUNTER IS HUNTED BY THE BEAR.—PHIL, THE CANNIBAL.
Uncle Kit, having made quite a sum of money, concluded that he would take a trip over to the headwaters of the Cache-la-Poudre to look for a new field where he could trap the coming winter on a large scale, and wanted Johnnie and I to accompany him, which we did.
Each taking a saddle-horse and one pack animal, we started on the trip, taking a new route to Uncle Kit, as well as to Johnnie and myself.
Carson took the lead, for, like a deer, he could find his way anywhere he wished to go.
We crossed the Arkansas river above Bent's Fort, and from here we traveled along the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, striking the Platte at the mouth of Cherry creek, which is now the center of Denver City, Colo. Here we met Mountain Phil—of whom you will hear more in this narrative. He was living in a wick-i-up and had a squaw for a wife. Uncle Kit and I, being acquainted with him, stopped and had a chat with him while our horses were feeding. Uncle Kit asked him what he intended to do the coming winter, and he replied:
"I will trap for you if you like, but you will have to furnish me with an outfit, for I have none of my own."
"All right, Phil," said Carson, "I will give you a job, but you will have to stop alone, for none of my men will live with you."
"All right," said Phil, "me and Klooch will be enough to stop in one cabin, anyway."
These things being understood we rode off, Mountain Phil agreeing to meet us at Taos about two months from that time.
After we rode away I asked Uncle Kit why no one would live with Mountain Phil. His reply was, "Phil is a very bad man, and I yet have to hear the first man speak a good word for him."
Late that afternoon we saw a little band of Indians—ten in number—coming toward us, and when near them we saw that they were Arapahoes and Gray Eagle, the chief, was with them. Uncle Kit being well acquainted, all shook hands, and the chief insisted on our going to their camp and staying all night with them. Uncle Kit knowing the nature of the Indians, and knowing that Gray Eagle would take it as an insult if we should refuse to visit him, turned about and went home with him. He sent two of his men ahead to the village, and we were met by about five hundred warriors with all the women and children of the village. Just at the outer edge of the village we were honored with what they considered a great reception.
Gray Eagle took us to his own wick-i-up, his men taking charge of our horses and packs. I had learned to speak the Arapahoe language fairly well and could understand anything they said. When supper time came, Gray Eagle came to Uncle Kit and said: "I have a great feast for you; my men have killed a very fat dog; supper is ready, come in and eat."
I remarked to Uncle Kit as we were going to supper, that I was very glad we came home with Gray Eagle, for it had been a long time since I had had a good meal of dog.
Supper being over, the chief got his pipe and selected six men from his tribe and we had a peace-smoke, and he and Uncle Kit smoked and talked nearly all night. During their conversation that night he said that Mountain Phil was a very bad man, and that he would often steal their horses and sell them to the Comanches.
Next morning after breakfast our horses were brought in, saddled up and we were off on our journey again to Cache-la-Poudre.
It might be of interest to our readers to know how this stream acquired its name. There was a Frenchman by the name of Virees Roubidoux camped on the stream spoken of, with a little squad of men; they were attacked by a band of Indians, and the first word uttered by Roubidoux was "Cache-la-poudre," which means in English, "hide the powder," and from that time on the stream has been so called.
We arrived at our proposed trapping field, and after looking over the country we found plenty of beaver sign along the streams and game in abundance, and Uncle Kit decided that there was room enough for four camps.
We returned by the way of Bent's Fort, as Uncle Kit wished to employ the best men he could get to trap for him the coming winter. On our way to the fort, which was four hundred miles from the proposed trapping ground, Uncle Kit told me that he would have to leave me in charge the coming winter, as he was going to the City of Mexico on business, but said that he would come out and get the camps established and return to Taos with the horses before going there.
We found plenty of men at Bent's Fort, and, as usual, they were all broke, having squandered the money earned the winter before for whiskey and card playing. Uncle Kit experienced no trouble in getting all the men he wanted, but had to furnish them with traps and provisions—which took considerable money—he to have half of the furs caught by each of them. Everything being understood we returned to Taos, the men agreeing to meet us there two weeks later. They were all on hand at the appointed time, but there being a large party to outfit it took some weeks to make preparations for the trip, there being eleven in the crowd. It was about the last of October when we arrived at the trapping-ground ready to begin work.
There was a man in the crowd named Charlie Jones, who was an old friend of Johnnie West, and they and I lived in the same cabin that winter. One morning after we had got fixed up comfortably in our winter quarters and Uncle Kit had returned to Taos with the horses, Charlie Jones waked us up very early, saying that there was a light snow and he thought we would be able to get a bear if we got out early. We rolled out, got breakfast and were off as soon as it was light enough to see.
There were three small ridges, all pointing to our cabin; Johnnie West took up the right-hand ridge, Charlie Jones the left and I the middle one. The ridges were open, with scattering pine trees here and there, but along the creek was heavy timber and a dense growth of underbrush. While walking along up the ridge, keeping a sharp lookout for bear, I came in sight of Johnnie West, who beckoned me to cross over to where he was, saying that in the thicket, which covered about an acre of ground, there was a small bear. I proposed calling Charlie Jones over before entering the thicket, but Johnnie said no, as it was such a small bear that Charlie would get mad and would not speak to either of us for a week if we should call him over for such a little bear, "and if we cannot kill that bear," he continued, "we had better quit the mountains."
We both cocked our guns and started into the brush side by side. When near the center of the thicket I saw the bear raise on its haunches. The snow was falling from the bushes so thickly that it was almost impossible to get a bead on him, but I fired, anyway, and hit too low, thus failing to bring him down.
He made a rush for us, but Johnnie had saved his charge in case I failed to kill, but the snow was falling from the bushes so fast and thick that he could not get a shot at the bear as he rushed for us, so we were both compelled to flee for our lives, Johnnie to the hillside, while I took down the canyon, jumping the small logs and falling over the large ones and riding down the brush, while I could almost feel the bear's breath on my posterior at every jump, and had it not been that West had saved his charge, you would now be reading some other book—certainly not this one, as it would never have been written.
Just as we crossed a little opening, Johnnie fired, the ball cutting Bear's jugular vein and also his windpipe, but the bear still seemed to have a "hankering" after me and kept coming for several yards.
After its windpipe was severed, the bear made a louder noise than ever, but not knowing the cause, I thought he was nearer me and I strained every nerve and fibre of my body to widen the distance between us, as I almost imagined his teeth clashing down on me, while Johnnie West was yelling: "Run, Willie; run for your life!"
Well I rather think I was running some about that time, for just then I came to a big log, and I jumped, climbed and fell over it, in fact, I never knew exactly how I did get over it; however, I fell on one side of the log, utterly exhausted, and the bear, not being able to get over,