I was with Carson off and on about twelve years, but I never saw him appear to enjoy himself better than he did that night. After the Indians had gone, Uncle Kit imitated each one of us as he said we looked when the Indians first appeared in sight. He had some in the act of running and others trying to hide behind the horse, and he said that if the ground had been loose we would have tried to dig a hole to crawl into. One of the party he described as sitting on his pack with his mouth wide open, and he said he could not decide whether the man wanted to swallow an Indian or a Buffalo.
The next morning we pulled out from there, crossing the divide between this stream and the Arkansas. Just before we struck the Arkansas river, we struck the Santa-Fe trail. This trail led from St-Joe on the Missouri river to Santa-Fe, New Mexico, by the way of Bent's Fort, as it was called then. Bent's Fort was only a Trading Station, owned by Bent and Robedoux. These two men at that time handled all the furs that were trapped from the head of the North Platte to the head of the Arkansas; the Santa-Fe trail, as it was then called, was the only route leading to that part of the country.
After traveling up the Arkansas river some distance, above what is known as Big Bend, we struck the Buffalo Country, and I presume it was a week that we were never out of the sight of Buffalos. I remember we camped on the bank of the river just above Pawne Rock that night; the next morning we were up early and had our breakfast, as we calculated to make a big drive that day. Carson had been telling us how many days it would take us to make Bent's Fort, and we wanted to get there before the Fourth of July. Just as we had got our animals packed and every thing in readiness to start, a herd of Buffalo commenced crossing the river about a half a mile above our camp. The reader will understand that the Buffalo always cross the river where it is shallow, their instinct teaching them that where the water is shallow, there is a rock bottom, and in crossing these places they avoid quicksand. This was the only crossing in fifteen miles up or down the river. We did not get to move for twenty-four hours. It seems unreasonable to tell the number of Buffalo that crossed the river in those twenty-four hours. After crossing the river a half a mile at the north of the ford, they struck the foot hill; and one could see nothing but a moving, black mass, as far as the eye could see.
I do not remember how long we were going from there to Bent's Fort, but we got there on the second of July, 1847, and every white man that was within three hundred miles was there, which were just sixteen. At this present time, I presume there are two or three hundred thousand within the same distance from Bent's Fort, and that is only fifty-eight years ago! In view of the great change that has taken place in the last half century, what will the next half century bring? The reader must remember that the increase must be three to one to what it was at that time.
After staying at Bent's Fort eight days we pulled out for "Taos," Carson's home. He remained at Taos, which is in New Mexico, until early in the fall, about the first of October, which is early autumn in New Mexico; then we started for our trapping ground, which was on the head of the Arkansas river, where Beaver was as numerous as rats are around a wharf.
We were very successful that winter in trapping. It was all new to me, I had never seen a Beaver, or a Beaver trap. Deer, Elk, and Bison, which is a species of Buffalo, was as plentiful in that country at that time as cattle is now on the ranch. I really believe that I have seen more deer in one day than there is in the whole State of Colorado at the present time.
In the autumn, just before the snow commences to fall, the deer leave the high mountains, and seek the valleys, and also the Elk and Bison; no game stays in the high mountains but the Mountain Sheep, and he is very peculiar in his habits. He invariably follows the bluffs of streams. In winter and summer, his food is mostly moss, which he picks from the rocks; he eats but very little grass. But there is no better meat than the mountain sheep. In the fall, the spring lambs will weigh from seventy-five to a hundred pounds, and are very fat and as tender as a chicken; but this species of game is almost extinct in the United States; I have not killed one in ten years.
We stayed in our camp at the head of the Arkansas river until sometime in April, then we pulled out for Bent's Fort to dispose of our pelts. We staid at the Fort three days. The day we left the Fort, we met a runner from Col. Freemont with a letter for Carson. Freemont wanted Carson to bring a certain amount of supplies to his camp and then to act as a guide across the mountains to Monterey, California. The particulars of the contract between Freemont and Carson I never knew, but I know this much, that when we got to Freemont's camp, we found the hardest looking set of men that I ever saw. They had been shut up in camp all winter, and the majority of them had the scurvy, which was brought on by want of exercise and no vegetable food. The most of the supplies we took him were potatoes and onions, and as soon as we arrived in camp the men did not wait to unpack the animals, but would walk up to an animal and tear a hole in a sack and eat the stuff raw the same as if it was apples.
In a few days the men commenced to improve in looks and health. Uncle Kit had them to exercise some every day, and in a short time we were on the road for the Pacific Coast. We had no trouble until we crossed the Main Divide of the Rocky Mountains. It was on a stream called the "Blue," one of the tributaries of the Colorado river.
We were now in the Ute Indian country, and at this time they were considered one of the most hostile tribes in the west. Of course there was no one in the company that knew what the Ute Indians were but Kit Carson. When we stopped at noon that day Carson told us as we sat eating our luncheon that we were now in the Ute country, and every one of us must keep a look out for himself. He said, "Now, boys, don't any one of you get a hundred yards away from the rest of the company, for the Utes are like flees liable to jump on you at any time or place."
That afternoon we ran on a great deal of Indian sign, from the fact that game was plentiful all over the country, and at this time of the year the Indians were on their spring hunt. When we camped for the night, we camped on a small stream where there was but very little timber and no underbrush at all. As soon as the company was settled for the night, Carson and I mounted our horses and took a circle of perhaps a mile or two around the camp. This was to ascertain whether there were any Indians in camp near us. We saw no Indians. We returned to camp thinking we would have no trouble that night, but about sundown, while we were eating supper, all at once their war whoop burst upon us, and fifteen or more Utes came dashing down the hill on their horses. Every man sprang for his gun, in order to give them as warm a reception as possible; nearly every man tried to reach his horse before the Indians got to us, for at that time a man without a horse would have been in a bad fix, for there were no extra horses in the company.
I think this must have been the first time these Utes had ever heard a gun fired, from the fact that as soon as we commenced firing at them, and that was before they could reach us with their arrows, they turned and left as fast as they had come. Consequently we lost no men or horses. We killed five Indians and captured three horses.
When the Indians were out of sight, Carson laughed and said, "Boys, that was the easiest won battle I have ever had with the Indians, and it was not our good marksmanship that done it either, for if every shot we fired had taken effect, there would not have been half Indians enough to go around. It was the report of our guns that scared them away."
It was figured up that night how many shots were fired, and they amounted to two hundred. Carson said, "Boys, if we get into another fight with the Indians, for God's sake don't throw away your powder and lead in that shape again, for before you reach Monterey, powder and lead will be worth something, as the Red skins are as thick as grass-hoppers in August."
Of course this was the first skirmish these men had ever had with the
Indians, and they were too excited to know what they were doing.
About six years ago I met a man whose name was Labor. He was the last survivor of that company, with the exception of myself, and he told me how he felt when the yelling Red skins burst upon us. Said he, "I don't think I could have hit an Indian if he had been as big as the side of a horse, for I was shaking worse than I would if I had had the third-day Ague. Not only shaking, but I was cold all over, and I dreamed all night of seeing all kinds of Indians."
The next day we were traveling on the