CHAPTER I.

IN WHICH WE PREPARE THE READER FOR COMING EVENTS.

IN WRITING A NARRATIVE OF this description, where the incidents and adventures occur in a region so remote from civilization, and where the characters are so peculiar and uncommon, I think it would not be out of place to give a short description of the manners, habits and customs of the Rocky Mountain trapper.

St. Louis is one of the principal depots in which these fur companies are formed, and the majority of men who join them are old hands, and understand the business; but raw recruits are often taken in, and are compelled for some time to occupy an inferior position-it being their business to watch the camp, cook, skin and dress the game, stretch and dry the pelts, and otherwise make themselves generally useful; while the old hunter and trapper, after attending to his traps, sits by the campfire, smokes his pipe, and makes himself as comfortable as circumstances will allow.

Trappers are divided into three distinct classes. The first and foremost of these is the free trapper. He furnishes his own outfit, traps where he pleases, and sells his pelts to the highest bidder. Some of these men stay in the mountains for years, only making occasional visits to trading-post, or fort. These men often take to themselves wives from among the Indian women, and their children are known as half-breeds. It is a well known fact that an Indian girl generally prefers a white trapper to a chief of her own color-principally on account of her receiving better treatment from her white husband and not being compelled to work as hard as the general Indian squaw.

The free trapper, as a general thing, is very prodigal of his money. He has often been known to spend between two hundred and three hundred dollars at a time in the purchase of bright colored cloth, fancy blankets, beads, ribbons and trinkets for his dusky spouse.

The second on the list also styles himself a free trapper. He receives his outfit, however, from the company, and is compelled to sell them his pelts. He is allowed to trap where he pleases, and never attempts to shirk a debt he owes the company, but is always on hands, (barring accidents), at the proper time, and pays his debt to the uttermost farthing.

The third class are men who belong to the company. These are under a half military rule. They hunt and trap for the company and receive regular wages, averaging from two hundred to five hundred dollars a year.

After a company has been formed in St. Louis, besides other equipments, he is furnished with three horses, or mules-one to ride, the other two to be lead as pack-horses. These companies generally take the overland route to Independence, which place, at the time we are writing, was on the outskirts of civilization.

When they leave Independence to cross the plains they travel in the following order:

A captain-or guide-leads the way, followed by the company leading their pack-horses, and a second officer brings up the rear. Six or eight experienced hands are detailed as hunters. These go and come when they please and generally keep the company well supplied with game.

The guides generally have their camping place selected, the requisites for a camp being wood, water and good pasture. When the company halts for the night the packs and saddles are taken from the animals; they are then hobbled and turned out to feed on the luxuriant grass, and the camp-keepers at once proceed to make the fire and cook the evening meal.

At night the horses are all taken inside the ring and tied, and guards are stationed around the camp.

When the company reaches its destination a trading post is at once established. Runners are sent around to let this be known, and the post is soon livened with trappers from all parts, together with Indian chiefs and women, and a lively business is carried on through the summer months.

These fur companies are generally formed into messes, and in the early part of the fall they start for their trapping grounds, there being about four trappers and two camp-keepers to a lodge.

The Blackfeet Indians who infest the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains are the mortal enemies of the trapper. They are sneaking, thieving and treacherous, and will never attack white men unless they are greatly superior in numbers, and then only at night. They will hover around a camp and will try to steal or stampede the horses or cut off stragglers.

The trapper, as a general thing, has a great contempt for the Indians and considers about three of them to a white man a fair and square fight.

An old trapper, by the name of Joe Lindsey, once related an adventure to me which I think will be considered by my readers a rash and daring affair, although Joe hardly thought it worth narrating. I will give it you in his own words:

"Clark and myself were trapping on a stream running into the Big Horn. Clark had been laid up for several days with rheumatism and I was obliged to attend to all the business. As I was examining my traps early one morning I saw Indian signs, and soon discovered the rascals had walked off with four of our traps. I saw by their trail there were not more than three or four of them, and as we could not replace the traps I determined to follow the thieves and get them back. Telling Clark to do the best he could till my return I shouldered my rifle and started in pursuit. I followed the trail all day, walking about twenty miles, and just at nightfall I reached a small stream skirted with timber. As I crossed it there was just light enough to see that the trail took up the stream towards a hollow in the hills. After walking in that direction about half a mile to my great joy I perceived the glare of a fire, although I could not see the fire itself, and I now felt certain that these were the rascals I was looking for. The night was now very dark, and as I neared their camp I saw they had built their fire behind a large boulder. This enabled me to creep up within a few yards of them. I now discovered they were three in number, two of them lying on the ground near the fire and the third was sitting with his back against a sapling smoking his pipe. A rifle, the only one they seemed to have, was standing against a rock within reach of me, and I at once stepped forward and took possession of it. The Indian who was smoking his pipe stared at me as though I had been a ghost. "See here," said I, cocking my rifle, "hand over them traps right away or it will be worse for you."

A great many of the Blackfeet understand our language and some of them can talk it in a gutteral way.

The Indian who was smoking shook his head and exclaimed:

"No traps-no steal traps."

The two other Indians had by this time risen to a sitting position. Raising my rifle to my shoulder, I drew a bead on the fellow as I exclaimed: "If you don't hand over them traps in one minute you're a dead Injun!"

The Indian, seeing I meant mischief, spoke to one of his comrades, who, going to the side of the boulder, dragged out my four traps and laid them at my feet.

Giving the fellow a kick in the stomach that doubled him up like a jack-knife, I picked up their gun, and striking it against the boulder, I broke the stock from the barrel, then picking up my traps, I threw them over my shoulder, and shaking my fist at the Indians, started for the camp, which I reached by daylight the next morning.

Some of the old trappers often try to scare greenhorns by relating, around the camp-fire, horrible and blood curdling tales. They would get off something like the following:

"Well, youngsters, how do you like the business?" an old trapper would inquire, addressing a couple of green camp-keepers, "but there, I needn't ax ye, fur ye look as happy as owls; but ye put me awfully in mind of two young fellers who trapped with us last season. Poor fellers," he exclaimed, with a heavy sigh, and winking slyly at the other trappers.

"Why do you call them poor fellers?" inquired one of the greenies.

"Well, youngster, I'll tell ye," replied the old trapper, "we was sittin' around the camp-fire, just as we are now, and I was filling my second pipe, just as I am now, when all ter once I heerd a most onearthly yell, an' half a dozen Injun bullets kim flyin' 'mong us. I grabbed my rifle an' fell flat, pertendin' to be hit. On kim the Injuns, yellin' like fury, I riz up quick, an' let drive at 'em, killin' the foremost. 'Now, boys,' says I, make fur the timber,' an' off I skipped. As soon as I got to a tree I reloaded, an' shot another of the varmints. They didn't like this, an' so they cleared out. When I got back to camp I found two poor fellers killed an' scalped,"-he again winked at his comrades. The trapper would then take the pipe from his mouth, raise his head in a listening attitude, and exclaim in a loud whisper:

"What's that?"

By this time the greenies would be so scared they would either fall flat on the ground or make for cover, amid the roars of laughter from their comrades. If a green hand is sharp and daring, he soon gets over this sort of thing, but if he is soft and scary, he is likely to have a hard time of it.

But we must now turn our attention to our hero, Isaac P. Rose. To do this we will commence another chapter.