CHAPTER V.

ANOTHER STAGE.

On the morning of July 7 we arose greatly refreshed after our bath of the previous night in the clear waters of the Big Sandy and a sound sleep in the cool, open air. The country around was glowing and bright, and all the mountain peaks were gleaming like silver. The view was truly magnificent, and, indeed, we needed something to repay us for the long, toilsome journey of more than a thousand miles.

We left camp at an early hour, and, after traveling a short distance, we met a party of Arapahoe Indians who informed us they belonged to a party who had just come into the valley from the mountains to the eastward, where they had been hunting and gathering a supply of food. We soon came in sight of their village, which was built of crude and hastily constructed shacks, composed largely of green willows, which grew in abundance along the margin of the stream. As we approached the village, suddenly a single horseman came riding toward us at full speed, followed by another, and another in rapid succession. All came whooping and charging down upon us armed with bows and arrows and a few guns and lances. Some of them were entirely naked, and others were partly dressed, with

painted faces, as was their custom when prepared for war. Thinking probably we were the vanguards of a larger train, they evidently desired to make a demonstration of their numbers and prowess. It looked for a time as though our little party would be gobbled up by a hostile and overpowering savage foe. They circled around us, flourishing their weapons, while we maintained a quiet indifference to their presence, merely saluting as we led our little pack train along the road. We displayed no arms ourselves, and when they noticed our dust-stained appearance and the dilapidated condition of our animals, they seemed to comprehend that we were not "foemen worthy of their steel." The whole calvalcade rode with us to their village, which we soon reached. Captain Hardy, who still remained with us, and made one of our party of ten, had retained a few trinkets from our abandoned stores at Independence Rock, where our wagons had been left. These were displayed, and apparently greatly pleased the few squaws and children in the village. The trinkets were quickly exchanged for some jerked meat and a quarter of fresh antelope.

As all Indians are not good Indians, even if they have a "recommend," and as we were near the boundaries of the Shoshones, Arapahoes, Snakes, Crows and Utes, who were often on the war-path, we were glad to put distance between ourselves and our late "friends." The latter tribe, in their experience and association with the "destroying angels" of the Mormon prophet, in addition to their native cunning and cruelty, had learned from their white "Christian brother" the higher art of murder when no provocation existed. Speaking of these "recommends," I am re

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minded of the following incident related by a fellow miner, long ago in California: "When I was working with my father," said he, "mining on Foster's bar, in Yuba county, in 1851-2, an Indian brought into camp. a 'recommend' that read: 'Lancicus is a good Indian when he behaves himself, and when he don't behave, kick him.' This good Indian had a pretty considerable jag on, and one drink of Foster's bar "lightning straight" made him ripe for a fight, and in less time than it takes to tell it a miner drew a bead on him that made his 'recommend' good as wheat." While hitherto we had no very serious trouble with redskins, nevertheless, we were constantly on our guard.

Two days from the Big Sandy, over a level plain, along the base of the Snowy range, brought us to the banks of the Green river. A large number of emigrants were here encamped for the double purpose of recruiting their animals and making the passage of the river. It was interesting to note that the stock was about equally divided between horses, mules and oxen. With the exception of getting footsore, oxen appeared to stand the journey about as well as horses or mules, while all were eaten in emergencies. Oxen, even when they died from hunger and fatigue, were preferred, except by the Indians, who had no choice.

Green river at this crossing is about 150 yards wide, with a swift current and considerable depth. There being no trees on the bank to which ropes could be attached, the only method of crossing was in a small boat that had been constructed by some of the earlier emigrants. The packs and contents of wagons were transported by that means at considerable risk and

sometimes at serious loss, as the boat was somewhat an
"uncertain quantity" in the rapid current, going
quite a little distance down before making the opposite
shore. One animal would be taken in tow by the boat, -
and others, driven in his wake, were compelled to
swim. Several lives, both of men and animals, had been
lost previous to our arrival. We made the passage of
the river with our packs and the animals in safety. A
short distance below the crossing the river enters a nar-
row gorge between high, perpendicular rocks, through
a spur of the mountains, and the precipitous fall of the
water among the rocks can be heard a long distance.

It was here on the Green river that Kit Carson, when on one of his hunting and trapping expeditions, had a controversy with a French mountaineer by the name of Descateaux, who denounced the American government in insulting language. It was about the time of the close of the war with Mexico, when an immense territory was being ceded to the United States. Carson was a patriotic American and always stood ready to resent an insult to the flag. He at once challenged the Frenchman to combat, and with their rifles they at once mounted their ponies, and, riding about twenty paces apart, wheeled and fired. Carson's shot broke the left arm and plowed along the ribs of the bully. The quarrel was settled, the flag vindicated and friendship renewed. Carson was true and faithful in his friendship, modest in his demeanor but fearless and foremost in times of danger.

Our next objective point, as mentioned in our guide. book, was Fort Bridger, fifty miles distant from Green. river. Before starting, however, the third morning after our arrival (we had to wait our turn before we

could be ferried across) Captain Hardy suggested to me that we purchase the boat and allow the remainder of our outfit to go forward while we would remain a couple of days, as he expressed it, “and make a nice little stake." To this I assented, and a bargain was soon closed. The price paid was $50. The ownership of the boat had descended, not "from father to son,' but by purchase from the one who first constructed it in regular succession to the present ownership.

I would give something to know what ever became of that unique relic of emigration of fifty years ago. If it was replaced by something more modern and turned adrift from the place where it so faithfully served its day and generation could it have made the passage of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado and reached the waters of the Gulf of California or was it wrecked by the way, as so many of those were whom it served and helped to reach the land of gold in '49 and '50?.

we sold our boat.

The boys bade us goodbye, and started on their journey, while we took up the paddles and commenced our self-assumed task. At the end of two days' hard work After taking account of stock and of profit and loss we found ourselves $50 ahead. Shouldering our blankets and the small amount of "grub" we had retained for our own use, we started to overtake our comrades. As we could travel twice the distance usually made by pack animals, we expected to reach them on the fourth day. We found them, however, at Fort Bridger awaiting our arrival. We were congratulated on the result of our little business enterprise. Dividing the result of our labor gave $5.00 to each man.