Trusting an Indian

TRUSTING AN INDIAN By Ellen L. Jakeman Work could not stop because there was an uprising among the Indians. People were compelled to put in crops, cultivate, irrigate and harvest, or starve. Anyhow, the Indians would not fight or- ganized warfare, and no one could tell where the next seat of trouble would originate. They raided a ranch here, and stole a bunch of cattle there; shot down a man peacefully driving home his cows, or, when next heard from, had annexed a band of horses in another, and perhaps remote, place. Meeting them and having to fight seemed a matter of good or bad luck, — or, shall we say Providence? It was in May, 1866, near one of our smaller settlements, that this episode occurred. We will call the actors in it Smith. The writer was not a witness, but received the narrative in detail from the lips of a pioneer. In the autumn of 1865, the father of the family had gone to an adjacent canyon, and had cut and stacked a quantity of quakingasp poles, — piled them to season through the winter. Now, when Spring was quite well advanced, the poles were greatly needed. The father of the family was disabled with rheumatism. His two sons, John and Tom, aged respectively, sixteen and twelve, were eager to haul the poles, but the parents were reluctant to have the boys go. They were husky, well grown lads, and accustomed to such work, for they had often gone with their father. It was finally decided that they be allowed to go one trip, at least; for, while it was understood that the Indians were hostile, nothing had been heard of them in that vicinity for some time. The Smiths owned one good horse team that would be used, but the boys were ambitious, and begged to be allowed to take an ox team that had been left in charge of Mr. Smith with permission to use them, if he chose. One of the oxen was extra strong, and both were large and in good condition. Baldy, the stronger one, was called vicious because he had too much sense to take kindly to slavery, and used an exceedingly loose and agile pair of hind legs to make himself undesirable. It was a common rumor that only once had Baldy ever missed his aim. That time he demolished a wagon wheel, but split his hoof in the melee, and he had thereafter an individual track. Be that as it may, a large hoof, propelled by a strong leg, with a correct appreciation of distance, added to human carelessness, had enabled old Baldy to perform some marvelous feats of kicking. The father was dubious about allowing the boys to try to haul with him; but they begged, promised to be careful, and finally started off one morning, at break of day, for Pole canyon, with both teams. It was cloudy and raining a little when the boys started. As

TRUSTING AN INDIAN 809 they progressed, the rain increased, making the roads bad and adding to the general discomfort. Even the dogs walked under the wagons and had nothing to say for themselves, though fresh bear tracks were in evidence. Wrapping themselves in the old camp quilts which their mother had provided for them to sit on, the boys made the best time they could with the slow-moving oxen up the narrow canyon, which was the water course that supplied the town with water. They did not arrive at the mouth of Pole canyon until about noon, but pushed on. and found that the rain had been much heavier in the hills. The road, so called, was washed out so badly that they could not get within a quarter of a mile of the stacked poles. They fed their teams a little grain brought from home, ate their own luncheon, dividing with the dogs, then proceeded to snake those poles over the washout, and load them where the wagons had been stopped. Every- body worked but Baldy. And rather than argue with a gent who carried around a pair of feet so handy, the boys allowed him to take his exercise lying down and looking on, while the rest of them toiled. It was a hard, muddy job, but the boys were young and energetic, delighting to meet difficulties half way and to conquer them; but it took time, and also to persuade Baldy that he had rested long enough. It was getting pretty late when the boys finally reached the main canyon again. It had not really ceased to rain, and now it began to pour down, while darkness enveloped them. Baldy would have bolted for home, but the load was too heavy, so he deliberately dawdled, and the horses fretted, because they had to keep the slow pace of the oxen. Finally, the boys decided that they could not reach home that night and might as well camp. Being familiar with the road, they chose a place on the south side of the creek, where a long, gradual slope reached back to some cliffs, an old land slide, but now a luscious meadow. All the animals were hungry, but the boys dared not turn the horses loose to graze, lest they find themselves afoot in the morning. Without supper or bed, and unable to make a fire, the young pinoeers spread one of the ragged quilts on the ground under a wagon, and, wrapping themselves in the other, snuggled closely together to wear the night out. The oxen had been turned loose to graze. The boys could hear them cropping the grass quite contentedly, and, with the two dogs curled up at their feet, they drifted off to sleep. Later in the night, and they could not even guess the time for the darkness was intense, th'ey were wakened by the dogs rushing out into the Stygian blackness and barking furiously. The boys listened and believed they heard the oxen running about. At first they whispered, "Bear," to each other, but as the oxen did not bawl, as is the habit of tame cattle when in danger from wild animals, they decided that it was only Baldy pranking; but the

810 IMPROVEMENT ERA dogs continued to bark and gave tongue from every point of the compass. Also the horses1 snorted and showed other signs of un- easiness. The boys were not armed to fight bear, even had they been enabled to see. John had a six-shooter which he managed to keep dry, and there was the wood ax; but either or both were poor weapons with which to attack a bear. Their matches were all wet, or they would have built a fire as a protection, but knew they could not; so, leaving the oxen to take care of themselves with the help of the dogs, they lay still, listening to the strange sounds of the night. From time to time, they were sure they could hear the oxen running about, but finally that sound died away, and the horses seemed to be dozing, as is the habit of horses just before daylight. When John woke again, the first faint gray of dawn was be- ginning to light the eastern horizon. He crawled from under the wagon. The rain had ceased -and everything was deathly still. The meadow was clear. There was no sign of the oxen and the dogs, who had not returned to their sleeping place, came silently out of the shadows and licked his hands. As the light increased, his young, accustomed eyes soon discovered Baldy's tracks. He had certainly been running when he made them. Back and forth across the soft, spongy, grass-carpeted meadow, where footsteps had little sound, and only an occasional grassless spot revealed them. The tracks of the other ox accompanied those of Baldy for a time, and then at a convenient place branched off, he had run down the creek level, but even there Baldy's tracks were not alone! The tracks of an unshod Indian pony were in evidence on every side. For the first time, the thought of Indian's crossed John's mind. He went swiftly and silently back to the wagon, woke his brother. They held a whispered conversation. John explained the situation to his younger brother, and directed him to take the strangely silent dogs and go to the foot of the cliff on the south of them, beyond the meadow. From that higher ground he would be able to see almost everything that happened, either at the wagons or at the creek-bed level; while, hidden among the rocks, he would be reasonably safe from observation. There was a place where an agile climber might scale those cliffs, and, from the other side, if on foot, could proceed to the town almost as directly as the crow flies, cutting more than half of the distance. John bade his brother secrete himself there, and observe what should take place while he, John, went to see if he could find the oxen by tracking Baldy. He most solemnly forbade his brother to show himself, or to come to the rescue, even if he saw him killed or in danger of being captured; but in the event he saw a skirmish, he was to scale the cliffs and make for home with the news. John rushed the boy off to find a hiding place before the light

TRUSTING AN INDIAN 811 grew any brighter, the dogs going with him; then turned and began tracking Baldy's broken foot-print down to the creek level. This mountain stream was turbulent at times, freshets swelling its volume till in places it had cut through small hillocks, leaving high banks on either side, which, when the torrent receded to normal, were many rods from the creek. It was not so much a willow-fringed tunnel, as a narrow flat, with clumps of small trees and brush growing about promiscuously. "Fine place for them to ambush me," said John to himself, hitching his pistol belt around till the six-shooter was in front, keeping as good a lookout as he could, while he walked noislessly. There were abundant signs to tell John the story of the night. Baldy had taken plenty of exercise. His broken hoof was in evidence all over the flat. It was a story easily read by a frontier boy. The Indian had tried to drive the oxen up the canyon, but Baldy had seriously objected to going. He had evidently played his whole bag of tricks on the Indian, the main one being to circle round and round the clumps of brush, until he had worked his way down the canyon rather than up. There was no doubt in John's mind that Baldy was making for home as fast as he could, with the Indian trying hard to drive him in an opposite direction. He surmisied that the Indian would rather have the horses, and only tried to take the oxen when the darkness, the rain, and the dogs had convinced him that he could not safely get the tethered horses. It indicated also that the Indian was alone. Proceeding with the utmost caution, John came to one of those bunches of brush Baldy had circled, and, following the tracks, found that it grew at the very brink of a high clay bank. There was no room for Baldy to go round, and the brush was too thick for him to go through, though the dense thicket showed where it had been assaulted. Also, the bank was caved in, showing where a heavy body had very recently tumbled into the creek bed below. "So old Baldy went over," thought John, and started to go to the brink and look over, but just then he noticed Baldy's tracks going back around the brush patch, and could hardly restrain the shout of laughter that rose to his lips as he visualized what had happened. The Indian had evidently ridden too close, and Baldy, finding himself hemmed in, and not liking the looks of the bank, — for many animals can see in the dark — had let fly at the Indian pony with both those terrible hind hoofs, toppling the Indian and his horse over the brink, and then had gone on his way down the canyon rejoicing. The twinkle of a red feather, gently swaying just above the clay bank, brought John to a frozen standstill, with his heart beating wildly! There was but one answer, — the Indian! Creeping stealthily, step by step, he managed to get a better view of the feather. It was the head-decoration of a young Indian he had often steen in the settlements. He sat on his horse gazing down the canyon in the

812 IMPROVEMENT ERA direction in which Baldy had gone, seemingly oblivious of everything. The horse stood with drooping head unable to climb the bank over which Baldy had kicked him. The Indian's saddle horn showed just above the bank. John crept to within a few feet of the Indian, shielded by the thick brush, and then just walked out and seized the horse's bridle rein where it lay loose on his neck, and said to the startled Indian in his own tongue: "Where are my oxen?" The Indian, taken by surprise, answered in his own language with a phrase which means to a white man either: "I do not know," or "I do not understand," but may have some different definition to an Indian. "Well, you've been chasing them around all night! You ought to know," but the Indian did not reply; only glanced at his fine new rifle which lay across the horse between himself and the horn of the saddle, its business end almost against the clay bank and utterly useless to him. "You've been watching us all day, and I know it was the horses you wanted, but when you could not get them, you tried to run off my oxen! Now you are my prisoner. When you Indians take a prisoner, you take all he has, and kill him if he says, 'No.' " John looked his captive straight in the face, but the Indian gazed off into space with a bored, detached air, and made no reply. "Your horse and that fine new rifle both belong to me by the Indian law; what do you think of that?" But the Indian never batted an eye, nor answered a word. Holding the bridle reins in his left hand, keeping his right hand free to manipulate his six-shooter, if it should become necessary, John led the horse to where the grade of the bank would permit him to climb out, and in full view of Tom, who was hidden in the rocks at the foot of the cliff. It would have been characteristic of the Indian to have tried to make his escape now, but the utter fatigue of the animal he rode gave him no advantage. "Our big chief at Salt Lake sends us word not to kill Indians," said John, resuming his monologue, "but to make peace. Tells us we are all of one blood; all of one Father, the Great Spirit. What about that? Can we keep the peace if you Redmen keep on fighting and stealing our stock? I know you, Chief Red-feather! I have seen your squaw and papoose at my mother's house eating her good biscuits, and then you try all night to get my horses, and you run my oxen off. We have a talking paper that tells of your fathers, back too many moons for me to count. The Great Spirit owns us all for his children. He does not want us to fight." Then John launched into a discourse on the Book of Mormon, while the Indian sat a bronze image of seeming indifference. "The Great Spirit has promised to do mighty things for the Indians after while. He is now telling our big chief at Salt Lake to help you and be friendly," but the Indian gave no sign that he

TRUSTING AN INDIAN 813 heard, and John, who had talked mostly in English, did not know whether the Indian understood or not, but believed that he did. "Now I am going to set you free! You can go back to your squaw and baby and tell them that, after you had tried to steal my oxen, I gave you your life, and did not take your horse or your gun from you. Tell them when they come to town to come to my mother and she will give them more biscuits. I am coming back to- morrow for my other load of poles, and you are to keep away, and keep all other Indians away, and not bother me while I am trying to help my sick father. You hear me?" John let go the bridle and stepped back, leaving the Indian free. He looked at John for a full minute, and probably finding the subject too big for him to attack, and being by nature taciturn, he touched the pony's flank with the toe of his moccasin, turned his head up the canyon and moved slowly away, ostentatiously keep- ing his hands aloof from the rifle. Just before he turned a corner of the little canyon, and thus passed out of sight, he looked back and said: "You keep h — 11 of kickin' ox!" This remark satisfied John that the Indian had understood in part at least the talk he had given him. Of course, John had taken a great risk, for the Indian could have shot him with the long-range rifle, with perfect safety to him- self, after he had ridden out of range of the six-shooter. John went back to the wagons, signaled his brother to come in and after baiting the horses for an hour, they hitched up and drove home without further incident, the oxen having arrived before them. When John told the story to his parents, they, being rather far- seeing and spiritual-minded, approved of what he did. The boys went back next day and brought in the other load of poles, making Baldy do his full share of the work. They went to and from the canyon, bringing out all the cut poles and wood when it was need- ed, and were not again molested. Jesus Christ O God the Father and the Son, Help us temptations to o'ercome; Look down in mercy on us here, Protect us with thy tender care; While as mortals here we live, All our follies, Lord, forgive; Guide us in the path of right. Help to serve with all our might; Let us to Thy presence come, When our work on earth is done; With that feeling in our soul God is Master over all; And through his Mercy, Love, and Grace, Know that JESUS IS THE CHRIST. Weston, Ont., Canada THOS. H. WILLIAMS