Forty Years Among the Indians: A true yet thrilling narrative of the author's experiences among the nativesJones, Daniel W. (Daniel Webster)
History
Forty Years Among the Indians: A true yet thrilling narrative of the author's experiences among the natives
Jones, Daniel W. (Daniel Webster)
Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.); Indians of North America; Latter Day Saint pioneers -- Biography
Our dog seemed to understand the situation and rebelled. I had hard
work to conquer him. Heretofore we had coaxed him along, but it now
became necessary to make him mind as bolognes were getting too scarce
to feed him more than his share. We crossed the divide at the head of
the West Fork of the Duchesne. The weather was so cold that we were
afraid to halt for dinner until we had descended quite a distance
from the summit. Once we halted among some dry trees intending to get
dinner, but the wind blew so cold that we were forced to swallow a few
bits of frozen meat and go on. We naturally expected that the descent
would be much easier and more rapid than pulling up the mountain. In
this we were mistaken, owing to the wind blowing the light snow from
the mountain tops which settled down into the canyon. Much of the time
we had to tramp and make road before we could move along. Sometimes
the whole bottom was covered with willows, the tops sticking out and
holding the snow up so light that we had to cut and tramp them into the
snow before we could move our sled along. While passing the narrows, we
had to make a dug way for quite a distance, still we pressed forward.
Neither could we abandon our sled or goods, for the sled was our
salvation to sleep in. Almost any night we would have perished with
cold without our bed-room.
The goods we were taking were promised, and the influence I desired to
gain with the Indians would greatly depend upon successfully reaching
them with the outfit. When I made them the promise I expected to go out
with the agent and take these things with me; but when he forbade me
going it only raised my ire and I was determined to go.
By the time we reached the main fork of the Duchesne, our provisions
were about gone. Game cannot exist in the high mountains during the
coldest part of the winter. Nothing had been met. We hoped to find
something on reaching the river. We camped near some springs that ran
into the stream, finding places where the river was open. We hoped to
catch some fish for supper. We cast our hooks, but had no bites. We
continued to fish until near dusk. We had traveled eight days without
rest, but agreed if we could get something for supper, to lay over and
call it Sabbath. We finally gave up fishing.
Brother Sessions got to camp a little ahead of me. I followed, feeling
very much discouraged, I thought of course we would have to go to bed
supperless. It was becoming quite dark, and suddenly I heard a shot
that made me feel happy. Directly another was fired. As I came up
Bradley was reloading his shot gun and remarked, "We've got supper and
breakfast. Here are two pine hens."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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