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
I remember well of looking ahead several times a few rods and picking
out some object by the side of the road and thinking it looked a
more comfortable place to die in than where I was. Sessions told me
afterwards his thoughts were the same. First one and then the other
would pass on a little way and stop; not a word was spoken. My feelings
were to move ahead as long as a mite of strength lasted.
We continued on in this way until about the middle of the afternoon.
Our progress was slow. We had fell in together and were moving along at
a snail's pace, when Sessions stooped down, picked up something, and in
a joyous tone exclaimed, "Here's life." And breaking in two an ear of
corn handed me half of it. We commenced eating. I ate mine cob and all,
chewing it a long time before swallowing. Never before or since have I
tasted anything so sweet and strengthening. It seemed to penetrate to
the end of my toes. We were strengthened immediately and commenced to
walk at a regular, even pace, in good traveling time.
About the time we had finished eating this, I discovered another ear,
picked it up and divided it, saying, "Here is more life." Our sickness
ceased entirely and we continued traveling until near midnight. We
arrived at a good dry camp, gave the last scrap of meat to the faithful
dog, feeling that we were good for next day's tramp, food or no food.
It was a good long day's travel. The next morning we left our blankets
hung up in a tree, measured our gait, and agreed to keep it up, setting
our time to arrive at the station about sundown. At times I was tempted
to cry "enough, halt," but it seemed as though we dared not stop for
fear we could not get up steam for another start. So we kept up our
gait all day and till nine o'clock at night.
When we arrived at the trader's quarters, owned by George Basor, whom
I was well acquainted with, and who still lives in that region. George
started back and in a serious manner asked, "Is this Dan Jones' ghost,
or Dan himself?"
I answered, "I am Dan, and d---d hungry."
He grasped my hand, laughing, and said he saw it was all right, for Dan
always came into camp hungry.
While we were at supper, some of the boys went over to the agent's
office and told of our arrival. They came back and said that the agent
and clerk declared they intended to kill me on sight.
I do not wish to be considered a boaster, in truth I leave many things
untold that I might tell, only I despise a braggart and do not wish to
appear as one. I was too hungry to let this report stop my eating. When
I got through, I picked up my shot gun, putting a few extra navy balls
into it and told the boys I was going over to the office. Some of them
wanted to go with me, but I preferred going alone.
Men often get the name of being brave and fearless from such
occurrences, but in this case I will tell just how I felt and what
my reasons were, and I think many others feel the same under similar
circumstances.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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