Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.); Hunting -- United States; West (U.S.) -- Description and travel
Once more equipped, our two hunters, filled with good brandy and
fat buffalo meat, again wended on their way; their late entertainers
continuing their pleasure-trip across the gap of the South Pass,
intending to visit the Great Salt Lake, or Timponogos, of the West. The
former were bound for the North Fork of the Platte, with the intention
of joining one of the numerous trapping parties which rendezvous at the
American Fur Company's post on that branch of the river. On a fork of
Sweetwater, however, not two days after the meeting with the Scotchman's
wagons, they encountered a band of a dozen mountaineers, mounted on fine
horses, and well armed and equipped, traveling along without the usual
accompaniment of a mulada of pack-animals, two or three mules alone
being packed with meat and spare ammunition. The band was proceeding
at a smart rate, the horses moving with the gait peculiar to American
animals, known as pacing or racking, in Indian file--each of the
mountaineers with a long heavy rifle resting across the horn of his
saddle. Amongst them our two friends recognized Markhead, who had been
of the party dispersed months before by the Blackfeet on one of the
head-streams of the Yellow Stone, which event had been the origin of the
dire sufferings of Killbuck and La Bonté. Markhead, after running the
gauntlet of numerous Indians, through the midst of whose country he
passed with his usual temerity and utter disregard to danger, suffering
hunger, thirst, and cold--those everyday experiences of mountain
life--riddled with balls, but with three scalps hanging from his belt,
made his way to a rendezvous on Bear River, whence he struck out for the
Platte in early spring, in time to join the band he now accompanied, who
were on a horse-stealing expedition to the Missions of Upper California.
Little persuasion did either Killbuck or La Bonté require to join the
sturdy freebooters. In five minutes they had gone "files-about," and
at sundown were camping on the well-timbered bottom of Little Sandy,
feasting once more on delicate hump-rib and tenderloin.
For California, ho!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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