In the Rocky MountainsKingston, William Henry Giles
General
In the Rocky Mountains
Kingston, William Henry Giles
Frontier and pioneer life -- Fiction; Rocky Mountains -- Fiction
The fact of our not meeting with any emigrant trains made Maysotta's
report more probable. Of course I felt somewhat anxious about
ourselves, for, even although we had a couple of rifles and two muskets,
besides our pistols, we might find it a hard matter to drive off any
large number of mounted assailants; but I felt far more anxious about
the inmates of the farm.
We kept the two men moving ahead of us at such a rate that Barney more
than once cried out, "Sure, lieutenant, our bastes will have no wind
left in thim at all, at all, if we don't pull up!"
"Go on, go on," cried the lieutenant; "do not mind your beasts, as long
as they can keep their legs."
"Thin it's meself I'd be plading for," cried Barney, turning round.
"Do not mind yourself either," answered the lieutenant. "The lives of
our friends are at stake, and if we are to help them we must get to the
farm without delay."
Whack, whack, whack went Barney's stick. The German also urged forward
his mustang in the same manner--his feet, from the length of his legs,
nearly touching the ground. Indeed, when passing through long grass,
his feet were so completely hidden, that, as he kept moving his legs
about all the time, it appeared as if he were running along with his
horse under him.
At length the mountains which rose above Roaring Water appeared in
sight. As we neared them I looked out eagerly from the summit of a
ridge we had reached, to ascertain if any Indians were in the
neighbourhood; but as none were to be seen, I hoped that we might reach
the farm before any attack had been commenced.
As we passed the confines of the property I saw none of our people
about; but, as the evening was drawing on, I thought it probable that
they had gone home from their work. Still, I felt somewhat anxious; my
anxiety being also shared by the lieutenant, who was making his tired
beast breast the hill faster than he, as a humane man, would otherwise
have done.
As we got close to the house, an Indian started up from behind a copse
which grew on the side of the hill. He had neither war-paint nor
ornaments on, and looked weary and travel-stained. He was a young,
active man; but, at the first glance, I did not like his countenance. A
person unaccustomed to Indians cannot easily distinguish one from
another, although in reality they vary in appearance as much as white
men do; as does also the expression of their countenances.
"Are you going to the farm?" he asked, addressing me. He knew at once
by my dress that I was a settler.
"Yes," I replied. "Why do you put the question?"
"I wish to go there too," he answered. "I want to tell the Palefaces
living there that they are likely to be attacked by enemies who have
sworn to take their scalps, and that unless they run away they will all
lose their lives."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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