Thirty-One Years on the Plains and in the Mountains, Or, the Last Voice from the Plains: An Authentic Record of a Life Time of Hunting, Trapping, Scouting and Indian Fighting in the Far West — John Shaqi
Thirty-One Years on the Plains and in the Mountains, Or, the Last Voice from the Plains: An Authentic Record of a Life Time of Hunting, Trapping, Scouting and Indian Fighting in the Far WestDrannan, William F.
History
Thirty-One Years on the Plains and in the Mountains, Or, the Last Voice from the Plains: An Authentic Record of a Life Time of Hunting, Trapping, Scouting and Indian Fighting in the Far West
Drannan, William F.
Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.); Indians of North America -- Wars
I gathered some limbs and chunks and started a fire, while Johnnie
pulled Mr. Hughes' moccasins off and bathed his feet and legs with
cold water. They were swollen almost to twice their usual size.
The fire being started, Johnnie proposed that we lie down and take
a nap and a rest before starting out to hunt for meat, saying it
was impossible for him to stand on his feet any longer. "My legs,"
said he, "are swollen clear to my body." I was too hungry to
sleep, so I proposed that Johnnie stay and care for Mr. Hughes and
I would take my gun and go out and kill some game, which was
plentiful in this part of the country. I had not gone more than a
quarter of a mile when I looked up the ridge and saw a small deer
coming down almost in the direction of where I stood, and never
before in my life had I cast my eyes on a living animal that
pleased me so much as did that one I waited until he was in
gunshot and fired. It ran about one hundred yards in the direction
of camp and fell dead I dressed it, cut off its head and carried
it to camp, and it was all I could do to get along with it in my
half-famished condition.
I found Hughes and West both sound asleep by the fire It was not
long before I had some of the venison cooked, and I had it
fashionably rare, at that. After I had wakened my companions and
we had broiled and eaten venison for a time, Johnnie and I rolled
some logs together and gathered pine knots and made a good fire.
Then we broiled more venison and ate again, until we got sleepy
and fell over by the side of the fire, lost to ourselves and
Indians. During the night we all woke up again, cooked and ate as
long as we could keep our eyes open, and by sun-up next morning
there was not enough of that little deer left to feed a cat.
We found ourselves very sore and stiff from the effects of our
run, but Mr. Hughes thought we were about one hundred miles nearer
Taos than when we started, as we had been running most of the time
in that direction, and this was some consolation.
We remained here and rested two days, and as game was plentiful we
did not have to go far from the camp to get all the meat we
wanted.
On the morning of the third day we started for Taos, which was
about two hundred miles away, but all being so badly worn out and
Mr. Hughes having such severe wounds, we had to travel slowly, it
taking us about two weeks to make the trip. But we had no more
trouble with the Indians.
At Taos we met Uncle Kit Carson, who had been waiting our arrival
for two weeks. After resting up for a few days, Uncle Kit, Johnnie
West and myself started for North Park to pack out the furs. Mr.
Hughes stayed at Taos, as he was too badly wounded to accompany us
on the trip.
On our arrival at North Park we found everything just as we had
left it, except that the traps, which we had not cached with the
furs, had been stolen.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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