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
The day before starting, Capt. Mills suggested that as my wound
was giving me so much trouble, I should return to headquarters in
company with the train of emigrants, and asked how many men I
wanted to guard them through. I told him that I would not feel
safe with less than twenty men. The Captain thought that twenty
would not be sufficient, so he made a detail of twenty-five men
and issued rations to last us eight days.
Capt. Mills and the men he had reserved remained in this section
of country to guard emigrants that might be traveling westward, as
the Indians were now working in this part of the country since our
battle with them on the Humboldt.
Having completed all arrangements we pulled out with one hundred
and twenty-five wagons, all told, in the train, but as some of the
oxen were very tender footed we had to travel very slowly. I
divided my men into squads of twelve each, and changed guards at
morning, noon, evening and midnight.
I also started six guards ahead every morning, with instructions
to keep from one to three miles from the train on either side,
according to the lay of the country. The second day one of the
scouts returned from the south and reported having seen six
Indians southwest of the train; this was about ten o'clock in the
forenoon. I turned and rode off with the scout, saying nothing to
anyone in the train. He piloted me to where he had seen the
Indians, and sure enough there were the tracks of their ponies in
the sand. The scout returned to the train and I followed the trail
of the Indian all day, but never got sight of an Indian. When dark
came I turned about and rode to camp, arriving there at twelve
o'clock that night.
The people in the train were very much pleased to see me return,
for they had felt much uneasiness as to my safety, fearing that I
might have fallen into the hands of the Pah-Utes. This ride,
however, laid me up for two weeks, and I had to go the balance of
the way in an emigrant wagon.
The captain of this train had a jaw breaking name that I never
heard before or since. It was Sam Molujean, and I know he was the
most excitable man that I ever saw. When Capt. Molujean got
excited he could not talk at all for stuttering, so one day the
guards concluded to have a little sport at the expense of the
Captain. We were now nearly opposite where about a month previous
a battle with the Pah-Utes had been fought, and the advance guards
were riding back to the train--it now being time to corrall for
dinner. They met Capt. Molujean, who asked if they had seen any
Indians.
One of the guards informed him that there were sixty-odd up the
ravine. This set the Captain wild. He wheeled around and rode back
to where I was in the wagon and started in to tell me what the
guard had said, but he could not utter a word.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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