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
After lying around here watching for emigrants about two weeks
longer, and making two different trips east on the emigrant trail,
Capt. Mills now concluded that there would be no more emigrants
that fall, so we pulled up and moved to Col. Elliott's quarters.
We kept scouts out on the trip, but did not see an Indian or even
a fresh trail on the trip. On arriving at Col. Elliott's quarters
I could see that he was not pleased with the way things had gone
with his command during the summer. His men had had two
engagements during the season, and had got the worst of it both
times.
He had lost twenty-six men, and not a scalp to show for them.
Capt. Mills felt quite jubilant. He had over sixty Indian horses
that he had captured, over sixty scalps, and had not lost a man,
with the exception of the four scouts. Col. Elliott did not have
much to say, but the Lieutenant declared that the Colonel was very
jealous of Capt. Mills over the past summer's work.
After remaining at headquarters about a week we pulled out across
the Sierra Nevada Mountains, along the same route that we had
taken the fall before, somewhat earlier, and winter not having yet
set in, we experienced no trouble in crossing. The first night we
camped at the head of Eagle Valley, and from there to Jim
Beckwith's ranche it was sixty miles.
I being over-anxious to see Jim, saddled up my Pinto horse the
next morning and started for his place, making the ride in one
day. On my arrival I found Jim doing a rushing business in the
hotel line, but was just in the act of selling out his hotel to a
man from Sacramento. Beckwith had sold all my horses during the
summer at what I thought a good figure, having got fifty dollars
per head all around.
The command came on two days later, pitched their tents and stayed
two days, having a red hot time. The men had plenty of money, and
Jim Beckwith, who was now running a saloon in connection with his
hotel, had plenty of bad whiskey. The Colonel put very little
restriction on his men while they remained there, allowing them to
have a general spree, for they had been where there was no chance
to spend their money, and the little they had was burning their
pockets.
Jim Beckwith made a handsome little clean-up during the two days
they were camped there.
When the Colonel was ready to pull out for San Francisco he came
to me and invited me to come to the Fort and spend a few months
during the winter. I told him I did not know where I would winter,
but preferred to seek quarters where I could hunt for a
livelihood. I told him I did not wish to put in another winter
lounging around as I did the last one. The Colonel made me a
proposition to come to the Fort after I had visited my friend, Jim
Beckwith, saying that he would organize a hunting party among the
officers and take a trip north of San Francisco on the Russian
river.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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