Thirty-One Years on the Plains and in the Mountains Part 14

But to return to my story. These Indians had three days of wors.h.i.+p, also three days of feasting. On a.s.sembling at their place of wors.h.i.+p, the chief chose four men from the audience, whom we would term preachers, but which they called abblers. They never pray, but the abblers stand up and talk to the audience, during which time the Indians preserve the very best order. The abblers tell them what they must do and what they must not do. When ready to break up, all join in singing, but never sing before preaching.

Just how they learned this mode of wors.h.i.+p was a mystery to me, and is yet, for that matter. We attended service while in the village and after preaching was over many of them invited us home with them.

There were about five hundred men in this tribe, all of whom were apparently very industrious, raising corn, melons, red pepper and other vegetables in abundance. They raised some very large melons, which were not excellent in flavor, however.

The Pimas were very kind to us while we were with them, often taking us out to their truck patches and pulling nice, large melons for us. I asked a very aged Indian where they got their seed corn, but he did not know, saying they had raised it ever since he could remember. They did their plowing with wooden plows, which they made themselves, being pulled by oxen that were hitched to the plows by a strong stick in front of their horns. For harrows they used brush, and they had shovels made of wood to dig with.

Notwithstanding they were in one sense uncivilized, they showed us more hospitality during the time we were with them than most white people would have shown to strangers.

These Indians keep their age by taking a piece of horn, pressing it out flat and punching a hole in the center. When a child is a certain age he has one of these tied about his neck, and every year the child is supposed to cut a notch in the piece of horn. I did not learn how old they had to be before they were supposed to keep their own age.

We found the chief of the tribe to be very obliging. He told us the Apaches were bad Indians, and that they had killed many white people--men, women and children.

When we were ready to leave the village, the chief came out and bade us good-bye, and gave us a cordial invitation to call on him when pa.s.sing through the country.

We crossed the Gila river near where Colville now stands. Here was a tribe of very indolent Indians, that during this season of the year did not wear a st.i.tch of clothing of any kind whatever. They were known as the Yumas.

We both emptied our rifles before crossing the river, knowing that they would get wet in crossing. I fired at a bird across the river and it fell to the ground.

At the crack of my rifle the Indians ran a few paces from me, dropped down and stuck their fingers in their ears. They told us in Spanish that they had never seen a wah-hootus before, meaning a gun with a loud report.

When Jim Beckwith went to fire his gun off, the squaws all ran away, but the bucks, being more brave, stayed, but held their hands over their ears. This tribe lived princ.i.p.ally on fish.

The reader will remember that I had traveled over this same country in the year 1849 in company with Kit Carson and Col.

Fremont, when on our trip to California.

After traveling about five miles we crossed a little sage-brush valley that was almost covered with jack-rabbits, and they were dying by the thousand. We could see twenty at one time lying dead in the sage-brush.

That night we camped on what has since been known as Beaver creek, and here we had to strike across the San Antonio desert, and having been across the desert I knew it would be eighty miles to water. Having two parafleshes with us for such emergencies, we filled them with water to use in crossing this desert.

A paraflesh is made of rawhide expressly to carry water in, and are frequently used to peddle milk by the Mexicans.

The second day from Beaver creek we reached a little stream near the Goshoot village, this being the place where Uncle Kit finished buying furs to load his pack-train in 1848.

The next morning we reached the village. I had not seen any of these Indians for five years. Then I was a mere boy and now a grown man, but every one of the Goshoots knew me and were glad to meet me. We stopped that day and visited with them, and bought some venison and frigoles, or beans.

The next morning we resumed our journey to Los Angeles, crossing the extreme northeast part of Death Valley. From here on the country was all new to me, and had it not been for the kindness of the Goshoot Indians, we would have perished for the want of water.

When I told a good Indian in that village where we were going, he sat down and with his finger marked a diagram in the dust, showing the lay of the country that we must pa.s.s ever, every little blind spring near the trail, the different mountains and valleys, and made it so plain that we could scarcely have made a mistake on the trip.

On arriving at Los Angeles we found only one white man in the place, and he was the only person in the whole town that could speak the English language. He had arrived there some years before, married a Mexican woman and had got to be very wealthy. He tried to induce us to go farther up the coast, telling us if we started for San Francisco the country was full of Mexicans, and that they despised all Americans and would be sure to murder us on our way; but as we had started for San Francisco, we were determined to see that city if possible. After laying over one day with the old American we resumed our journey.

The next place we struck was Monterey, where is now the famous Hotel del Monte, about two hundred miles from Los Angeles. Here we did not find a man who could speak a word of English, and we found the Mexicans still more selfish than in Los Angeles.

We began to think that the old white man had told the truth, for we would not have been surprised at any time to have been attacked by a band of Mexicans.

While here I saw two persons that I thought to be curiosities.

They were of Indian parentage, light complexion and had eyes of a pink color. One was a boy about twenty years old and the other a girl of sixteen, and were brother and sister. It was claimed that they could see well after night, but could not see their way on a bright, sunny day.

These Indians were said to be of the Mojave tribe, that inhabited a portion of the country some six hundred miles east of Monterey, near the Mojave desert. I have since learned that such freaks are called albinos.

The reader will no doubt wonder why we came this round-about away to get to San Francisco. The reason is that in coming a more direct course we would have pa.s.sed through a country that was infested with wild tribes of Indians; that is, tribes hostile to the whites. There being only two of us the chances were it would have proved a very unhealthy trip for us at that time.

CHAPTER X.

ROBBER GAMBLERS OF SAN FRANCISCO.--ENGAGED BY COL. ELLIOTT AS INDIAN SCOUT.--KILLS AND SCALPS FIVE INDIANS.--PROMOTED TO CHIEF SCOUT.

Arriving at San Francisco we found things very lively, this being about the time of the greatest gold excitement in California. Here was the first city of note that I had been in since leaving St.

Louis; here also was the first time I had seen gambling going on on a large scale. There were all kinds of games and all kinds of traps to catch the honest miner and rob him of his money that he had labored hard to dig out of the ground.

That night Jim Beckwith and I took in the sights of the city. We went to the different gambling houses and had just finished our tour and were on our way back to the What Cheer house--that being the hotel at which we put up--the leading hotel in the city then.

We were just pa.s.sing one of the gambling dens, when we saw two men coming out of the door leading a man between them who was crying like a child, and exclaiming: "I am ruined! I am ruined!"

We learned from the two men that he had come to the city that day with eight hundred dollars in gold, had bought a ticket for New York, and it was his intention to sail for that city the following morning. But he had gone out that night to have a farewell spree with his friends, got too much booze, started in gambling, thinking he might double his money by morning; but like thousands of other miners in those days, he "played out of luck," as they termed it, and had lost every cent he had. We walked on down to the hotel, and in a few minutes the three came into the hotel also, the one still crying like a baby. The proprietor only laughed and said it was a common occurrence for men to come to the city with even twenty thousand dollars, gamble it off in less than a week and then return to the mines to make another stake. But he said he had never seen a man before that took it as hard as this one did.

It was all new to me, and a little of it went a long ways.

That night after Jim Beckwith and I had retired, I told him that I had seen all of San Francisco that I cared to, and was ready to leave. However, we stayed two days longer, after which we pulled out for the Sierra Nevadas, by the way of Hangtown, a little mining camp situated at the American Fork. Here we crossed over a pa.s.s that Jim had told me of more than a year previous, which led us to the headwaters of the Carson river.

I proposed we give it the name of Beckwith Pa.s.s; and from that day to this it has been known by that name, and since has been made a splendid stage road.

After traveling down the Carson river some distance, we met a party of miners who informed us that a few days previous a band of Indians down on the Humboldt had made an attack on an emigrant train, cut off a portion of the train, stampeded the teams, killed all the people of that part of the train and burned the wagons.

They also informed us that Col. Elliott was down on what was known as Truckee Meadows with a company of soldiers, but, so far, was having very poor success killing Indians.

Col. Elliott had been sent out there with four companies of cavalry to protect the emigrants against the Pah-Ute or Piute Indians, which were very numerous down on the Humboldt, and around the sink of the Carson and as far up the mountains as Lake Tahoe.

Jim being very well acquainted with Col. Elliott, proposed we go around that way, thinking that the Colonel might be able to a.s.sist materially in turning the tide of emigration through his pa.s.s, his object being to get as much travel that way this fall as possible, and the following spring he would establish a toll road through that pa.s.s.

Col. Elliott was pleased at meeting Jim, and in the conversation said: "Beckwith, I am very glad, indeed, to see you. You are just the man I have been wanting this long time, for I haven't a scout in my entire command that is worth a cent to scout for Indians. I don't believe there is one of them that would dare to leave headquarters fifteen miles alone, and I want to employ you as chief of scouts."

Jim thanked the Colonel kindly for the honor, but told him he could not accept the offer as he had another matter he wished to attend to, and told him of the scheme he had on hand. But, he said, he had a young man with him that he could recommend highly for that position, and he gave me a great send off as a scout.

The Colonel insisted on our going with him to his private quarters for supper, which we did, and after having a pleasant visit with him, we returned to our own camp for the night.

When we were ready to take our departure for the evening, Col.

Elliott said: "Mr. Drannan, can I see you privately to-morrow morning at nine o'clock?"

I told him that I would call at his quarters at that hour.

After Jim and I had reached our camp I asked him why he had misrepresented me to Col. Elliott in the way he had, when he knew I had never scouted a day in my life, knew nothing of scouting and had done very little Indian fighting.

Jim said: "You are a young man and have been among the Indians long enough to be pretty well acquainted with their habits. There is not a single fellow in Elliott's outfit knows as much about scouting as my black horse, and if you ever intend starting in, now is your chance. That is the reason I gave you such a send off to the Colonel."

After thinking the matter over, I concluded that Jim was right in regard to it, and now was a good time to make a start.