Part 3

They returned much that had been taken away, but much that had been carried to the Indian village never came back, and the valorous trader had to pocket a loss of about three thousand dollars. Heaping curses upon the heads of the savages, the Spaniards, the Frenchmen, and all the other “unmitigated rascals,” as he called them, the outraged trader now fitted up his boats and started down the Missouri River to engage in business at a place where his competitors would be more honest and honorable.

Crooks had parted company with McLellan some time before this outrage.

“I can do better for myself down stream,” he had said. “The Indians here are too troublesome, for they are under the influence of the rascally Spaniard, Manuel Lisa.”

What was the surprise of the disappointed frontiersman, when floating down the Missouri on his way to St. Louis, to find his former partner at the mouth of the Nodaway River.

“I’m delighted to see you, Crooks,” he cried, and, rounding to, he ran his canoe upon the bank. While their men mingled together the partners had a long conversation, and from Crooks it was learned that the organization, with which he was now connected, was under the command of a Mr. Hunt—one of John Jacob Astor’s partners in the American Fur Company.

“We are bound for the mouth of the Columbia River,” said Crooks, “where we are to meet another part of the expedition which has gone by sea. We will be camped here until spring, so will you not join us? I am sure that you will have better luck in trading and trapping in this new field.”

McLellan could not withstand the temptation.

“By George,” cried he, “I’ll be with you. I’ll begin a new life and see if I cannot have better success than here upon the Missouri.”

Throwing away all of his worldly possessions, except his trusty rifle, the unfortunate trader joined the expedition.

“I am determined to begin the world anew,” he wrote to his brother. “And I trust that there will be no Spanish traders in the country to which we are going.”

His hopes were in vain, for they heard that Manuel Lisa was on the way to impede their progress and would use every effort to pass them by and prevent them from gaining any trade benefits with the Indians above. Sure enough, an emissary soon appeared from the crafty Spaniard, holding a message in his hand.

“If you wait for my party,” it ran, “we can enter this territory together and share the trade. This will be better for all concerned.”

“Don’t give in to him,” cried McLellan, when he heard this message. “The lying Spaniard can’t tell the truth if he tries to, and cannot be honest if he wishes. He’ll trick you after he has made you believe that he is your friend.”

“I believe that you’re right,” Hunt answered. “I’ll send him no definite reply.”

So he returned a missive which did not commit him to any particular course of procedure.

In a few days—it was the thirty-first of May—immense bodies of savages gathered on the bluffs of the river, armed and painted for war. They screeched their defiance and yelled like demons, so it was easy to see that the tricky Manuel had been influencing them. Every trapper seized his arms and stood ready for action.

“Load up the artillery!” cried Captain Hunt, for he saw that it was dangerous both to retreat and to advance. “We will first fire off some blank cartridges and see if we cannot scare these pesky varmints into submission.”

In a few moments smoke and flame burst from the mouths of the cannon and the redskins beat a precipitate retreat. But soon they gathered again and made peace signs.

“We would make big talk,” cried one painted brave. “We love our white brothers.”

“Load the cannon with grape and cannister,” said McLellan to his men. “Hunt and I will go ashore, and, if the redskins show any signs of treachery, blaze away.”

His men smiled, as the daring trapper now approached the bank, where the Indians welcomed him with much show of good will, for they saw that the white men meant business. They smoked the pipe of peace together, and, finding that the trappers were determined to advance at any cost, the red men suddenly evinced a perfect willingness to allow them to go on. Their hearts were warmed by the gift of several hundredweight of corn, and—what they loved still more—a quantity of tobacco. “Ugh! Ugh!” grunted the chiefs. “We love our white brothers.”

Seeing that the red men were now peaceful, McLellan ordered his own followers to advance up the river, but he was soon surprised by seeing another band of Indians, who rode along the bank of the stream but seemed to be friendly.

“By George!” cried McLellan, “these fellows are the same ones that robbed my store, when Crooks and I were in partnership! They mean trouble.”

But the children of the plains realized that the whites were in force, and, fearing that they might attempt to punish them for their former actions, peacefully accepted several presents which were offered them. Again the trappers forced their way up the swift waters, but again they were surprised by a group of red men, who rode up the bank, and, in a lordly and insolent manner, demanded presents similar to those which had recently been given to their brethren. This angered the trappers, for they appreciated the fact that the redskins wished to frighten them.

“You shall not get a single thing from us,” shouted Hunt,—a man of great firmness. “Furthermore, if you make any more insolent demands, I will treat you all as enemies and turn our cannon against you.”

This did not please the savages, as can be well imagined. Vowing vengeance, and shaking their fists at the trappers, they rode off across the prairie, while the whites were now divided into two forces; one going up one bank, and the other taking the opposite side. Thus they proceeded for several days, until they came to a spot where the stream was very narrow and was filled with sand bars. A vast number of redskins were camped upon the western bank, and Hunt was fearful that they would soon attack. He and McLellan were in one of the boats.

“I know that they are peaceful,” said the former, “for their faces are painted. Row to the shore!”

As they approached, the savages dropped their bows and arrows, came to meet them joyfully, and proved to be a band of Arickaras who were at war with the Sioux, and were thus anxious to have the white trappers assist in fighting their battles for them. “How! How!” said they. “We glad to see our white brothers. How! How! We wish to have sticks which speak with the voice of thunder.”

The adventurers looked forward to rich trade with the red men but were much surprised and angered by receiving word that the boat of Lisa—the Spaniard—was rapidly approaching.

“That rascally fellow will ruin our work!” cried McLellan, with considerable heat. “We must let him know, now, that we will stand no trickery from him. If he tampers with these redskins and sets them against me, I will let my rifle do the work of vengeance.”

The Indians, meanwhile, showed no disposition to trade, knowing that the presence of a rival trader would ensure them better bargains. Lisa soon arrived and was not long in discovering that he was an unwelcome guest. McLellan had difficulty in restraining himself from wreaking a just vengeance upon this artful “Greaser,” but fearing that he might involve Hunt and his other friends in a quarrel, kept his own counsel. It was, however, not for long.

Lisa agreed that he and Hunt would go to the Indian village and would trade there, but that no advantage should be taken of one another in the transactions with the wild riders of the plains. After a short delay they proceeded together up the river. But the crafty Spaniard was soon up to his old tricks and attempted to induce a certain French Canadian, in Hunt’s employ, to leave his master.

“I will give you better wages and treatment,” said he. “Come—boy—be one of my followers.”

This was overheard by McLellan and infuriated him. Seizing a gun, he gave the Spaniard to understand that he had old scores to settle with him, and that he had better get his own pistol and defend himself, for he was soon to be shot down like a dog. “You thieving, sneaking Greaser!” he shouted. “Now you will go to Kingdom Come in a hurry. You should have been beneath the sod long ago.”

Fire flashed from the Spaniard’s eyes and he reached for his pistol, but, before he could draw, the angered McLellan was seized by both Hunt and Crooks, who took his weapon away from him and pinned him to the ground, until he promised that he would not touch the Spaniard. Lisa himself was careful not to again rouse the ire of the pioneer, and, as a result, did not attempt to underbid the trade offers to the Arickaras. Successful bartering was soon accomplished, and Hunt’s party set about the difficult undertaking of crossing through the Rocky Mountains and traversing the dry table-land to the Pacific coast.

You can well realize that this was a hazardous undertaking, for, not only did the trappers have a hazy and undefined conception of the route to follow, but there was little water in certain parts of this country, and a great scarcity of game in others. There were sixty-two in the adventurous band, with eighty-two pack-horses to carry luggage, guns, and camp equipment. All were well armed and were full of determination to succeed.

As the adventurous little body of trappers filed silently towards the West—a few days later—the Indians collected in order to bid them good-by. Many an old chief was seen to shake his head, as they wended their way towards the beetling mountains, and the treacherous, though adventurous, Lisa was heard to exclaim: “These men are fools! They are all dead! All dead! None will ever return!” But these pessimistic remarks did not seem to worry the followers of Hunt and McLellan. With cheerful looks and smiling faces they kept onward towards their goal.

Soon they were in the glorious Big Horn range and were in the vicinity of the tepees of many Indians, who were not slow in discovering their approach. Contrary to every expectation, the red men greeted them most hospitably, gave them dried buffalo meat, and told them how to find a way through the rugged hills before them. These were the Cheyennes—a war-like tribe—which had its name from the Cheyenne River. They were soon to be driven from their hunting-grounds by the steady, westward emigration of the whites, but were now rich in both ponies and buffalo robes, and were much feared by the neighboring denizens of the plains: the Crows and Ogalala Sioux.

The pioneers kept on, traded with the redskins whom they met, and found increased dangers and difficulties in their path. It was summer, and thousands of gnats and mosquitoes attacked both men and horses, rendering life miserable and making it most disagreeable to proceed. I, myself, travelled through this country in the summer of 1899, and have never seen so many pests as here. Swarms of green-headed horse-flies attacked our pack animals, so that they would sometimes be bloody from their bites. Often the horses would roll upon the ground in order to get rid of the flies, and thus would dislodge the packs, which had taken some time to adjust. Their sting was most poisonous. Mosquitoes were here by the millions, and we had great difficulty—even then—of getting through the fallen timber, which sometimes extended for many miles. These pioneers picked their way through the forests, forded the rushing streams, ascended and descended the deep canyons, and finally reached the headwaters of the Mad River, or Snake River, as it is called below its junction with Henry’s Fork.

An adventurous trader named Henry had here established a trading-post, the year before, but becoming disgusted with the Indians, who refused to barter with him, had abandoned it. Hunt, McLellan, and their little party, reached this spot on the eighth day of October, where they stopped to recruit their strength. Then they engaged Indians to look out for their horses, which they concluded to leave behind them, and built a number of canoes with which to commit themselves to the current of the river. They embarked, and, for a hundred miles found their progress easy, but all at once they saw to their dismay that below them were dangerous falls and treacherous rapids. Their journey was blocked.

It was impossible to return to Henry’s Fork, where were their horses, and to go on meant the destruction of all their supplies. What was there to do? To the North was the Columbia River, but an unbroken wilderness lay between. They must cross it, trust to luck that game would come their way, and that their rifles would not miss it when found. There were but a few days’ provisions left, so it was decided to divide the party into four sections: the first, under Crooks, was to make its way up the river to Fort Henry; the second, under McLellan, was to continue down the Snake; while the third, under McKenzie, was to traverse the wilderness towards the Columbia. The fourth section was to remain for a time where it was. And it was further understood that any party which should come across assistance or supplies should return to the main body under Hunt, which would hold the present camp until their leader became convinced that all had failed in their efforts to reach their destination. Let us see how they fared.

McLellan continued his way down the rushing Snake with three companions, but, finding that it was almost impossible to make further progress, he deflected his line of march so as to follow the detachment under McKenzie. Their course was over a bare and arid country where there was no game and little water. Occasionally a jack-rabbit scampered between the clumps of sage brush, but no one seemed to have sufficient ability with the rifle in order to bring one down. A lean coyote would now and again be seen, and often the weird wailing of one of these creatures would make night hideous. The jerked buffalo meat which they carried was soon exhausted and the adventurers began to suffer from the gnawing pains of hunger, but on they walked with grim and steadfast determination. Weary, footsore, and nearly exhausted, they finally came upon McKenzie and his five companions. These fortunately had food, which they gave to the gaunt trappers, who rested for a full day before they could go on.

McLellan was undaunted. Trained in a hundred combats with the savages of the West, and hardened by years of exposure, he saw no cause for despondency. Some of the trappers, however, gave way to despair. They were among the barren drifts and extinct craters of gigantic volcanoes, while, through the winding fissures of its canyoned walls, the furious torrent of the Snake River dashed, foamed, and roared beneath them. Like a snow-white ribbon it plunged onward upon its wild career, and, in the sobbing roar of its cataracts, some of the more weak-hearted fancied that they heard the voices of those departed, who called to them to follow where they had gone.

It grew cold. A fierce snow-storm came upon them. As the food supply was gone, a dozen beaver skins were cut into strips and roasted, but this provender only sustained life for a few days. At length the trappers became exhausted, and, crouching under the protecting ledge of a wall of rock, shivered before their fire, and gloomily looked forth upon the blinding snow. All was sadness and despondency. Some contemplated death, which they thought to be inevitable, and even the lion-hearted McLellan lost that undaunted courage which had never before deserted him. Could it be that they were to die before they saw the roaring waters of the Columbia? Could it be that they were to perish before they reached the trader’s post upon the green-gray stretch of the Pacific Ocean?

Peering into the gloom from his rocky shelter, the keen eyes of McLellan suddenly perceived a buffalo, which, driven to the rocky wall by the desire to get away from the blinding snow, was crouching under the lee of a high bluff. What could be more fortunate? Taking note of the direction of the wind, the trapper left his hiding-place and crawled against it, until he came within thirty yards of the beast. Carefully he wormed his way behind a jutting ledge of rock and sand, then—taking a good sight—touched the trigger of his rifle, and the great lumbering brute fell dead. With a wild and hilarious cheer the old scout dashed to where he lay and cut joyful capers around him in the snow. “Hurray! Hurray!” he cried. “Now we will have enough food to last us for many days. Hurray! Hurray!”

Seizing upon the carcass of the beast, the old scout rolled him down the hill towards the cavern in which his own companions were shivering. With a wild yell he announced his triumph and this was answered by a hoarse cry from the half-famished trappers, who rushed upon the beast, and, but for the warning of the old frontiersman, would have gorged themselves upon the raw flesh, so great was their hunger.

“Hold back, my friends,” cried he. “Wait but a moment and I will give you some cooked food. Restrain yourselves, for a few seconds, and I will see that you get enough to save your lives. Eat the raw flesh and you will all perish.”

It was difficult to hold back the starving trappers, but soon a fire was lighted, the choicest parts of the buffalo were broiled upon a ramrod, and the gaunt spectres were allowed a feast. This saved their lives. With renewed strength they again made their way towards the Columbia, and, meeting with an occasional buffalo which they had the good fortune to kill, at length reached the swirling river, where a band of roving red men supplied them with a number of canoes. They also secured sufficient jerked meat to last them until they should reach the coast, where the trading-post of Astoria had already been established. To that lucky shot of McLellan’s they owed their lives.

Hunt, meanwhile, had decided that the three parties had successfully made their way to the coast, so he had started for the Columbia. Crooks had reached Fort Henry, where he spent his time in trapping and in trading with the redskins. As for the trappers who had left for Astoria by sea, they had met with an adverse fate, for the savages had induced them to enter the mouth of a small river, when they reached the neighborhood of the trading-post, and here had surrounded and massacred all of the voyageurs, after the vessel had been run aground. It took Hunt over a month to arrive at the coast. Crooks eventually followed. He met the other trappers after a separation of five months’ duration.

After frightful privations and suffering the four parties were now safe at Astoria; a trading-post which was to create a fortune for its founder, John Jacob Astor, a shrewd merchant of New York, who was a dealer in furs and peltries of wild animals. But there was still travelling to be done, for Hunt determined soon after his arrival to send a party overland, in order to notify Astor of the loss of the detachment which had come by sea.

Strange to relate, the lion-hearted McLellan announced that he intended to go back with this party to St. Louis. “For,” said he, “I have not been given a sufficient share of the profits of this company. I am entitled to more.” His friends begged him to remain and not again to plunge into the wilderness, where were dangers just as great as those from which he had escaped. But he was obstinate in his purpose. “To St. Louis I shall go,” said he, “and not all the redskins on the earth will stop me. I have been treated most unfairly.” Thus, on the twenty-second day of March, 1812, he turned his back upon Astoria, and set out upon the hazardous trip towards the East. The detachment was under the command of John Reed, clerk of the Fur Company, a man of undoubted courage and experience in frontier warfare.

There were seventeen in this particular expedition, all men of well tried courage and resource in wilderness adventure. Ascending the Columbia in canoes, they reached the falls and were preparing to make the portage when a band of redskins surrounded them and began to shoot arrows at their ranks. The trappers crouched behind the protection of trees and boulders, and made a stand, sending many a humming bullet into the ranks of the savages, who suddenly ceased hostilities, and, holding up their hands in sign of peace, came towards the white men. Mingling with the travellers, the Indians offered to carry their luggage around the rapids.

“The redskins only want to steal all that we’ve got,” whispered McLellan to his men. “But we can let them carry the canoes around the falls. Then we can get the baggage over during the night, and, when morning dawns, we’ll be off before the varmints know what we’re up to.”

The redskins seemed to be well satisfied. They carried the canoes upon their broad shoulders, and, as night fell, retired to their village across the river, leaving a few upon the same side as the whites. McLellan waited until the moon rose; then waking the others, he told them to get their baggage around the falls as soon as they could. The trappers worked industriously, and just as day was breaking, they deposited the last sack of provisions at the head of the rapids. This had been done without waking the redskins, who were upon their side of the river.

But now was an uproar, for the savages across the stream learned what was going on, and, in a few moments, came swarming to the attack. A hundred of them rushed upon the nervy band of trappers, crying out, “You no go on. You stay here. You no go away.”

Brandishing aloft an immense club, a red warrior rushed upon Reed and felled him to the ground. Another ran towards McLellan, who, with rifle in hand, stood watching the affray. As he approached, the trapper was ready, and, although the redskin attempted to throw a buffalo robe over his head in order to blind his vision as he made a thrust at him with his knife, the old scout was too wary a bird to be caught napping. Stepping quickly aside, he shot the savage dead. As the redskin rolled over, a noise sounded from behind, and, wheeling around, he was just in time to hit another Indian who was about to shoot him with a rifle. The trappers now rallied to the defense of their leader. The savage who had attacked Reed was dispatched just as he was about to brain the trapper with his tomahawk. The rifles of the men from Astoria spoke in unison, and terrified by the desperate courage of the rangers, the savages dropped back. McLellan urged his followers to the charge, and, with a wild yell, they rushed upon the redskins, who took to their heels, leaving many of their number prostrate upon the ground.

The unfortunate Reed had lost his dispatches to Astor, for he carried them in a bright, new, tin box which immediately attracted the attention of the Indians. They fancied that it must be of great value, because of the care which the leader took of it. But this put an end to the expedition. Reluctantly and sadly the trappers returned to the trading-post, where the wounded recovered from their injuries received in the little skirmish with the red men.

Hunt was greatly disappointed. “Boys!” said he, “I must absolutely get my dispatches through to Saint Louis,—Indians or no Indians. Astor must know of the fate of his other division. I will start a second expedition in June and Robert Stuart will be its commander. He will take only four good men with him.”