THE OLD SANTA FE TRAIL by COLONEL HENRY INMAN (best fiction novels of all time .TXT) 📕

Chapter XVII (Uncle Dick Wooton)

Immediately After Kit Carson, The Second Wreath Of Pioneer Laurels,

For Bravery And Prowess As An Indian Fighter, And Trapper, Must Be

Conceded to Richens Lacy Wooton, Known First As "Dick," In his

Younger Days On The Plains, Then, When Age Had Overtaken Him,

As "Uncle Dick."

 

 

 

Born In virginia, His Father, When He Was But Seven Years Of Age,

Removed with His Family To Kentucky, Where He Cultivated a Tobacco

Plantation.  Like His Predecessor And Lifelong Friend Carson,

Young Wooton Tired of The Monotony Of Farming, And In the Summer

Of 1836 Made A Trip To The Busy Frontier Town Of Independence,

Missouri, Where He Found A Caravan Belonging To Colonel St. Vrain

And The Bents, Already Loaded, And Ready To Pull Out For The Fort

Built By The Latter, And Named for Them.

 

 

 

Wooton Had A Fair Business Education, And Was Superior In this

Respect To His Companions In the Caravan To Which He Had Attached

Himself.  It Was By Those Rough, But Kind-Hearted, Men That He Was

Called "Dick," As They Could Not Readily Master The More Complicated

Name Of "Richens."

 

 

 

When He Started from Independence On His Initial Trip Across The

Plains, He Was Only Nineteen, But, Like All Kentuckians, Perfectly

Familiar With A Rifle, And Could Shoot Out A Squirrel'S Eye With

The Certainty Which Long Practice And Hardened nerves Assures.

 

 

 

The Caravan, In which He Was Employed as A Teamster, Was Composed

Of Only Seven Wagons; But A Larger One, In which Were More Than Fifty,

Had Preceded it, And As That Was Heavily Laden, And The Smaller One

Only Lightly, It Was Intended to Overtake The Former Before The

Dangerous Portions Of The Trail Were Reached, Which It Did In a Few

Days And Was Assigned a Place In the Long Line.

 

 

 

Every Man Had To Take His Turn In standing Guard, And The First Night

That It Fell To Young Wooton Was At Little Cow Creek, In the Upper

Arkansas Valley.  Nothing Had Occurred thus Far During The Trip

To Imperil The Safety Of The Caravan, Nor Was Any Attack By The

Savages Looked for.

 

 

 

Wooton'S Post Comprehended the Whole Length Of One Side Of The Corral,

And His Instructions Were To Shoot Anything He Saw Moving Outside

Of The Line Of Mules Farthest From The Wagons.  The Young Sentry

Was Very Vigilant.  He Did Not Feel At All Sleepy, But Eagerly

Watched for Something That Might Possibly Come Within The Prescribed

Distance, Though Not Really Expecting Such A Contingency.

 

 

 

About Two O'Clock He Heard A Slight Noise, And Saw Something Moving

About, Sixty Or Seventy Yards From Where He Was Lying On The Ground,

To Which He Had Dropped the Moment The Strange Sound Reached his Ears.

Of Course, His First Thoughts Were Of Indians, And The More He Peered

Through The Darkness At The Slowly Moving Object, The More Convinced

He Was That It Must Be A Blood-Thirsty Savage.

 

 

 

He Rose To His Feet And Blazed away, The Shot Rousing Everbody, And

All Came Rushing With Their Guns To Learn What The Matter Was.

 

 

 

Wooton Told The Wagon-Master That He Had Seen What He Supposed was

An Indian Trying To Slip Up To The Mules, And That He Had Killed him.

Some Of The Men Crept Very Circumspectly To The Spot Where The

Supposed dead Savage Was Lying, While Young Wooton Remained at His

Post Eagerly Waiting For Their Report.  Presently He Heard A Voice

Cry Out: "I'Ll Be D---D Ef He Hain'T Killed 'Old Jack!'"

 

 

 

"Old Jack" Was One Of The Lead Mules Of One Of The Wagons.  He Had

Torn Up His Picket-Pin And Strayed outside Of The Lines, With The

Result That The Faithful Brute Met His Death At The Hands Of The

Sentry.  Wooton Declared that He Was Not To Be Blamed; For The Animal

Had Disobeyed orders, While He Had Strictly Observed them![53]

 

 

 

At Pawnee Fork, A Few Days Later, The Caravan Had A Genuine Tussle

With The Comanches.  It Was A Bright Moonlight Night, And About Two

Hundred of The Mounted savages Attacked them.  It Was A Rare Thing

For Indians To Begin A Raid After Dark, But They Swept Down On The

Unsuspecting Teamsters, Yelling Like A Host Of Demons.  They Were

Armed with Bows And Arrows Generally, Though A Few Of Them Had

Fusees.[54]  They Received a Warm Greeting, Although They Were Not

Expected, The Guard Noticing The Savages In time To Prevent A Stampede

Of The Animals, Which Evidently Was The Sole Purpose For Which They

Came, As They Did Not Attempt To Break Through The Corral To Get At

The Wagons.  It Was The Mules They Were After.  They Charged among

The Men, Vainly Endeavouring To Frighten The Animals And Make Them

Break Loose, Discharging Showers Of Arrows As They Rode By.  The Camp

Was Too Hot For Them, However, Defended as It Was By Old Teamsters

Who Had Made The Dangerous Passage Of The Plains Many Times Before,

And Were Up To All The Indian Tactics.  They Failed to Get A Single

Mule, But Paid For Their Temerity By Leaving Three Of Their Party

Dead, Just Where They Had Been Tumbled off Their Horses, Not Even

Having Time To Carry The Bodies Off, As They Usually Do.

 

 

 

Wooton Passed some Time During The Early Days Of His Career At

Bent'S Fort, In 1836-37.  He Was A Great Favourite With Both Of

The Proprietors, And With Them Went To The Several Indian Villages,

Where He Learned the Art Of Trading With The Savages.

 

 

 

The Winters Of The Years Mentioned were Noted for The Incursions

Of The Pawnees Into The Region Of The Fort.  They Always Pretended

Friendship For The Whites, When Any Of Them Were Inside Of Its Sacred

Precincts, But Their Whole Manner Changed when They By Some Stroke

Of Fortune Caught A Trapper Or Hunter Alone On The Prairie Or In

The Foot-Hills; He Was A Dead Man Sure, And His Scalp Was Soon

Dangling at The Belt Of His Cowardly Assassins.  Hardly A Day Passed

Without Witnessing Some Poor Fellow Running For The Fort With A Band

Of The Red devils After Him; Frequently He Escaped the Keen Edge Of

Their Scalping-Knife, But Every Once In a While A Man Was Killed.

At One Time, Two Herders Who Were With Their Animals Within Fifty

Yards Of The Fort, Going Out To The Grazing Ground, Were Killed and

Every Hoof Of Stock Run Off.

 

 

 

A Party From The Fort, Comprising Only Eight Men, Among Whom Was

Young Wooton, Made Up For Lost Time With The Indians, At The Crossing

Of Pawnee Fork, The Same Place Where He Had Had His First Fight.

The Men Had Set Out From The Fort For The Purpose Of Meeting a Small

Caravan Of Wagons From The East, Loaded with Supplies For The Bents'

Trading Post.  It Happened that A Band Of Sixteen Pawnees Were

Watching For The Arrival Of The Train, Too.[55]  Wooton'S Party Were

Well Mounted, While The Pawnees Were On Foot, And Although The Savages

Were Two To One, The Advantage Was Decidedly In favour Of The Whites.

 

 

 

The Indians Were Armed with Bows And Arrows Only, And While It Was

An Easy Matter For The Whites To Keep Out Of The Way Of The Shower

Of Missiles Which The Indians Commenced to Hurl At Them, The Latter

Became An Easy Prey To The Unerring Rifles Of Their Assailants,

Who Killed thirteen Out Of The Sixteen In a Very Short Time.

The Remaining Three Took French Leave Of Their Comrades At The

Beginning Of The Conflict, And Abandoning Their Arms Rushed up To

The Caravan, Which Was Just Appearing Over A Small Divide, And Gave

Themselves Up.  The Indian Custom Was Observed in their Case,[56]

Although It Was Rarely That Any Prisoners Were Taken In these

Conflicts On The Trail.  Another Curious Custom Was Also Followed.[57]

When The Party Encamped they Were Well Fed, And The Next Morning

Supplied with Rations Enough To Last Them Until They Could Reach One

Of Their Villages, And Sent Off To Tell Their Head Chief What Had

Become Of The Rest Of His Warriors.

 

 

 

Wooton Had An Adventure Once While He Was Stationed at Bent'S Fort

During a Trading Expedition With The Utes, On The Purgatoire, Or

Purgatory River,[58] About Ten Or Twelve Miles From Trinidad.

He Had Taken With Him, With Others, A Shawnee Indian.  Only A Short

Time Before Their Departure From The Fort, An Indian Of That Tribe

Had Been Murdered by A Ute, And One Day This Shawnee Who Was With

Wooton Spied a Ute, When Revenge Inspired him, And He Forthwith

Killed his Enemy.  Knowing That As Soon As The News Of The Shooting

Reached the Ute Village, Which Was Not A Great Distance Off,

The Whole Tribe Would Be Down Upon Him, Wooton Abandoned any Attempt

To Trade With Them And Tried to Get Out Of Their Country As Quickly

As He Could.

 

 

 

As He Expected, The Utes Followed on His Trail, And Came Up With His

Little Party On A Prairie Where There Was Not The Slightest Chance

To Ambush Or Hide.  They Had To Fight, Because They Could Not Help

It, But Resolved to Sell Their Lives As Dearly As Possible, As The

Utes Outnumbered them Twenty To One; Wooton Having Only Eight Men

With Him, Including The Shawnee.

 

 

 

The Pack-Animals, Of Which They Had A Great Many, Loaded with The

Goods Intended for The Savages, Were Corralled in a Circle, Inside

Of Which The Men Hurried themselves And Awaited the First Assault

Of The Foe.  In a Few Moments The Utes Began To Circle Around The

Trappers And Open Fire.  The Trappers Promptly Responded, And They

Made Every Shot Count; For All Of The Men, Not Even Excepting The

Shawnee, Were Experts With The Rifle.  They Did Not Mind The Arrows

Which The Utes Showered upon Them, As Few, If Any, Reached to Where

They Stood.  The Savages Had A Few Guns, But They Were Of The Poorest

Quality; Besides, They Did Not Know How To Handle Them Then As They

Learned to Do Later, So Their Bullets Were Almost As Harmless As

Their Arrows.

 

 

 

The Trappers Made Terrible Havoc Among The Utes' Horses, Killing

So Many Of Them That The Savages In despair Abandoned the Fight And

Gave Wooton And His Men An Opportunity To Get Away, Which They Did

As Rapidly As Possible.

 

 

 

The Raton Pass, Through Which The Old Trail Ran, Was A Relatively

Fair Mountain Road, But Originally It Was Almost Impossible For

Anything In the Shape Of A Wheeled vehicle To Get Over The Narrow

Rock-Ribbed barrier; Saddle Horses And Pack-Mules Could, However,

Make The Trip Without Much Difficulty.  It Was The Natural Highway To

Southeastern Colorado And Northeastern New Mexico, But The Overland

Coaches Could Not Get To Trinidad By The Shortest Route, And As The

Caravans Also Desired to Make The Same Line, It Occurred to Uncle

Dick That He Would Undertake To Hew Out A Road Through The Pass,

Which, Barring Grades, Should Be As Good As The Average Turnpike.

He Could See Money In it For Him, As He Expected to Charge Toll,

Keeping The Road In repair At His Own Expense, And He Succeeded in

Procuring From The Legislatures Of Colorado And New Mexico Charters

Covering The Rights And Privileges Which He Demanded for His Project.

 

 

 

In The Spring Of 1866, Uncle Dick Took Up His Abode On The Top Of

The Mountains, Built His Home, And Lived there Until Two Years Ago,

When He Died at A Very Ripe Old Age.

 

 

 

The Old Trapper Had Imposed on Himself Anything But An Easy Task In

Constructing His Toll-Road.  There Were Great Hillsides To Cut Out,

Immense Ledges Of Rocks To Blast, Bridges To Build By The Dozen, And

Huge Trees To Fell, Besides Long Lines Of Difficult Grading To Engineer.

 

 

 

Eventually Uncle Dick'S Road Was A Fact, But When It Was Completed,

How To Make It Pay Was A Question That Seriously Disturbed his Mind.

The Method He Employed to Solve The Problem I Will Quote In his

Own Words: "Such A Thing as A Toll-Road Was Unknown In the Country

At That Time.  People Who Had Come From The States Understood,

Of Course, That The Object Of Building a Turnpike Was To Enable

The Owner To Collect Toll From Those Who Travelled over It, But I

Had To Deal With A Great Many People Who Seemed to Think That They

Should Be As Free To Travel Over My Well-Graded and Bridged roadway

As They Were To Follow An Ordinary Cow Path.

 

 

 

"I May Say That I Had Five Classes Of Patrons To Do Business With.

There Was The Stage Company And Its Employees, The Freighters, The

Military Authorities, Who