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

Him I Had Been After A Herd Of Cattle, Or

'Whoa-Haws,' As They Called them.  It So Happened that The Indians

Had Been Out Of Meat For Several Weeks, As The Large Herd Of Cattle

Which Had Been Promised them Had Not Yet Arrived, Although They

Expected them.

 

 

 

"The Moment I Mentioned that I Had Been Searching For 'Whoa-Haws,'

Old Satanta Began Questioning Me In a Very Eager Manner.  He Asked me

Where The Cattle Were, And I Replied that They Were Back A Few Miles,

And That I Had Been Sent By General Hazen To Inform Him That The

Cattle Were Coming, And That They Were Intended for His People.

This Seemed to Please The Old Rascal, Who Also Wanted to Know If There

Were Any Soldiers With The Herd, And My Reply Was That There Were.

Thereupon The Chiefs Held A Consultation, And Presently Satanta Asked

Me If General Hazen Had Really Said That They Should Have The Cattle.

I Replied in the Affirmative, And Added that I Had Been Directed to

Bring The Cattle To Them.  I Followed this Up With A Very Dignified

Inquiry, Asking Why His Young Men Had Treated me So.  The Old Wretch

Intimated that It Was Only A 'Freak Of The Boys'; That The Young Men

Wanted to See If I Was Brave; In fact, They Had Only Meant To Test Me,

And The Whole Thing Was A Joke.

 

 

 

"The Veteran Liar Was Now Beating Me At My Own Game Of Lying, But

I Was Very Glad, As It Was In my Favour.  I Did Not Let Him Suspect

That I Doubted his Veracity, But I Remarked that It Was A Rough Way

To Treat Friends.  He Immediately Ordered his Young Men To Give

Back My Arms, And Scolded them For What They Had Done.  Of Course,

The Sly Old Dog Was Now Playing It Very Fine, As He Was Anxious

To Get Possession Of The Cattle, With Which He Believed there Was

A 'Heap' Of Soldiers Coming.  He Had Concluded it Was Not Best To

Fight The Soldiers If He Could Get The Cattle Peaceably.

 

 

 

"Another Council Was Held By The Chiefs, And In a Few Minutes Old

Satanta Came And Asked me If I Would Go To The River And Bring The

Cattle Down To The Opposite Side, So That They Could Get Them.

I Replied, 'Of Course; That'S My Instruction From General Hazen.'

 

 

 

"Satanta Said I Must Not Feel Angry At His Young Men, For They Had

Only Been Acting In fun.  He Then Inquired if I Wished any Of His Men

To Accompany Me To The Cattle Herd.  I Replied that It Would Be Better

For Me To Go Alone, And Then The Soldiers Could Keep Right On To

Fort Larned, While I Could Drive The Herd Down On The Bottom.  Then

Wheeling My Mule Around, I Was Soon Recrossing The River, Leaving Old

Satanta In the Firm Belief That I Had Told Him A Straight Story, And

That I Was Going For The Cattle Which Existed only In my Imagination.

 

 

 

"I Hardly Knew What To Do, But Thought That If I Could Get The River

Between The Indians And Myself, I Would Have A Good Three-Quarters Of

A Mile The Start Of Them, And Could Then Make A Run For Fort Larned,

As My Mule Was A Good One.

 

 

 

"Thus Far My Cattle Story Had Panned out All Right; But Just As I

Reached the Opposite Bank Of The River, I Looked behind Me And Saw

That Ten Or Fifteen Indians, Who Had Begun To Suspect Something

Crooked, Were Following Me.  The Moment That My Mule Secured a Good

Foothold On The Bank, I Urged him Into A Gentle Lope Toward The Place

Where, According To My Statement, The Cattle Were To Be Brought.

Upon Reaching a Little Ridge And Riding Down The Other Side Out Of

View, I Turned my Mule And Headed him Westward For Fort Larned.

I Let Him Out For All That He Was Worth, And When I Came Out On A

Little Rise Of Ground, I Looked back And Saw The Indian Village In

Plain Sight.  My Pursuers Were Now On The Ridge Which I Had Passed

Over, And Were Looking For Me In every Direction.

 

 

 

"Presently They Spied me, And Seeing That I Was Running away, They

Struck Out In swift Pursuit, And In a Few Minutes It Became Painfully

Evident They Were Gaining On Me.  They Kept Up The Chase As Far As

Ash Creek, Six Miles From Fort Larned.  I Still Led them Half A Mile,

As Their Horses Had Not Gained much During The Last Half Of The Race.

My Mule Seemed to Have Gotten His Second Wind, And As I Was On The

Old Road, I Played the Spurs And Whip On Him Without Much Cessation;

The Indians Likewise Urged their Steeds To The Utmost.

 

 

 

"Finally, Upon Reaching The Dividing Ridge Between Ash Creek And

Pawnee Fork, I Saw Fort Larned only Four Miles Away.  It Was Now

Sundown, And I Heard The Evening Gun.  The Troops Of The Small

Garrison Little Dreamed there Was A Man Flying For His Life And

Trying To Reach The Post.  The Indians Were Once More Gaining On Me,

And When I Crossed the Pawnee Fork Two Miles From The Post, Two Or

Three Of Them Were Only A Quarter Of A Mile Behind Me.  Just As I

Gained the Opposite Bank Of The Stream, I Was Overjoyed to See Some

Soldiers In a Government Wagon Only A Short Distance Off.  I Yelled

At The Top Of My Voice, And Riding Up To Them, Told Them That The

Indians Were After Me.

 

 

 

"'Denver Jim,' A Well-Known Scout, Asked me How Many There Were, And

Upon My Informing Him That There Were About A Dozen, He Said: 'Let'S

Drive The Wagon Into The Trees, And We'Ll Lay For 'Em.'  The Team

Was Hurriedly Driven Among The Trees And Low Box-Elder Bushes, And

There Secreted.

 

 

 

"We Did Not Have To Wait Long For The Indians, Who Came Dashing Up,

Lashing Their Ponies, Which Were Panting and Blowing.  We Let Two

Of Them Pass By, But We Opened a Lively Fire On The Next Three Or

Four, Killing Two Of Them At The First Crack.  The Others Following

Discovered that They Had Run Into An Ambush, And Whirling Off Into

The Brush, They Turned and Ran Back In the Direction Whence They

Had Come.  The Two Who Had Passed by Heard The Firing and Made Their

Escape.  We Scalped the Two That We Had Killed, And Appropriated

Their Arms And Equipments; Then, Catching Their Ponies, We Made Our

Way Into The Post."

 

 

Chapter XVIII (Maxwell'S Ranch)

One Of The Most Interesting and Picturesque Regions Of All New Mexico

Is The Immense Tract Of Nearly Two Million Acres Known As Maxwell'S

Ranch, Through Which The Old Trail Ran, And The Title To Which Was

Some Years Since Determined by The Supreme Court Of The United states

In Favour Of An Alien Company.[59]  Dead Long Ago, Maxwell Belonged

To A Generation And A Class Almost Completely Extinct, And The Like

Of Which Will, In all Probability, Never Be Seen Again; For There

Is No More Frontier To Develop Them.

 

 

 

Several Years Prior To The Acquisition Of The Territory By The

United states, The Immense Tract Comprised in the Geographical Limits

Of The Ranch Was Granted to Carlos Beaubien And Guadalupe Miranda,

Both Citizens Of The Province Of New Mexico, And Agents Of The

American Fur Company.  Attached to The Company As An Employer,

A Trapper, And Hunter, Was Lucien B. Maxwell, An Illinoisan By Birth,

Who Married a Daughter Of Beaubien.  After The Death Of The Latter

Maxwell Purchased all The Interest Of The Joint Proprietor, Miranda,

And That Of The Heirs Of Beaubien, Thus At Once Becoming The Largest

Landowner In the United states.

 

 

 

At The Zenith Of His Influence And Wealth, During The War Of The

Rebellion, When New Mexico Was Isolated and Almost Independent Of

Care Or Thought By The Government At Washington, He Lived in a

Sort Of Barbaric Splendour, Akin To That Of The Nobles Of England

At The Time Of The Norman Conquest.

 

 

 

The Thousands Of Arable Acres Comprised in the Many Fertile Valleys

Of His Immense Estate Were Farmed in a Primitive, Feudal Sort Of Way,

By Native Mexicans Principally, Under The System Of Peonage Then

Existing In the Territory.  He Employed about Five Hundred men, And

They Were As Much His Thralls As Were Gurth And Wamba Of Cedric Of

Rotherwood, Only They Wore No Engraved collars Around Their Necks

Bearing Their Names And That Of Their Master.  Maxwell Was Not A

Hard Governor, And His People Really Loved him, As He Was Ever Their

Friend And Adviser.

 

 

 

His House Was A Palace When Compared with The Prevailing Style Of

Architecture In that Country, And Cost An Immense Sum Of Money.

It Was Large And Roomy, Purely American In its Construction, But The

Manner Of Conducting It Was Strictly Mexican, Varying Between The

Customs Of The Higher And Lower Classes Of That Curious People.

 

 

 

Some Of Its Apartments Were Elaborately Furnished, Others Devoid Of

Everything Except A Table For Card-Playing and A Game'S Complement

Of Chairs.  The Principal Room, An Extended rectangular Affair,

Which Might Properly Have Been Termed the Baronial Hall, Was Almost

Bare Except For A Few Chairs, A Couple Of Tables, And An Antiquated

Bureau.  There Maxwell Received his Friends, Transacted business

With His Vassals, And Held High Carnival At Times.

 

 

 

I Have Slept On Its Hardwood Floor, Rolled up In my Blanket, With

The Mighty Men Of The Ute Nation Lying Heads And Points All Around Me,

As Close As They Could Possibly Crowd, After A Day'S Fatiguing Hunt

In The Mountains.  I Have Sat There In the Long Winter Evenings,

When The Great Room Was Lighted only By The Cheerful Blaze Of The

Crackling Logs Roaring Up The Huge Throats Of Its Two Fireplaces

Built Diagonally Across Opposite Corners, Watching Maxwell, Kit Carson,

And Half A Dozen Chiefs Silently Interchange Ideas In the Wonderful

Sign Language, Until The Glimmer Of Aurora Announced the Advent Of

Another Day.  But Not A Sound Had Been Uttered during The Protracted

Hours, Save An Occasional Grunt Of Satisfaction On The Part Of The

Indians, Or When We White Men Exchanged a Sentence.

 

 

 

Frequently Maxwell And Carson Would Play The Game Of Seven-Up For

Hours At A Time, Seated at One Of The Tables.  Kit Was Usually The

Victor, For He Was The Greatest Expert In that Old And Popular

Pastime I Have Ever Met.  Maxwell Was An Inveterate Gambler, But

Not By Any Means In a Professional Sense; He Indulged in the Hazard

Of The Cards Simply For The Amusement It Afforded him In his Rough

Life Of Ease, And He Could Very Well Afford The Losses Which The

Pleasure Sometimes Entailed.  His Special Penchant, However, Was

Betting On A Horse Race, And His Own Stud Comprised some Of The

Fleetest Animals In the Territory.  Had He Lived in england He Might

Have Ruled the Turf, But Many Jobs Were Put Up On Him By Unscrupulous

Jockeys, By Which He Was Outrageously Defrauded of Immense Sums.

 

 

 

He Was Fond Of Cards, As I Have Said, Both Of The Purely American

Game Of Poker, And Also Of Old Sledge, But Rarely Played except With

Personal Friends, And Never Without Stakes.  He Always Exacted the

Last Cent He Had Won, Though The Next Morning, Perhaps, He Would

Present Or Loan His Unsuccessful Opponent Of The Night Before Five

Hundred or A Thousand Dollars, If He Needed it; An Immensely Greater

Sum, In all Probability, Than Had Been Gained in the Game.

 

 

 

The Kitchen And Dining-Rooms Of His Princely Establishment Were

Detached from The Main Residence.  There Was One Of The Latter For

The Male Portion Of His Retinue And Guests Of That Sex, And Another

For The Female, As, In accordance With The Severe, And To Us Strange,

Mexican Etiquette, Men Rarely Saw A Woman About The Premises, Though

There Were Many.  Only The Quick Rustle Of A Skirt, Or A Hurried view

Of A Reboso, As Its Wearer Flashed for An Instant Before Some Window

Or Half-Open