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

Snow-Capped peaks Of The "Great Divide,"

May See As He Approaches Walnut Creek, Three Miles East Of The Town

Of Great Bend In kansas, On The Beautiful Ranch Of Hon. D. Heizer,

Not Far From The Stream, And Close To The House, A Series Of Graves,

Numbering, Perhaps, A Score.  These Have Been Most Religiously

Cared for By The Patriotic Proprietor Of The Place During all The

Long Years Since 1864, As He Believes Them To Be The Last Resting-Place

Of Soldiers Who Were Once A Portion Of The Garrison Of Fort Zarah,

The Ruins Of Which (Now A Mere Hole In the Earth) Are But A Few

Hundred yards Away, On The Opposite Side Of The Railroad Track,

Plainly Visible From The Train.

 

 

 

The Walnut Debouches Into The Arkansas A Short Distance From Where

The Railroad Crosses The Creek, And At This Point, Too, The Trail

From Fort Leavenworth Merges Into The Old Santa Fe.  The Broad Pathway

Is Very Easily Recognized here; For It Runs Over A Hard, Flinty,

Low Divide, That Has Never Been Disturbed by The Plough, And The

Traveller Has Only To Cast His Eyes In a Northeasterly Direction

In Order To See It Plainly.

 

 

 

The Creek Is Fairly Well Timbered to-Day, As It Has Been Ever Since

The First Caravan Crossed the Clear Water Of The Little Stream.

It Was Always A Favourite Place Of Ambush By The Indians, And Many

A Conflict Has Occurred in the Beautiful Bottom Bounded by A Margin

Of Trees On Two Sides, Between The Traders, Trappers, Troops, And

The Indians, And Also Between The Several Tribes That Were Hereditary

Enemies, Particularly The Pawnees And The Cheyennes.  It Is Only

About Sixteen Miles East Of Pawnee Rock, And Included in that Region

Of Debatable Ground Where No Band Of Indians Dared establish A

Permanent Village; For It Was Claimed by All The Tribes, But Really

Owned by None.

 

 

 

In 1864 The Commerce Of The Great Plains Had Reached enormous

Proportions, And Immense Caravans Rolled day After Day Toward The

Blue Hills Which Guard The Portals Of New Mexico, And The Precious

Freight Constantly Tempted the Wily Savages To Plunder.

 

 

 

To Protect The Caravans On Their Monotonous Route Through The "Desert,"

As This Portion Of The Plains Was Then Termed, Troops Were Stationed,

A Mere Handful Relatively, At Intervals On The Trail, To Escort The

Freighters And Mail Coaches Over The Most Exposed and Dangerous

Portions Of The Way.

 

 

 

On The Bank Of The Walnut, At This Time, Were Stationed three Hundred

Unassigned recruits Of The Third Wisconsin Cavalry, Under The Command

Of Captain Conkey.  This Point Was Rightly Regarded as One Of The

Most Important On The Whole Overland Route; For Near It Passed the

Favourite Highway Of The Indians On Their Yearly Migrations North

And South, In the Wake Of The Strange Elliptical March Of The Buffalo

Far Beyond The Platte, And Back To The Sunny Knolls Of The Canadian.

 

 

 

This Primitive Cantonment Which Grew Rapidly In strategical Importance,

Was Two Years Later Made Quite Formidable Defensively, And Named

Fort Zarah, In memory Of The Youngest Son Of Major General Curtis,

Who Was Killed by Guerillas Somewhere South Of Fort Scott, Kansas,

While Escorting General James G. Blunt, Of Frontier Fame During

The Civil War.

 

 

 

Captain Henry Booth, During The Year Above Mentioned, Was Chief Of

Cavalry And Inspecting Officer Of The Military District Of The Upper

Arkansas, The Western Geographical Limits Of Which Extended to The

Foot-Hills Of The Mountains.

 

 

 

One Day He Received an Order From The Head-Quarters Of The Department

To Make A Special Inspection Of All The Outposts On The Santa Fe Trail.

He Was Stationed at Fort Riley At The Time, And The Evening The Order

Arrived, Active Preparations Were Immediately Commenced for His

Extended and Hazardous Trip Across The Plains.  Lieutenant Hallowell,

Of The Ninth Wisconsin Battery, Was To Accompany Him, And Both

Officers Went At Once To Their Quarters, Took Down From The Walls,

Where They Had Been Hanging Idly For Weeks, Their Rifles And Pistols,

And Carefully Examined and Brushed them Up For Possible Service In

The Dreary Arkansas Bottom.  Camp-Kettles, Until Late In the Night,

Sizzled and Sputtered over Crackling Log-Fires; For Their Proposed

Ride Beyond The Settlements Demanded cooked rations For Many A

Weary Day.  All The Preliminaries Arranged, The Question Of The Means

Of Transportation Was Determined, And, Curiously Enough, It Saved

The Lives Of The Two Officers In the Terrible Gauntlet They Were

Destined to Run.

 

 

 

Hallowell Was A Famous Whip, And Prided himself Upon The Exceptionally

Fine Turnout Which He Daily Drove Among The Picturesque Hills Around

The Fort.

 

 

 

"Booth," Said He In the Evening, "Let'S Not Take A Great Lumbering

Ambulance On This Trip; If You Will Get A Good Way-Up Team Of Mules

From The Quartermaster, We'Ll Use My Light Rig, And We'Ll Do Our

Own Driving."

 

 

 

To This Proposition Booth Readily Assented, Procured the Mules, And,

As It Turned out, They Were A "Good Way-Up Team."

 

 

 

Hallowell Had A Set Of Bows Fitted to His Light Wagon, Over Which

Was Thrown An Army-Wagon-Sheet, Drawn Up Behind With A Cord, Similar

To Those Of The Ordinary Emigrant Outfit To Be Seen Daily On The

Roads Of The Western Prairies.  A Round Hole Was Necessarily Left

In The Rear End, Serving The Purpose Of A Lookout.

 

 

 

Two Grip-Sacks, Containing Their Dress Uniforms, A Box Of Crackers

And Cheese, Meat And Sardines, Together With A Bottle Of Anti-Snake

Bite, Made Up The Principal Freight For The Long Journey, And In the

Clear Cold Of The Early Morning They Rolled out Of The Gates Of The

Fort, Escorted by Company L, Of The Eleventh Kansas, Commanded by

Lieutenant Van Antwerp.

 

 

 

The Company Of One Hundred mounted men Acting as Escort Was Too

Formidable A Number For The Indians, And Not A Sign Of One Was Seen

As The Dangerous Flats Of Plum Creek And The Rolling Country Beyond

Were Successively Passed, And Early In the Afternoon The Cantonment

On Walnut Creek Was Reached.  At This Important Outpost Captain

Conkey'S Command Was Living In a Rude But Comfortable Sort Of A Way,

In The Simplest Of Dugouts, Constructed along The Right Bank Of The

Stream; The Officers, A Little More In accordance With Military

Dignity, In tents A Few Rods In rear Of The Line Of Huts.

 

 

 

A Stockade Stable Had Been Built, With A Capacity For Two Hundred

And Fifty Horses, And Sufficient Hay Had Been Put Up By The Men In

The Fall To Carry The Animals Through The Winter.

 

 

 

Captain Conkey Was A Brusque But Kind-Hearted man, And With Him Were

Stationed other Officers, One Of Whom Was A Son Of Admiral Goldsborough.

The Morning after The Arrival Of The Inspecting Officers A Rigid

Examination Of All The Appointments And Belongings Of The Place Was

Made, And, As An Immense Amount Of Property Had Accumulated for

Condemnation, When Evening Came The Books And Papers Were Still

Untouched; So That Branch Of The Inspection Had To Be Postponed

Until The Next Morning.

 

 

 

After Dark, While Sitting around The Camp-Fire, Discussing The War,

Telling Stories, Etc., Captain Conkey Said To Booth: "Captain,

It Won'T Require More Than Half An Hour In the Morning To Inspect

The Papers And Finish Up What You Have To Do; Why Don'T You Start

Your Escort Out Very Early, So It Won'T Be Obliged to Trot After

The Ambulance, Or You To Poke Along With It?  You Can Then Move Out

Briskly And Make Time."

 

 

 

Booth, Acting Upon What He Thought At The Time An Excellent Suggestion,

In A Few Moments Went Over The Creek To Lieutenant Van Antwerp'S Camp,

To Tell Him That He Need not Wait For The Wagon In the Morning, But

To Start Out Early, At Half-Past Six, In advance.

 

 

 

According To Instructions, The Escort Marched out Of Camp At Daylight

Next Morning, While Booth And Hallowell Remained to Finish Their

Inspection.  It Was Soon Discovered, However, That Either Captain

Conkey Had Underrated the Amount Of Work To Be Done, Or Misjudged

The Inspecting Officers' Ability To Complete It In a Certain Time;

So Almost Three Hours Elapsed after The Cavalry Had Departed before

The Task Ended.

 

 

 

At Last Everything Was Closed up, Much To Hallowell'S Satisfaction,

Who Had Been Chafing Under The Vexatious Delay Ever Since The Escort

Left.  When All Was In readiness, The Little Wagon Drawn Up In front

Of The Commanding Officer'S Quarters, And Farewells Said, Hallowell

Suggested to Booth The Propriety Of Taking a Few Of The Troops

Stationed there To Go With Them Until They Overtook Their Own Escort,

Which Must Now Be Several Miles On The Trail To Fort Larned.

Booth Asked captain Conkey What He Thought Of Hallowell'S Suggestion.

Captain Conkey Replied: "Oh! There'S Not The Slightest Danger;

There Hasn'T Been An Indian Seen Around Here For Over Ten Days."

 

 

 

If Either Booth Or Hallowell Had Been As Well Acquainted with The

Methods And Character Of The Plains Indians Then As They Afterward

Became, They Would Have Insisted upon An Escort; But Both Were

Satisfied that Captain Conkey Knew What He Was Talking about,

So They Concluded to Push On.

 

 

 

Jumping Into Their Wagon, Lieutenant Hallowell Took The Reins And

Away They Went Rattling Over The Old Log Bridge That Used to Span

The Walnut At The Crossing Of The Old Santa Fe Trail, As Light Of

Heart As If Riding To A Dance.

 

 

 

The Morning Was Bright And Clear With A Stiff Breeze Blowing From

The Northwest, And The Trail Was Frozen Hard In places, Which Made

It Very Rough, As It Had Been Cut Up By The Travel Of The Heavily

Laden Caravans When It Was Wet.  Booth Sat On The Left Side Of

Hallowell With The Whip In his Hand, Now And Then Striking The Mules,

To Keep Up Their Speed.  Hallowell Started up A Tune--He Was A Good

Singer--And Booth Joined in as They Rolled along, As Oblivious Of Any

Danger As Though They Were In their Quarters At Fort Riley.

 

 

 

After They Had Proceeded some Distance, Hallowell Remarked to Booth:

"The Buffalo Are Grazing a Long Way From The Road To-Day; A Circumstance

That I Think Bodes No Good."  He Had Been On The Plains The Summer

Before, And Was Better Acquainted with The Indians And Their

Peculiarities Than Captain Booth; But The Latter Replied that He

Thought It Was Because Their Escort Had Gone On Ahead, And Had

Probably Frightened them Off.

 

 

 

The Next Mile Or Two Was Passed, And Still They Saw No Buffalo Between

The Trail And The Arkansas, Though Nothing More Was Said By Either

Regarding The Suspicious Circumstance, And They Rode Rapidly On.

 

 

 

When They Had Gone About Five Or Six Miles From The Walnut, Booth,

Happening To Glance Toward The River, Saw Something That Looked

Strangely Like A Flock Of Turkeys.  He Watched them Intently For A

Moment, When The Objects Rose Up And He Discovered they Were Horsemen.

He Grasped hallowell By The Arm, Directing His Attention To Them, And

Said, "What Are They?"  Hallowell Gave A Hasty Look Toward The Point

Indicated, And Replied, "Indians! By George!" And Immediately Turning

The Mules Around On The Trail, Started them Back Toward The Cantonment

On The Walnut At A Full Gallop.[68]

 

 

 

"Hold On!" Said Booth To Hallowell When He Understood The Latter'S

Movement; "Maybe It'S Part Of Our Escort."

 

 

 

"No! No!" Replied hallowell.  "I Know They Are Indians; I'Ve Seen

Too Many Of Them To Be Mistaken."

 

 

 

"Well," Rejoined booth, "I'M Going To Know For Certain"; So, Stepping

Out On The Foot-Board, And With One Hand Holding On To The Front Bow,

He Looked back Over The Top Of The Wagon-Sheet.  They Were Indians,

Sure Enough; They Had Fully Emerged from The Ravine In which They Had

Hidden, And While He Was Looking at Them They Were Slipping Off Their

Buffalo Robes From Their Shoulders, Taking arrows Out Of Their Quivers,

Drawing Up Their Spears, And Making Ready Generally For A Red-Hot Time.

 

 

 

While Booth Was Intently Regarding The Movements Of The Savages,

Hallowell Inquired of Him: "They'Re Indians, Aren'T They, Booth?"

 

 

 

"Yes," Was Booth'S Answer, "And They'Re Coming Down On Us Like A

Whirlwind."

 

 

 

"Then I Shall Never See Poor Lizzie Again!" Said Hallowell.  He Had

Been Married only A Few Weeks Before Starting Out On This Trip, And

His Young Wife'S Name Came To His Lips.

 

 

 

"Never Mind Lizzie," Responded booth; "Let'S Get Out Of Here!"  He Was

As Badly Frightened as Hallowell, But Had No Bride At Riley, And,

As He Tells It, "Was Selfishly Thinking Of Himself Only, And Escape."

 

 

 

In Answer To Booth'S Remark, Hallowell, In a Firm, Clear Voice, Said:

"All Right!  You Do The Shooting, And I'Ll Do The Driving," And

Suiting The Action To The Words, He Snatched the Whip Out Of Booth'S

Hand, Slipped from The Seat To The Front Of The Wagon, And Commenced

Lashing The Mules Furiously.

 

 

 

Booth Then Crawled back, Pulled out One Of His Revolvers, Crept, Or

Rather Fell, Over The "Lazy-Back" Of The Seat, And Reaching The Hole

Made By Puckering The Wagon-Sheet, Looked out Of It, And Counted

The Indians; Thirty-Four Feather-Bedecked, Paint-Bedaubed savages,

As Vicious A Set