Harry Castlemon - Frank on the Prairie

“Wal, as I war sayin’, I made tracks sudden; but they warn’t long in diskiverin’ me, an’ they sot up a yell. I’ve heered that same yell often, an’ I have kinder got used to it; but I would have give my hoss, an’ this rifle, too, that I have carried for goin’ nigh onto twenty year, if I had been safe in Fort Laramie, ’cause I didn’t think them four Injuns war alone. I war sartin they had friends not a great way off, an’ somehow I a’most knowed how the hul thing was comin’ out. I didn’t hardly know which way to go to find our fellers, ’cause while we were arter the buffaler we had got scattered a good deal; but jest as I come to the top of a swell I seed ’em a comin’. Jack Thomas war ahead, an’ he war swingin’ his rifle an yellin’ wusser nor any Injun. I’ll allow, Dick, that it made me feel a heap easier when I seed them trappers. Jack, who allers knowed what war goin’ on in the country fur five miles round, had first diskivered the Injuns, an’ had got all the party together ’cept me, an’ in course they couldn’t think of savin’ their own venison by runnin’ off and leavin’ me.

“Wal, jest as soon as we got together we sot up a yell and faced ’bout. The Injuns, up to this time, had rid clost together; but when they seed that we warn’t goin’ to run no further jest then, they scattered as if they war goin’ to surround us; an’ then we all knowed that them four Injuns warn’t alone. So, without stoppin’ to fight ’em, we turned an’ run ag’in, makin’ tracks for the woods at the foot of the mountains. An’ we warn’t a minit too soon, fur all of a sudden we heered a yell, an’ lookin’ back we seed ’bout fifty more red-skins comin’ arter us like mad. They had a’most got us surrounded; but the way to the mountains war open, an’ we run fur our lives. The varlets that had followed me war in good pluggin’ distance, an’ when we turned in our saddles an’ drawed a bead on ’em, we had four less to deal with. It warn’t more ’n ten mile to the foot of them mountains, but it seemed a hundred to us, an’ we all drawed a long breath when we found ourselves under kiver of the woods. The minit we reached the timber we jumped off our hosses, hitched them to the trees, an’ made up our minds to fight it out thar an’ then. We knowed, as well as we wanted to know, what the Injuns would do next – they would leave a party on the prairy to watch us, an’ the rest would go sneakin’ round through the woods an’ pick us off one at a time. The only thing we could do – leastwise till it come dark – war to watch the varlets, an’ drop every one of ’em that showed his painted face in pluggin’ distance. We war in a tight place. Our pack mules, an’ a’most all our kit, had been left in the camp, an’ we knowed it wouldn’t be long afore the Injuns would have ’em, an’ even if we got off with our bar, we wouldn’t be much better off – no traps, no grub, an’ skeercely half a dozen bullets in our pouches.

“Wal, the Injuns, when they seed that we had tuk to the timber, stopped, takin’ mighty good keer, as they thought, to keep out of range of our rifles, an’ began to hold a palaver, now an’ then lookin’ t’wards us an’ settin’ up a yell, which told us plain enough that they thought they had us ketched. But we, knowin’ to an inch how fur our shootin’ irons would carry, drawed up an’ blazed away; an’ we knowed, by the way them red-skins got back over that swell, that we hadn’t throwed our lead away. They left one feller thar to watch us, howsomever, but he tuk mighty good keer to keep purty well out of sight, showin’ only ’bout two inches of his head ’bove the top of the hill. While the Injuns war holdin’ their council, we had a talk ’bout what we had better do. The truth war, thar war only one thing we could do, an’ that war to stay thar until dark an’ then take our chances. We had all fit savage Injuns enough to know that they wouldn’t bother us much so long as daylight lasted; but arter that, if we didn’t get away from thar, our lives war not worth a charge of powder. We soon made up our minds what we would do. We divided ourselves into two parties – four of us watchin’ the prairy, an’ the others keepin’ an eye on the woods, to see that the varlets didn’t slip up behind us.

“Wal, we didn’t see nothin’ out of the way all that day. Thar war that feller peepin’ over the hill, an’ that war the only thing in the shape of a red-skin we could see; an’ we didn’t hear nothin’ neither, fur whatever they done, they didn’t make noise enough to skeer a painter. At last it come night, an’ it war ’bout the darkest night I ever see – no moon, no stars – an’ then we began to prick up our ears. We all knowed that the time had come. You can easy tell what we war passin’ through our minds. Thar warn’t no sich thing as a coward among us eight fellers, but men in sich a scrape as that can’t help thinkin’, an’ I knowed that every one thar drawed a long breath when he thought of what he had got to do. I tell you, Dick, it war something none of us liked to do – leave one another in that way – men that you have hunted, an’ trapped, an’ fought Injuns with, an’ mebbe slept under the same blanket with, an’ who have stuck to you through thick an’ thin – sich fellers, I say, you don’t like to desart when they’re in danger. But what else could we do? We war a’most out of powder an’ lead, an’ the Injuns war more’n six to our one. You have been in sich scrapes, an’ in course know that thar warn’t but one way open to us.

“Wal, as I was sayin’, as soon as it come fairly dark, the boys gathered ’round me, an’ waited to hear what I war goin’ to do. In course, I couldn’t advise ’em, ’cause it war every feller look out fur himself, an’ the best men war them as was lucky enough to get away. So I said:

“‘I’m goin’ to start now, boys. It’s high time we war movin’, cause if we stay here half an hour longer, we’ll have them red-skins down on us in a lump. Thar’s somethin’ goin’ on, sartin. They don’t keep so still fur nothin’.’

“Wal, we whispered the matter over, an’ finally settled it. The oldest man war to go fust; the next oldest, second; an’ so on; an’ that them as got away should draw a bee-line fur Fort Laramie, an’ get thar to onct, so that we might know who got off an’ who didn’t. We didn’t think we should all get away. Some war sartin to go under; an’, Dick, we didn’t forget to promise each other that those of us that lived would never let a red Injun cross our trail. When every thing was settled, I, bein’ the oldest man in the comp’ny, began to get ready fur the start. I put fresh primin’ in my rifle; seed that my knife and tomahawk war all right; then, arter shakin’ hands with all the boys, an’ wishin’ ’em good luck, I crawled away on my hands an’ knees. I didn’t go back into the woods, but tuk to the edge of the prairy, an’ found the way cl’ar. Not an Injun did I hear. As fur seein’, you couldn’t a told your mother, if she warn’t two foot from you; an’ in ’bout half an hour I found myself on the banks of a leetle creek. How long I lay thar, an’ how much of that water I drunk, I don’t know; but I thought water never tasted so good afore. Then I walked into the creek, an’ had waded in it fur ’bout half a mile, when all to onct I heered a yellin’ an’ whoopin’, followed by the crack of rifles, an’ then I knowed that I hadn’t been fooled consarnin’ what the red-skins meant to do. They had got what war left of our fellers surrounded, an’ made the rush. Fur a minit I stood thar in the water an’ listened. I heered a few shots made by our poor fellers, ’cause I can tell the crack of a Missouri rifle as fur as I can hear it; an’ then one long, loud yell, told me that it war all over.