The Story of the Trapper. Viišjohn Colter, the Free Trapper
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THE STORY OF THE TRAPPER VII.—JOHN COLTER, THE FREE TRAPPER By A. C. LAUT 1. ARLY one morning two white man suffered heavy loss owing to Colter’s prowess. slipped out of their sequestered cabin That made the Blackfeet sworn enemies to E built in hiding of the hills at the head- Colter. waters of the Missouri. Under covert of Turning off the Jefferson, the trappers brushwood lay a long, odd-shaped canoe, headed their canoe up a side stream, prob- sharp enough at the prow to cleave the nar- ably one of those marshy reaches where bea- rowest waters between rocks, so sharp that vers have formed a swamp by damming up French voyageurs gave this queer craft the the current of a sluggish stream. Such quiet name—“canot à bec d’esturgeon,” that is, a waters are favorite resorts for beaver and canoe like the nose of a sturgeon. This Amer- mink and marten and pekan. Setting their ican adaptation of the Frenchman’s craft traps only after nightfall, the two men could was not a birch bark. That would be too not possibly have put out more than forty frail to essay the rock-ribbed cañons of the or fifty. Thirty traps are a heavy day’s work mountain streams. It was usually a common for one man. Six prizes out of thirty are dug-out, hollowed from a cottonwood, or considered a wonderful run of luck; but the other light timber, with such an angular nar- empty traps must be examined as carefully row prow it could take the sheerest dip as the successful ones. Many that have been and mount the steepest wave-crest where a mauled, scented by a beaver scout, and rounder boat would fill and swamp. Drag- left, must he replaced. Others must have ging this from cover, the two white men fresh bait; others again must be carried to pushed out on the Jefferson Fork, dipping better grounds where there are more game now on this side, now on that, using the signs. reversible double-bladed paddles which only Either this was a very lucky morning and an amphibious boatman can manage. The the men were detained taking fresh pelts, two men shot out in mid-stream, whom the or it was a very unlucky one and they had mists would hide them from each shore—a decided to trap farther up stream; for when moment later the white fog had enfolded the mists began to rise the hunters were still them, and there was no trace of human pres- in their canoe. Leaving the beaver meadow, ence but the trail of dimpling ripples in the they continued paddling up stream away wake of the canoe. from the Jefferson. A more hidden water- No talking, no whistling, not a sound to course they could hardly have found. The betray them! And there were good rea- swampy beaver-runs narrowed; the shores sons why these men did not wish their pres- rose higher and higher into rampart walls; ence known. One was Potts, the other, John and the dark-shadowed waters came leap- Colter; both had been with the Lewis and ing down in the lumpy, uneven runnels of a Clark exploring party of 1804-5, when a small cañon. You can always tell whether Blackfoot brave had been slain for horse- the waters of a cañon are compressed or thieving by the first white men to cross the not, whether they come from broad, swampy upper Missouri. Besides, the year before meadows or clear snow streams smaller than coming to the Jefferson, Colter had been the cañon. The marsh waters roll down with the Missouri company’s fur brigade swift and black and turbid, raging against under Manuel Lisa, and had gone to the the crowding walls; the snow streams leap Crows as an emissary from the fur company, clear and foaming as champagne, and are in While with the Crows a battle had taken too great a hurry to stop and quarrel with place against the Blackfeet in which they the rocks. It is altogether likely that these “The Blackfeet searched the island for Colter, running from log to log of the drift.” 360 The Story of the Trapper men recognized swampy water and were as- have more effective arguments. A bow- cending the cañon in search of a fresh bea- string twanged; and Potts screamed out— ver-marsh, or they would not have continued “Colter! I am wounded!” paddling six miles above the Jefferson with Again Colter urged him to land. The daylight growing plainer at every mile. wound turned Pott’s momentary fright to a The men paused. What was that noise? paroxysm of rage. Aiming his rifle, he shot “Like buffalo” said Potts. his Indian assailant dead. If it was torture “Might be Blackfeet,” answered Colter. that he feared, that act assured him at least No; what would Blackfeet be doing, rid- a quick death; for, in Colter’s language, man ing at a pace to make that thunder so close and boat were instantaneously “made a rid- to a cañon? It was only a buffalo herd dle of.” stampeding on the annual southern run. No man admires courage more than the Again Colter urged that the noise might be Indian; and the Blackfeet recognized in their from Indians. It would be safer for them to captive one who had been ready to defend retreat at once. At which Potts wanted to his comrade against them all, and who had know if Colter were afraid. led the Crows to victory against their own Afraid? Coltor afraid? Colter who had band a few years before. remained behind Lewis and Clark’s men to The prisoner surrendered his weapons. He trap alone in the wilds for nearly two years, was stripped naked, but neither showed sign who had left Manuel Lisa’s brigade to go of fear nor made a move to escape. Evi- alone among the thieving Crows, whose lead- dently the Blackfeet could have rare sport ership had helped the Crows to defeat the with this game white man. His life in the Blackfeet? Indian country had taught him a few words Anyway, it would now be as dangerous to of the Blackfoot language. He heard them go back as forward. They plainly couldn’t conferring as to how he should be tortured land here. Let them go ahead where the to atone for all the Blackfeet had suffered walls seemed to slope down to the shore. at white men’s hands. One warrior suggested Two or three strokes sent the canoe round that the hunter be set up as a target and an elbow of rock into the narrow course shot at—then see whether he would be so of a creek. Instantly, out sprang five brave! or six hundred Blackfeet warriors with But the chief shook his head. That was weapons leveled, guardiug both sides of the not game enough sport for Blackfeet braves. stream. That would be letting a man die passively. An Indian scout had discovered the trail And how this man could fight if he had a of the white men and sent the whole band chance! How he could resist torture if he scouring ahead to intercept them at this nar- had any chance of escaping the torture! row pass. The chief stepped forward and But Colter stood impassive, and listened. with signals that were a command beckoned Doubtless he regretted having left the well- the hunters ashore. defended brigades of the fur companies to As is nearly always the case, the rash man hunt thus alone in the wilderness. But the was the one to lose his head—the cautious fascination of the wild life is as a gambler’s man the one to keep his presence of mind. vice—the more a man has, the more he Potts was for an attempt at flight, when every wants. Had not Colter crossed the Rockies bow on both sides of the river would have with Lewis and Clark and spent two years let go a shot. Colter was for accepting the in the mountain fastnesses? Yet when he situation, trusting to his own wit for subse- reached the Mandans, on the way home, he quent escape. could not bear to go on to civilization but Colter, who was acting as steersman, sent asked permission to return to the wilderness, the canoe ashore. Bottom had not grated where he spent two more years. Had he before a savage snatched Pott’s rifle from not set out for St. Louis a second time, met his hands. Springing ashore, Colter forcibly Lisa coming up the Missouri with a brigade wrested the weapon back and coolly handed of hunters, and for the third time turned his it to Potts. face to the wilderness? Had he not wandered But Potts had lost all his rash courage of with the Crows, fought the Blackfeet, gone a moment before, and with one push sent down to St. Louis, and been impelled by that the canoe into mid-stream. Colter shouted strange impulse of adventure which was to at him to come back—come back! Indians the hunter what the instinct of migration is The Story of the Trapper 361 to bird and fish and buffalo and all wild with their young. Famine had taught them things—to go yet again to the wilderness? the punishment that follows reckless hunt- ing. But the free trappers were here to-day 11. and away to-morrow, like a Chinaman, to The free trappers formed a class by them- take all they could get regardless of results; selves.