As He Fell He Caught One By The Long Loose Hair And
Dragging Him Down Tomahawked Him; Then Grasping Another By The Belt
At His Waist, He Struck Him Also A Stunning Blow, And Gaining His
Feet, Shouted The Crow War-Cry.
He swung his hatchet so fiercely
around him that the astonished Blackfeet bore back and gave him room.
He might, had he chosen, have leaped over the breastwork and escaped;
but this was not necessary, for with devilish yells the Crow warriors
came dropping in quick succession over the rock among their enemies.
The main body of the Crows, too, answered the cry from the front and
rushed up simultaneously. The convulsive struggle within the
breastwork was frightful; for an instant the Blackfeet fought and
yelled like pent-up tigers; but the butchery was soon complete, and
the mangled bodies lay piled up together under the precipice. Not a
Blackfoot made his escape.
As Paul finished his story we came in sight of Richard's Fort. It
stood in the middle of the plain; a disorderly crowd of men around
it, and an emigrant camp a little in front.
"Now, Paul," said I, "where are your Winnicongew lodges?"
"Not come yet," said Paul, "maybe come to-morrow."
Two large villages of a band of Dakota had come three hundred miles
from the Missouri, to join in the war, and they were expected to
reach Richard's that morning. There was as yet no sign of their
approach; so pushing through a noisy, drunken crowd, I entered an
apartment of logs and mud, the largest in the fort; it was full of
men of various races and complexions, all more or less drunk. A
company of California emigrants, it seemed, had made the discovery at
this late day that they had encumbered themselves with too many
supplies for their journey. A part, therefore, they had thrown away
or sold at great loss to the traders, but had determined to get rid
of their copious stock of Missouri whisky, by drinking it on the
spot. Here were maudlin squaws stretched on piles of buffalo robes;
squalid Mexicans, armed with bows and arrows; Indians sedately drunk;
long-haired Canadians and trappers, and American backwoodsmen in
brown homespun, the well-beloved pistol and bowie knife displayed
openly at their sides. In the middle of the room a tall, lank man,
with a dingy broadcloth coat, was haranguing the company in the style
of the stump orator. With one hand he sawed the air, and with the
other clutched firmly a brown jug of whisky, which he applied every
moment to his lips, forgetting that he had drained the contents long
ago. Richard formally introduced me to this personage, who was no
less a man than Colonel R., once the leader of the party. Instantly
the colonel seizing me, in the absence of buttons by the leather
fringes of my frock, began to define his position. His men, he said,
had mutinied and deposed him; but still he exercised over them the
influence of a superior mind; in all but the name he was yet their
chief.
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