254

FAMILIES OF WHITE INDIANS.

[1859. Some silver mining is done, but the general feeling is expressed by the Mexican proverb that only three classes of men work silver mines those who have other people's money to spend, those who have more money than they know what to do with, and, fools.

I

Mr. Howard collected his curiosities during a visit to the Zunians a branch of the Pueblo Indians among the mountains, far from any white settlers or Mexicans. Among them he found four white Indians with blue eyes and flaxen hair. Tradition asserts that a few families of the tribe have always been of this complexion. The other Zunians make these whites perform all the manual labor, refusing to associate or intermarry with them. have already related how the mixed Choctaws render pure whites ineligible to their highest offices. And I remember a Kansas Delaware half-breed, so indignant because three or four mulatto boys were admitted to the only accessible school, that he permitted his eight children to grow up in ignorance. Though some of our fantastic tricks before high heaven may make the angels weep, our prejudices against color must make them smile.

All groceries and other supplies for New Mexico were hauled from the Missouri. New York to Kansas City (railroads) fourteen hundred miles; freights one and a half cents per pound. Kansas City to Santa Fe (wagon roads) eight hundred and forty miles; ten cents per pound. Moral: the Pacific Railway.

Dancing, a passion with the ancient Aztecs and mingling in all their religious exercises, continues the staple amusement of their mixed descendants. There were three or four fandangoes in Santa Fe every night, the Mexicans always participating with wonderful zest.

There were only one or two American ladies in the Territory; though the number has since increased. Many native women were mistresses of the white residents by the consent, even the desire, of their degraded husbands. Chastity is practically unknown among them, but they possess all the other distinctive virtues of their sex. These poor creatures, utterly devoid of personal purity, willing to give or suffer any thing to obtain jewelry and silks, are uniformly tender and self sacrificing, ready to divide their last crust with the hungry, and deny themselves every comfort to nurse the sick and minister to the wretched.

1859.]

FASCINATION OF BORDER LIFE.

255

Is there some drop of Bedouin blood even in the blue veins of civilized man? In 1855, Sir George Gore an Irish nobleman with an annual income of two hundred thousand dollars, buried himself in the Rocky Mountains to spend two years in hunting, fishing and periling his scalp among the Indians. The few white residents of this Territory find strange fascination in its isolation, lawlessness and danger. Whenever I asked if they did not find it lonely, they indignantly replied that no temptation could induce them to return to their former homes. An old trader, Colonel Ceran St. Vrain, after accumulating an ample fortune, went to New York city with the determination of spending his days. But he found life there insupportable, and soon returned to New Mexico vowing he would never leave it again.

Here, as in Arizona and Idaho, the Indians are always troublesome. A year before my visit, William J. Rose, with twenty families a costly stock of goods and three hundred and fifty cattle, started for California. The Mojaves eaptured the goods stock and wagons, and killed several of the emigrants. One youth, shot from his horse, was lying half insensible with an arrow sticking in his head, when a savage approached with a bloody knife. The boy had made up his mind to die, but scalping was more than he bargained for. Terror inspired him with such new vigor that he leaped upon his horse and the faithful animal bore him out of danger. Rose lost every dollar of his property, but in this novel region however far down one sank in the deep, deep sea of pecuniary ruin, he soon rose again. Now, Rose was the flourishing landlord of the Santa Fe hotel, with an income of a thousand dollars per week.

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A STRAY PRINTER AND JOURNALIST.

[1859,

CHAPTER XXII.

I DESIGNED returning from Santa Fe by the weekly mail direct to Kansas City, eight hundred and forty miles. But the Kiowa Indians after blockading the route for a month, had captured the two last eastward coaches, stolen the stock and left thirteen passengers, including two women, killed and scalped by the roadside. The indignation of the people at the failure of Government to protect immigrants and freighters, found vent in maledictions in bastard Spanish and broken English. My own line of march was cut off. Eastward the Kansas City route might remain closed for months. I could retrace my steps south to El Paso, and return by the Butterfield Line; but with that, familiarity had bred contempt. Northward, toward Pike's Peak, were no carriage roads, but the lonely trail promised novelty and adventure.

While I was pondering upon ways and means, a 'sporting man' introduced himself as a stray New York printer and journalist, and inquired if he could serve me. I wanted to reach Taos; and as good luck would have it, he desired to send thither a pony which he had borrowed from a Taos Indian. Gladly accepting the proffer, I sold all my luggage except one blanket and a few indispensables which could be pressed into saddle bags.

At the hotel supper-table I noticed a stout middle-aged man, with straight brown hair, mild eye and kindly face. He wore a suit of gray, and looked like an Illinois farmer; but when he took off his hat the face and head indicated character. My printer-gambler friend nodded to the new-comer, and I asked: 'Who is he?'

'Kit Carson, the mountaineer.'

1859.]

A RIDE WITH KIT CARSON.

257

Carson was about returning home to Taos, and at ten the next morning we galloped away together. He was reputed the most daring and reckless of riders.

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had not mounted a horse for months and was still weak and reduced in flesh. But we flew over the rocks through canyons and across ditches until my blood tingled to the fingertips. Kit's special delight was to dash down steep hills at full gallop. This new experience made me shudder. But he was far heavier than I and his American horse nearly twice as tall as my little steed. Moreover Indian ponies rarely stumble, so the odds were largely in my favor. Our road was nearly all hills; and after three or four trials I began to enjoy it and to forget the Spanish proverb: 'A running horse is an open sepulcher.' On foot Carson looks stout and ungraceful. He avers that much riding with the short stirrups of the border has made him bow-legged; but he sits a horse splendidly and rides with rare grace and skill.

KIT CARSON.

He declares that the happiest years of his life were spent as a 'mountain trapper. Like all men in constant peril and excitements, the trappers found strange fascination in their dangerous career, though the rifles and arrows of bloodthirsty savages made it a constant race with death. They adopted the dress and habits of the Aborigines, buying one or more squaws to lighten their labors and rear their dusky race.' Kit gave me a striking illustration of the healthfulness of mountain air and out-door life:

Our ordinary fare consisted of fresh beaver and buffalo-meat, without any salt, bread, or vegetables. Once or twice a year, when supplies arrived from the States, we had flour and coffee for one or two meals, though they cost one dollar a pint. During the winter, visiting our traps twice a day, we were often compelled to break the ice, and wade in the water up to our waists. Notwithstanding these hardships sickness was absolutely unknown among us. I lived ten years in the mountains, with from one to three

258

HIS HAIR-BREADTH 'SCAPES.

[1859. hundred trappers, and I cannot remember that a single one of them died from disease.'

In that golden age of the trappers, beaver-skins commanded eight dollars a pound, and every stream and canyon was rich in game. Now, beavers and otters were almost extinct, and the few remaining trappers, like true conservatives, sighed for the 'good old times.'

With something of the modesty of true greatness Carson never spoke of his own exploits except in reply to my questions. Then he described some exciting battles, including the story of four trappers in a mountain stronghold who kept a hundred and fifty Blackfeet at bay for half a day, and finally defeated them. He said that as a boy he was daring and reckless; but now when traveling he exercised great vigilance, having seen many of his comrades killed by Indians through their own carelessness. Once he was in the Snake Indian country, with five companions. One night a party of wily Sioux, completely disguised in wolf-skins, and tapping buffalo bones together to imitate the snapping of wolves' teeth, stole into their camp so adroitly that they never suspected their visitors to be human until they rose up with a yell and began to shoot. All the whites were killed except Carson.

The flesh of a wild horse he deemed better than any other meat. A young mule furnished excellent steaks, but meat from an old, one was tough, strong-flavored, and unpalatable. The most sorrowful meal he ever took was when necessity compelled him to kill and eat a faithful horse which had borne him many hundred miles. He loved Fremont and spoke enthusiastically of the pleasant years they spent together.

Our road led over barren plains and among snow-streaked mountains; but passed some rich valley-farms, with speckled ripening corn and plump wheat.

Turning our horses out to graze, we lunched upon bread and dried buffalo meat, and smoked our mid-day cigars upon the grassy bank of a clear stream, in the Canada (pronounced 'can-yatha,') a battle-ground of the Mexican war. Here General Sterling Price, with four hundred Americans, defeated two thousand Mexi

cans.

Histories describe the charge of his soldiers up the steep