CHAPTER I
VIRGINIA CITY
One fine morning in the fall of '64 Alder Gulch rolled up its shirtsleeves and fell to the upheaving, sluicing, drifting, and cradling ofthe gravel. It did not feel exactly like old-fashioned everyday work tothe muddy, case-hardened diggers. Each man knew that by evening he wouldsee the level of dust rise higher in his long buckskin gold-bags. Allthis made for the day when he could retire to the green East and marrysome beautiful girl--thereafter having nothing to do but eat pie andsmoke fragrant cigars in a basking sunshine of no-work. Pie up atKustar's bake-shop was now one dollar a pie, and a pipe full of molassesand slivers was the best to be had in the market. Life was hard at Alderin those days--it was practical; and when its denizens becamesentimental, it took these unlovely forms, sad to relate.
Notwithstanding the hundreds who toiled in the gulches, Virginia Cityitself held hurrying crowds,--Mormon freighters, pack trains, ponies,dirty men off the trails, wan pilgrims, Indians, Chinese, and almosteverything else not angelic.
Into this bustle rode Rocky Dan, who, after dealing faro all night atthe "Happy Days" shebang, had gone for a horseback ride through thehills to brighten his eyes and loosen his nerves. Reining up before thisplace, he tied his pony where a horse-boy from the livery corral couldfind it. Striding into that unhallowed hall of Sheol, he sang out, "Say,fellers, I've just seen a thing out in the hills which near knocked meoff'en my horse. You couldn't guess what it was nohow. I don't believehalf what I see and nothin' what I read, but it's out thar in the hills,and you can go throw your eyes over it yourselves."
"What? a new thing, Dan? No! No! Dan, you wouldn't come here withanything good and blurt it out," said the rude patrons of the "HappyDays" mahogany, vulturing about Rocky Dan, keen for anything new in theway of gravel.
"I gamble it wa'n't a murder--that wouldn't knock you off'en your horse,jus' to see one--hey, Dan?" ventured another.
"No, no," vouched Dan, laboring under an excitement ill becoming afaro-dealer. Recovering himself, he told the bartender to 'perform hisfunction.' The "valley tan" having been disposed of, Dan added:--
"It was a boy!"
"Boy--boy--a boy?" sighed the crowd, setting back their 'empties.' "Aboy ain't exactly new, Dan," added one.
"No, that's so," he continued, in his unprofessional perplexity, "butthis was a white boy."
"Well, that don't make him any newer," vociferated the crowd.
"No, d---- it, but this was a white boy out in that Crow Injun camp,with yeller hair braided down the sides of his head, all the same Injun,and he had a bow and arrer, all the same Injun; and I said, 'Hello,little feller,' and he pulled his little bow on me, all the same Injun.D---- the little cuss, he was about to let go on me. I was too near themInjuns, anyhow, but I was on the best quarter horse in the country, asyou know, and willin' to take my chance. Boys, he was white as SandyMcCalmont there, only he didn't have so many freckles." The companyregarded the designated one, who promptly blushed, and they gathered theidea that the boy was a decided blonde.
"Well, what do you make of it, anyhow, Dan?"
"What do I make of it? Why, I make of it that them Injuns has liftedthat kid from some outfit, and that we ought to go out and bring him in.He don't belong there, nohow, and that's sure."
"That's so," sang the crowd as it surged into the street; "let's saddleup and go and get him. Saddle up! saddle up!"
The story blew down the gulch on the seven winds. It appealed to thesympathies of all white men, and with double force to their hatred ofthe Indians. There was no man at Alder Gulch, even the owners ofsquaws,--and they were many,--who had not been given cause for thisresentment. Business was suspended. Wagoners cut out and mountedteam-horses; desperadoes, hardened roughs, trooped in with honestmerchants and hardy miners as the strung-out cavalcade poured up theroad to the plateau, where the band of Crows had pitched their tepees.
"Klat-a-way! Klat-a-way!" shouted the men as they whipped and spurred upthe steeps. The road narrowed near the top, and here the surginghorsemen were stopped by a few men who stood in the middle waving andhowling "Halt!" The crowd had no definite scheme of procedure at anytime,--it was simply impelled forward by the ancient war-shout of _Arescue! A rescue!_ The blood of the mob had mounted high, but it drewrestive rein before a big man who had forced his pony up on the steephillside and was speaking in a loud, measured, and authoritative voice.
The riders felt the desire for council; the ancient spirit of thewitenagemote came over them. The American town meeting, bred in theirbones and burned into their brains, made them listen to the bigtemporary chairman with the yellow lion's mane blowing about his head inthe breeze. His horse did not want to stand still on the periloushillside, but he held him there and opened.
THE CHAIRMAN.]
"Gentlemen, if this yar outfit goes a-chargin' into that bunch ofInjuns, them Injuns aforesaid is sure goin' to shoot at us, and we arenaturally goin' to shoot back at them. Then, gentlemen, there will be afight, they will get a bunch of us, and we will wipe them out. Now, ouresteemed friend yer, Mr. Chick-chick, savvies Injuns, as you know, hebein' somewhat their way hisself--allows that they will chill that poorlittle boy with a knife the first rattle out of the box. So, gentlemen,what good does it all do? Now, gentlemen, I allows if you all will keepdown yer under the hill and back our play, Chick-chick and me will gointo that camp and get the boy alive. If these Injuns rub us out, it'syour move. All what agrees to this motion will signify it by gettin'down off'en their horses."
Slowly man after man swung to the ground. Some did not so readily agree,but they were finally argued off their horses. Whereat the big chairmansang out: "The ayes have it. Come on, Mr. Chick-chick."
These two rode up the hill and over the mesa, trotting along as theytalked. "Now, Chick-chick, I don't know a heap about Injuns. The mostthat I have seen of them was over the sights of a rifle. How are wegoin' at this? Do you _habla_ Crow lingo, Senor?"
"No," replied that much mixed-blooded man, "I no _cumtux_ Crow, but Imake the hand talk, and I can clean up a _ten-ass Chinook_; all you dois to do nothing,--you no shake hands, you say nothing, until we smokethe pipe, then you say 'How?' and shake hands all same white man. Youhang on to your gun--suppose they try take it away--well, den,_icta-nica-ticki_, you shoot! Then we are dead." Having laid his plan ofcampaign before his brother in arms, no more was said. History does notrelate what was thought about it.
They arrived in due course among the tepees of a small band of Crows.There were not probably a hundred warriors present, but they were allarmed, horsed, and under considerable excitement. These Crows were atwar with all the other tribes of the northern plains, but maintained atruce with the white man. They had very naturally been warned of theunusual storm of horsemen bearing in their direction, and wereapprehensive concerning it. They scowled at the chairman and Mr.Chick-chick, who was an Oregon product, as they drew up. The latterbegan his hand-language, which was answered at great length. He did notat once calm the situation, but was finally invited to smoke in thecouncil lodge. The squaws were pulling down the tepees; roping,bundling, screaming, hustling ponies, children, and dogs about,unsettling the statesmen's nerves mightily as they passed the pipe. Thebig chairman began to fancy the Indians he had seen through the sightsmore than these he was regarding over the pipe of peace. Chick-chickgesticulated the proposition that the white papoose be brought into thetent, where he could be seen.
The Indians demurred, saying there was no white boy--that all in thecamp were Crows. A young warrior from outside broke into their presence,talking in a loud tone. An old chief looked out through theentrance-flap, across the yellow plains. Turning, he inquired what thewhite horsemen were doing outside.
He was told that they wanted the white boy; that the two white chiefsamong them would take the boy and go in peace, or that the others wouldcome and take him in war. Also, Chick-chick intimated that he must_klat-a-way_. The Indians made it plain that he was not going to_klat-a-way_; but looking abroad,
they became more alarmed and excitedby the cordon of whites about them.
"When the sun is so high," spoke Chick-chick, pointing, and using thesign language, "if we do not go forth with the boy, the white men willcharge and kill all the Crows. One white boy is not worth that much."
After more excitement and talk, a youngish woman came, bearing a childin her arms, which was bawling and tear-stained,--she vociferatingwildly the time. Taking the unmusical youngster by the arm, the oldchief stood him before Chick-chick. The boy was near nine years of age,the men judged, white beyond question, with long, golden hair braided,Indian fashion, down the sides of his head. He was neatly clothed indressed buckskins, fringed and beaded, and not naked or half naked, asmost Indian boys are in warm weather. It was not possible to tell whathis face looked like in repose, for it was kneaded into grotesque lumpsby his cries and wailing.
"He is a Crow; his skin is white, but his heart is Absaroke. It makes usbleed to see him go; our women will mourn all this snow for him, but tosave my band I give him to you. Take him. He is yours."
Chick-chick lifted the child in his arms, where the small cause of allthe turmoil struggled and pulled hair until he was forced to hold himout at arm's length. Mounting, they withdrew toward their friends. Thecouncil tepee fell in the dirt--a dozen squaws tugging at its voluminousfolds. The small hostage was not many yards on his way toward his ownkind before the Indian camp moved off toward the mountains, urging theirhorses with whip and lance. This movement was accelerated by a greatdischarging of white men's guns, who were supposed to be sacrificing thelittle white Crow to some unknown passions; whereas, they were merelycelebrating the advent of the white child unharmed. He was indeedunharmed as to body, but his feelings had been torn to shreds. He addedhis small, shrill protesting yells to the general rejoicing.
Chick-chick, or Chickens, as the miners often called him, had notentered the expedition because of his love for children, or the color ofthis one in particular; so, at the suggestion of the chairman, it wasturned over to a benevolent saloon-keeper, who had nine notches in hisgun, and a woman with whom he abided. "Gold Nugget," as he was promptlynamed by the diggers and freighters, was supposed to need a woman, as itwas adjudged that only such a one could induce him to turn off the hotwater and cease his yells.
The cavalcade reached town, to find multitudes of dirt-begrimed menthronging the streets waiting for what sensation there was left in theaffair. The infant had been overcome by his exertions and was silent.They sat him on the bar of his godfather's saloon, while the menshouldered their brawny way through the crowd to have a look at him--thelost white child in the Indian dress. Many drinks and pistol shots wereoffered up in his honor, and he having recovered somewhat, resumed hisvocal protests. These plaints having silenced the crowd, it wassuggested by one man who was able to restrain his enthusiasm, that thekid ought to be turned over to some woman before he roared his head off.
Acting on this suggestion, the saloon-keeper's female friend was givencharge. Taking him to her little house back of the saloon, the childfound milk and bread and feminine caresses to calm him until he slept.It was publicly proclaimed by the nine-notch saloon-keeper that thefirst man who passed the door of the kid's domicile would be number tento his gun. This pronunciamiento insured much needed repose to GoldNugget during the night.
In the morning he was partially recovered from fears and tears. Thewomen patted his face, fed him to bursting, fingered the beautifulplaits of his yellow hair, and otherwise showed that they had notsurrendered all their feminine sensibilities to their tumultuous lives.They spoke to him in pleading voices, and he gurgled up his words ofreply in the unknown tongue. The saloon-keeper's theory that it would bea good thing to set him up on the bar some more in order to keep trade,was voted both inhuman and impracticable by the women. Later in the daya young man managed to get on the youngster's blind side, when byblandishments he beguiled him on to his pony in front of him. Thus herode slowly through the streets, to the delight of the people, whoresponded to Gold Nugget's progress by volley and yell. This againfrightened him, and he clung desperately to his new friend, who bywaving his arm stilled the tempest of Virginia City's welcome, whereatthe young man shouted, "Say--do you think this kid is runnin' forsheriff?"
The Gulch voted the newcomer the greatest thing that ever happened; tookhim into partnership, speculated on his previous career, and drank hishealth. Above all they drank his health. Unitedly they drank to hisweird past,--his interesting present, and to his future life andhappiness, far into the night. It was good for business, said thesaloon-keepers one to another.
On one of the same mountain winds which had heralded his coming wasborne down the Gulch next morning the tragic words, "The kid has gone!"
"Gone?" said the miners; "gone whar?"
Alder promptly dropped its pick, buckled on its artillery, and assembledbefore the nine-notch man. "Where has the kid gone?" it demanded.
His woman stood beside the bar, wild-eyed and dishevelled. "I don'tknow, gentlemen--I don't have an idea. He was playing by the door of myshack last evening. I went in the house for a minute, and when I cameout he was gone. I yelled, and men came, but we could not find him hideor hair."
"If any man has got that kid away from me,--mind you this now,--he willsee me through the smoke," spoke nine-notch, as he rolled his eyemalevolently for a possible reply.
Long search and inquiry failed to clear matters. The tracks around thehouse shed no new light. The men wound their way to their cabins up anddown the Gulch, only answering inquiries by, "The kid is gone."
John Ermine of the Yellowstone Page 5