Great American Adventure Stories

by Tom McCarthy

  Here, again, they were visited by multitudes of people of all sorts and conditions and received many attentions, pleasant and unpleasant, as the reward of bad notoriety. Here also they were menaced with a threatened lynching, this time a dead-in-earnest affair prevented only by the vigilance and determination of the officers of the law, aided by the citizens of Faribault. So strongly was the jail guarded and so strict was the discipline maintained in its defense that, when a member of the city police one night approached the guard, making some motion that was deemed suspicious and imprudently neglecting to respond to the challenge of the guard, he was fired upon and killed.

  The 9th of November, just nine weeks after the attack upon the Northfield bank, was another fateful Thursday in the robber calendar. On that day they were arraigned for trial before the Rice County District Court at Faribault, Judge Samuel Lord presiding and G. N. Baxter, Esq., being the prosecuting officer. On the previous day, the sister and the aunt of the three prisoners had arrived to attend them during the ordeal. The refinement and respectability of these ladies served to emphasize yet more strongly the social standing from which the men had fallen and the needlessness of the disgrace which they had brought upon themselves and their friends.

  The arraignment presented one of the most dramatic scenes in connection with the crime. The prisoners, in expectation of the summons, had prepared themselves to make the best possible appearance in public. The three were shackled together, Cole in the middle, with Bob on the right and Jim on the left. The sheriff, chief of police, and his lieutenant walked by their side, an armed guard marched before them and another behind them. The robbers somewhat distrusted the temper of the crowd that filled the streets, and there were some mutterings of a threatening nature but no overt acts of hostility. At the courthouse the guard opened to the right and left to admit the sheriff and his prisoners and prevent the entrance of improper persons.

  Four indictments had been found against the prisoners by the grand jury. The first charged them with being accessory to the murder of Heywood; the second with attacking Bunker with intent to do great bodily harm; the third with robbing the First National Bank of Northfield. The fourth charged Cole Younger as principal and his brothers as accessories with the murder of Nicholas Gustavson, the Swede whom the robbers shot for remaining on the street when ordered to leave. These indictments having been read, the prisoners were, at the request of their counsel, allowed two days to decide how they would plead. It was a question of peculiar difficulty. On the one hand, to plead guilty was to renounce all hope of eluding justice through the loopholes of legal technicality. On the other hand, to plead not guilty was to ensure the severest penalty in case of conviction. For the laws of Minnesota were then such that if a murderer pleaded guilty, capital punishment could not be inflicted upon him. This law, designed to prevent long and needless trials in a certain class of case, afforded these criminals an advantage which the public bitterly begrudged them but of which, in view of the practical certainty of conviction, they decided to avail themselves.

  Accordingly, being again arraigned in court on the following Saturday, they pleaded guilty to all the indictments. Whereupon Judge Lord pronounced upon them the severest penalty then allowed by the law—imprisonment for life.

  A few days later, Sheriff Barton, with the aid of a strong guard, conducted the robbers to Stillwater, and the state prison, the goal of so many a criminal career, closed its doors upon them. Though commonly regarded as but the second-best place for them, it has thus far safely held them, except in the case of one of them, whose sentence had expired under the great statute of limitation. Robert died in prison, September 16th, 1889. Many attempts have been made to secure pardons for the others, but thus far no governor has been found willing to accede to such a request.

  11

  Kit Carson on the Frontier

  By Edward S. Ellis

  The legendary scout shrugged off challenges that would send most men whimpering back to civilization. There were very few things that could flap the unflappable adventurer. But sometimes even Kit Carson would start to worry if he’d make it back alive.

  Carson gathered the horses together and set out on his return. The distance was considerable, and he was compelled to encamp more than once on the road while he was continually exposed to attack from Indians, but with that remarkable skill and foresight which distinguished him when a boy, he reached home without the slightest mishap and turned over the recovered animals to their owner. Some days later, several trappers entered camp with the statement that a large body of hunters were on Snake River, a fortnight’s journey distant. Captain Lee at once set out with his men and found the company, who gave them a warm welcome. They purchased all the supplies Captain Lee had for sale, and then, as Carson’s engagement with the captain was ended, he attached himself to the other body.

  He remained, however, only a few weeks, for he saw there were so many that they could never take enough peltries to bring much money to the individual members. He decided to do as he had done before—arrange an expedition of his own. He had but to make known his intentions, when he had more applicants than he could accept. He selected three, who it is needless to say had no superiors in the whole party. The little company then turned the heads of their horses toward Laramie River.

  At that day, the section abounded with beaver, and although the summer is not the time when their fur is in the best condition, the party trapped on the stream and its tributaries until cold weather set in. They met with far greater success than could have come to them had they stayed with the principal company of trappers. But they had no wish to spend the winter alone in the mountains, and gathering their stock together, they set out to rejoin their old companions.

  One day, after they had gone into camp, Carson, leaving his horse in charge of his friends, set out on foot to hunt some game for their evening meal. They had seen no signs of Indians, though they never forgot to be on their guard against them. Game was not very abundant, and Carson was obliged to go a long ways before he caught sight of some elk grazing on the side of a hill. Well aware of the difficulty of getting within gunshot of the timid animals, the hunter advanced by a circuitous course toward a clump of trees, which would give him the needed shelter, but while creeping toward the point he had fixed upon as the one from which to fire, the creatures scented danger and began moving off. This compelled him to fire at long range, but he was successful and brought down the finest of the group.

  The smoke was curling upward from the rifle of Carson, when he was startled by a tremendous crashing beside him, and turning his head, he saw two enormous grizzly bears making for him at full speed. They were infuriated at this invasion of their home and were evidently resolved on teaching the hunter better manners by making their supper upon him.

  Carson had no time to reload his gun: Had it been given him, he would have made short work of one of the brutes at least, but as it was, he was deprived of even that privilege. Fortunate indeed would he be if he could escape their fury.

  The grizzly bear is the most dreaded animal found on this continent. He does not seem to feel the slightest fear of the hunter, no matter whether armed or not, and while other beasts are disposed to give man a wide berth, old “Ephraim,” as the frontiersmen call him, always seems eager to attack him. His tenacity of life is extraordinary. Unless pierced in the head or heart, he will continue his struggles after a dozen or score of rifle balls have been buried in his body. So terrible is the grizzly bear that an Indian can be given no higher honor than the privilege of wearing a necklace made from his claws—that distinction being permitted only to those who have slain one of the animals in single-handed combat.

  No one understood the nature of these beasts better than Kit Carson, and he knew that, if either of the animals once got his claws upon him, there would not be the faintest chance of escape. The only thing, therefore, that could be done was to run.

  There were
not wanting men who were fleeter of foot than Carson, but few could have overtaken him when he made for the trees on which all his hopes depended. Like the blockade runner closely pursued by the man of war, he threw overboard all the cargo that could impede his speed. His long, heavy rifle was flung aside, and the short legs of the trapper doubled under him with amazing quickness as he strove as never before to reach the grove.

  Fortunately the latter was not far off, and though the fierce beasts gained rapidly upon him, Carson arrived among the timber a few steps in advance. He had no time even to select the tree, else he would have chosen a different one, but making a flying leap, he grasped the lowermost limb and swung upward at the moment the foremost grizzly was beneath him. So close in truth was his pursuer that the hunter distinctly felt the sweeping blow of his paw aimed at the leg, which whisked beyond his reach just in the nick of time.

  But the danger was not over by any means. The enthusiastic style in which the bears entered into the proceedings proved they did not mean that any trifles should stop them. They were able to climb the tree which supported Carson, and he did not lose sight of the fact. Whipping out his hunting knife, he hurriedly cut off a short thick branch and trimmed it into a shape that would have made a most excellent shillelagh for a native of the Green Isle.

  He had hardly done so, when the heads of the bruins were thrust upward almost against his feet. Carson grasped the club with both hands and raising it above his shoulders brought it down with all his might upon the nose of the foremost. The brute sniffed with pain, threw up his head, and drew back a few inches—just enough to place the other nose in front. At that instant, a resounding whack landed on the rubber snout, and the second bear must have felt a twinge all through his body.

  Though each blow caused the recipient to recoil, yet he instantly returned, so that Carson was kept busy pounding the noses as if he was an old-fashioned farmer threshing wheat with a flail.

  It was a question with Carson which would last the longer—the club or the snouts, but in the hope of getting beyond their reach, he climbed to the topmost bough, where he crouched into the smallest possible space. It was idle, however, to hope they would overlook him, for they pushed on up the tree, which swayed with their weight.

  The nose of the grizzly bear is one of the most sensitive portions of his body, and the vigorous thumps which the hunter brought down upon them brought tears of pain to their eyes. But while they suffered, they were roused to fury by the repeated rebuffs and seemed all the more set on crunching the flesh and bones of the insignificant creature who defied them.

  It must have been exasperating beyond imagination to the gigantic beasts, who feared neither man nor animal to find themselves repeatedly baffled by a miserable being whom they could rend to pieces with one blow of their paws, provided they could approach nigh enough to reach him.

  They came up again and again; they would draw back so as to avoid those stinging strokes, sniff, growl, and push upward, more eager than ever to clutch the poor fellow, who was compressing himself between the limb and the trunk and raining his blows with the persistency of a pugilist.

  They were finally forced to desist for a few minutes in order to give their snouts time to regain their tone. The bulky creatures looked at each other and seemed to say, “That’s a mighty queer customer up there; he doesn’t fight fairly, but we’ll fetch him yet.”

  Once more and for the last time, they returned to the charge, but the plucky scout was awaiting them, and his club whizzed through the air like the piston rod of a steam engine. The grizzlies found it more than they could stand, and tumbling back to solid earth, they gave up the contract in disgust. Carson tarried where he was until they were beyond sight, when he descended and hastily caught up and reloaded his rifle, having escaped, as he always declared, by the narrowest chance of all his life.

  The day was drawing to a close when Carson set out for camp, which was not reached until after dark. His companions did not feel any special alarm over his continued absence, for the good reason that they were confident he could take care of himself no matter in what labyrinth of peril he might become involved.

  It was too late to send for the carcass of the elk, and more than likely it had already been devoured by wolves. So the trappers made their breakfast on one of the beavers found in their traps and went into camp to await the arrival of the main body of trappers, which Carson was confident would come that way. Some days later they put in an appearance, and the company proceeded to the general rendezvous on Green River, where were found assembled the principal trappers of the Rocky Mountains. There were fully two hundred divided into two camps. What a history could have been written from the thrilling experiences of such a body of men!

  They had gathered at the rendezvous to buy what supplies they needed and to dispose of their peltries. It was several weeks before the negotiations were over, when the assemblage broke up into smaller companies, which started for their destinations hundreds of miles apart.

  Carson joined a party numbering about fifty who intended to trap near the headwaters of the Missouri. Hundreds of beavers had been taken in that section, but poor success went with the large band of which Carson was a member. That was bad enough, but they were in a neighborhood which, it may be said, was the very heart of the Blackfoot country, and those hostiles were never more active and vigilant in their warfare against the invaders.

  The Blackfeet, or Satsika today, are the most westerly tribe of the Algonquin family of Indians, extending from the Hudson Bay to the Missouri and Yellowstone. They number over twelve thousand warriors about equally divided between Montana and British America. They have always been a daring and warlike people, and the early explorers of the Far West probably met with more trouble from them than from any other tribe on the continent.

  Carson and his companions ran into difficulty at once. The Blackfeet seemed to swarm through the woods and sent in their treacherous shots from the most unexpected quarters. Whoever made the round of the traps in the morning was almost certain to be fired upon. Matters became so bad that after a time the trappers decided to leave the country. Accordingly, they made their way to the Big Snake River, where they went into quarters for the winter. Even there they were not safe from molestation at the hands of their old enemies, the Blackfeet.

  One night, when there was no moon or stars, a band of warriors stole into camp and ran off about twenty of the best horses. This outrage touched the hunters in the most sensitive part of their nature, and the truth no sooner became known than they unanimously agreed that the animals not only should be recovered but the audacious aggressors should be chastised.

  Twelve men were selected for the most difficult and dangerous task, and need we give the name of the youth who was made the leader?

  With his usual promptness, Carson took the trail which was followed without trouble over the snow. The Blackfeet had reason to fear some such demonstration, and they hurried off with such speed that they were not overtaken until fifty miles from camp.

  The situation was a novel one. The Indians had come to a halt, and the horses were grazing on the side of a hill where the wind had blown away the snow. The Blackfeet had on snowshoes, which gave them an advantage over the trappers. The latter galloped in the direction of their horses, the moment they caught sight of them. The Blackfeet fired at the trappers, who returned a scattering volley, but no one was hurt on either side. Then followed skirmishing and maneuvering for several minutes, without either party gaining advantage. Finally, the Blackfeet asked for a parley, to which the trappers assented.

  In accordance with the usual custom, one of the Indians advanced to a point midway between the two parties and halted. At the same time, one of the trappers went forward, the rest of the men keeping their distance and watching them.

  The Blackfoot opened business by what might be termed an apology, which was no more genuine than many made by his civilized brethren under
somewhat similar circumstances. He expressed great surprise to learn that the horses belonged to their good friends, the trappers. They had supposed all along that they were the property of the Snake Indians, whom the Blackfeet considered it their duty to despoil on every suitable occasion.

  This glaring misrepresentation did not deceive the man who was acting as spokesman for his side. By way of reply, he asked that, if such was the case, why had not the Blackfeet come forward on discovering their mistake, greeted their white brothers as friends, and returned their property to them?

  The replies were evasive, and the hunters became convinced that the Indians were seeking to gain time for some sinister purpose, but a full parley having been agreed upon, both parties left their guns behind and advanced to where their representatives were holding their interview.

  The Blackfeet still professed the most ardent friendship and, as an emphatic token of the same, produced the calumet and began smoking the pipe of peace. The tobacco having been lit, each took several whiffs and then passed it to his neighbor, who did the same until the round was completed. This solemn pledge of goodwill having been exchanged, the convention or peace congress was opened, as may be said, in due and ancient form.

  Carson and his companions were distrustful from the start, though it was hard for them to decide the meaning of the prolonged negotiations, since no one could see what the Blackfeet were to gain by such a course. They may have hoped to deceive the hunters and throw them off their guard, but if such was the case, they failed.

  First of all, the leading warriors indulged in several long speeches, which were without point, but what was said in reply could admit of no doubt as to its meaning. The trappers understood the Blackfoot tongue well enough to make their responses models in the way of brevity and force. They said that it was idle to talk of friendship or peace until the stolen property was returned to its owners. The Indians still attempted to postpone or evade, but the complainants were in no mood for trifling, and they repeated their declaration more positively than before.