Books: The Life of Kit Carson

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Carson made an admirable speech. He at first caused every serpent-like
eye to sparkle, by his delicate flattery. Then he tried hard to
convince them that their hostility to the whites could result only
in injury to themselves, since the Great Father at Washington had
hundreds and thousands of warriors whom he would send to replace
such as might lose their lives. Then, when he made known that the
same Great Father had appointed him to see that justice was done
them, they grinned with delight and gathering around, overwhelmed
him with congratulations.

The Agent insisted that they should prove their sincerity by
pledging to follow the line of conduct he had lain down, and they
did so with such readiness that a superficial observer would have
declared the mission a complete success.

But Kit Carson thought otherwise. He knew the inherent treachery
of the aboriginal nature, and his estimate of Apache loyalty was
the true one. The most that he was warranted in feeling was the hope
that those furious warriors would be less aggressive than had been
their custom. Though they had expressed a willingness to make any
agreement which he might propose, yet it was their very willingness
to do so which caused his distrust. Had they been more argumentative
and more tenacious of their rights, their sincerity might have been
credited.

The Agent could have secured their consent almost to any agreement,
but the sagacious official asked as little as he could.

"And I don't believe they mean to keep even that agreement," he
muttered, as he bade the effusive sachems and warriors goodbye and
made his way back to Taos.

CHAPTER XXXV.

Trouble With the Apaches -- Defeat of the Soldiers -- Colonel Cook's
Expedition Against Them -- It Meets With Only Partial Success --
Major Brooks' Attempt to Punish the Apaches -- A Third Expedition.

Just as Carson suspected, the Apaches were insincere in their
professions of good will toward the settlers. He had scarcely reached
home, when they renewed their outrages. The sinewy horsemen, as
daring as the Crusaders who invaded the Holy Land, seemed to be
everywhere. We have already referred to those extraordinary warriors,
who, for many years have caused our Government more trouble in
the southwest than all the other tribes combined, and it is not
necessary, therefore, to say that when any branch of the Apaches
went on the war path the most frightful scenes were sure to follow.

Carson knew when to be gentle and when to be stern. If the former
measures failed, he did not hesitate to use the latter. Coercive
means were taken, but, in the first encounter between the red men
and the United States troops, the latter were decisively defeated.

As a consequence, the Apaches became more troublesome than ever.
Colonel Cook of the Second Regiment of United States Dragoons,
was sent against them. He selected Kit Carson for his guide. The
Agent's wish, it may be said, was to learn whether any other tribe
was concerned in the outrages, and in no way could he do it as
well as by accompanying the expedition, which was fully organized
by the selection of a number of Pueblo Indians to act as scouts and
spies. These were placed under the immediate command of the well
known James H. Quinn, who died some time later.

The force proceeded northward from Taos to the stream known as the
Arroya Hondo. This was followed to the Rio del Norte, which being
very high, was crossed with much difficulty. As an illustration of
the rugged work which such expeditions were called upon to undergo,
Dr. Peters says that when they struggled to the other shore, they
found themselves confronted by a mass of solid and almost perpendicular
rocks, fully six hundred feet high. This was ascended, after the
most exhausting labor, by means of a zigzag trail, and the journey
was pushed over a rough and diversified country. Grass and water
could not be found until they reached a small Mexican town where
they were enabled to buy what was so sadly needed. Men and animals
were so worn out that they rested for an entire day.

The next morning the line of march was taken up, and they had not
gone far when Carson discovered a trail. This was followed with
renewed vigor and a couple of days later the Indians were overtaken.
They did not attempt any stand against such a strong force, but took
to flight at once. The Apaches used their utmost endeavors to get
away and they were helped by the roughness of the country. They
were pressed so hard, however, that they lost most of their horses
and plunder besides a number of warriors.

Two Americans were wounded, one of whom shortly died; but the
soldiers having "located" the Indians, as may be said, did not give
over their efforts to punish them. Pursuit was resumed at earliest
daylight and men and animals did everything possible. Over mountains,
through ravines, around rocks, up and down declivities, the chase
continued, until the cunning Apaches resorted to their old tricks:
they dissolved, as may be said, into their "original elements"
-- that is, they began separating until there were almost as many
different trails as there were warriors. Then in their flight,
they selected the worst possible ground. Being familiar with the
country and possessing far more endurance than the ordinary Indian,
it soon became clear that the marauders were beyond reach.

Accordingly Colonel Cook ordered the pursuit discontinued and they
headed toward the nearest Mexican village, where forage and rest
could be secured for the animals. When the place was reached,
Colonel Cook learned of a serious mistake made by the party who
were transporting the soldier wounded several days before. They
discovered an Indian whom, after some difficulty, they captured.
His horse and arms were taken from him under the supposition that
he was one of the hostile Apaches. He was not treated very gently
and watching his opportunity, he made his escape. It was afterwards
learned that the warrior was a Utah, with whom the white men were
at peace.

The Utahs were of a war-like nature and Colonel Cook was apprehensive
they would use the occurrence as a pretext for joining the Apaches
in their attack upon the settlers. He therefore sent Carson to
the headquarters of his agency to do what he could to explain the
matter and make all the reparation in his power.

As soon as he arrived at Taos, Carson sent a messenger with a
request that the Utah chiefs would come and have a talk with him.
They were always glad to meet Father Kit face to face. The agent
told how the mistake was made, expressed the regret of himself and
Colonel Cook and ended by restoring the property and by distributing
a few presents among the chiefs. The business was managed with such
tact that the sachems expressed themselves perfectly satisfied and
their affection and admiration for Father Kit became greater than
before.

Colonel Cook was unwilling to return without striking a more effective
blow against the Apaches. Pausing only long enough, therefore, to
rest and recruit his men and horses, he resumed the hunt. He had
not gone far, when he struck another trail which was followed with
great vigor; but before anything of the Indians could be discovered,
it began snowing. In a few minutes the flakes were eddying all around
them, the wind blowing so furiously that the men could hardly see
each other, as they bent their heads and rode slowly against it.
This rendered pursuit out of the question, because the trail was
entirely hidden. Much against his will Colonel Cook was forced to
give up the pursuit.

He made his way to a small town lying on his route, where he met
Major Brooks, who was marching to his help with reinforcements. The
latter officer instead of returning with Colonel Cook, decided to
take up the hunt himself for the hostiles.

With little delay, a fresh trail was found and an energetic pursuit
began. It was plain the Indians were making for the Utah country,
and they were pursued without difficulty; but, when that section
was reached, the soldiers came upon so many trails, which crossed
and recrossed so many times that all individuality was lost. The
most skilful scouts in the company were unable to identify or follow
any one with certainty.

The situation was exasperating, but there was no help for it and
the command was compelled to turn about and make their way home,
having been in the field more than two weeks without accomplishing
anything at all.

But it was known that the Apaches would speedily reorganize and the
soldiers had but to wait a short while, when an opportunity would
be presented for striking an effective blow. When a sufficient period
had elapsed, another expedition was sent out under the command of
Major Carleton, of the First Regiment of United States Dragoons.
He engaged Kit Carson to act as his guide.

The force marched northward about a hundred miles to Fort Massachusetts,
where all the arrangements were completed. The party was divided,
the spies under Captain Quinn being sent to examine the country on
the west side of the White Mountains, while the Major decided to
inspect the territory to the eastward of the range.

Captain Quinn with his skilful trailers moved up the San Luis Valley
until he reached the famous Mosco Pass, which was often used by
the Apaches when hard pressed. They were perfectly familiar with
all its diverse and peculiar windings, and, when they once dashed
in among the rocks, they felt safe against any and all pursuers.

Making their way through this pass, Captain Quinn and his scouts
reached Wet Mountain Valley, where he had promised to meet and
report to his superior officer.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

Discovery of the Trail -- Prairie Detectives.

Meanwhile, Kit Carson, who was with Major Carleton, had discovered
a trail made by three of the enemy. Carefully following it up, it
was found to join the principal path, a short distance away. When
Quinn arrived he had also some discoveries to report, and the scouts
held a consultation over the question. It was agreed by all that
they were on the track of the enemy they were seeking.

The general reader is not apt to appreciate the skill, patience and
intelligence shown by the scouts and hunters in tracing the flight
of an enemy through a wild and desolate country. As an evidence of
the wonderful attainments of border men in woodcraft, the following
letter may be given, written by the surgeon at Fort Randall in
Dacotah in 1869:

"The most extraordinary skill that is exhibited in this part of the
country, either by the white man, or red native, is in the practice
of trailing. Here it may be accounted an art as much as music,
painting or sculpture is in the East. The Indian or trapper that is
a shrewd trailer, is a man of close observation, quick perception,
and prompt action. As he goes along, nothing escapes his observation,
and what he sees and hears he accounts for immediately. Often not
another step is taken until a mystery that may present itself in
this line is fairly solved. The Indian trailer will stand still
for hours in succession, to account for certain traces or effects
in tracks, and sometimes gives to the matter unremitting attention
for days and weeks.

"The trailer is not a graceful man. He carries his head much
inclined, his eye is quick and restless, always on the watch, and
he is practising his art unconsciously, hardly ever crossing the
track of man or animal without seeing it. When he enters a house,
he brings the habits he contracted in the practice of his art with
him. I know a trailer as soon he enters my room. He comes in through
the door softly, and with an air of exceeding caution. Before he
is fairly in, or at least has sat down, he has taken note of every
article and person. Though there may be a dozen vacant chairs in
the room, he is not used to chairs, and, like the Indian, prefers
a more humble seat. When I was employed by General Harney last summer
to take charge temporarily of the Indians that were gathered here
to form a new reservation, one day a guide and trailer came into
the General's headquarters. I told him to be seated. He sat down
on the floor, bracing his back against the wall. The General saw
this, and in vexation cried out, 'My God, why don't you take a
chair when there are plenty here not occupied?' The man arose and
seated himself in a chair, but in so awkward and uncomfortable a
manner that he looked as if he might slip from it at any moment.
But when this uncouth person came to transact his business with
the General, he turned out to be a man of no ordinary abilities.
His description of a route he took as guide and trailer for the
Ogallalas in bringing them from the Platte to this place was minute,
and to me exceedingly interesting. Every war party that for the
season had crossed his trail, he described with minuteness as to
their number, the kinds of arms they had, and stated the tribes
they belonged to. In these strange revelations that he made there
was neither imposition nor supposition, for he gave satisfactory
reasons for every assertion he made.

"I have rode several hundred miles with an experienced guide and
trailer, Hack, whom I interrogated upon many points in the practice
of this art. Nearly all tracks I saw, either old or new, as a novice
in the art, I questioned him about. In going to the Niobrara River
crossed the track of an Indian pony. My guide followed the track
a few miles and then said, 'It is a stray, black horse, with a
long, bushy tail, nearly starved to death, has a split hoof of the
left fore foot, and goes very lame, and he passed here early this
morning.' Astonished and incredulous, I asked him the reasons for
knowing these particulars by the tracks of the animal, when he
replied:

"'It was a stray horse, because it did not go in a direct line;
his tail was long, for he dragged it over the snow; in brushing
against a bush he left some of his hair which shows its color. He
was very hungry, for, in going along, he has nipped at those high,
dry weeds, which horses seldom eat. The fissure of the left fore
foot left also its track, and the depth of the indentation shows
the degree of his lameness; and his tracks show he was here this
morning, when the snow was hard with frost.'

"At another place we came across an Indian track, and he said, 'It
is an old Yankton who came across the Missouri last evening to look
at his traps. In coming over he carried in his right hand a trap,
and in his left a lasso to catch a pony which he had lost. He returned
without finding the horse, but had caught in the trap he had out
a prairie wolf, which he carried home on his back and a bundle of
kinikinic wood in his right hand.' Then, he gave his reasons: 'I
know he is old, by the impression his gait has made and a Yankton
by that of his moccasin. He is from the other side of the river,
as there are no Yanktons on this side. The trap he carried struck
the snow now and then, and in same manner as when he came, shows
that he did not find his pony. A drop of blood in the centre of his
tracks shows that he carried the wolf on his back, and the bundle
of kinikinic wood he used for a staff for support, and catching a
wolf, shows that he had traps out.' But I asked, 'how do you know
it is wolf; why not a fox, or a coyote, or even a deer?' Said he:
'If it had been a fox, or coyote or any other small game he would
have slipped the head of the animal in his waist belt, and so carried
it by his side, and not on his shoulders. Deer are not caught by
traps but if it had been a deer, he would not have crossed this
high hill, but would have gone back by way of the ravine, and the
load would have made his steps still more tottering.'

"Another Indian track which we saw twenty miles west of this he
put this serious construction upon: 'He is an upper Indian -- a
prowling horse thief -- carried a double shot gun, and is a rascal
that killed some white man lately, and passed here one week ago;
for,' said he, 'a lone Indian in these parts is on mischief, and
generally on the lookout for horses. He had on the shoes of a white
man whom he had in all probability killed, but his steps are those
of an Indian. Going through the ravine, the end of his gun hit into
the deep snow. A week ago we had a very warm day, and the snow being
soft, he made these deep tracks; ever since it has been intensely
cold weather, which makes very shallow tracks.' I suggested that
perhaps he bought those shoes. 'Indians don't buy shoes, and if
they did they would not buy them as large as these were, for Indians
have very small feet.'

"The most noted trailer of this country was Paul Daloria, a half
breed, who died under my hands of Indian consumption last summer.
I have spoken of him in a former letter. At one time I rode with
him, and trailing was naturally the subject of our conversation.
I begged to trail with him an old track over the prairie, in order
to learn its history. I had hardly made the proposition, when he
drew up his horse, which was at a ravine, and said, 'Well, here
is an old elk track. Let us get off our horses and follow it.' We
followed it but a few rods, when he said, it was exactly a month
old, and made at 2 o'clock in the afternoon. This he knew, as then
we had our last rain, and at the hour named the ground was softer
than at any other time. The track before us was then made. He
broke up here and there clusters of grass that lay in the path of
the track, and showed me the dry ends of some, the stumps of others,
and by numerous other similar items accounted for many circumstances
that astonished me. We followed the trail over a mile. Now and then
we saw that a wolf, a fox, and other animals had practised their
trailing instincts on the elk's tracks. Here and there, he would
show me where a snake, a rat, and a prairie dog had crossed the
track. Nothing had followed or crossed the track that the quick
eye of Daloria did not detect. He gave an account of the habits of
all the animals that had left their footprints on the track, also
of the state of the weather since the elk passed, and the effect
of sunshine, winds, aridity, sand storms, and other influences that
had a bearing on these tracks."

CHAPTER XXXVII.

The Pursuit and Attack -- Two O'clock.

When Kit Carson and the other scouts found the main trail, they
eagerly took up the pursuit. They had not gone far when all doubt
was removed: they were upon the track of a large hostile body of
warriors and were gaining steadily; but so rapid was the flight of
the marauders that it was not until the sixth day that the first
glimpse of the Indians was obtained. They were encamped on a
mountain peak, devoid of trees, and seemingly beyond the reach of
danger; but such was the energy of the attack that they reached
camp before the Indians could collect their animals and make off.
The fight was a hot one for a few minutes during which quite a
number of warriors were killed and wounded.

When night came a squad of men hid themselves near the camp, from
which the Indians had fled, in the expectation that some of them
would steal back during the darkness to learn what had been done.
The dismal hours passed until near midnight, when one of the soldiers
made the call which the Apaches use to hail each other. The sound
had hardly died out, when two squaws and two warriors appeared
and began groping silently around in the gloom. The soldiers were
cruel enough to fire upon the party, but in the darkness only one
was killed.

Dr. Peters states that on the morning of the day when the Apache
encampment was discovered Kit Carson, after diligently studying the
trail, rode up to Major Carleton and told him that if no accident
intervened, the Indians would be overtaken at two o'clock in the
afternoon. The officer smiled and said if the Agent proved a genuine
prophet, he would present him with the finest hat that could be
bought in the United States.

The pursuit continued for hours, and, when the watches in the company
showed that it was two o'clock, Carson triumphantly pointed to the
mountain peak, far in advance where the Indian encampment was in
plain sight. He had hit the truth with mathematical exactness.

Major Carleton kept his promise. To procure such a hat as he felt
he had earned, required several months; but one day the Indian Agent
at Taos received a superb piece of head gear within which was the
following inscription:

AT 2 O'CLOCK.

KIT CARSON, FROM

MAJOR CARLETON.

Dr. Peters adds that a gentleman who was a member of the expedition
subjected Carson some years later to a similar test, and he came
within five minutes of naming the precise time when a band of
fugitives was overtaken.

Having done all that was possible, Major Carleton returned with
his command to Taos and Carson resumed his duties as Indian Agent.
Some months later, another expedition was organized against the
Apaches but it accomplished nothing. In the latter part of the
summer Carson started on a visit to the Utahs. They were under his
especial charge and he held interviews with them several times a
year, they generally visiting him at his ranche, which they were
glad to do, as they were sure of being very hospitably treated.

This journey required a horseback ride of two or three hundred
miles, a great portion of which was through the Apache country.
These Indians were in such a resentful mood towards the whites that
they would have been only too glad to wrench the scalp of Father
Kit from his crown; but he knew better than to run into any of
their traps. He was continually on the lookout, and more than once
detected their wandering bands in time to give them the slip. He was
equally vigilant and consequently equally fortunate on his return.

Carson found when he met the Indians in council that they had
good cause for discontent. One of their leading warriors had been
waylaid and murdered by a small party of Mexicans. The officials
who were with Carson promised that the murderers should be given
up. It was the intention of all that justice should be done, but,
as was too often the case, it miscarried altogether. Only one of
the murderers was caught and he managed to escape and was never
apprehended again.

To make matters worse, some of the blankets which the Superintendent had
presented the Indians a short while before, proved to be infected
with small pox and the dreadful disease carried off many of the
leading warriors of the tribe. More than one Apache was resolute
in declaring the proceeding premeditated on the part of the whites.
The result was the breaking out of a most formidable Indian war.
The Muache band of Utahs, under their most distinguished chieftain,
joined the Apaches in waylaying and murdering travellers, attacking
settlements and making off with the prisoners, besides capturing
hundreds and thousands of cattle, sheep, mules and horses. For a
time they overran a large portion of the territory of New Mexico.
Matters at last reached such a pass, that unless the savages were
checked, they would annihilate all the whites.

The Governor issued a call for volunteers. The response was prompt,
and five hundred men were speedily equipped and put into the field.
They were placed under charge of Colonel T. T. Fauntleroy, of the
First Regiment of United States Dragoons. He engaged Kit Carson as
his chief guide.

The campaign was pushed with all possible vigor, but for a time
nothing important was done. The weather became intensely cold. On
the second campaign, Colonel Fauntleroy surprised the main camp
of the enemy and inflicted great slaughter. A severe blow was
administered, but the reader knows that the peace which followed
proved only temporary. The Apaches have been a thorn in our side
for many years. General Crook has shown great tact, bravery and
rare skill in his dealings with them and probably has brought about
the most genuine peace that has been known for a generation.

It would not be worth while to follow Kit Carson on his round
of duties as Indian Agent. He had to deal with the most turbulent
tribes on the continent, and enough has been told to prove his
peerless sagacity in solving the most difficult questions brought
before him. He rode thousands of miles, visiting remote points,
conferred with the leading hostiles, risked his life times without
number, and was often absent from home for weeks and months. While
it was beyond the attainment of human endeavor for him to make an
end of wars on the frontiers, yet he averted many and did a degree
of good which is beyond all calculation.

"I was in the insignificant settlement of Denver, in the autumn
of 1860," said A. L. Worthington, "when a party of Arapahoes,
Cheyennes and Comanches returned from an expedition against the
tribe of mountain Indians know as the Utes. The allied forces were
most beautifully whipped and were compelled to leave the mountains
in the greatest hurry for their lives. They brought into Denver
one squaw and her half dozen children as prisoners. The little
barbarians, when the other youngsters came too near or molested
them, would fight like young wild cats. The intention of the captors,
as I learned, was to torture the squaw and her children to death.
Before the arrangements were completed, Kit Carson rode to the spot
and dismounted. He had a brief, earnest talk with the warriors. He
did not mean to permit the cruel death that was contemplated, but
instead of demanding the surrender of the captives, he ransomed
them all, paying ten dollars a piece. After they were given up, he
made sure that they were returned to their tribe in the mountains."

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