Last of the Great Scouts | Page 7

accompanied by an ample
grin. He was a slave on the widow's plantation.
Reassured by the grin, Will offered his hand, and tasted the joy of
being addressed as "Massa" in the talk that followed. It was with
difficulty that we prevailed upon "Masse" to come to supper.
After a refreshing night's sleep we went on our way, and in a few days
reached my uncle's home. A rest was welcome, as the journey had been
long and toilsome, despite the fact that it had been enlivened by many
interesting incidents, and was thoroughly enjoyed by all of the family.


CHAPTER II
.
WILL'S FIRST INDIAN.
MY uncle's home was in Weston, Platte County, Missouri, at that time
the large city of the West. As father desired to get settled again as soon
as possible, he left us at Weston, and crossed the Missouri River on a
prospecting tour, accompanied by Will and a guide. More than one day

went by in the quest for a desirable location, and one morning Will,
wearied in the reconnoissance, was left asleep at the night's
camping-place, while father and the guide rode away for the day's
exploring.
When Will opened his eyes they fell upon the most interesting object
that the world just then could offer him--an Indian!
The "noble red man," as he has been poetically termed by people who
have but known him from afar, was in the act of mounting Will's horse,
while near by stood his own, a miserable, scrawny beast.
Will's boyish dreams were now a reality; he looked upon his first
Indian. Here, too, was a "buck"--not a graceful, vanishing deer, but a
dirty redskin, who seemingly was in some hurry to be gone. Without a
trace of "buck fever," Will jumped up, rifle in hand, and demanded:
"Here, what are you doing with my horse?"
The Indian regarded the lad with contemptuous composure.
"Me swap horses with paleface boy," said he.
The red man was fully armed, and Will did not know whether his father
and the guide were within call or not; but to suffer the Indian to ride
away with Uncle Elijah's fine horse was to forfeit his father's
confidence and shake his mother's and sisters' belief in the family hero;
so he put a bold face upon the matter, and remarked carelessly, as if
discussing a genuine transaction:
"No; I won't swap."
"Paleface boy fool!" returned the Indian, serenely.
Now this was scarcely the main point at issue, so Will contented
himself with replying, quietly but firmly:
"You cannot take my horse."
The Indian condescended to temporize. "Paleface horse no good," said
he.
"Good enough for me," replied Will, smiling despite the gravity of the
situation. The Indian shone rather as a liar than a judge of horseflesh.
"Good enough for me; so you can take your old rack of bones and go."
Much to Will's surprise, the red man dropped the rein, flung himself
upon his own pony, and made off. And down fell"Lo the poor Indian"
from the exalted niche that he had filled in Will's esteem, for while it
was bad in a copper hero to steal horses, it was worse to flee from a boy
not yet in his teens. But a few moments later Lo went back to his lofty

pedestal, for Will heard the guide's voice, and realized that it was the
sight of a man, and not the threats of a boy, that had sent the Indian
about his business-- if he had any.
The guide had returned to escort Will to the spot which father, after a
search of nearly a week, had discovered, and where he had decided to
locate our home. It was in Salt Creek Valley, a fertile blue-grass region,
sheltered by an amphitheater range of hills. The old Salt Lake trail
traversed this valley. There were at this time two great highways of
Western travel, the Santa Fe and the Salt Lake trails; later the Oregon
trail came into prominence. Of these the oldest and most historic was
the Santa Fe trail, the route followed by explorers three hundred years
ago. It had been used by Indian tribes from time, to white men,
immemorial. At the beginning of this century it was first used as an
artery of commerce. Over it Zebulon Pike made his well-known
Western trip, and from it radiated his explorations. The trail lay some
distance south of Leavenworth. It ran westward, dipping slightly to the
south until the Arkansas River was reached; then, following the course
of this stream to Bent's Fort, it crossed the river and turned sharply to
the south. It went through Raton Pass, and below Las Vegas it turned
west to Santa Fe.
Exploration along the line of the Salt Lake trail began