too, but he is away off there in France, fighting that we may keep them!” Hannah almost shouted to him. And how she glared at him. I had never thought she could look so fierce.
And then “Jones” and “Smith” began to bluster that they had done nothing; that they would have the law on us if we did n’t let them go. But suddenly King cried out: “They lie! They lie! They helped me steal the grub and the bear skin and stuff. They set the forest fires — I did n’t, not one of them! I’ll tell the truth, and then you’ll let me go, won’t you?”
How the firebugs cursed him then, until Hammond roared that if he heard another word from any of them, he would gag them all. And then, while three of his men guarded them, we all followed Hammond into the cave, and by lighting matches groped our way to the camping-place of the outlaws, and there found and lit my lamp. Other stuff was there besides mine. Other bedding, cooking-utensils, three rifles, some clothing. And, too, a beautiful, large, white prehistoric jar with rain, cloud, and lightning paintings on it in black. When the old Hopi priests saw it they made great outcry. Our young friend told us that they were saying the sacred cave of their fathers was forever desecrated.
‘‘Why, if that is so, perhaps I may have the jar,” said Hannah.
“Of course you may. Nothing here is now of any use to us,” one answered, when he was told what she had asked.
Well, we got all the stuff out of the cave. Hammond had brought all his horses, and lent us two upon which to pack home our belongings. Away he and his men went with the outlaws, to turn them over to the sheriff, and the Hopis went home with us. And the next day they set out for their own home in a heavy rain.
Rain fell day after day, and so saturated the forest that all the fireguards were dismissed. In due time we got our rewards for the deserter, and for killing the bear, and then we sent the hide to our Hopi friend, and he sold it, as he had promised he would, to a tourist for four hundred and fifty dollars, and sent us a post-office order for three hundred dollars. We then sent him his share of the rewards that we got. We have not since heard from him.
Hannah and I were witnesses at the trial of the firebugs, but Henry King gave the most damaging evidence against them before he was taken by army officials to be tried, and sentenced to Leavenworth prison. He got twenty years, and the firebugs each ten years.
One thing that we wanted to hear came out at the trial: Henry King had found the great cave four years back, by following a wounded coyote to it, and he had never told any one of his discovery. Hannah and I are planning to explore it thoroughly some day.
Well, for a Lone Boy Scout, as Uncle John and others smilingly call me, I am of the opinion that I had quite an exciting summer.
With the Indians in the Rockies
The shale began sliding under my feet
Preface
When in the seventies I turned my back on civilization and joined the trappers and traders of the Northwest, Thomas Fox became my friend. We were together in the Indian camps and trading posts often for months at a time; he loved to recount his adventures in still earlier days, and thus it was that I learned the facts of his life. The stories that he told by the evening camp-fire and before the comfortable fireplaces of our various posts, on long winter days, were impressed upon my memory, but to make sure of them I frequently took notes of the more important points.
As time passed, I realized more and more how unusual and interesting his adventures were, and I urged him to write an account of them. He began with enthusiasm, but soon tired of the unaccustomed work. Later, however, after the buffalo had been exterminated and we were settled on a cattle-ranch, where the life was of a deadly monotony compared with that which we had led, I induced him to take up the narrative once more. Some parts of it he wrote with infinite detail; other parts consisted only of dates and a few sentences.
He was destined never to finish the task. An old bullet wound in his lung had always kept him in poor health, and when, in the winter of 1885, he contracted pneumonia, the end was quick. His last request was that I would put his notes in shape for publication. This I have done to the best of my ability in my own old age; how well I have done it is for the reader to judge.
Brave, honest old Ah-ta-to-yi (The Fox), as the Blackfeet and frontiers-men loved to call him! We buried him on a high bluff overlooking the valley of the Two Medicine River, and close up to the foothills of the Rockies, the "backbone-of-the-world" that he loved so well. After we had filled in the grave and the others had gone, Pitamakan and I sat by the new-made mound until the setting sun and the increasing cold warned us also to descend into the valley. The old chief was crying as we mounted our horses.
"Although of white skin," he faltered, "the man who lies there was my brother. I doubt not that I shall soon meet him in the Sand-hills."
Ah-pun-i Lodge,
February, 1912.
Chapter I
My father kept a little firearm shop in St. Louis. Over it was the sign:——
David
