The Second William Penn Part 7

During my travels across the plains I do not believe that for a distance of forty-five miles I was ever out of sight of the herds--cattle, horses, goats, sheep, etc.--belonging to Mr. Maxwell.

A few weeks after Maxwell and Kit Carson were robbed on the Old Oregon Trail they got together two other herds of sheep and went again to California, taking every precaution against the attack of robbers. This time Kit Carson went the northern route and Lucien Maxwell took the southern route, arriving in California about seven days apart. They decided to be strangers during their sojourn in the California town.

Putting up at different camps they disposed of their sheep and made an appointment to come together again something like a hundred miles distant, going west toward the Pacific ocean. By these means they hoped to elude the vigilant eye of robbers and did get home without trouble.

Mr. Maxwell was one of the most generous men I ever knew. His table was daily set for at least thirty guests. Sometimes his guests were invited, but usually they were those whose presence was forced upon him by reason of his palatial residence, rightfully called the "Manor House," which stood upon the plateau at the foot of the Rocky mountains. Our stage coaches were frequently water bound at Maxwell's, and our pa.s.sengers were treated like old and valued friends of the host, who, by the way, was fond of cards. Poker and seven-up were his favorite. However, he seldom ever played cards with other than personal friends. He often loaned money to his friends to "stake" with $500 or $1000 if needed.

Some of the rooms in Maxwell's house were furnished as lavishly as were the homes of English n.o.blemen, while other rooms were devoid of everything except a table for card playing, chairs and pipe racks.

There was one room in Maxwell's house which might be called his "den,"

however not very applicable. This room had two fireplaces built diagonally across opposite corners and contained a couple of tables, chairs and an old bureau where Maxwell kept several thousand dollars in an unlocked drawer. The doors of this room were never locked and most every one who came to this house knew that Maxwell kept large sums of money in the "bureau drawer," but no one ever thought of molesting it, or if they did, never did it. A man once asked Mr. Maxwell if he considered his unique depository very secure. His answer was, "G.o.d help the man who attempted to rob me and I knew him!" In this room Maxwell received his friends, transacted business, allowed the Indian chiefs to sit by the fire or to sleep wrapped in blankets on the hard wood floor or to interchange ideas in their sign language with his visitors who would sit up all night through, fascinated by the Indian guests. If Kit Carson happened to be at the Maxwell ranch his bed was always on the floor of this very room and invariably had several Indian chiefs in the room with him. The Indians loved Kit Carson and liked to see him victor over the games at the card table.

Although Lucien Maxwell was a northerner, Mrs. Maxwell was a Mexican and with all the Mexican etiquette presided over her house. The dining rooms and kitchen were detached from the main house. One of the latter for the male portion of their retinue and guests of that s.e.x and another for the women members. It was a rare thing to see a woman about the Maxwell premises, though there were many. Occasionally one would hear the quick rustle or get a hurried view of a petticoat (rebosa) as its wearer appeared for an instant before an open door. The kitchen was presided over by dark-faced maidens bossed by experienced old cronies. Women were not allowed in the dining rooms during meal hours.

The dining tables were profuse with solid silver table-service. The table cloths were of the finest woven flosses. At one time when I was there Maxwell took me to the "loom shed" where he had two Indian women at work on a blanket. The floss and silk the women had woven into the blanket cost him $100 and the women had worked on it one year. It was strictly waterproof. Water could not penetrate it in any way, shape, form or fas.h.i.+on.

Maxwell was a great lover of horse-racing and liked to travel over the country, his equipages comprising anything from a two-wheeled buck-board to a fine coach and even down to our rambling Concord stages. He was a reckless horseman and driver.

After the close of the war an English syndicate claiming to own a large tract of land in southeastern New Mexico called the Rebosca redunda. He came to see Mr. Maxwell and inst.i.tuted a trade with him. Trading him the "Rebosca Redunda" for his "Beaubien Grant," thereby swindling Mr.

Maxwell out of his fortune. After Mr. Maxwell moved to this place he found he had bought a bad t.i.tle and inst.i.tuted a lawsuit in ejectment, but was unsuccessful and died a poor man.

Once during the month of October in the year of 1864, while en route to Kansas City from the old Mexican capitol, I stopped at Maxwell's ranch for lunch.

Mr. Maxwell came out to where I was busy with the coach and told me he wanted me to carry a little package of money to Kansas City for him and deliver it to the Wells-Fargo Express Company to express to St. Louis.

I told him I would take it, but I said, "How much do you want me to take?" He told me he wanted me to take $52,000. I told him the company would not like for me to put it in the safe unless it was expressed, but he said he didn't want to express it. "All right," I said, "unless we are held up and robbed I will deliver the money to Wells-Fargo Express Company." "Now," I said, "in what shape is the money?" He pointed to an old black satchel sitting on a chair and said, "There is the wallet." I told him to wait until I went into dinner with the pa.s.sengers, then for him to go out there and take the satchel and put it in the front boot, then pull a mail sack or two up over it and on top of that throw my blankets and buffalo robes which lay on the seat on top of the mail sacks, then go away and let it alone. Do not let any one see you do this.

Let me say that Maxwell's ranch was headquarters of the Ute agency which was established a long time prior to my traveling through there. A company of cavalry was detailed by the Government to camp there to impress the plains tribes who roamed the Santa Fe Trail east of the Raton range. The Ute tribe was very fond of Maxwell and looked up to him as children look up to their father.

One old Indian watched Maxwell put the money in the boot of the stage, and after he had left to obey my instructions this old Indian who would have gone through the "firy furnace" for Lucien Maxwell, stood guard over the stage. I did not know it at that time, but the Indian afterwards asked me how I made it in? When I came back to the coach I laid the buffalo robes to one side, then I laid the mail bags to one side and put the "wallet" as Mr. Maxwell called the old black satchel, right in the bottom of the boot and laid one mail bag by the side and laid an old blanket over both these, then piled on the balance of the mail bags and lastly my buffalo robes. I usually slept during the day after I took this money. My driver did not even know I had it. At night I slept right there under the driver's seat in the boot of the coach. At night I rode, before we quit driving for our rest, on the seat of the boot with my brace of pistols between me and the driver.

Within about three miles of Willow Springs, Kansas, a stage station, twenty-five miles west of Council Grove, I discovered twenty-five horses. .h.i.tched to the rack. There was no retreat, so I had to drive right on in. Just as we drove up twenty-five men came out of the settlers' store and saloon and mounted.

One pa.s.senger on my coach was acquainted with every man of them. They were, however, true to my suspicions, a band of the notorious Quantrell gang, the very ones who had made the raid on Lawrence and killed so many people after robbing them. My pa.s.senger walked up to the gang and said, "Come on, boys, let's all have a drink before you go." They all returned with my pa.s.senger and drank, but I told the driver I did not want to leave the coach and for him to grease it and I would fool around about that so as to dispel suspicion that I was guarding my coach. Before we were through with the coach the men came back and in my presence asked the pa.s.senger if he believed the coach was worth robbing. "No," he said, "I have not seen a sign of money." I told the boys that it wasn't worth robbing, that there was not more than $10 in the safe and that it was mine. I told him I didn't have much of a haul in the safe, but I said, "Here's the key, you can go through it if you want to and satisfy yourself." I laughed and talked with the balance of the boys as if nothing unusual was taking place. One of the gang took the little old iron safe, which was about eighteen inches square and weighing about 150 to 200 pounds, and put it on the seat of the coach and unlocked it. I had it literally stuffed full of way bills, letters and such other plunder, together with a little wallet of mine containing $10. The robber took out the ten dollars and held it up, saying, "Is this what you referred to, conductor?" I told him that it was. "Well," says he, "I will not take that, it is not tempting enough." I thanked the accommodating robber in my nicest way for having left me money to buy a few dinners with after I got to Kansas City, and they left us. I was fairly bursting with satisfaction. No one on the stage knew that I had saved the $52,000 of Lucien Maxwell's. However, boy like, just before we rolled into Kansas City I told the pa.s.sengers about the money.

When we at last had gained Kansas City one of the pa.s.sengers told Mr.

Barnum about the escapade with the robbers and my success in maintaining a "bold front" and the "gold dust." Mr. Barnum grunted and said, "Oh, well, Billy is one of our conductors that is so stubborn that he has to have everything his own way." Then, he added, "Did you say he gave his safe keys to the robbers?" "Yes," the pa.s.senger said, "he did." Barnum replied, "I'll be dogged." Then he told the pa.s.sengers about my having deposited the mail in the river to make a bridge so I could cross my coach and eventually to "reach the other side."

When I returned from the express office where I had been to take the money, in fulfilment of my promise to Mr. Maxwell, old Tom Barnum and my pa.s.sengers were still talking. Barnum approached me, saying, "Been up to some more of your tricks, have you, Billy?" I told him I had been taking "poker chips" to the express office, if that was what he meant. They all had a good laugh; then Barnum requested me to show him the receipt I gave Maxwell for the money. "Now, Billy," said Barnum, "you're a pretty bird, you know we would not charge Maxwell a cent for express, for we never paid him a cent for board or for feeding our mules--but never mind,"--then he laughed, "oh, that receipt!"

CHAPTER XIX.

Kit Carson, My Friend.

Christopher Carson, known among his friends as simply Kit Carson, was a Kentuckian by birth, having been born in December, 1809. Kentucky was at the time of his birth an almost pathless wilderness, rich with game, and along its river banks the gra.s.ses grew so luxuriant that it invited settlers to settle there and build homes out of the trees which grew in such profusion. Small gardens were cultivated where corn, beans, onions and a few other vegetables were raised, but families subsisted, for the most part, on game with which the forests abound, and the lakes and rivers were alive with fish. Wild geese, ducks, turkeys, quail and pigeons swept through the air with perfect freedom. Deer, antelope, moose, beaver, wolves, catamount and even grizzly bear often visited the scene of the settler's home, among whom was our friend, Kit Carson.

Kit Carson had no education. There were no schools to attend other than the school of "trapping," and he became a trapper and Indian guide and interpreter.

When Kit was a small boy his father moved, on foot, so history relates, to Missouri. At the time of the move, however, there was no state or even territory of Missouri. France had ceded to the United States the unexplored regions which were in 1800 called Upper Louisiana.

Kit's father had a few white friends, trappers and hunters, but the Indians were numerous. Mr. Carson, together with the other white families, banded themselves together and built a large log house, so fas.h.i.+oned as to be both a house and a fort if occasion demanded them to fortify against a possible foe. The building was one story high, having port holes through which the muzzles of rifles could be thrust. As additional precaution they built palisades around the house. This house was built in what is now Howard County, Missouri, north of the Missouri river. Christopher Carson at fifteen years of age had never been to school a day, but he was "one of the Four Hundred" equal to any man in his district. He was a fine marksman, excellent horseman, of strong character and sound judgment. His disposition was quiet, amiable and gentle. One of those boys who did things without boasting and did everything the best he could.

At about this stage of his life his father put him out as an apprentice to learn a trade. The trade he was to learn was that of "saddler."

However, the boy languished under the confinement and did not take to the business. He was a hunter and trapper by training and nothing else would satisfy his nature.

One night about two years later when Kit was a young man eighteen years old a man who chanced to pa.s.s his father's humble home related his adventures. He told how much was to be earned by selling buffalo robes, buckskins, etc., at Santa Fe, New Mexico. He drew beautiful word pictures of wealth that could be attained in the great Spanish capital of New Mexico, more than a thousand miles from Missouri.

At last several able-bodied men decided to equip some pack mules and go to the great bonanza. They intended to live on game which they would shoot on the way. Kit heard of the party and applied to them to let him accompany them. They were not only glad of his offer to go, but considered they had a great need for him because he was so "handy" among the Indians. It turned out that Kit engineered the whole party. He had a military demeanor. When the mules were brought up and their packs fastened upon their backs, which operation required both skill and labor, it was Kit who ordered the march, which was conducted with more than ordinary military precision.

Kit Carson was a beloved friend of several tribes of Indians. He learned from them how to make his clothes, which he considered were of much more artistic taste and style and more becoming than the tightly fitting store suits of a "Broadway dude" he had once "gazed upon." This suit that he was so proud of consisted of a hunting s.h.i.+rt of soft, pliable deer skin, ornamented with long fringes of buckskin dyed a bright vermillion or copperas. The trousers were made of the same material and ornamented with the same kind of fringes and porcupine quills of various colors. His cap was made of fur which could entirely cover his head, with "port holes" for his eyes and nose and mouth. The mouth must be free to hold his clay pipe filled with tobacco. It is needless to say that he wore moccasins upon his feet, beautified with many colored beads.

Prior to the year of 1860 I was not personally acquainted with Kit Carson, but after that year I knew him well. At Fort Union he was the center of attraction from the first of April, 1865, until April 1st, 1866. Every one wanted to hear Kit tell of exploits he had been in, and he could tell a story well. Kit loved to play cards and while he was as honest as the day was long he was usually a winner. He didn't like to put up much money. If he didn't have a good hand he would lay down.

Early in the spring of 1865 Carson went with Captain Willis to the border of the Indian country along the lines of Texas and Arizona in southwestern New Mexico. This ma.s.sacre is fully explained on another page of this book.

Kit Carson, like Col. A.G. Boone, dealt honestly with the Indians, and Kit Carson had on several occasions told me that had Colonel A. G. Boone remained the Indian agent, if he had not been withdrawn by the government, the great war with the Indians would never have occurred.

Kit Carson was a born leader of men and was known from Missouri to Santa Fe--he was one of the most widely known men on the frontier.

Carson was the father of seven children. He was at the time of his death, his wife having crossed over the river in April, 1868. His disease was aneurism of the aorta. A tumor pressing on the pneumo-gastric nerves and trachea caused such frequent spasms of the bronchial tubes, which were exceedingly distressing. Death took place at 4:25 p. m. May 23, 1868. His last words were addressed to his faithful doctor, H. R. Tilton, a.s.sistant surgeon of the United States army, and were "Compadre adois" (dear friend, good bye). In his will he left property to the value of $7,000 to his children. Kit Carson's first wife was an Indian Cheyenne girl of unusual intelligence and beauty. They had one girl child. After her birth the mother only lived a short time. This child was tenderly reared by Kit until she reached eight years, when he took her to St. Louis and liberally provided for all her wants. She received as good an education as St. Louis could afford and was introduced to the refining influences of polished society. She married a Californian and removed with him to his native state.

The Indians of today are possessed with the same ambitions as the whites. There are Indian lawyers, Indian doctors, Indian school teachers and other educators, but in the frontier days when from Leavenworth, Kansas, to Santa Fe the plains were thronged with Indians they were looked upon as uncivilized and were uncivilized, but were so badly abused, run out of their homes and were given no chances to become civilized or to learn any arts.

The Indians around Maxwell's ranch were mostly a lazy crowd because they had nothing to do. Maxwell fed them, gave them some work, gave the squaws considerable work--they wove blankets with a skill that cannot be surpa.s.sed by artists of today. Not only were these Indian women fine weavers, but they worked unceasingly on fine buckskin (they tanned their own hides), garments, beading them, embroidering them, working all kinds of profiles such as the profile of an Indian chief or brave, animals of all kinds were beaded or embroidered into the clothes they made for the chiefs of their tribes. These suits were often sold to foreigners to take east as a souvenir and they would sell them for the small sum of $200 to $300. Those Indian women would braid fine bridle reins of white, black and sorrel horse hair for their chiefs and for sale to the white men. The Indian squaws were always busy but liked to see a horse race as well as their superior--their chief. A squaw is an excellent mother.

While she cannot be cla.s.sed as indulgent she certainly desires to train her child to endure hards.h.i.+ps if they are called upon to endure them.

She trains the little papoose to take to the cold water, not for the cleansing qualities, but for the "hardiness" she thinks it gives him.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XX.

General Carleton Received Orders from Mr. Moore to Send Soldiers' Pay Envelopes to Him.

In March of 1865 I made my last trip across the renowned Santa Fe Trail from Kansas City, Missouri, to Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Somewhere on the route between Las Vegas, New Mexico, and Fort Union I met a Mr. Moore of the firm of Moore, Mitchel & Co. This firm owned a "sutler's store" at Tecolote, Fort Bliss and Fort Union. The store at Fort Union was the general supply station for the other named stores.

The stock carried at the supply store amounted to something like $350,000 to $500,000. This stock consisted of general merchandise. It was to this store one went to buy coffee, sugar, soda, tobacco and bacon, calico, domestic, linsey, jeans, leather and gingham, officers'

clothing, tin buckets, wooden tubs, coffee pots, iron "skillets-and leds," iron ovens, crowbars, shovels, plows, and harness. To this store the settlers came to buy mola.s.ses, quinine, oil and turpentine, vermillion and indigo blue. Everything used was kept in this one store.

During those times there were no drug stores, shoes stores, dry goods stores, etc., but everything was combined in one large store. Calico was sold for $1 per yard, common bleached muslin sold for $2 a yard, domestic was from $1 to $1.50 and $2 per yard. Sugar sold for 75 cents to $1 per pound. Coffee brought about the same. Tobacco and cheap pipes brought stunning prices.

Mr. Moore rode on with us for an hour or two, then he asked me quite suddenly, "Aren't you Billy Ryus?" I told him I usually answered to that name. Then he asked me if I was acquainted with John Flournoy of Independence, Missouri. I answered, "Yes, we drove the stage over the Long Route together for six months." Then Mr. Moore said that he wanted to take me to one side and have a talk with me. Reader, you are well aware that some men are born to rule--Mr. Moore was one of those men. He never knew anything superior to his wishes. "What he said went" with the procession. He even went so far as to order General Carleton, commanding officer of the troops in that portion of the country, to make the payment to the soldiers and mechanics at Fort Union through him and let him pay off the soldiers. These payments would run up to $65,000 or $75,000 per quarter. Up to the time of his meeting with me no one had dared to thwart his wishes.

At his request I walked out a piece from the coach with him, and he said, "Billy Ryus, I have been on the lookout for you for a year!" I was astonished, and asked him what he had been looking for me for. His answer was that he wanted me to stop at Ft. Union on my way back from Santa Fe and go up to their store and clerk for them. I answered, "Mr.

Moore, that is practically impossible; I can't do it." Then he said, "you've got to do it, I've spent too much time looking for you already, you've got to clerk for us." I am a little hot headed myself, and I answered him as tartly as he spoke to me. "Mr. Moore," says I, "I've got to do nothing of the sort." Then Mr. Moore cooled down and talked more like a business man and less like a bully.

"Now, Mr. Ryus," (I was young then and quickly noticed the Mr. Ryus) "this is our proposition: We will give you $1000 a year, board, and room and you can have your clothes at cost. And," he said, "I'll make you a check right here." I told him that his proposition did not make a bit of difference to me, for I was working for Mr. Barnum and could not leave his employ without first giving him thirty days' notice to get a man in my place. Mr. Moore was quick to respond, "Ah, let that job be da--ed"--. This side of Mr. Moore's character did not suit me, and I asked him what he would think of Mr. Barnum if he should stop over at his store and take one of his employees off without giving him a chance to get another in his place, and what would he think of the clerk that would do him that way. I told him that I would not do him that way. Mr.

Moore said that he saw that I was "squeally" but that he saw my point, and supposed I was right. "Now, Mr. Moore," I said, "when I get into Santa Fe, if Mr. Barnum is there I will tell him about your proposition, and if he can let me off now, and will take the stage back to the States for me, I will take your proposition." He replied, "Well, that's all right, you come back to us, if you don't get here for sixty days, and we will pay your expenses here."