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Show 350 THE CALIFORNIA AND OREGON TRAIL. about a span and a half long, wilh one infant rattle at the end of his tail. We forded the South Fork of the Platte. On its farther bank were the trace of a very large camp of Arapahoes. The ashes of some three hundred fires were visible among the scattered trees, together with the remains of sweating lodges, and all the other appurtenances of a permanent camp. The place however had been for some months deserted. A few miles farther on we found more recent signs of Indians; the trail of two or three lodges, which had evidently passed the day before, where every footprint was perfectly distinct in the dry, dusty soil. We noticed in particular the track of one moecason, upon the sole of which its economical proprietor had placed a large patch. These signs gave us but little uneasiness, as the number of the warriors scarcely exceeded that of our own party. At noon we rested under the walls of a large fort, built in these solitudes some years since, by M. St. Vrain. It was now abandoned and fast falling into ruin. The walls of unbaked bricks were cracked fi·om top to bottom. Our horses recoiled in terror from the neglected entrance, where the heavy gates were torn from their hinges and flung down. The area within was overgrown with weeds: and the long ranges of apartments once occupied by the motley concourse of traders, Canadians and squaws, were now miserably dilapidated. Twelve miles farther on, near the spot where we encamped, were the remains of still another tort, standing in melancholy desertion and neglect. Early on the following morning we made a startling discovery · We passed close by a large deserted encampment of Arapahoes. There were about fifty fires. still smouldering on THE LONELY JOURNEY. 351 the groun d, and it was evident from numerous signs that the d In 1. ans mus t have left the place within two hours of our reach. - · 't Their trail crossed our own, at right angles, and led In mg 1 • • th e d1. rec 11· 0 n of a line of hills ' half a mile on our left. There were wo men and children in the party, which would have greatly diminished the danger of encountering t~em.' Henry Chatillon examined the encampment and the tra1l with a very professional and business-like air. 'Supposing_we had met them, Henry?' said I. 'Why,' said he, 'we hold out our hands to them, and give them all we've got; they take away every thing, and then I believe they no kill us. Perhaps,' added he, looking up with a quiet unchanged face, ' perhaps we no let them rob us. Maybe before they come near, we have a chance to get into a ravine, or under the bank of the river ; then, you know, we fight them.' About noon on that day we reached Cherry Creek. Here was a great abundance of wild-cherries, plums, gooseberries, and currants. The stream, however, like most of the others which we passed, was dried up with the heat, and we had to dig holes in the sand to find water for ourselves and our horses. Two days after, we left the banks of the creek, which we had been following for some time, and began to cross the high di viding ridge which separates the waters of the Platte from those of the Arkansas. The scenery was altogether changed. In plac~ of the burning plains, we were passing now through rough and savage glens, and among hills crowned with a dreary growth of pines. We encamped among these solitudes on the night of the sixteenth of August. A tempest was threatening. The sun went down among volumes of jet-black cloud, edged with a bloody red. But in spite of these portentous signs, we |
