He was alone, but he had never known fear. He was the most determined
adventurer who had ever passed the Rocky Mountains, and if but half of
what is said of him is true, his dangerous travels and his hairbreadth
escapes would fill many volumes more interesting and romantic than the
best pages of the American novelist. Poor man! after having during so
many years escaped from the arrows and bullets of the Indians, he was
fated to fall under the tomahawk, and his bones to bleach upon the
desert sands.
He was about twelve miles from his comrades, when, turning round a small
hill, he perceived the long-sought object of his wishes. A small stream
glided smoothly in the middle of the prairie before him. It was the
river Cimaron. He hurried forward to moisten his parched lips, but just
as he was stooping over the water he fell, pierced by ten arrows. A band
of Comanches had espied him, and waited there for him. Yet he struggled
bravely. The Indians have since acknowledged that, wounded as he was,
before dying, Captain Smith had killed three of their people.
Such was the origin of the Santa Fe trade, and such are the liabilities
which are incurred even now, in the great solitudes of the West.
CHAPTER XIV.
Time passed away till I and my companions were heartily tired of our
inactivity: besides, I was home-sick, and I had left articles of great
value at the settlement, about which I was rather fidgety.
Pages:
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154