disappeared from the rendezvous some
winter, and little was thought of it. He
might have gone to some other trading
port. But by-and-by the news oozed round
among the squaws, and they told their
husbands how such and such a tribe of
Indians killed him; and then his horse
would be seen, and anon his rifle, and
perhaps, years after, his bones, surrounded
by his greasy beaded leather hunting- dress,
would be found as the trappers were looking
for beaver by the banks of some nameless
stream. Then some of his companions
would vow to avenge his death, and the
first Indian of that tribe would suffer for it,
if met alone in the woods or other solitary
place. The Indian would be avenged in
like manner by his friends, and so in this
manner the endless vendettas of the West
originated, and still go on.

It may be asked, what could tempt men
to follow such a business? There was a
charm in the thorough freedom and
independence of the life, which attracted men to
it. Few of these adventurers, I believe,
ever seriously intended to follow the calling
for life when first they wandered " away
West." They probably intended making
a little money, and then settling down to
a quiet life tilling the soil. But in nine out
of ten cases that time never came. Either
they never could scrape enough together,
or children grew up around them and
united them with strong bonds to their
savage mode of life. Most of them lived
and died trappers. I have known a few of
them go back after many years to the
settlements, but soon return again to their
wild life, disgusted with the dull
conventionalities of society; the ways of
civilised life and cities looked ridiculous to
them, and they were half " pizened with
the bread, the bacon, the sarse, and the
mush" of a Western farmhouse. Yet a notion
seemed to prevail that the trappers were
long-lived. So they were, when they had a
fair chance. But the Indians cut it rather
short. Some of the trappers whom I know,
are old men, and it has been my lot to know,
among others, such men as the celebrated
Kit Carson, Jim Baker, Jim Bridger, and
others. Such men were almost universally
Americans; and though they were not at
all inimical to the female Indian, yet they
invariably entertained implacable feud against
some particular tribe. They had also their
favourite tribe, against whom it was rank
sedition to say a single word. " Crows kin
be trusted," an old fellow would say round
the camp, his mouth filled with tobacco:
"Snakes ain't no such 'count; but if ye
want to get the meanest pizen-bad lot of
Injuns, just trap a fall down to the Washoe
country, just!" And immediately afterwards
you would hear some other man give
exactly an opposite opinion. On closer
observation you would generally find that
the lauded tribe was the one he had lived
longest among, to which his squaw
belonged, or which was the easiest to strike
a bargain with; for generally speaking,
these mountain men are a very unreasonable
set when speaking on Indian matters.

Old Jim Baker's opinion on Indians is
worth quoting: not only for its inherent
truth, but also because it expresses
tolerably well, the general opinions entertained
by the mountain men regarding their savage
associates. Quoth Jim:

"They are the most onsartainest
varments in all creation, and I reckon tha'r
not mor'n half human; for you never seed
a human, arter you'd fed and treated him
to the best fixins in your lodge, just turn
round and steal all your hosses, or any
other thing he could lay his hands on.
No, not adzackly. He would feel kinder
grateful, and ask you to spread a blanket
in his lodge, ef ever you passed that a- way.
But the Injun, he don't care shucks for
you, and is ready to do you a mischief
as soon as he quits your feed. No, Cap,
it's not the right way to give um presents
to buy peace; but ef I war guv'ner of
these yeer U-nited States, I'll tell you what
I'd do. I'd invite um all to a big feast,
and make b'lieve I wanted to have a big
talk: and as soon as I got um all together,
I'd pitch in and skulp half of um, and
then t'other half would be mighty glad to
make a peace that would stick. That's
the way I'd make a treaty with the red-
bellied varments; and sure as you're born,
Cap, that's the only way. It ain't no use
to talk of honour with them, Cap; they
haint got no such thing in um; and they
won't show fair fight, any way you can fix
it. Don't they kill and skulp a white man,
when-ar they get the better on him? The
mean varments! They can't onderstand
white folks' ways, and they won't learn
um; and ef you treat um decently, they
think you're afeard. You may depend
on't, Cap, the only way to treat Injuns is to
thrash um well at fust; then the balance
will sorter take to you and behave
themselves."

Of Jim Baker many a good story is
told, but about the last I heard (the very
last, I am afraid, I ever shall hear) of him