Subject Guide
Mountain West
Malachite’s Big Hole
An Attack by Sham Indians
Great merriment was excited one day in camp by a capital joke that four of the drivers played off upon a fifth. The young fellow upon whom the trick was practiced had made himself remarkable in camp, and somewhat disagreeable among the men, by an assumption of more than ordinary daring, amounting at times to an offensive affection of superior metal. Some indications at length appeared which gave rise to suspicions that the young Missourian was not quite so formidable an individual as he seemed anxious to pass for, and these growing stronger, the opinion was soon whispered round that Joseph (for so was he called) was decidedly the opposite of what he set up for. This idea was no sooner broached than its truth seemed evident to every one, and a prospect of fun immediately presented itself.
We had crossed the Arkansas at Bent's Fort, and the labor of the animals having been most severe, dragging the huge vehicles through the soft bed of the river, (eighteen mules were required to one wagon) we camped for rest upon the opposite side at a little after noon. Here was a clear half day of leisure for the men, and they had not lounged upon the grass long after dinner before they began to feel uneasy for some excitement. Mischievous glances were cast sideways at the blustering Joseph, and it was very evident the men were dying to extract some fun from him by drawing out and exposing his real character. Jo was a round cheeked, fresh and innocent looking young farmer, who, it was said, had run away from some log village on the outskirts of Missouri, on account of a girl who had not treated him ill, but whom he wished to tease for loving him too well.-He was lusty, and about nineteen or twenty, with a large mild eye, soft cheek and downy upper lip, and That alluring look, 'Twix man and, woman, which is very apt to make a young fellow impudent and a coquette among the girls. We found out afterwards that he loved the girl sincerely and sorely repented of his folly. His disposition was naturally soft and kind, but unguided impulse had suddenly plunged him into waters very different from those he was wont to navigate. He had probably been told, as young travellers in these regions always are, that reckless daring and desperation was the only protection upon the prairies, that might was right, and pistol and Bowie-knife made up the only law. So, with the same rashness which had urged him to abandon his home, he now suddenly resolved to adopt a new character, and endeavor to make up by impudence for his conscious lack of moral stamina.
Joe was observed to be gazing wishfully at a dense cluster of trees on the river bank, darkened with a thick undergrowth of shrubbery, and he presently said he thought plums were there and he would like somebody to go with him and see.
The idea that was wanted came like a flash at this moment, and the wink was exchanged almost simultaneously among the men, who, from constant knowledge of each others habits and thoughts, seemed at once to jump upon the same conception. One indolently volunteered to accompany Jo in search of plums, while three others started off in a different direction, with their rifles of course, as if in search of game. These three men were no sooner removed from view than they took advantage of a hollow in the prairie to turn back, and moving briskly along, concealed themselves in the wood before Jo and the other driver, who managed to gain time for the scheme by delaying his steps, arrived at the place. Jo carried a musket, which his companion had contrived to relieve of its load, lest he should by accident turn out a hero and hurt somebody.
"Jo," said Charley, the driver, a facetious fellow, "what would you do first if a war party of Camanches should break out here upon us from the woods? We are out of sight of camp, and here we are, you and I all alone."
"I aint afraid of any six Camanches that dare come before me," said Jo, "I only want to see a few of the red devils once, that's all, and I'll show you what I'll do first! "
A short conversation of this nature was continuing between them, and Jo had got entangled among the bushes hunting for plums, when a loud shrill scream arose, followed by half a dozen terrific yells, and several dark, naked figures were seen bounding directly toward the two drivers from the wood. Poor Jo jumped as if he was shot, and making a dart, he tripped in the tangled underwood and fell heavily upon his face. Up he scrambled with his nose streaming blood, and leaving his musket upon the ground, he ran for camp, bellowing as if a dozen arrows were already quivering in his body.
The best of the fun is to follow. The three drivers had stripped off their clothes and daubed themselves from head to foot with mud, so that they resembled Indians completely. They had charged their pieces without ball, and now seeing Jo flying, they fired after him, accompanying the report with another volley of wild screams. Nothing had been preconcerted, and the joke now turned on the driver, Charley, who was with Jo, for it not occurring to him how his friends had managed their disguise and loaded their pieces, he could not account for the firing, and concluded real Indians were actually at his heels. So, in undisguised terror, he started after Jo, and ran for camp, expecting to catch a bullet or an arrow in his back at every step.
Again, the fun took another turn. We had been dining at the fort, five of us, and had just rode across the river when the firing took place, and Jo came rushing into camp covered with blood. We made instantly for the wood with our rifles in rest, and the three drivers seeing us coming, were filled at once with the utmost consternation, fearing to be shot down for Camanches before they could make themselves known.
Explanations were soon arrived at and the joke understood, but to Jo the trick was never revealed, and during the remainder of our travel we were continually amused with poor Jo's recital of the perilous adventure j he assuring us upon his honor that he distinctly saw seventeen naked Indians, and showing us a wound upon his ear where a ball had whizzed past and scratched him.
Matt Field on the Santa Fe Trail, edited by John Sunder, Norman, University of Oklahoma Press, 1960
pages 146-149
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