The camp had reached the Blackfoot country in the autumn of this year, and the
trappers were out in all directions, hunting beaver in the numerous small streams that
flow into the Missouri. On a small branch of the Gallatin Fork, some of the trappers fell
in with a party of Wyeth's men, under Joseph Gale. When their neighborhood became
known to the Rocky Mountain camp, Meek and a party of sixteen of his associates
immediately resolved to pay them a visit, and inquire into their experience since leaving
rendezvous. These visits between different camps are usually seasons of great interest
and general rejoicing. But glad as Gale and his men were to meet with old friends,
when the first burst of hearty greeting was over, they had but a sorry experience to
relate. They had been out a long time. The Blackfeet had used them badly--several
men had been killed.
Their guns were out of order, their ammunition all but exhausted; they were destitute, or
nearly so, of traps, blankets, knives, everything. They were what the Indian and the
mountain-man call "very poor."
Half the night was spent in recounting all that had passed in both companies since the
fall hunt began. Little sympathy did Wyeth's men receive for their forlorn condition, for
sympathy is repudiated by your true mountaineer for himself, nor will he furnish it to
others. The absurd and humorous, or the daring and reckless, side of a story is the only
one which is dwelt upon in narrating his adventures. The laugh which is raised at his
expense when he has a tale of woes to communicate, is a better tonic to his dejected
spirits than the gentlest pity would be. Thus lashed into courage again, he is ready to
declare that all his troubles were only so much pastime.
It was this sort of cheer which the trapping party conveyed to Wyeth's men on this visit,
and it was gratefully received, as being of the true kind.
In the morning the party set out to return to camp, Meek and Liggit starting in advance
of the others. They had not proceeded far when they were fired on by a large band of
Blackfeet, who came upon them quite suddenly, and thinking these two trappers easy
game, set up a yell and dashed at them. As Meek and Liggit turned back and ran to
Gale's camp, the Indians in full chase charged on them, and rushed pell-mell into the
midst of camp, almost before they had time to discover that they had surprised so large
a party of whites. So sudden was their advent, that they had almost taken the camp
before the whites could recover from the confusion of the charge.
It was but a momentary shock, however. In another instant the roar of twenty guns
reverberated from the mountains that rose high on either side of camp. The Blackfeet
were taken in a snare; but they rallied and fell back beyond the grove in which the
camp was situated, setting on fire the dry grass as they went. The fire quickly spread to
the grove, and shot up the pine trees in splendid columns of flame, that seemed to lick
the face of heaven. The Indians kept close behind the fire, shooting into camp
whenever they could approach near enough, the trappers replying by frequent volleys.
The yells of the savages, the noise of the flames roaring in the trees, the bellowing of
the guns, whose echoes rolled among the hills, and the excitement of a battle for life,
made the scene one long to be remembered with distinctness.
Both sides fought with desperation. The Blackfoot blood was up--the trapper blood no
less. Gale's men, from having no ammunition, nor guns that were in order, could do
little more than take charge of the horses, which they led out into the bottom land to
escape the fire, fight the flames, and look after the camp goods. The few whose guns
were available, showed the game spirit, and the fight became interesting as an
exhibition of what mountain white men could do in a contest of one to ten, with the
crack warriors of the red race. It was, at any time, a game party, consisting of Meek,
Carson, Hawkins, Gale, Liggit, Rider, Robinson, Anderson, Russel, Larison, Ward,
Parmaley, Wade, Michael Head, and a few others whose names have been forgotten.
The trappers being driven out of the grove by the fire, were forced to take to the open
ground. The Indians, following the fire, had the advantage of the shelter afforded by the
trees, and their shots made havoc among the horses, most of which were killed
because they could not be taken. As for the trappers, they used the horses for defence,
making rifle-pits behind them, when no other covert could be found. In this manner the
battle was sustained until three o'clock in the afternoon, without loss of life to the
whites, though several men were wounded.
At three in the afternoon, the Blackfoot chief ordered a retreat, calling out to the
trappers that they would fight no more. Though their loss had been heavy, they still
greatly outnumbered the whites; nor would the condition of the arms and the small
amount of ammunition left permit the trappers to pursue them. The Indians were
severely beaten, and no longer in a condition to fight, all of which was highly
satisfactory to the victors. The only regret was, that Bridger's camp, which had become
aware during the day that a battle was going on in the neighborhood, did not arrive
early enough to exterminate the whole band. As it was, the big camp only came up in
time to assist in taking care of the wounded. The destruction of their horses put an end
to the independent existence of Gale's brigade, which joined itself and its fortunes to
Bridger's command for the remainder of the year. Had it not been for the fortunate visit
of the trappers to Gale's camp, without doubt every man in it would have perished at
the hands of the Blackfeet: a piece of bad fortune not unaccordant with that which
seemed to pursue the enterprises set on foot by the active but unlucky New England
Not long after this battle with the Blackfeet, Meek and a trapper named Crow, with two
Shawnees, went over into the Crow Country to trap on Pryor's River, a branch of the
Yellowstone. On coming to the pass in the mountains between the Gallatin Fork of the
Missouri and the great bend in the Yellowstone, called Pryor's Gap, Meek rode forward,
with the mad-cap spirit strong in him, to "have a little fun with the boys", and advancing
a short distance into the pass, wheeled suddenly, and came racing back, whooping and
yelling, to make his comrades think he had discovered Indians. And lo! as if his yells
had invoked them from the rocks and trees, a war party suddenly emerged from the
pass, on the heels of the jester, and what had been sport speedily became earnest, as
the trappers turned their horses' heads and made off in the direction of camp. They had
a fine race of it, and heard other yells and war-whoops besides their own; but they
contrived to elude their pursuers, returning safe to camp.
This freak of Meek's was, after all, a fortunate inspiration, for had the four trappers
entered the pass and come upon the war party of Crows, they would never have
A few days after, the same party set out again, and succeeded in reaching Pryor's
River unmolested, and setting their traps. They remained some time in this
neighborhood trapping, but the season had become pretty well advanced, and they
were thinking of returning to camp for the winter. The Shawnees set out in one direction
to take up their traps, Meek and Crow in another. The stream where their traps were set
was bordered by thickets of willow, wild cherry, and plum trees, and the bank was about
ten feet above the water at this season of the year.
Meek had his traps set in the stream about midway between two thickets. As he
approached the river he observed with the quick eye of an experienced mountain-man,
certain signs which gave him little satisfaction. The buffalo were moving off as if
disturbed; a bear ran suddenly out of its covert among the willows.
"I told Crow," said Meek, " that I didn't like to go in there. He laughed at me, and called
me a coward. 'All the same,' I said; I had no fancy for the place just then --I didn't like
the indications. But he kept jeering me, and at last I got mad and started in. Just as I
got to my traps, I discovered that two red devils war a watching me from the shelter of
the thicket to my left, about two rods off. When they saw that they war discovered they
raised their guns and fired. I turned my horse's head at the same instant, and one ball
passed through his neck, under the neck bone, and the other through his withers, just
forward of my saddle.
" Seeing that they had not hit me, one of them ran up with a spear to spear me. My
horse war rearing and pitching from the pain of his wounds, so that I could with difficulty
govern him; but I had my gun laid across my arm, and when I fired I killed the rascal
with the spear. Up to that moment I had supposed that them two war all I had to deal
with. But as I got my horse turned round, with my arm raised to fire at the other red
devil, I encountered the main party, forty-nine of them, who war in the bed of the
stream, and had been covered by the bank. They fired a volley at me. Eleven balls
passed through my blanket, under my arm, which war raised. I thought it time to run,
and run I did. Crow war about two hundred yards off. So quick had all this happened,
that he had not stirred from the spot whar I left him. When I came up to him I called out
that I must get on behind him, for my horse war sick and staggering.
" 'Try him again,' said Crow, who war as anxious to be off as I war. I did try him agin,
and sure enough, he got up a gallop, and away we went, the Blackfeet after us. But
being mounted, we had the advantage, and soon distanced them. Before we had run a
mile, I had to dismount and breathe my horse. We war in a narrow pass whar it war
impossible to hide, so when the Indians came up with us, as they did, while I war
dismounted we took sure aim and killed the two foremost ones. Before the others could
get close enough to fire we war off agin. It didn't take much urging to make my horse go
then, for the yells of them Blackfeet spurred him on.
"When we had run another mile I dismounted agin, for fear that my horse would give
out, and agin we war overtaken. Them Blackfeet are powerful runners:--no better than
us mountain-men, though. This time we served them just as we did before. We picked
off two of the foremost, and then went on, the rest whooping after us. We war overtaken
a third time in the same manner; and the third time two Blackfeet fell dead in advance.
At this, they took the hint. Six warriors already gone for two white scalps and two
horses; they didn't know how many more would go in the same way. And I reckon they
had run about all they wanted to, anyway."
It is only necessary to add that Meek and Crow arrived safely at camp; and that the
Shawnees came in after a day or two all right. Soon after the whole command under
Bridger moved on to the Yellowstone, and went into winter camp in the great bend of
that river, where buffalo were plenty, and cotton-wood was in abundance.
1835. Towards spring, however, the game had nearly all disappeared from the
neighborhood of the camp; and the hunters were forced to follow the buffalo in their
migration eastward. On one of these expeditions a party of six trappers, including
Meek, and a man named Rose, made their camp on Clarke's fork of the Yellowstone.
The first night in camp Rose had a dream with which he was very much impressed. He
dreamed of shaking hands with a large white bear, which insisted on taking his right
hand for that friendly ceremony. He had not given it very willingly, for he knew too much
about bears in general to desire to be on very intimate terms with them.
Seeing that the dream troubled Rose, who was superstitiously inclined, Meek resorted
to that "certain medicine for minds diseased" which was in use in the mountains, and
added to the distress of Rose his interpretation, in the spirit of ridicule, telling him that
he was an adept in the matter of dreams, and that unless he, Rose, was very mindful of
himself that day, he would shake hands with Beelzebub before he slept again.
With this comforting assurance, Rose set out with the remainder of the party to hunt
buffalo. They had proceeded about three miles from camp, Rose riding in advance,
when they suddenly encountered a company of Blackfeet, nine in number, spies from a
war party of one hundred and fifty, that was prowling and marauding through the
country on the lookout for small parties from the camp of Bridger. The Blackfeet fired on
the party as it came up, from their place of concealment, a ball striking Rose's right
arm, and breaking it at the elbow. This caused his gun to fall, and an Indian sprang
forward and raised it up quickly, aiming it at Meek. The ball passed through his cap
without doing any other harm. By this time the trappers were made aware of an
ambuscade; but how numerous the enemy was they could not determine. However, as
the rest, who were well mounted, turned to fly, Meek, who was riding an old mule that
had to be beaten over the head to make it go, seeing that he was going to be left
behind, called out lustily, " hold on, boys! There's not many of them. Let's stop and fight
'em;" at the same time pounding the mule over the head, but without effect. The Indians
saw the predicament, and ran up to seize the mule by the bridle, but the moment the
mule got wind of the savages, away he went, racing like a thoroughbred, jumping
impediments, and running right over a ravine, which was fortunately filled with snow.
This movement brought Meek out ahead.
The other men then began to call out to Meek to stop and fight. " Run for your lives,
boys," roared Meek back at them, " there's ten thousand of them; they'll kill every one
of you! "
The mule had got his head, and there was no more stopping him than there had been starting him. On he went in the direction of the Yellowstone, while the others made for Clarke's Fork. On arriving at the former river, Meek found that some of the pack horses had followed him, and others the rest of the party. This had divided the Indians, three or four of whom were on his trail. Springing off his mule, he threw his blankets down on the ice, and by moving them alternately soon crossed the mule over to the opposite side, just in time to avoid a bullet that came whistling after him. As the Indians could not follow, he pursued his way to camp in safety, arriving late that evening. The main party were already in and expecting him. Soon after, the buffalo hunters returned to the big camp, minus some pack horses, but with a good story to tell, at the expense of Meek, and which he enjoys telling of himself to this day.