"Rubbed--out--at--last," they heard him say, the words gurgling in his blood-filled throat; and opening his eyes once more, and turning them upwards for a last look at the bright sun, the trapper turned gently on his side and breathed his last sigh.
With no other tools than their scalp-knives, the hunters dug a grave on the banks of the creek; and whilst some were engaged in this work, others sought the bodies of the Indians they had slain in the attack, and presently returned with three reeking scalps, the trophies of the fight. The body of the mountaineer was wrapped in a buffalo-robe, the scalps being placed on his breast, and the dead man was then laid in the shallow grave, and quickly covered--without a word of prayer or sigh of grief; for however much his companions may have felt, not a word escaped them. The bitten lip and frowning brow told of anger rather than of sorrow, as they vowed--what they thought would better please the spirit of the dead man than vain regrets--bloody and lasting revenge.
Tramping down the earth which filled the grave, they raised upon it a pile of heavy stones; and packing their mules once more, and taking a last look at their comrade's lonely resting-place, they turned their backs upon the stream, which has ever since been known as Gonneville's Creek.
If the reader casts his eye over any of the recent maps of the western country which detail the features of the regions embracing the Rocky Mountains and the vast prairies at their bases, he will not fail to observe that many of the creeks or smaller streams which feed the larger rivers--as the Missouri, Platte, and Arkansa--are called by familiar proper names, both English and French. These are invariably christened after some unfortunate trapper killed there in Indian fight, or treacherously slaughtered by the lurking savages, while engaged in trapping beaver on the stream. Thus alone is the memory of these hardy men perpetuated, at least of those whose fate is ascertained; for many, in every season, never return from their hunting expeditions, but meet a sudden death from Indians, or a more lingering fate from accident or disease in some lonely gorge of the mountains, where no footfall save their own, or the heavy tread of the grizzly bear, disturbs the unbroken silence of the awful solitude. Then, as many winters pass without some old familiar faces making their appearance at the merry rendezvous, their long-protracted absence may perhaps elicit a remark, as to where such and such a mountain worthy can have betaken himself; to which the casual rejoinder of "Gone under, maybe," too often gives a short but certain answer.