Your refined trappers, however, who, after many years of bachelor life, incline to take to themselves a better half, often undertake an expedition into the settlements of New Mexico, where not unfrequently they adopt a very “Young Lochinvar” system in procuring the required rib; and have been known to carry off, _vi et armis_, from the midst of a fandango in Fernandez, or El Rancho of Taos, some dark-skinned beauty—with or without her own consent is a matter of unconcern—and bear the ravished fair one across the mountains, where she soon becomes inured to the free and roving life fate has assigned her.
American women are valued at a low figure in the mountains. They are too fine and “fofarraw.” Neither can they make moccasins, or dress skins; nor are they so schooled to perfect obedience to their lords and masters as to stand a “lodge-pole-ing,” which the western lords of the creation not unfrequently deem it their bounden duty to inflict upon their squaws for some dereliction of domestic duty.
To return, however, to La Bonté. That worthy thought himself a lucky man to have lost but one of his wives, and she the worst of the two. “Here's the beauty,” he philosophised, “of having two 'wiping-sticks' to your rifle; if one breaks whilst ramming down a ball, there's still hickory left to supply its place.” Although, with animals and peltry, he had lost several hundred dollars' worth of “possibles,” he never groaned or grumbled. “There's redskin will pay for this,” he once muttered, and was done.
Packing all that was left on the mule, and mounting Chil-co-thē on his buffalo horse, he shouldered his rifle and struck the Indian trail for Platte. On Horse Creek they came upon a party of French[23] trappers and hunters, who were encamped with their lodges and Indian squaws, and formed quite a village. Several old companions were amongst them; and, to celebrate the arrival of a “camarade,” a splendid dog-feast was prepared in honour of the event. To effect this, the squaws sallied out of their lodges to seize upon sundry of the younger and plumper of the pack, to fill the kettles for the approaching feast. With a presentiment of the fate in store for them, the curs slunk away with tails between their legs, and declined the pressing invitations of the anxious squaws. These shouldered their tomahawks and gave chase; but the cunning pups outstripped them, and would have fairly beaten the kettles, if some of the mountaineers had not stepped out with their rifles and quickly laid half-a-dozen ready to the knife. A cayeute, attracted by the scent of blood, drew near, unwitting of the canine feast in progress, and was likewise soon made _dog_ of, and thrust into the boiling kettle with the rest.