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* ■ -(ii*; ■', ■,"' ■ V-^ ,i; ■

• .. ■:^:t:t%>%:t,'--~i,..~-

N. C. CREEDE.
S. T. SMITH.

I). H. MOKhAT.

CAPT. L. E. CAMPBELL.
WALThK S. CHEESMAN.

THE

PROSPECTOR

STORY OF THE LIFE OF
NICHOLAS C. CREEDE.

CY WARMAN.

DENVER

THE Great Divide Publishing Company

1894.

;>vy^':

r '5 ■■

(1^

Copyrighted i894, by Cy Warmar,
Denver, Colorado.

, I

PREFACE.

The purpose of these pages is to tell
the simple story of the life of an un-
pretentious man, and to show what
the Pi-ospector has endured and accom-
plished for the West.

The Author.

INTRODUCTORY.

The convulsion was over. An ocean
had been displaced. Out of its depths
had risen a hemis2>here ; not a land fin-
ished for the foot of man, but a seeth-
ing, waving mass of matter, suririni--
With the mighty forces and energies of
deep-down, eternal fircs. The winds
touched the angrj^ billows and leveled
out the plains. One last, mighty throe,
and up rose the mountains of stone and
silver and gold that stand to tell of
that awful hour when a continent was
born. The rain and gentle dew kissed
the newborn world, and it was arrayed
in a mantle of green. Forests grew,
and the Father of Waters, with all his
tributaries, began his journey in search
of the Lost Sea.

INTtlODVCTOnr.

Tliat miuiature race, the Cliff Dwell-
ei'H, ruled the land, and in the process
of evolution, the lied Man, followed by
our hero, the Prospector, who brushed
away the mysteries and disclosed the
wonders, the grandeur, the riches of the
infant world. Before Iiim the greatest
of the earth may well bow their heads
in recognition of his achievements. His
monument has not been reared by the
hands of those who build to commemo-
rate heroic deeds, but in thriving vil-
lages and splendid cities you may read
the history of his privation and hard-
ship and valor. He it was who first
laid down his rifle to lift from secretive
sands the shining flakes of gold that
planted in the hearts of men the desire
to clasp and possess the West.

It was the Prospector who, with a
courage sublime, attacked the granite
forehead of the world, and proclaimed

INTIiODiX'TOHY.

that, locked in the ))os(nn of the Uoeky
Mouutaiiis, were silver and gold, for
which men strive and die. lie • strode
into the dark canon where the sword
of the Almighty had cleft the mountain
chain, and climbed the rugged steeps
where man had never trod before, and
there, above and beyond the line that
marked the farthest reach of the Blue-
bell and the Pine, he slept with the
whisperings of God. His praises are
unsung, but his deeds are recorded on
every page that tells of the progress
and glory of the West. He has for his
home the grand mountains and verdant
vales, whose wondrous beauty is beyond
compare.

From the day the earth feels the first
-touch of spring, when the first flower
blooms in the valley, all through the
sunny summer time, when the hills hide
behind a veil of heliotrope and a world

introductohy.

of wild -flowers; all through the hazy,
dreamy autumn, thiH land of th<; Pros-
pector iH marvelously beautiful.

When the flowers fade, and all the
land begins to lose its lustre; when the
tall grass goes to see J and the winds
blow brisker and colder from the west,
there comes a change to the Alpine
fields, bringing with it all the bright
and beautiful colors of the butterfly, all
the rays of the rainbow, all the burning
brilliancy and golden glory of a Salt
Lake sunset. Now, like a thief at
night, the first frost steals from the
high hills, touching and tinting the
trees, biting and blighting the flowers
and foliage. The helpless columbine
and the blushing rose bend to the pas-
sionless kisses of the cold frost, and in
the ashes of other roses their graves are
made.

When the God of Day comes back,

JNTIiOUrCTUltY.

he sees upon the silent, saddened face
of Nature the ruin wrought ]>y the
touch of Time. The leaves, by his
light kept alive so long, are l)lnshing
and burning, and all the fields are
aflame, fired by the fever of death.
Even the winged camp ro])])er screams
and flies from the blasted fields where
bloom has changed to blight, and the
willows weep by the icy rills. All
these wondrous changes are seen by the
Prospector as he sits on a lofty mount-
ain, where the autumn winds sigh
softly in the golden aspen, shaking the
dead leaves down among the withered
grasses, gathering the perfume of the
pines, the faint odor of the dying col-
umbine and wafting them away to the
lowlands and out o'er the waste of a
sun-parched plain.

THE PROSPECTOR.

CHAPTER I.

BIRTHPLACE — SCHOOL DAYS BOY LIFE

ON THE FRONTIER — FAVORITE SPORTS.

piFTY years and one ago, near Fort
* Wayne, Indiana, Nicholas C Creede,
the story of whose eventful life I shall
attempt to tell you, first saw the light
of day. When but four years old his
parents removed to the Territory of
Iowa, a country but thinly settled and
still in the grasp of hostile tribes
whose crimes, and the crimes of their
enemies, have reddened every river from
the Hudson to the Yosemite.

In those broad prairies, abounding

THE PROSPECTOR.

wit^ buffalo and wild game of every
kind, l)egan a career which, followed
for a half century, written down in a
modest way, will read like a romance.

When but a mere lad, young Creede
became proficient in the use of the
rifle and made for himself a lasting
reputation as a successful hunter. He
was known in the remote settlements as
the crack shot of the Territory, and be-
ing of a daring, fearless nature, spent
much of his time in the trackless for-
est and on the treeless plain.

As the years w^ent by, a ceaseless
tide of immigration flowed in upon the
beautiful Territory until the locality
where the Creedes had their home was
thickly dotted with cabins and tents,
and fields of golden grain supplanted
the verdure of the virgin sod. As the
population increased, game became
scarce, and then, as the recognized

■■•;**^

CHAPTKli I.

leader, young Creede, at the head of
a band of boyish associates, penetrated
the wilds far to the noithward in pur-
suit of their favorite sport. On some
of these hunting expeditions they
pushed as far lorth as the British
line, camping where game was a))un-
dant, until they had secured as much
as their horses could carry })ack to the
settlements.

This life in the western wilds awoke
in the soul of the young hunter a love
for adventure, and his whole career
since that time has been characterized
by a strong preference for the danger
and excitement of frontier life.

The facilities for acquiring an educa-
tion during young Creede's boyhood
were extremely limited. A small
school-house was ei'ected about thiee
miles from his home, and there the
boys and girls of the settlement flocked

THE PliJSPKCTOR.

to study the simplest branches under a
male teacher, who, the boys said, was
"too handy with the gad." The boy
scout might have acquired more learn-
ing than he did, but he had heart
trouble. A little prairie flower bloomed
in life's way, and the young knight of
the plain paused to taste its perfume.
He had no fear of man or beast, but
when he looked into the liquid, love-
lit eyes of this prairie princess he was
always embarrassed. He had walked
and tried to talk with her, but the
words would stick in his throat and
choke him. At last he learned to
write and thought to w^oo her in an
easier way. One day she entered the
school-room, fresh and ruddy as the
rosy morn; her cherried lips made red-
der by the biting breeze ; and when
the eyes of the lass and the lover met,
all the pent-up passion and fettered

n-
j-t
3d

of
e.
It

le
d
o
n
e
e

N. C. CREEDE.

ClfAFThli' I.

affection fiaHiiod afluiiie froiu lier licjirt
to 1h8, and he wrote u[)on her slate :

♦ 4 t\

The honey l)ee for honey tii)8

The rose upon the lea;
Then how would be yoar honeyed lips

If I could be the bee?"

The cold, calculating teacher saw
the fire that flashed from her heart to
her cheek, and he stepped to her desk.
She saw him coming and she spat
upon the slate and smote the sentiment
at one swii't sweep. Then the teacher
stormed. He said the very fact that
she rubbed it out was equal to a con-
fession of guilt, and he "reckoned
he'd haf to flog her." A school-
mate of Creede's told this story to
me, and he said all the big boys held
their breath when the teacher v/ent
for his whip, and young Oreede sat
pale aiid impatient. "He'll never dare
to strike that pretty creature," they

•JO

TIIIC I'liVat'EVTUlt.

thought; ''shi; is ho sweet, so gentle,
iind so g<HMl."

Tlie tremhliiig mukleii was uot so
sure about tliat as she stepped to the
vvliip})ing corner, shaking like an aspen.
*' Swish " went the switch, the pretty
shoulders shrugged, and the young
gallant saw two tears in his sweet-
heart's eyes, and in a flash he stood
between her and the teacher and said :
"Strike me, you Ingin, and I'll strike
you." "So '11 I, so '11 I," said a
dozen voices, and the teacher laid down
his hand.

CHAPTER II.

HIS father's death — dkiftin^j west

WARD — ADVENTURES ON THE MLSSOCKl.

P\EATH came to the Creede family
when young Creede was but ciglit
years ohL A few yeai's later the youth
found a step-fatlier in the family, and
they were never veiy good friends.
The boy's home- life was not what he
thought it should be, and he bade his
mother good -by and started forth to
face the world. In that thinly settled
country, the young man found it very
difficult to secure work of any kind
and more than once he was forced to
fancy himself the "merry monarch of
the hay-mow," or a shepherd guarding
his father's flocks, as he lay down to
sleep in the cornfield and coveied with

Tin-: riiosvKCTou.

|!i

tilt; Htai'N. 'I'Ik^ men, for tlio most part,
lit* said, NviMv gruff and liarsli, Imt tln^
vvoiiii'ii cvcrywlicre \voi't3 liis friends,
and many a season of fasting was
shortened ))y reascni of a gentle worn-
an\s sympathy and kindness of heart.
The brave hoy hatth-d with life's
storms alone ; and when but eighteen
years old he set his face to the West.
Omaha was the one brii^ht star in
the western horizon toward which the
eyes of restless humanity were turned,
and on the breast of the tide (jf immi-
gration our young man reached the
uncouth ca[)ital of Nebraska. Perhaps
he had not read these unkind remarks
by the poet Saxe :

"Hast ever been to Omaha, where rolls the dark

Missouri down.
And forty horses scarce can draw an empty

wagon through the town?
If not, then list to what I say: You'll And it

just as I have found it,

CUM'TUli //.

2.1

And if it lio upon your way, take my advice,
and you'll ^o round it.''

Oiimlwi was t\w\\ \\w Lfrciit oiitfittiiii'
point for tlu; country to tlu^ wcstwjird,

Wlioro ovorything was open wiuo,
And inon dranlc abHinllio on the side.

In tlio lancjiinijo of Field, " money
flowed like liiinor," and a man who
was willini^ to work eoid<l find plenty
to do ; })ut tlie rush and bustle of tlu^
busy, frontier town was not in keepinu;
with the taste of our hc'ro, and he be-
[ja'i to pine for the broad fields and
tlie open prairie. At first it was all
new and strangely interesting to liiin ;
and often, after his day's work was
done, he would wander about the town,
lookiuij on at the i'amini' tables and
viewiniT the festivities in the concert
halls ; and when weaiy of the sights
and scenes, he would go forth into the

77/ a; ri{(tsi'k<"nnt.

Htilly iiii^ht and walk the hnmd, Hinooth
HtreetH till tlu^ iiumhi went down. At
liint lie resolved to leave its l)U8y
throng, and joining u party of wood-

clioi)pers, he went away up the river
where the willows grew tall and slim.
lie was busy on the banks of the sul-
len stream; he felt the breath of Spring
and the sunshine, arid while the wild

<»■»._

CIIM'TKIi II.

•Jf)

binlH Hanp in tlio willows, he wi<'l(ir«I
the ax and wuh happy.

The wood wan easily worked and
commanded a good price at Omaha,
and the young chopper soon found
that lie was cpiiti^ [)rosj)erous; was his
own master, and Ik; whistled and
chopped whili^ tln^ she-deer fondh'd
her fawn and the pheasant tl uttered
near him, friendly and unafraid. Once
a week the wood was loadinl on a
"niackinaw" and floated (h)wn to the
city, where barges werc^ always wait-
ing, and where sharp competition often
sent prices way al)ove the expectation
of tlie settlers.

One day, while making one of these
innocent and profitable tri[)s down the
river, young Creede nearly lost his
life. For some reason, they were
trying to make a landing a))ove the
city, and Creede was in the l)ow of

I ii

THE PROSPECTOR.

\ ■

the boat, pulling a long sweep oar
fixed there on a wooden pin. While
exercising all hi« strength to turn the
boat shoreward in the stiff current, the
pin broke, he was thrown headlong
into the water and the boat drifted
ahove him. As often as he rose to
th(! surface, his head would strike the
bottom of the l)oat and he would be
forced down again. It seemed to him,
lie said, that the boat was a mile
long and moving with snail-like speed.
He was finally rescued more dead
than alive, so full of muddy water
that they had to roll him over a
water-keg a long time before he could
be bailed out and brought back to
life.

When he reached Omaha and re-
ceived his shai'e of the cash from the
sale of the wood, he abandoned that

iii.

CHAPTER II.

line of labor, and with the restlessness
of spirit and love for adventure whidi
has characterized his whole life, again
started westward.

The sturdy bull, with stately tread.
Submissive, silent, bows his head
And feels the yoke. Tlie creaking wain
Rolls leisurely ncross the plain:
Across the trackless, treeless land,
An undulating sea of sand.
Where mocking, sapless rivers run ;
With swollen tongue and bloodshot eye.
Still on to where the shadows lie.
And onward toward the setting sun.

With weeping eyes he looks away
To where his free-born brothers play
Upon the plain, so wild and wide;
He turns his head from side to side,
He feels the bull -whip's cruel stroke;
Again he leans against the yoke.
At last his weary walk is done.
He pauses at the river's brink
And drinks the while his drivers drink.
Almost beside the setting sun.

CHAPTER III.

INDIAN FIGIITINa THE UNION PACIFIC

BUFFALO HUNTING.

/^REEDE'8 arrival at the Pawnee In-

dian Reservation on the Loop fork
iver marked an era in liis

of the Platte River marked an era
eventful life. •He began at this place
a period of seven years' Indian fight-
ing and scouting, which made him
known in the valley of the Platte,
and gave him a fame which would
have been world-wide had he, like
later border celebrities, sought for no-
toriety in print and courted the favor
of writers of yellow covered literature.
Being naturally of a retiring, un-
communicative nature, he shrank from
public attention ; and no writer of fic-
tion, or even a newspaper correspondent

riiE pitospKCTon.

could wrest from liim a single point
on wliicli to hang a sensational story.
While g(?nial and sociable among his
associates on the trail, his lips were
locked when a correspondent v/as in
camp.

At that time the Union ' Pacific rail-
way was in course of constructicm, and
hostile Indians continually harassed the
workers and did all in i\\Av power to
retard the progress of the work.
United States Cavalry troops were put
into the field to protect the working
corps, and workmen themselves were
provided with, arms for their own de-
fense. The Pawnee Indians were lying
(piietly on their reservation, at peace
with the whites, never going forth ex-
cept on periodical l)uffalo hunts, or on
the war-path against their hereditary
enemies, the Sioux.

Under these circumstances was begun

CHAI'TEli III.

tLe Imililiiig of n line across tlu* plains.
It was here that the now famous " Buf-
falo Bill '' made his reputation as a buf-
falo killer, which has enabled hinj to
travel around the world, i^ivini^ exhibi-
tions of life on the western wilds of
America.

Mr. F'rank North, then a resident of
the Pawnee country, and thoroughly
familiar with their language and cus-
toms, conceived the idea that the Paw-
nees would prove valuable allies to the
regular troops in battling with the hos-
tile Sioux, and with but little difficulty

THE I'liUaVECTUR.

secured governnieiital uutliority to enlist
two or tlii'ec; coiii[)aiiie8 jind officer
them with wliites of his own choosing.
One of the very first men he hit upon
was Creede, whom he made a first lieu-
tenant of one of the companies, a rela-
tive of the oi'ganizer being placed in
command with a captain's rank. This
man was a corpulent, easy-going fellow,
who sought the place for the pay.
There was nothing in his nature that
seemed to say to him that he should
go forth and do battle with the fear-
less hair-lifters of the plain. Even at
his worst, two men could hold him
when the fight was on. He was a very
sensible man, w^ho preferred the quiet
of the camp and the government barber
to the prairie wilds and the irate red
man.

With Creede it was different. He
was young and ambitious, and having

CHAI'TKli III.

• Id

been })i(>iij<lit u[> by tlie fliin liaii«l of
II step-fiitlu'i', peace tr()u))le(l liis mind.
Notliini^ pleased him more tliaii to have
the captain herd the horses while he
went ont with his hand-painted Paw-
nees to chase the frescoed Sioux, lie
set to woi'k assiduously to learn the
laniruaire of the Pawnees and soon mas-
tered it. By his recklessness in battle
and remarkable bravery in every time
of danirer, lie gained the admiration
and confidence of the savage men, who
followed fearlessly where their leader
led. They looked upon Creede as
their commander, regarding the Captain
as a sort of camp fixture, not made
for field work, and many of their
achievements under their favorite leader
awoke amazement in their own breasts
and made them a terror to their Indian
foes. If there are those who think
these pages are printed to please

rHK I'ltOSI'ECTOR.

I'jitluT tliJiii from Ji desire to tell the
truth and do justice to a name long
neglected, I need but state that it
stands to-<lay as a prominent page of
the history of Indian warfare in the
West, that during their several years
of service, the Pawnee scouts were
never defeated in battle. The intrepid,
dashing spirit of their white leaders
inspired their savage natures with a
confidence in their own powers which
seemed to render them invincible.

Major North was himself a brave,
energetic officer, fearless in battle and
skilled in Indian craft, and not a few
of his appointments proved to be valu-
able ones from a fighting standpoint.
Because he was always with them,
sharing their danger and leading fear-
lessly when the fight was fierce, the
red scouts came to regard Lieutenant
Creede as the great "war chief"; and

E. DICKINSON.

CIIM'TKH in.

:i5

never (lid tliey falter Ji moment when
they were needed most hy the (rovern-
ment. Every i)erih>u.s exiM'dition was
intruHted to Creede and his invinci))h's.
A favoritisnj was shown wliich permit-
ted certain olficers to remain in eamp
away from danger. They never kn«!vv
how i)r(.Md the Lieutenant was to Knid
his gallant scouts. It v*^as a compara-
tively easy road to fame with so ])rave
a band of warriors, and the attemhint
danger only served to api)ease the lead-
ei''s appetite for adventures.

The notable incidents which marked
Lieutenant Creede's career during his
seven years' service as a scout would
till many volumes such as this. But a
few can be touched upon ; just enough
to exhil)it his fearless nature and his
often reckless daring in the face of
danger.

CIIArTKU IV.

Ilai-d down llio plain thu Uud Man rude
yV^ainflt thu Uud Man ; I'awnuu hIuw
IUh hatud enemy, thu Siunx,

And bathed him in his brotlier's blood.

For thuy were wily, wiUI and Htrong,
Kuvenjfoful, i'oarluHH, iiui'cu and ileut.
They mnrmiirud : Oh, revunj^e Ih sweet

When Uud Men ride to right a wrong.

LlIOirTKNANT MIIUIK — "(J(K)I> INDIANS "-

*' don't let hku know."

"DEAD to 1110, Jim," m\d the sweet
* girl-wife of Lieiiteiiuiit Murie.
" I can't read long, my love,'' said the
gallant scout. " I have just learned that
there is trouble out West and I must
away to the front. That beardless te-
legrapher, Dick, has been liere with an
onK'r from Major North and they will

run us out special at 11 : JiO to-night."

VIIM'TKU IV.

Tlu; L'unitciiJini pickrd up a collection
of poems uiul read vvluac he opened
the hook :

*'Tull mo not, Hwuot, I am iiiikiiid,
That from tlio niiiiiiui'y
Of thy uhaHto bruast and qniut mind
To war and arms 1 lleo."

"Oh, Jim," sh(^ hroke in, '' why don't
thev try to civilize these poor, hunted
IndiauH ? Are they all h(> very had ?
Are there no good ones among them ?

"Yes," said the soldier, with a half
smile. " They are all good except those
that escape in battle."

"But tell me, h>ve, how long will this
Indian war last ? "

"As long as the Sioux hold out,"
said the soldier.

At eleven o'clock the young Lieu-
temint said good-])y to his girl-wife
and went away.

This was in the 'OO's. Tlu^ scouts

f i

;J8

THE I'ltOiU'ECTUli.

: 1

were stationed near Julesburg, which
was then the terminus of the Union
Pacific track. The special engine and
car that l)rou<z:ht Lieutenant Murie
from Omaha, arrived at noon, the
next (hiy after its dejjarture from the
})anks of the nunUly Missouri.

Murie liad ])een married less than
six months. For many moons the
love-letters that came to cam[> from
his sweetheart's hand had been the
sunshine of his life, and now they
were maii'ied and all the days of
doubt and danger were passed.

An hour after the arrival of the
special, a scout came into camp to say
that a large l)and of hostih^ Sioux had
come down from the foot-hills and
were at that moment standing, as if
waiting — even inviting an attack, and
not a thousand yards away. If we
except the officers, the scouts were

CHAVrKli IV.

avi

nearly all Pawnee Indians, who, at the
sight or scent of a Sioux, were as rest-
less as caged tigers. They had made a
treaty with this hostile tribe once, and
were cruelly murdered by the Sioux.
This crime was never forgotten, and
when the Government asked the Paw-
nees to join the scouts they did so.

The scouts did not keej) the warriors
waitincj loncj. In less than an hour.
Lieutenant Murie was ridinc: in th(^ di-
rection of the Sioux, with Lieutenant
Creede second in command, followed by
two hundred Pa\vnee scouts, who were
spoiling for trouble. The Sioux, as
usual, outnumbered the Government
forces, f)ut, as usual, the dash of th(^
daring scouts was too much for tlui
hostiles and they were forced from the
field.

Pearly in the exercises, Murie and
Creede were surrounded by a pai'ty of

THE PROSPECTOIl.

Sioux and completely cut off from the
rest of the command. From these em-
barrassing environments they escaped
almost miraculously. All through the
figlit, which lasted twenty minutes or

( i

more, Creede noticed that Mui'ie acted
very strangely. He would yell and
rav(^ like a mad man — dashincj here and
there, in the face of the greatest dan
ger. At times he would battle single-
handed, with a half dozen of the

CHAPTER IV.

fiercest of llie foe, and liis very frenzy
seemed to fill them witli fear.

When the fight was over, Lieutenant
Murie called Creede to liim and said he
had been shot in the leg. Hastily dis-
mounting, the anxious scout pulled off
tlie officer's l)oot, but could see no
wound nor sii^n of l)lood. Others came
up and told the Lieut(;nant that his leg
was as good as new ; ])ut he insist(!d
tliat he w\as wounded and silently and
sullenly pulled his l)oot on, mounted,
and the little band of in\ incildes started
for camp. The Pawnees l)egan to sing
their wild, weird songs of victory as
they went along ; but they luid pro-
ceeded only a short distance when
Murie began to complain again, and
again his boot was removed to show
him that he was not hurt. Some of
the party chaffed him for getting i"at-
tled over a little l>ru>Ji like that, an<l

THK PltOSPECTOU.

Ilil

ag{iiii ill silence he pulled on his boot
,'111(1 they continued on to camp.

Dismounting, Murie limped to the
surgeon's tent, and some of his compan-
ions followed him, thinkino: to have a
good laugh when the (h>ctor should say
it was all the result of imagination,
and that there was no wound at all.

When the surgeon had examined the
limb, he looked up at the face of the
soldier, Avhich was a picture of pain,
and the bystanders could not account
f<^r the look of tender sympathy and
pity in the doctor's eyes.

Can it be, thought Creede, that he is
really hurt ahd that I have failed to
find the wound ? "Forgive uk?, Jim,"
he said, holding out his liaiid to the
sufferer, Init the surgeon waved him
away.

" Why, you — you could n't help it,
Nick," said Mijrie. " You could n't

liii

CTI AFTER IV.

kill all of them ; but we made it
warm for them till I was shot. You
wou't let he?' know, will you ? " he
said, turning his eyes toward tlie med-
ical man. " It would break her heart.
Poor dear, how she cried and clung to
me last night and begged me to stay
with her and let the country die for
itself awhile. Most wish I had now.
Is it very bad. Doctor ? Is the ])one
broken ?"

" Oh no," said the surc^^^on. " It's
only painful ; you'll be ])etter soon."

*' Good ! Don't let her know, will

you

Thev laid him on a cot and he
closed his eyes, whis[)ering as he di<l
so : " Don't let her know."

" Where is the hurt, Doctor ? "
Creede whispered.

"Here," said tlie surgeon, touching

77/ a; prospkctoh.

(■

I ,

his own forehead witli his finger. "He
is cnr/y — li(>})elessly insane."

All night they watched by his bed,
and eveiy few moments he Avould raise
up suddenly, look anxiously around
tlie t(^nt, and say in a stage whisper:
''Don't let he?' know."

A few days later they took him
away. lie was not to lead his l)rave
scouts ajj^ain. His reason failed to re-
turn. I never knew what ])ecanie of his
wife, but 1 have been told that she is '
still watchino: for the window of his
})rain to open up, when his absent soul
will look out and see her Avaiting with
the old-time love for him.

One of his old comrades called to see
him at the asylum, a few years ago,
and was recognized by the demented
man. To him his wound was as pain-
ful as ever, and as he limi)ed to liis
old friend, his face W()re a look of

illi

CflAI'TEli IV.

intense agony, wliile he repeated, ju«t
as his comrades luid heard liini repeat
an hundred times, this from Swinlmrnt;:

"Oh, bitterness of things too sweet,
Oh, broken singing of tlic dove.

Love's wings are over-fleet.

And like the panther's feet
The feet of Love."

"Good-by, Jim," said the visitor, with
tears in liis voice.

"Good-l)y," said Jim. Then glancing
about, lie came closer and whisjtered :
" Don't let he?' know."

It is a quarter of a century since
Murie lost his reason and was locked
up in a mad -house, and these years
have wrought wondrous changes. The
little projected line across the plain has
become one of the great railway sys-
tems of the earth. " Dick," the beardless
operator who gave Murie his orders
at Omaha, is now General Manatrer

THE PnoSPKCTOH.

Dickinson. T\io dclicute and spare
youtli, who wore a AVinchester an^ red
liujht at tli(^ rear end of tlic^ special, is
now (leneral Superintendent Deuel, and
Creede, poor fc^ilow, lie would give
half of his millions to be able to
brush the mysteries from Murie's mind.

■m

CHAPTEU V.

TnitlsriNd PUOSI'ECTOU TUAI)lN(i HOUSES.

HAD N. C. Crceilo remained a j)oor
prospector all his days, these pages
would never have been printed. That
is a cold, hard statement ; but it is
true. Shortly after the fickle (ioddess
of Fortune sat u[) a flirtation with the
patient prospector, the writer met with
a gentleman who had served or. the
plains with the man of whom you are
reading, and he told some interesting
stories. We l)ecame very well ac-
quainted and my interest in the hunter,
scout, prospector ai\d miner increased
with every new tale told by his com-
panion on the plains. Those who know
this silent man of the mountains are
well aware of his inborn modesty and

77/ a; I'liOSPKCTOlt.

of the reticciUH; hv inanifcstH wlicn ([XicS'
tioiM'd alxmt his own pcrsoiuil expi'ri-
onccH. Ilt'iicc, tlin writer as wcdl hs the
rcjuler iiiust rely largely upon tlu^ hIo-
lies tohl hy his old comrade, the first
of which was this :

A larger l)ody of Sioux Indians were
cani[)ed near North Platte, Nebraska,
having come there to meet some peace
commissioners sent out from Washint^-
ton. We were cam])e(l about eight
miles below them, <piietly resting dur-
ing the cessation of hostilities, yet con-
stantly on the alert to guard against a
foray from our foes above. The Sioux
and the Pawnees were ])itter enemies,
constantly at war witli each other, and
as we knew they wei'e aware of the
existence of our camp, we feared some
of them might run down and endeavor
to capture our stock. Our best scouts
were sent out every evening in tLe di-

CIlM'TKIi V.

41)

rct'tioii of North Phitti; to note jiiiy
evidi'iiccs of a iiii'lit raid that iiiiirlit
a]n>('ar, and our IiidiaiiH were iiiHtructcd
to have their arms in perfect onh'r and
in easy reaeli wlien they roUed ii[) in
their bhmkets for sU'ep.

Creede's horse ha<l become hinu^ and
was next to useless for fi(*Ul \V(»rk. W(^
did not have an extra animal in camp,
and for three or four days he tried
hard to trade the crij)pled iu^rse to an
Indian sccut for a good one. lie of-
fered extravagant odds for a trade, but
the Indians knew too well the near
proximity of a natural enemy and
would take no risks on being without
a mount should trouble come.

We were sitting in the tent one even-
ing, taking a good-night smoke, when
some one began to chaff Creede about
his " three-leti^ijced horse." Nick took it
all good-naturedly, smiling in his own

flif

TIIK I'UDSI'FJ'TOU.

i .1

(juict way at our remarks, ami .s(mui lie
Hat with his eyes IxMit oil the; groiiiHl,
as if ill (h*c|) rcrtci'tioii. SuiMciily he
aroKc, Imcklrd on his pistols, piekt'd up
liis rirte and started fn^u tlie tent with
out a word.

" Whert; are you g<MUg, Nick ^" some
om^ asked.

"(ioini^ to see that {\h\ pickets are
out all rii^ht," he re[)lie(l, as the tent
ila}) ch)sed heliind him.

This seemed natural enough, and we
soon turned into our blankets and
thought no more of the matter. When
we rolled out at daybreak liext morn-
ing, it was noticed that Creede's blan-
kets had not been used and that he
was not in the tent. One of the boys
remarked that he had lain down out in
the grass to sleep and would put in an
a})pearance at breakfast time, and we all
accepted this as the true explanation of

r//. I /'//•:/; v.

r.i

Ills jihsriit'c. Half all Iiuui" later, wluii
we were about to cat ln'cakfast, mic of
tlic |)i'*k('ts caiiM' in and reported some-
tliiiiL? coiniiii^ from up the v'wvv. Our
tiekl-irl assets soon dcuioiistiatcd the fact

that it was a man ridinsj ono liorso and
leading four otlicr^. As ho came closer,
we recoi^^nized Creede, and he soon rode
in, dismounted and l)ei^au to uneincli
his saddle, with the <[uiet remark :

THk: rRos/'KCTOR.

\ ''v5

i!l I

" Gucs.s 1 oiii^^lit to get oue good
mount out of tliis bunch."

" Where did you get them ? " Major
North asked.

" Up the river a little ways."

"How did you get up there ?
Walk ' "

" Not much I did n't. I rode my
lame horse."

" What did you do with your own
horse ? "

" Traded him for these even up."

He had gone alone in the night,
stolen into the herd of the Sioux near
North Platte, imsaddled his lame horse
and placed the saddle on an Indian's,
and, leading four others, got away un-
observed and reached camp safely. It
was a bold and desperate undertaking,
but one entirely in keeping with his ad-
venturous spirit.

CHAPTER VI.

INDIANS OFF THE RESEIIVATION — ALONE
IN CAMP PUOMPT ACTION.

DURING the summer of '68, a large
[)arty of Pawnee Indians, men and
sc^uaws, left the reservation on the Loop
fork for a buffalo hunt in tlie country
lying between the Platte and Re])ubli-
can Rivers. These semi-annual hunts
were events of great interest to the
tribe, for l)y them they not only se-
cured supplies of meat, but also large
numbers of robes, which were tanned by
tlie squa^\s and disposed of to traders
for flour and groceries, and for any
other goods which might strike the In-
dian fancy.

At this time the Pawnee scouts were
lying in camp on Wood River, about a

THE PROSPECTOR.

ii!

K !

mile from the Union Pacific Railroad
station of that name. The hostile
Indians had for some weeks made no
aggressive demonstration, and our duties
were scarcely sufficient to edge up the
dull monotony of camp life. Once a
week about half of the company would
be sent on a scout to the west along
the railway, two days' miircli, four days
of the week being consumed by these
ex[>editions.

Half of the company had gone on this
weekly scout, leaving but oxw white of-
ficer in camp, Lieutenant Creede. He
had, if I recollect aright, but eighteen
men fit for duty, a number of others
being disabled by wounds received in
recent battles. The s«jcond day after the
hunting party left, the section men from
the west came into AVood River Station
on their hand-car, and excitedly reported
that a band of about fifty Sioux had

CHAPTEU VI.

crossed the track near them, headed
south. Joe Adams was the agent at
Wood River, and he at once sent a
messenger to the Pawnin; (;anip to tell
Lieutenant Creede of the presence of
the hostiles. Creede liastily mounted
his handful of warriors, and in less than
twenty minutes was dashing forwanl on
the trail of the Sioux. The time con-
sumed l)y the section men in running
into the station, a distance of about four
miles, and the consecpient delay caused
by sending the news to Ci'eede, and the
catching up and saddling of the ponies
had given the Sioux a good start, and
when the scouts had reached the Platt(^
the hostiles had crossed over and wc^re
concealed from view in the sandhills
beyond.

Crossing the wide stream with all pos-
sible haste, the game little ponies, strug-
gling with the treacherous (piicksand for

y 'i

■ii
■f

* y

■!!■■
i

THE PROSPECTOR.

which that historic river is noted, the
scouts struck the trail on the opposite
bank and pushed rapidly forward.
Although they knew that the Sioux
outnumbered them three to one, the
Pawnees were eager for the fray — an
eagerness shared in by their intrepid
commander. Chanting their war-songs,
their keen eyes scanning the country
ahead from the summit of each sand-
hill, they pushed onward with the
remorseless persistence of blood-hounds
up the trail of fleeing fugitives.

About three miles from the river, on
reaching the top of a sand-hill, the en-
emy was discovered a mile ahead, mov-
ing carelessly along, oblivious of the fact
that they were being pursued. Con-
cealed by the crest of the hill, the
Pawnees halted to view the situation,
and Lieutenant Creede covered the hos-
tiles with his field -glass. An impreca-

CHAPTER VI.

tion came from his lips as he studied
the scene in front, and crying out a
sentence in the Pawnee tongue, his war-
riors crowded about him. His experi-
enced eye had shown liim that they
were Yankton Indians, tlien at peace
with the whites. He took in the situa-
tion in a moment. They had h'arned
of the departure of the Pawnee village
on a buffalo hunt, and were after them
to stampede and capture their horses,
kill all of their hated enemy they could
and escape back to their reservation.

All this he told to his warriors, and
the iield-glass in the hands of various
members of the party corroborated the
fact that, as United States scouts, tliey
had no right to molest the Yankton
bands. The impetuous warriors chafed
like caged lions, and demanded in vigor-
ous terms that the chase should be re-
sumed. One cool-headed old man, a

SSM

jj f

l!ll it

•'1
jl

■ I i

Ml
jiii

iiii

THE I'liOSPECTOIi.

chief of somo importance; in the ti'i})e,
addressed Lieutenant Creede substan-
tially as folhjvvs :

"Father; you are a white man, an
ofiic(!r und(;r tlu^ great war chief at
Wasliington, and you would rouse; liis
ang(;r by battling with Indians not at
war with him and his soldi(;rs. Wi; are
Pawnee; Indians, and the m(;n yonder
are our hat(;d foes. Tliey go to attack
our p(;ople, to kill our fathers, sons,
})i"others, the scpiaws and children, and
steal their horses. It is our duty to
protect our people;. It is not your eUity
to he;lp us. Go back, father, to e>ur
camp, and we, not as se)ldie;rs, l)ut as
Indians, will push on to the de;fense; of
emr pee)ple. Listen to the worels e)f wis-
elom and ge^ back."

The situatie)n was a trying one. The
Lie'utenant we;ll kne'w that if lie' UmI his
scouts against the Yauktons lie \vould

CIlAPTKIi VI.

T)')

have to face serious trouble at Wanli-
ington and meet with severe censure
from General Augur, then commanding
the Department of the Platte. lie real-
ized that his official position would hv
endangered, and that he miglit even
subject hims(;lf to arrest and trial in
the United States Courts for his action.
For some moments ho stood with his eyes
bent upon the ground in dec^p reflec-
tion, tlui Indians eying him keenly and
almost breathlessly awaiting his reply.
It was a tableau, thrilling, well woi'thy
the brush of a painter. The hideously
painted faces of the Indians scowling
with rage ; their blazing, eager eyes re-
flecting the spirit of impatience which
s,^^ayed their savage souls ; the hardy,
faithful ponies cropping at the scant
grass which had [)ierced the sand ; the
Lieutenant standing as immovable as
a rock, his face Ix^traying no trace of

Si
;]

I I

;'/

1 1.

TlIK PliOSrECTOJi.

excitement, calmly, stileiitly gazing at the
ground, carefully weighing the responsi-
bilities resting upon him, — all went to
make up a picture so intcmsely thrilling
that the mind can scarcely grasp its
wild features.

When the Lieutenant spoke, he did so
(piietly a"d calndy. There was a light
in his eyes which hoded no good to the
j)ursued, hut his voice betrayed not the
least excitement. He -said :

" For several years I have been with
you — have been one of you. We have
often met the enemy in unequal num-
bers, but we have never been defeated.
In all the battles in which I have led
you, you never deserted me. Should I
desert you now ? 1 know that 1 will
be censured, perhaps punished, but those
Yanktons shall never harm your people.
I will lead you against them as I would
against a hostile band, and on me will

CHAPTEIi VI.

rest all the responsibility. We go now
as Pawnee Indians, not as United States
scouts, and go to fight for our people.
Mount ! "

Grunts of satisfaction greeted his
words. They would hav(^ hwn followed
by wild yells of sav^•^go delight had
there been no fear of such a deinon-
stration disclosing their presence to
the Yanktons. Horses were ([uickly
mounted, and the l)and again took the
trail with an impatience which could
scarcely be curbed.

The Yanktons were soon again
sighted, and the scouts adopted the
Indian tactics of stealing upon their
foes. Skirtinc: the bases of sandhills,
keeping from sight in low grounds
and following the bed of gulches, they
pressed on, until the enemy was dis-
covered less than three- fourths of a

tllli i

TIIK ritOSPKCTOR.

x\\W' ahead, and y(^t uiioonHcious of the
[)reHencu of a foe.

Halting in a \o\s spot in the hills,
th(; Pawnees hastily unsaddled their
ponies and stripptnl for tin; fight. In-
dians invarialdy go into a !)attle on
hanihack horst^s, as saddh^s impede tin;
sp(»ed of the animals in (piick move-
ments. When again mounted, the Ijieu-
t(;nant gave the command to advance.
On niaching tluj crest of a sand-hill,
the Pawnees discovered their enemy
just gaining the summit of the next,
about five hundred yards distant. The
Yanktons discovered their pursuers at
the same moment, and great commo-
tion was observed in their ranks. They
hastily formed tluimselves for battle,
and then one of them who could speak
English, cried out :

" Who are you, and what do you
want ? "

CUAl'TKU VI.

" W(^ an^ PawiKHj Indians, and Wf
want t(» know wht*ni you an; going/'
Creedt; Hlioutcd in ivply.

" You arc Pawiu'c sfouts, and an;
soldii'i's of tliu Unitinl Statt's. W(; arc
Yankton Sioux at jH'ace with the (Jov-
einnicnt, and you cannot niolcnt us."

"You are nioviiii^ a^'ainst thi; Paw-
nee village, now on a buffalo liunt,"
Orccdc rc[)licd. " You want to kill
owv people and steal their horsrs. We
arc Pawnee Indians, and art? here to
tight for our ptroplc. If you take the
trail back across the Platte, we will
not disturb you, but if you attempt to
move forward, we will fight you. De-
cide quick !"

The leaders of the Yaukton band
gathered about the interpreter in coun-
cil, while Creede interpreted what had
been said to his warrioi's. It was
with difficulty he could restrain them

i«,

r»4

77/a; I'liiKsi'Kcntn.

from (lasliiii^ forward to tin* attack,
lit a fi^w iiioiiu'itts tlk^ ^'aiiktoii in-
terprt'ter Hlioiitcd :

" If you attack us, the (JovcrmiuMit
will puninli you and reward us for
our loss. \Vi! do uot feai' you aw
Pawn(;cs, but we are at [)eac(i and do
not want to fight you because^ you are
soldiers of the great father at Wash-
ington. We niv. many and you are
few, and we could soon kill y«ui all,
or drive you back to your camp, (fo
away and let us alone."

" You are the enemy of our peo-
ple, and you go to kill them," the
Lieutenant replied. " We will fight
for them, not as soldiers, but as Paw-
nees. You must make a move* now,
instantly. We will wait but a minut».
If you take the back trail, it will be
good. If you move forward, we will
make you halt and go back."

CIIM'THli VL

<;•>

Tli«' only reply was a coiiiiiiaM<l
fi'oiii the Vaiiktoii leudtM' to his fol-
lowers, ill ol)(!<rK»iic«^ to whieli they
startt'd forward in their orijriiml direc-
tion. Crccdi^ shouted a eoiiiinaiid to
his men, and with wild yells tln-y
dasiied ilown the s1o|h^ and U|> the
sidii of the hill on which tlu^ir <Mi(>niy
had last been seen. On a lcv(d flat
beyond the hill, th(^ ^'anktons were
found hastily forniiiii; for batths and
with tigei'-lik<? iinjjetuosity, the siMUits
dashed forward, tirini; as they advanced.

The wild dash of the Pawnees
seemed to bewilder the Yanktons, and
they were thrown into confusion. They
quickly rallied, however, and for fully
an half- hour they fought desperately.
The mad impetuosity of the Pawnee
again threw them into confusion, and
scattering like frightened shee^), they
fled from the field. The Pawnees

m fl

()(•>

'/•//A' I'ROSl'ECTOli.

i I

ft:

I It

pursued tlieni, and a runuini^ fight wan
iiiuintained over sinenil miles of coun-
try. The Ytmktous were at hist so
scattered that they couhl make no
show of resistance, and with all possi-
})le speed sought the river crossing
and fled toward their agency. It was
afte?*\vards learned that they sustained
a loss of eight killed and cpiite a
lari^(; number wound(;d. The Pawnees
lost hut one man kilh'd, but many
were wounded on the fiehl. Several
horses were killed. Creede's army
blouse was riddled with bullets and
arrows.

Returning from the field, " Bob
White," a Pawnee, reached Wood River
in advance of the scouts, and by mak-
incr motions as of a man fallin<; from a
horse, and repeating the word, " Lieu-
tenant," created the impression that
Creede had been killed, and the agent

til

>^?l

X^^^^ f

"■""■■ilMI

. ■ u

- i

CHAPTER VI.

telt'grrtphod tlie news to Oinalui, whore
it was pul)lislie(l in the daily pjipern.
When the scouts reached the station,
however, the gallant Lieutenant was at
their head. When he dismounted, it
was observed that lie limped painfully,
and in explanation said, that in one of
the charges his horse had fallen upon
him, severely bruising and spraining
one of his legs. This was what "Bob"
had tried to tell, but the agent inter-
preted his signs to mean that the iu-
tre[)id leader had been killed in battle.
When the Yanktons reached their
agency, they rei)orted that while <piietly
moving across the country, the Pawnee
scouts, being in the service of the United
States, had attacked them in overwhelm-
ing numbers and driven them back to
their reservation. The matter was laid
before the authorities at Washington,
referred to General Augur, and by him

^f'-f

THE PliOSPECTOH.

to Major North, who was already in
possession of Creede's explanation of the
affair. Considerable red-tape correspond-
ence followed, and as the Yanktons
were off their reservation withont per-
mission, and in direct violation of
oi'ders, the matter was allowed to drop.
Creede was donbly a hero in the eyes
of his sconts ttfter this episode, and
when the Pawnee village returned, and
it was learned how the Lieutenant had
l)attled in their behalf, they bestowed
u|)on him the most marked expressions
of gratitude and adoration.

CHAPTER VII.

TRAIL OF INDIAN PONY TUACKS DKSI'KU-

ATK ENCOUNTKIl HARD TO MAKE THE

SCOUTS BELIEVE HIS STORY.

/^^NE of the most daring acts in tlu;
^^-^ liistorv of tins darini:: man was com-
mitted in Western Nebraska in 180().
From boyhood days, he had been noted
as a hunter, and during the years whicli
he spent in the scouting service, his
splendid marksmanship and extraordi-
nary • achievements in the pursuit of
game earned for him the reputation of
being the best hunter west of the Mis-
souri River. His success in that line
was phenomenal and elicited expressions
of surprise from all who had a knowl-
edge of his work, and from those who
were told of it.

k I!' 7 • f"

THE FliOSPECTOR.

liW'A

\ Ijl

Killing buffalo was not regarded by
Creede, or by any of tlie hunters, as the
best evi(h'nce of skill in marksmanship
(►r in hunting. Any one who could ride
a h(>rse and fire a rifle or revolver
c<>ul(l kill those clumsy, shaggy animals
much easier than they could [)ursue and
kill the ordinary steers on the westei'n
I'anges to-dry. In fact, the range steer
is a far moi*(^ dangerouj animal when
enraged than was the buffalo, for it
possesses greater activity, and is more
fleet of foot. The men who have
gained notoriety on account of the
niiml)er of buffalo they have killed are
looked U2)on with quiet contempt by
the true hunters of the plains and
mountains, who justly claim that hunt-
ing excellence can only be shown in the
still hunt, where tact and skill are re-
quired to approach within shooting dis-
tance of the elk, deer or antelope, and

CHAPTER Vtl.

proficient raarksmansliip is necessary to
kill it. When ])uffal() were plenty on
the western plains, it was not at all
unnsual for women to ride after and
kill them, and incur little, if any, risk
of personal danger. Miss Emma Wood-
ruff, a school tencher on Wood River in
the sixties, and who afterwards married
a telegraph operator at Wood River
Station, became <piite noted as a buffalo
hunter, and regarded it ))ut as an ordi-
nary achievement to mount her i)ony
and kill one of the sliaggy monster's.
The lonii^-haired showmen wlio infest
the country and tell thrilling stories of
their desperat(^ adventures and narrow
escapes while hunting the buffalo, draw
largely upon their imagination for bait
to throw out to the gullilde. No one
in a dozen of tliem ever rcuiched the
west l)ank of the Missouri River.
Every frontier man will agree tliat the

P!
r:

41
•11

THE PliOSPECTOR.

Ro-called scouts, cowboys and Indian
figlitei'H who pose in dime museums,
dime novels or behind theatrical foot-
lights, an? in nearly every instance the
most shameless frauds, whose long hair
and uidimited " gall " make them heroes
in unexj)erienced eyes. Since the deatli
of Kit Cai'son, but one long-haired man
has <'arned a rej)utation as a scout, and
while ]w was once, for a l)rief seascm,
allured into tho dramatic business, and
now gives platform entertainments when
his duties will ])ermit him to do so, he
is not a showman, but is yet in Govern-
ment employ. He is a trusted secret
agent of the l)e])artment of Justice, and
is enjijai^ed in a callinc^ almost as dan-
gerous as was Iiis scouting service — that
of running down the desperate men
Avho are engaged in selling liquor to
Indians. liong hair is the exce2)tion
and not the rule among scouts, and a

CllAVTKli VII.

;;

cowboy wlio permits liis locks to cluster
over his sliouklers is laughed at by his
fellow kiiifrhts of the saddle and classed

as a ci

ank.

You shall read this story as it fell
from Creede's own li[>s when I ])ress(>d

him to tell it to me

was

ns in

cident which first trained from him the

full

confidence* and unstinte<l admira-

tion of the Indian scouts

Gan\(;, through some cause, was very

day I

scarce near our camp, and onc^ day
saddled my favorite horse and rode
southward, determined to get meat of
some kind before returning. 1 went
a})out fifteen miles from camp, and
after hunting scmie four or five hours
without success, mad(i up my mind the
game had all left the country. I started
to return by a circuitous route, desiring
to cover as large a scope of country as
possible, and get some meat if it was

f«

THK rnoSI'KCTOU.

tit all to be found. After tnivclijii'
jH'rlwips {in hour through the sand-hills,
1 came upon a fresh trail of pony
tracks, and I knew the tracks were
made hy Indian ponies, and hostih*
Indians, too, for none of our scouts
were away from camj». I determined
to follow the trail and ascertain if tlie

)onies a

11 li

)ore riders, an(

1, if

)OSSll)l(

to Lret close en(Uij»h unol)serve(l to see
from the .i]>]K'nrance of the Indians who

ley were,

I if it w

IS a

hunt

mir or

war party. They were headed in the
<lirection in which I desired to l^o, and

r^ 1

after tightening up my saddh^ cinches
and looking to see if my pistols were
in order, I took the trail. 1 judged
from the trail that there wen^ a})out
twenty-five or thirty Indians in tlu^
])arty, and I soon learned that my esti-
luate was a nearly correct one.

'' When I reached th<^ top of the first

CUAVTFM VII.

little hill 2iiu'H(l nf iii(>, I caiiic in full
view of the party not more tlnm a
• linirtrr ot a mile distant.

saw

nic at tin* same tinir, as I kiirw fmni
the confusion in tlu'ii" lanks. I tell
you, in a case of that kiinl, one wants
to «lo sonic (|uick thinkin;^, and if cvci"
a man ioix^cd his ])rain for a scheme
to <i:et out of an uj^ly scrajK*, I <lid

riir

ht tl

len an(

1 tl

lere

If I tried te

•--.-■o^

'11

41 i\

•> I

iff

tk'
IP

Us:-

■»ii

IF If

TIIK I'UOSI'KCTOli.

it into execution. I saw tlmt my only
chiincc, thougli a dcHju'ratc one, would
bo to make thcni lu'lievt^ I was ahead
of a party in their ])ursuit, and
taking off my hat, I made frantic
motions to the r<'ar, as if hurrying up
a body of troops, and then, ])utting
spurs to my horse, dashed riglit toward

tl
fi

lem, an(

1 wh

•1

len elos(» enou

rinir

at th

itl

jem witn mv rin«

tl.

x'lran

scheme worke.l l)eautifully, for withou
firing a shot, they seemed to heconie
terror-stricken and fle<l on throuuch the
hills. The course lay through low san<l-
hills which often concealed them from
view, but I |)ressed on, firing at every
chance. I chased them for fully three
miles ; two of them died and I captured
three ponies which fell behind, and then

left the trail and made for

camp

found it hard to make the scouts be-
lieve my story, and some of them quite

rit.Mnnii VII.

plainly liiiitrd tluit I lia<l fniiiul the
ponies in tin* hills an<l Inul s4M'n no

Indians. I saw at onci' that they
(l()ul)t(Hl me, and dctcrinincd to con-
vince them of the truth of what I had
told them. The next niornini^ I took a
dozen or more of them and went hack
to the scene <>f tin* chase, and we were
not loni^ in finding; all the coyotes had
left of the two Ixulies.

" That affair finnly estal>lishe<l my
reputation witli the scouts, and ever
after they fully relied on my judj^'ment
as a war chief. Throui'h all our future
o})erations, they trusted m<* implicitly,
and would follow me any place 1 chose
to lead tliem."

M
k

' '*•!

tri!

1 ■■

' ■

, 8.

CIIAPTEIi VIII.

VVHKN NEW FLOWERS HLOOM ON THE

(niAVES OF OTHER ROSES PLUNKP]TY

PLUNK OF UNSHOD FEET — HE HAD
RECKONED WELL.

IN the early springtiiHc, nt that time
of tlie yeai- whvn all the worhl grows
ghad ; when tlie green grass springs
from the cohl, l)rown earth ; when new
flowers l)h>om on the graves of other
roses ; when every animal, man, bird and
beast, each to his own kind turns with
a look of love and tender sympathy,
we find the restless Red Men of the
Plains on the war-path.

One day at sunset. Lieutenant Creede
rode out from Ogallala, where the scouts
were stationed, guarding the railway
builders. It was customary for some

CHAPTEii VIII.

7t)

one to tako a look about at the closi^
of day, to see if any stray Sioux
were prowling around. About six miles
from cami), he came to a clump of
trees covering a half dozen acres of
ground. Through this grove the scout
rode, thinking pi'rha])s an elk or deer
might be seen ; but nothing worth
shooting was sighted, till suddenly In*
found himself at the farther edsre of the
wood and on the banks of the- Platte.
Looking across the stream, he saw a
small band of hostile Sioux ridintr in
the direction of the river, and not more
than a mile away. His field-glasses
showed him that there were seven of
the Sioux, and without the aid of that
instrument, he could see that they had
a majority of six over his party. They
were riding slowly in the direction of
the cam[). Creede concluded that i\wy
intended to cross over, kill the guards,

'.■'■"•fUPjIT if1'!™(r ^r" • r'^W^

' r^'TP'— T^r^T r-ii-"

niE VliOiSl'ECTUli.

und capture the Government horses.
His first thought was to ride hack to
camp, keeping the clump of trees })e-
tween him and tlie Indians, and
arrange a reception for tlie 8ioux.

The river was lialf a mile wide and
three feet deep. Horses can't tilivel
xvvy rapidly in three feet of water.

In a short tinu; they had reached the
water's edge and the scout could hardly
resist , the temptation to await their
ap[)roach, dash out, take a shot at
them, and then return to camp. That
was dangerous, he thought ; for, if he
got one, there would still be a half a
dozen bullets to dodge. A better plan
would be to leave his horse in the
grove, crawl out to the bank, lie con-
cealed in the grass until tha enemy was
within sixty yards of him, then stand
up and work his Winchester. The first
shot would sur[>rise them. They would

CIlAPrEIi VIII.

all look ut tlu'ir falling frieiul ; tlu;
second would show them where he was,
and the third shot would leave ))Ut
four Indians. By the tinit^ they swuni;
their rilies uj) another would have
passed to the Ha[)[)y Land, and one
nuin on shore, with his ritle working,
was as jLjood as three frii>iitened Indians
in the middle of the I'iver.

Thus reasoned the scout, and he
crept to the shore of the stream.. He
had no time to lose, as the Indian
ponies had finished drinking and were
already on the move.

As the sound of the sinking feet of
the horses grew loudei', the hunter was
obliged to own a feeling of regret. If
he could have gotten l)ack to his horse
without them seeino; him, he thou<i:ht
it would be as well to return to
camp and receive the visitors the?-e.
Just once he lifted his head aV)ove the

^IW

wwwHasi

.S2

THE I'liOSPECTOIi.

♦I

grans, jiiid then he sjuv liow uselosH it
would he to atteni[)t to fly, for the
liidijuis were ])iit a little more than a
huiidied yards away. Kealiziug that
he was in for it, he made U[) his
miii<l to remain in the ucrass until the
Sioux were so near that it would l)e
impossible t<> miss them. Nearer and
nearer sounded th(^ [)luidsety-plunlv of
the uusIkkI feet of the little horses in
the shallow stream, till at last they
seemed to be in short-riiie range, and
the trained hunter sj)rang to his feet.
He had reekoned well, for the Indians
w(!i*e not over sixty yards away, riding
tandem. Creede's riile echoed in the
little grove ; the lead leaped out and
the head Indian pitched forward into
th(^ river. The rich'rless horse stoi)ped

diort.

ifl<

ritii

acked

airain, am

the second Red Man I'olled slowly
from the saddle ; so slowly that he

CIlAI'TEli VIII.

8;i

baivly got out of the way in tiiiu^ to
ju'iiiiit tlu' next hnive, who wjis almost
directly beliiiul him, to get kilKnl when
it was his turn. Tlu; remaining four
Indians, instead of returning the fire,
sat still and stone-like, so terrified
were they that they never raised a
hand. Two more seconds ; two lUore
shots from the trusty rifle of the scout
and two more Indians went down, head
first, into the stream. Panic-stricken,
the other two dropj)ed into the vivvv
and began to swim down stream with
all their might. They kept an eye on
the scout and at the flash of his gun
they ducked their heads and the ball
bounded away over the still water.
Soon they were beyond the reach of
the rifle. Returning to their own side
of the river, they crept away in the
twilight, and the ever sad and thought-
ful scout stood still by the silent

w II

THE rnOSPECTOIi.

*ii

stream, watcliing tlie little red pools of
1)1o<m1 on tlie })i'oji(l ]>os()in of the
slowly running I'iver.

Three of the ahundoned l)ronehos
turned ])ack. Four crofssed over to
Creede and were taken to eani[).

The two wad and lonely Sioux had
mme but a short distanee from the
river, when one of them fell fainting
and soon bled to death. He had been
wounded by a bullet which had jmssed
through one of his companions who
was killed in the sti'eam. The remain-
ing Indian w^as afterwards captured in
battle and he told this story to his
captors, just as it was told to the
writer by the man who risked his life
so fearlessly in the service of Uncle
Sam.

CHAPTER IX.

SIT-TA-KE-KIT SCALPED ALIVE ASA IN-
DIAN NKVEU CAKES TO LIVE AFTEU HE
HAS LOST HIS SCALP.

I 111

111

DITUING the mouth of Miiy, ISr*."),
tlic scouts were giv(m permission
to «^() witli the Pciwnees ou their ainuuil
Imfftilo hunt. The Pawuees were greatly
pleased, for where there are buffah)es
there are ludiaus; and the Sioux were
ever on the h)okout for an oj)porlunity
to dro[) in ou the Pawnees when they
were least expected. Late one after-
noon a pai'ty, eight in number, of the
scouts T)eeame se])arated from the main
force during the excitement incident to
a chase after buffaloes; and, })efore they
had the slii'htest hint of danujer, were
completely surrounded by a band of at

* J

* 1

' * 1

■^ 1

THK PROSPECTOR.

!* \^-

> I

least two IiuiulrtMl Sioux The hunters
were in a siiiall baHin in the sand-hills
while the low bluffs fairly bristled with
feathers. The Sioux would dash for-
ward, shoot, and then retreat. Lieuten-
ant C/'reede, two other white men and
fiv(; Pawnees eoni[)osed the party of
scouts. This little band formed a circle
of their horses, l>ut at the first charge
of the savage Sioux, the poor aninuils
yank to the sand and died. The scouts
now crouched by the dead horses, and
half a dozen Sioux fell during the next
charge. One savage who appeared to
be more fearless than the rest, dashed
forward, evidently intending to ride
over the little band of scouts. Alas
for him! there were besides the Lieuten-
ant, three sure shots in that little circle,
and b(;fore this daring brave had gotten
within fifty yards of the horse-works, a
bullet ]>i(Mced his l)rain. Instead of

CHAPTER IX.

dropping to the ground and dying na
most men do, this Indian began to leap
and bound about, exactly like a chicken
with its head cut off, never stopping
until he rolled down within fifteen feet
of the scouts.

There was a l>oy in Creed(^\s party,
Sit-ta-re-kit by name, a very intc^lligent
Pawnee, eighteen years old, who had
gone with the Lieutenant to Washing-
ton to see the President of the United
States. There seemed to be no shadow
of hope for the scouts ; and this young
man started to run. Inasmuch as he
started in the dii'ection of the camj),
which w\as but a mile away, it is but
fair to suggest that he may have taken
this fatal step with the hojie of notif}^-
ing the Pawnees of the state of affaii's.
This was the opinion of Lieutenant
Creede ; while others thought he was
driven wild by the despeiate surround -

^' I

« •1*1

t'l PI

TIIK I'liOSPKCTon,

• iS:

inc^s. Tic lijid <r(tt\v less than a liun-
(Ircd yards wlicn a Sioux rodi^ up be-
h\{\o liim and felled him to tlu^ t^round
witli a war clnh. The youiii; scout
Rtarted to rise, was on his knees, when

i m

^S^^^^

■»«

the Sioux, havinc^ dismounted, reached
foi' tln^ scout^s liair with Ins left hand.
All this was seen l)y the boy's com[)an-

lons.

Oh, it was awful!" said (y^i'ccde, re-

latinji; this stoiy to the writer

had been toirether so much. He was

CIIAI'TKli IS.

§9

80 brave, so honest and ho piod. Of
courst*, he was only an Indian; ))Ut I
Iiad learned to \i>\'v him, and when I
saw the steel Madti glistcnini^ in the
setting snn — saw the savage at one
swift strokt^ sever the sealp from that
l)rav(^ lM)y\s liead, I was sick at lieart."
After he had heen scalped, the l)(>y got
np and walked on, riglit hy the savage
Sionx. II(^ was safe eiKMigh now.
Nothing on earth wouhl tempt an In-
dian to tonch a man Avho had heen
scaliH'd, not even to kill him.

A P

awnee s(puiw was worKing m tlie
field (me day when a 8i(mx came tlown
and scalped her. She knew if she re-
turned to her people she would he

killed. It
short-haired

was
omen

not fashionable to kee])

al)out: and, in her

lespt

rate condition, she wandered back

to the agency. The agent was sorry
for her and he took her in and cured

'Ill

I If
If

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

1.0

I.I

Ui|2£ |2.S
^ iU 12.2

UUl-

■^ IIIIIM

L25 i 1.4

1=
1.6

Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

^■^'■- "^J^

^ ■^
>

THE PROSPECTOR.

her head and sent her back to her peo-
ple. But they killed her; she had
been scalped.

But let us return to the little band
in the basin surrounded by the Sioux.
It is indeed a small band now. I^our
of them are dead, one scalped and gone ;
but as often as their Winchesters bark,
a Sioux drops. There was nothing left
for them now but to fight on to the
end.

Death in this way was better than
beinor burned alive. There was no
hope — not a shadow; for, how were
they to know that one of their com-
panions had seen the Sioux surround
them and that the whole force of Paw-
nee scouts were riding to the relief of
this handful of men, who were amusing
themselves at rifle practice while they
waited for death.

With a wild yell, they dashed down

CHAPTER IX.

upon the murderous Sioux, and, without
firing a shot, they fled from the fieUl,
leaving thirteen unlucky Indians upon
the battle ground.

The brave boy never returned. He
took his own life, perhaps ; for an In-
dian never cares to live after lie lias
lost his scalp, knowing that his com-
panions look upon him as they look
upon the dead.

• I %n

III

;" ^
"' "* fi

r J*

i:lt
I' if

■ it,

ill

»l:

CHAPTER X.

LOYAL IN FRIENDSHIP, TRUE TO A
TRUST — A CRUEL CAPTAIN.

\T C. CREEDE, the Prince of Pros-
*' ^ pectors and new-made million-
aire, is one of the gentlest men I have
ever mer, notwithstandinc: most of his
life has been spent in scenes not .con-
ducive to gentleness. His friendship is
loyal and lasting ; and he is as true to
a trust as the sunflower is to the sun.
Although a daring scout and fearless
Indian fighter, he is as tender and sym-
pathic as the hero of the ^^ Light of
Asiay

Creede and I were traveling by the
same train one day, when he asked me
if I knew a certain soldier-man — a

Captain Somebody; and I said, "No."

CHAPTER X.

"I raised my rifle to kill him one
day and an Indian saved Lis life," said
he, musingly.

I looked at the sad face of my com-
panion in great surprise. I could
hardly believe him capable of taking a
human life, and I asked him to tell me
the story.

" It was in '()5, I believe," he began.
" We had just ca[)tured a village on a
tributary of the Yellowstone, and were
returning to our (piarters on Pole
Creek. Just before going into camp,
we came upon five stray Sioux, who
had ])een hunting and were returning
to their camp on foot. Two of the
Sioux were killed and three captured.
On the following morning, General
Augur, who was in command, gavt;
orders to my Captain to take thirty
picked scouts and go on an exploring
trip, and t.> take the three captives

•1 <q

lit''

ill]

fiit

Hi;

. IE*

1 ,

TTJK PROSPECTOR.

fS ■■

with us, giving special orders to see
that none of the prisoners escaped.

" When everything was in readiness,
the tliree Sionx were brought out and
placed on unsachlhnl ponies, with their
hands tied heliind tlieni. Not a word
couhl tliey utter that we couhl un(hM'-
stand ; hut O, th(^ mute ph'ading and
silent prayers of those poor captives !
It was a dreary A[)ril morning; the
clouds hung low and the very leavens
seemed i*eady to weep for the poor,
helpless Indians.

" I don't know why they did, but
every few moments, as we rode slowly
and silently across the dank plain, they
would turn their sad eyes to me, so
full of voiceless pleading that I found
it was impossible to hold my peace
longer. Riding up to the side of the
Captain, I asked him what he intended
to do with the captives. ' Wait and

CHAI'TKIi X.

1)5

y(>ii will sec,' was his aiiswor.
'What/ said I, 'you (hui't mean to
kill them? That would l)e cold -blooded
murder.' ' I'll see that they don't get
away,' said the cruel , Captain. I
thought if he wcuild only give them a
show, and suggested that we let them
go two hundred yards, untie their
hands and tell them to fly; l)ut to this
proposition he nuide no reply. Then we
went on silently, the poor captives rid-
ing with bowed heads, dreaming day-
dreams, no doubt, of leafy arboles and
running streams; of the herds of buffalo
that were bounding away o'er the dis-
tant plain.

" The scouts were all Pawnees, and
their hatred for the Sioux dated frv^m
the breaking of a treaty by the latter,
some time previous. After the treaty
had been completed, the two tribes
started on a buffalo hunt. When they

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THE J'ltOSI'ECTUli.

arrived at the Republican River, and
the Pawnees had partly crossed, and
the rest were in the stream, the Sioux
opened fire upon them and slew them
witlMJUt mercy. The Pawnee were di-
vided into threti bands by this treacher-
ous slaughter and U' ver got together
afterward. The bitterest hatred existed
between the two tribes, and iha Gov-
ernment was using one to suppress the
other.

*' The three captives would never have
surrendered to the Pawnees had they
not seen the white men, to whom they
looked for mercy. How unworthy they
were of this confidence, we shall soon
see.

*' The Pawnees were by no means
merciful. I have heard them tell often,
how they skinned a man alive at Raw-
hide, a little stream in Nel)raska, with
all the gruesome and blood-curdling

CUAPTER X.

gestures. The white man, the victim of
the skinners, had made a threat that
he would kill the first Indian he saw.
It lia})pened to l)e a squaw ; but the
man ke2)t his word. Ilis'rifie cracked
and the squaw droj^ped dead. Tiie
train had gone but a few miles when
the Indians overtook the wagons and
foiced tlieni to return to th(^ scene of
the shooting, where they formed a cir-
cle, led the victim to the center, and
actually skinned him alive, while his
companions were compelled to look

on.

I agreed that all this was interesting;
but insisted upon hearing the story of
the cruel Captain and the captives.

" Oh, yes," said the prospector.
" Well, I had dropped back a few feet,
two of the naked Indians were riding
in front of the Captain, w^hen he lifted
his pistol ; it cracked and I saw a little

ill

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THE riiOSJ'EC'lOU.

red Hp)t in tlu^ ]>are Imck of one of
the l)oun(l cj.iptivcs. His fettered arnia
raised sliglitly; his liead went ])aek,
and lie dropped from tlie horse, dead.
The pistol cracked again: Another little

It
Ml

red spot showed up between the shoul-
ders of the other Indian. I felt the
hot blood rush to my face, and impul-
sively raised my rifle — mechanically, as
the uatiiral helper of tho oppressed —
when a Pawnee, who was riding at my

.'T

•il

rilAI'TKIi X.

\)^

Midc, n'ju'lu'd out, j^raspod my i^un,
and said, ' No nlioot 'iiii/

" ^riu; third captive, wli(» was riding
beliiiid witli i\w Indian 8c<uits, at-
tomptt'd to cHcapc, seeing liow liis e<»ni-
panions were ])eing murdered, Imt was
killed l>y the guard.

" Tln^ Captain dismounted and scalped
the two victims with a dull pocket-
knife, and afterward told how they
ndled up their eyes and looked at him
like a dvint^ calf.

"I could tell you more; but when I
think of that murder, it makes me sick
at heart, and I can see that awful
scene enacted again."

1 II

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CllAPTEU XI.

A (ILIMPSK OK TlIK KCM'KIKS — TIIK I' AT II
OK TIIK I'UOSPKCTOK, MKK Til AT OK
TIIK I'OKT, LIES IN A STONY A'AY.

Mil. CliEEDE'S Mucci'Hs is due largely
to his lusting lov(^ for the iiiount-
ains, which was lov(! at first sight. It
was in 1S(>2 that the scouts were
4»r<lere(l to Dakota; and it was then \w
saw for the first time the grand old
Rockies. They were neai'ing the Big
Horn Kange, and the sight of snow in
August was something the Indians of
the plains could not understand. In
fact, they insisted that it was not snow,
hut white earth, and offered to stake
their savings on the proposition. Some
of them were foolish enough to bet
their ponies that there was no snow on
the ground in summer time. Late that

100

CIlAI'lHi: A/.

101

fvciiiiig (licy (.anijMMl at (lie f.M.t of tl„.
raiii^'c, and mi tin- fdh.wini^. iimniinir,
four iiu-n wnv snit up to iiivcstiurah.
hikI i\vvu\v the l»(.ts. Thr ivsult was a
cliaiio;,- of I.nrscs, in wl.i,.}, the Indians
goi the worst <»f tlu; hari^^iin. F<,r
nearly a week tln-y lin^^.^.(l in tin-
slirdi.ws (.f the cooliih'

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102

THE PltOSPECTOn.

Wlu'ii, Home years later, the scouts
were imisterod out of service, Creede
returned to Ins old Iioiik; in Iowa. But
lie soon tired of the dull, [)rosy life
they led there ; and, remembering the
scent of wihl flowers and the })almy
breeze that blew down the cool canons
of the Big Horn Mountains, he deter-
mined to return to the region of the
U(K'kies. Already he had seen his
share of service, it would seem. For
nn '.? than a dozen years he had slept
where night had found him, with no
place he couhl call his home ; and yet
there are still a dozen years of doubt
and danger through which he must
pass. For him the trail that leads to
fortune and fame, is a long one ; and
many camps must be made between his
pallet on the plains and his mansion
by the sea. The path of the pros-
pector, like that of the poet, lies in a

CHAPTER XI.

103

stony way, and nothing is truer than
the declaration that :

The road is rough and rocky,—

The road that leads to fame;
The way is strewn with skeletons

Of those who have grown lame
And have fallen by the wayside.

The world will pass you by,
Nor pause to read your manuscript

Till you go otr and die.

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CHAPTER XII.

IN COLORADO TIIK I'UOSPECTOU LABORED

AND LOOKED AWAY TO THE MOUNTAINS.

THE lif«i of a prospector is one
fraught witli lijir(]slii[)s and jiriva-
tions and, in locations infested l)y In-
dians, often one of peril. Bnt in liis
search for the precious metals, the
hardy piospector gives but little
thought to personal danger. With his
bedding, tools and provisions, packed
upon the backs of trusty little burros,
he turns from the haunts of men and
plunges into the trackless wilds of the
mountains. Guided l)y the star of hope,
he pursues his ceasel(»ss explorations in
the face of hardships which would
appall any heart not buoyed up by a

keen expectation <^f " striking it rich "

104

Ill

'll

CHAPTER XII.

105

in the near future, md sjH'ini^ing at
one bound from pov^erty to wealth.

Of the great army of prospectors
constantly seeking to unearth the vast
treasure hidden in the rocky })reast of
the mountain ranfijes of the West, few
attain a realization of the hopes which
lead them onward, and secure the
wealth for which they so persistently
toiL The instances ar<^ very rare in
which the prospector has reaped an
adequate reward for his discoveries.
In the great majority of cases where
really valuable leads have been located,
the discoverers, not possessing the capi-
tal necessary to develop them, have
accepted the first offer for their pur-
chase, and have sold for a mere song
properties which have brought millions
to those who secured them. The most
notable instance in the annals of min-
insr in the West, where fortune has

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100

THK I'JiOSrKCTOIi.

rewanlcd the prospector for liis labors,
is tliat ill which figures Mr. N. C.
Creede. His is a life tinged with ro-
mance from boyhood to the present
time. This story may serve as an in-
centive to less fortunate prosj)ectors to
[)ush onward with renewed hopes ; for
in the gr(;at mountain ranges of the
West, untold riches yet lie hidden from
the eye of man.

The register at the Drover's Hotel,
Pueblo, if it had a register, held the
name of N. C. Creede. some time in the
fall of 1(S70. He marveled much at the
Mexicans. For years he had lived
among the Indians and was well ac-
quainted with many tribes ; but this
dark, sad -faced man, was a new sort of
Red Skin.

Pueblo in '70, was not the city we
see there to-day. It was a dreary clus-
ter of adobe houses, built about a big

CHAPTKIi XII.

\i)\

cotton -wood tree on the banks of a
poor little river that went creeping
away toward the plain, pausing in
every pool to rest, having run all the
way from Tennessee Pass ove" a rocky
road through the Royal Gorge.

Less than thirty summers had
brouglit their bloom to him, ])ut he
felt old. Life was long and tlie seven
years of hard service on the plains had
made him a sad and silent man. So
much of sorrow, so much of suffering
had he seen that he seldom smiled and
was much alone. Away from his old
companions, a stranger in a strange land,
he looked away to the snow-capped
crest of the Sangre de Christo and
said : " There will I go and find my
fortune." Then he rememl)ered lie was
poor. But he was young, strong and
willing to work, and he soon found
employment with Mi*. Robert Grant,

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108

THE PliOSPKCrOR.

who was very kind to this lone man in
many ways. For six months he labored
and looked away to the mountains,
whose stony vaults held a fortune and
fame for him. In the spring of 1871,
the amateur prospector went away to
the hills and spent the summer hunt-
ing, fishing and looking for quartz.
After this, life away from the grand
old mountait's was not the life for him.
Here was his habitation. This should
be his home.

^ae!K4

CHAPTER XIII.

FRUITLESS SEARCHES — MET A STREAK OF
HARD LUCK — BUT LATER HE STOOD ON
THE SUN- KISSED SUMMIT.

♦♦:!

THE winter of 1871-2 was spent at
* Del Norte, and in the following
spring Creede, with a party of pros[)ect-
ors, went to Elizabeth town, New Mex-
ico. This town was a new one, but
was attracting considerable attention as
a placer field. Like a great many other
mining camps, the place was overdone,
and unless a man had money to live
on, the outlook was not very cheerful.
Finding no work to do the young pros-
pector staked a placer claim and com-
menced operations single-handed and
alone, and the end of the third day,
cleaned up and found himself in pos-

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THE PliOSPKCTOli.

session of nint dollars' worth <>f gold
dust. This gave liini new courage. lie
woi'ked all tht^ summer ; hut when win-
ter came on, he discovered that after
])ayi g his living exj^c^nses which are
always lofty in a new camp, he had
<mly mad(^ fair wages ; the most he
had made in a single day was nine
dollars.

The winter following found the pros-
pector in Pueblo again, working for
another stake, this time in the employ
of Mr. Geoi-ge Gill)ei't. Earlv in the
sj)ring of 187J5, he took the trail.
Upon this occasion, he found his way
to Rosita in Custer County where the
famous Bassick Mine was afterward dis-
covei'ed, and within a few miles of Sil-
ver Cliff, which Av^is destined to attract
the attention of so many [)ros[)ectors,
bringing into the mining world so
much shadow and so little shine.

1. '

ClIAPTKU A///.

Ill

From Uosit.'i In* went to the Sjiii
Jiiaii ilisti'U't Hinl [U'osjM'ctcil f(»r several
iiioiiths, n'tmiKMl to till' cast si<le of tlie
ningc, jind finally iiwule a sccoimI trip
to the Sail Juan, »ut found nothing
worth the assessment work.

About this time the Gunnison coun-
try began t(» attract atterition and with
other fortune-seekers Creede went there.
This tri[), like all his pnjspeeting tours
west of the "Great Divide" panned
poorly. Never did lie make a discov-
ery of importance on the western slope,
and now he made a trip to Leadville.
Here he met with a Avell -defined streak
of hard luck. After hunting in vain
for a fortune, he was taken with pneu-
monia, lingered for a long time
between life and death, but finally
recovered. If Creede had died then,
he would have received, probably, four
lines in the Herald^ which would have

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112

THt: I'liUSl'KLTUU.

Imh'Ii to the I'ffi'ct that n jnoHpcctor had
died of piK'Uiiioiiia ill his cahiii at the
head of (*alifoniia (iulcli, and had lu'cu
dead soiiic tiiiK? wlieii discovered, as
the corpsi^ was cohl and the fire out.
lie was of no i^ieat importance at tliat
time, luit sinc(^ then lie has marched
from Monarch to the banks of the Rio
Grande, leaving a silver trail behind
liim, until at last, standing on the sun-
kissed summit of Bachelor mountain,
he can look back aloiiLf the trail and
see the camj)- fires that he lighted with
tired hands, trembling in the cold,
burning brightly where the waste
places have been made glad by the
building of hundreds of happy homes.
Creede has labored long and faith-
fully for what he has, never shrinking
from the task the gods seem to have
set before him. Almost from his in-
fancy he has been compelled to do

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CIIM'TKIi Mil.

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hattlr with the woild ahmr, and thr
writer i.s [uoud of thr privih^i^e <»f tell-
ing tlie Htory of his life, givini; eredit
where credit is due, and putting tln^
Htuiiip of perfidity upon the Imnd of
stool-pigeoiiH who Imve cHiiiped on hih
trail for the purpose of ckimiug credit
for what he did.

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CUAPTEU XIV.

THE MONAUCir OAMP — JEALOUS MINERS
WANTED THE NAME CHANGED.

r^HIEST fires started by the Iiidiaiis,

• carelessly or out of [)ure deviltry,

had s\ve[)t the hills to the east of the

divi(h! in Chaffee County, and sufficient

time had elapsed to allow a ponipadour

of pine to grow in the crest of the

continent, so thick that it was almost

impenetrable. In July, 1878, having

chopped a trail through this forest,

Creede came to the head of the little

stream whei'e the prosperous town of

Monarch now stands. For thirteen days

the prospector was there alone, not a

soul nearer than Poncha Springs, fifteen

or twenty miles away.

114

CHAPTKli XIV

115

Elk, (leer and bear were there m
abundance, and the prospector had little
difficulty in supplying himself with
fresh meat. In fact, the bear were
most too convenient,— they insisted
upon coming in and dining with the
silver-seeker.

Creede located a claim, called it the
Monarch, and gave the same name to
the c; :np. Among the first claims lo-
cated was one called the "Little
Charm." It proved to be a good proj)-
erty — but not till it had passed into
other hands. The formation in the
Monarch district w\as limestone, and in
liUiestone the prospector never knows
what he has. To-day he may be in
pay ore and to-morrow pick it all out.
Creede had picked out some promising
prospects in the same formation. He
had discovered the Madonna, ]>ut had
more than he could handle. He

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110

THE PltOSrECTOIi.

took Smith and Gray up there and
told them where to dig ; they dug

the Madonna claim.

it and worked the

for five years

sold it to Eylers

of Pueblo for

sixty thousand

dollars.

and located
They kept
assessments
and then

AMKTIIYST TUAMWAY.

CL HICMfcnS -6''%'

CHAPTER XIV.

117

The ore is very low grade, but was
of great value to these men, who were
smelters, for the lead it carried.

By the time the snow began to fall
there were a numl)er of prospectors in
the nev/ camp, and having tired of the
place, which was one of the hardest,
roughest regions in the state, Creede
sold what claims he had for one thou-
sand seven hundred dollars, but re-
turned every summer for five years,
cleaning up in all about three thou-
sand dollars.

In Monarch, as in his last success,
there were a number of jealous miners
who wanted the name of the camp
changed.

They were, or most of them, at least,
light-weight politicians, who did n't care
a cent what the town was called so
long as they had the honor of naming
it, but the name was never changed.

CHA.PTER XV.

BONANZA CAMP THK PONCIIA BANK

(JIJKKJ)K DKTKUMINES TO SEE OTHER
SECTIONS.

LEAVING Monarch, the prospector
journeyed through Poncha Pass, over
into the San Luis Valley, and l)ej,^an to
climl) the hills behind the Sangre de
Christo range. On a little stream called
Silver Creek he made a number of loca-
tions, among them the Bonanza, and he
called the new camp by that name, just
as he named Monarch after what he
considered his best claim. The country
here was more accessible and conse-
(piently a more desirable field for pros-
pecting. South of Bonanza, Creede
located the " Twin Mines," which proved
to be good property. The ore in the

CHAPTER XV.

119

twin claims carried two ounces oi gold
to the ton.

A year later when the pioneer pros-
pector decided to pull out and seek
new fields, he was able to realize fifteen
thousand dollars in good, hard-earned
money. One claim Avas sold for two
thousand dollars, the money to he de-
posited in llaynolds' bank at Salida ;
but the purchasers for some reason in-
sisted that the money be deposited in a
Poncha bank, very little known at that
time, ))ut whose president shortly after-
ward killed his man and became well,
but not favorably, known. Oreede's two
thousand dollars went to the banker's
lawyers. The bank closed, and now
you may see the ex-president in a little
mountain town pleading at the bar-r-not
the bar of justice.

The camp has never astonished the
mining w^orld, but it has furnished

120

THE PROSPECTOIi.

employment for a number of people,
Jind that is good and ehows that the
West and the whole world is richer
and Ijetter because of the discoveries
of Creede.

Creede now determined to see a little,
and learn something of mining in other
sections of the West. Leaving Colorado,
he traveled through Utah, Nevada, Ari-
zona and California, prospecting and
studying the formation of the country
in the different mining camps. The
knowledge gained on this trip proved
valuable to the prospector in after
years. This was his school. The wide
West was his school-house, and Nature
was his teacher.

CPIArTER XVI.

A ItEAU STORY — THE IlEAST IXFITIUATED
A NEW J3AN(}EK CONKIJOXTS HIM.

A N old prospecting partner of Mr.
-* ^ Creede's told the following story
to tlie writer, after tli*^ discovery of tlie
Amethyst, which lifte<l the discoverer
into prominence, gave him fame and a
bank account — and gave every advent-
uress who heai'd of his fortune, a new
field :

A man by the name of Chestei-,
Creede and I were prosjiecting in San
Miguel County, Colorado, in the 8()'s.
We had our camp in a narrow canon
by a little mountain stream. It was
summer time ; the berries were ripe,
and bear were as thick as sheep in

New Mexico. About sunset one evening

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122

THK PROSVECTOn.

T called Crccde out to show him a
cow which I had discovered on a steep
hillside near our cabin.

The moment the Captain saw the ani-
mal he said in .i stage whisper : "Bear!"
I thought he was endeavoi'ing to fright-
en me ; but he soon convinced me that
he was in earnest.

Without taking his eyes from the
animal, he spoke again in the same
stage whisper, instructing me to hasten
and bring Chester with a couple of
rifles. When I returned with the shoot-
ing irons I gave the one I carried to
Creede, who instructed me to climb
upon a sharp rock that stood up like
a church spire in the bottom of the
canon. From my high place I was to
signal the sharp-shooters, keeping them
posted as to the movements of the bear.

" You come with me," said Creede to
the man who stood at his side. It

CUAPTKR XVI.

1 2a

oct'iinvd to nie now for the first tiiiu^
that there was some danger attaclied to
this sport. I coiihl n't lielp wondering
what would become of me iu case the
l)ear got iXw, best of my two partners.
If tlie hear captured them and got
possession of the only two guns in the
camp, my position on that rock would
become embarrassing, if not actually
dangerous. I turned to look at Ches-
ter, who did not seem to start when
Creede did. Poor fellow, lie was as
pale as a ghost. " See here," he said,
addressing the man who was looking
back, smiling and beckoning him on as
he led the way down toward the noisy
little creek which they must cross to
get in rifle range of the bear, " I'm a
man of a family, an' don't see why I
should run headlong into a fight with .c
grizzly bear. I suppose if I was a sin-
gle man, I would do as you do ; but

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124

THE PROSPECTOR.

when I think of my ])(M)r wife and
dear little children, it makes me home-
Hick." Creede kept nniiling and heck-
oniniij witli his forefinger. I laughed
at Chester for l)eiiiir so scared. lie
finally followed, after asking me to L)ok
after Ins family in case he failed to
return. Just as a man would who was
on his way to the Tower.

Having reached the summit of the
rock, I was surprised to see the big
bear coming down the hill, headed for
the spot where the hunters stood coun-
seling as to how they should proceed.
I tried to shout a warning to them, but
the creek made such a fuss falling over
the rocks that they were unable to hear
me.

A moment more and she hove in
sight, coming down the slope on a long
gallop. Probably no man living ever
had such an entertainment as I was

CnAPTKIi XVI.

l-i.")

al)out to witness. In New York ton
tliousnnd people would j>ay ft Innuln-d
dollars ft Heat to He(^ it ; but there was
no time to bill tlu^ country — the eurtain
was U2> and the show was on. Creede,
who was th(^ first to see the animal,
shot one swift glance at his com[>anion,
raised his rifle, a Marl in repeater, and
fired. The great beast sliook her head,
snorted, increased lier pac(^ and l)ore
down upon lier assailants. Again and
again Creede's rifle rang out upon the
evening air, and hearing no report from
Chester's gun, he turned, and to his
horror, saw his companion, rifl(^ in hand,
running for camj). Many a man would
have wasted a shot on the deserter, but
Creede was too busy with the bear, even
if he had been so inclined. Less than
forty feet separated the combatants
when Creede turned, and at the next
shot I was pleased to see the infuriated

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1 20

TIIK I'liOSI'KCTOll.

animal drop ainl roll ujmhi tlie ground.
In another scrond hIic was up ui^^iin,
and hIki looked more like a l)all of
Mood than an animal. Now nhe stood
up for ihv. final Htrugi,de. I saw Cree<le
tak<^ deliberate aim at her hrt^ast. He
fired and she fell. I shouted with joy
as I thought nhe must Ixj dead now,
but was surpi'ised to see that Creede
was .still shooting. As raj)idly as I
clapped my hands his rifle shouted, and
h(^ l)ut four mor<^ great leaden missiles
into the body of the bear.

With that unaccountable strength that
comes to man and beast in tlie last
great struggle, the nuid monster stood
uj) again. Nothing on earth or under
the earth could be more awful in ap-
pearance than was this animal. One
eye had been forced from the socket,
and stood out like a great ball of fire.
Blood fairly gushed from her open

Cfl.HJKR XV T.

rj7

iiKHitli, Jiixl the coarHc, cc^r^^'^.i?' stnm-
pfliiii^ Houiul that caiiH; from tlit* tloodcd
throat, was so awful that it fairly chilled
tlu' l)lood ill my vriiiM. For a second
.slie stood still and i^lared at her adver-
sary as if she would rest or get a
breath Ix'fore s[)ringing U[»on hi:u.

Ai'ain I saw tlu^ liuiiter take deliher-
ate aim. This tiiiK^ h(^ aimed at the
open mouth, tht; ball crashed up
through the brain and the bear dropped
dead.

I did not shout now. This w^as the
third time I had seen liim kill that
same bear, and I expected lier to get up
again. Creede was not quite satisfied,
for I saw him hastily filling his maga-
zine; and it was well.

The liunter stepped up to the great
dead animal and placed his feet upon
her, as hunters are wont to do, when
another danger confronted him.

'!!

128

THE I'ROSl'ECTOli.

1:1

Attnacted by tlu; shooting and the
coai'so cries of the wounded ))eai', her
mate came bounding down the slope to
her rescue.

The first act liad })een interesting, hut
I confess that I was glad when the cur-
tain drojiped. Ci'eede was tired. Even

um4fP--

CIIAI'TKIi A' 17

1 '2\)

an experieiic(*(l hunter could liardly Ih»
expected to go tlirougli sucli a [)erforni-
ance without experiencing some anxiety.
I almost held my breath as the l)ig
animal bore down U})on the tired
hunter. Nearer and nearer he came,
and Creede had not even raised his rifle
to his shoulder. Now the ])ear was less
than twenty feet away and Creede stood
still as a statue with one foot resting
on the body of the dead.

I was so excited that I sliouted to
him to shoot, but he never knew it ;
and if he had, it would have made no
difference.

At last the bear stopped within eight
feet of the hunter, and bear-like, stood
up. Now the rifle was leveled and it
seemed to me it would never go, but
it did. The big bullet broke the bear's
neck, and he fell down dead at the
hunter's feet.

5rl

CHAPTER XVII.

SMITH, ABBOTT AND CIIEEDE — AGKEED
THEY ABANDON THE HOLE.

IN 188C) at Monarch, George L.
Smitli, Charles H. A})bott and N. C.
Creecle formed a company for prospect-
ing purposes. Smith and Abbott were
to furnish the funds, while Creede did
the searching. This company lasted for
nearly four years, during which time a
number of locations were made, some of
which they could have sold at a good
profit ; but they held on for more
money, always spending liberally for
the development of their property.

Just before the little company went
to pieces, Smith and Abbott went over
in the mountains to where Creede with
two miners had worked all winter, on

130

I I

CIIM'TKI! XVIl,

i;u

Siu-ing cVcck. After mixV'uu^ a tlK.r-
ongh examination of the iMos|),rts, it
was agrml that tl.cy sl.ouM alnuKMn
the hole and ],r(.ak up tlie partncshi]..
This action was not taken luranse <,f
any disagreement ; l,ut the men who
were putting up the money were dis-
C()urai»-ed.

Just before visiting the property,
Smith and Abbott received a lettei-
from Creede, in whicli lie said :

"I notice by the general tone of your
letters lately, that you are ]K)t]i }>ec()m-
iiig discoui-aged with my hard luck. 1
assure you that I am doing the best
I can. Take new courage, stay with
me a little longer, and I shall find
the greatest siher mine in America. I
feel it in my ])ones."

But they had tried so long and spent
so much money, that they had become
discouraged.

ii^

l\'2

THE rnosi'Kcruii.

Smith, siiirc tli.nt time lias made ii
.small foi'tiiiie out of mines. Senator
Ab])ott, who is well known and uni-
versally respected, is the manager of a
Monarch property in which he is
largely interested. lie has a home in
Denver where his family live ; but
spends most of his time in the mount-
ains, still toiling, and h(»[)ing that he,
too, may find a fortune in the hoary
hills.

11 :

CHAPTER XVIII.

THK HOLY MOSES— KLMAJI WAS AWKWAIcl.
AND JIAKD TO SPELL— WAOON WHEEL
GAP.

CHORTLY after the abandonment of
•^ the claim on Spring Creek, and tlie
withdrawal of Senator Abbott from the
company, Smitli and Creede went over
to the head of West Willow. They be-
lieved that at that point they could find
an extension of the vein they had been
working, and Creede believes to this
day that they did. Here they located a
claim. They were not working to-
gether that day and Creede was alone
when the location was made. Many are
the stories that have been told as to
how the first mine in the now famous
camp of Creede got its name, none of

which are within a mile of the truth.

133

I'M

TIIK riiOSl'KCTon.

li '

Il.'iviiii^ (li'ivcii ji stake, C'rcfdc sat
down to think of ii name. There was
litths <U' nothing in a name, lie thought,
but lie wanted to please his partner.

He reniembei'ed that Sniitli had named
tliree claims in Monarch, the "Ma-
donna," the "r'heru])ini," and the " Ser-
ajdjim," and he would follow in that
line. Creede was not well versed in

CliAl'TKli AV'/y/.

llW)

Bil>lical history, so knew very littlr of
the saints and ani^'t'ls. He looked al>ove
where the eagle flew by the i'a<(!^r(.d
rocks and thought of Elijah; how he
hid away in the liills, and how the ra-
vens came down and fed him. He
looked at liis torn and tattered trousers,
and thought of Laziirus. Neither of
these names jdeased liim. Lazarus su«^^-
gested ])ovei'ty and Elijah was awkward
and hard to spell, lie looked away to
the stream helow, where the wiUows
were, and tliouglit of the l)a))t^ in the
bulrushes. He looked at the thick for-
est of pine that shaded the gentle slopes,
and thought of the man wlio walked
in the wilderness. And he called the
mine the Moses ; then feari>ig that his
partner might object even to that,
rubbed it out, and wrote "Holy Moses.''
The story of the new strike sj)read
like a prairie fire, and soon found its

■I'll

'\n

1 .'iO

TIIK rnosvKCTOR.

!'!

way to tin; <*iir.s of Mr. 1). II. Moffat,
then president of the Denver tt Rio
Grande Railroad Coni[)any, who was
always on the lookout for a good mine.
One day in the early autiunn of ISDO,
Mr. Moffat, with a party of friends, in-
cluding Mr. El) Smith, his mining ex-
pert, and Capt. L. E. Campbell, then
({uartermastei' at Fort Logan, set out in
the president's private car for Wagon
Wheel Gai>, which was at that time
the terriiinus of the track. Captain
Campbell had turned the traffic of the
post to the ''Scenic Line" and in a lit-
tle while a warm friendship sprang up
between him and the railway manage-
ment, the result of which has proved
very beneficial to all concerned.

Arriving at Wagon Wheel Gap, the
party set out in stages for the Holy
Moses, a distance of ten miles. The
road lay along the grassy banks of the

cnAi'iKn will.

\'M

Kio (irjiiidc, one of the prettiest streams
in tli(^ West. A ride tliroULrli such i\
beautiful country could not ])e tii'esonie,
and ])efor(i tliey bei^'an to feel the fa-
tigue of the journey, they reached the
claim.

It took but a short time to convince
the speculators that tln^ Ab)s«'s was good
property, and before leaving, a bond
was secured at seventy thousand dollars.
Returning to Denver, the property was
divided. Mr. Moffat took one half, the
other lialf l)eing divided between Cap-
tain Campbell, Mr. Eb Smith, Mr. S.
T. Smith, who was tlien general mana-
ger of the Denver it llio (irande
Railroad Company, and Mr. Walter S.
Cheesman, at that time a director, eacli
paying in pro[)ortion to what he got.
Most of the men interested in this new
venture were very busy, and they were
at a loss to know what to do for a

m
HI

*•!:!*

I t

I :\s

rilK rHitSI'KCTnU.

\ '

I '

n'li.'iMc iMMii to iii.'iii.'iuf<' tlir property.
Ahout that liiiic Captain CaiiiplM'll
Hccurcd a vrars IcaNr of aljsciicc fi'oiii
the ai'iiiy and look up liis I'csidciicc at
tlx' iK'W camp. A coiMfoi'taMc cottage
WAS Imilt in tlic IxNiutiful \allcy, just
wlicic tlic West AN'illow pours licr
crystal flood into tlic Uio (rrandc, and
here tlie (Campbells liad tlieir lioine.
Mi'S. Campbell, who is a niece of Mrs.
(xeueral (irant, had lived many years
in AVasliington, Imt slu; appeared as
much at home in Creede camp as she
did in the Capital.

CHAPTER XIX.

Here's a land where nil are vqiinl,

Of high find lowly birth ;

A land whoro men nmko millions

Dug from the dreary earth.

Hero the meek and mild-eyed hurros

On mineral iMOuntainfl feed.

It's day all day in the day-timo.

And there is no night in (.'reedo.

The clifl's are solid silver,
With wondrous wealth untold ;
And the beds of the running rivers
Are lined with purest gold.
While the world is tilled with sorrow
And hearts must break and bleed,
It's day all day in the day-time,
And there is no night in Creede.

CREEDE OAMP THE NEW FIELD INCOU-

rOIlATION OF THE AMKTIIYST.

AS nianagor of tlie Holy Moses, (yjip-
taiii Campbell employed Mr. (^reede,
in • whom lie had implicit confidence, to

prospect, on a salary, with the under-

139

^11

"1.

140

THE riiOSPECTOIi.

Htandiiig that tlie prospector should
have one third of what was found.
Creede had a world of faith in the
country, and had imparted this confi-
dence to the Captain.

An ordinary mortal would have been
satisfied with thii'ty-five thousand dol-
lars, but Creede's dream liad not yet
been realized. The prophecy made in
his last letter to his old partners had
not been fulfilled. He had now enough
to keep him when old age should
come upon him, and laying his little
fortune aside for a rainy day, he
started out with the intention of wast-
ing his grub-stake, his salary and his
time.

As if he would lose all trace of the
Moses vein, he passed over a low divide
and began to toil up the steep, densely-
wooded side of Bachelor Mountain.
How many miles this man had walked

CriAPTEIi XIX.

141

in the wilds of the moiiiitains, alone
with Nature and Nature's God ! Tlie
frosts of fifty winters have touched his
face and there are streaks of gray in
his soft, thin hair. At his heels is
the faithful dog. lie, too, has seen
his share of service, and is as gray as
his master.

The mountain gets its name from the
Bachelor mine which was one of the
first discoveries. This claim Avas lo-
cated by a Mr. Bennett in the year,
1885. Mr. John Herrick, a jolly bach-
elor of Denver, formerly of New York,
had been pounding away in this claim
for several years ; l)ut not until th(i
mountain had given up millions to
others, did he wrest a fortune from her
rugged breast.

Slowly up the mountain-side tlie lone
prospector worked his way. Some float
was found and traced along through

142

THE I'liOSPECTOn.

Ill
III

i'l

t'^

(»

the lieavy forest. N<)\\- and tlien tlie
great I'ootH of tbe pine trees forced
some rich-looking rock to tlie surface,
and th(} pi-ospector was tempted to stop
and dig, but the float kept cropping
out. There was mineral in that mount-
ain and he would follow the outcro])-
ping until it disapj^eared.

Already the prospector began to
dream day-dreams of fortune and fame.
Slowly u}) the mountain he toiled, find-
ing fresh signs of wealth at every stej).
Once in a while the temptation to stop
was so great, that it was almost irre-
sistible ; but still he went on. When
half-way up the long slope, the out-
croj)pings disa])peared and he turned
back. lli« trained eye soon led them
to the proper jdace and before the sun
went down that day, Ci-eede liad laid
the foundation for the fortune of not
less than a half dozen people.

VIIAPTEU XIX.

14.'.

The new fin<] was called tlie Ame-
thyst, and upon thi^ vein are located
now the Last Chance, New York
Chance, the Bachelor and a nnmber of
other valuable chiMns that are worth,
or will he when silver ^^^^f^^*^
is remonetized. from one ^'^^-^^
to five million dol-
lars apiece.

In May, 1892, the
Amethyst Mining
Company was in-
corporated.

Mr. D. H. Moifat
was el ected p r e s i d
N. C. Creede, vice-president; mr. allenbv,

•"oremaii of the Aint-iibist.

n alter S. Cheesman, secretary and treas-
urer, and Captain L. E. Campbell, gen-
eral manager. A trannvay was built
to carry the ore from the mine to the
Denver <fe Rio Grande Railroad Com-
pany's track, which cost the Amethyst

144

THE I'liOSl'KVTOIt.

It
1 1

comp'Uiy many tliousaiids of dollars.
Splemlid shaft and ore houses were
built at the mine, making almost a little
city where Creede had walked through a
wihierness of pines. The Last Chance,
adjoining the Amethyst, owned by Sen-
ator E. O. Wolcott, and others, spent a
fortune in development work ; but the
mine has yielde<l millions to its owners.
To Mr. Jacob Sanders of Leadville is
due the credit for having organized the
Last Chance Mining Company, one of
the strongest in the camp.

When the news of the incorporation
of the Amethyst Mining Company went
out to the world, many inquiries were
made by brokei-s for stock ; but none
was ever offered for sale.

The capital stock, five million dollars,
is divided as follows ; Mr. Creede owns
one third, Mr. Moffat one third, Captain
Campbell one sixth, Mr. S. T. Smith

ClIAPTEli XIX.

145

and Mr. Chei'sinan, a twelfth oacii.
Wl)eii the statt'iiu'iit is made that this
mine for some time paid a monthly div-
idend of ninety thousand dollars, it is
easy to figure the daily income of any
or all of the gentlemen interested in the
property. What a striking example for
the monometallist who argues that silver
can l)e produced at a profit at the pres-
ent prices; but it stands as a well-
known fact, that, taking the wholes
output of Creede camp from the <late
of the discovery of the Amethyst vein to
the present time, every ounce of silver
that has gone down the Rio Grande has
cost the producers more than a dollar.
Of the army of prospectors who lose
themselves in the hills every spring,
nothing is ever heard, except of the very
few who find a fortune. Among the gam-
bling dens in a mining camp, the scores
of men who lose from one to one thou-

» Q

liji

14(;

THK PltOai'KVTOli.

','

sand (lollaiK every night keep their own
.secit't; Imt let one man win a hundred,
and you will hear the bar])er tell the
city marshal that " lledy Quartz ])roke
de ])ank at Banigan's las' night, too
easy." Mining and prospecting are only
legitimate gambling, and it is the tens
of thousands of little losers that keep
the game going.

}

» ■

1-1,

'^i

t>:

CIIAPTEU XX.

WANDEIIIXd IN TIIT WILDS — AM()\(J i'lIK

MILKS OF MOUNTAINS ItENP^ATII A

SUMMEU SKY.

A WAY in the hills, fear above the
bluebells, where the day dawned
early and the sunlight lingered when
the day was done, the lone prospector
had his home. Ai times he would have
a prospecting partner ; but often for
months he lived alone in the hills, with
no companion save his faithful dog, wlio
for thirteen years followed silently
where his master led. One day while
talking of his past experiences, the pros-
pector said : " When I try to taste
again the joy that was mine v/heii I
first learned that I was a millionaire,
I am disappointed. Like Mark Twain's

dime, it could be enjoyed but once.

147

]4i<>

TiiK i'U(tsn:(iini.

■'J

ii,

(Jri'iit joys, lik<' <^r«'{it snn*o\v»s, arc soon
foi'L'ottcii ; hut tlicrc^ Jirc thiMy:s that
arc as fresh in my memory as if these
years had been ])Ut
moments. I shall
never foi'^et

the many beautiful spois where my
little dog and I have camped — al-
ways on the sunny soutli hills where
the sun coaxed the grass to grow and
the flowers to blow, often, it seemed, a

CIIM'TKIi XS.

lf.>

nioiitli nhcjul of tiiiu*. Wlu-ii \vr lia<l
iiijuN* our cjiiiij), soinctinics wr would u;o
jiwjiy for a day or two, and upon oui*
I'cturn, we would lind tlic llttli^ wild
flowci'M ])loo!uini( l)y our door. Often,
now, wIhmi we luive finislicd our mid-
day dinner of porterhouse and pie, I
sit on the stoop in tlie sunlii^lit, my
faithful dog at my feet, and as 1 smoke
a fifty-cent cigar, my mind wanders ])ack
over memory's trail.

1*1

^ €

I hear the song of brooklets,
The inurmuriugs of the wiucls;
I smell the smell of summer,
Hear the whispering of the pines.

I seem to see the sunset ;
In fancy I behold
The hoary hills above me,
Uobed in a garb of gold.

I give an extra cookie
To this dear old dog of mine;
As he shared the shadow,
So shall he share the shine.

150

TIIK riKJSl'KCTOU.

Ami U8 I Hiiiuko niid Ioho me,
III the (lays that Inivo mmo by,
Aiiiuiig tlio iiiiloH of inotintaiiis
Beneath a suminor Hky,

The smoke of my llavanua.
As it slowly floats away,
Is freighted with the odor
Of my long-lost pipe of clay.

And I give an extra cookie
To tliis poor old dog of mine ;
For he has shared the shadow,
Aud he shall share the shine.

CIIAPTEU XXI.

DKVKLOPMKXT OK CIJKKDK — SAW A CITY

SIMM NO IP ALMOST I\ A DAY AX

lllJNDKKl) GAMHLEKS CAMK TIIKUK, TOO.

NOAV let tli(^ weary prospector sit
down and rest. His dream lias
been realized ; his prophecy fulfilled.

The o2)ening of the Amethyst vein
called for the extension of the Denver
& Rio Grande Railway Company's track
from Wagon Wheel Gap, a distance of
ten miles.

About this time, President Moffat and
the General Manager got into an en-
tanglement with the directory and both
resigned. Mr. George Ooppell, chairman
of the board, came out from New York
and took charge of the property.

Mr. Moffat and others interested,

151

152

TF!E PROSPECTOR.

urged the management to extend the
rails to the new camp. Among those
interested in the extension was Senator
Wolcott, counsel for the company ; but
it is as difficult for a New York cap-
italist to apprecijite the importance of a
silver camp as it is for him to aj^preci-
ate the value of a silver dollar, so Mr.
Coppell refused to build the line.

Mr. Moffat then put up thirty-six
thousand dollars to build the extension,
agreeing to let the railroad company
repay him in freight.

Soon after this Mr. E. T. Jeffrey was
elected president and general manager
of the road. Probably no man in
America could have taken up the tools
laid down by Moffat and Smith and con-
tinue the good work begun >v them,
with so little friction as did the present
president of the Denver &, Rio Grande
Railroad Company. To till the places

CIIArTKR XXI.

V)^

vacated l)y these pojuilai' officials was
no liglit task. Tlie gi-aiul stand was
packed and the voters liehl tlie bleach-
ers, when President Jeffrey went to the
bat.

Colorado said " Play l)all," and in the
first inning lie won the respect of th(^
other players and the ai)planse of the
people. He has been successful because
he deserved success.

Three months after the completion of
the line to Creede, each train brought
to the camp fi'om two hundred to three
hundred people, all the side-tracks were
blocked with freight and a ceaseless
stream of silver was flowins: into the
treasury of the Denver tfe Rio Grande
Railroad Company. The lucky pros-
pector built a cozy ca})in in the new
camp and saw a city spring up almost
in a day. Just where the trains pulled
in, you might see him sitting by the

154

THE PliOSPKCTOR.

cottage door, smoking a cigar, wliilo tlie
little old dog who had just finished a
remarkably good breakfast, trotted stiff-
legged lip and down the porch and
wondered why they did n't go out any
more and hunt in the hills.

(»l

CHAVTKli XXI.

l;").""*

THE RISE AND FALL OF CREEDE.

A thousand burdened burros filled
The narrow, winding, wriggling trail.

An hundred settlers came to build
Each day new houses in the vale.

An hundred gamblers came to feed

On these same settlers— this was Croede.

Slanting Annie, Gambler Joe

And Robert Ford ; Sapolio—
Or Soapy Smith, as he was known —

Ran games peculiarly their own ;
And ev^erything was open wide
And men drank absinth on the side.

And now the Faro bank is closed,
And Mr. Faro's gone away

To seek new fields— it is supposed-
More verdant fields. The gamblers say

The man who worked the shell and ball

lias gone back to the Capital.

»;i

ir)r,

THE rnosPKcToii.

The wiiiler winds blow bleak and chill,
Tlic (iiiakin«^, quivering aspen waves

About lliu suuiinit of the liill ;
Above the unrecorded graves

Where halt, abandoned burros feed

And coyotes call— and this is Creede.

Lone graves I whose head-boards bear no name,
Wliose silent owners lived like brutes

And died as doggedly, but game, —
And most of them died in their boots.

We mind among the unwrit names

The man who murdered Jesse James.

We saw him murdered — saw him fall,

And saw his mad assassin gloat
Above him. Heard his moans and all.

And saw the shot holes in his throat.
And men moved on and gave no heed
To life or death— and this is Creede.

Slanting Annie, Gambler Joe

And Missouri Bob are sleeping thero ;
But slipi)ery, sly Sapolio,

Who seems to shun the Golden Stair,
Has turned his time to loftier tricks-
He's doing Denver politics.

CHAPTER XXTI.

WEARING Ills WEALTH ATTIIACTS THE

ATTENTION OF AUVENTUKESSKS LOS

AN(JELES.

'T'O one who lias lived almost alone
and unknown for a half hundred
years, the change from obscurity to no-
toriety and fame is s^vift and novel.
Mr. Creede realized that he was attract-
ing the attention of the world, especially
the fair ones in search of husbands, in
a very short time.

In his little den up the Gulch he had
a collection of letters that were interest-
ing reading. They came from t\u- four
corners of the earth ; from women of
every tongue, and almost every walk

of life.

157

iij

158

THK riiOSPKCTOIi.

The firnt one I saw was from a
St. Louis l)lay actress, who sent photos
in which her left foot stands at six
oVlock, her riglit five fifty-five. Iler
hair was short and cut curly. She said
she was " dead weary of the stage," and
that with the prospector's money and
her experience, they could double up
and do the world in a way that would
make the swells of " Parie " take to the
woods, and there was nothing the mat-
ter with his coming on and she would
meet him on the Q. T., and if she failed
to stack up, he could cash in and quit.

July 11, 1802. A Khode Island
preacher writes to ask for help.

'• Doubtless," he began, " you have many letters
from people upon whom the cares of life press
heavily, and it must be a source of great annoy-
ance."

After dwelling at some length upon
his deplorable condition, there was a —

CHAl'TKIi XXII.

151>

I
I 1

"P. 8.— If you can't i^eiul money, picnso send me
a suit of cast-off clothes, and greatly oblige.

Yours truly,

" N. B.— I send measure, so that you can get an
idea of what size I need. Breast 37, waist :i2, leg
33."

May 17, 1893. A woman with a nose
for lucre and a cold nerve, writes from
Waxahacliie to ask the lucky prospector
to " come down and look at her dauirh-

ter.

" She is a perfect beauty ; has a good solo voice,
but is a little lazy. She has not quite developed,
being only thirteen years old ; but if you will take
a look at her you will change your mind. She's a
beauty. She wants to go to Italy or France and
study music and if you will help to educate her
you may have her."

What a cold-blooded proposition is
this, soliciting as a horse trader would
for some one who has a fortune to take
a look at her child thirteen years old !

A lady writes from Canada to borrow
three thousand dollars to buy a tarm.

I'M

j'f n

I (10

TIIK I'noSI'KCTOli.

and .'kMs that cric man slioiiid not ltav(>
so much money.

An am1)itious yonni^^ Kn^lishman, wIjo
is in lovi' witli the "])r('tti('st girl in
Hold llcngland/' writt's for a "few 'un-
drcd to bring Vr hover with."

July <S, 18',)l', at C<duml)us, Ohio, a
widow writes the best letter of them
all.

" Deak Mr. Creede : — Having seen by the papers
that y's hav lots av money, an' a good dispositiou
I write y's to ask a favor. No it's not money I
wants, nor do I Avaut y's to marry me. I was as far
west as Colarado wanct, saw the Vergini Mine in
Uray County an' its Terrable in 1888. Shure it was
terrable, too ; for then I lost the best friend av me
life — the foreman of the Terrable, he died.

" After that it seemed I had no friends at tall a
tall, an' I came back to Columbus. Nearly I forgot
to say I wus married wanct— but mind, I'm not wan
av thim grassy widdies — I'm bonyficd. Shure if I
was as shure of another as I am that Pat is dead,
shure I wo'n't be wastin' me time writin' to ye.
Nearly I forgot to sa^' that what I want av ye is to
find me a good thru and 'onest husband. I've lost
all fait in these wishy-washy judes here. Gimme

CIlAl'TKli XMl.

iiU

the rough and ojicst liaiid of the iiiountuin, :iii(1
tnkcftway your louj^-tinnls judcs.

"ConipHnitively spciikiu'. \ was born in the North
of Ireland an' am a happy disposilion.

"ItenicMubher, the man must bo noblo, 'onest an'
thru. Please write lo me booh.

Very respectfully yours,"

"N.B.— After readin' this 1 seel was about to
leave o«it the most impartent part. Now if you
can't lind a man with all these good qualities an'
money too, I'll take the one w Id the 'onest, thru and
noble carocther. Money can niver buy happiness
an' love, an' that I pri/o above everything else. I
want a man not Ifss than forty as he should begin
to have some since by that time.

Wauct more I am, Yours truly,

Up to the writing of tliese pages, the
mails continue to bring loads of letters
from all sorts of cranks. Those from
women. are turned over to Mrs. Creede ;
but only a very few, of course, are an-
swered.

In that poet's Paradise ; that dreamy
lotus-land, Southern California, Ci'eede

162

TIIK rUitSl'HL'TOli.

has Ijouglit IX bcjiiitifiil home. Tt ntands
juHt at th(} end of Sixth street on Pearl,
HurroiiiidtMl hy troi)it'al trci's, vines and
flowers. Here tlui balmy breezes bring
down the scent of cedar from the hills to
the north, and the soft sea- winds creep
across the lea fi'om the ocean -edge. It's
a pretty jdace — a pleasant place for
weary })ilgrims to rest, beyond the waste
of a sun-dried sea —

O'er which he toiled, a sea of san^ before him,
Dead snakes aud withered toads lay on his way ;
The desert sun, red, awful, hanging o'er h m
The livelong day.

And lo, at last there breaks upon his vision
A paradise with flowers and tropic trees,
Cool, crystal streams that flow throw fields elysian ;
Los Angeles.

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