USA > Colorado > Larimer County > History of Larimer County, Colorado > Part 6
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Here we leave Mr. Greeley and his party to pur- sue their journey to Fort Laramie, at which point they arrived three days later. If Horace Greeley could be restored to life and privileged to journey
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across the continent in these days, he would note that a great change had taken place in the appear- ance of the country he traveled over in an ambu- lance from Denver to Boxelder creek, fifty-one years ago. Instead of wild, dreary and uninhabited plains, he would pass through a thickly settled country all the way, along fine farms and farm houses, well cultivated and highly productive fields, orchards laden with fruit and luxuriant gardens burdened with choice vegetables and through towns and cities teeming with activity, all brought about through the systematic use of and intelligent appli- cation of water to the land. Instead of plodding along in a rickety, uncomfortable ambulance, drawn by mules, making twenty or thirty miles a day over rough roads and fording flooded streams, he would be whirled through the country in luxurious Pull- man cars which cover more miles in an hour than the mules leave behind in a long day's drive. Yes, conditions in Colorado have changed, wonderfully changed, since June, 1859.
Trapping on the Cache La Poudre in 1849 and 1850
In 1900, Capt. William T. Drannan published a book, entitled "Thirty-One Years on the Plains and in the Mountains," in which he recounts his experi- ences and adventures as a hunter, trapper, Indian fighter and scout. According to his narrative he fell in with Kit Carson at St. Louis when fifteen years of age and remained with the noted hunter, trapper, guide and scout until he was twenty-one years old. He called Carson "Uncle Kit," and relates many marvelous tales of thrilling adventures on the plains and in the mountains. In the winter of 1849-50, Carson established several trapping posts on the headwaters of the Cache la Poudre and placed young Drannan, then nineteen years old, in charge of a party of trappers. In chapter five of his book, Captain Drannan relates the story of his experiences and adventures that winter, the major portion of which is herewith reproduced in his own words :
"Uncle Kit, having made quite a sum of money, concluded that he would take over to the head- waters of the Cache la Poudre, to look for a new field where he could trap the coming winter on a large scale, and wanted John West and I to accom- pany him, which we did. Each taking a saddle and one pack animal, we started on the trip, taking a new route to Uncle Kit, as well as to Johnnie and myself. Carson took the lead, for, like a deer, he could find his way anywhere he wished to go.
"We crossed the Arkansas above Bent's fort, and from there we traveled along the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, striking the South Platte at the mouth of Cherry creek, which is now the center of Denver, Colorado. Here we met Mountain Phil- of whom you will hear more in this narrative. He was living in a wickiup and had a squaw for a wife. Uncle Kit and I, being acquainted with him, stopped and had a chat with him while our horses were feeding. Uncle Kit asked what he intended to do the coming winter, and he replied :
"'I will trap for you if you like, but you will have to furnish me an outfit, for I have none of my own.'
"" 'All right, Phil,' said Carson, 'I will give you a job, but you will have to stop alone, for none of my men will live with you.'
" 'All right,' said Phil, ‘me and Klooch will be enough to stop in one cabin, anyway.'
"These things being understood, we rode off, Mountain Phil agreeing to meet us at Taos about two months from that time. After we rode away, I asked Uncle Kit why no one would live with Mountain Phil. His reply was: 'Phil is a very bad man, and I have yet to hear the first man speak a good word for him.'
"Late that afternoon we saw a band of Indians- ten in number-coming toward us, and when near them we saw that they were Arapahoes, and Gray Eagle, the chief, was with them. Uncle Kit being well acquainted, all shook hands, and the chief in- sisted on our going to their camp and staying all night with them. Uncle Kit, knowing the nature of the Indians, and knowing that Gray Eagle would take it as an insult if we should refuse to visit him, turned about and went home with him. He sent two of his men ahead to the village, and we were met by about five hundred warriors with all the women and children of the village. Just at the outer edge of the village we were honored with what they considered a great reception. Gray Eagle took us to his own wickiup, his men taking charge of our horses and packs. I had learned to speak the Arapahoe language fairly well and could under- stand anything they said. When supper time came, Gray Eagle came to Uncle Kit and said: 'I have a great feast for you; my men have killed a very fat dog; supper is ready; come in and eat.'
"I remarked to Uncle Kit as we were going to supper, that I was very glad we came with Gray Eagle, for it had been a long time since I had had a good meal of dog. Supper being over, the chief got his pipe and selected six men from his tribe and
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we had a peace smoke, and he and Uncle Kit talked nearly all night. During their conversation that night he said that Mountain Phil was a very bad man, and that he would often steal their horses and sell them to the Comanches.
"Next morning after breakfast our horses were brought in, saddled up, and we were off on our journey again to Cache la Poudre.
"It might be of interest to our readers to know how this stream acquired its name. There was a Frenchman by the name of Virees Robidoux camped on the stream spoken of, with a little squad of men ; they were attacked by a band of Indians, and the first word uttered by Robidoux was 'Cache la Poudre,' which means, in English, 'hide the pow- der,' and from that time on the stream has been so called.
"We arrived at our proposed trapping field and, after looking over the country, we found plenty of beaver signs along the streams and game in abund- ance, and Uncle Kit decided there was room enough for four camps. We returned by the way of Bent's fort, as Uncle Kit wished to employ the best men he could get to trap for him the coming winter. On our way to the fort, which was four hundred miles from the proposed trapping ground, Uncle Kit told me that he would have to leave me in charge the coming winter, as he was going to the City of Mex- ico on business, but said that he would come out and get the camps established and return to Taos with the horses before going there.
"We found plenty of men at Bent's fort, and, as usual, they were all broke, having squandered the money earned the winter before for whiskey and in card playing. Uncle Kit had no trouble in getting all the men he wanted, but had to furnish them with traps and provisions-which took considerable money-he to have half the furs caught by each of them. Everything being understood, we returned to Taos, the men agreeing to meet us there two weeks later. They were all on hand at the appointed time, but there being a large party to outfit, it took some weeks to make preparations for the trip, there being eleven in the crowd. It was about the last of October when we arrived at the trapping ground ready to begin work.
"We had good success trapping that winter, until about the first of January, when we had an un- usually heavy fall of snow in the mountains, which drove all the game to the low lands, nothing being left that was fit for meat except a few mountain sheep, and the snow made it very inconvenient get- ting around to attend the traps. In the latter part
of February I asked Charlie Jones one day to go down to Mountain Phil's camp and see if there was anything that he wanted, as we had kept all the extra supplies at our camp. Mountain Phil and his Klooch-that being the name he called his squaw, which is also the Arapahoe name for wife-were staying alone about ten miles further down the country from where we were located. On Charlie Jones' return, he said: 'It seems that Mountain Phil has been faring better than any of us, for he has been able to kill his meat at camp, thereby sav- ing him the trouble of having to go out and hunt for it.' Johnnie and I did not understand what he meant by this. So, after hesitating a moment, Jones said: 'Boys, if I should tell you what I know about Mountain Phil, you would not believe it, but as sure as you live he has killed his squaw and eaten most of her, and he has left his camp.'
"We insisted that he must be mistaken, but he declared that he was not, saying he had seen the bones in the cabin, and further investigation de- veloped the fact that he had beyond any doubt killed and eaten his Indian wife. From that time on, Mountain Phil went by the name of the Ameri- can Cannibal until his death, which was-if my memory serves me right-in 1863 or 1864, at Vir- ginia City, Montana.
"It was in the month of April that Uncle Kit came in with a pack train for the furs, the snowfall having been so heavy that he could not get in earlier. Our catch had been light, as we had more snow that winter than has been known before or since in the history of that country. Uncle Kit was, however, very well satisfied with our work, with the excep- tion of Mountain Phil, whom he had furnished for the winter, and who had not caught a beaver. We soon had our traps and furs together, loaded up and were on our way to New Mexico. The third day about noon we reached the Cache la Poudre cross- ing, where we again ran on to the American Can- nibal. We stopped here to let our horses feed and partake of refreshments ourselves. Uncle Kit, after giving Mountain Phil a lecture for his past conduct, said: 'Phil, if ever you and I are out together in the mountains and run short of provisions, I will shoot you down as I would a wolf, before you get hungry.' Phil asked him why he would do so, and Carson replied: 'Because I wouldn't take the chance of being killed and eaten up by a cannibal like you.'
"It might be well to give a brief description of this cannibal. He was a large, raw-boned man, who would weigh about two hundred and fifty pounds,
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though he was not fleshy. He always wore his hair long and never combed it, also wore his beard long and never sheared or combed that. His hair grew down on his forehead almost to his eyes. In fact, he looked more like an animal than a human being.
"Three days' travel brought us to South Platte, where we crossed the river and made camp on a lit- tle stream called Sand creek. From here we pro- ceeded on our way to Santa Fe, which took us twelve days. Furs being still higher this year, not- withstanding our small catch, Uncle Kit did fairly well out of his winter trapping on the Cache la Poudre."
Crossing the Plains in the Early Sixties
The following description of a trip across the Plains in 1862 was read by Mrs. Walter D. W. Taft at the annual banquet of the Fort Collins' Pioneer Association in 1910:
"Railroad and steamboat travel ended at the Mis- souri river points-chiefly St. Joseph, Mo .; Fort Leavenworth and Atchison, Kan., and at Council Bluffs and Omaha, farther north.
"From these points the travelers going to 'Pike's Peak' were obliged to depend upon vehicles of some sort for their further progress. There were three ways to choose from-by stage coach, ox team and horse or mule team. The stages were Concord coaches, hung on thoroughbraces, which were two huge straps made of leather and fixed to a frame- work, one on each side upon which the body of the coach was fastened. By them all jolting was pre- vented and in going over rough places gave a rock- ing motion-which made folks who were inclined that way thoroughly seasick-but for most people was an easy and pleasant motion.
"The time was six days from Atchison to Denver -about seven hundred miles-traveling day and night. They carried the mail. On the inside was room for nine passengers. The fare was $75 to Denver until the Indian troubles began, then it was $175. The baggage limit was twenty-five pounds, besides which the traveler, for his own comfort, took a pair of blankets or a buffalo robe and a supply of good things to eat (and sometimes to drink).
"The coaches were drawn by four horses which were changed every ten or twelve miles at swing stations.' They stopped at the 'home sta- tions' for meals, which cost $1.50. The menu was decided upon by the stage company and consisted of bread, meat, beans, dried apples, coffee and the 'four seasons.' Sometimes there were potatoes and, as I remember, canned milk, though I am not
sure. I know they did not always have fresh milk. The quality of the meal depended upon the cook. A good cook's reputation as such was known for miles. Our Mrs. Taylor was famous far up and down the line for her neat and attractive dining- room and her excellent table, at which was served various kinds of bread, coffee made to perfection and the variety of things she knew what to do with beans and dried apples.
"There were three seats in the coaches and room for three people on each seat. Lucky, indeed, was the passenger who secured a corner on the back seat. If one did not mind riding backwards, the next most desirable places were the two corners on the front seat. The use of the middle seat was optional, unless there were more than six passengers aboard. The back of this seat was a broad strap of very thick leather and could be removed. It was a case of first come, first served ; the seat you engaged was yours, and woe betide the poor mortal who must take the middle of the middle seat and stay there sitting bolt upright for six days and nights? At best it was a hard ride and was used by nabobs and business men who were pressed for time.
"Of the other two modes of crossing the Plains, each had its advantages. Mere travelers, those who were not interested in freighting, only wanted to cross, took passage in a mule or horse train, as bet- ter time could be made. It generally took thirty days to come from St. Joseph, Mo., to Denver, for coming west the wagons were loaded. You paid any price you could agree upon with the owner, from $30 up, and during the Indian troubles as high as $85, including board. Families moving out West came with their own wagons, driving the kind of team that suited them best. Travel by ox team was slower but cheaper; they could live upon grass. Horses must have grain, which was expensive to buy, and when carried lessened the amount of freight. Six weeks was the time necessary for an ox team to make the trip. They traveled about two miles an hour, and were used by heavy freight- ers, as they could haul more cheaply.
"At first, until the Indian troubles began in '64, all wagons were driven independently. After that all wagons were stopped by the U. S. military at Fort Kearney coming west, and at Camp Ward- well (now Fort Morgan) going east, until there was a number of armed men considered sufficient for their own protection; then they were allowed to proceed. At first a dozen men were considered enough, but later the number was increased to fifty and more until after a while the people grew afraid
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and liked to travel in large companies. I have known of two such companies meeting, one com- ing west and the other going east, that were an hour and a half in passing. These companies were composed of several trains, as the wagons belong- ing to one freighter were called, and many single wagons; each train had a wagon boss, and from among the wagon bosses one was chosen to be a sort of captain of the entire company.
"It was interesting when the day's drive was ended to see such a company go into camp. Each train pulled out of line and went to the place chosen by the boss to corral. The single wagons were ap- pointed places with them by the captain. Each wagon boss stood in the center of his selected ground and motioned his drivers into place until a ring was formed of wagons with only a narrow opening in one place. The horses and mules after being watered were tied to the wheels on the inside of the ring. The oxen were turned out to grass. Camp fires were built in the center; some got sup- per, others made the beds while the teams were be- ing taken care of. The drivers of the ox teams took turns in night herding their cattle.
"After supper was a time for social enjoyment around the camp-fire. Such a journey was by no means lacking in pleasure. You saw all sorts of people. Every woman was shown the respect due a queen ; a girl received homage fit for a goddess -- anything was hers for the accepting. I know, for I was there.
"The air was clear, the stars shone brighter than I ever saw them any other place. The road was a broad, beautiful driveway, a hundred feet or more in width; for miles it was level as a house floor. Traveling by wagon was far pleasanter than travel- ing by coach. You knew you were to be a long time on the road and you soon ceased to be in any hurry ; you were at home whenever night come.
"Then when the journey was done you felt as though your occupation was gone and a pleasant epoch was ended."
Crossing the Plains in 1862
Mr. and Mrs. John G. Coy crossed the Plains in 1862, arriving at their present home, three-quarters of a mile east of Fort Collins, in August of that year. They were married just before starting for the West and this was their wedding trip. In the following story of their trip, its incidents and hap- penings, read at the annual banquet of the Fort Col- lins' Pioneer Association on Feb. 4th, 1909, Mrs.
Coy tells how they traveled and of their experiences . on the way :
"We started from Cuba, Missouri, bound for California, the 23rd day of May, 1862, with three yoke of oxen and a horse. Some of the oxen were young and not well broken, so the first thing we had to learn was how to catch and yoke them. When we camped, they were turned out to graze and when we wanted them we found they would not let us go up to them to put on the yoke, so we took a long rope, tied one end to the wagon wheel or a tree and made a slip noose in the other and laid it on the ground with some corn in the loop. When an ox came up to get the corn one of us gave the rope a quick pull and caught him by the foot; he was then tied to the wagon while we put on the yoke; there was often a good deal of difficulty in getting the two oxen beside each other to yoke them together, but in time they learned what was expected of them and we had no more trouble. We made about eight miles the first day, when we camped near a small stream and turned the oxen out to graze, built our camp-fire and got our first meal.
"We traveled along for several days without any- thing unusual happening until just before we reached the Kansas line. One afternoon we were crossing, or trying to cross, a muddy stream, the bridge having been burned, when the oxen in the lead refused to pull and turned around, while the wagon kept settling in the mud until they could not pull it out ; so there we were. After a while a man came along on horseback and began inquiring about the war and about the soldiers. Mr. Coy was very much worried and tired and I think not in a very good humor and did not answer him very politely, so when he started away he said we should hear from him again. We were still sticking in the mud when some of Uncle Sam's soldiers came along and helped us out, and we went on our way rejoicing. However, we had only gone about two or three miles when two men came out of the bushes and halted us and said, 'The captain sent us after that gun.' We had a small shotgun hanging in front of the wagon inside the bows. Mr. Coy said, 'That is nothing but a little shotgun.' The man said, 'Let me see it,' and there was nothing to do but to give it to him; then he said, 'Hand out that re- volver.' When we told him we hadn't one, he said, 'I will search the wagon and if I find one, I will kill you.' He began pulling over things in the wagon, when his companion, who had not gotten off his horse, said: 'Come along! I don't think they have one,' so they rode off. By the way, the
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one who did the talking was the man who had called on us when we were in the mud and we sus- pected they were afraid the soldiers were coming. We went a few miles further and camped near a house; there were a good many people around there and some of them seemed to be stirring all night ; we did not sleep much and the next day we got over into Kansas and I thought we were much safer. We frequently heard of the guerillas or bush- whackers killing someone near where we were camped, but none of them ever molested us.
"The weather was warm and we made better time. When we came to a place where we could get wood we put some in the wagon under the bed. We did not need much except when we baked bread. I used to start the bread at noon and cover it over closely and by camping time it would be ready to put in the Dutch oven. It was made with the home-made yeast cakes and was always good. Soon after coming into Kansas we passed a farm where we traded the horse and saddle for two cows. We had been traveling alone, expecting to overtake a wagon train which had left about a week ahead of us. After leaving Atchison we made about twenty- five miles a day and expected to overtake the train in about two days more. We reached Kearney one evening after dark and made camp for the night; the cattle were very tired and all lay down by the wagon. In the morning, three oxen and a cow were gone. Mr. Coy went out to hunt for them and I stayed by the wagon all that day and night. At noon the next day, Mr. Coy came back without having seen anything of the missing stock. We yoked up the three oxen and one cow that were left and went back two or three miles and camped beside the river. We spent ten days looking for the lost cattle, but neither saw nor heard anything of them. While waiting here I saw many west-bound trav- elers pass by, among them a family which had sev- eral wagons and were taking all their household effects to Central City, Colorado, to start a dairy. The wagon in which the mother and children rode was drawn by fourteen cows, this being the easiest way to get the cows across the Plains.
"Having lost half of our teams and being delayed so long we concluded that it was too late to go on to California and decided to go to Denver and spend the winter. We were obliged to make our milch cow do the work of one ox. When we reached Cottonwood we found four parties camped there. I recognized them as some of the people who had passed while I was waiting by the river. Hav- ing been delayed so long that it was impossible to
overtake the people we had hoped to, we were delighted to fall in with this party. In one wagon were Mr. Andrew Ames, his mother and two sis- ters; Mr. Sidney Stone and Miss Fritz. In the second were Mr. Platte, Joshua and Orvand Ames and Mr. Lon Rhodes, while Mr. Crane and family made up the third party and the two Snodderly brothers the fourth. Mr. Andrew Ames had been in Colorado and started a home and was now bringing his mother and sisters out. Miss Fritz, who had been finishing her schooling in South Bend, Indiana, was coming to join her family, who were already located here. We all stayed at Cottonwood a few days and while the men went out and gath- ered wood to take along, the women all did their family washings. The weather was very warm by this time so we started early in the morning and took long noonings, stopping about sundown in the evening. It was usually dark before we got our suppers and many a mosquito lost his life by falling into our frying pans.
"When we reached Fremont's Orchard the sand was so deep it was necessary to double up the teams and take part of the loads across, then go back and get the rest. We got up before daylight and started at once so that we could get over the sand before the sun got too hot. The women all walked and everybody was nearly famished before we got our breakfast at ten or eleven o'clock.
"We crossed the Platte at Latham, below where Greeley now is. Here we again had to double up the teams to pull through. The water was so deep it came into the wagon boxes; the bedding was all piled into one wagon which was higher than the others, and everything that water would hurt was put up on boxes. The women climbed upon boxes and bedding and rode across, but the men had to wade waist deep through the water to guide the oxen and keep them straight. Without crossing the river, Mr. Crane and family went on to Denver, but having been persuaded to come on with the Ames family and spend the winter here, we came on up the river with the rest of the train and came to the Cache la Poudre about 4 o'clock in the after- noon. We made our last night's camp on a high bluff near the present site of Greeley. Looking down from this bank we could see the water of the Poudre as clear as crystal. Helen Ames, who was a young girl at that time, was very much disap- pointed because she could not see any trout in the water.
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