Old Missoula

An Incident of Travel by Charles Schafft

Late in the month of October, 1864, two old chums and fortune hunters of the old California type, men who are always on the tramp and look-out for better prospects, came to the conclusion to emigrate to Montana and strike it “big.” Having once made up their mind, immediate preparations were begun for the undertaking of a journey of some four hundred miles travel through a country almost entirely unsettled by white men.

The season was far advanced towards winter, but thoughts of trouble in crossing the mountains did not deter them from starting, because they wished to be on hand to take advantage of the earliest waters of spring. Being bachelors, they were of course equipped with the necessary camping outfit, and the matter which gave them the most concern was horseflesh, for although each was the possessor of a whittledig,[1] the animals for safety, had been kept picketed within sight on the bare flat surrounding the town of Walla Walla, and had been so emaciated that it seemed rather problematical if they could make a common day’s journey even without any load whatever. But the two friends were unable to procure better stock; their purses were depleted and no Indians were just then in the neighborhood for a “whoop up trade.” So one pleasant day they divided their small stock of provisions in equal portions, tied them up in their airy blankets behind the saddles, and then afoot, leading their ponies behind them, they started out on the Mullan road for their destination.

After nearly two week’s travel they found themselves in the Bitter Root mountains which were already arrayed in the snows of winter. Here, while yet on the West side, and some twenty miles from the summit, one of their ponies paid the last tribute to nature by becoming food for magpies. The two comrades, already a little soured by the unforeseen meeting of difficulties and hardships, now began to quarrel, and the owner of the surviving equine skeleton, (Johnny McCall) mounting his beast for the first time on the journey, told his companion he might go to those warm regions which are now happily regarded as a myth, and left him to either return to the easily accessible Catholic mission, or to follow the lonely road as best he could. Johnny, in the heat of passion, urged his steed to its utmost powers, and the persuasion of a switch being deemed insufficient, he improvised a spur out of a forked stick, which he tied to his boot by means of a string. At last, when already the shadows of evening had invested the forest with a dark obscurity, he reached “N – – – – Prairie,” and began to look about for a favorable spot to camp. While riding along a narrow trail which winds along the foot of the river, and about four feet above its waters, he having raised himself in his stirrup to obtain a better view, his horse, while trying to step over a fallen tree, lost its footing on the icy path and fell over sidewise, so suddenly that its rider had not time to extricate his foot, and the make-shift spur having caught in some branches, held him fixed in the position in which he had fallen. It was a bad fix; the horse lying with its back down the bank towards the river, with its weight upon the leg of Johnny, one of whose shoulders was in contact with the water, at this point somewhat obstructed with float timber. Should the animal make any effort to alter its position, it could only be done by first rolling over upon the man, and either submerging his head into the water, or crushing some of his limbs. The position was fully realized and Johnny knew that without some providential interference he was lost. He lay there quietly for a few moments, keeping his head above water, when the horse making a slight movement, caused him to give a yell with the full strength of his lungs; but there was no answer except the echo, and the man kept still now, very still, for fear the least noise would move the animal, which by its hard breathing showed that the position was becoming tiresome and painful. And an hour passed in this agony. The darkness of the night had replaced the dusk of evening; the cold air of November was becoming intensely keen, and no hope of relief. A cracking of branches was heard and listened to with the greatest joy, an expectation only to end in disappointment and deeper despair, with the prolonged howl of a timber wolf that was prowling through the woods. Well it was, that the horse was so utterly broken down. It made another effort to regain its feet, and the movement caused Johnny to give what he calls his “death yell,” which, to his great surprise, was answered by his cast-off friend of the morning, who had followed, and was on the look-out for his late partner’s camp fire, when his hair was raised by what he supposed at first to be an Indian warhoop, but a few loud words almost unconsciously spoken by Johnny, and which seemed to imply a recollection of a long-neglected deity, guided him to the spot of the accident. Here at first he perceived only the horse laying beside the trail, and stood in momentary hesitation, from which, however, he quickly recovered upon seeing and realizing the fix of his old comrade. Eagerly he went to work, and intelligently placing a lever between the horse and the entangled leg, he succeeded to raise the animal sufficiently to permit the withdrawal of the man, who was so benumbed that it was only slowly he could extricate himself. Deprived of the living prop the animal rolled over into the river upon its back, and ere assistance could be rendered among the driftwood, it had succumbed by drowning.

The two men now became firmer friends than ever, and in spite of their former troubles, pursued their journey in a happier frame of mind than they had experienced since leaving Walla Walla. They have, however, never struck a “big thing” yet, although they have been on nearly every stampede in and out of the Territory since those days. Both of them are now working in a mining camp on the West side, and intend leaving for Arizona in the spring, with the belief that their bonanza lies somewhere down there in the Apache country.

C. S.

The above article appeared in The Benton Weekly Record on January 30, 1880.

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