Journal of a Trapper by Osborne Russell

Author:Osborne Russell
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: Skyhorse Publishing
Published: 2013-07-18T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XIX

Fort William—A Cool Reception—Sioux Sign Language—Three Miles of Deer in One Band

12th—The sun rose clear and warm and we found ourselves much refreshed by our night’s rest. We traveled down the river about five miles, waded across it, and stopped the remainder of the day. I had a severe attack of rheumatism in my knees and ankles, but this was no place to be sick, so we jogged along over the Black Hills, having plenty of wood, water, and fresh buffalo meat every night, until the 18th, when we reached Fort William. When I entered this fort I was met by two of my old messmates, who invited me to their apartments. I now felt myself at home, as Mr. Fontanell was one of the chief proprietors of the establishment, and who had been partly, and I may say wholly, the cause of our misfortunes. At night I lay down, but the pains in my legs and feet drove sleep from me. The next day I walked around the fort as well as I could in order to get my joints limber, and on the third day after our arrival I felt quite recovered and at breakfast I asked my messmates where the man was who had charge of the fort. They replied he was in his house, pointing across the square. I inquired if he was sick, for I had not seen him. They said he was unwell, but not so as to confine him to his room. I observed I must go and see him, as I discovered he was not coming to see me, so saying, Allen and myself started across the square and met him on the way from the storehouse to his dwelling room. We bid him “good morning,” which he coldly returned and was on the point of turning carelessly away, when we told him we would like to get some robes for bedding, likewise a shirt or two and some other necessary articles. “Well,” said he, “as for blankets, shirts or coats, I have none, and Mr. Fontanell has left no word when there will be any come up.” “If that is the case,” I replied, “you can let us have some buffalo robes and epishemores.” “Yes,” said he, “I believe I can let you have an epishemore or two. Here, John, go up into yonder bastion and show these men those epishemores that were put up there some time ago.” “I don’t think there are any there,” replied John, “but some old ones, and them the rats have cut all to pieces.” “Oh, I guess you can find some there that will do,” he replied, turning around and swinging a key on his thumb as the insignia of his dignified position and with a stiff stride walked to his apartments, while we followed the Major Domo of this elevated quadruped to the bastion, where I took the best epishemore I could find, which was composed of nine pieces of buffalo skin sewed together.

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