Chapter 11 - Page 2

with about fifty men, proceeded in

another. The latter, in his headlong march had got into the very

heart of the Blackfoot country, yet seems to have been

unconscious of his danger. As his scouts were out one day, they

came upon the traces of a recent band of savages. There were the

deserted fires still smoking, surrounded by the carcasses of

buffaloes just killed. It was evident a party of Blackfeet had

been frightened from their hunting camp, and had retreated,

probably to seek reinforcements. The scouts hastened back to the

camp, and told Vanderburgh what they had seen. He made light of

the alarm, and, taking nine men with him, galloped off to

reconnoitre for himself. He found the deserted hunting camp just

as they had represented it; there lay the carcasses of buffaloes,

partly dismembered; there were the smouldering fires, still

sending up their wreaths of smoke; everything bore traces of

recent and hasty retreat; and gave reason to believe that the

savages were still lurking in the neighborhood. With heedless

daring, Vanderburgh put himself upon their trail, to trace them

to their place of concealment: It led him over prairies, and

through skirts of woodland, until it entered a dark and dangerous

ravine. Vanderburgh pushed in, without hesitation, followed by

his little band. They soon found themselves in a gloomy dell,

between steep banks overhung with trees, where the profound

silence was only broken by the tramp of their own horses.

Suddenly the horrid war-whoop burst on their ears, mingled with

the sharp report of rifles, and a legion of savages sprang from

their concealments, yelling, and shaking their buffalo robes to

frighten the horses. Vanderburgh's horse fell, mortally wounded

by the first discharge. In his fall he pinned his rider to the

ground, who called in vain upon his men to assist in extricating

him. One was shot down scalped a few paces distant; most of the

others were severely wounded, and sought their safety in flight.

The savages approached to dispatch the unfortunate leader, as he

lay struggling beneath his horse.. He had still his rifle in his

hand and his pistols in his belt. The first savage that advanced

received the contents of the rifle in his breast, and fell dead

upon the spot; but before Vanderburgh could draw a pistol, a blow

from a tomahawk laid him prostrate, and he was dispatched by

repeated wounds.

Such was the fate of Major Henry Vanderburgh, one of the best and

worthiest leaders of the American Fur Company, who by his manly

bearing and dauntless courage is said