A Boy in Indian Camps 
L. H. Garrard’s Experiences—The Plains in 1846 
—Life Among the Cheyenne Indians 
By GEORGE BIRD GR1NNELL 
O NE of the most charming books written about 
the early plains is Lewis H. Garrard’s 
“Wah-To-Yah and the Taos Trail.'’ It is 
the narrative of a boy, only seventeen years old. 
who, in 1846, traveled westward from St. Louis 
with a train led by Mr. St. Vrain, of the firm of 
Bent, St. Vrain & Co., and after some time spent 
on the plains and in Cheyenne camps, proceeded 
westward to New Mexico and there saw and 
heard of many of the events just antecedent to 
the Mexican War. 
It is an interesting fact that the book, which, 
in its interest and its fidelity to nature and to 
early times, equals the far more celebrated 
“California and Oregon Trail,” of Parkman, tells 
of the events of the same year as Parkman’s 
volume, but deals with a country to the south of 
that traversed by him who was to become one 
of the greatest historians of America. The 
charm of each volume lies in its freshness. 
Neither could have been written except by one 
who saw things with the enthusiastic eyes of 
youth, who entered upon each adventure with 
youth’s enthusiasm, and who told his story with 
the frankness and simplicity of one who was 
very young. After all the greatest charm of any 
literature lies in the simplicity with which the 
story is told, and in both these delightful volumes 
is found this attractive quality. 
Garrard reached St. Louis on his way to the 
Rocky Mountains in July, 1846, and there be¬ 
came acquainted with the firm of Pierre Choteau, 
Jr., & Co., so well known in the fur trade of the 
West. Here, too, he met Kenneth McKenzie, 
one of the first traders with the Blackfeet In¬ 
dians, and Mr. St. Vrain. 
To the modern reader it seems odd to see it 
stated in the first two lines of the book that a 
part of the necessary preparations for the trip 
before him was the “laying in a good store of 
caps, fine glazed powder, etc.,” but in those days 
the percussion cap was still a new thing, and of 
the guns used west of the Missouri River, the 
great majority still used the flint to strike fire 
to the charge. 
Besides Garrard, there were others in St. 
Vrain’s company who were new to the plains. 
Of these one was Drinker, a Cincinnati editor; 
another, a Mr. Chadwick. Besides these there 
were General Lee. of St. Louis, a friend or two of 
St. Vrain’s, and various employees of the traders. 
Bent's train was encamped not far from West- 
port, and here Garrard got his first taste of 
wild life, sleeping on the ground in the open. 
Here, too, he saw his first Indians, the Wyan- 
dottes, who, in 1843, had been moved westward 
from their homes in Ohio. Here, of course, he 
met those who for months were to be his travel¬ 
ing companions, and he paints us a fresh picture 
of them in these pleasing words: 
“There were eighteen or twenty Canadian 
Frenchmen (principally from St. Louis) com¬ 
posing part of our company, as drivers of the 
teams. As I have ever been a lover of sweet, 
simple music, their beautiful and piquant songs 
in the original language fell most harmoniously 
on the ear as we lay wrapped in our blankets. 
“On the first of September, Mr. St. Vrain’s 
arrival infused some life into our proceedings, 
but nothing more worthy of note occurred, ex¬ 
cept riding and looking at horses, of which 
Drinker and I were in need; one of which, 
Frank De Lisle, ‘le maitre de ivagon,’ sold me 
for fifty dollars, whom, from his fanciful color, 
brown and white spots, and white eyes, was 
designated by the descriptive though not euphoni¬ 
ous name of ‘Paint.’ He was a noted buffalo 
chaser, and I anticipated much excitement 
through his services. 
“The way the mules were broken to wagon 
harness would have astonished the ‘full-blooded’ 
animals of Kentucky and other horse-raising 
States exceedingly. It was a treatment none but 
hard}' Mexican or scrub mules could survive. 
They first had to be lassoed by our expert Mexi¬ 
can. Bias, their heads drawn up t9 a wagon 
wheel, with scarce two inches of spare rope to 
relax the tight noose on their necks, and starved 
for twenty-four hours to subdue their fiery tem¬ 
pers ; then harnessed to a heavy wagon, lashed 
unmercifully when they did not pull, whipped 
still harder when they ran into still faster speed, 
until, after an hour’s bewilderment, and plunging 
and kicking, they became tractable and broken 
down—a labor-saving operation, with the un¬ 
flinching motto of ‘kill or cure.’ ” 
The pulling out of the train from near West- 
port was an interesting and exciting event. 
Teamsters were shouting to their newly-yoked 
bulls; the herders were driving along the cabal- 
lada; mounted men were riding back and forth; 
the leader of the company and his wagon master 
were constantly passing to and fro from one end 
of the train to the other, seeing how things went, 
and looking for weak spots among the teams 
and the wagons. A few days later came the 
first rain storm—a dismal occasion to the young- 
traveler on the plains. There are few old plains¬ 
men but can still recall something of the discom¬ 
fort of a long day’s travel in the storm; of the 
camping at night with clothing 1 thoroughly wet 
and bodies thoroughly chilled, and the sitting or 
lying, or perhaps even sleeping in the wet cloth¬ 
ing. “The wagons being full of goods, and we 
without tents, a cheerless, chilling, soaking, wet 
night was the consequence. As the water pene¬ 
trated successively my blanket, coat and shirt, 
and made its way down my back, a cold shudder 
came over me. In the gray, foggy morning a 
more pitiable set of hungry, shaking wretches 
were never seen. Oh! but it was hard on the 
poor greenhorns!” 
At Council Grove, which they reached the last 
of September, the train remained for two days, 
and as this was the last place traveling westward 
where hardwood could be procured, the men 
felled hickories and oaks for spare axle trees, 
and swung the pieces under their wagons. Young 
Garrard was an eager hunter, and set out from 
camp in search of wild turkeys, whose cries he 
could hear, but he got none. 
Here is another picture of that early life 
which may call up in the minds of some readers 
pleasant memories of early days when they, too, 
were a part of such things: “So soon as a 
faint streak of light appears in the east, the cry 
‘Turn out’ is given by De Lisle. All rise, and 
in half an hour the oxen are yoked, hitched and 
started. For the purpose of bringing everything 
within a small compass, the wagons are cor- 
raled; that is, arranged in the form of a pen 
when camp is made, and as no animals in that 
country are caught without a lasso, they are 
much easier noosed if driven in the corral. 
There no dependence must be placed in any but 
one’s self, and the sooner he rises, when the 
cry is given, the easier can he get his horse. 
“Like all persons'on the first trip I was green 
in the use of the lasso, and Paint was given to 
all sorts of malicious dodging; perhaps I have 
not worked myself into a profuse perspiration 
with vexation a hundred and one times in vain 
attempts to trap him. 
“Not being able to catch my horse this morn¬ 
ing I hung my saddle on a wagon and walked, 
talking to the loquacious Canadians, whose songs 
and stories were most acceptable. They are a 
queer mixture, anyhow, these Canadians. Rain 
or shine, hungry or satisfied, they are the same 
garrulous, careless bellows, generally caroling in 
honor of some brunette Vide Poche, or St. 
Louis Creole beauty, or lauding, in the words 
of their ancestry, the soft skies and grateful 
wine of La Belle France, occasionally uttering 
