The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1876-11-02
which would not let her put the worst

construction upon the conduct of her
friends. She felt in some vague way
that the times were those of bewilder-
ment and excitement, and that it was
not astonishing that the fate of one
poor old squaw should attract no notice
even from those whom she had saved,
when so many greater interests had
crumbled, and were crumbling, all
around. At any rate, with the whites
were all she valued on earth, her only
hope of communion with the few per-
sons who had given her some rudi-
ments of civilization; her only prospect
of comfortable existence for the present,
or of improvement for the future. And,
more than all, her real love for the race
which she had served drew her back
ward from the mountain and prairie to
the Mississippi which she knew and
loved so well. Day by day the attrac-
tion grew upon her, until she could re-
sist it no longer. So at last this lone
woman of 20 stepped forth without
single companion on the plains of the
far Northwest. Feeble and powerless
of defense, she yet dared to attempt on
foot the crossing of waste that might
well embosom an empire-a waste filled
with wild beasts and hostile Indians,
where she could hope for neither the
aid of friendly hand, nor the sight of
a friendly voice from the beginning to
the end. Well, she made that journey.
None but she can certainly say what
were the scenes and experiences crowd
ed into these lonely days. But we may
picture to ourselves the hungry tramp
at midday under the glaring sun, with
old limbs tottering, and a faint, very
faint hope, fleeing mockingly on be-
fore. Or the crouching at nightfall by
some grotesque clump of cactus, with
the prairie wolves dismally lying all
round, and the hiss of the rattlesnake
resenting any sudden stir. Or, again,
we may see her stretched at full length
for hours in the long prairie grass, half
dead with thirst, but not daring to rise
lest she should be seen by the Crows or
Blackfeet, who were lowering near. In
truth, it is story which needs little
establishment of rhetoric. The SIM
pie, inevitable details of such journey
are enough. And that journey was
made.
|
Betz, nerved to encounter every risk by
her strong love for the whites, had &C
complished the seemingly impossible
And this time her heroism was neither
leftunrecognized nor celebrated only TO,
ia day. More substantial tributaries die
not lack. A movement was set on foot
!; which resulted in providing her with 8
comfortable support near the capita
!; of the Gland of the Sky-tinted Wa.
: ters," the land where she had beer
} born, and where, if now living, she mus
, shortly be laid away for that long sleeI
which comes to us all.
But three or four years ago (perhaps
it is the same now the traveller riding
j. the picturesque round of st. Paul, Min
neapolis, Minnehaha and the Brida
Vail would catch sight across the rive
!, little below old Fort Smelling of /,
cluster of humble dwellings surround
ing a picturesque, dun-colored bricl
. church, surmounted by cleaning
, cross. You could tell at a glance tina
/ it was one of the many Franco-In -Indial
| villages, which have come down to us il
} all their unchanging quaintness from
, the old days of the voyagers, the ro
mantle period par excellence OF Mime
/ sota's history. But to me, and trus
to all the readers of this sketch, it vii
J ever have an additional charm as tn
| final chosen home of that grand uncoutl
, heroine of the Northwest Betz.-
} New York Mercury.
.