The Republican journal., 1916-10-19
LIFE AT LARAMIE.
The Old Mountaineer's Story.

Just across the Laramie river, east
ward from the fort, was a long, low
building of rough logs-the QUILTING
establishment Of Messrs. Major, Russell
and Waddell, transportation and mail
contractors. Beyond was half dozen
Indian lodges, and in one of these were
four guests, two downeasters, Boston
man and Virginian. We were seated
cross-legged on piece of canvass that
covered the dirt floor and before US was
COW buffalo ribs that had been nicely
roasted before wood fire by the patient
squaw, Opposite sat our host, big
man, and the personifcation of good ma
ture. He was the interpreter Of the
post and had lived many years in sight
of the Rocky Mountains. Behind him
the freight disclosed the dusky features
of his squaw and the little papooses be-
side her. For, be it known, in those
days the mountaineers took to themselves
a squaw to wife, to pack the horses,
pitch the lodges and do the drudgery, in
Indian fashion.
We had finished our supper and full of
the tender juicy meat, which we had
washed down with copious draughts of
tea, had thrown ourselves on the soft
buffalo robes and called on our host for a
story. After some hesitation he began
the story of 1.-THE White Woman" This
related to time many years before
Uncle Sans blue coated soldiers had
marched their weary way across the
boundless prairies that form the eastern
slope of the Rocky Mountains; when
Fort Laramie, then the headquarters
of the hardy mountaineers, Kit Carson
among them, was an armed fortress built
of adobe or sun-dried brick. Here is
the story as recall it:
One morning, said me narrator, three
others and myself started from Laramie
on a weeks hunt We had two pack
mules, which carried our blankets, pro-
visions, etc We intended to camp at
Horse Creek, but when few miles from
it one of the pack mules broke loose and
rolled off Its load, and we rode on, leav-
ing Jack to repack the mule and bring it
INTO camp. We got comfortably fixed
for the night, but Jack did not show IN.
Finally we started out to look for him
and found him lying on the ground where
we had left him. | could see bv the
moonlight that he was as white as a
ghost and it was some time before he
could speak to Us. When he had recover
ed the use Of his tongue he told US that
after he had got the mule packed he
stopped to light bis pipe and on raising
MS head saw white woman standing be-
fore him. She said something to him
and then jumped on the mule and disap-
peared.
We took him back to camp, but he re-
FUSED to eat and trembled like child all
night. Once or twice when | awoke 7
heard him praying, and knew it must
be something strange that could set
Jack, one of the most blasphemous and
reckless devils in the west, to pravinp
Next morning we went back to look for
the mule and found the tracks leading
toward US, the four tracks where it had
stood when re-packed, but none LEADING
OFT IN any direction. Near where we
found Jack were the prints of woman's
SHOES, such as | knew were not to be
found within hundreds of miles.
Not long after our return to the most
JACK received letter telling him of the
death of his sister, who had died on the
night "The White Woman" had appear
ed to him. He only shook his head, left
off drinking, began to read his bible and
one year from that night we buried him
near Laramie Peak; and that is the end
OF my story. wish | had not told it.
for 1t makes me feel strangely, and none
of you believe it.
But as we looked on the sober, solemn
race OF the narrator we all exclaimed.
Yes, we do believe it," Believe it or
moi, the old mountaineers did, and would
stake their life and honor upon it. The
Indians have a tradition of the White
Woman who brings death on whom she
visits