Bill Biddon, Trapper; or, Life in the Northwest. Edward Sylvester Ellis

Before going further, I may as well introduce my friend and myself. My companion answered to the name of Nathan Todd, and was a native of Maine. He was a tall, lank individual, with long, attentuated limbs and an awkward appearance generally. He was very meager and muscular, and when roused to a heat of passion, as quick and powerful as the panther. His gait was an ungainly, straddling one, and he was seemingly capable of anything but speed; but on one or two occasions since leaving the States, he had shown a fleetness of foot which was truly wonderful. He was a good, open-hearted fellow, and one who, when driven to the wall, would be a dangerous enemy. Once or twice, however, he had shown the white feather, and his natural timidity would often evince itself. As a consequence, Nat was not, perhaps, the safest companion in the hour of danger; but, for all that, there was no one in our party whose presence I would have preferred upon the night in which I introduce him to notice. There was no imminent peril threatening us, and Nat was a capital companion, who could while-away the hours, if he chose, with his inexhaustible store of anecdote and humor. I knew he entertained a warm affection for me, and would brave almost any danger rather than be suspected of his only deficiency. A single intimation would decide his course in a moment.

Nat wore a singular dress—half savage and half civilized. The pants and shoes were such as are fashionable in the enlightened world; but a capacious hunting-shirt encased his body, secured around the waist by a heavy band, and much the same as are worn by the hunters and natives of the Far West at the present day. The most striking part of his dress, however, was the hat. This he had brought with him from Maine, and it really seemed indestructible. It was a gray color, and having lost its band a long time before, had acquired the shape of a cone. When it rested on his head, the edge reached the shoulders behind, and the eyebrows in front, and the pointed peak was far off above the crown.

Nathan Todd’s face was full of shrewdness and good humor. He had a large, curved nose, broad mouth, and a fine blue eye. The chin was retreating; but this drawback was modified partly by a long tuft of yellow hair, the only signs of beard upon his face, except a shadowy mustache. The hair was long and sandy, and harmonized well with the rest of his countenance. There was ever a contraction of the eyebrows—a sort of unspoken question—so often seen in persons from “down east,” which indicated a prying, curious disposition.

As for myself, my name is William Relmond, and I hail from one of the middle States. Shortly after the announcement of the discovery of gold in California, I was seized with the lunacy that was carrying its thousands to the Pacific coast. I was well situated in life at home, but that was not considered. I must go and fish up a fabulous fortune also. I had one brother and several sisters, but our parents had been dead for some years, and we were residing with an uncle, the guardian of each, until maturity. A favorable opportunity offering I had made some preparation for the legal profession; but I was never inclined to Coke, and had no intention of pursuing the practice of the law in after life. At the age of twenty, then, without a settled purpose in life, I determined to make a journey to the El Dorado of the New World. I was not influenced solely by the love of gain, in taking this step, but the love of adventure urged me irresistibly on. I had heard wonderful stories of the boundless prairies, of the wandering hordes of Indians, their millions of buffaloes and horses, and the vast, billowy ocean of verdure and sunshine, and the Far West seemed the paradise of the world to me.

I was provided with an ample outfit at home, and departed amid the tears of my good uncle and affectionate sisters. I proceeded by the usual route to Independence, Missouri, where I made inquiries of the trains which were constantly leaving the point for Oregon and California. In my wanderings, I stumbled upon Nat Todd, my present companion. He had just arrived from his distant home, where he had left a widowed mother and a disconsolate sweetheart. But he said he was going to return, in just two years from the day he left, with a “rousing heap” of money, and intended to buy “Squire Hunt’s farm,” take Alminy down there, and live the rest of his life. His frankness and humor impressed me favorably; and, after a short conversation, we grasped hands, and swore to remain by each other till our adventures were terminated by death or a happy dénouement.

We engaged places in a train which left the next day. This company numbered nigh two hundred persons, and was composed of all kinds of characters, except females. There were French voyageurs, Irishmen, and an agent of one of the western fur companies, and the majority of the rest were those just from the plow or the workshop. They had secured the services of an experienced guide, and were well equipped for the perilous journey before them.

The overland route, at this time, was so alive with passing emigrants, that few depredations were committed by the Indians. The savages sometimes hung around companies, but as there were almost always other whites in sight, they rarely ventured upon any greater crime than pilfering. Nothing worthy of note occurred upon the journey for a length of time. We experienced the usual

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