We had good success trapping this winter, until about the first of
January, when we had an unusual heavy fall of snow in the
mountains which drove all the game to the lowlands, nothing being
left that was fit for meat except a few mountain sheep, and the
snow made it very inconvenient getting around to attend to the
traps. In the latter part of February I asked Charlie Jones one
day to go down to Mountain Phil's camp and see if there was
anything that he wanted, as we had kept all the extra supplies at
our camp. Mountain Phil and his Klooch--that being the name he
called his squaw, which is also the Arapahoe name for wife--were
staying alone about ten miles further down the country from where
we were located.
On Charlie Jones' return, he said: "It seems that Mountain Phil
has been faring better than any of us, for he has been able to
kill his meat at camp, thereby saving him the trouble of having to
get out and hunt for it."
Johnnie and I did not understand what he meant by this. So, after
hesitating a moment, Jones said: "Boys, if I should tell you what
I know about Mountain Phil, you would not believe it, but as sure
as you live he has killed his squaw and eaten most of her, and he
has left his camp."
We insisted that he must be mistaken, but he declared that he was
not, saying he had seen the bones in the cabin, and further
investigation had developed the fact that he had beyond any doubt
killed and eaten his Indian wife.
Pages:
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88