When
within thirty yards, Shewman fired, and at the crack of his gun,
Jake Harrington clapped his hands and shouted: "Good! good! Uncle
Kit is safe."
We could not see any sign of his being hit, and when a few yards
nearer each other, Uncle Kit fired, and Shewman fell to the ground
mortally wounded, the bullet passing through his body just above
the heart.
Shewman lived until Uncle Kit got to him, then he acknowledged
that it was all his own fault, and that it was good enough for
him.
As soon as the fight was ended, Jake Harrington and I ran into
camp to notify the rest of our crowd, thinking that we would have
to fight the entire Canadian outfit of trappers, but we found it
quite different, for after the fight they were more friendly
toward us than before. We stayed two days and helped to bury
Shewman.
This was the first white man that I had ever seen buried in the
Rocky Mountains.
We rolled him up in a blanket, laid him in the grave and covered
him with dirt. The funeral being over, our party started for
Bent's Fort.
The third day's travel brought us to Sweetwater, where we came to
the top of a hill, from which we could overlook the entire valley,
which was covered with wagons and tents. This was a large train of
emigrants from various portions of the East who had started the
year before and had wintered on Platte river, the edge of
settlement, and when spring opened they had resumed their journey.
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