End of a Era Pt. 02

As he got settled in for the night, Johnny thought about the news he heard when passing by Fort Bridger, Wyoming. According to the soldiers at the Fort, a combined force of Lakota, Northern Cheyenne, and Arapaho numbering almost 2000 strong all but wiped out the U. S. Seventh Cavalry. Five of the Seventh's companies were destroyed in the battle near the Little Big Horn River. The Seventh lost over 200 men.

The battle took place in June of '76, just about the time I got back from Washington, Johnny thought. Lucky I didn't run into a passel of Cheyenne or Lakota when I passed Fort Bridger. Don't know if I'd still be doing it but I'm glad I didn't sign on as an Army scout.

Johnny heard the story of Custer's actions and shook his head. He wasn't unsympathetic to the death of all those soldiers, in fact he felt bad about the enlisted men who had followed Custer and Reno. But Johnny had said several times that the breaking of treaties with the Indians was like poking a sleeping bear with a stick; one day the bear would wake up and poke back.

He banked his fire, covered himself with his bedroll, put his head on his saddle and went to sleep. Gotta cover a lot of ground tomorrow was his last thought.

As usual at first light Johnny was awake and getting on the trail. Think I got one more mountain range to get over before I come down to the lowlands near Fountain, he thought as he rode out that morning.

Johnny figured he had about 20 more days till the end of his journey. Maybe less if I can make some good time across this high chaparral, he thought. He pushed his horses and himself hard and covered close to 80 miles in the next two days; riding for 12 hours a day. In late afternoon of the third day Johnny was at the base of the last set of mountains; he stopped and rested the horses for the rest of that afternoon and the whole next day.

"You boys deserve a rest," he told William and Buck as he unsaddled them. William nodded his head up and down when the bridal came off as if to agree with his human. Getting his camp set up and eating an early supper, Johnny turned in. He needed some rest too.

The next morning after a breakfast of beef jerky and coffee Johnny first fed and watered his horses and then went hunting. He wanted something more than trail food for supper. Johnny came back to camp with two rabbit. He cooked them both that evening and would take one with him for supper the next night. After eating supper and building up his fire, he pulled out Maggie's article.

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The emigrants, led by Johnny Burrows, crossed the Snake River and began what was considered the hardest part of the journey. The desert landscape of this country would have been deadly without Johnny's guidance. Once again, the wagon master was very glad that he had secured the services of the experienced mountain man. Johnny was able to show and lead the wagon train to water holes that they would have by passed and missed. Without those water holes many of emigrants would have perished.

Johnny Burrows led the wagon train into Portland 4 months, 1 week, and 4 days after they started from Independence. It was one of the fastest and safest trips made on the Oregon Trail. Thanks to the experience and leadership of this man from the mountains only four lives and ten head of livestock were lost during the journey.

A big end of the trail party was thrown with Johnny as the guest of honor. His many friends and admirers among the emigrants sadly said goodbye to the man that had made their trek possible.

She's right, that desert crossing was bad and I did find a couple of water holes that they might have missed. But the reason the trip went so well was the way Bob ran the train. He knew what he was doing and I helped a bit.

Now there was a big party the day after we got to Portland. As bad as I felt the day after I must have had a damn good time; I really don't remember much of it.

Burrows wintered in Portland until spring of '63. Still a mountain man at heart, he decided he'd been in one place long enough. Saying goodbye to his friends, ignoring their wish that he stay, he began his trek to the Cascade Mountain Range in Washington. It was one of the few mountain ranges in the west that Burrows had never seen. Johnny particularly wanted to see Mt. Rainier first hand.

He was so taken with the natural beauty of the area that the journey would be of longer duration than he thought. He was gone from Portland for 13 years.

Apparently Johnny's empathy for the Indians of the west was still strong. Shortly after arriving in the area near Mt. Rainier, he met a small segment of the Snoqualmie Indian tribe. Burrows was able to communicate with the Indians using sign language. This small group had refused to move to the Tulalip Reservation as ordered by the U. S. government and Washington Territory in the Point Elliot Treaty in 1855.

Running Elk, the leader of the small band, told Johnny that living by the big water, Puget Sound, was not their way. The Snoqualmie were nomadic prior to the treaty and Running Elk and his people intended to continue their ancestral way; in spite of the soldiers that harassed them. Burrows, always a bit of rebel himself, admired their courage and convictions and decided to live with them for a while.

Living with the Snoqualmie, Johnny was in his element. He loved life in the wilderness and most happy living where most men hesitated to go. Running Elk was so impressed with Johnny that he offered his daughter, Raven Wing, to be Johnny's wife.

The young woman was comely and Johnny had lost his previous Indian wife years previously so he accepted. Raven became his wife and partner. Their partnership was a happy, loving one for 7 months. Raven was struck down in her prime by a pack of rabid wolves.

Heartbroken and beginning to feel his age, Johnny decided to leave his Snoqualmie friends and return to civilization. He returned to Portland where this reporter met him and learned of his amazing life.

Johnny has left Portland on another trek and adventure. I am happy that he still seeks new things after all these years but we in Portland are poorer for him leaving us.

This American icon, this trail blazer, this adventurer is to be admired and we should mourn the passing of a way of life. Johnny Burrows is the last of his kind, a real by God Mountain Man.

Margaret Anne Dempsey.

Dang Maggie makes me sound like a cross between Moses and the Messiah, Johnny chuckled to himself.

I did winter in Portland, mainly because I wanted to be around whiskey and have a real bed to sleep in for a while. And I did go to see the Cascades because I never had. And I sure did like the country, but the rest of that story is mostly the romantic notions of a young woman.

Running Elk and the Snoqualmie did refuse to go live on the reservation and I did hole up with them for a spell. Good people and easy to like and live with. They didn't care that I was white and all they expected of me was to carry my own weight. If you didn't hunt and work, you didn't eat.

He didn't give me Raven; he traded her to me for a real fine steel knife and a plug of chewing tobacco. But the only reason he did want to trade was that none of the bucks wanted her. Raven was about 30 I guess, a mite old to be a first time wife, and she'd had small pox as a child. Her face was scared with pock marks something fierce. Those bucks thought she was cursed by the white man and were afraid to have anything to do with her.

The reason I took her was about the same as with Morning Star. Except for her face she was a fine looking woman, standing tall for her people with shiny black hair. And I'd been alone in my bedroll for quite a spell. The morning after our wedding, I watched as she bathed in the stream near our teepee. She was naked in the morning sun with water glistening on her body. Damn those bucks sure are dumb, I thought.

Now she was torn up by a pack of wolves but she was already dead before they got to her. Raven had gone to gather some herbs and fell off a cliff trying to pick some peppermint. Don't know how she fell but she dropped over a hundred feet. We found her body two days later. Guess I just wasn't meant to be married.

Maybe I was heartbroken, don't know about that, but the joy had gone out of the Cascades for me. So I went back to Portland. I'd plan to leave the next day when I ran into those fellars in the saloon. Put me off leavin for a few days, it did. If it hadn't been for that Judge Reynolds I might still be beatin my head against the bars in the city jail about now.

Smiling, Johnny cut the article from the newspaper with his big knife. He folded it and carefully wrapped it in some waterproof buckskin to protect it, and put it away in a saddle bag. Like to keep that, he thought. It will make me feel close to Maggie and Sean. Johnny banked his fire and got some rest. Tomorrow he would start the last push to Fountain.

The next four days were more rough riding, from sunup until just before dusk. On the morning of the fifth day, he topped a small rise and saw the town of Fountain.

Not bad for a broken down old mountain man, he thought with a smile. Over 1200 miles and I hit it right square on the head the first time.

Now, first I need a saloon and a whiskey; then time to find out if Josh still lives here.

To Be Continued.