valour and nobleness of
heart, struck with the same avenging club a hard, flat rock which
overhung the rivulet, and forthwith a round clear basin opened, which
instantly filled with bubbling, sparkling water, sweet and cool.

From that day the two mighty tribes of the Shos-shones and Comanches
have remained severed and apart, although a long and bloody war followed
the treacherous murder.

The Indians regarded these wonderful springs with awe. The Arapahoes,
especially, attributed to the Spirit of the springs the power of
ordaining the success or failure of their war expeditions. As their
warriors passed by the mysterious pools when hunting their hereditary
enemies, the Utes, they never failed to bestow their votive offerings
upon the spring, in order to propitiate the Manitou of the strange
fountain, and insure a fortunate issue to their path of war. As late as
twenty-five years ago, the visitor to the place could always find the
basin of the spring filled with beads and wampum, pieces of red cloth
and knives, while the surrounding trees were hung with strips of
deerskin, cloth, and moccasins. Signs were frequently observed in the
vicinity of the waters unmistakably indicating that a war-dance had
been executed there by the Arapahoes on their way to the Valley of Salt,
occupied by the powerful Utes.

Never was there such a paradise for hunters as this lone and solitary
spot in the days when the region was known only to them and the trappers
of the great fur companies. The shelving prairie, at the bottom of which
the springs are situated, is entirely surrounded by rugged mountains
and contained two or three acres of excellent grass, affording a safe
pasture for their animals, which hardly cared to wander from such
feeding and the salt they loved to lick.

The trappers of the Rocky Mountains belonged to a genus that has
disappeared. Forty years ago there was not a hole or corner in the vast
wilderness of the far West that had not been explored by these hardy
men. From the Mississippi to the mouth of the Colorado of the West, from
the frozen regions of the north to the Gila in Mexico, the beaver hunter
has set his traps in every creek and stream. The mountains and waters,
in many instances, still retain the names assigned them by those rude
hunters, who were veritable pioneers paving the way for the settlement
of the stern country.

A trapper's camp in the old days was quite a picture, as were all its
surroundings.