. The officer in command of the
escort was dismissed the service, as he could not give any satisfactory
reason for not going to the rescue of the caravan he had been ordered to
guard.

CHAPTER XXI. FOOLING STAGE ROBBERS.

The Wagon Mound, so called from its resemblance to a covered army-wagon,
is a rocky mesa forty miles from Point of Rocks, westwardly. The stretch
of the Trail from the latter to the mound has been the scene of some
desperate encounters, only exceeded in number and sanguinary results by
those which have occurred in the region of Pawnee Rock, the crossing of
the Walnut, Pawnee Fork, and Cow Creek.

One of the most remarkable stories of this Wagon Mound country dealt
with the nerve and bravery exhibited by John L. Hatcher in defence of
his life, and those of the men in his caravan, about 1858.

Hatcher was a noted trader and merchant of New Mexico. He was also
celebrated as an Indian fighter, and his name was a terror to the
savages who infested the settlements of New Mexico and raided the Trail.

He left Taos, where he then resided, in the summer, with his caravan
loaded with furs and pelts destined for Westport Landing; to be
forwarded from there to St. Louis, the only market for furs in the far
West. His train was a small one, comprising about fifteen wagons and
handled by about as many men, including himself. At the date of his
adventure the Indians were believed to be at peace with everybody; a
false idea, as Hatcher well knew, for there never was such a condition
of affairs as absolute immunity from their attacks. While it might be
true that the old men refrained for a time from starting out on the
war-path, there were ever the vastly greater number of restless young
warriors who had not yet earned their eagle feathers, who could not be
controlled by their chiefs, and who were always engaged in marauding,
either among the border settlements or along the line of the Trail.

When Hatcher was approaching the immediate vicinity of Wagon Mound,[66]
with his train strung out in single column, to his great astonishment
there suddenly charged on him from over the hill about three hundred
savages, all feather-bedecked and painted in the highest style of Indian
art. As they rode toward the caravan, they gave the sign of peace,
which Hatcher accepted for the time as true, although he knew them well.
However, he invited the head men to some refreshment, as was usual on
such occasions in those da