te apples) or Indian turnips to
keep him alive. They were starchy, and ought to be cooked, but he ate
them raw.

When, on the eleventh day, he staggered into the fort, he was so thin
and haggard in face and body, and his legs and feet were so puffed,
that he scarcely looked like a man, and nobody recognized him. But he
was a man indeed, and had out-matched the Blackfeet and the rigors of
mountain and plain.

After all, the white American is a hard fighter to down.

While getting away from the Blackfeet, Trapper Colter had vowed that if
he escaped this time he'd go straight to St. Louis. He had had enough.
When he grew strong at Fort Lisa, he changed his mind; he thought he'd
better stay through another season; go back for his beaver-traps, at
any rate. First-class beaver-traps cost fifteen dollars apiece.

It took him until winter to grow strong. Then he set out alone, to
find his traps in the Jefferson River. He hoped that the Blackfeet
would be in their winter villages, and not ranging about.

Well, he crossed the same mountain, into the valley, and was in camp,
at night, in the Three Forks country not far from where he had run his
race--yes, was not far from the very beaver-house in which he had
hidden, when while cooking his supper of buffalo-meat he heard the
cracking of brush behind him. He pricked up his ears, and did not
stir. But when he heard the sharp click of gun-locks, out there in the
darkness, at one jump he had leaped over his fire and dived for safety.

A volley scattered the fire and spurted the sod under his flying feet.
He had been none too prompt. Away he ran, as before, only this time he
was better clothed. Again he climbed straight up the mountain; again
he lay on top; and again he traveled by night for the Manuel Lisa post.
And again he declared that if he might only escape, he surely would
quit such a region forever.

Did he do it? Not he. Early in April, 1810, he was once more at the
perilous Three Forks, but now with a company of other trappers. The
deadly Blackfeet attacked, on the Jefferson, killed or captured
five--and John Colter roundly asserted:

"That's three times for me, boys. I daren't risk a fourth time. I'm
going to pull out for the States. Goodby."

He arrived in St. Louis in thirty days, having traveled three thousand
miles, mainly by canoe. His stories of his fights and of the marvels
he had discovered in the Yellowstone Park caused much talk in the
n