They commenced one of their horrible war-dances right in sight and hearing of the trappers, and at dawn the following day they advanced toward the little fortification, carefully prepared for a concerted attack.

Carson cautioned his men to reserve their fire until the Indians were near enough to make sure that every shot would count; but the savages, seeing how effectively the trappers had intrenched themselves, retired after firing a few harmless shots, and went into camp a mile distant.  Finally they separated into two bands, leaving the whites a breathing-spell.  The latter were well aware an encounter must necessarily be of a most desperate character.

The Indians had evidently recognized Carson, who had so frequently severely punished them, and they made no further attempt to molest the trappers, much to the relief of the beleaguered men.

Jim Cockrell,[73] as he was known in the mountains, was one of the earliest of the old trappers.  He left his home in Missouri in the spring of 1822, and started for the heart of the Rocky Mountains, with a single packhorse to carry his camp equipage, and a single riding-horse.  He trapped by himself for more than two years.  In a short time that terrible loneliness which comes to all men, for man is a gregarious animal, was experienced in all its horrors by this isolated trapper.  Like all men of his class at that time, he was exceedingly superstitious.  He wanted somebody to talk to, and in the absence of a possibility of finding one of his own kind, his greatest desire was for a dog, a true friend under all circumstances.  He says that he prayed long and earnestly for the fulfilment of his wish.  To his surprise on awaking one morning from the night’s sleep he saw a dog lying on his robes alongside of him.  Remote from all civilization and far from any Indian camp, he never, to the day of his death, had the slightest idea how the dog came to him; but no one could ever disabuse his mind of his belief that Providence had answered his appeal.

The youthful trapper avoided the Indians as much as possible, for, tenderfoot as he was at first, he knew well that they would harass him in every possible way, in order to drive him from a region which was their elysium.  He found it an easy matter, after he became acquainted with their habits, to keep out of their sight.  In a short time, also, he was under a sort of protection of Peg Leg Smith, who lived with his Indian wife near Soda Springs, now in Idaho.

James Cockrell was over six feet high, very hospitable, generous and kind to friends, but decidedly outspoken to his enemies.  After having accumulated some money by trapping, he returned to Missouri, lived upon a fine farm, and died at a ripe old age.

Peg Leg Smith was a famous trapper, and after marrying a squaw of the Shoshone tribe, who proved to be a very efficient partner in preparing the pelts of the animals he had caught, he made a great deal of money.