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Updated: June 3, 2025
It is easy enough to add to the wonders of Creation or of Redemption; but you can never add without subtracting. 'It is finished! Many years ago, Ebenezer Wooton, an earnest but eccentric evangelist, was conducting a series of summer evening services on the village green at Lidford Brook.
The trappers made terrible havoc among the Utes' horses, killing so many of them that the savages in despair abandoned the fight and gave Wooton and his men an opportunity to get away, which they did as rapidly as possible.
He had bought a small two-seater car, and each Sunday he took Norah out for runs to the Hut at Wisley, to the Burford Bridge Hotel, where the genial Mr. Hunt one of the last remaining Bohemians of the days of the Junior Garrick Club welcomed them; to the Wooton Hatch, or up to those more pretentious and less comfortable hostelries on Hindhead. Motoring had roused a new interest in my friend.
'You may have heard my name? I am Master John Wooton, of Langmere House, near Dulverton, who bestirred himself so for the King, and hath been termed by Mr. Godolphin, in the House of Commons, one of the local pillars of the State. Those were his words. Fine, were they not?
As each of the struggling combatants endeavoured to get the better of the other, with the savage having a little the advantage, perhaps, it appears that "Uncle Dick" Wooton, who was in the chase after the rebels, happened to arrive on the scene, and hitting the Indian a terrific blow on the head with his axe, settled the question as to his being a corpse.
He rose to his feet and blazed away, the shot rousing everbody, and all came rushing with their guns to learn what the matter was. Wooton told the wagon-master that he had seen what he supposed was an Indian trying to slip up to the mules, and that he had killed him.
Some of the men crept very circumspectly to the spot where the supposed dead savage was lying, while young Wooton remained at his post eagerly waiting for their report. Presently he heard a voice cry out: "I'll be d -d ef he hain't killed 'Old Jack!" "Old Jack" was one of the lead mules of one of the wagons.
Wooton had an adventure once while he was stationed at Bent's Fort during a trading expedition with the Utes, on the Purgatoire, or Purgatory River, about ten or twelve miles from Trinidad. He had taken with him, with others, a Shawnee Indian.
Knowing that as soon as the news of the shooting reached the Ute village, which was not a great distance off, the whole tribe would be down upon him, Wooton abandoned any attempt to trade with them and tried to get out of their country as quickly as he could.
Uncle John Smith, Kit Carson, L. B. Maxwell, Uncle Dick Wooton, and a host of other well-known Indian traders, long since dead, have often told me that the first thing they did on entering a village with a pack-load of trinkets to barter, in the earlier days before the whites had encroached to any great extent, was to arrange a schedule of prices.
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