Across the plains in '64 : incidents of early days west of the Missouri River--two thousand miles in an open boat from Fort Benton to Omaha--reminiscences of the pioneer period of Galena, General Grant's old home

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JOHN S. COLLINS

Across the Plains in '64

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Incidents of Early Days West of the Missouri River
— Two Thousand Miles in an Open Boat From
Fort Benton to Omaha — Reminiscences of
THE Pioneer Period of Galena, Gen-
eral Grant's Old Home.

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By JOHN S. COLLINS.

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OMAHA, NEBRASKA.

NATIONAL PRINTING COMPANY.

1904.

COPYRIGHT BY

JOHN 8. COLLINS

TO THE RECIPIENTS OF THIS VOLUME

Yielding to the continued solicitation of his friends, after the
first volume of "Across the Plains in '64" was published, Mr.
John S. Collins finally decided to add to the volume several of
the more noteworthy happenings which were a part of his
remarkably adventurous life in the real west, before railroads
had made transcontinental travel easy. When most of the
manuscript had been prepared it was deemed best to incorporate
the first volume and the latter additions in one volume. Mr.
Collins' sudden death upset all plans for the production of the
new volume at the time he had decided to publish it.

But. acting upon the impulse to carry out the wishes of their
uncle, just as if he were with them, the nephews and nieces of
Mr. Collins decided to have the new volume published as a
memorial to their uncle who had done a pioneer's share in the
taming of the wilderness.

The relatives of Mr. Collins who have made it possible that
this hitherto unwritten history of the west shall remain a lasting
monument to his memory, are in possession of scores of letters
from distinguished men and women who received the first volume
from its author, which commend in unstinted measure their
pleasure at receiving such a gift. Probably there are few volumes
which have been so highly commended by "the men of the
country" for truthfulness and real merit. One of the fore most
literary journals in America compared the first volume with
the works of Francis Parkman, which it resembled in many
particulars.

The undersigned, who had charge of the editing of Mr-
Collins' manuscript, has lefi it just as it was written by him, the
work of editing concerning almost entirely punctuation and
capitalization. Mr. Collins made no pretense to literary style-
He had been a business man all his life and he has prepared such
a volume as a business man who had a remarkable memory
would write. R. F. G.

Omaha, Neb., January, 1911.

ILLUSTRATIONS

Cover Design By Doane Powell

Frontispiece (Part I) John S. Collins

Frontispiece (Part II) "Five Terrors of the Wind River Range"

Three Days' Kill Opposite page 61, Part II

Bat and the Bear Skins Opposite page 64, Part II

Indians in Camp Opposite page 64, Part II

Leaving Fort Fetterman Opposite page 66, Part II

Bunched Up in the Road Opposite page 66, Part II

Crossing the Platte Opposite page 66, Part II

"Antelope Very Cunning" Opposite page 76, Part II

Ready for the Hunt Opposite page 82, Part II

"Fussin' " About Camp Opposite page 86, Part II

Author's Keys Which Went Through San Francisco

Earthquake and Fire Opposite page 139, Part II

DEDICATION.

This little book is dedicated to the memory of James
McNear, my companion, friend and guide, on my trip Across
The Plains In '64, and down the Missouri river in an open
boat from Fort Benton to Omaha, two thousand miles. No
more loyal man ever lived. His bravery was never ques-
tioned. He was a true man and a sincere friend.

JOHN S. COLLINS.

PREFACE.

At the request of members of my family and inti-
mate friends, I have briefly sketched some of my
experiences in the West, before the days of the railroad.
This little book is intended for private circulation. I
have made no effort to give the sketches a literary
dress. I have only attempted to relate from diary and
memory, in a matter of fact way, a number of inter-
esting incidents, which, in the hands of an experi-
enced writer would, in my opinion, furnish material
for an interesting volume.

John S. Collins.

Omaha, Nebraska, 1904.

CONTENTS.

Dedication 3

Preface 5

Across the Plains in '64 9

Notes by the Way 36

A Fresh-Killed Moose 38

A Rich Clean-Up 39

Fast Staging 40

The Gold Miner's Market 41

A Mountain Sheep Head 41

Two Thousand Miles in an Open Boat 44

A Herd of Mules 59

About an Army Post Tradership 65

Hunting Big Game with a Military Escort 69

If You Don't Pray Before You Eat, You Won't Steal 73

The Sioux Indian Commission 'j^

A Feast with Spotted Tail 84

Council with the Yanctonais 86

Burial of the Daughter of American Horse 90

A Brave Indian 91

A Hunting Trip with Carl Schurz, Webb C. Hayes,

AND Artist Gaullier 96

The Hunter's Paradise 100

Hunting Big Game with a Pack Train 114

The Scout 122

''Crazy Horse" Bones 134

Vagabonding with a General Manager 136

Galena, Illinois, General Grant's Old Home 139

The Mettle of Grant 150

ACROSS THE PLAINS IN '64.

From My Diary.

JOHN S. COLLINS.

A certain interest zmll ahvays attach to the record
of that which passed away, never to return." — Francis
Parkman.

Council Bluffs was a better outfitting point for emi-
grants in '64 than Omaha. March 23rd I crossed the
Missouri river on the steam ferry with six two and
four mule teams, loaded with merchandise for the
gold mines of Virginia City. At Council Bluffs there
came to me an honest, rough looking fellow with a
note from a friend in Dubuque, Iowa. It read: "I
send you Jim McNear; take him along; he is 'true
blue' and 'all sand.* " No better recommendation
could be given a man in those pioneer days. So Jim
was placed in charge of my tents and cooking.

Ferriage from Council Bluffs to Omaha was $1.00
for one wagon and one span, and twenty-five cents
per head for loose stock. At Omaha I met my father,
Eli A. Collins, and my brother, Gilbert H. Collins.

A fine prospect opened here for business, and on
March 23rd, my brother and myself entered into co-
partnership under the firm name of G. H. & J. S. Col-
lins, Gilbert H. going east to purchase a stock of lea-
ther and saddlery goods. The same day I left Omaha
for the "west," cutting across lots from Fourteenth and

10 Across the Plains

Douglas streets and camping under the "Big Elms"
at the Military bridge.

The Mormons on their westward march held regu-
lar Sunday services under these trees. Twenty-fourth
and Cuming streets now mark the spot. Johnson's
army crossed the Military bridge in 1853 to fight the
Mormons at Great Salt lake.

We traveled the old Military road from Omaha.
Snow and rain made the roads heavy, and travel slow,
March 24th we camped at the Elkhorn river. Ferriage
was fifty cents per wagon. Loose stock was led and
driven. Raw Hide creek was our next camp. Paw-
nee Indians came down on us by the dozen. It was
their custom to find emigrant camps all along the
Platte, and beg. They had noses like a pointer dog.
They manifested no unfriendly disposition, but show-
ed a fondness for our tin cups, pans, knives and every-
thing in this line they could pick up and conceal under
their blankets. From the Raw Hide to Fremont, then a
village of two to three hundred inhabitants, white
tail deer were frequently seen in the tall grass. Be-
tween Fremont and Columbus there was very little
settlement. There were only a few ranches where hay
and shelter for animals could be had for fifty cents
to $1.00 per span over night.

If you did not patronize these ranches the alterna-
tive was to camp where you could and wake up in the
morning to find one or two head of stock gone. This
necessitated "laying over" a day or two. The stray
stock was sometimes found in the corral of the ranch-
man with a charge of $5.00 to $10.00 for recovering
it.

Across the Plains It

West of Columbus we crossed the Loup Fork river,
full of running ice. The ferry boat had sunk and the
stream was too deep and swift to ford. So all hands
assisted in raising and pumping out the boat. When
in running order we paid fifty cents per wagon and
one span for ferrying us over. The loose stock swam.
From the Loup to the

PLATTE CROSSING AT KEARNEY

it snowed or rained almost constantly. At every camp
the Pawnees visited us. They were always hungry.
They told stories of war parties out after Sioux scalps,
capturing ponies, robes, furs, etc. We, having no proof
to the contrary, their stories were allowed to stand.
While the beggars looked fierce to us, they were as
helpless as children. When we reached a point op-
posite Fort Kearney there were over two hundred
teams in camp, waiting to decide whether they would
continue their journey on the old California trail of
"49" on the north side or ford the Platte and go on
the south side — said to be fifty miles the shorter road.
Before deciding on our route, we watched the crossing
of a freight wagon loaded with grain. Twelve yoke
of oxen with five drivers waded into the swift current,
and were soon floundering and wallowing in the shift-
ing quicksand. Three or four of the drivers were
often up to their necks in the cold water. A rope
around the waist of each, the other end fastened to an
ox-yoke, prevented the drivers drifting away. If al-
lowed to stop, the cattle would steadily sink in the
shifting quicksands belly deep. To release them the
quicksand had to be shoveled from below and let the

12 Across the Plains

current carry it away. This one team was two hours
in crossing. The ferriage for one wagon was $6.00.
After witnessing this sight, our party was not long
in deciding to take the trail on the north side and
cross the Platte 200 miles higher up.

We were now in the country of the hostile Sioux
Indians, and it was necessary to organize our train,
consisting of one hundred and six wagons and nearly
one hundred and fifty men. Thomas Prowse, from
Galena, Illinois, an old "49-er," was elected cap-
tain. He was a quiet, level-headed man, stern
of disposition sound of judgment, and with
plenty of "sand." Mounting a wagon seat he said:
"All the men who go with this outfit hand in your
names, and the kind of transportation you have. This
will be no picnic, and I want you all to understand that
every man will do his share of guard duty. Orders
will be orders, and if there is a man in this crowd not
willing to obey orders, now is the time for him to drop
out. The train will 'roll out' at daylight tomorrow
morning." The next morning promptly at daylight
every team was numbered and placed in line. "Ev-
erybody will be expected to keep up and not lag be-
hind," said the captain; "Indians always go for the
last teams, and we may see plenty of them."

There was a call to know if "Jim McNear was in
the train." "You bet I am here," answered Jim.
"You'll find me in the Collins outfit in front, on the
end of this trail, and don't you forget it." One of the
men named "Chance" volunteered to go over with
the freight team for mail and to post letters. This
being the last opportunity we would have until reach-

Across the Plains 13

ing Fort Laramie unless the "pony mail" would pick
up the letters on the way east. "Chance" was to join
us that night ten miles above. He would wade the
Platte. Just as the train was ready to "roll," a buxom
Irish girl, weighing 200 pounds, drove up to Cap-
tain Prowse in a covered wagon, with a span of good
American horses and said : "Captain, I want to go wid
ye. I've me own team and can take care of meself.

ME name's jane.''

"All right," said the captain. "We need one
woman with 150 men to bake our bread, mend
our trousers, and sew buttons on." With charcoal,
her wagon cover was marked "Jane," and she was as-
signed to a place in the middle of the train. ,

Leaving this camp we bade farewell to civilization
to enter the country of the hostile Sioux Indians,
over the dim trail made by the emigrants going to
California in "Forty-nine." The trail ran over a
level plain, bordered on the east by sand hills and low
bluffs where the buffaloes ranged and on the west
by the North Platte river. The plains were covered
with dry grass, and there was no fuel for two hundred
miles. It certainly was not a cheerful outlook for a
lot of "green pilgrims." A mule strayed from our
first noon stop and my mustang saddle pony was
pressed into service where he remained until we
reached Fort Laramie. The stray mule was not re-
covered.

We camped on Elm creek, where our man "Chance"
was to join us, but he failed to come that night. We
remained in camp all next day, and still no tidings

14 Across the Plains

of "Chance." Out on the foot-hills a small band of
buffalo was grazing. We agreed to wait one day
longer for "Chance" and improve the time by hunt-
ing buffalo to supply us with fresh meat.

April 1 2th, at daylight, we still had no tidings of
our man. With a light wagon and a span of mules,
five of us, headed by Captain Prowse, and leading
our saddle horses, started for the bluffs. Our ob-
ject in taking a wagon served the double purpose of
keeping our saddle horses fresh and to bring in the
game. At the foothills the mules were unharnessed
and tied to the wagon. Mounting our horses, with
lariat, Winchester rifles and hunting knives, we were
soon off and rode rapidly to the highest bluff two
miles away where we tied the horses to sage brush,
and cautiously ascended the bluffs. With field glasses
we looked the country over for buffalo.

HERD OF BUFFALO.

A low flat, not a mile away, was alive with antelope.
A band of several hundred scattered over a mile of
territory and beyond them was a scattering herd of
buffalo. It is not often that hunters are disgusted
with the sight of an over abundance of game. This,
however, was our predicament. We wanted buft'alo
and thepe they were less than two miles away. Captain
Prowse was not long in deciding on a plan. If we
came in sight of the antelope they would all take to
their heels, alarm the buffalo, and put an end to our
chances of getting a shot at them. With the wind in
our favor we made a detour of five miles, keeping well
out of sight, stopping occasionally to look over the

Across the Plains 15

top of the bluff and locate our game. When we came
in sight they were feeding through a low sag in the
hills crossing a ridge. Waiting until they passed out
of sight we galloped to the foot of the ridge and
again dismounted and crept on hands and knees to
look over the bluff. We were almost on top of fully
a hundred buffalo, quietly feeding, not fifty yards
away. Returning to our horses it was planned that
each hunter should put the end of his lariat through
the bit ring and all lead their horses abreast to the
firing point. "Now down on your knee, hold fast
to your horse, every man pick his buffalo and 'blaze
away.' Stick to your own buffalo until he is down."
Such were the orders. I obeyed all orders but one.
The fusilade made all the horses plunge and rear.
My mustang pulled away and, with lariat dragging,
started in the direction of the antelope. They scat-
tered like quail. Not waiting for a report on the first
round of fire, as it involved a possibility of losing my
horse entirely and walking ten miles to camp, I fol-
lowed the mustang. It was not long until I saw the
hunters headed for the bluffs with the wagon to bring
in the game. Tired out, and disgusted with my part
in the hunt, I kept on after my pony. One of the
hunters came to my relief and soon caught him. My
revenge on his conduct was to ride him on a dead run
until there was not much ''go" left in either the pony
or the rider.

The result of the hunt was three buffalo and three
antelope killed on the way home. It was sundown
when we were well on the way back and the party
did not reach camp until midnight. Up to the present

16 Across the Plains

date I fail to realize any great pleasure or sport in my
first buffalo hunt. The lost man "Chance" had reached
camp at noon, footsore, and with hands and face bleed-
ing from cuts from the sharp blades of grass. He told
a most pitiful story. The first day he walked until
dark then lay down on the ground for a long night's
dread of Indians. The second day, believing the train
was still ahead, he traveled until noon and then re-
traced his steps. Seeing our wagon on high ground
going to the bluflfs, he concluded we were in camp
somewhere on Elm creek. Here he waded and swam
the Platte and followed the creek to our camp. He
had eaten nothing in the two days but a rabbit and a
prairie dog, killed with rocks. Afraid of Indians he
did not light a fire and ate them raw.

April 13th we drove twenty-two miles. There was
no wood. Our only fuel was buffalo chips. The next
day we drove thirty miles. A lodge of Indians came
to us, armed only with bows and arrows. They were
friendly and hungry, and left us after supper.

April 15th we started at daylight and discovered a
dense smoke to the north. It was a prairie fire ten
miles away. The captain ordered halt, and calling
all hands around him, he said : "If the wind changes
and that fire comes this way, we must work fast or we
are 'goners.' " Half an hour brought us to a marsh
and a small lake. We made camp between them. It
was lively work corralling the wagons, "close up," and
chaining them together. The stock was driven in-
side, and the entrance was closed up and securely
chained. Every man took a bucket and a grain sack,
and under the orders of Captain Prowse began

Across the Plains 17

"back firing/'

by dropping a lighted match in the dry grass,
and putting out the fire before it got beyond control,
and then beginning in a new place, repeating the
operation over and over again, with a bucket of water
always near by to keep the bag wet. In an hour's
time several acres were burned over, all around us.
Even "J^"^" did her share of work, carrying water
to the men. It was fast and strenuous work and was
finished none too soon to avoid a most serious disaster.
Soon the wind changed as the captain predicted. The
blaze was in sight, coming toward us with a speed of
a race horse. It was a line of fire a mile long, coming
like a g^eat wave, at times leaping fifty feet in the air.
The roar, hissing and cracking of the flames could be
heard a mile away. Deer, rabbits and prairie dogs
swept through our camp in great fright. The sight
was grand and awful. When the flame reached the
head of the lake north of us a quarter of a mile away,
we could feel the heat. It was almost stifling. At
this point the fire stopped. We had "back fired" a
quarter of a mile along its edge. Fearing that when
the tall grass in the marsh was reached the falHng em-
bers would set fire to our wagon covers, McNear fired
the marsh before the main flame reached it. During
the excitement the stock bellowed and brayed like wild
beasts. Soon the two waves of fire met, and the smoke
was so blinding that we were compelled to throw our-
selves flat on the ground until it passed over. When
the fire had passed and gone around us, the men were
called together to ascertain if everybody was accounted
for. All stood alongside their wagons and answered

18 Across the Plains

to their names. What became of the Indians mattered
little to us. They are generally equal to such occas-
ions and may have gone into the river for safety.

We resumed our march on April 17th. For miles
and miles the bleached heads and bones of buffalo
showed plainly on the sea of burnt ground. Many
snakes and small animals were found partly burned.
The air was dense with floating ashes. We moved to
a spot near the Platte where a guard was organ-
ized of every man in the train. McNear was chosen
captain of the guard. With nearly 150 men the duty
of standing guard three hours at night fell upon each
one lightly. There were three shifts of four men each
which made guard duty come but once a week. Snow
and hail fell the entire night. The stock was rest-
less and kept the guard busy driving picket pins.
Owing to the many delays we fed half the usual ration
of grain to our animals.

In crossing North Bluff creek, the next day, we
broke two wagons, and the train went into camp near
the foot of a sand bluff for repairs. Here a lone In-
dian came to us with jaded ponies, bow and arrows,
and a hungry look. He was the first Indian we met
that seemed to have any business except to clean out
our larder. His story was that twelve Sioux had
raided a camp of Pawnees south of the Platte; eleven
were killed, all their stock was taken and he alone had
escaped. By signs he made us understand that our
road for a short distance would be level, and then
leave the river and cross a sand bluff and be "one
sleep" without wood, water or grass ; then back to the
river, and in sight of Chimney Rock on the south

Across the Plains 19

side. He also gave us the cheerful news that war par-
ties of Sioux were out and we must look out for our
stock. After supper he left us.

A WHITE MAN SCALPED.

Before reaching the sand bluffs we had evidence
that our Indian guest knew the condition of affairs.
One of our men, who had gone ahead, came upon the
body of a white man scalped and with an arrow half
through his body.* On the trail we found a
partly burned wagon, parts of harness, empty
fruit cans, etc., and the remnants of a camp fire. Later
it was learned that two men and one woman had trav-
eled alone in this outfit. At this camp they were at-
tacked at night. The woman was carried off alive by
the Indians. One man was killed, and the other es-
caped by hiding in the grass and wading the Platte.
Going over the sand bluffs our wagons sunk to the
hub. All day we wallowed through by doubling teams
on every wagon. We traveled very slowly. Night
found us still in the sand with no wood, water or
grass. We tied our stock up to the wagons and they
gnawed at the wagon bows and covers all night.

April 19th our route was still over the sand and
again down along the Platte in sight of Chimney Rock.
There was no fuel except weeds and buffalo chips. It
rained and snowed the entire day. The next three
days we camped in sight of Ancient bluffs. Owing
to the heavy rain and snow and the howling of wolves
and coyotes

♦This arrow is in the author's possession.

20 Across the Plains

OUR ENTIRE HERD STAMPEDED

at night, jerking their picket pins and sending them
flying through the air, at the end of lariats, spinning
like tops. "Mustang" and two or three other head were
always picketed near the tents. The whole herd came
through the camp like an avalanche. Hearing the
clatter of hoofs McNear rushed for the mustang,
pulled up his picket pin and in his night clothes and
bare feet, mounted him bareback and drifted with the
herd. ''Long Jim" of the Missouri crowd, and
''Chance" each caught a mule, mounted, and
away they went in the midst of the runaway herd.
The night was as black as ink.

April 2 1st, when morning came there was not a
hoof of stock in sight and three men gone. Two or
three drivers set out on foot to assist in recovering
the stock. How far or how long the herd would go,
no one could tell. At noon McNear reported, leading
half a dozen head, and said the entire herd was com-
ing on.

April 23rd we drove to a stockade where a half-
breed kept a store of blankets and goods for trading
with the Indians for buffalo robes, otter and beaver
skins. Twelve lodges of Sioux were camped about
the stockade. Here we remained two days and sent
a messenger on to old Fort Laramie with letters to
mail. This was our first post office since leaving Col-
umbus, Nebraska, a distance of nearly four hundred
miles.

April 25th we crossed the Platte, at the mouth of
the Laramie river, two miles from the post. Again
our man "Chance" distinguished himself. A "devil

Across the Plains 2i

may-care" fellow that was always ready to take the
brunt of anything that offered a spice of danger, into
the river he plunged and the next moment he and pony
were floundering in the quicksand. All teams crossed
without accident.

AT FORT LARAMIE.

April 26th Lieutenant-Colonel Collins, of the nth
Ohio, was in command at Fort Laramie. The troops
were known as "galvanized" confederate soldiers,
captured by the federals and sent west for lack of
prison room. Here we met Jim Bridger, the scout,
forty-two years of whose life were spent on the
plains and in the mountains, and who married a Flat-
head squaw. Bridger was organizing a train to open
up a new route to the gold fields via the Big Horn
mountains. He was continually annoyed by the fool-
ish questions of the pilgrims. While I was talking to
him about his new route one of the "Ten strike" "but-
ted in" with the question, "Mr. Bridger, how long
have you bin in this kentry?" Pointing to Laramie
Peak, in the range of mountains forty miles away,
without cracking a smile or a twinkle in his keen gray
eyes, he answered : "Stranger, d'ye see that high moun-
tain over in the range yonder ? Well, when I first kem
to this kentry, that mountain was a hole in the
ground."

Little did I dream while looking over this, the
first frontier military post I had ever visited, that it
would fall my lot to ever set my eyes on it again. In
1872 I went to this same old post as post-trader, ap-

22 Across the Plains

pointed by President Grant, and remained there until
about 1882.

Near the crossing one of our pilgrims discovered
a tent with a sign board daubed in wagon
grease, "Post Office." "Letters to the states 50 cents."
Two "Johnnies-come lately" had set up a tent, cut a
slit in a board large enough to pass a silver dollar, laid
this across a barrel, into which they dropped half a dol-
lar for each letter delivered. While waiting to have
letters checked off and the mail "made up" a rider
mounted on a cayuse pony would ride up in great
haste and call for "mail," saying, "Can't wait," "be-
hind time," etc. He had just come out of the river
wet to the back. When the bag of mail was handed
out he was off to ride further down the Platte, dump
the mail into the river, turn his pony out and wait for
the arrival of the next train of pilgrims. Sergeant
Snyder at Fort Laramie said "It was nothing but a
Mam schwindle,' but dey made a pushel o' money mit
it."

When we arrived at Fort Laramie an officious young
lieutenant, by name Pettyjohn, was officer of the day.
Whether from a sense of duty or natural curiosity,
he fished out of our wagon an old army musket that
McNear had been allowed to carry home when dis-
charged from the army; he arrested Jim and took
him before the commanding officer for having govern-
ment property in his possession. Jim's honest face
and short speech to the officer resulted in the lieuten-
ant being ordered to return the weapon and, turning
to Jim, he said : "I hope this old gun may be of good
service to you in case you need it to fight Indians."

Across the Plains 23

Leaving Fort Laramie, April 27th, by mistake
we followed the road to the government saw
mill near Laramie Peak and drove as far as Little
Cottonwood before discovering our error. Captain
Prowse and McNear with saddle horses followed the
road a few miles and satisfying themselves that we
were on the wrong trail returned, and we drove across
the prairie to the Platte road.* From here the road
was over rolling hills and our progress was slow.

May 1st we camped on Labonte creek, where, in
1886, I established a cattle ranch.

May 4th we were at Fort Fetterman, where there
were more ''galvanized" soldiers. The credulous Mc-
Near gave away all the onions and potatoes in our lar-
der to soldiers on their plea ''that they would all die
of scurvy if they did not get some vegetables soon."

POISON SPRINGS.

Beyond Fetterman was Poison Springs. The banks
of the stream were strewn with bones and carcasses
of animals dead from drinking the alkali water. Dur-
ing the hot months it was so strong with alkali that
after boiling coffee it was most disagreeable to taste.
At this point we saw the stump of a telegraph pole cut
by the Indians. They had camped here during a
heavy rain and thunderstorm. To get dry wood to
start a fire an Indian with his tomahawk went to the
pole and began chopping off chips. Lightning struck
the pole and killed the Indian. This is given as a rea-

♦The writer still has in his possession a jar of stones col-
lected on this trip including one with the date cut with a pen-
knife while waiting.

24 Across the Plains

son why Indians never after molested a telegraph pole.
They counted it "bad medicine."

May 7th we were at the first crossing of the Sweet-
water near Independence Rock and Devil's Gatd
Near by were alkali or soda lakes. The banks were
white as snow and the soda lay inches deep. We used
it in making bread and found it almost equal to bak-
ing powder. I waded through the walls of rock be-
tween which the stream ran, the road running to the
south and around it. I saw many names painted and
carved on the rocks — some dating 1847 ^"^ 1849. Here
a detachment of cavalry came to our camp with orders
to arrest our train and return it to Fort Laramie. It
developed that one of the men in our train had p^ur-
chased government corn from a soldier. To settle it
the party gave the sergeant a few cans of fruit, sup-
posing that would be the end.

May loth we camped at the third crossing of the
Sweetwater, being detained by rain and snow. Just
as we were leaving at noon Captain Marshall an of-
ficer and twenty mounted men, rode into camp, and
inquired for the captain of our train. When Captain
Prowse was pointed out the officer said : "I am ordered
to return Captain Prowse's train to Fort Laramie."
This was on account of the "corn deal," which it was
thought, had been settled. After a lot of argument
and dickering, in which every owner of a team or
teams took part, McNear addressed the officer : "Cap-
tain, look here, I just come out of one war, and aint
looking for another. You can read this paper, (hand-
ing him his discharge from the United States Army.)
I don't know nothing about your business, but Mr. Col-

Across the Plains 25

lins owns six teams in this train, that is ready to pull
out, and we are going west. If you have any busi-
ness with anybody in Captain Prowse's train you bet-
ter pick out your man. Here's where we leave the
train." Without further ceremony McNear mounted
the lead wagon, took the reins and ordered "the Col-
lins' outfit to come on." By this time the **corn man"
came to the front and began his story. To hold a con-
versation privately the captain took him behind a
bunch of rocks. In less than ten minutes, the captain
rode out in pompous style, straightened up in his sad-
dle, and ordered his men to "right wheel, forward
march," and they rode off like the soldiers who "first
rode up the hill, then rode down again." The only
question to the whole affair was : What induced the
captain to disobey his orders to return the train to
Fort Laramie?

May nth we were in sight of snow on the Rocky
mountains. This was at the fifth crossing of the
Sweetwater. A detachment of soldiers from Fort
Laramie had been stationed here to look out for de-
serters. The day before our arrival all the soldiers,
including the sergeant, deserted, taking horses, equip-
ments, guns, ammunition and blankets.

May 13th we began the ascent to South Pass, and
at 10 a. m. reached Fort Casper, an abandoned log
house on the side of the mountain, where a few soldiers
wintered in 1863. At this point our train divided, part
going via Fort Bridger and Soda Springs, our part of
the train going by the way of "Lander's cut-off." The
ascent to South Pass was so gradual that we scarcely
knew when the summit was passed.

26 Across the Plains

May 15th we camped at the foot of the western
slope on the Big Sandy. Here we caught our first
trout. We had some difficulty in going down the west
slope of the Rocky mountains. All the streams on
the west slope abounded in trout.

GREEN RIVER.

May i6th we drove to the first fork of Green river.
The water was deep and the current swift. The "char-
acter" of our train was ''Qiance," the easy-going
"devil-may-care" fellow who never shirked. It was
a precaution to test the current and depths of streams
always before attempting to cross. After digging away
ten foot of bank to drive to the water safely, a volun-
teer was called for. "Give me your mustang," said
"Chance," "and if I live through it, you fellows come
on with your wagons." At the first dash "Chance"
and his pony went out of sight, and came to the surface
twenty feet below sputtering and spouting like a whale.
"It's deep there; better come down easy," said
"Chance." All of the wagon beds were blocked up to
the top of their side standards and lashed down to
their running gear. A rope was tied to the rear axle
of each wagon manned by a dozen men, eased down
by a like number, and when afloat, to hold it from
drifting down the current, another rope was attach-
ed to the tongue and carried between the lead mules,
handled by a crew of twelve on the opposite shore.
When the lead mules were out of sight under water,
with the aid of the rope the men on the west shore
hauled them to a sand bar where they found footing.
The leaders towed the wheelers along to the sand bar,

Across the Plains 27

and the wagon followed to shore in safety. As I had
traveled two-thirds of the distance from Omaha on
foot, it did not occur to me that I would be called upon
to mount the high seat and drive my four-mule team
the first through the only dangerous crossing we had
met. The driver of this team had been called back to
look after the loose stock and there was no one else to
drive. When Captain Prowse, in a tone of voice that
appeared to have a business ring, said, "Get up and
tackle it, Collins," there was nothing else to do. "Can't
I ride with you, Mr. Collins? Fm scared of them low
wagons." This was the voice of "Jane" and she
climbed upon the seat beside me. The leaders went
over their heads the first plunge. The men at the rear
with ropes let the wagon down easy, pushing the
wheelers in up to their backs. Then came the wagon.
When it reached five feet of water it floated and top-
pled with the current. At this point, where all the
skill of a driver was needed as well as any "grain" of
"sand" he might possess, "Jane" came over onto me,
grabbing and scrambling to keep from falling off. We
landed safely and this same process was used in cross-
ing every wagon in the train. Few travelers in these
days would attempt so hazardous a crossing. With
us it was a ground hog case. Hard work, level heads,
and good judgment carried every team over safely.

May 17th we drove eight miles and crossed the
second fork of Green river with less difficulty than
the first.

May 1 8th we drove twelve miles and camped on
the third fork. Here we caught mountain trout. At
the fourth fork we camped near a grave. The head-

28 Across the Plains

board bore the inscription: "Martin Moran, killed
by Indians in 1862." (Digger Indians.) This was
near the foot of Wind River mountains. Driving five
miles farther we camped in a canyon. It snowed all
night.

SNOW EIGHT FEET DEEP.

May 2 1 St the snow continued. We were unable to
travel over three miles this day, the trail being almost
impassable. During this short drif e we dug out snow
eight feet deep for fifty feet and camped at Fort Sny-
der— a log cabin where a few soldiers camped the sum-
mer previous. One of our party with a saddle-horse
took the trail ahead and returning reported forty
teams and a hundred men working their way through
twenty miles of snow two to three feet deep. This
was ''Lander's cut-off," and we were five days digging
our way through snow. Two days we drove our ani-
mals back five to eight miles to the nearest grass.
Three days we fed them flour out of our provision sup-
ply. We had fed out all our grain.

May 26th we came to the camp where forty teams
ahead of us had just left. It was a sight. Empty
wagons, barrels, kegs, boxes, chairs, stoves, and
everything of weight or bulk that could be dispensed
with, had been left on the ground and abandoned to
enable the party to move through the snow and mud.
All they took with them was packed on their animals,
and on one loaded wagon.

May 27th found our train still tugging up the
mountain side, doubHpg teams, unloading and carry-
ing on our backs sacks of flour, grain and boxes of

Across the Plains 29

canned goods. At times a heavy wagon would have
forty head of horses and mules and a driver to each
span moving very slowly. At 7 p. m. the wagons
were from one-half to three miles apart. There was
no cooked food and many of us were without tent
or bed. One of my own teams, just at the top of the
mountain, was actually buried in eight feet of snow.
We passed a very uncomfortable night on the mount-
ain. The snow was crusted over. At 4 a. m.. May
28th, the wagons were taken over the crust until the
sun made it soft and then the digging and pulling be-
gan again. We finally overtook the parties ahead of
us. They were still overloaded and I purchased sev-
eral bags of sugar, at forty-five cents per pound, and
canned peaches at $13.00 per dozen from the owner
of the wagon.

"Jane" had a tough time while we were crossing
over the mountains through the snow. No one paid
much attention to her after she had been told to remain
in her wagon and we would see her safely through.
She was always good natured and through all the
difficulties sat in her wagon like a statue.

May 29th was our first day out of the mountains
and away from the snow in eight days. We camped
on Salt river, near Salt springs.

When we nooned before reaching Salt creek a
spirit of adventure seized upon me and on foot I fol-
lowed a game trail across a plateau with some mis-
givings that I might not overtake the train until they
camped some twelve miles ahead. The road made
an ox bow over a rough road of boulders and I took
the short cut to rest from riding.

30 Across the Plains

After walking about five miles, I sat down on a
rock on a barren flat and picked up a copper coin
dated 1759. I did not overtake the train until they
camped.

I recently came across this copper coin, and think-
ing of its date and the circumstance of finding it forty
years ago out in a wild Indian country, entitled it to
some value; I sent it to a New York expert on
coins for his judgment. I was not a little surprised
when he replied, ''It is a Swedish coin and not worth
a penny."'^

May 30th we drove to Blackfoot creek by noon.
This was at the junction of Sublet cutoflf and the
Soda Springs road. Several lodges of Blackfoot In-
dians were camped here fishing. For a tin cup of
flour they would exchange a string of trout a yard
long. A cup of sugar would take the catch of half
a dozen Indian boys who were better fishermen than
the men. Trout was so abundant that the water was
in a constant ripple.

SNAKE RIVER.

June 3rd we reached Snake river — Harry Richards
and Massa's Rope Ferry. We paid $3.00 each for
crossing the wagons. The stock swam. The owners
of the ferry and their men quietly sat on the bank and
watched the men in our train do all the work in cross-
ing. The forty teams ahead of us were taken across
before our train. All the way from Kearney west, just
behind my last team, had followed a span of mules,

•This coin is still in the possession of the author.

Across the Plains 31

with a single wagon carrying ten long, lank Missouri
corn crackers with their beds and provisions. If they
ever possessed a name, it was not divulged on the
trip. They were dubbed "Long Jim" and the "Ten
Strike." The one reason for taking them in at Kear-
ney was that so many men with only one span of
mules to look after gave us nine extra men to help
out in a pinch.

When the crossing of teams began here the **Ten
Strike" left their positipn in the train and pulled in
ahead of my wagon, No. 4. Apparently no attention
was paid to this, the first breach in our discipline,
but it did not escape the eagle eye of McNear. It was
a rainy, drizzly day, and everybody was out of humor.
After all the wagons were crossed and were safe in
camp, and our tents up, we were eating supper. It was
noticed that something was "out of joint" in McNear's
mind, and he was "wool gathering." He placed his
tin plate and cup on the ground, stood up and shook
himself out, then said: "Now, if we'uns want to see
some fun, come with me." "What's up, Jim?" I
asked. "Did you see the Ten Strike' pull in ahead of
our No. 4 in crossing ? I m going over to their tent and

clean out the whole d d outfit." Jim was as mild

a mannered man as "ever scuttled ship." He would
serve one man as faithfully as another, but anything
that had a semblance of unfairness would not "go
down" with him. He would fight wild cats if he
were right. It took no little persuading to keep him
from his purpose. I finally said to him, "It is less
than three days to the end of our journey, and we
have had no 'scraps.' Don't you think it a little late to

32 Across the Plains

begin now?" "All right," said Jim, "let it go." That
ended it.

On the opposite bank was a camp of Bannock In-
dians, cooking their mixed meal of flour and water in
a basket. Stones were heated and placed in the basket,
and this repeated until the meal was cooked.

June 6th we drove twenty-nine miles. We halted
at a dry camp — no wood, water or grass. Animals
that were tied up at night to the wagon wheels gnawed
and destroyed what was left of the wagon covers.
The only fuel was buffalo chips. Here we came onto
the "49" wagon trail leading to California and also
to Salt Lake and it was fairly bristling with pack
animals, twenty-span California mule teams and
wagons with trails loaded as heavy as twelve thousand
pounds to a team. The twenty mules were driven by
one man, riding the "near" wheel mule, and using a
single "jerk" line running to the bit of the lead mule,
thus guiding the entire team. One jerk of the line was
"gee," two jerks "haw," etc. The plains around us
were strewn with the heads and bleached bones of
buffalo killed by Indians.

A few hours' drive carried us through Pleasant
Valley and over gentle rolling grass-covered hills and
across the continental divide the second time to the
eastern slope. From the foot of the eastern slope we
rumbled along through a rocky canyon, at the mouth
of which we found a toll gate and a western charac-
ter, with slouch hat, buckskin trousers and shirts, and
with the regular "six shooter" and belt of ammunition
strapped upon him. With these accompaniments he col-
lected our last toll of $1.50 for each wagon. Our

Across the Plains . 33

mounted men drove the loose stock around the gate
and over a rocky hill, thereby saving toll. With the
exchange of a few choice western epithets between the
man at the gate and the men driving stock the latter
were soon out of sight over the hill and the incident
was closed.

IN SIGHT OF VIRGINIA CITY.

June nth we camped on the Stinking Water river —
so called from the buffalo herds dying there from a
disease in a severe winter years before — and within a
short day's drive of Virginia City, the famous gold
field. We had left the Missouri river eighty-one days
before.

On the morning of Sunday, June I2th, 1864, we
were in camp in sight of Virginia City. There being
no grass or camping grounds nearer than two or three
miles our stock was turned out on the hills in charge
of herders. We had reached our last camp. The bal-
ance of the day was spent in bathing in a stream, wash-
ing our clothing, baking bread, and a general over-
hauling of wagons, preparatory to entering the city
in decent order the next day, and here our train dis-
banded.

I walked over to Virginia City to look at the town.
All the stores were filled with miners buying their
week's provisions. Counting freight from the Mis-
souri river, flour was considered low at $35.00 for a
bag of 96 pounds ; coal oil, $4.00 to $6.00 a gallon ;
candles, 50 cents a pound; sugar, 50 cents; coffee,
$1.00; a hickory axe handle, $3.00; an axe, $2.00; etc.
The gambling rooms and saloons were running "full

34 Across the Plains

blast," bands were playing, men and women were
running all the gambling devices known to a mining
camp, to separate the miner, the merchant and the pil-
grim from his money. Great stacks of gold and sil-
ver coin lay on every table, and the rooms were filled
with a motley set of humanity. The streets were
crowded with people. Half a dozen horse auctions
were going on. Every counter had its gold scales,
and every man his buckskin bag of gold dust. There
was the rough miner in slouch hat, woolen shirt and
trousers bulged out at the pockets with bags of *'dust."
His hair and whiskers were long and filled with dirt.
There was the gambler in broadcloth, a broad rimmed
black hat, a "boiled shirt," with a diamond as large
as a hazel nut. There were women gamblers, be-
rouged and bedecked with paint, diamonds galore,
dressed in black satin or gay colored silk dresses.
"Hurdy-Gurdy" dances held sway in the dance halls,
where any man could engage a partner for half a
pennyweight in "dust," and pay the barkeeper the
same for drinks for himself and partner, "one turn."
Greenbacks passed current for only fifty cents on the
dollar. The medium was "gold dust" at $18.00 an
ounce. Two banks bought gold dust at the same rate,
and paid for it in drafts on New York, for the mer-
chants and miners were always sending away money.
Sunday was pay day, when the bosses met all their
men at their cabins, built of logs, and weighed out the
bright new dust just out of the ground they had
worked in. From $5.00 to $8.00 per day was paid to
laborers, and $10.00 a day to good drifters.
Earlier in the season occasionally a drunken
ruffian would ride his horse into a saloon, and begin

Across the Plains 35

shooting the heads off the bottles, with a revolver
(everybody carried a revolver) — and breaking the
mirrors to "smithereens." The proprietor dare not in-
terfere, not knowing who the offender's friends might
be that were in the crowd. It seemed the very off-
scourings of creation were there. Men were robbed
and murdered for their money. There was a reign of
terror that made every man feel that his life was in
danger.

'Vigilance committee."

Finally in the early spring the best element organ-
ized a ''vigilance committee" and began rounding up
the desperadoes. Pickets surrounded the town one
night and when they closed in dozens of the men
wanted were in the drag net. The committee sat all
night behind closed aoors. About daylight the cul-
prits were brought before them and in less than an
hour sentences were passed. Many were "banished,"
and many were to be hanged. About daylight that
morning some of them were dangling from the frames
of unfinished buildings on Main street. At one point,
five were hanged at one time. The good work went
on. The country was scoured for one hundred miles
around. The men who were guilty were hanged
wherever found. During the following six months,
nearly one hundred outlaws had paid the penalty and
the morals of the community began to improve. The
only mistakes were made in banishing some who should
have been hanged. For thieving the penalty was
forty lashes on the bare back.

My cabin was half way between Virginia City and

36 Across the Plains

the little town of Nevada. Two months after my ar-
rival imagine my surprise one night on hearing the
heavy tramp of men near my cabin. Mr. McNear was
sleeping on the ground near me and could not resist
an investigation. In a few moments he returned with
this bit of news; "The vigilantes have got our man
'Chance, the Mermaid/ tied to the whipping post, and
are giving him the limit, forty lashes!"

Poor ''Chance !" He had stolen tools from a miner's
cabin, and was paying the penalty. He was a better
man on the plains than in the wild gold camp. On
the long tedious trip no one had complained of a fault,
and for the good there was in him he was duly credited.

NOTES BY THE WAY.

The Indians along the Platte, as far as Kearney,
were Pawnees and had few fire-arms. Bows and ar-
rows were used in killing buffalo. The Pawnees
roamed as far south as the Republican river, where
they frequently met the Sioux, who were always ready
for war. From Fort Kearney north and west to the
Sweetwater the Sioux claimed the country. West
of them was the Shoshone, or Snake tribe, as far as
Snake river, then came the Blackfeet and Flatheads,
their country reaching west and north of the Snake.
After leaving Fort Kearney, it was dangerous to travel
in small parties until reaching Snake river. The Sioux
were in an ugly mood. When they came to our camp,
we scarcely knew whether it was to look us over, ex-

Across the Plains 37

pecting to return at daylight and attack us, or not. We
were afraid to treat them unfriendly and hence we
submitted to their impudence and impositions. Small
outfits ahead of us were frequently attacked and
trains that followed had exciting stories to relate of
their continual annoyance by the Sioux. When no
Indians were seen the sign was ominous. While in
sight it was easy to watch their movements. There
was always great danger in the country of the Sioux.

At Fort Laramie we were greatly surprised at the
number of well dressed squaws about the post. The
half breed children showed the "early settlement of
the country by whites." Indians were allowed to trade
at Fort Laramie then. In these days of the buffalo the
Indians wore these robes around them. Very little was
known about ("Mazaska") money. It was barter and
trade. A dressed buifalo hide was valued at $2.00 to
$5.00. A pony was worth $25.00 to $50.00 in buffalo
robes at the above prices. Great stress was laid on
white buffalo — white on the hump and down on the
shoulders. On their hunts a party would abandon
a herd and chase a white buffalo all day in preference.
It was "great medicine," and a white robe was "trade"
for twenty-five to fifty ordinary robes. The "beaver"
or "silk" robes, come from the mountain buffalo, or
bison, that ranged only in the mountain country. They
were smaller, the hair being shorter and more even in
length, and^,were generally killed in their best seasons,
while the Indians were hunting elk and deer. I saw a
bison hide freshly killed, dropped from a hunter's pack
animal. The hunter told me it was a "bison," and
sometimes called beaver or silk robe. We could "swap"

38 Across the Plains

a sack of flour for a pony and the Indian would then
steal the pony before next daylight.

A FRESH KILLED MOOSE.

In the winter of '65 and '66 I sold goods at Silver
Bow. Thirty miles southwest, towards Deer Lodge
river, gold was discovered by a party of German pros-
pectors and the place was called German Gulch. If
there is any one thing more than another, that will
create excitement among miners it is the vague news
that "new diggins" have been struck. The farther
away they are the more eagerly miners and others will
follow them. Curiosity prompted me to ride over and
look at the situation — only thirty miles away. I made
the trip and return between "sun and sun." As I rode
down the mountain side a party of miners gath-
ered around a fresh killed moose, which had come
down the mountains in the night, and in passing
through the camp and crossing a drain ditch, fell in.
The ditch was too narrow and deep for him to climb
out, and, being cross timbered, he could neither travel
up nor down. In the morning when the miners came
to work they found him cavorting around the narrow
space. A rope was thrown over his horns and he was
dragged up to the surface. His first move was to
"charge" the crowd. The man at the end of the rope
ran around a tree and the moose followed until he
wound himself around the tree when he was killed with

Across the Plains 39

an axe. I arrived in time to see them take his hide off,
and, with wooden pegs, pin it on the ground to dry.

A RICH CLEAN-UP.

Confederate Gulch was about thirty miles from
Helena. Shallow placer diggings were discovered
there in 1865. It was more profitable to "ground
sluice" with hose ; cut the banks away by a stream of
water through a hose and nozzle, and carry all the dirt
through sluice boxes, than by any other process, work-
ing the bed as well as the side of the gulch. This kept
two crews of thirty men each working day and night.
No "clean up" was made until the end of three
weeks, then all the sluices were cleaned and the
false bottoms taken up. The flour gold was caught
with quicksilver, the coarse gold was panned out, and
put in gold pans set along in a double row on the
ground. Each pan was filled to the brim, a gold pan
holding about two gallons. Except for its bright, rich,
yellow color, the gold resembled corn meal. This was
the "clean up," and like myself, many others thought
it of enough consequence to carry a blanket behind
their saddle, take along some "grub" and ride horse-
back thirty miles to witness it. One hundred and sev-
enty-two thousand dollars in clean, bright gold dust
was the result. Such a sight had never before been
seen and possibly may never be again.

40 Across the Plains

FAST STAGING.

A. J. Oliver ran a daily stage line from Virginia
City to Helena in '65. I was buying gold dust in the
banking house of Nowlan & Weary and acted as Mr.
Oliver's agent. When the stampede to Helena on the
Prickly Pear gulch began I was sent to Helena to
open a branch bank. Wells, Fargo & Company also
ran a stage line to Helena with Concord stages and
first class equipment. The Oliver line utilized ranches
along the road for stations for changing horses, about
every twelve to sixteen miles. The horses, princi-
pally cayuses, ran loose on the prairie, few of them be-
ing broken to harness. Six horses was a "change
team." The wheelers and leaders were partly broken
to harness and for the "swing" or middle span wild
cayuses were caught up and put in — that had never
known a harness. With the wheelers pushing them
and the leaders dragging them there was nothing
left for them but to go along. In the early winter of
'65 I took the Oliver line at Virginia City at 4 a. m.,
and just as the sun went down I was at Helena, 145
miles away. That night I rented a window space ten
feet square for $100.00 per month. The next
morning I took the stage at 4 o'clock and in
the evening was at Virginia City — 145 miles again.
That night I gathered an armful of stationery and at
4 the next morning started for Helena, arriving
there about sundown, making three trips in three suc-
cessive days of 145 miles each — ^435 miles. In the three
days' travel I had slept not to exceed ten hours out of
the seventy-two. By 10 a. m. the fourth day I was
ready for business and began buying gold dust. My

Across the Plains 41

stationery and gold scales I could carry in an ordinary
valise.

Half a mile out of Helena, on the regular stage
road, stands a scraggy pine tree called Hangman's
Tree where half a dozen tough characters were hang-
ed from time to time by "Vigilantes."

THE GOLD MINERS* MARKET.

A meat market in Virginia City made a wonderful
display on Christmas, 1864. To keep within bounds,
I can safely say there were half a dozen freshly killed
buffalo and as many buffalo calves, a dozen mountain
sheep, a dozen each elk, deer and antelope, half a dozen
mountain lions, two mountain bison, half a dozen
grizzly bears, weighing six hundred to a thousand
pounds each, and as many small black bears, sage,
grouse and willow or sharp-tail without number. In
addition to all this there was a larger display of fine
steer beef than I have ever seen in an Omaha market.

A MOUNTAIN SHEEP HEAD.

In February, '66, I loaded one of my four-mule
teams with provisions and started for Silver Bow to
''open a store." My stock consisted of a few bags of
flour, worth $45.00 for 98 pounds, canned goods, ba-

42 Across the Plains

con, sugar, coffee, gold pans, picks and shovels, the
latter selling in Virginia City for "one ounce" ($18.00)
each. The one wagon load was worth considerable
''dust." The ground was covered with snow, the
streams were frozen over and the mercury marked
twenty-five below zero. One man accompanied me.
As he had spent the night before in a dance hall his
services were not of much account. I knew, however,
that a day out in the cold would sober him up and as
no one else was available I took him along. We
crossed the Jefferson, one of the three forks of the
Missouri river and drove to the foot of the main
range of the Rocky mountains. The snow increased,
so did the wind. When we unhitched and tied the
mules to the wagon at night a regular **blizzard"
struck us. There was no water and as the only fuel
in sight was green willows we could not build a fire
to melt snow or warm by. Under the wagon bows,
covered by canvas, we lay down on a mattress on top
of the barrels and boxes after a supper of frozen can-
ned peaches, cold bacon and crackers and worried
through until daylight. The divide was so gradual
in crossing the mountains that we had no trouble on
this account. The snow had drifted as high as the
wagon bows and we had to shovel our way through.
At the top of the mountain a ranchman named Mc-
Cartey had built a good house of logs and here we
took shelter. In front of the cabin were two logs set
in the ground, with a cross log laid on, to hitch horses
to. In the middle of this top log was the head of a
mountain sheep. Part of the skull and one horn had
been grown over so that one horn and part of the skull

Across the Plains 43

was all that could be seen. The ranchman told me
when he found this head it was thirty feet above the
ground. His theory was that the sheep stood on ten
or more feet of snow, and in rubbing his head, got one
horn fast around the tree, and could not free himself.
There he died. All his bones lay at the foot of the tree,
and from its growth it was presumed that he got
caught in this predicament some twenty years before.
This identical skull and horns, with a part of the tree,
can at this date, January, 1904, be seen at the Union
Pacific headquarters in Omaha. Near this ranch I
found a pair of "locked" deer horns. Two bucks in
fighting had gotten their horns locked so they could
not separate and they died there. Their bones were
lying near the horns.

TWO THOUSAND MILES IN AN
OPEN BOAT

FROM FORT BENTON TO OMAHA.

In the fall of '66, miners and others who had a
"home stake" and wanted to carry their gold dust to
the ''states," found it difficult to get transportation.
The Indians had run off Wells, Fargo & Company's
stage horses between Salt Lake and Denver and the
"road agents" were "busy" holding up stages and rob-
bing passengers between Virginia City and Salt Lake.
All the steamboats had left Fort Benton early in July.
After that water on Deadman's Rapids was so low
that navigation was practically suspended. The only
alternative was to embark from Fort Benton in small
boats. With my father, who had come out the year
before, we left Virginia City the morning of August
29th, with our own teams, carrying sixty passengers
for Fort Benton. The first day on the road a four-
mule team turned out and passed us on a dead run.
Besides the driver there were six men, all tough look-
ing characters, armed with rifles and pistols. They
all hung their heads as they passed us. With my
teams were four men, late members of the vigilantes,
who recognized two of the men the vigilantes had
banished from Virginia City two years before. It
was generally believed that every man leaving for the
"states" at that season of the year carried with him a
"home stake" of gold dust and this episode aroused

Two Thousand Miles in an Open Boat 45

the suspicion of all my passengers, especially that of
the four vigilantes. One of two things was cock sure,
either the strangers followed our party to rob us or
to kill the vigilantes. Fifty thousand dollars in gold
dust or the lives of four men was the stake. When
we drove to Dearborn river we camped in the open,
near a cut bank and slept with our clothes on. The
guard was doubled and the order was given to graze
the stock until dark and then tie every animal to the
wagon. When the men on guard came in at mid-
night, they reported seeing four mounted men leading
two horses saddled, crossing the river, about three
hundred yards below and stopping in a clump of trees
near the bank. The strategy of McNear was to at
once build fires and let them know our camp was
alive and that they had been discovered. There was
no more sleep in camp the rest of that night.

One of our men crept down under the river bank
within fifty yards of the strangers and saw them dis-
mount, then suddenly get on their horses, and scurry
away to the south. Had they been friendly travelers
they would have ridden into camp and made them-
selves known. Nothing more was seen of them and
we arrived at Fort Benton without further incident.

My father, E. A. Collins, and myself purchased two
boats, each thirty feet long and six feet wide, named
respectively "Cora Bray" and "The Hulk." The latter
because of its unwieldiness. Each boat carried twelve
passengers. They were built by Bill Bivins, who later
became a notorious robber and desperado and who
some years later was balked in trying to rob my store

46 Two Thousand Miles in an Open Boat

at Fort Laramie. He has since served a term in the
Wyoming penitentiary.

Jim McNear, than whom no more faithful compan-
ion ever drew the breath of life, shipped as my
"skipper." My father was in charge of the second
boat with ten other passengers and their baggage. We
were ready to leave Fort Benton on September ist.
I was custodian of a wooden soap box that contained
eighty pounds of gold dust and gold nuggets. At
midnight, before embarking, McNear carried this on
board and placed it in the bow, which was decked over.
He slept on board that night. Until reaching Sioux
City no one knew that this gold dust was on board.
Our expectation was to float down the river. For
three days we were in swift water and made good
headway. Then the river widened out and there was
no perceptible current. This day one of our htst oars-
men fell overboard. The second night after he raved
with mountain fever. The great inconvenience we
suffered from this incident cannot be imagined or de-
scribed. There was no physician nearer than Fort
Berthold, over a hundred miles below at the mouth of
the Yellowstone. On the fourth day ice froze on the
edges and not wanting to take chances of being frozen
in and wintering in that country we landed, and all
hands set to work making oars out of young ash trees.
Each oar when finished weighed fifty to sixty pounds.
A rowing crew was organized. E^ch man rowed ev-
ery other half hour a day, and when we ran at night,
three hours for each man every other night was his
task. Occasionally we passed a military post, which
would fire a cannon shot and round us into a landing.

Two Thousand Miles in an Open Boat 47

The officer would inform us where hostile Indians were
camped and not permit us to leave until one hundred
men were together. Boats were so numerous that one
day's delay sufficed. Hostile Indians usually camped
in a sharp bend of the river where the current set near
the bank on their shore. We made runs past these
bends in the night. With such precaution, the entire
trip of twenty-one hundred miles was made without
being attacked, although boats ahead and behind us
dodged arrows frequently.

FLOATING MEAT MARKET.

With our fleet of boats that left the last military
landing was a small scow with three men and with a
light load they could easily pull away from us. Two
of the men would go ashore and hunt across the bends
and drag their game to the bank beyond, the man with
the scow would land and pick them up with the game
they had killed, consisting of elk and deer and occa-
sionally a buffalo and mountain sheep. They supplied
our party with fresh game. Buffalo at two dollars for
a quarter, elk one dollar, deer fifty cents. While the
fleet of boats remained near each other there was a
good demand for all the game they killed and they
would earn two or three dollars a day per man. It was
rather an amusing sight to see the little craft pull
along side a boat, unload a quarter of game, weigh out
the gold dust from the buyer, and go on to the next
boat. The market supplied us for nearly two weeks
with fresh game and there was no necessity for us to
waste time in hunting.

WINTERING INDIAN PONIES.

Some of the bottom lands below the mouth of the
Musselshell were covered with forests of large cotton-

4& Two Thousand Miles in an Open Boat

wood trees, measuring four to five feet in diameter,
among them a smaller growth of saplings and under-
brush. The Indians made their winter camps of large
villages here, as the snow fall in the timber was three
to four feet — the only feed for their immense bands
of ponies was cottonwood bark. The young saplings
were cut down and left in scattering piles around the
village and the ponies pealed the bark from these
young trees and lived on it the entire winter. By the
time the steamboats arrived at these camping places in
the spring the Indians had moved away and a sup-
ply of dry fuel was ready to take on board. Where
the river ran between two ranges of hills it was nar-
row and in the month of September we saw large
cakes of ice lodged seventy and eighty feet above the
river surface that had been left there when the river
gorged in the breakup in the spring. This was a
hundred miles above where steamboats landed and put
off supplies for the military post, Fort Totten, near
Devil's lake, a hundred miles east of the landing, and
the quartermaster's teams hauled them from the river
to the post.

When we left the last military landing the wind was
fair and the current strong. The sail was set and
in order to take every advantage and make rapid head-
way, with the six oars, we sped along at eight or nine
miles an hour. Rounding a sharp bend, late in the day,
we expected to tie up here and make the run past the
Indian camp ahead of us when night came on. Imag-
ine our surprise when several

INDIAN LODGES LOOMED UP

half a mile ahead of us. It was too late to check

Two Thousand Miles in an Open Boat 49

our speed and land. We were in the current sweeping
down the bend close to the bank. Our boats had no
keel and a flat bottom could not be easily handled in
the current. We decided to take chances of running
past the Indian camp. We had on board a man who
belonged to one of the Indian trading stores down the
river. He and his companion were on their way down
in a small skiff. In a high wind their boat was driven
on rocks in the rapids and was swamped. One of the
men swam ashore and was rescued by the boat ahead
of us. The other could not swim, but clung to the
boat which was carried by the wind onto an island.
As we approached the island he hailed us and we took
him aboard. He could talk Sioux and seemed to
know where all the hostiles were camped along the
river. He was familiar with the camp we were near-
ing and believed we could run by it without being no-
ticed, as no one was visible. Scarcely had we come
opposite the lodges when a dozen dogs broke loose
and their continual barking brought some of the
squaws out. They hallooed to us and motioned for us
to come on shore. They said the bucks were all out
hunting a band of buffalo and had fired the prairie
to drive them towards camp. The squaw man, whom
we had rescued, told us that was only a trap and the
sooner we got out of reach the safer we would be, so
we got away as soon as possible. Before losing sight
of their camp as many as forty bucks came out of the
lodges and waved at us. The squaw man informed
us that the bucks had purposely kept out of sight
thinking the squaws might induce us to land and we
would then fall easy victims. We were the first of the

50 Two Thousand Miles in an Open Boat

fleet of boats to pass this camp in daylight and we had
a narrow escape.

A MASS OF BUFFALOES.

When we rounded into the great bend of the Mis-
souri six buffalo jumped from the bank and swam
across, not two hundred yards ahead of us. While
watching them scramble up the bank on the opposite
shore our attention was attracted to a black moving
mass, less than half a mile from the river bank. So
dense was the pack it resembled miles of burnt prai-
rie. It was a mass of buffaloes reaching away to the
horizon, and extending for miles along the river. Our
boat was abreast of the herd over one hour. It was
one of the vast herds that roamed north of the Mis-
souri river as far as the British possessions. It was
a sight that few men have seen even in the palmiest
buffalo days.

One day our provision supply was reduced to bacon
and coffee. We landed at a wild plum grove and
found an abundance of the fruit and also wild cherries
and bull berries. The next day we replenished our
provision supply at the trading store of a French
trader on the bank of the river. I bought several bales
of buffalo robes to place along the sides of the boat to
protect our oarsmen from Indian arrows. This
trader had built a stockade of posts, set on end, and
inside were log huts and warehouses for storing goods.
The structure was proof against attack by Indians. In
trading he received the robes and furs through an
opening in the stockade and passed out the goods the
same way. Indians were not allowed inside, except

Two Thousand Miles in an Open Boat 51

perhaps a chief or an Indian who directed the trading-.
Here we bought dried buffalo tongues at fifty cents
per dozen. They could be had in quantities of a thou-
sand or more at a less price. The Indians along the
upper Missouri, when buffaloes were abundant, used
the meat to make "pemmican." The lean was cut in
pieces and the fat heated and poured over it. Bags
were made of green buffalo hide — the hair side out —
sewed with green hide strips. The meat and fat were
sewed up in sacks weighing about one hundred and
forty pounds each. When cold the package was as
indestructible as a bag of sand.*

^^ FRENCH HALF-BREEDS.

A tribe of nomads, half French and half Indian,
lived north of Fort Union, above the mouth of the Yel-
lowstone. They were called French half-breeds.
Once a year this picturesque caravan came from near
the British line to Fort Berthold to trade. Each In-
dian drove a single ox harnessed with strips of buffalo
hide to a two-wheeled cart, the entire cart, tires, wheels
and axles, all being made of wood. Not a nail or piece
of metal of any kind was used in their construction.
The screeching of the wheels could be heard for miles.
The carts were loaded with dressed buffalo hides and a
part of their return freight was "pemmican." (The
Dacotah name for this food is "wasna.") From five

•Later I visited at old Fort Peck when the agent was
about to move the agrency down to Grand River, Inside
the stockade was a pile of pemmican about as large as a stem
wheel steamboat. The trader had traded for it from the
Upper Missouri Indians. The United States agent in turn
bought it from the trader for issue back to the Indians for
winter food in case a hard winter and deep snow prevented
driving beef cattle in for issue.

52 Two Thousand Miles in an Open Boat

hundred to a thousand composed a train. The carts
were driven by men — few women and children accom-
panying them.

Fort Berthold was the steamboat landing for the
military post, Fort Totten, near Devil's lake, the dis-
tance about one hundred miles in the interior. During
the winter the only communication from Fort Ber-
thold to Devil's lake and also from Berthold to
Fort Benton was by dogs and sledges, with half-
breeds, or Uncpapa Indians for drivers — ^same
as the method employed in Alaska and the arctic.
When we reached Fort Berthold my father went to
headquarters and hunted up the medical officer. From
him he

PROCURED A PINT OF WHISKEY

for the sick man. On our arrival at Omaha, he found a
letter from the doctor saying that "one of the officers
here had reported to the war department that the medi-
cal officer was selling whiskey to citizens," and asking,
"if he would state the circumstance clearly and aid him
in clearing it up." General Grant was then in Washing-
ton and my father wrote to him explaining the matter.
In due course of mail, the General replied that the
War department would immediately take the matter
up, and an inquiry be made as to why the officer
should not appear before a court martial and make the
charge more definite, or fully establish the facts
stated.

The trader's clerk at Fort Peck was "Club Foot
George," whose two feet were "clubbed." The winter
previous he had started for Fort Benton on horseback,
with one pony, packing his provisions, etc. Several

Two Thousand Miles in an Open Boat 53

miles below Benton his pony left him in a snow storm.
His only safety lay in walking the distance through a
foot of snow and passed near an Indian camp in the
night. The next morning the Indians discovered the
trail left in the snow by his club feet and not under-
standing it immediately organized a hunting party to
follow the trail and kill the strange animal that made
it. It was lucky for George that he was found in Fort
Benton.

PETRIFIED TREES.

Above Grand River, where we landed for plums and
berries, a short distance from the grove, was a hill
covered with cactus and soapweed. Petrified stumps
and trunks of trees, ten to twenty inches in diameter
covered the hillside. Owing to shallow water
steamboats could not land near here and very little was
known of this bed of petrifications. It was "Bad
Lands" and sand hills and near hostile Indians. One
hundred miles below the mouth of the Yellowstone
river, on the east bank of the Missouri, was Fort Ber-
thold, a cantonment of United States troops, and also
a trading store and a band of miserable Minneconjou
Indians. The huts of the Indians were made entirely
of sod or adobe, shaped cone fashion, like the ice huts
of the Esquimaux. The Indians were a squalid lot of
lazy and dirty people. A sun dance was going on when
we landed to get a supply of provisions. The wind
was fair for sailing and we lost no time in getting
away, and saw nothing of the dance.

A few Indians used bull boats for crossing the river.
A green buffalo hide stretched over a frame of willows,
circular in form, about two feet deep, would carry an

54 Two Thousand Miles in an Open Boat

Indian family of about six hundred pounds. One In-
dian sat near the edge and paddled towards him, other-
wise the tub would only turn around.

A SCHOOL OF SNAGS.

Two hundred miles above Yankton we ran into
schools of snags and could make no runs after night.
It being important to get into civilization again, we
made a head-light from a lard can and used candles,
thinking this would enable us to see far enough ahead
to avoid snags. On the stern of our boat we put out
a red light to guide the boat behind us. The first night
we landed and prepared supper on shore, and a light
supper it was — we had bacon and coffee only.

An hour after we had pushed away from shore,
heavy clouds darkened the sky and it became so dark
we could scarcely distinguish the water from the sky.
While we "stood by the oars" we let the current carry
us. Suddenly a school of snags loomed up ahead of
the light and before the oars could be handled the
"Cora Bray" drifted onto two snags. We floated over
the first and onto the second, which stood a foot above
the water line. The boat swung broadside across the
current between the two snags. The swift current
raised the upperside of the boat and the lowerside
lowered proportionately, so that the entire crew had
to move to the upperside, to prevent being swamped.
The water was ten feet deep. We were two hundred
feet from shore. The "Hulk" lost sight of our light
and landed, fearing we had swamped.

We were in a dangerous position. As usual the
good judgment of McNear pointed out a way of re-

Two Thousand Miles in an Open Boat 55

leasing the boat. (His suggestions were usually fol-
lowed by his doing the work himself.) With a hand-
saw he leaned over the side, reached the full length
of his arm under water and began sawing the snag off
below the bottom. This occupied about two hours.
When the snag parted, the boat drifted onto the end
of the stump, and there it rested in greater peril than
before. The constant rocking might wear a hole in
the bottom and scuttle our craft. Then the chance of
any of us escaping hung by a slender thread. We be-
gan calHng for the "Hulk." Soon they answered and
slowly drifted toward us, keeping near the shore.
When opposite they made fast to a snag. Being at
close speaking distance we planned that the other
boat should land, unload, and haul two hundred yards
up stream; then drift slowly down, throw a rope to
us, and then by maniiing their oars, pull us off. All
this occupied over two hours. The first pull moved
the boat so the stern swung down the current. There
was a heavy weight in the bow that held us on the
snag. Again the other boat went ashore, hauled up
stream and drifted past us. Still our boat hung on
the bow. No less than a dozen trips were made in
this way before we were finally released. We landed
and spent the rest of the night on shore. As I sat on
a log near" a camp fire McNear sat down beside me.
He nudged me with his elbow and said : "Wasn't that
a close shave for the soap box?"

The next day we passed snags on all sides. When
night came, we landed alongside a dead tree and built
a fire to cook our last rations of bacon and coffee. So
far as we knew we were two hundred miles from

56 Two Thousana Miles in an Open Boat

where we could replenish. One of our men strolled
along the river bank around a sharp bend. Suddenly
he called out at the top of his voice. We were away
from the Indian country and could not imagine the
cause of it, but lost no time in going to him. Long
rows of lights were seen about a mile below us.

A STEAMBOAT.

Returning to camp we hastily loaded on our
bedding, etc., and with all on board, we again
swung into the current. All hands were guessing on
the direction the steamboat was bound. If going down,
we could not overtake her; if coming up, we would
be no better off. When discovered she was tied
up at the bank, and we made our craft fairly "whiz" in
the current towards her. It was the steamer Enter-
prise, from Yankton, loaded with supplies for the up-
river military posts. She had tied up for the night.
Our landing was made just above her bow, where we
built a fire. I was sent on board to prospect for pro-
visions. On the lower deck a watchman directed me
up to the "Texas" to find the mate, who was on watch.
It was after midnight. He was alone and smoking a
pipe. I explained who we were and our condition as to
provisions, not forgetting to tell him that every man
of our party of twenty-six people had gold dust to
pay for anything he would supply us with to carry us
to Yankton, a two days' run.

"When did you run short of grub?" he asked. I
answered promptly: "We are not short of grub; we
are entirely out." "The h— 11 !" he said, "let's go wake
up the steward."

Two Thousand Miles in an Open Boat 57

I followed him with the eagerness of a hungry
poodle down into the cabin and then to the pantry.
Never before in my life did a steamboat pantry have
the attraction this one had. The bread and cracker
drawers were ransacked. An immense fish pan was
filled from them, two boiled hams, some bacon, two
large coffee boilers of coffee — as much as the steward
and myself could carry — ^but it seemed to me I was
never so strong before and could carry almost my own
weight in provisions.

When all was prepared I handed the mate my
buckskin bag of gold dust and said, "Help yourself,
captain, as liberally as you have helped us." "Give
the steward a little nugget for a breastpin, and we will
be square," said he. The steward got the nugget for
his scarf pin. The mate was also remembered in a
substantial way.

When Sioux City was reached, some of our passen-
gers left the boat and took the stage for their homes
in the east, after a journey of two thousand miles in
an open boat, made in thirty days, without accident, if
we except the illness of the one man who fell over-
board, who had suffered from mountain fever for three
weeks.

It was frequently necessary for all hands to jump
into the water waist deep and push the boat off a sand-
bar. With the exception of high winds and a shower
one day the weather was the beautiful Indian sum-
mer from^ beginning to end.

At the mouth of the Niobrara river, a detachment
of troops were stationed. They were at target prac-
tice when we passed and as we heard the shooting,

58 Two Thousand Miles in an Open Boat

before coming in sight it caused us no little alarm, we
thinking it was Indians.

The wonderful sights of buffalo, elk, mountain
sheep and deer, together with the almost constant
spice of danger through the hostile Indian country,
cause me to look back upon the journey with greater
pleasure than I do on any other of my varied experi-
ences of travel by land or sea.

A HERD OF MULES

AND WHAT BECAME OF THEM.

In February, 1868, the Union Pacific road had
been completed to Cheyenne, and I went from Omaha
by train. There I took Gilmer & Salisbury's stage
via Denver for Salt Lake thence by Wells-Fargo &
Co.'s stage to Helena, Montana, to arrange for sending
my herd of nearly a hundred mules, that had been
freighting there, down along the line of the railroad
grading, after the grass had started. The snow was
deep on Laramie plains, and on Rattlesnake moun-
tains. My only fellow passenger was a Mr. Frothing-
ham, going to San Francisco, where he owned a line
of sailing vessels. He told me his occupation was
trading in ** Coolies" in the southern islands. His
method of loading them was similar to "pack-
ing sardines," and for food he gave them plum duff,
with the plums left out. He was rather ponderous
of build, with a fresh and tender face and silver gray
hair and more suited to life on the sea than following
a stage coach on foot, on snow ten feet deep over the
mountains. We got along fairly well as far as old
Fort Bridger. Jack Gilmer, one of the partners, drove
us from here, and after supper at 10 o'clock at night
on canned tomatoes, half cooked beans which at that
altitude could scarcely be cooked tender without the
addition of soda, we went to bed. The biscuits were of
tough dark dough with a burned crust around them
and about as indigestible as a ball of mud. They were

60 A Herd of Mules

called "dobies." We went to bed in a station — ^ cabin
built of logs. All the partitions were of common mus-
lin cloth. The beds had a tick filled with hay, no sheets,
and the covers were the cheapest cotton comforts. One
with its weight would not keep you warm, and two
would weight you down, so sleep was out of question.
We had scarcely got warmed up in bed when we were
called to start again and go over the snow while
the frozen crust would bear up the stage. We pulled
ourselves together and again resumed our journey.
When we reached the spurs of the Wasatch moun-
tains the moon was full, the night was almost as light
as day, the temperature far below zero. After day-
light, when the sun came up, the top crust of the snow
began to soften and occasionally a mule would sink
one foot in, or a wheel break through, and the driver
told us we must get out and lighten up or we would
get stuck in the snow. He also informed us there
was a "swing" station five miles ahead with a stove in
the stable where the stock tender slept and where we
would change horses — a mild invitation to get out and
walk. We climbed out and going on ahead, left the
driver to his fate. Soon we found it necessary to
blacken our cheeks with charcoal and wear a silk
handkerchief over our faces to prevent snow blind-
ness. Before reaching the station we sank in the soft
snow and wallowed through to the top of a long, steep
hill and here the crust of snow was getting soft and
we lay down and rolled over and over to the bottom
like a barrel — a much easier way of getting down than
trying to walk. At the station we found a Mormon
with a span of mules and a wagon loaded with coops

A Herd of Mules 61

of live chickens, who had been there four days snow-
bound. It was nearly noon when the stage arrived.
Meanwhile we bought some chickens from the Mor-
mon, dressed them and put them into a camp kettle
to cook, as there was no food at the station. We ate
the chickens about half cooked, as the stage must go
on to a "home" station about sixteen miles away. About
half of this distance we walked and lifted and tugged
to help the stage over the bad crossings. My fellow
passenger became entirely snow blind and was obliged
to get into the stage and remain there. We spent the
second night going over the snow crust and reached
the head of Echo canyon. Here we were transferred
to a lumber wagon and changed drivers. When we
arrived at Salt Lake City, my fellow passenger's face,
neck and ears had become one mass of blisters from the
reflection of the sun on the snow and when we parted
at Salt Lake his face resembled a man in the last
stages of smallpox. He was not able to resume his
journey for four weeks.

After resting a day I took the stage north for
Helena. On this route all the gullies and ravines
were blown full of snow and at the bottom of them
ran a stream of melted snow and slush. The driver
must push on and paid no attention to these obstacles
and into them he would drive the leaders. At times
they were belly deep in water and slush and the snow
up to their backs. \i the ravines were narrow the
leaders would soon flounder to the bank, dragging the
wheelers after them. Sometimes the four mules were
unhitched and taken to the opposite bank. A long
rope was tied to the doubletrees, the other end being

62 A Herd of Mules

attached to the end of the tongue to pull the coach out.
They could not always move the coach. In this event
the passengers and driver would mount the harnessed
mules and ride from one to ten miles, as the case might
be, to the station ahead and get the company's men to
ride back with extra men and stock, pull the coach
out and come on to the station. These instances were
not rare, especially where the road led through Port-
neuf canyon. Nothing could be worse than the meals
served along the route. On account of the snow the
coach could carry nothing but live freight and all the
stations were low on provisions. We reached Helena
safely. Mr. Pat Largey had my mules on pasture at
his ranch near Helena, also a lot belonging to Mr.
Edward Creighton, and we arranged to send them all
in one herd overland, direct to Carbon on the Union
Pacific railroad, when grass came. The herd was
placed in charge of *' Billy" Hurlbert and four men,
one of whom was M. J. Feenan, now living in Omaha.
It would make little difference by what route they
drove the mules. The danger was about equal, for
the Indians were in an ugly humor because of the
building of the railroad and the immense travel to the
gold mines by every route from all directions.

Hbrlbert left Helena about April 15th, 1868. For
some reason unknown to me a gray mare is always
chosen for a bell mare for all pack trains and loose
mule herds while being driven and there was no ex-
ception in this case. The route from Helena was
on the Salt Lake trail. Pleasant Valley, Camas
Prairie, Market lake, fording Snake river at old Fort
Hall, Montpelier, Soda Springs, Sublet Cut-Off to

A Herd of Mules 63

Green River, then up Bitter Creek to Point of Rocks,
then following the Union Pacific survey to Carbon,
Wyoming. The drive was made in thirty days with-
out the loss of an animal and no accident to the men.
The only incident on the drive was the trouble in hold-
ing the herd at night, only one man standing guard the
first half and he was relieved by one man for the latter
half. Mr. Creighton was at Carbon to re-
ceive them, and at once began arrange-
ments to have the mules shod, provide harness and
put them at work on the grade. The harness was
delayed en route by the railroad and the herd was sent
out on the prairie about a mile from camp to graze,
in charge of Jack Strode. After they had been out
about two weeks a band of Sioux Indians in broad
daylight rode into the herd, surrounded it, shook their
blankets and with their unearthly yells, stampeded
every animal in Strode's charge, leaving him to find his
way into camp, luckily escaping with his life. Charles
H. Rickards, who came down with the herd and was
with the stock when it ran off, at once went with men
out on the trail and followed it about sixty miles, think-
ing the thieves were road agents disguised as Indians
— a frequent occurrence. They followed the trail all
night in the direction of Elk mountain and on to the
Platte river, where they discovered a large camp of
Indians on the opposite bank and gave up the chase.
All these adventures had an abrupt termination, for
not a head of stock was recovered, and the whole
matter ended there. Only one day before the
Indians stampeded the stock, M^r. Creighton was
in Omaha. He dropped into my store in the morning

64 A Herd of Mules

and offered me $135 per head spot cash for all of my
mules. As my father, then at Davenport, Iowa, and
myself owned them jointly, I referred the offer to him
by wire. That same afternoon Mr. Creighton called
at the store again, and handed me a telegram from
J. H. McShane, who had gone down the road, reading
as follows : **Just received a message from camp say-
ing entire herd of mules run off today at i o'clock
by Indians.'*

The value of my interest in the herd was $12,000.
Both that and the mules were irretrievably lost.

Some time after the events narrated in the preced-
ing pages I learned that the Sioux Chief, Old-Man-
Afraid-Of-His-Horses, referred to in the story of the
Sioux peace commission council at Red Cloud agency,
on page y6, headed the party which stole our mules. It
seems apparent that while the old man was afraid of
his own horses he stood in considerable less fear of
our mules.

ABOUT AN ARMY POST TRADERSHIP.

During General Grant's first presidential term I
learned that there was a vacancy in the post tradership
at Fort Laramie, Wyoming, and I immediately went
to Washington, D. C., to apply for it. This being my
first visit to the capital, and wishing to reach the
President as soon as possible, I got a letter from Mr.
Orville L. Grant to General Dent, usher at the White
House. It was the 19th of December, 1872, when I
presented my note to General Dent. He took it to the
President and, returning almost immediately, showed
me into the executive room. I may have been some-
what abashed in the presence of a president, but I was
greeted so cordially that the embarassment soon left
me. The President, after inquiring after the health
of my father and family, said, "What can I do for
you, John ?" I answered "The post tradership at Fort
Laramie, Wyoming, is vacant, and I came to make
an application for it. Having no other acquaintance
in the capital I take the liberty of making my busi-
ness known to you." "Well," he said, "these matters
properly belong to the Secretary of War, General Bel-
knap. I will give you a note to him, and you can
come back and see me after seeing the Secretary."
He wrote the letter in my presence and I at once
called on the Secretary. Mr. Crosby, the chief clerk,
handed my card in and I was admitted without de-
lay. The Secretary read the card, looked at me smil-
ingly and said : "Well, Mr. Collins, this is most com-
plimentary; it is almost an order for me to give you
this appointment. I learn Fort Laramie in a busi-
ness point of view is one of the best posts in the army."

66

About an Army Post Tradership

"Yes," I replied, "that is why I apply for it." The
Secretary said, "I am going up to the White House
today, and will see the President. You can call here
tomorrow morning."

The next morning I was promptly at the War office.
When I got audience with the Secretary, he told me
that I had stirred up quite a strife in the matter of
this post tradership. "A number of prominent people,"
said he "some of them from >our own state, and several
senators, also want this post. A complaint has been
lodged here that you are a democrat." This I did
not deny, and feeling that I could not say anything
to the Secretary that would advance my cause I re-
quested him to leave the matter open until I could again
see the President who had then gone to Kentucky to
visit his father who was dangerously ill. On the 28th
inst. I again called on the President and told him that
the only opposition to me seemed to be that I was a
democrat. With the remark, "I think I can explain this
matter," the President gave me another card of which
the following is a fac simile:

c^/-

4lc^ >v^ '^^x^&.yucL^

About an Army Post Tradership 67

The presentation of this note resulted in my appoint-
ment the same day.

The ten years following, myself and my brother,
Gilbert H. Collins, alternately held the commission of
post trader. I occasionally visited Washington, and
always called at the White House to pay my respects
to President and Mrs. Grant. With one exception, on
every visit, either the President or Mrs. Grant in-
vited me to lunch or dinner, which invitations I al-
ways accepted.

The exception was the year that all the post traders
in the United States were summoned to Washington,
to tell how their appointments were obtained. I went
before Heister Clymer's committee at the capitol.

The following explains itself:
"Washington Correspondence of the New York Sun,
April ist, 1876.

"The Committee on Expenditures in the War De-
partment this morning examined John S. Collins, post
trader at Fort Laramie. Mr. Collins said he got the

68 About an Army Post Tradership

post on the recommendation of the President, whose
father, Jesse Grant, had been a partner with ColHns*
father in business. In order to obtain more easy ac-
cess to the President, he got a letter of introduction
from Orville Grant to Mr. Dent, usher at the White
House, and the President gave him a letter to Sec-
retary Belknap. He never paid a dollar directly or
indirectly, either to get or to hold the post. The profits
of the post were from $8,000.00 to $15,000.00 a year.
ColHns was assessed $100.00 this summer
for Republican campaign purposes. Mr. Clymer de-
clared himself satisfied that this was a perfectly proper
appointment, given by the President out of his high re-
gard for Collins' father, and said, 'This is the most
decent post trader I have seen yet.' "

In the evening I called on the President and told
him of my having been ordered to Washington by the
sergeant-at-arms ; also of my statement made in the
committee room as to how I received my appointment.
The President said, 'T am glad you obeyed the sum-
mons. If it were possible for me to appoint to office
more men of my own selection, such instances might
not occur." I left Washington the same evening.

When President R. B. Hayes came to the White
House, succeeding President Grant, I learned from
what I deemed reliable information, that President
Hayes asked Ex-President Grant if there were any
appointments he had made that he desired to h"ave
stand. General Grant's answer was : ^'There are two
appointments I feel an interest in. One is Mr. Kramer,
the husband of my sister, who is minister at Copen-
hagen. The other is John Collins, the post trader at

About an Army Post Tradership 69

Fort Laramie. If you will see that they each get a
hearing before anyone is appointed in their place it
would gratify me." During President Hayes' admin-
istration of four years, I remained post trader at Fort
Laramie. When Garfield succeeded him, I then re-
mained over a year. Then the Council of Administra-
tion appointed the brother of one of the officers in the
post and in February following I left Fort Laramie.
Nothing has called me there since. This being the
most prominent post in the Northwest, there are many
historical incidents connected with it in the years
previous to 1882 that John Morrison, my present as-
sociate in business and manager of the store at the
fort, is familiar with which would be of great interest
could he be induced to make a record of them.

HUNTING BIG GAME WITH A MILITARY
ESCORT.

The fall previous to the beginning of the Sioux
Indian war of 'y6y General George Crook spent some
time at Fort Laramie, that being the rendezvous for
the army. The Indians were in an ugly mood. Travel
in every direction was regarded as dangerous. Gen-
eral Crook became restless and suggested a hunt for
big game in the vicinity of Laramie Peak. A good
angel seemed to hover over this man and he did not
hesitate to carry out any plan that suggested itself
to him or any orders from his superior officers. On
this occasion, however. Captain "Teddy" Egan was
ordered to go along with his company of "Grey Horse

70 Hmfing Big Game

Cavalry;" also Lieutenant Philo Clark. General
Crook, Clark and myself made up the hunting party.
Leaving the post it was a day's march to the foot-hills,
where Collins Cut-Off entered the mountains and
came out on Laramie Plains.

From the first camp we hunted the northeast side
of the mountain with good success. Besides killing
elk and deer Clark ran onto a band of mountain
sheep, climbing up the rocky ledge of the canyon,
coming away from water. Clark was a good game
shot and as the sheep climbed the rocks he picked
the leader off at one hundred yards. Another jumped
to the lead and Clark picked him off. A third one
took his place and almost in a breath Clark had all
three tumbling down towards the creek. General
Crook, always successful in killing any kind of game
he hunted, reported elk and deer. I followed the
"bugle call" of a bull elk, (the most musical note, I
think, uttered by any living thing in the mountains
and only heard during the rutting season.) The
"call" came from up the mountain side. While rest-
ing from the difficult climb I sat on a rock and began
looking the country over with a field glass. Just above
me a ledge of rock projected and my direction led me
around and over the ledge. Here I discovered a full

SET OF TEPEE POLES

set on the flat surface of the ledge. There
was no covering on the poles as the place was
used only as a lookout by the Indians. The view
covered the valley of the Platte, the Laramie, and
surrounding country for fifty miles or more. There
were signs of this lookout having been recently oc-

Hunting Big Came 71

cupied. The brush around its approach was tramped
down, some of the small trees were barked, and a
bundle of sticks lay inside the poles for fire wood.
So interested was I in examining the place that I
scarcely noticed a bull elk as he came thundering
down the mountain side, crashing through the under-
brush, with tongue out, foaming and snorting like an
enraged bull. Catching only a glimpse of him through
the bushes about forty yards away I took a hasty shot
and down he fell with a broken shoulder.

The next morning we broke camp and drove up
the mountain side. The trail was little used and
gullies were washed out and boulders exposed and
we were obliged to bridge an occasional bad crossing,
to let the wagon and ambulance over. We camped at
dusk about a mile before getting through the moun-
tains. Early next morning Captain Eagan with his
cavalry went ahead to examine the roads. In half an
hour he came onto a burning camp fire and the head
and pieces of a freshly killed elk hanging on a tree.
Near this was a wagon track and tracks of unshod
ponies and around the fire were moccasin tracks, evi-
dently not an hour old. The captain rode back to
warn the hunters not to leave the trail before reaching
that point. Here we stopped and cooked our break-
fast over this same camp fire. After hunting one day
in this vicinity and each of the three hunters having
seen unmistaken signs of Indians and having killed
all the game we wanted, we left the following morn-
ing and drove directly through to Fort Laramie.

On the previous day's hunt. General Crook followed
the trail of a bear that led him so far away he could
not reaeh camp that night. As I was the last of the

72 Hunting Big Game

party to have seen him, the next morning I took a sol-
dier with me and soon found him coming in. Mean-
while the outfit had broken camp and started for the
Sybyle river, a fork of the Laramie; at the end of
their trail we found the party nooning at a spring,
just at the edge of the timber. Here we compared
notes. Three of the party having on the previous
day's hunt found unmistakeable signs of hostile In-
dians we decided to give up the hunt and return to
the post at once. To hunt big game that required a
lot of soldiers to guard you was rather a complex af-
fair and we lost no time in deciding upon this course.
Soon after our return the ranchmen living near by
drifted in. Among them was Johnny Owens, who lived
at Eagle's Nest, near the Chugwater. From him
we learned that he had sent two men with a team
for house logs, who made camp here. The next morn-
ing one of them built a fire to prepare breakfast, the
other going after the horses. The latter reported
''Indian signs," so fresh he could "smell 'em." After
breakfast they hurried out of the mountains. The
sequel to all this was that Owens' men lit the fire,
cooked their breakfast and "lit out." The Indians
"jumped their claim," and cooked their breakfast by
the same fire. We followed and used the same fire
for our breakfast and then we "lit out." All of which
occurred in less than two hours.

When in command in Arizona, General George
Crook took a young Apache Indian with him on a
deer hunt. The Indian stationed the General on the
^Vunway" and said, "You stay here, deer sure

Hunting Big Game 73

come," while he beat the chapperel to drive the game
out. The General stood his ground patiently for five
or six hours, but saw no sign of game.

When the Indian returned, he found the General
still waiting on the trail and asked, "Deer no come?"
"No," said the General, "Deer sure come, he no come
today, maybe he come tomorrow."

When our beloved Major General George Crook,
friend and companion of many royal hunts and happy
days, died March 21st, 1890, at the Grand Pacific
hotel in Chicago, it was the sad privilege of Webb
Hayes and myself to be among the pall bearers, with
Marshall Field, George M. Pullman, William McKin-
ley, then congressman ; Colonel T. H. Stanton and
others, and we accompanied the body to Oakland, Md.,
where the funeral took place. Ex-President Hayes ac-
companied us and attended the funeral.

The body of General Crook was afterward removed
to Arlington cemetery, Washington, District of Colum-
bia. Mrs. Crook is buried beside him.

A beautiful and appropriate monument has been
erected at Arlington by the General's friends, many
of Omaha's prominent citizens aiding in its construc-
tion.

He H: 4:

"IF YOU DON'T PRAY BEFORE YOU EAT, YOU
WON T STEAL.

In '75 Spotted Tail, chief of the Brules, came to
Fort Laramie, where I was post-trader, for the re-
mains of his daughter, who had died at the post sev-

74 If You Don't Pray

eral years before and was placed in a plain box cov-
ered with Indian cloth. The box was set up on four
posts, near sand bluffs, west of the garrison. On
the head end the head of her favorite white pony was
nailed and its tail was nailed on the other end to
"travel with her to the Happy Hunting Ground." In
the box were placed the trinkets and ornaments she
wore when alive. "Spot" said to me, "My daughter
was buried here where my Indians lived and many
of our children were born. We traded here ; the young
men played their games, raced their ponies and our
Great Father's people (the soldiers) were good to us.
Now that has all passed and we want our dead at one
place. I came to take my daughter to my agency on
Beaver Creek." Before calling on the commanding
officer, I took "Spot" to my house to dinner. A
"squaw man" named Bouchere, his son-in-law, ac-
companied us as interpreter. At the table I filled
"Spot's" plate liberally and said to Bouchere, "Tell
*Spot' to help himself and eat plenty." He replied,
"Ah Cola, (my friend) you don't pray before you eat."
He had dined with his Indian agents who always said
grace. "No," I answered. "My prayers are all
through the day in my business." His face beamed
with smiles, as he added, "Then you won't steal. If
you don't pray before you eat you won't steal."

There were some interesting features connected
with preparing the remains of his daughter for trans-
portation by wagon. The bones and trinkets were
placed in a new box lined with stars and striped calico,
covered with Indian cloth, nailed on with brass tacks,
in all of which the commanding officer and other offi-
cers, including Post Surgeon Hartsuf, assisted and

If You Don't Pray

75

directed with decorum befitting the occasion. The
box was placed in the wagon and they drove away to
the agency.

THE SIOUX INDIAN COMMISSION.

When the sub- Sioux commission, consisting of S.
D. Hinman, Chairman ; A. B. Comingo, W. H. Ashby,
and myself, Secretary for the full commission, left
Fort Laramie, they went directly to Red Cloud
agency, where Crawford, Nebraska, now stands. The
Indian agent was advised of our coming and notified
the chiefs and leading men to assemble for a pre-
liminary council, where the Indians would be informed
of the object of our visit. Right here began the im-
portance of the whole affair and it fell on the sub-
commission to perform the labor of arranging for the
grand council to be held in the fall. At this council
Red Cloud,* Old Man Afraid of His Horses,*
Young Man Afraid, Red Dog, American Horse and
several other leading men, and young men of less im-
portance, of the Ogallala band, met the commission.

The chairman explained the object of our visit in
a few words, namely, to treat with all the bands of
the Sioux tribe, both in the interior and along the
Missouri river, for the relinquishment of their right
to the Black Hills country, to enable white men to
go there and mine for gold. Gold had been discovered
and small parties of white men were then in the hills
prospecting. Red Cloud was the first to reply to the
chairman. He said:

"When the Great Father sends his White Chiefs to
talk with us we hear them. The Black Hills is our

♦Chiefs.

The Sioux Indian Commission 77

bank, and our money is in the ground ; we want it to
stay there for our children. There are many Indians
up north who are the same as we are and I cannot
speak for all, I am the head chief, and when we have
business we want all our people to hear; then we can
decide. If you go to Spotted Tail's camp and tell
him all this news, then he will bring more Indians to-
gether and we will talk it over, when you come back;
this is all for today."

Chairman Hinman then said: "We can't spend so
much time, we want to go to the Hills at once; we
want you to send some of your wise young men with
us; we will ask Spotted Tail to do the same. We
go to his agency tomorrow, then we will come back
here and start for the hills, — this is the nearest way.
When we return we want six of your young men to
be ready to go with us. They can take their own
horses and we will carry tents and provision for all.
When the business is finished in the hills we will go
to the Missouri river and tell the Indians there, and
your young men must go to the river also, when the
business is finished there Inspector Daniels will bring
your young men back with the teams."

The next morning the commission left for Spotted
Tail agency on Beaver creek, arriving about noon.
Soon after our arrival Spotted Tail stalked in followed
by a number of his leading men for a "small talk."
Of all the chiefs and all the leading Indians we met
after leaving "Spots" agency there were none who
came to council who exercised the authority over all
their band as did Spotted Tail over the Brules, and
he only the appointed chief of an army officer, Gen-

78 The Sioux Indian Commission

eral Harney, I believe, because of his friendly influence
at the Ash Hollow fight on the Platte river. He was
not an hereditary chief. Always good natured and
smiling, with a voice as soft and clear as a woman's,
a wily politician, whose purpose in the interest of his
tribe, it has been said, could be swerved by money,
ponies or their value in buffalo robes, for his per-
sonal interest. I cannot say he was a disinterested
chief in the interest of his band. He was the chosen
orator. Tall, majestic, mild of manner, always be-
ginning with "Ah Cola" (my friend), allowing his
dark blue Mackinac blanket to fall from his right
shoulder, to give his arm free play in gesturing, he
began :

"I am here to tell you that Red Cloud sent us news
that you come to take our lands where the gold is,
that is our bank. We want more people here to hear
what we say; my people do not Hke to have white
chiefs sent by the Great Father to make our land
smaller ; we will come and talk when the sun is there,"
(pointing to the west and indicating about sunset) as
the day was very warm.

At that time came the delegation of about fifty In-
dians, their faces painted and wearing all the para-
phernalia they usually wore on grand occasions.

They arranged themselves along the board walk in
front of the agency building and, according to their
custom, got out their pipes and tobacco, first invoking
the Great Spirit by gestures, then they began smok-
ing. Presently a half dozen of the leaders shook
hands with the commissioners, sat down on the ground,
and again passed their pipes around in silence.

The Sioux Indian Commission 79

There is an etiquette among Indians in regard to
speaking, that might be imitated to advantage by some
white men, viz.: They choose one or more speakers
in council, no other voice being heard.

Spotted Tail stood up and said : "My people don't
want you to go to the Black Hills; if you go I will
send some young men with you. Some Indians are
up there hunting and they may steal your horses and
make trouble. When you go to the Missouri river, our
young men will tell our people that we are the most
Indians and that they must come here to hold council.
The land belongs to us and we have taken care of it.
They must send some old men that know about the
country and some young men who can hear. Red
Cloud and me think Chadron creek the best place for
a big council. We want you to give the young men
tents to sleep in and plenty to eat and take care of their
ponies. Go back and tell Red Cloud and the old
men that we will go on Chadron creek for the big
council. That is all."

While the chiefs and old men were holding council
to give their lands away or sell them for a price the
young men showed their opposition to the scheme.
The council lasted until near dark, then the Indians
went to their lodges to select the young men to ac-
company us. The next morning when we were ready
to start the inspector in charge of the transportation
informed up that

OUR WAGONS WERE TIED UP WITH ROPES

and we could not move. This had the appearance of
an ugly turn in the affair, but after an investigation
it was discovered that it was only a good natured

80 The Sioux Indian Commission

prank, suggested by "Spot" and carried out by some
of the young men. The ropes were removed by the
young men accompanying us and our party started on
their long and tedious journey via. Red Cloud agency
for the Black Hills, thence to the Missouri river. We
were detained here two days before leaving for Red
Cloud. Runners had gone before us and given out
the news that we were coming and on our arrival there
six of Red Cloud's young men came to us — this mak-
ing twelve ambassadors — and we at once started,
taking a trail east of the pine and chalk bluffs, that are
directly north of where Crawford, Nebraska, now
is. The only duty the commission had to perform in
the hills was to examine the country. General Rich-
ard I. Dodge was camped on Rapid creek with two
companies of soldiers, to prevent mining on that creek
and the adjacent country, until the treaty would per-
mit. From this camp we followed the stream out of
the mountains east and on to Elk creek. In places
pools of alkali water stood, about the color of coffee,
and we were obliged to camp here, it being late in the
day.

Near this water hole were as many as ten turtles
measuring about four feet across and five feet in
length. They were all petrified and would weigh not
less than 200 pounds each. The pile had the appear-
ance that each turtle had tried to climb over the other
and all lay in a pile when the water receded. This
point was not far from the lands where Professor
Marsh visited a few years later to make his collection
of petrifications. Joseph Merreville was our guide
and he was one of the old-timers of the Jim Bridger
type who had spent many years with the traders and

The Sioux Indian Commission 81

Indians. He led our teams over to the junction of
the Belle Fourche where both forks came together and
formed the Cheyenne river. When we reached the
Cheyenne it was difficult finding a place our teams
could drive down into the narrow valley. Joe led us
into a washout that became deeper and more difficult
as we descended to the valley. Part of the time the
wagon wheels were on a steep bank straddling the
creek bed where the animals could scarcely find foot-
ing. At one point about twelve feet below the surface
the skull and bones of a buffalo protruded from the
cut banks. Bones and skulls were everywhere visible.
The valley the stream ran through, varied from a
quarter to half a mile in width. The banks were cut
walls of black shale from thirty to one hundred feet
high straight up and down and were thickly dotted
with white spots that could be seen in the black banks
fully a mile away. These white spots proved to be
petrified turtles ranging in size from an egg up to
ten or twelve inches long and were coated over with
a white lime substance. There were also hundreds
of pieces of long, slim, snake-like perifications coated
over with a shell of iridescent color. These are found
all through the foothills and are supposed to have
existed long before the fish age. We traveled two
days in this valley before finding an outlet where teams
could get out onto the divide separating the Cheyenne
from the Moreau river. Merreville told us the trail
was plain and for fifty or more years had been traveled
by Indians with travois from the Missouri river to the
Black Hills to procure lodge poles and for hunting.
Finally we came to a rough edge of land leading south
which sloped up to the high plateau and there seemed

82 The Sioux Indian Commission

a prospect of getting out of the valley. The bit of
land or rather a back bone ran to a sharp edge in the
middle and sloped off abruptly on each side. It was
necessary to double teams and with the ambulance and
eight horses led by the guide, a start was made. The
horses straddled the ridge and the ambulance wheels
were on either side of it. Soon it became necessary to
use shovels to cut the top edge away so the axletree
would not scrape the ground, then all hands excepting
the Indians (who stuck to their ponies and while all
the others stopped to begin work they improved their
time sitting around on the ground smoking their pipes
and talking) would shovel away the obstructions to the
wheels, and again make a start. At the very worst
place on the trail where ropes were required to hold
the wagon from sliding into a deep gulch dragging the
mules after, Joe, the guide, became thoroughly dis-
gusted and with a choice selection of swear words,
said: "I don't know where dat road gone, he was
plain wagony trail." "How long ago was that ?" asked
Comingo. "Twenty-five years," said Joe.

We were all day getting out of the valley and up on
the table land. The country was flat and covered with
a luxurious growth of gramma or buffalo grass. As
the breeze swayed it it resembled a vast field of oats
without a weed or shrub for miles. Buffalo skulls
and bones were everywhere to be seen. Our first
camp on this high divide was at spring holes and near
a small lake. On-e of our party killed a large quantity
of blue wing teal duck on which we had a feast fit for
a king. They were cooked in a camp kettle over
an outdoor fire — a few potatoes and bits of bacon
boiled with them. Two days' travel on this divide and

The Sioux Indian Commission 83

we left the gramma grass for the Moreau river, then
down this river east and camped where the creek
banks were twenty feet high. During this day's travel,
being in an antelope country, several of the Indians
kft the trail to hunt and came in at night with five
antelope and one of our teamsters brought an antelope
to our camp. When the Indian hunters came with
their ponies packed with game, preparations were at
once made for a feast. In the fine pool of clear
spring water they first took a bath, after which they
greased their bodies from head to foot with the mar-
row from the leg bones of the antelope. The fire was
started with willows found near by. The antelope
were skinned and dressed and put over the fire in var-
ious ways. When Indians kill deer or antelope they
drink the warm blood and eat the liver raw while it is
warm with animal heat. The Indians sat around the
fir€ eating and smoking nearly all night. I walked
over to their fires before breakfast next morning and
all that was visible after the night's debauch were two
front quarters of one antelope. Twelve Indians had
actually devoured four and one-half antelope (three
were small) at one continuous meal during the night,
while our party of about an equal number had dis-
posed of only one hind quarter of a single antelope.
The Indians could have traveled three or four days
without a mouthful of food after this meal.

Our trail continued through gramma grass along the
divide and to the Moreau river, then north and
down this stream to its mouth, arriving at Standing
Rock where a lot of Winnebago Indians and part of
a band of Yanctonais drew rations. Arrangements

84 The Sioux Indian Commission

were at once begun for holding council at the village
of the wild Yanctonais.

A FEAST WITH SPOTTED TAIL.

While I was with the Sioux commission at Spotted
Tail Agency, on Beaver creek, Nebraska, in 1875,
about fifty miles west of where Chadron now is. Spot-
ted Tail, chief of the Brules, invited S. D. Hinman
and myself to a feast at his lodge. Mr. Hinman re-
presented the Episcopal church at Santee Agency on
the Missouri river and had a most intelligent knowl-
edge of the language of the Dacotahs and the Indian
character and was a fine interpreter.

"Spot" escorted us to his lodge, half a mile from
the agency. While the feast was being prepared he
entertained us outside. His lodge was made of dressed
elk hide, and was decorated with paintings of some
of his adventures. The poles were hung with "medi-
cine" bags of red flannel, stuffed with roots and herbs,
painted eagle feathers, antelope hair being tied
about them. A squaw came out of the lodge with a
rope of rawhide in one hand and in the other she had
a stone attached to a stick covered with rawhide. A
mongrel dog was running about and after two or three
"throws" she got the rope over his head, dragged him
to her and with the war club, beat him on the head
until dead. Then she dragged him into the lodge.
Hinman evidently understood the program, and his
face fairly beamed with smiles as he turned and asked,
"What do you suppose she will do with that dog?"
Although I had my suspicions I was not prepared to

A Feast with Spotted Tail 85

say. When the feast was announced we crawled
through an opening in the lodge, the cover to which
sewed on with rawhide strings held up by a buck-
skin thong was a beaver skin stretched over a bent
willow and stitched with strings. When released
it dropped down and covered the opening. In
the middle of the lodge a camp kettle hung
over a fire. Piles of furs and buifalo robes
lay around the edge. Two or three young bucks
lounged on the robes. It was plain that we were guests
of Spotted Tail only. We sat with legs crossed on the
piles of furs. The squaw with a tin cup dipped out
to each tin plate four or five pounds from the kettle,
and it was handed around. By this time I had taken
in the situation, and, turning to Hinman said, "I am
not very hungry and don't know 'what the deuce' I
can do with this plate of dog. Can't you get me out
of it?" For once in my life I can truthfully say I
was "up against it." The good humor of Hinman pro-
voked me. I felt like depriving the Santee Agency
of one of its valuable representatives. Hinman, while
enjoying my predicament, said, "If you will do some-
thing handsome for me I may get you out of this
scrape." "Anything you ask, I'll do" was my answer,
"only get quick action for we are delaying the feast."
Hinman said, "Lay a dollar on the side of that plate
of dog, and hand it to Spot's nephew. After he has
eaten his own he will eat yours and you will be square
with Spotted Tail." Hinman explained to "Spot" that
I was not hungry and had hired his nephew to eat
for me. "Spot" said, "How, How," and I was square
with the chief.

COUNCIL WITH THE YANCTONAIS.

Above Standing Rock Agency on the Missouri
river there was a village of one thousand lodges of
"Yanktonais." News of the coming of the commission
was brought by Indian runners, two days in advance
of our arrival at the agency. Some of the Indians met
us at the agency and asked that the council be held at
the village, saying that all preparations were made and
a great many Indians would come to council if it was
held at the place designated by them. The following
day, at noon, the commissioners left by ambulance to
meet the Indians as they had planned. These Indians
were known as wild, lived on the prairie. They would
not come to the Agency to draw government rations
and would go to council only on the prairie. The village
was located on the open prairie back from the river.
The lodges were all covered with dressed buffalo and
elk skins and two thousand ponies were grazing near
by. An ingenious shelter was arranged. The poles from
a dozen lodges were placed in an oblong circle and cov-
ered on two sides with skins from the lodges. These
were decorated on the outside with pictures represent-
ing the achievements of the owners in hunting, in war
and in horse stealing raids. There was no covering
over the center. Inside the poles were hung with bows
and quivers of arrows, lance sticks, beaded tobacco
pouches, painted shields made from the tough and
wrinkled part of raw buffalo skin, medicine bags filled
with herbs, painted eagle feathers and tails from ante-
lope. All the arms of the Indians and war clubs were
laid aside and everything had the evidence of a peace
council, showing that the Indians understood the eti-

Council with the Yanctonais 87

qiiette due to a council of men sent out by the Great
Father. The Indians assembled had laid aside their
blankets and buffalo robes usually worn and were
dressed principally in shirts and leggings made of deer
skins fringed and garnished with beads and porcu-
pine quills. Some wore war bonnets made of eagle
feathers, streaming from their heads to the ground;
others wore no headdress but their hair was painted
red on the scalp and braided with strips of weasel and
dressed beaver and otter skins and leggings beaded and
bound below the knee with strings of small bells. Ear-
rings, brooches of shell and dozens of strings of beads
ornamented their necks. They also wore beaded moc-
casins. Some of the middle aged men wore medals
that had been handed down from their fathers and
grandfathers, given them in past years by various
presidents when they had visited Washington. These
they valued among all else of their possessions.
I offered one of them $50.00 for a Thomas
Jefferson medal, made of copper-bronze with the pres-
ident's bust in relief upon one side, the reverse side
describing the purpose for which it was given and the
occasion. One of them showed a map containing all
the territory north of the Missouri line and extending
to the British possessions, the eastern boundary being
the Missouri river, then extending west to the Rocky
mountains. This entire country was then Nebraska
Territory. One Campbell, living in St. Louis, Mis-
souri, was the Indian agent then. This, too, was of;
great value to the owner as showing the country claim-
ed by the Indians as "their lands."

Piles of robes and furs were scattered around for

88 Council with the Yanctonais

the commission to sit upon; the Indians sat upon the
ground in a circle, smoking their pipes and passing
them among the chiefs, always their custom before be-
ginning a council. The chief spoke first, then the
chairman of the commission addressed the Indians and
explained the object of our coming, viz., to induce
them to send a large delegation to Chadron creek in
August to meet the delegations from the other bands of
Sioux in a grand council, on the business named in
council held with other bands previous to reaching the
Yanctonais.

It was near sunset when the council was ended
and the golden glow fell on the thousand lodges and
brought out the dark chestnut color of the tops of
the lodges and the smoke blackened ends of the lodge
poles. Young bucks were catching their ponies and
riding through the village telling of the great council ;
runners were mounted and dashing in every direction,
carrying the news to smaller camps located a day's
ride away. On their arrival fresh riders and fresh
horses would take up the relay and ride at a furious
gait to other camps. By this method of conveying news
Indians camped an hundred miles from the council
grounds would get the news .carried at a speed of from
ten to twelve miles an hour.

Children were playing about with bows and arrows
and their antics were like monkeys. The lively scene
of Indians in red, blue and green blankets, moving about
the lodges, riding and driving ponies in every direc-
tion, made a beautiful picture.

AN INDIAN COURTSHIP.

An exceptionally interesting feature was the court-
ing of the young bucks and their sweethearts. Just

Council with the Yandonais 89

beyond the lodges was a grass covered mound on which
were congregated fifty or more couples. They were
not seated on easy chairs or luxuriant lounges, but all
stood erect and almost motionless. The young bucks
wrapped their gay colored blankets of red, blue or
green around the maidens and stood like statues with
no effort to conceal the fact that they were courting
in the most approved Indian fashion.

When a young Indian has impressed his sweet-
heart with the fact that he is wooing her in dead earn-
est the buck creeps cautiously to the lodge of her par-
ents after dark leading a pony. This he ties to a stake
and leaves him. On coming out in the morning, if the
father of the girl does not turn the pony loose it is an
evidence that the old man is not unfavorable to the
suitor's intentions, but the bid for his daughter is not
high enough and more ponies are required. The next
night one or more ponies are led to the lodge and tied
in the same place. This is repeated until enough po-
nies are offered to get the approval of the parent.
When the horses are sent out with the herd of the own-
er then the principal part of the courtship and mar-
riage ceremony is completed. The young man is then
welcomed to the lodge and treated as one of the family,
the bride resumes her everyday occupation of herding
the ponies, carrying wood and water to the family and
doing the regular camp drudgery.

It is sometimes the custom of the parent to bestow
on the bride all the ponies given him by her suitor, to-
gether with ten or more from his own herd. The ex-
pression, "ten horses," is more frequently used in any
and every trade than any other number. For a greater

90 Council with the Yanctonais

number than ten it is "ten more," even if the number
be less than ten. Buffalo robes are usually reckoned
the same way. The robes counting one "bale" by the
traders.

The original record of the entire proceedings in-
cluding the speeches of the chairman, the replies of all
the Indians, together with the names of all the promi-
nent Indians, is in my possession.

BURIAL OF THE DAUGHTER OF AMERICAN
HORSE.

The day the Sioux commission arrived at Red
Cloud Agency the place was in mourning. The daugh-
ter of American Horse had died the evening before.
"Haranguers" were sent among the Indians to give
notice of the grief in camp and, according to custom
when there is a death in the lodge, the lodge and the
entire family move away from the place. American
Horse gave away his horses, buffalo robes, and every-
thing of value, unbraided his hair and let it fall around
his shoulders, covered his face with mud, and lacerated
his arms and legs, a custom when a relation dies. I
had known him personally for some time as a promi-
nent Indian. When he came into the trading store,
he recognized me. Through an interpreter he told me
"his heart was down in the dirt," and when his daugh-
ter died he gave away everything he had and was
now poor and wanted me to "give him some red In-
dian cloth to wrap his daughter in to bury her." Three
yards of cloth at $2.00 a yard was my donation.
I strolled down where the lodge was being moved,
saw the box placed in an agency wagon and driven

Burial of the Daughter 91

away to a grassy mound west of the agency, followed
by women and children only. Among them were two
or three professional criers who, on such occasions,
wail and weep more earnestly than do members of
the family. The next day American Horse went
around and accumulated about as much plunder as

he had given away.

* * *

A BRAVE INDIAN.

In 1875 a council with the Sioux Indians was held
on Chadron creek, Neb., near old Red Cloud agency,
the government being represented by the full commis-
sion consisting of the following: Senator W. B. Alli-
son, chairman; General Alfred Terry, General E. F.
Lawrence, Senator E. Howe,* Colonel Comingo and
Captain W. H. Ashby, with S. D. Hinman, interpreter,
and J. S. Collins, named by President Grant, as secre-
tary.

To arrange the meeting of the various bands of the
Sioux at Chadron creek it was necessary to visit all
their villages, hold councils and induce them to send
delegations of their chiefs and leading men to Chadron
in the month of August. This duty was performed by
Colonel Comingo, Captain Ashby, S. D. Hinman and
myself, with Joe Merreville as guide and interpreter.
We traveled by wagons across the country and through
the Black Hills, thence east to the Missouri river, to
Mandan village, as far north as Fort Sully, D. T., and
south to the Santee Agency and to Omaha.

This journey consumed two months' time, and we
were accompanied by twelve young men selected by

•Senator Howe, although appointed a member of the com-
mission, did not join the other commissioners.

92 A Brave Indian

Red Cloud and Spotted Tail as ambassadors to give
our branch of the commission the proper standing
among the various bands. It will be remembered that
away back in '75 the boundary lines of an Indian res-
ervation were called "dead lines." All the tribes were
restless and dissatisfied, and this hostility which pre-
cipitated the great Indian war of 1876, with General
George Crook at the head and General Terry in com-
mand of troops embracing Custer's command, was at
this early day apparent.

It was known that any proposition made to the Sioux
leading to the relinquishment of titles to their lands
would not be kindly received and in their then restless
mood it was an undertaking not void of danger. The
greatest caution was necessary in broaching the sub-
ject in councils to influence them to send large delega-
tions several hundred miles from their villages, to
treat for the single purpose of

GIVING UP THEIR LANDS

in the Black Hills, which, with the full knowledge of
the Hills being rich in gold, they had learned to regard
as their "bank."

The hardships of such a journey, together with the
constant danger attending it, made the task a serious
one indeed. All the Indian villages of the Sioux na-
tion were visited, councils held on the open prairie,
and after two months' labor promises were obtained
that all the tribes visited would send large delegations
to the grand council to be held at Chadron in August.

The entire commission assembled at Chadron creek
at the appointed time. Captain Egan (since dead),
with one company of cavalry from Fort Laramie, ac-

A Brave Indian 93

companied the commission, partly to assist in making
the council an imposing affair and also to afford any
needed protection.

A tent was pitched under a lone cottonwood tree,
and a large canvas placed in front of it to keep off the
scorching rays of the sun. Under this canvas sat the
commission with Louis Richards for interpreter.

For miles around the prairie was dotted with Indian
lodges, the number of Indians present being estimated
at 20,000. Great herds of ponies were grazing near by,
while Indians mounted and on foot were hurrying to
and fro, and criers were haranguing the people to pre-
pare for the great council — all tending to lend a wierd
appearance to the scene.

It was high noon before there was any visible sign
of the Indians coming to the site selected for the coun-
cil, and to an unprejudiced observer the "tout en-
semble" of the commission presented an insignificant
appearance compared with that of the 7,000 Indians
present at the council and their gay and picturesque
caravan. Presently a cloud of dust was seen in the
east. Two hundred mounted Indians, decked out in
paint, feathers and gaily-colored blankets, came charg-
ing down, all drawn up in line abreast

CARRYING LOADED RIFLES.

Five hundred yards away they halted and fired a
volley in the air. Then on they came, singing and
chanting their war songs, and rode twice around the
tent, firing volley after volley. All this manoeuver-
ing was new to the members of the commission. The
interpreter assured them it was the Indian custom on
such occasions of splendor, notwithstanding the re^

94 A Brave Indian

mark of Senator Allison, that such a terrific display of
firearms seemed unnecessary at a "peace" council.
Presently another troop of Indians and another and
another came, all going through the same performance,
each band taking its position beside the others, with
a distinct space between the bands. Fully seven thou-
sand Indians were formed in a circle around the com-
missioners, and certainly a more gorgeous array of
painted and feathered red men was never before seen.
Fully an hour elapsed after they were all assembled
before the slightest evidence was manifest that they
had any business with the commission. Then Spotted
Tail came out from his band of Brules, followed by
Red Cloud from the Ogallalas, then Two Kettles of
the Sans Arcs, and others in their turn until some
twenty of the oldest chiefs of the tribes formed in an
oblong circle a hundred yards from the tent.

Pipes and tobacco were brought out, the Great Spirit
was invoked, while they all sat in silence around the
circle with their blankets gathered around them.

It was interpreted that they were deciding on who
the orators should be. The fact was, no chief cared
to broatch the subject. It was afterwards learned that
threats had been made by the Missouri river Indians
that if those of the interior dared to offer their lands
they would be shot down.

For nearly an hour the situation was unchanged and
exciting in the extreme. Then came a prancing of
horses on the south line, the column opened and in
rode a solitary naked Indian mounted bareback on an
iron gray horse — a lariat for a rein, rifle in one hand,
the other filled with loose catridges, otherwise "fly-

A Brave Indian 95

ing light" as to the matter of baggage. The intruder
was Little Big Man, a belligerent little devil from the
north, who had suddenly appeared on the scene "un-
heralded and unannounced," and with a voice like the
roar of a cannon he bellowed out : "I am here

TO KILL A COMMISSIONER

that wants to take my land away!" With a
graceful gesture Spotted Tail waved the circle of
chiefs away, a few Indians gathered around the in-
truder and he was hastily ejected for his great breach
of etiquette.

This episode created a furore among all the bands,
and in an instant all was confusion. Chairman Allison
suggested that the whole affair began to assume a
"business" aspect.

Until now it had not been noticed that Indians had
taken possession of the line in the rear of the tent and
in front of the calvary. Captain Egan pushed his way
through, and addressing General Terry said: "Gen-
eral, your party is surrounded and my men are shut
out. It looks ugly." This incident furnished the first
excuse for looking about and I shall never forget the
"bleached" appearance of the faces of the commis-
sioners.

The interpreter, addressing the secretary, said: "It
looks like h — 1 will be to pay here in a few minutes.
The Indians are all mad, and we'll catch it the first
ones." No one seemed inclined to dispute this state-
ment. A wet blanket had fallen over the business in
hand; the Indians had not addressed a single word to
the commissioners and they in turn had nothing to
reply. Suddenly a rush was made to the rear of the

96 A Brave Indian

tent and it appeared as if the row had commenced in
earnest. Thanks to the bravery and wisdom of the
young Ogallala chief — Young Man Afraid of His
Horses — it was a beginning to prevent trouble
Young Man Afraid, seeing the danger, dashed into the
crowd, summoned his Indian soldiers and placed them
immediately in front of Captain Egan's soldiers, so the
Indians' fire would fall upon their own people. It
was an act of remarkable bravery and he followed it
up by rushing out into the circle and ordering all the
Indians to disperse and go to their lodges and not
come into council "till their heads were cool." Almost
instantly the Indians began skurrying away to their
lodges, leaving the commissioners and Captain Egan's
troops to saunter back to the agency.

It was three days before another council was called,
and by this time the Indians had selected their speak-
ers. The commissioners met them on the same ground,
and business proceeded without interruption.*
* 5k *

A HUNTING TRIP WITH CARL SCHURZ, WEBB
C. HAYES AND ARTIST GAULLIER.

Some time after the above incident, Carl Schurz
then Secretary of the Interior under President Hayes,
accompanied by Webb C. Hayes and Mr. Gaullier,
an artist from Switzerland, visited the Indian agencies
along the Upper Missouri river and came overland
through the agencies of Spotted Tail and Red Cloud
to Fort Laramie. On invitation I accompanied the
party to the Laramie mountains. Two days were

•This account of the meeting was written by me and pub-
lished in the Omaha Mercury some years ago.

A Hunting Trip with Carl Schurz 97

spent at the post. During a call the party made at my
house. I related the saying of Spotted Tail "If you
don't pray," etc. That it made an impression on at least
one of the party was evidenced by what followed. N. R
Davis, a business partner of Qarence King, who was
then at the head of the survey of the Fortieth Parallel,
came from Cheyenne to escort the secretary and party
to the mountains on a hunt for big game. Mr. Davis
brought with him his own teams, tents and supplies.
With him came Harry Yount, the hunter and guide;
also, Charpiot, the famous cook, from Denver.

I was familiar with the trail and the country, and
Hayes and myself with my span of crack broncos, that
was at any time capable of seventy-five miles in one
day and return the next, drove ahead of the teams
to Point of Rocks, about forty-five miles, expecting
the party to camp here the first night. They were not
able to reach this camp and stopped sixteen miles be-
hind at the foot-hills. We had our beds and a lunch
in the buggy. Being in a game country and having
killed an antelope, we were as independent as "a ship
at sea," and contented as to our personal comfort. We
laid our bed on the grass and slept "the sleep of the
just." When the teams arrived the following day,
the secretary reprimanded us severely for what he
deemed a "foolhardy thing for two men to do alone
in an Indian country." From the Point of Rocks we
drove to the foot of Laramie Peak. Years before,
the government set aside a timber reserve; a stockade
was built, inside of which were a saw-mill and build-
ings for use of the soldiers and the men employed
in cutting logs. When the saw-mill was moved to

98 A Hunting Trip with Car! Schurz

Fort Laramie the place was abandoned. Soon after,
a plucky cattleman named Frank Prager took pos-
session, kept his horses inside and occupied one of the
log buildings for living quarters. A war party of
Sioux "jumped" him one day and drove him in where
they kept him corralled for three days. There were
no settlers nearer than Qiugwater, twenty-five miles.
Prager had a supply of arms and provisions, and
"stood the Indians off" until they gave up the job of
starving him out.

At the base of this mountain we made camp near
a beautiful spring. When Webb Hayes and myself
drove up with the broncos Mr. Davis met us and said,
"Now we have got you in camp where our cook will
get a whack at you and he will give you such a din-
ner that you won't be able to run away from us again."
This was the first chance Charpiot had to convince
anyone that he could cook any better than the ordinary
mountain men. Secretary Schurz got out of his sad-
dle and lay down on the grass to rest. When Char-
piot announced "dinner," I remember the big laugh
of the secretary, when he said, "Who ever expected to
get clam chowder, fillet of beef and omelet, et ceteras —
a seventeen course dinner — under the shade of Laramie
Peak?"

After crossing the Laramie mountains, we skirted
along the foothills just on the edge of Laramie plains
and stopped at a fine spring near Duck creek. Here
we found a rough cabin, with an opening for a door.
Across this was a rope to keep animals from entering.
A grizzly bear hide was nailed on the cabin walls.
On the roof lay two freshly killed mountain sheep.

A Hunting Trip with Carl Schurz 9Q

Frank Prager, the ranchman mentioned above, greeted
us. I asked, "When did you desert the stockade?"

"Oh," he said, "the d d Indians made it too hot for

me down there and I moved up here last spring."
He offered us a saddle of mutton, (mountain sheep)
and told us that two bears had paid him a visit the
night before and tried to get at the mountain sheep.
One of the bears came in the cabin and woke him up,
and he took a shot at him. Then they left. "I have
plenty of company up here, but some cf them I don't
want to have around," he said.

Our party drove west and up into the mountains,
where we spent four days hunting elk, deer and moun-
tain sheep with fair success.

The following winter I went to Washington, D. C.
Webb Hayes called at the Ebbit house and took me
to the White House, where I was a guest four days.
The unvaried courtesy and kindness shown me by the
President and his family was most cordial; including
me in every event and entertainment the other guests
participated in, which were numerous and most inter-
esting. The President and Mrs. Hayes occasionally
joined the party, escorted by Webb Hayes. Webb
gave me his own private room. The furnishings of
the room were not modern. They were old fashioned,
substantial in quality and suitable in design. A long
plate glass mirror, with gilded frame, reaching to the
ceiling, rested on a marble base. Across the center
of the glass Webb had pasted a sheet of letter paper,
on which was written in his fine Italian hand, " *If you
don't pray before you eat, you won't steal.' — Spotted
Tail."

THE HUNTER'S PARADISE.

From about 1878 up to the time of the death of
Major General George Crook, it was his custom to go
to the Rocky mountains every October to hunt
big game and it was my good fortune to accompany
him on every trip for twelve years, together with a
number of gentlemen he invited at different times.
The party did not always include the same people and
the locality was not always the same.

On one of these excursions in October, 1880, the
party consisted of Ex-Governor Romualdo Pacheco of
California, Webb C. Hayes, Major James P. Lord of
the U. S. army and his nephew Russell Tracey, A. E.
Touzalin and myself.

The Government pack train, stationed at Fort D.
A. Russell, Wyoming, consisting of about seventy-five
mules equipped with aparejos, in charge of Thomas
Moore, chief packer and ten assistants, which together
with a four-mule ambulance and a saddle mule for each
of the party, was sent to Rock Creek station on the
Union Pacific railroad, to carry the party to the hunt-
ing grounds.

Excepting Mr. Touzalin, who was to join us later,
the party left the station about October 5th, camping at
Medicine Bow creek the first night. The next day we
traveled northeast to the spur of mountains at the head
of Deer creek, arriving in time for an early dinner.

As we drove over the low divide and in sight of
where camp was to be made, an hundred elk were ly-
ing down at the spring. They were of course greatly
surprised at our sudden appearance and jumping to
their feet sauntered leisurely away.

The Hunter's Paradise 101

After the second day at this camp, Webb Hayes
and myself went by ambulance to Rock Creek to meet
Mr. Touzalin, leading four extra mules as far as Med-
incine Bow creek, for a relay on our return trip, to
enable us to make the drive of sixty miles back to
camp in one day.

We found the gentleman in his car waiting for us.

The next morning we made an early start, Touza-
lin accompanying us. A few miles out from the sta-
tion we came on a broad plateau, dotted with scatter-
ing bands of antelope. The drive before us being a
long one, we made no stop, but enjoyed the view as
we drove on.

Arriving at the relay creek, we ate lunch, changed
mules and lost no time in getting away.

A mile from this creek we saw a rare and beautiful
sight, two young buck

ANTELOPES FIGHTING.

A dozen does and fawns were lined up looking on
with seemingly as much interest as would a crowd of
men watch a pair of pugilists in a prize ring. The
bucks would rush together, push and jam with all
their might and, as their position would change, the
dainty does and fawns would move around to get out
of the way of the fighters. When the bucks became
exhausted they would break away, take a breathing
spell and go at it again.

We watched this novel and beautiful picture some
time, then drove on, leaving them with heads still to-
gether and about to give up the fight from sheer ex-
haustion.

After riding a few miles we came in sight of two

102 The Hunter's Paradise

veteran buck antelopes out on the level plain settling
a dispute between themselves. This evidently was the
fight of their lives, its fierceness equalled that of two
Texas bulls. With heads and horns together, noses
almost reaching the ground, tongues hanging out and
foam dripping from their mouths, they were so earn-
estly engaged we drove to within a hundred yards, so
near we could see their glassy eyes bulging out and
no attention was paid to our presence. Both seemed
tired and willing to rest, both made frantic rushes at
the same time, the sound of their horns when they met
cracked like a pistol shot. It was remarked that we
could walk within ten feet of the scrapping, and Touz-
alin thought to kill them both would be an act of
mercy, but we had a long road ahead of us and no time
to loiter so we drove away, leaving the fight unfinished.
The object of this fight,

A LADY ANTELOPE,

stood on an elevation a few hundred yards away
watching the contest with great interest. We arrived
at camp in good season.

When General Crook came in one evening, he told
us of having seen a band of elk lying down under
scattering pine trees on a mountain side down near
Bates' Hole. As the Governor and Mr. Touzalin had
never seen elk in their native haunts, he was anxious
they should witness them and he came away without
disturbing them. The distance was about twelve miles,
where the last of the pine trees grew and the moun-
tains gradually sloped off to rolling bluffs and plain.

The next morning the party, including Mr. Moore
and the packers leaving only two drivers in camp.

The Hunter's Paradise 103

each with a lunch in his saddle pocket, mounted a
saddle mule and followed the General on a somewhat
silent march. Occasionally a black tail deer would
streak across our trail, or a bunch of blue grouse fly
up from the streams that trickled away from the
springs, but so eager was the party to come onto the
sights in prospect, not a shot was fired. Just before
noon we came to a halt and dismounted behind a cliff
of rocks. The General looked over all approaches
to make sure of the game being there before bringing
the party nearer. When our mules were securely
tied he led us two hundred yards to a split rock, where
one side had fallen and opened a seam for twenty feet
from top to base, the opening wide enough for one
person to see through. Just at hand was a small spring
and here we ate our lunch. The General had taken a
view of surroundings and found the elk were still on
the ground where he had left them. He said nothing
as to the exact locality until all had finished lunch,
then he stepped to the opening in the rock and called
the Governor to his side. When he retired each in his
turn took a view of the picture. We were closer than
three hundred yards and just across a stream was the
band of

OVER TWO HUNDRED ELK.

Some were lying down, a few cows were feeding their
calves, the bulls sauntered on the outer line of the herd
prodding the cows with their horns to keep them close
herded.

In every band of elk there is a thrifty young bull
who lords it over the entire herd. If they rebel, he
whips them into submission or drives them out. Other
bulls that remain tamely submit to his lordship's

104 The Hunter's Paradise

authority. The peace and quiet of it all and the ro-
mantic surroundings so impressed us that not a
shot was fired. After viewing this living picture an hour
we quietly stole away leaving the elk in the enjoyment
of their solitude.

THE YEAR FOLLOWING

our tents were pitched two miles nearer the mountains
at the mouth of a deep canyon, where the willows and
quaking asp trees grew so thick it was impossible to
walk through them.

As early as October there occasionally came a snow
fall. No Indian, guide or hunter, possessed a more
thorough knowledge, and took better advantage of the
surroundings, or was able to select the very best spot
to pitch tents to guard against all possibilities of dis-
comfort than was our able and genial General.

When tents were up the sky was overcast, the wind
in the east, and there were signs of a snow storm.

*' Moore ! pick out a place near the edge, clear away
the willows and grub the stubble out for our tents. We
may get good tracking snow for bear by morning,"
said the General to the chief packer.

By the time the tents were up and everything
housed, the wind began to blow and it increased to a
howling blizzard. Had we been out of the willows and
in the open, not a vestige of our camp would have re-
mained, but we were snuggled away and as comfort-
able as if in a house.

TRULY A RED LETTER DAY.

The next morning a foot of snow lay on the ground,
and that is the day our General met his big grizzly

The Hunter's Paradise 105

that raised on his haunches twenty feet away. When
he opened his mouth to growl, a bullet went straight
in his mouth, knocking out his front teeth and break-
ing his neck. It was also the day that Tom Moore
killed his two cub bears, and Major Lord with Yeoulle
and another packer, whose name I do not recall, killed
a she bear and two cubs.

I was out a day with one of the packers. We had
crossed back over the range coming towards camp and
dropped into a canyon that opened out on the plain.
After traveling half a mile we found a dead cow elk
on the trail, and as we followed down the canyon,
came to another and another until we counted seven-
teen head, which only a few days before had been killed
by a party of Englishmen who came over from Eng-
land to visit some English ranchmen and cattle own-
ers, and incidentally made a hunt to see how many
head of game they could kill in America.

SEVENTEEN ELK LEFT TO ROT

no doubt was one of the bags reported to their friends
back in England. This is a fair sample of the hunting
followed by these people for years while the game was
plenty and easy to kill. Is it any wonder that elk
are diminishing and that the remaining ones have
left their old feeding grounds?

The day of the successful bear hunt Mr. Touzalin
was tired out and did not go out with the hunters.
Later he saddled up and rode out alone in the sage
brush flats after antelope, which was easier than climb-
ing over the mountain chasing bear.

At a stream he dismounted to quench his thirst.
Part of his trail rope was wound around the horn of
his saddle and a few coils of the knotted end he car-

106 The Hunter's Paradise

ried in his hand. When he lay down to drink, frog
fashion, the mule evidently did not like his ungrace-
ful attitude. The rope end he held pulled only on the
saddle horn. The mule started out for the other side.
Touzalin held on to the rope and was dragged head
first through the creek. They parted company on the
opposite bank and the mule started immediately to-
wards camp. Touzalin's bump of locality was not well
developed and if the mule left him, the chances were
he would spend the night on the sage brush plain, an
experience hunters sometimes have. Major Lord and
his nephew had a night of this kind on this same trip
and they both agree that it was the longest night of
their lives. Touzalin managed to keep in sight of the
mule and was guided safely in.

After resting a day he and I rode down beyond
Bates' Hole and over the grassy hills — a part of
the country we had not hunted over. Out on the
ridges the wind was blowing a gale and it was difficult
getting within range of deer or elk. Trails led in
every direction. Suddenly we came to an old bull elk
lying down on the edge of a ravine and out of the
wind, sound asleep, only ten yards away. We were
walking and leading our mules. Touzalin took the
shot and his bullet hit high on the shoulder. This did
not prevent the elk from jumping to his feet and start-
ing over the hill. As he ran away I shot and broke
his hip before he was out of sight. We crossed the
hill and again came in sight as he hobbled away to-
w^ards the creek. Here we sat down on a rock and
fired a dozen cartridges. One of Touzalin's shots
made him shake his head violently. Half a mile away
he fell on the bank dead. When dressed and while

The Hunter's Paradise 107

examining his fine antlers we found a bullet had gone
through the trunk of one horn, making a hole as clean
cut as if made by a gimlet. When butchered we tied
a handkerchief on one horn to keep the wolves away.

On our way back we found an enormous mule deer
under the edge of a bluff feeding. His horns were
larger than any we had taken. By the time we dis-
mounted the deer had started from the level down a
steep hill. A bullet hit the base of one horn, sending
him headlong with a broken neck. While I was pre-
paring this fine animal, Touzalin caught sight of some
packers returning with Major Lord and Tracey with
carcasses of three elk they had killed the day before.
They were a mile away. Attracting their attention the
packers came to us. One of the men was Delany,
well known throughout the mountains, and as far
south as Arizona. A veteran packer and hunter.
Four of the mules were packed with three elk, and to
carry our big deer, the load on the biggest and strong-
est mule was distributed on the other three. Four
packers lifted him to the mule's back. When in place,
Delany remarked "that's the biggest deer I ever pack-
ed on a mule,he will weigh over three hundred pounds."
By appointment two men had come down from camp
with an ambulance to meet us at a creek and save a
ride in the saddle for ten miles. While waiting in
the valley for our return, a poor, wretched cow elk
came down from the mountain side and in attempting
to cross the creek, fell down and could not get on her
feet again. The men killed her with stones. She ev-
idently had been wounded or crippled and was not able
to keep up with her band.

When the packers went after our big elk the follow-

108 The Hunter's Paradise

ing day, although the carcass had been carefully dress-
ed the meat had spoiled. Only the hide and
antlers were brought in. The big elk horns were sent
to J. M. Forbes, Boston, Mass., and used for a hat
rack, and the deer horns accompanied them.

From the mountain slope behind our camp at times
could be seen four or five bands of elk with three
to five hundred in each band. A sweep of the eye over
the plain would cover as many as two thousand. At
the spring heads of the streams coming from the
mountain sides blue grouse were abundant. On the
sage brush flats were flocks and droves of sage grouse.
Elk, mule deer and antelope were so numerous we kill-
ed only the bucks, and a number of fine horns were
brought home as trophies of the hunt and were from
time to time presented, to friends of the hunting party.

Delany was a most persistent hunter. When he came
in at dark after a tedious and fruitless ride and found
six bear in camp he told his story of a long ride with
no results and was as sullen as a Sioux Indian. He
had seen "plenty sign" but no bear.

Tracks lead towards a long canyon that headed
just at the top of the range and scarcely twenty feet
away a canyon headed on the other side, leaving a
passage way about the width of a railroad grade.
Each day one of the party passed over this narrow
passage and noted the fact that it was a fine prospect
for bear. A canyon straight away from the creek
to the summit, and a similar one just on the other slope.
Delany had crossed this trail on his day's ride.

After supper he proposed to Mr. Moore that the
entire party "drive" one of these canyons. All agreed
and the next day the snow being gone, the entire party

The Hunter's Paradise 109

hunters, packers and teamsters made an early start
for the head of the canyon on the southern slope. The
plan for driving the gulch was left to Delany. He
formed the party in a line all abreast and moved to-
wards the valley, whooping, yelling and making all
the noise, possible, keeping the line intact to prevent a
bear going through in case we started one and it
turned back, instead of going ahead. Bunches of
brush, willows, tall grass, in fact about every
foot of the ground that was not open, was gone over
for a distance of three miles. The plan was well car-
ried out, the disappointment was that no bear was
started and we gave up the drive. The locality was
dubbed ''Bear Gulch" where ''General Crook's party
drove the canyon," and to this day the name clings to
it. On our return each followed his own inclination.
Delany and I crossed the range and rode down the
other side. When about half way a noise was heard
like the grunt of a hog, coming from a thick bunch of
willows. The ground being soft and marshy neither
cared to venture in as we could not see a foot ahead.
On one side was a rock about twenty feet high and
DIelany climbed to the top of it while I went above to
cross over the creek. Crack went a shot from his
eighteen pound Sharp's rifle. There was a thrashing
of the willows and more grunts. He had caught sight
of a moving black object and without being able to
distinguish what it was sent a bullet in as a
messenger. The shot attracted my attention and
I was soon at his side. A big black object
lay in the grass and mud groaning and scarcely able
to move. We sat down on the rock waiting for it to
die or show some sign of getting away. When all

110 The Hunter's Paradise

sign of life was gone we moved with great caution
towards the object. The bullet had gone in under the
ear broken the neck bone and passed out on the other
side. It was a grizzly bear, so fat and clumsy it could
scarcely drag its unwieldly frame faster than a slow
walk. A rope was tied around its neck and to the sad-
dle on a mule, but it was impossible to drag it through
the willows. With our hunting hatchets a place was
cleared away and the brute placed in a position for
skinning where it lay. When the hide was off and the
carcass rolled back on its belly, it had the appearance
of a mass of white fat and did not in the least resem-
ble an animal. With hunting knife, the blade four
inches long, an incision was made just between the
shoulders. The blade did not reach the meat. Curious
to know "upon what meats had this, our Caesar, fed,
that he had grown so great," we examined the
intestines and found in the stomach an oblong ball
of hard clay, weighing at least two pounds. The bear
was cut in four quarters, hung on trees, and left for
the packers to bring in next day. Moore and Delany
were of the opinion that the bear had licked a bank of
sweet clay. Such places are often seen in the moun-
tains where elk and deer frequented as they would a
"salt lick." The bear having taken so much in his
stomach there was no room for other food and on this
he had became so fat he could scarcely walk.
From each quarter a slab of fat was taken two to five
inches thick. The fat alone weighed nearly one hun-
dred and fifty pounds. The hair was in fine season,
jet black and glossy. The tips shone in the sun like
burnished steel.

Hair balls are occasionally found in the stomach of

The Hunter's Paradise 111

cattle, but the hunters agreed that a mud ball in a bear's
stomach was a revelation.

ELK IN POCKET.

While eating supper Major Lord said, "Collins,
let's take an early start and go round the horn tomor-
row." Deer creek broke through the mountains east
of camp and came out on the plains north,
running to the Platte river, near Wolcott station on
the Elkhorn railroad. A game trail led along at the
foot of the north side of the mountain leading to the
plain west then crossed over to the south side, where
General Crook had shown us the elk, thence east to the
camp. The round trip was about twenty-five miles
and the trip was called "going round the horn."

Through the rocky gorge, where Deer creek flowed
north, was the only favorable ground for mountain
sheep. Our field glasses were in constant use, but we
found no sheep. After going through and following
at the foot of the mountain on the north side about
half way we met Touzalin and one of the packers.
They were coming from the opposite direction having
taken the trail going west from camp to "round the
horn." Being fifty miles from habitation Touzalin
soliloquised at our meeting and remarked, "How small
the world is, let's eat lunch together and commemorate
the meeting with a big drink of whiskey." The day
was perfect, the air crisp and the sun behind a cloud.
The mules were turned loose to graze and we threw
ourselves on the green grass to rest, eat lunch,
and enjoy the incident. In an hour we parted com-
pany, the Major and myself changed our plan and
went straight up the mountain side through the pines
to the summit, then down a valley leading to a rocky

112 The Hunter's Paradise

canyon, where the trail grew rough and we had to dis-
mount. While I stopped to tighten the saddle cinch,
the Major kept on and got out of sight. I whistled
and he came in sight throwing both hands wildly, and
waving his hat. He was so excited he could
scarcely speak. When his breath came to him he tried
to whisper his explanation, but his voice could be heard
a hundred yards. ''We've got 'em in a pocket and
can load the pack train right here and go to the rail-
road tomorrow."

We led our mules behind the rocks, and tied them
within a short distance. We looked through an open
space in an irregular wall of rock and the sight be-
fore us caused our hearts to beat double quick. Two
hundred elk in a pocket and less than two hundred
yards away! Behind them was a high cliff of rock,
that had crumbled and broken away and fallen to
form the ends. The formation in front was a long
line of boulders and we stood in the only opening — ^a
space twenty feet wide. The feed in among the rocks
in the corral was fine. A spring came out of the rocks
and ran along down through the opening where we
stood. The elk were completely hemmed in. All
threw their heads in the air, with eyes and ears pointed
to us. Instantly they began moving about and real-
ized there was no chance for escape. We calmly
looked the herd over. There were cows and calves,
spike bucks and bucks with every variety of horns,
such as they were.

I said, "Major, there is not a fine set of horns in
the entire bunch. What do you say to letting them
file out in front of us? We are a long ways from
camp and you know we agreed to bring in no horns

The Hunter's Paradise 113

unless they were good ones." The Major was beside
himself, "My God ! what a picture, and so easy," he
said. By this time the elk began milling, ttiat is, going
around in a circle. We stood aside to let them come
out. They would make no move in that direction,
while we were in sight. The elk were not nearly so
excited as we were and we were puzzled to know
what to do with them. While we stood in or near the
opening they would not come that way. Again and
again we would look them over for fine horns. They
were mostly young elk. There were a few old veterans
whose horns were irregular or broken from fighting,
none being as symetrical as those we had in camp.
We sat down on a rock and tried to decide on a course
of action. We had traveled nearly eight hundred
miles to kill elk. We had hunted the mountain and
plain over for ten days with only this in view. Here
were two hundred at our mercy. An hour spent in
watching them and not a shot fired or an effort made
to bag the game we were looking for, but we had
promised the General we would kill only for fine ant-
lers. There were no fine ones in this bunch. So,
much against our inclination, and having in mind the
seventeen head killed by the Englishmen and left on
the ground, to rot, we preferred to go into camp and
relate our adventures and act in obedience to the
wishes of the General that "no game would be slaught-
ered," rather than wantonly disregard them. As loth
as we were to leave them we walked through the open-
ing and around to one side and actually drove them
out and away from us, without firing a shot.

The valley leading towards camp narrowed down
for a distance and then widened out. A bar had form-

114 The Hunter's Paradise

ed in the center . covering several acres of loose rock
and fallen trees, and grown up with small pines and
underbrush. Our direction led us through this tangled
wood. When half way thirteen old bull elk jumped
to their feet and broke through the timber. We could
see only a forest of horns. Among them some fine
antlers. It was late in the day and as we were not
able to get a shot at first sight we did not follow and
left them for some future time.

It was a band of outlaws that had been driven out
from several herds and formed a herd of their own to
drift along the rocks and trees with no particular aim
in life and without courage to stand their ground in
contests with younger bulls, among the cows and
calves.

HUNTING BIG GAME WITH A PACK TRAIN.

Early in September, 1879, General Crook invited
Chief Quartermaster M. I. Ludington, who, during
the Spanish war, was quartermaster general, (since
retired). Congressman Thornberg from Tennessee,
Webb C. Hayes, Captain John G. Bourke and myself,
to join him on a hunting trip to Battle Creek moun-
tains and Grand Encampment, Wyoming, fifty miles
south of old Fort Fred Steele.

Thomas Moore, chief packmaster, with his assist-
ants and seventy-five sleek roached and shaved-tail
mules, had preceded us. On the arrival of the hunt-
ing party at Fort Steele, by Union Pacific train, we left
by ambulance and saddle mules for the northeast
slope of a mountain in the Sierra Madre range, and

, Hunting with a Pack Train 115

camped at a fine spring at the edge of the pines with
plenty of wood, water and grass, the packer's delight.

The hunting ground was in a belt of dense pine tim-
ber grown up vnt\\ thick underbrush, and an occa-
sional spot of windfalls and fallen trees, through
which it was next to impossible to travel on mules.
The only semblance of trails were those made by game.
The hunters prospected nearly two days before getting
the lay of the country, occasionally con:ing onto scat-
tering elk or deer. The game was not wild, but the
forest of trees was so dense and the standing pines so
thick it required the greatest caution to get a shot.
A section of the country through which we rode was
a grove of quaking asp trees that extended north to
the open prairie. A recent fire had left the trunks
of the trees standing, but all the underbrush was
burned away. On leaving camp the hunters separated
and went in any direction they chose. Our camp was
within a few miles of the crossing of the main divide
of the Rocky mountains. Before reaching this we
crossed Cow and Calf creeks running into the Platte
river. Immediately over the divide was Battle lake
on the western slope, and the mountain dropped oflf
so abruptly that the top of the divide was within rifle
shot of the lake.

We hunted around Cow creek and Calf creek and
found trails of herds of elk and deer, but so thick
were the trees and underbrush, that we could not travel
fast enough to come up to the game. Occasionally a
hunter would come onto a herd of a hundred or more
elk, or a band of black tail deer, and would get one
or two shots before they disappeared in the timber.
When we reached the burnt quaking asp opening we

116 Hunting with a Pack Train

found antelope all around us and they were very tame.
Antelope very seldom go into woods or brush, or
among- trees, but they were here in abundance and
could be found at any time, so we decided not to dis-
turb them until the day before we started for the
railroad and then kill all we wanted in a few hours.
Blue grouse were plentiful. We decided also to not
alarm the bigger game by shooting at them until on the
last day. Every day the hunters were out they killed
elk or deer. If near camp the hunter would dress his
game, leave it and go into camp and have a packer lead
out two or three mules and pack it in. At times it
was killed too far to bring it in the same day. In
that case the hunter would dress the elk or deer, turn
it back up, tie a handkerchief to a stick and stick
it in the ground or lay it on the animal and the flutter-
ing of the flag would keep the wolves and coyotes away.
One day Tucker, our guide, came in at noon and re-
ported a band of a hundred or more elk less than two
miles from camp, lying down on a bench on the moun-
tainside, among them being a bull with a handsome set
of antlers. I joined him and we set out at once. When
within a few hundred yards of the band, Tucker in the
lead, we approached cautiously to within reasonable
shooting distance. They were all lying down except
the bull with the fine horns. He had moved to the op-
posite side of the herd, and stood quartering with his
tail toward us, not an easy shot to make sure of bring-
ing him down at first fire. There was no time to be
lost, however, and at a hundred yards I brought him
down. In an instant the entire band were up and into
the brush and timber and scurrying away, with the
exception of one calf that made no move to join the

Hunting with a Pack Train 117

others, and stood broad side. Tucker dropped him in
his tracks. With that a cow dehberately stepped out
into the opening and stood over the calf in a defiant
attitude. I accepted the challenge and a shot behind
the shoulder laid her beside the calf. This little ex-
citement diverted our attention from the bull for the
moment and when we approached the spot the bull
had disappeared entirely. After dressing the cow and
calf, we took up the trail and followed the wounded
bull for an hour but lost him. Here we ran onto Gen-
eral Crook, who had just come up from a canyon to
see what the shooting was about, and here Tucker left
us to go to camp for a pack mule and bring the game
in before dark.

The General and I sauntered along leisurely to-
wards camp. He had been out since morning and dur-
ing the whole day had not seen any big game, al-
though the woods were full of trails. Suddenly a bull
elk which was lying down near a trickling stream,
jumped up and stood looking at us, showing a full
front, only one hundred yards away. The General
was carrying his telescope rifle and resting the gun on
the side of a tree, took deliberate aim at the spot just
above where the hair curls on his breast — hunters call
it the "sticking place." The bullet went straight to the
mark and we saw blood spurt from the wound. The
elk did not fall but showed a violent shock when he
was hit. So sure was the General that it was a fatal
wound he did not fire again. The bull went by us
within fifty yards and disappeared in the woods. Tak-
ing up his trail we followed it by blood left on the
bushes and soon found him lying dead across the
trail. When we dressed him we found the bullet had

118 Hunting with a Pack Train

gone clean through his heart and, by estimating the
distance from where he stood when shot, he had trav-
elled fully five hundred yards afterwards. It was the
rutting season and the habits of this game were er-
ratic. After three days in camp, at the spring
near the edge of the timber. General Ludington,
General Crook, Bourke, Hayes and myself, with a
dozen pack and saddle mules, packers and two soldiers,
started for Battle Creek lake, twelve miles distant, the
pack mules carrying our camp equipment. Before
reaching the lake one of the hunters shot a four months'
old elk calf dressed it and left it hanging on the limb
of a tree to carry with us on our return to permanent
camp. Arriving at the lake, the party caught enough
trout before supper for the dozen men.

While making camp, a lone mountain sheep came
down from an almost perpendicular gorge of rocks, to
the lake to drink. He stood looking at us over a thou-
sand yards away, then put his nose to the water and
satisfying his thirst climbed back up the rocks, and was
in plain sight for nearly a mile. When evening came,
the whistling of bull elk was heard. All through the
night we heard the bawling of a cow elk, evidently the
mother of the calf we killed on our way over.

The lake covered a space of about fifteen acres and
lay on top or immediately over the Continental Divide.
The water was clear and blue and said to be nearly two
hundred feet deep. Through the almost transparent
water hundreds of trout could be seen. At the casting
of a bait dozens of the little speckled beauties would
come to the surface with open mouths. Pebbles could
be seen on the bottom in water twenty feet deep. The
south shore sloped gradually up fully three-quarters

Hunting with a Pack Train 119

of a mile and was of bare, broken and scraggy rocks.
From the shore of the lake above, half the distance up,
the timber did not grow and it was thought by our
party that we had crossed the range at about ten
thousand feet above sea level, and that the bare rock
was above timber line — eleven thousand feet, above
which point no vegetation grows. It appears that all
elevations above timber line are composed principally
of rock. From the timber line the mountains broke
away to the north on either side of the lake and formed
a deep canyon through which the stream from the lake
flowed finding its way to the Pacific ocean. There was
a foot of snow on the ground ?nd the forest of pyramid
shaped tall fir trees on all sides of us was beautiful
in its garb of snow covered verdure.

Near the outlet of the lake stood a small log cabin,
built the season before by Dr. Graff of Omaha, who
represented some Omaha parties prospecting the
mountains for minerals. On the door was inscribed
in pencil the names of the parties who had visited the
lake, together with a record of the trout they had
caught, one item of which was a catch of near fourteen
hundred.

The next morning the hunters started in all direc-
tions for big game and the score of deer and elk made
by each one was entirely satisfactory. Captain
Bourke took very little interest in hunting and re-
mained at the lake to try his luck fishing.

When the hunters returned to the lake they found
Captain Bourke up in a quaking asp tree on the bank.
Bourke took no part in the hunting, and to while
away the time in camp he borrowed a fish hook and a

120 Hunting with a Pack Train

piece of string from one of the packers and cut an alder
bush pole to try his hand catching trout. The matter
of a few trees behind the place he selected to fish
from, made no difference to him, the result being that
he landed his trout, hook and line in the tree nearly
every time he pulled a fish out. When we came to
camp he was unravelling his day's work.

The following day, to rest from four days' hard
work, we all remained in camp and, as the inclination
would strike us, would fish for trout. When a trout
fly was cast in the water, a dozen or more open mouths
would come for it. Nothing could exceed their eager-
ness to take anything thrown in the water. During
the three days the catch of the entire party
exceeded thirteen hundred trout, the average
weight of which did not exceed two and one-
half ounces, and in the catch there was not a fish that
weighed four ounces. When we left for our perma-
ment camp on the edge of the woods we packed the
trout in two grain bags. Along the trail a small open-
ing in one bag would let them slip out one at a time,
and by the time we arrived nearly one-half the con-
tents of the bag were gone.

On our way back Webb Hayes killed his first elk
on Cow creek — a bull with fine horns.
Each of the hunters made his kill, but the General
as usual led them all in numbers. We made one day's
hunt in the burnt woods for antelope and with good
success, the total result of the hunt being several elk, a
few deer and a dozen antelopes. The great rivalry was
in shooting the heads off blue grouse. In this I tied
the General. The trout caught by the party were all
eaten before we left the camp at the spring. Two

Hunting with a Pack Train 121

days carried us back to Fort Fred Steel, where we
took the train for Omaha, leaving Mr. Moore and the
packers to take the packs and wagons overland back
to Fort Russell. The scene of our then wild hunting
is near the present site of the great copper mine and
town of Grand Encampment. The country is now well
populated and filled with prospectors.

Buffaloes in their wild state are practically extinct.
Since their disappearance the grazing grounds were
occupied by cattle and horses and on these the bears
and wolves subsisted. Now that the ranges are re-
duced, the number of cattle and horses are also greatly
lessened, and the wild animals have migrated to Jack-
son's Hole, the Tetons and Wind river ranges. There
are still great number of elk in remote regions where
the average hunter does not visit. Black tail or mule
deer will be partly protected by the government forest
rangers, who are also appointed in some instances, as
state game wardens.

The timid antelope is being pushed beyond the pale
of civilization and will find safety in their increased
wildness.

That prince of all Rocky mountain game, the moun-
tain sheep, has been driven from his old haunts near
the railroads and has taken refuge in the interior and in
the higher mountain ranges of the Tetons and Wind
river. The hunters of large game of to-day and of
the future in the Rocky mountains, who may read the
incidents herein related, all of which occurred about
a quarter of a century ago, cannot help but realize the

122 Hunting with a Pack Train

wonderful change in the abundance of game then and
at the present time.

THE SCOUT.

In January 1901, at the request of John T. Bell,
then editor and proprietor of the Omaha Mercury,
I contributed an article giving some of the char-
acteristics of Baptiste Gamier, better known as
Little Bat, the scout. This article when published
was preluded by Mr. Bell. It also contained some
illustrations that cannot be here included, hence it
is a trifle revamped. The changes are by permis-
sion of Mr. Bell.

**The late General George Crook was one of the
most distinguished of the many officers who served
quietly enduring hardships of the most appalling
character, suffering great privations and in almost
constant danger. The American people have no
adequate idea of the patient endurance, the heroism,
the suffering which characterized life on the plains
during an active campaign and when the story is
put in print — if that day ever arrives — ^by a gifted
penman, with a soul fired by a proper conception of
his theme, the hearts of men and women will be
stirred to the utmost — their love for and pride in the
American army will be increased.

"In his latest Indian campaigns — 1875 and 1876 —
General Crook had in his employ three noted scouts
— Buffalo Bill, Frank Grouard and Baptiste Gar-
nier. The latter known from boyhood as "Little
Bat" was recently killed at Crawford, this state, by

The Scout 123

a saloon keeper. From the date of his taking com-
mand General Crook included in his list of close
personal friends Mr. John S. Collins of this city and
during a period of many years they were frequently
together in Wyoming and Western Nebraska in pur-
suit of big game. At various times the following
well known men were included in these parties, A.
E. Touzalin, Webb Hayes, Major Thornburg,
Major T. H. Stanton, Ex-Governor Romualdo Pacheco
of California, Major J. H. Lord and others. Concern-
ing Gamier Mr. Collins told this story ;

LITTLE BAT, THE SCOUT.

"In the killing of Baptiste Garnier, better known
throughout the west as Little Bat, the country
loses a character not only peculiar in habit and
method but in many ways useful to the wild western
country, and one that may never again be seen.
His antecedents are unknown to me, but he was a
quarter-blood Sioux Indian raised on the Laramie
river. When a mere boy some thirty years ago he
became famous as a stock tender, partly because of
perseverence and knowledge of cattle and horses,
but chiefly for his wonderful gift of

TRAILING.

"Never was an Indian born who could with more
certainty follow the trail of a lost animal with the
assurance of finding it. In 1875 Bat's home was
on the Hunton and Bullock ranch near old Fort
Laramie. When General Crook organized the 1876
campaign against the Sioux, Frank Grouard and
Little Bat were selected as principal guides and

124 The Scout

couriers. At the end of that war General Crook
filed with the War Department at Washington a rec-
ommendation that both Grouard and Bat, on ac-
count of their valuable services, had earned a life
position and that they be employed by the govern-
ment as scouts to the end of their lives, Grouard at
$150 a month and Little Bat at $100. Frank
Grouard now residing near Pine Ridge Agency,
Neb., resigned his position at old Fort McKinney
near Sheridan, it is said through some misunder-
standing with the then commanding officer, about
four years ago. Little Bat remained at Fort Robin-
son and at the time of his death was in the employ
of the government.

"During the year 1878 and later, Bat accompanied
General Marcy, father-in-law of General McQellan,
Seward Webb and Dr. Draper, on their many hunts
for large game in the Rocky mountains. General
George Crook knowing of Bat's wonderful reputation
as hunter, trailer and rifle shot, first took him with
us into Salt creek country for bear (Salt creek ly-
ing north of Casper, Wyo.) and so skillful did he
prove, never failing, no matter what the character of
the country was, to come onto the game and secure
it — that the General afterwards did not think his
hunting party complete without Little Bat. He and
General Crook killed the last (three) mountain sheep
in the Salt creek country, and Bat the last elk, a
magnificent bull with fine antlers.

THE WOUNDED KNEE FIGHT.

''When General Brooke came to command the De-
partment of the Platte, Bat at once became a favor-

The Scout 125

ite of that officer and accompanied him in the Pine
Ridge war of 1890. When Forsyth, in command of
troops escorted Big Foot and his band on the
Wounded Knee, halted to listen to the parley of the
Indians, it was Little Bat who warned Forsyth that
the halt was asked for only to begin trouble. A
medicine man

THREW DIRT IN THE AIR

which was taken as a signal for beginning and in an
instant the fight was on. During the excitement Bat
had left his tent and ran with the Indians, "when
he turned toward the tent he had been occupying he
saw this same medicine man standing at the opening
with one of his own rifles in hand and keeping it
hot as he joined in firing on the soldiers. In a few
seconds this Indian fell into the tent which was after-
wards set on fire and Bat found his rifle under the
medicine man's dead body with the stock partly
burned. This rifle had been presented to Bat by
General Edward Hatch, formerly in command of
Fort Robinson, and was used by him in all his hunting
trips. Although it is a mooted question as to the
wisdom of

WIPING OUT BIG foot's BAND

western people do not agree, neither do they furnish
the history that may or may not have justified the
killing.

"In recent years Bat was the mainstay of Seward
Webb and party on a hunt to Jackson's Hole. In
the fall of 1899 B^t's record for bear killed by him-
self alone was eighty-three and as he later recalled
incidents of his score, in the tent of A. S. Patrick and

126 The Scout

myself, on one of our private hunts for big game on
Salt creek, he remarked, "Now the bear all left this
country, and gone to Jackson's Hole, maybe I wont
get the other seventeen," to make a hundred.

"Frank Grouard in his life speaks of Bat as
the most wonderful hunter and the best game shot he
ever knew — capable of running deer down on foot
and capturing them with a rope without firing a gun.
On one occasion, while at Casper preparing for a
start to the Sand Hills with General Brooke, looking
up towards the Casper mountains, I remarked, 'Bat
are there any elk left in Casper mountains?'' to which
he replied, *I guess not. I was up there while ago.

I SAW SEVENTEEN AND KILLED "eM."

"I have been out with General Crook and Bat when
a trail would be taken up by Bat on the baked soil
of the Bad Lands, so hard that the soft foot of a
bear would make no impression at all and yet the
scout would follow a bear's trail over that character
of country for many miles, his only clue being the
occasional turning over of a bit of dirt or pebble,
perhaps no bigger than a nickle, this bit showing up
just a trifle darker in color on what had been the
under side than the white surface all around it.

"On one occasion when out with Bat we start-
ed a deer. A shot broke its hind leg. A deer with a
broken leg seems to get out of a hunter's way about
as fast as if not crippled. We were on horseback and
followed it two or three miles, then struck a
rough piece of country where it was slow traveling.
Bat, who was in my lead, saw we were losing ground,
and left his horse — ^beckoning to me to bring it

The Scout 127

along — and set off on foot after the deer, following
it up a deep coolie and across a grassy divide and
into another coolie two or three miles farther on, un-
til the deer actually fell exhausted. When I came
up an hour later with the horses, there sat Bat on a
bank rolling a cigarette, ten feet away from where
the panting deer was. There's your game, why
don't you shoot it?' he said. But there was no neces-
sity for shooting a deer that was only ten feet away,
when I could lead him by the ears down the 'hill and
kill him in a more sportsmanlike manner.

PUTTING UP A BLUFF.

"At one time I shot and disabled a bear
which was rushing hot foot for Bat, only a
few feet distant. I soon killed the bear, and
when I afterward remarked, 'Bat, I think I
saved your Hfe that time,' the scout replied, 'Oh that
bear was just putting up a big bluff.' On one oc-
casion General Crook and Bat killed a bear in a hole
in a cut bank twenty feet deep. Then it was a prob-
lem as to how the skin of the game was to be saved,
which problem the General solved by going half a
mile to the hills and cutting down and carrying on
his shoulder a young pine tree with an abundance of
branches. Of this he made a sort of a ladder by
which the two descended to the dead bear. Then
they built a fire of sage brush at the bottom of the
hole which afforded light for their purpose and when
they had taken the skin off they tied one end of a
stout lariat to it and hitched the other end to the sad-
dle of their riding mule which was above them, and
thus hauled up the heavy pelt.

128 The Scout

"If a few short-comings in business matters were
charged to Bat they might be attributed to his not
fully understanding them, as he could neither read
nor write and his contact with men of affairs was, of
course, limited. He was thoroughly honest. You
could trust him with your property and rely on his
promises. What he pretended to know, he knew,
and his knowledge need not be questioned. Ask
Bat, 'Can we do it,' and if he said 'Yes,' then leave
it to his hands for he was sure to accomplish it.

EYES LIKE A CAT.

"One strong feature in his character stood out
clean cut above all others — ^his wonderful bump of
locality. Term it woodcraft, landcraft, or what you
will, it applied the same. Land him blind-folded in
a new country and he would go straight to his
camp in day or night as the needle points to the
noith. In November, 1882, General Crook and his
hunting party, accompanied by Bat, had been in camp
on Salt creek for several days. Not finding large
game plentiful it was suggested that we move over on
the head of the Dry Cheyenne. Bat instructed the
men in charge of the teams to 'follow a blind game
trail over a strip of Bad Lands to a deep washout,
cross, then keep along the divide to the head of a
dry creek, follow it down to a point of rocks, then
strike for a lone pine tree on the side of a high steep
bluff, where we will camp.' He and the General
cut across the country to look for bear. At dark
they brought up at the spring where they expected
to find the teams in camp, Mr. Hayes and myself
with two Indians having already arrived. It was

The Scout 129

then dark and no sound or sight of the teams. 'Do
you think it possible for them to reach this camp to-
night?' asked the General. 'You bet them drivers
they lost their heads. I go find them and fetch them
in all right, maybe near daylight' responded Little
Bat. The General and party were toasting their,
shins over a huge fire of a standing pine tree when,
about midnight we heard the refined and gentle
voice of the government mule skinners. In a short
time, led by Bat, the entire outfit was in camp and
the wagon boss, as he slid the harness off the last
mule, remarked. That fellow Bat got eyes like a cat,
see as well at night as in daylight.'

ROPING A DEER.

"When we were in camp on the dry fork of the
Cheyenne, General Hatch wounded a black tail deer
carrying enormous horns. He and Bat followed him
a long time drifting towards camp. Bat could throw
a rope equal to a cowboy. When the deer was about
exhausted, he threw his rope over one horn and
after a little bucking the deer quieted down and drove
fairly well towards camp. It was slow traveling and
the deer soon got his second wind. By a dexterous
use of the rope, Bat threw him to the ground. Here
he sulked and refused to get up for some time. The
hunters worried him until he jumped to his feet and
made a frantic dash for his liberty. Bat knew the
possibility of the deer making a charge and warned
General Hatch to be on his guard. When on his feet
again they tried to start him towards camp, but he
reared and plunged and refused to be driven.

''Then he braced himself with all four legs and put

130 The Scout

his nose to the ground. Bat knew what was coming
and called to the General *shoot quick or he will
charge my horse.' 'Stay with him,' said the Gen-
eral, who was not slow in getting his work in. At the
crack of his rifle, the deer reared on his hind legs,
and fell backwards dead. When they rode into
camp with the handsome buck strapped on the horse
ridden by the General's orderly, Bat congratulated
himself on saving his rope, for to have it carried
away by a deer would have been an everlasting dis-
grace.

RECOVERED THEIR HORSES.

**Back in '75' the country around Fort Laramie fair-
ly bristled with hostile Indians. Scarcely a week passed
that ranchmen, herders and wood choppers were not
alarmed by small war parties raiding the stock herds.
It was the custom of ranchmen along the Laramie river
to turn their horses out in charge of a herder during
the day and at night corral them in a pen built of
logs, the gates being secured by heavy chains and pad-
locks. The herders always carried rifle and field glass
and with the latter occasionally spied an Indian lying
on top of a bluff scanning the prospects for getting
away with the bunch of horses in charge of the herd-
er. The camp to which the Indian belonged might
be located a dozen miles on the north side of the
Platte river. At night the war party would visit the
corrals and if, through the carelessness of the men
the gates were not securely locked, the entire bunch
of horses would be taken out within a rod of where
the men were sleeping, and once out of the corral
with the stock it was useless to follow the Indians in
the dark. The next morning the ranchmen would

The Scout 131

follow the trial as far as the crossing of the Platte and
then abandon it through fear that the Indians might
be reinforced. One of the party would then rush into
the military post and ask the commanding officer to
send out a detachment of troops. The request was
usually promptly complied with, but following a cold
trail a day or more old amounted to nothing more
than a long, tedious ride.

"One night in the month of February

A WAR PARTY

raided the ranch of Louis Reshaw, a halfbreed, nine
miles up the river, and ran off his stock. Louis, with
his brother, Pete, accompanied by the famous half-
breed scout and hunter. Little Bat, skirmished
around among their neighbors, borrowed horses and
started on the trail. A nine mile ride brought them
to the Platte. The river was frozen over. The In-
dians had thrown sand on the ice to facilitate cross-
ing the stock. One of the stolen ponies had given
out and was abandoned at the crossing. The half-
breeds were hot on the trail, leading in the direction
of the Indian agency. From the ponies' tracks it was
evident that but three Indians were in the party. The
stolen herd numbered five ponies, their total value
less than $ioo, being the stock left the owners after
two or three recent visits made by the red men.

"Crossing the river the trail led over rocky bluffs and
on through the canyon where Colonel Babbit, later on,
erected his smelting works, in the now well known
copper and silver district. Late in the afternoon the
trail showed that the Indians were traveling slowly
and would soon camp. Little Bat knew the

132 The Scout

country well and he knew the water hole not far
ahead. When the Indians want to camp and have fears
that they are being pursued^ they do not stop on
reaching water but camp away from it. The
halfbreeds knew their custom and laid plans to sur-
prise them. The quick eye of Little Bat soon dis-
covered smoke curling away from the Indians' tepee,
a rude affair composed of a few lodge poles covered
with cotton ticking, evidence enough that the Indians
belonged at or near the agency. The halfbreeds held
a council and then divided and approached the camp
cautiously.

ONE OF THE INDIANS

was found seated on a rocky point commanding the
best view of all approaches looking out, a second
was gathering wood near the tepee, and the third was
driving the horses down the ravine to water.

"The war party and their pursuers were equal in
numbers and evenly matched and no time was lost
in deciding the plan of action. Louis would take
care of the lookout, Pete would have an eye on the
fellow gathering wood, and Little Bat said, "you
bet I get the horses."

"Crawling up within lOO yards of the lookout
Louis crouched behind a rock and waited for Pete
to get in position. The lookout was the only Indian
armed, the other two having left their rifles at the
tepee. It was agreed that no move should be made
until sundown and just as the sun disappeared be-
hind a rocky bluff a

SHOT WAS HEARD

and the smoke curled away from behind the rock
where Louis lay. A yell from the lookout and he

The Scout 133

scrambled among the rocks to a place of safety — shot
in the leg. Pete took advantage of the wood gath-
erer and caught him *away from home.* At the
crack of Louis' rifle the wood chopper dropped his
load and scampered to a hiding place among the
scattering pines. Little Bat, rifle in hand, made a
charge on the herd but did not shoot for fear of
scattering the horses. Gathering up the lariat drop-
ped by the Indian he mounted a pony and at once
skurried down the creek driving the entire band of
horses ahead of him.

"Pete had, as he expressed it, captured the camp
and fired the village taking the only rifle
at the tepee, powder horn, cap box,
lance, jerked beef and medicine bag, (one of
which trophies Louis gave to the writer the follow-
ing day) and carried them to the rock where Louis
was trying to get

A SECOND SHOT

at the lockout. Two or three shots were exchanged
when the lookout called to Louis in a friendly way in
Sioux. 'Don't shoot! I know you:'

" *If you know me, what in h 1 you come and

steal my horses for?' asked Louis.

"Pete said, 'Call him up to hold a council and I
kill the d d Sioux.'

"Bat had gone on with the herd. The lodge had
been burned, all the plunder taken, one Indian shot
in the leg, and the war party left afoot in the hills.
It was now dark and the victors fifteen miles from
home. Returning to their horses, Louis and Pete
hurried on down the valley to overtake Bat, who was

134 The Scout

holding the herd waiting for them at the mouth of
the canyon. It was near midnight when the half-
breeds reached their ranch with all their own stock,
and five head belonging to the Indians.

"Last October the writer joined General E. Hatch's
hunting party and camped on the south fork of the
Powder river in Wyoming, and found this same
Little Bat 'pegging down' a fresh bear skin he had
taken that day.

"On this trip the writer took occasion to remind him
of the incident related above. 'Yes, I see that Injun
many times over at agency, he lame yet where
we shot him in leg,' said Little Bat."

"CRAZY HORSE" BONES.

"Mr. Collins:—

"I want you to help me sell the bones of 'Crazy
Horse.' They are petrified and are very beautiful.

"Your friend,

The above is the substance of a letter in my pos-
session. Crazy Horse was that troublesome Cheyenne
Indian who was more active in the Sioux war of 1876
than Sitting Bull himself. When captured by Gen-
eral Crook he was taken to Fort Robinson, Nebraska,
and confined in the guard house there to remain until
the Indian war was ended and the United States gov-
ernment decided what disposition would be made of all
the chiefs and leading Indians who surrendered or
were captured. There were feverish days at Fort
Robinson at that time. There were reasons for be-

Crazy Horse Bones 135

lieving the Indians were organizing a force to make an
attack on the guard house and release all Indian pris-
oners. Crazy Horse attempted to pass the guard and
escape and in the melee was killed by a bayonet. His
remains were buried near the garrison.. Some time
after the burial the grave was robbed of its contents
which were deposited in a remote place where they,
no doubt, rest at the present day. This was done
thinking the government would discover the robbing of
the grave and offer a large reward for the recovery
of the body.

No attention, however, was paid to the desecration
of the grave and the remains lay hidden until about
the time the above letter was written. Then the dis-
covery was made that they had turned to stone — hence
the letter above noted. Later, I talked with the party
who could "deliver the goods" and there is no doubt
but they are a remarkable curiosity. Anyone interest-
ed in such gruesome relics, by paying a good price
could, even now, I think, procure the petrifaction.

As it was not in my line of business, I did not
make an effort to dispose of them. Major John G.
Bourke, John Finerty and Frank Grouard, the scout,
have each written a book on the " '76" Indian war in-
cluding a correct history of Crazy Horse and his fol-
lowing.

I believe this is the first item ever published referring
to the above facts, which shows the peculiar effect of
the climate of Wyoming on the dead as well as on the
living.

In my possession is the German silver finger ring
worn by Crazy Horse when he was killed.

VAGABONDING WITH A GENERAL MANAGER.

When William F. Fitch was general manager of
the Fremont & Elkhorn railroad, he was personally
acquainted with nearly every owner of a steer or a
sheep along the line, as well as a hundred miles away
from it. He was out on the road for business about
every week. The "cow men" and "sheep men" had
the run of his private car, and in return gave him their
business. There were times, however, when a little
less company suited his taste better. When out on
the road for work he dressed in a suit of corduroys,
top boots, woolen shirt, and a broad rimmed cowboy
hat with a leather band around it, and there were few
finer looking men on the line than this kind-hearted
breezy general manager. During the many years he
managed the Elkhorn road, the event that he dated
everything, that occurred "before and after," was a
"cloud burst" in a sand draw out near Shawnee
creek, that carried away five hundred feet of an em-
bankment which was from ten to forty feet high, and
the track went with it.

With an engine and his private car, he and Ed-
mund C. Harris, his division superintendent from
Chadron, camped at their work and killed antelope
and sage hens at odd times. In those peaceful, happy
days I frequently accompanied Mr. Fitch on tours west
of Chadron and to the Black Hills. An engine and
his private car was the train and just we two would
sit out on the rear platform and shoot sage hens, the
engineer would slow down and back up to bag the
dead birds. They were so plenty it was easy for us to
supply our table and have birds to bring back to

Vagabonding with a General Manager 137

Omaha. I not only toured the Elkhorn road with
him, but after he went to Marquette, Michigan, to
manage the Duluth, South Shore & Atlantic road, we
traveled together from Duluth to the head waters of
the Mississippi river, to the lakes in Minnesota, Michi-
gan and Wisconsin, to the Sault Ste. Marie, almost
as far south as the Gulf of Mexico and to Idaho
where we shot blue grouse from the peaks of the Saw
Tooth mountains. He frequently came out to Ne-
braska to keep in touch with the many friends he left
on the Elkhorn road in Omaha and to enjoy the fine
air of his old stamping grounds and always brought
with him one or two friends to show them what he
called "God's country." On one occasion Peter
White, from Marquette, a prominent and well known
man throughout Michigan, came with him. Mr.
White's reputation as a story-teller was proverbial,
and his stories were generally fresh and always intend-
ed to be new. On this occasion I was also a guest.
Mr. White was showing his best art in relating a story
to a cattleman, presuming the narrative was new to
the country. His listener did not crack a smile and
was patient to the end ; then he remarked : "Oh, yes,
I heard that in Washington last winter." White's
heart was almost broken, and to the end of the trip
he did not recover from the chagrin of finding that
a cow man out in wild Wyoming had already heard
one of his pet stories. On this trip Mr. Fitch and my-
self went to look up his division superintendent, Mr.
Harris, at Chadron, and left Mr. White in the car. At
that time Horace G. Burt, who succeeded Mr. Fitch as
general manager, was expected down on the Black

138 Vagabonding with a General Manager

Hills' train for Omaha. Thinking he would come to
Fitch's car, Mr. White was admonished that in case
Mr. Burt called, to see to it that no liqufd refreshment
was in sight on the car, as Mr. Burt was a strict dis-
ciplinarian and it might be a serious mistake to even
mention the subject. We were absent some time.
Meanwhile the train from the Black Hills pulled in,
and Mr. Burt immediately went to Mr. Fitch's car to
look after the comfort of the guest of his road. On
entering Mr. White explained Mr. Fitch's absence, and
endeavored to lead the visitor into conversation and
entertain him. Burt was somewhat restless and walk-
ed up and down the car nervously. Finally he said, "If
this is Fitch's car, its the first time I ever saw it with-
out some sort of liquid refreshments on board. Is
there nothing to drink on this car?" "Oh, certainly,"
said Mr. White, and having a key to the locker, he
immediately set out a package, called "Lord's Best
Boon." When Mr. Fitch returned he found his guest
waiting for him, and joined in the festivities.

(sfjVfi)

GALENA. ILLINOIS. GENERAL
GRANTS OLD HOME.

Pig lead by the acre was stacked on the steamboat
wharf at Galena, Illinois, where, in 1841, my father,
Eli A. Collins, and Jesse R. Grant, the father of Gen-
eral Grant, opened the first leather and saddlery store
west of Buffalo, in a small frame building on a lot
where the DeSoto house now stands.

Jesse R. Grant ran the small tannery at Bethel,
Ohio, with hides bought in Galena, and shipped by
stern wheel steamers and barges down Fever river,
(afterwards changed to Galena river) and the Mis-
sissippi to Cairo, Illinois, then up the Ohio to the
Bethel landing, above Cincinnati.

Chicago was then a village, with old Fort Dear-
born, a fur trading point, few buildings and less pop-
ulation than the bustling lead mining town of Galena,
situated seven miles from the Mississippi river.

Stern wheel steamboats and barges carried away
the pig lead and hides to St. Louis and brought in the
supplies to the metropolis of Galena — for metropolis
it was, with no competing town, save the small village
of Dubuque.

Wagons, with trails drawn by from twelve to
twenty yoke of oxen, hauled the lead to the steamboat
landing. Each "pig" was branded on the end with
a letter indicating its ownership. It was piled "cob
fashion" as high as a man could conveniently lift the
weight.

140 Gen. Grant's Old Home

The firm of E. A. Collins & Company bought pig
lead, shipped it by stern wheel steamboats and barges
down the Mississippi river to New Orleans, thence by
sailing vessel to New York, sold it and made drafts
against the proceeds to pay for purchases.

The dissolution of the firm of E. A. Collins &
Company occurred in 1853 when Jesse R. Grant with-
drew and opened an opposition store in the old stone
Dowling building, corner of Main and Diagonal
streets, with Simpson S. Grant, the oldest of the Grant
brothers in charge.

While managing the leather store in the Dowling
building, Simpson S. Grant's health became impaired
and he was compelled to give up his business. It was
soon after that Orville L. Grant came to succeed him.
Later the Grant business was moved to the Coats-
worth block, on Main street. W. T. Medary went over-
land with Simpson and drove to Minnesota, hoping
to restore his health, but failed. Simpson died about
the summer of 186 1.

U. S. Grant came to Galena in i860 when his career
in the store began. When E. A. Collins, my father,
quit business he sold the building and stock on Main
street, near Hill, to Orville L. Grant and C. R. Per-
kins.

Henry, Corwith opened the first bank in Galena.
When he could supply eastern exchange to merchants
it was in sums of one to five or six hundred dollars
only, at a premium of five per cent. Occasionally an
eastern man would drift in with a "one hundred dol-
lar" bill and sell it to a merchant at the same prem-
ium. When used as remittance the bill was cut in two

Gen. Grant's Old Home 141

pieces, one half being sent by one mail, and the other
half going a week or two later. Occasionally a mer-
chant would muster courage and take the stage for
the long tedious ride of three to four weeks for Buf-
falo, the western terminus of the New York Central
Railroad, and thence by cars to New York City, to buy
goods. When such an event happened, the courageous
passenger usually carried an extra satchel (carpet
bag) filled with coin and currency for his fellow mer-
chants.

As the inside of the coach was usually filled, the
money satchel was sometimes thrown in the "boot"
with the other baggage. Stage robbers were unknown ;
the country had not reached the advanced stage of
"hold-ups" and "road agents."

The American House, a long two story frame hotel,
on Main, near Hill street, was the stage office and
headquarters for Frink & Walker's stage line. The
eastern terminus was Buffalo, New York. The stage
arrived twice a week, fairly regular and made every
effort to arrive oftener with letter mail. Postage was
twenty-five cents for each letter, and eastern news-
papers three to four weeks old also cost twenty-five
cents each.

So important an event as the arrival of the stage
caused stores to suspend business and the merchants
to gather around the hotel to "see the stage come in,"
carrying fifteen to twenty passengers, and the usual
allotment of forty pound of baggage to each pas-
senger, and twenty-five cents per pound for overweight.

The only water system the town boasted of was
"Swansey," a negro slave owned in Missouri, who

142 Gen. Grant's Old Home

drove a platform (two- wheeled) dray carrying three
water barrels, furnishing the stores with river water,
at fifteen cents per week for one bucket a day, and by
his industry earned from $1.25 to $2.00 per day, for
man, horse and dray.

In passing along the street it was not unusual to
see shotbags filled with 5- franc silver coins standing
against the store doors of W. P. Cubbage, — a most
unique merchant — to keep them open. Quiet, peace-
ful days were those, with no robbers or "hold-ups."

The lumber supply came from out of the Wiscon-
sin and St. Croix rivers. The loggers and pinery men,
the "Lumber Jacks" spent the winter in the woods,
cutting and banking logs. When the ice went out, the
logs were lashed in long narrow rafts and taken down
the current to the Mississippi river, there to be pinned
together to the size of an acre or more. Shelter for
the rafters was built on the field of logs, where they
lived. Long "sweeps" were put on the front and rear
end for "rudders" to steer by, to the number of fifteen
to twenty on each end.

Salt pork, flour, coffee and sugar were the usual
provisions. Thus equipped, the entire winter crew
embarked for their long run from the pineries to
the mouth of the Fever river, where the field of logs
was again put into small sections and slowly worked
up against the sluggish current of Fever river to "Old
Town," and delivered to the small steam saw-mills.
Here the occupation of the loggers ended.

Lined up in front of one of the levee stores, usual-
ly a "steamboat supply house," dealing in cable chains
and ropes, steamboat anchors, block and tackles, steam

Gen. Grant's Old Home 143

pipes, etc., two hundred to three hundred of these
rugged men, who for nearly a year had not been out
of the woods, found the paymaster, who called off
their names and handed each one $300.00 to $400.00
in a lump — a year's wages.

This was an event of no little importance to every
merchant and business man in the town. The keys
to the city were not officially turned over by the mayor.
That made no difference, for the loggers took posses-
sion of the town all the same.

The first thing necessary was to "tog out" in a black
soft hat; two or three suits of underclothing; red
woolen overshirts, trousers and red topped boots;
coats and overcoats were not a part of the wardrobe.
Dressed in this fashion, restaurants and hotels were the
next places of resort. After a "square meal" the town
began to move. There was no war tax on whiskey
in those days, fifty cents a gallon was the price, and
five cents a drink. Gallon jugs were in great demand ;
squads of men were seen everywhere going towards
the lumber piles along the river bank. Very little
tim€ was lost in "filling up" and soon the town was in
a whirl; fights were "on" everywhere in the main
streets; merchants "put up their shutters" and closed
their stores to save the window glass. Stones flew
as thick as hail. The town marshal, Tom O'Leary,
organized his force of half a dozen constables and
swore in every idle man he met on the street to aid
in arresting the ringledders and putting them in the
"calaboose," which at times was taxed to overflow-
ing.

To arrest a big crowd of money-spending logmen.

144 Gen. Grant's Old Home

and in the end retain their good will, so that patronage
would not be withheld, required a bit of diplomacy.
The business men were equal to it, and quite frequent-
ly merchants would go personally and bail the offender
out. This usually occurred about the time they had
''sobered up" and there was no further need of their
confinement.

It was at such times that Esquire Coombs, the Jus-
tice of the Peace, would sweep out his office, opposite
the DeSoto house, where justice was dispensed, finish
cooking his own meal in the back room, and then be
ready to ''hold court." The squire was a unique char-
acter; five feet and four inches tall, weighing nearly
three hundred pounds and girthing as much as his
height; eyes inclined to cross; stern of countenance,
and a trifle surly of disposition. When on the bench,
he was dignified enough for a judge of the supreme
court, a "terror to evil doers," but withal most just
and conscientious.

Sam Hughlett was a prominent and striking figure
on the streets of Galena ; six feet and three inches tall ;
of large frame ; and a most jovial, easy-going, upright
man; his word was his bond; generous to a fault;
most unostentatious and quiet of manner; a valued
friend whose rugged honesty and upright business
methods were perhaps better known among the miners
and merchants than any man throughout the lead
mines. He owned the first smelter of Galena ore, and
later owned all of the smelters and bought pig lead up
to the time of his death, which occurred along in the
early "sixties." He and the Corwiths were the deal-
ers in lead in early days.

Cen. Grant's Old Home 145

Nearly three hundred two- wheeled platform drays
hauled the merchandise to and from the levee and
stores, and a more loyal set of employes was never
known. The drivers were the owners of their drays,
one to half a dozen of which being regularly employed
by each merchant and business house. It was a sight
to be remembered — ^the hurry and bustle of shipping
and receiving goods on the levee, with at times
twenty or more ''packet," independent and "opposi-
tion" side wheel steamers, loading and unloading. He
was a good driver to keep **in line" in the narrow
crooked alleys of pig lead and it was a common sight
for a drayman to get down and assert his rights with
a dray pin or a black-snake whip in his effort to at-
tract the attention of the **mud clerk" of the steam-
boat and have him "receipt for his load" in his turn.

Owners of the packet lines lived all the way be-
tween St. Louis and St. Paul. One was the Galena,
Dubuque, Dunleith and St. Paul line, the other was
the West Newton Opposition line.

A steamboat captain was a "king." A pilot was a
"prince." The latter being known by an immaculate
white ruffled and embroidered shirt front, a gay neck-
tie, and a "sunburst" diamond pin, to which was at-
tached a small gold chain with a plain gold pin to
stick in the bosom for safety. The pilot's pay was
$300.00 to $400.00 per month, with one or two as-
sistants and a "cub," learning the river under him.
When these distinguished men walked down the gang
plank and stepped on shore, the ground trembled.

On the arrival of trains bringing three hundred to
five hundred men, women and children, the boats

146 Gen. Grant's Old Home

would immediately get up steam. Each boat had
from one to three "runners," soliciting passengers, and
the cutting and slashing of passenger fares would turn
the heart of a railroad man of the present age to
stone; beginning at $12.00 for cabin passage, the
price of tickets to St. Paul, not a few tail ends were
carried on **deck" from Galena to St. Paul, for $1.00,
and many first cabin, including meals, for $3.00 to
$5.00. It was cheaper to travel on a steamboat than
to stay at home.

About 1854-5 the Illinois Central railroad completed
its road to Galena. Then the emigration to Min-
nesota began. Twelve to twenty steamboats were
loading and unloading at the wharves. When the big
sidewheelers, the Northern Belle, War Eagle, Ocean
Wave, Menominee and the West Newton landed at
the wharves, the river was too narrow to turn around
in and head out, so they had to back out as far down as
the mouth of the river — seven miles.

It became necessary to dredge out a crescent
shaped bank of earth opposite the landing to enable
steamers to turn around and steam out head first.
When the Illinois Central railroad was completed to
Dunleith, the steamboat traffic ceased and from the
increase of mud and decrease of water in the Galena
river, that stream became navigable only for light
draught small boats, skiffs, and the like.

The genial and warm-hearted young banker, the
late John E. Corwith, was the possessor of a hand-
some steam launch, carrying ten to fifteen persons. A
story is told by Mr. Corwith's friends — the entire truth
of which I do not vouch for — that when the launch ar-

I

Gen. CranVs Old Home 147

rived at Galena the river was very low, scarcely navi-
gable for even this small craft. John was popular
with Galenians and particularly with the congressman
of the Northern district of Illinois, through whose ef-
forts and those of M. Y. Johnson and the citizens
generally the government was induced to put in ''locks"
at the mouth of the river and back the water up, in-
creasing its depth, at least to the tonnage of the pleas-
ure boat.

It became a common thing among the passengers
on the Illinois Central railroad, as they looked out of
the car windows, to enquire: ''There seems to be no
traffic on this stream from Galena to its mouth; what
are the locks for:'" "The government put them in to
make the river navigable for John Cor with *s pleasure
boat; the only vessel on the river," was the reply.

This was Galena in early days, where General
Grant came in March, i860, to make his home.
Today it is surrounded by railroads on all sides. A
city built on "seven hills," the pride of the populace,
and a delightful home for the sons and daughters of
its pioneers, but in business and population, somewhat
circumscribed.

With the extension and completion of the Illinois
Central railroad to Dunleith, twenty-five miles west,
the days of steamboating and the glory of historical
Galena departed.

Eli S. Parker, one of General Grant's staff officers
during the Civil War, was a full blooded Seneca In-
dian and then chief of the "Six Nations."
By profession he was an engineer; a man of splendid
physique, standing six feet high and weighing over two
hundred pounds.

148 Gen. Grant's Old Home

As superintendent of construction for the govern-
ment, he built the postoffice in Galena in 1857-58.
During his two years' residence there he was immense-
ly popular, contributing his valuable experience to all
the city's public affairs, as well as to all social enter-
tainments, where he was a great favorite. He was an
enthusiastic sportsman and a fine field shot. It was
the writer's good fortune to have spent many a day
in field and marsh with him, greatly enjoying the com-
panionship of this gentlemanly and jovial hunter.

William R. Rowley, on General Grant's staff for a
short time and a close companion later, left the office
of county clerk for Joe Davies county, to join the
army.

John A. Rawlins, Grant's chief of staff, and later
his Secretary of War, was the law partner of David
Sheean, Esq., now, as then, one of Galena's most
honored citizens, and a talented attorney.

Another Galena citizen and friend of General
Grant, was General J. E. Smith. Before the war he
was a business partner of J. W. Safely. General
Grant's first visit to Galena was about 1853, while tour-
ing the upper Mississippi. A St. Louis steamer, on
which he was a passenger, ran into Galena near mid-
night and the General took this occasion to walk to
the home of E. A. Collins, my father — the only man
he knew in town — a distance of three miles.

The General's first war horse, a chestnut gelding,
was sent to General Smith after the Donaldson fight;
later he was turned over to J. A. Packard, and was
the first horse he used in the war. His bones rest
somewhere among the "seven hills."

Gen. Grant's Old Home ^ 149

General Grant did not live in Galena very long.
Quiet, unobtrusive, he was a stranger in a strange
land, entering upon a new life. It was not strange
that after many months' residence, scarcely a dozen
families knew of the existence of himself and family.
One evidence of this was that the retail merchants and
grocery men did not venture to run a family supply
account with him. Thomas Gilston, then a retail gro-
cer on Main street, near Hill, declined to send a bar-
rel of flour to his home without spot cash or payment
guaranteed. E. A. Collins guaranteed the bill and
the flour was sent. After this incident, no guarantee
was necessary.

Grant drove a span of black ponies that could step
along at a lively gait and it was his custom on Sun-
day to drive with Mrs. Grant and the children for
Sunday dinner to the home of E. A. Collins. On
week days scarcely a day passed that he did not visit
the store of Mr. Collins and he was always smoking.

Destiny that shapes the ends of all mankind soon
changed the career of this most modest, quiet man. I
recall a time after Fort Sumpter was fired on, that E. B.
Washburn, a republican congressman from Northern
Illinois, was particularly active.

The War of the Rebellion was on, politicians were
straining every point to get "to the front," meetings
being held every night for the organization of com-
panies of troops. More especially was it noticed that
the politicians were patriotic and eager to care for the
welfare of their country, if they could get a good com-
mission, running all the way from a captaincy up.

In this hurry and scurry of patriotism the name of
U. S. Grant was not mentioned. On leaving the store

150 Gen. Grant's Old Home

one day at noon, near Main and Hill streets, I was
with my father when he met E. B. Washburn.
There was a wide difference in politics between
the two men and relations were greatly strained.
This, however, did not deter Mr. Collins from ap-
proaching the congressman in this way : "Washburn,
you and your political friends in all your activity in
calling meetings, raising troops and appointing offi-
cers, evidently are not aware of a man in your midst
that has been educated by the government, and having
served under Zack Taylor in the Mexican war,
knows something about practical warfare." "Who is
this man?" inquired Washburn. "Ulysses S. Grant,"
said Mr. Collins, "whom you all pass on the street
every day and do not know." "If that is so," said
Washburn, "I will look him up." At the next meeting
at the court house for the purpose of enlisting troops,
Grant was called out of the audience — for he attend-
ed nearly all the war meetings — and invited to the
platform. At the end of this meeting, Grant was ap-
pointed to the distinguished position of drill master
of newly enlisted men.

To my certain knowledge this was the beginning of
General Grant's career in the War of the Rebellion.

It is astonishing the alacrity with which hundreds
of Galena people suddenly "knew Grant," and as time
went on the number increased until almost every man
in Joe Davies county remembered that they of course,

"knew him all the time."

* * *

THE METTLE OF GRANT.

F. A. Eastman, for the Chicago Chronicle, in a long
interview with John H. Alden, in December, 1902, a

Gen, Grant's Old Home 151

former resident of Galena, later of St. Paul, Minn.,
referring to E. A. Collins, has this to say :

"This reminds me of a little circumstance illustrat-
ing Grant's loyalty to his friends, a trait that never
deserted him. This was so graceful, so brave, an evi-
dence to those who were true to him when the days
were dark, that it deserves mentioning. Now, Mr.
Collins was a democrat, and what little politics Grant
gave expression to was in dead opposition to every-
thing savoring of abolitionism. Mr. Collins liked
Grant's direct, quiet way of doing things, so he gave
him what assistance he could, and Grant needed it.

"During the war Grant made numerous tenders of
positions to Mr. Collins, but that gentleman would
accept none of them. All were declined with thanks.
Immediately after tne election of 1868, President-elect
Grant wrote to Mr. Collins.

"I have handled and read that letter, and as near as
I can recollect it was worded like this:

" 'Dear Mr. Collins : I have just been elected pres-
ident of the United States. There is but one office
that I have thus far pledged myself to bestow upon
any man and that is the Secretaryship of State to the
Hon. E. B. Washburn. You may name the man for
the second office, Your friend,

" 'U. S. Grant.' "

Mr. Collins never took advantage ot this tender of
the new president, either for himself or for a friend."

^

ox

Eho

PART II

COPYRIGHT BY

ROBERT F. GILDER
1011

CONTENTS— PART II

STORIES OF THE PLAINS—

Old Fort Laramie 5

Phillips' Account of the Killing of Powell 12

Catching Trout Through the Ice 16

"He Looked Like the Boss of a Mule Train"... 18

A Cowboy Wedding 21

How THE Buffalo Disappeared 26

California Joe — Who Brought in the Mule? 28

A Man with Nerve 34

The Killing of Hunton 36

MosQuiTos 42

Scalped by the Sioux 44

The Rattlesnake 45

How Antelope Kill Snakes 46

Jim Bridger 46

Holding Up a U. S. Marshal 47

HUNTING stories-
Wild Goose Hunting on the Platte River 51

Indian Sympathy 61

Lost Near Camp 65

In the Sand Dunes 68

A Waterhaul in the Wind River Range 70

Antelope Hunting 75

How to Pack a Bear Trap 79

Out On the Teapot Bad Lands 81

Incidents 85

CONTENTS— PART II-Continued

MISCELLANEOUS STORIES—

Working for Wages 89

Is This Conscience Money? 89

Hustling 90

The Squaw Man 90

Down the Missouri River on a Steamboat 97

The Pack Train 100

Wild Buffalo in a Cattle Pen 101

"Jane" 102

Side Lights on a Gold Mining Camp 103

A Miners' Bread Riot 107

Lively Staging in the West 109

Guarding a Prisoner 112

A Nez Perces Squaw 113

Sixty Thousand Dressed Buffalo Hides 116

Weighing a Grizzly Bear 119

LAKES AND WOODS OF WISCONSIN 121

SAN FRANCISCO EARTHQUAKE AND FIRE 133

A Marine's Story 145

THE BATTLE OF SUMMIT SPRINGS, NEBRASKA,

JULY, 1869 148

STORIES OF THE PLAINS

OLD FORT LARAMIE.

This historic old military post, at the time of
which I write, had been occupied by United States
troops over 60 years. Previous to this it was an im-
portant point for the fur traders of British Colum-
bia, Western Canada, New Orleans, St. Louis, and,
in fact of the entire west, and was known as Fort St.
John. From the time it was occupied by the United
States military arm, nearly every officer and enlist-
ed man in the army, from the year 1845 up to 1900,
both cavalry and infantry, had visited there. The
Fort was built for six or eight companies and
later enlarged for a regiment, because of its being
located in the heart of the great Sioux Indian coun-
try. It had protected the Mormons on their pil-
grimage to the Great Salt Lake, the California emi-
grants of '48 and '49, the various Indian commis-
sions treating with the Sioux, as well as the travel
to the Black Hills. It was at Fort Laramie that
General George Crook, commanding the Depart-
ment of the Platte, fitted out his great army against
Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull in 1875-76. The post
has since been abandoned, the buildings sold, and
at this writing it has assumed the proportions of a
small village.

During my stay of twelve years at the post
scarcely a day passed that did not reveal some item
going to make western history. During that time I

6 Old Fori Laramie

recall these officers : General John E. Smith, Colonel
Townsend, General L. P. Bradley, Julius Mason, A.
W. Evans, Jesse Lee, John Mix, Leonard Hay,
Sammy Munson, Teddy Egan, Captain Collier,
Lieutenants Allison, Seaton, and others, who had
been in command of the post or of various com-
panies. The post, too, had been visited by the
Sheridans, the Shermans, General Thomas, General
Curtis, General G. M. Dodge, and if the names could
be emblazoned on a monument erected on the old
parade ground, and the reservation be set aside as a
government reserve park, commemorative of one
of the oldest and most important military posts in
the United States, not a taxpayer in this broad land
would begrudge his small contribution to the fund.

But there is too much politics, both in the house
and senate of the United States to take an interest
in such a trifling thing.

I was post trader at Fort Laramie for twelve
years. The soldiers during my stay were a rough,
devil-may-care assortment from all states. Many
of them were refugees from justice, some had been
former penitentiary convicts, and nearly all were as
tough a lot of men as could be sifted through the
mesh. To them no service was a hardship, no order
too strict to obey; scouting for Indians, sleeping
without tents in the coldest weather, wading through
mud knee deep, and frozen streams and snow. When
the march was over for the day many of them were
employed by officers to pitch tents, cook, make
beds, carry wood and water and prepare meals, for
an additional compensation of $2.00 to $5.00 per
month over the regular pay of an enlisted man, of

Old Fort Laramie 7

$13.00 per month. These were designated by others
of the company as *'dog robbers."

Along in 75 and 76 the Indians were at their
worst. Later came the "road agents," and it was
an uninteresting day that did not bring some event
worthy of record. Some of the "bad" men of the
country found employment at the ranches nearby.
It seemed beyond the abihty of that stripe of off-
scourings to lead a fairly respectable life and keep
their own council, and when payday came around
it was the rule to come to the post and get glori-
ously drunk. With a Colt's revolver in one bootleg,
hunting knife in the other, and carrying a reputa-
tion as a "bad" man, respectable people were on
their guard. If the clerks in the trader's store did
not come in contact with them at the height of their
rage it was considered a quiet day. To the credit
of these clerk employes of mine, with good judg-
ment and plenty of "sand," the very toughest of the
"bad" men could be wallowed in the mud in front
of the store for any great breach of conduct. The
calling of the sergeant of the guard or officer of
the day sometimes landed the toughest in the guard
house, and when they sobered up they were usually
quietly led off the reservation in front of a bayonet
point never to return.

One amusing incident was when a tall, slim
Yanctonai Indian drifted in from the Standing Rock
agency on the Missouri river. He was togged out
in a flimsy remnant of a buckskin shirt, leggins,
badly worn moccasins and brass wire armlets, pre-
senting the appearance of an aboriginal tramp. He
at once began a speech in Sioux which no one could

6 ' Old Fort Laramie

understand. Baptiste Pourre, generally known as
**Big Bat" the scout, living six miles up the river,
was the post interpreter and came down only when
ordered by the commanding officer, or to the com-
missary for supplies. The Indian addressed him-
self to everyone, individually and collectively, about
the store, talking his gibberish in a loud voice and
exhibiting apparent distress. General L. P. Bradley,
commanding the post, chanced to pass the store
door and hearing the racket came in to see what
was up. The Indian immediately turned on the
officer and began a new speech and he held the
general down to it until he was through. The gen-
eral at once dispatched a courier for the post inter-
preter to learn if he could understand what the
Sioux had on his mind, evidently believing that it
must be something of a serious nature. It happened
I was the main victim, having been pointed out as
the storekeeper.

The orderly and Bat soon came in together and
the Indian's parley was begun again. He fairly
danced with joy when he found someone who could
understand his language. After a few moment's
conversation Bat turned to the general and said :

''This Indian came from the Standing Rock
agency on the Missouri river. He came alone to see
the soldiers and the storekeeper and the big white
chief. He is very poor and hungry and wants to go
back tonight to Red Cloud's camp. He lived here
when he was a boy, raced horses and played games,
and there were many buffalo along the river, and
his people were as thick in the country almost as
the blades of grass, and he wants the storekeeper

Old Fort Laramie 9

to give him a dress and some beads for his squaw,
some raisins for his children and tobacco for him-
self."

Turning to me General Bradley said :

''Collins, this important business seems to be up
to you. When you get through with your friend,
the interpreter will direct him out of the post."

To this I replied :

**He need not be detained on my account. Bat
can take him at once."

One of the clerks bundled up ten yards of calico,
some beads, tobacco and raisins. The Indian shook
hands all around and said "How" to everyone in
the store and was shown the way down to the bridge

and across the river.

* * *

A few miles above the post on the Platte river,
just below the canyon and near Whalen's ranch
was a cataract in the river which was a great fishing
place. In season I made frequent trips to this point,
usually meeting with great success, taking from
twenty-five to one hundred pounds of wall-eyed
pike weighing from one to five pounds each. Dr.
Grimes, then contract surgeon at the post, accom-
panied me on one of these trips. On returning we
came near the "4-P" ranch, where a high ledge cf
rocks hung over the road, the highway being in
reality the old California trail on the north side
of the river. Wind and rain had cut away the soft
sand rock on the road level, leaving dark and of en
spaces or shelters under the ledges. Coyotes made
their dens there and bones of animals were scattered
about in profusion. A bundle 'of red blankets at-

10 Old Fort Laramie

tracted our attention, and on investigation we found
a "good Indian" wrapped up and carelessly pushed
into one of the holes. We called him a ''good In-
dian" because he was a dead one. The living In-
dians were then at the very pinnacle of their devil-
ment, stealing horses and cattle, burning wagons,
killing every belated teamster or traveler who came
their way. They were not good Indians.

From the careless way in which the bundle was
pushed under the ledge, the body had evidently
been placed there at night, the fellow having been
killed in some skirmish with white men who were
defending their stock, and the body had been carried
as far as could be by his companions in the raid,
who, perhaps expected to return and get it the earli-
est opportunity. A few days later some prospectors
passed by the spot where the body had been cached

but saw nothing of it.

* * *

When cowmen wore $30.00 Stetson hats, with
leather bands, high-heeled boots to prevent being
caught in the stirrup and to dig into the dirt after
they roped an animal while on foot; leather
''chapps," as protection for their legs in brush as
well as for warmth in winter; braided quirt; leath-
ern cufifs to protect wrists in roping; leathern shirt
bosom; a No. 130 ''Collins" saddle, or, as more ex-
travagant taste would require, a saddle costing from
$75.00 to $100.00; $1.25 bridle; Mexican inlaid silver
spurs costing $25.00, and a $30.00 bit of the same
material ; they generally placed them upon a $25.00
or $30.00 cow horse. This was not the only use for
an outfit costing all the way from $75.00 to $200.00.

Old Fort Laramie It

Anything with the name "Collins" from Cheyenne,
Omaha, or from our stores along the Northern Pa-
cific, in Montana, would always pass as current as
gold coin on the range at more than their cost.

Even President Roosevelt learned to value such
articles as the most appropriate for use on the range
and in handling cattle and horses, and our strenuous
president did not stop at the range either to find
out other uses for leather work with the stamp
''Collins" upon it. When later he went to the
southern states to join the fashionable riding clubs
and follow the hounds it was he who suggested the
cowgirl "Collins" saddle, and in order to show the
faith he had in it he at once ordered them with
money from his own purse. Among all the thou-
sands of customers and cowmen whose names were
on our books there were none more agreeable to us
or more appreciated and valued than President
Roosevelt. Should these pages ever reach his eye
no doubt they will remind him of the jolly rough-
and-tumble life of cow camps in the piping days
when he followed the trail at Medora, Montana, on
the Little Missouri, of the longhorns from his ranch,
when he was "one of the men" of that country.

I have said a "Collins" cowboy outfit costing,
perhaps, $200.00 would pass as current as would
gold coin with all cowmen on or off the range. This
outfit was considered a star "buck" in the favorite
game of poker, played nightly around a camp fire
when the last wage check had changed to the
winner. In fact anything made of leather would go
at par or at a premium in such a game, such was the
character of horse equipments made by us — because

12 Phillips' Account of the Killing of Powell

the cowmen required the goods and they would pay
the price.

There are many ''Collins" equipments still on the
ranges of Texas, Oregon, the British possessions,
and other parts of the west, made thirty years ago.

PHILLIPS' ACCOUNT OF THE KILLING OF
POWELL.

The following incident shows the good-fellowship,
loyalty and neighborly interest of the early settlers
on the Laramie river in the '60's and '70's, when the
Indians menaced every white settler who came onto
the Laramie and Platte rivers, for a hundred miles
around.

The killing of Powell occurred in 1872. Powell
was a quaker, driving a herd of cattle north to find
a safe range for winter, and later to make sale of
his herd. In the fall of 71 a snowstorm caught him
with his herd near the mouth of the North Laramie
river, where he built a cabin and corrals and win-
tered. A man by the name of Frazier and three
other men made up his party when he made camp.
Powell and his men were always on the alert in
watching their herd, because they knew that In-
dians swarmed about them, killing cattle to eat and
watching every opportunity to steal horses. The
vigilance of this party of four men was unabating,
and this same vigilance led to the death of Powell.

Leaving his camp after a snow storm in charge
of the four men, he started out alone on a fine mule
that was shod to ride through and around the cattle

Phillips' Account of the Killing of Powell IS

and see if the storm had scattered them badly, and
also to see if he could pick up the trail of his stolen
horses that were taken by the Indians before a snow
storm of a day or two previous. When evening
came and he did not return to the ranch, the men
in camp became uneasy, and Frazier rode down to
the ranch of F. M. Phillips, one of the early settlers
who furnished beef to the military post, and wha
lived at the mouth of the Chugwater on the Lara-
mie river only a few miles away, to ascertain if
Powell had been seen in the vicinity, there being
few other settlers between there and Laramie.
Phillips was at home, and after hearing the story of
Frazier, concluded that Powell had been taken in
by the Indians, for it was only the night before that
they ran off some of Powell's horse stock. As
Powell was a sober, industrious and reliable man,.
Phillips' idea was at once accepted — that the In-
dians who had run off the horses and held them
near by, were expecting the owner would follow
and that they would capture or kill him, take his
saddle horse, then supply their want of beef, and
get out of the country before the alarm was given
and any one could follow them. Phillips immedi-
ately saddled a horse and rode to Fort Laramie, a
distance of nearly twenty miles. General John E.
Smith was in command and Phillips called on him
at once and told the story of Frazier and asked
General Smith to send a sergeant and a few men
and he would go with them and try and learn the
fate of Powell. It was supposed that the military
was stationed at Fort Laramie for two reasons only,
viz.; to protect settlers and to guard the emigrants

14 Phillips' Account of the Killing of Powell

going west. One hundred and fifty Indians were
in the post on that day peacefully trading at the
store, and General Smith presumed that the incident
related by Mr. Phillips must be untrue. He wovld
not believe that any war parties were out, while In-
dians were peacefully trading at the post^ and flatly
refused to allow any soldiers to leave the garrison.
For his error of judgment in this matter the settlers
blame him to this day.

"Well," said Phillips to the general, "if you won't
give us any assistance I will raise what few men I
can on the river, who I know will not refuse to go,
and I will go with them and we will try to protect
ourselves. Perhaps on our return we will show you
that we are right."

There were a few cowboys working at the ranches
along the river, and when Phillips told his story
four of them volunteered to go and immediately
saddled their ponies to accompany him. It was
nearly dark when the party arrived at Phillips'
ranch, and here they remained all night.

The next morning at daybreak they were off for
Powell's camp to see if he was still missing. Having
no tidings, they took up the trail of the shod mule
ridden by Powell and followed it in the direction of
Cottonwood creek. Here they were attracted by a
bunch of coyotes hiking away from a thick bunch
of brush, and also a flock of magpies hovering
around, which led them to the carcass of an old bull
the Indians had killed and feasted on the day before.
Here they also found the trail of the loose stock
Powell had evidently been trailing. The remains
of a fire, pony and moccasin tracks were numerous.

Phillips' Account of the Killing of Powell 15

Powell evidently followed the trail of his lost stock
to this point, and here the Indians captured both
him and the mule he rode. There were signs where
they had made "medicine" by rocks heated and
covered by a small tepee ; this was to decide whether
they would carry him away alive or kill him and
leave no chance for his giving the alarm.

Trails ran all together, but the five men were ex-
perienced in the arts and wiles of the Sioux, and
making a circle around the camp ground, found
where the shod mule ridden by Powell led out from
the Cottonwood, with pony tracks of an Indian on
each side of the mule trail. Evidently the Indians
were afraid to turn Powell loose lest he give alarm
before they could get out of the country. The trail
led to Fish creek, a dry stream bed, and a wide sand
draw, and out on the bank of boulders. It was evi-
dent that the Indians had made Powell a prisoner,
and up to that time had not decided what disposi-
tion they would make of him. It was evident, also,
that the Indians left behind had later followed the
same trail.

Just across the big Fish creek sand draw, among
some boulders, Phillips came to the body of Powell.,
lying on his face, with legs and arms extended,
scalped. Two arrows were sticking in his back,
and the back of his skull was crushed in as if done
with a rock. They carried the body on a horse to
Phillips' ranch, and the next day took it in a wagon
to the post to get the quartermaster to make a coffin
to bury it in. Then Phillips went to report the find-
ing of the body to the commanding officer and told
him the circumstances and added: "If we had had

16 Catching Trout Through the Ice

ten or fifteen soldiers, we could have overtaken and
captured the Indians before they reached the Platte
river." Powell's body was buried at the post. The
number of horses he lost was thirty to thirty-five
head. Powell's home was in Conconaski, Kansas.
Sanborn & King, attorneys in Washington, later
made a claim for the stock for his relatives, but the
result I do not know.

CATCHING TROUT THROUGH THE ICE.

A short bow-legged fellow about thirty years old,
weighing less than one hundred pounds, came to me
at ''Silver Bow." His story was brief, but had the
merit of frankness at least. He said : ''I've been a
sailor eight years before the mast on a cooley ship,
living on 'duff' until a square meal would surprise
my stomach. Left the ship at San Francisco,
walked half the way, fell in with a pack train from
Walla Walla to Helena. There I saw an old mess-
mate whom I thought was looking for me, and I
took to the sage brush. Can you give me a job?
I am too light of weight to mine." I showed him
a pile of pitch pine trees hauled up for my winter's
fire wood, and said: "You will find th** axe at the
corner of the cabin." When he had spent a week
on that wood pile it was chopped and piled up in
ship-shape, with the chips gathered and throv^n
under a cover of poles he built, and all finished with
as much care as a hunter would sit down and load
a thousand cartridges.

"There's a world of trout down on Dear Lodge
near Johnnie Grant's place, thirty miles from here,"

Catching Trout Through the Ice 17

he said to me one day. There were eight inches
of snow on the ground; the mercury stood at
10 degrees below zero. The following day was
Sunday, when all the miners came in to trade. The
sailor caught up my two pinto ponies and Monday
before daylight we two, with a lunch in our pockets,
an axe, fishing tackle and a piece of antelope meat
for bait, started out. In four hours we were on
Deer Lodge creek cutting holes through eight inches
of clear, solid ice. Baiting our hooks with lines to a
short pole of willow, we dropped them into eight
feet of water, and at the first throw brought up
two mountain brook trout that would weigh three-
quarters of a pound each. As fast as we could bait
our hooks and get them into the water a trout
would take it. After landing four or five the. water
froze on the lines and covered them with nearly an
inch of ice. After building a fire on the ice and
eating a very cold lunch we fished another hour,
and then started back home with nearly a half
bushel of as handsome trout as it has ever been my
good fortunte to see. The fish froze stiff in half a
minute after being out of water. The sailor said:
"They froze with the 'wiggle' in." Lashing them
behind the saddle in a grain bag we were back at
Silver Bow soon after dark and threw the trout in
a tub of water to thaw them out. In half an hour
"Shorty" called out : "Bugger my eyes, mate, Tm a
moose if the flounders ain't going." Sure enough,
they had thawed out and were wiggling around in
the shallow water in the tub trying to swim.

I have related this incident to many experienced
fishermen and have sometimes noticed they ap-

18 He Looked Like the Boss of a Mule Train

peared to regard it as a "fish story" of pretty fair
proportions, but although among them were several
naturalists not one of them could give a satisfactory
answer to the question : How can fish which have
been frozen stiff come to life?

During my many fishing trips I have met fisher-
men of many countries and with all of them I have
discussed the frozen fish incident, but no one could
advance a palpable reason why our trout came to life
after they had been dead to all appearances for sev-
eral hours, and not only dead, but also frozen.

For my own part I would say that if fish were
dead before the water around them thawed out they
could never revive. Our trout surely froze with the
"wiggle" on them, as my companion suggested.

HE LOOKED LIKE THE BOSS OF A MULE TRAIN.

Fort Laramie was headquarters for General Crook
during his preparations for his Indian war against
Sitting Bull and the northern Indians, in 1875-76,
and in anticipation of an Indian war that foreboded
hardships and sufferings of the troops, wintering in
the then unsettled Big Horn country, with the usual
accidents of war added, a number of prominent
newspapers throughout the country sent corres-
pondents to Fort Laramie to accompany the army
on the campaign. Of course no events had oc-
curred up to that time and it was tedious work for
the correspondents to stay around the post, where

He Looked Like the Boss of a Mule Train 19

no information could be obtained from the "close
corporation" of General Phil Sheridan, who fre-
quently visited the post to consult with General
Crook and other officers who were busy enough
figuring out the plans of their campaign to be
carried into effect later. One afternoon the stage
from Cheyenne drove up to my store and a gentle-
manly appearing young man, with a tired look, and
covered with the dust of travel, got out and in-
quired at the store where General Crook could be
found.

He was directed to the officers' club rooms ad-
joining the store, and he started in that direction.
The general and myself had just returned from up
the Laramie valley, where we had spent the day
hunting, and he had not yet gotten out of his well
worn canvas hunting clothes and he looked like
anything but a general planning the most important
Indian war against the northern hostile Indians
that the United States has ever known. He was
knocking the billiard balls about waiting for his
dinner. The new arrival, who proved to be a news-
paper representative, walked around to the club
room and looked in on a few young officers, but
saw not one who had the appearance of a general, so
he returned to the store for further information.
The clerk asked :

"Did you see a large man with a full beard dressed
in canvas hunting clothes and a slouch hat?"

"Yes," he replied, "I saw a seedy looking man
dressed as you describe, but I am looking for Gen-
eral Crook."

"That's him," said the clerk.

20 He Looked Like the Boss of a Mule Train

*'Well," said the stranger, ''I took that man to be
one of the bosses of a mule train."

"The clerk replied, "When you have talked with
him a few minutes, you will find he has a more im-
portant job on hand than bossing a mule train."

Some months after this incident, and after General
Mills' engagement with the Indians at Slim Butte,
the general had been with his command enduring all
the hardships of the noted Indian campaign on
Tongue river and Rosebud, in which no private or
officer suffered more privations or hardships than
did the general himself, the command returned
from the war, via Deadwood, then a somewhat new
mining camp, that from its earliest discovery had
been menaced and harassed by Indians, miners being
driven in from prospecting, and many of them
killed. The arrival of troops was to Deadwood and
every settlement or prospector around it, the
greatest boon they could possibly wish for. The
keys of the town were by common consent turned
over to the army. In the language of the Honor-
able Peter White of Michigan, the city "filled them
to their jaw" with the best the town could offer.
Officers and soldiers were treated alike. The
gambling houses engaged an extra band, the "hurdy
gurdy" houses opened with an added vim, and
everything was free "to Crook and his soldiers."
The troops were almost in rags from their long and
arduous service in the field and not an officer or
soldier among them but what was as well or better
dressed than the general himself. Out of the mer-
chants' limited stock of clothing which would be-
come a brigadier general he was togged out in a

A Cowboy Wedding 21

brand new suit, and in this he soon after arrived at
Fort Laramie by stage to get in communication with
Washington, D. C, this being the nearest telegraph
station. On his arrival there I criticized the gen-
eral's appearance a little, which did not in the least
disconcert him. He said : "This is the very best the
Deadwood merchant could supply and I was mighty
glad to get it." Then the incident of that same
correspondent who months before had taken the
general for the ''boss of a mule train," was brought
out, for this same newspaper man had accompanied
the general back to the post to send to his paper the
latest news of the Indian war. As he finished his
last article in my office and folded the papers to
take to the telegraph office he said :

"When I go back east, I'll tell a few of these news-
paper striplings that out west when you are looking
for a man, to 'look him in the eye and not at the
clothes he wears.' "

A COWBOY WEDDING.

If any romance can be attached to incidents of
mountain life with one to five feet of snow on the
ground, and the mercury 30 degrees below zero, the
following is deserving of a place among romances.

Charles A. Pollard and myself owned a ranch on
Labonte creek, in Wyoming, beginning at its
mouth where it empties into the Platte river, and
extending south up the valley nearly five miles. Mr.
Pollard had two sons, one named Percy E. All his
life had been spent on the Laramie river and on La-

22 A Cowboy Wedding

bonte creek. Taking naturally to cattle and cow-
boy life, he became an expert horseman, and one of
the very best cattle men. He knew every brand on
the range for a hundred miles around, as well as he
knew his own name, and was always in demand by
cattle owners as one of the experts in handling both
cattle and horses, and attended all the round-ups
of the season — and yet a mere boy.

At the head of Horseshoe creek, up near Laramie
peak, was a little saw mill, which supplied lumber
to settlers building ranch houses in the vicinity. In
the course of time the *T. C." ranch built a frame
house at the crossing of the stream, and Percy, with
one of the ranch hands, made frequent trips up to
the mill in the mountains for lumber and logs. The
mill owner, a Mr. Austin, with his family, lived
there summer and winter among the pine trees. The
weather was always severe in winter, but the win-
ter's snow in many ways facilitated his getting out
logs and hauling them to the mill to keep it running
in summer.

The daughter of the owner of the mill, Miss
Austin, was a comely mountain girl, endowed with
industrious habits, good sense, and her share of
good looks — honest and loyal to the core. It was
not long until Percy's frequent trips to the mill be-
came of so much interest to him that rain or shine
he was always ready to *'pull for the mountains."
The trip could be made from the ranch in a day,
with good roads and pleasant weather. Coming
down with a load of logs or lumber, the wagon
would not stand up under the load without the brake
and "rough locking" the wheels. It took nearly

A Cowboy Wedding 23

two days to come down with a load. Percy was
counted a number one hand with a team, and a re-
sourceful ingenuity enabled him to get out of all
sorts of scrapes which log hauling occasionally got
him into.

When snow came in the mountains, and an occa-
sional thaw on the Labonte, the roads were icy, and
even rough-locking the wagon wheels would not
prevent the wagon slipping on side hills. At times
the cowboy would stay in the mountain saw mill
camp over night, awaiting more favorable roads and
weather. As the days shortened, Percy thought
that four days was about right for a trip, and he so
planned that his lay-overs were at the house of the
sawyer. Winter was now on in earnest and it was
impossible to haul logs through deep snow. There
was work to be done at the ranch — fences to fix,
wood to chop, cattle to be fed. Six days was a long
week. Every Sunday Percy had a new bronco to
break, and this took him over the old road to the
saw mill. Monday morning, however, always found
him home at the ranch for breakfast. He was known
by all the cowboys and men of the country and was
well liked, always lending a hand to every one he
found in trouble with cattle, horses, etc., and the
boys were as ready to do him a turn.

One morning he got out of bed and found a level
foot of snow on the ground, and the snow still fall-
ing, and not a shod horse on the place.

''Carrie, let me ride your bay mare to Douglas —
I'll be back tonight. She don't ball up or stumble
like the broncos," Percy called to his sister in the
next room.

24 A Cowboy Wedding

''Not going to town in this storm, are you?"

"Yep," Percy answered, and with Carrie's con-
sent he was off to saddle the mare. Before closing
the door, he called back, "If I bring that preacher
back with me, can we keep him a couple of days?"
And he did not wait for an answer. His sister
watched him swing open and close the big gate
without getting down, and heard the clatter of hoofs
as he crossed over the bridge. Then she began
wondering what the boy had on his mind.

Late at night he came stamping into the house,
having fed and bedded the mare down. Then they
all began firing questions at him until they came
too close to the "main chance," and he unrolled his
bed down on the floor near the big wood stove and
"turned in." As a last answer he said, "I went after
the preacher and some of the boys to help me pack
him up to the saw mill." People in that vicinity re-
member that at that time all the roads were blocked
with snow drifts, and the ravines filled in places fifty
feet deep, but Percy had important business on hand
and a few snow drifts would not stop him. The
preacher didn't come with Percy, but would come
to the ranch the following Thursday, if it stopped
snowing and the trail was open to the ranch.

The next two or three days were busy times with
the boy. He visited five or six ranches and got sev-
eral cowboys to agree to go with him Wednesday
and bring some lead horses to beat a trail through
the drifts to the saw mill. Two or three pack horses
carried the rolls of bedding, and some had no packs,
and Sister Carrie's bay mare had an empty cowboy
saddle and carried no load.

I

A Cowboy Wedding 25

Wednesday they all started for the mountains
Percy having left word at home to keep the preacher
there until he came back — "and have a big supper
and some cake." It was hard work walking back
and forth through the snow-drifts, leading and rid-
ing the trail until it was made passable.

At the home of the Austins, the young woman
and her mother had a table well filled with such
things to eat as could be found in a house in the
mountains, which has been snowed in for over two
weeks. The meal consisted of bacon, bread and
canned goods, prepared in the very best way. The
cowboys unrolled their beds and bunked on the floor
after supper. The next morning the horses were
brought up, bundles of bedding packed on with
a few extra bundles the horses had not carried up
to the mill. Then Percy told the young lady, ''That
'preacher is a tenderfoot, and we could not get him
up here, but if he had come I would have lashed
him on a horse, so we are going to pack you down
to mother's and be married there, if the preacher
don't go back on us." It was 30 degrees below zero
on the mountains. A sharp wind kept the snow
flying. Everybody was in the saddle. Ropes were
fastened from the bits to horses' tails to keep them
in line. The caravan started, Percy bringing up the
rear, leading behind him the bay mare that carried
the bride-to-be.

They all reached the ranch safely, but nearly
frozen. The preacher had arrived, and the marriage
ceremony was performed. Then came a square
meal. The preacher and the boys bunked around
on the floor for the night.

26 How the Buffalo Disappeared

The next morning all pulled out for home, the
preacher going on horseback to Douglas, ten dollars
richer than when he came.

The next day Percy was around at his work as if
nothing had happened. This young man and wife,
with their little family of children, are now living up
in North Dakota on a ranch. Every howling bliz-
zard that comes up reminds Percy of the day he was
married on the Labonte.

HOW THE BUFFALO DISAPPEARED.

You would scarcely accuse the Secretary of the
Interior or any high officer of the government of
having any knowledge whatever of the sudden dis-
appearance of the buffalo. As long as they roamed
over the plains it was an impossibility for the gov-
ernment to bring the tribes of wild Indians onto a
reservation, where they could go every thirty days
and draw live beef, flour, sugar, calico, etc. While
no officer of the government is positively known as
taking part in ridding the country of buffalo or
winking at the quick destruction, it is patent that
these buffalo roamed on the reservations and no
man whether Indian, squaw man, white man, or
half breed, was ever opposed in going when and
where he chose to kill them for their hides alone.
When their hides were taken to the Yellowstone
river and piled on the banks in piles larger than
a stern-wheel steamboat, they sold for only $1.00
per hide. Steamboats carried them to St. Louis
where they were shipped to the tanneries and tanned

How the Buffalo Disappeared 27

principally for collar leather — the very lowest grade
of leather used. When tanned they brought only
$2.00 to $3.00 each. A few were sent to Nova Scotia
in hair and tanned in imitation of the Indian buffalo
robe. But one lot sufficed. No one but an Indian
could make a buifalo robe then.

How were the thousands of buffalo killed and
their hides taken? A squaw man was usually the
killer, or some miserable, lazy white man hanging
around an agency. An excuse of a wagon, three or
four Indian women, five or six of the very poorest
riding ponies, and this miserable, lazy white man
would drive to where a large herd was feeding.
These herds could be found after the spring grass
had started in half a day or a day's travel.

Generally the p^ain was flanked by a range of low
bluffs, half a mile to a mile away from the herd. The
squaw man with an eighteen-pound Sharp's rifle,
sometimes with a telescope on, the cartridges loaded
with 120 grains of powder and a fifty-calibre bullet,
fixed amunition, would kill at a mile. The hunter
would secrete the squaws and wagon. With a
bucket full of amunition he would crawl to a com-
manding position on the bluff, hide himself behind
soapweed, sagebrush, or greasewood, with the wind
always blowing towards him, and deliberately fire
away into the herd until his amunition was ex-
hausted, and being far away the buffalo would hear
no report. Then the squaws would come np with
ponies and wagon, kill all the cripples that could not
get away, and after the slaughter of one or two hun-
dred animals in a day, three or four days would be
required to "skin the kill."

28 California Joe — Who Brought in the Mule?

This is how the buffalo disappeared so suddenly.
Only a year or two before they roamed over the
plains in countless thousands.

Today there is scarcely an Indian alive, man, wo-
man, or child, that does not go to an agency on issue
day and draw all the rations they need and clothing
for all and the buffalo is scarcely missed, even by
the Indians.

CALIFORNIA JOE— WHO BROUGHT IN THE
MULE?

While the United States troops stationed along
the Platte river near Fort Laramie were trying to
prevent miners from going into the Black Hills be-
fore the treaty was concluded, a motley crowd of
pretended miners assembled around Fort Laramie
and along the Platte river, intending to steal across
the river and by circuitous routes get into the Hills,
and hide in the forest until a sufficient number of
people were there to remain. At this time there
were hundreds who escaped the vigilance of the
military.

Among the number a somewhat famous and ec-
centric fellow called "California Joe" hovered around
the post for several days, and succeeded in picking
up an ambulance driver by the name of Gray as a
partner-^— miners always go in pairs.

At the trader's store one Saturday night they pur-
chased a month's supplies, including gold pans,
picks, shovels, gold scales and quicksilver, and
loaded them on a pack mule in the enclosure at

California Joe — Who Brought in the Mule? 29

the rear of the store. Just about as they were leav-
ing the officer of the day came up and inquired
where they were going. "Over on the Platte to trap
beaver and wait until we can go into the hills," was
Joe's reply. This being a reasonable answer they
were permitted to pass the guard and they pulled
out across the sand hills and went in camp on the
Platte about two miles from the fort.

Included in their supplies was a two gallon keg
of whiskey. California Joe was always supplied
with money from some source, but he did not show
the disposition to "blow it in" that the average
western man does when reaching a point where he
could spend it. For his personal use he purchased
two pair of trousers and a pair of California riveted
overalls, and put them all on, also three woolen
shirts and put them on over his undershirts. When
one became soiled he would pull it off and throw it
away. Then his overshirt appeared clean. As it
was after dark when they reached the Platte they
turned the mule out to graze (the mule carried their
supplies, they expecting to walk) ; they made a hasty
meal over the camp-fire, unrolled their beds, and
tumbled in without any ceremony. The next morn-
ing the mule was brought in and fed grain, then
picketed out to grass ; the supplies put under cover ;
the tent put up, and to pass away the time a deck of
cards was brought out. Later in the day the keg of
whiskey was tapped. The game of cards went on
until towards evening, when it was time to stir up
the fire, make coffee, boil potatoes and fry the bacon.
The question of bringing in the mule came up.
Neither of them, in their stupid condition, felt like

30 California Joe — Who Brought in the Mule?

doing this, although the mule was only a few hun-
dred yards away. Joe, the more inebriated of the
two, insisted on his partner, Gray, performing
this duty, which Gray refused to do, he having just
prepared supper. The argument became quite warm
and ended in a war of words. Joe finally proposed
to Gray: "I'll tell you how to fix this thing; we'll
both take the extractor out of our rifles, put in one
cartridge, step off fifty paces and each fire one shot;
the one then able to go after the mule will bring
him in, or leave him out all night." Gray agreed to
this, for in this way he could find out the disposi-
tion of his new partner, which he must do sooner or
later. The rifles were loaded, they stood back to
back and counted off twenty-five paces in opposite
directions. At a given signal both wheeled and
fired a shot. Gray was hit in the arm and fell. Joe
thinking he was nearly dead and having failed to
take the extractor from his gun, put in another cart-
ridge, took a second shot at Gray, and missed. Drop-
ping his rifle he then went to Gray's assistance.

At this time a boy from up the Platte river rode
by on horseback, going to the fort. Joe called to him,
but the boy at once took in the situation and did not
feel like going to them. Joe called a second time ; the
boy not coming up, he picked up his rifle, and firing
a shot ahead of the boy, he said, "I guess you'll
come now." The boy immediately rode to the camp
and asked what was wanted. *'Go over to the fort
and tell the post trader that California Joe has shot
his partner and to send a wagon over for him." The
boy, anxious to get away, rode to the fort in hot
haste.

California Joe — Who Brought in the Mule? 31

About dark the lad came to my house with the
message. I had no suitable wagon for this purpose,
and as it was no affair of the military, I sent the boy
up the Laramie river three miles to Cuny and
Coffee's ranch, and they immediately sent a wagon
after Gray, and took Joe along with them, as Cuny
had some authority as a deputy sheriff. Joe mount-
ed the mule and on the road over left the crowd to
make a short cut, and in that way escaped.

Gray's wound was not serious, but he was later
brought down to the post hospital for treatment and
soon recovered so he could resume his former occu-
pation as ambulance driver, and accompanied Major
John Furay's wagon train up in the hills, where later
these two men met again and immediately thought
they would settles old scores. This time Gray
wounded Joe, and when the cause of the shooting
was known, the Major turned Joe out of camp. The
next heard of Joe, he was over at Red Cloud agency,
where he was killed in an affray with one New-
combe. The cause of this fracas was that Joe had
been blamed for killing old man Reshaw, and New-
combe, the only man supposed to know about the
affair, might later expose him, so he undertook to
kill Newcombe, who was the quicker of the two,
and Joe fell dead on the spot.

California Joe was a hunter, miner and scout of
some note in the mountain country, but in every
way unreliable when managing an affair for him-
self. Colonel W. F. Cody, "Buffalo Bill," knew
him on the plains for years and frequently got offi-
cers of some command to employ Joe, for in that
direction he was quite useful and was usually paid

32 California Joe — Who Brought in the Mule?

by the day for his services. He was thoroughly
loyal to Cody, and was often of great assistance in
dividing the long tedious scouts in the saddle. Cody
has some good stories to tell of his good-natured
lying propensities, and when Cody made his visit
to Omaha, in 1905, to say farewell before sailing to
Paris, France, to make his last season in the Wild
West show, he told me some amusing things about
California Joe.

In early days while scouting and guiding army
troops north to the then unknown wilderness of the
Big Horn country, he saw a typical mountaineer
coming towards the command, and went out to meet
him. When within the sound of each other's voices
their salute was— "Hello Joe;" "Hello Bill." Joe
was down on his luck and a picture of poverty,
clothed in the remnants of buckskin shirt, breeches
and moccasins, with a well worn slouch hat through
which his hair protruded.

"Outo' luck?" asked Cody.

"No! just striking it," said Joe.

"Come into the command and I will ask the
commanding officer to pay you $4.00 a day for your
knowledge of the country we are going through."

Like all men who have passed the meridian of life
prospecting the mountains for gold — when game
was scarce and provisions short, who find an Indian
camp and kill buffalo and deer and elk for the sim-
ple reward of being allowed to live among the In-
dians under the shelter of a lodge made of dressed
elk skin — Joe had become "dreamy," talked to him-
self, and in his own mind thought out ways of lead-

California Joe — Who Brought in the Mule? 33

ing the invaders of his domain into illusions of won-
derful discoveries he had made.

When the command halted at night, Joe rode in
with a deer behind his saddle, and as he unlashed
the carcass and let it fall to the ground, unsaddled
his pony and turned him loose, he called "Bill" to
one side and said :

"We are just over the crossing not half an hour's
ride off the trail. Bring the Captain and we three
will ride over when camp's broke."

"What have you struck?" asked Cody. A grunt
was the only response and no more information
could be gotten from him.

Early next morning Joe in the lead and the Cap-
tain and Cody following side by side, they turned
off their course and soon came to a mound cov-
ered with boulders. Joe dismounted, took off his
well worn slouch hat and stood silent a few
minutes. In the earnest reverence the Captain
broke the silence by saying :

"Well Joe ! Whose grave is this and what do you
know about it?"

"It's a long story, — I just came down from Lost
Cabin up on the range, 'good pardner,' and he never
kicked."

"Now let him alone. Captain; he will break out
when he is ready, and all h — 1 couldn't get another
word out of him until he is ready to talk," said Cody.

So they mounted their horses and rode away to
overtake the troops then on the march. The Cap-
tain's curiosity was aroused and he rode alongside
of Joe, whom the warm sun soon thawed to a talk-
ing mood.

34 A Man With Nerve

A MAN WITH NERVE.

The first scramble for government land occurred
in southeastern Wyoming along the old " '49"
wagon trail to California and the North Platte river
west of Fort Laramie. The emigrant team^ were
numerous on the river road, with "half the people
going west and the others coming back." As in
the days of the " '49" gold seekers, many seemed to
have no particular aim in life other than going and
coming and following the crowd. As ranches had
many years before been located in all the valleys
along Jihe streams, according to the custom of the
cattlemen in those days all the lands adjacent to
water had been fenced. Some of these restless peo-
ple were landseekers and had been told that very
few entries of land had been made according to law,
and to secure good claims all they had to do was to
tear down the fences, camp in the fields, and wait
for the owners to buy or order them off. My part-
ner, Mr. Pollard, and myself had taken up under the
desert act 1,800 acres on Labonte creek. The old
California trail had passed through out choicest
grass land. We had several miles of irrigating
ditches and all our patented lands were under fence
and the place was widely known as "P. C. Road
ranch." The many arguments and discussions Mr.
Pollard had to contend with and settle were exceed-
ingly annoying, principally growing out of these
restless people cutting fences and camping in the
fields. What little hay there was in the country
was valued at about $100.00 per ton, and these in-
truders were doing damage to the grass land.

A Man With Nerve 35

Pollard was a quiet man with a cast-iron nerve,
a seeming idle brain, but he never lost a moment's
time in looking after the company's property. It
was a dull and uninteresting sunrise that did not
find him up before the break of day inspecting
fences, counting his cattle, frequently finding one
or two short, — killed by these roamers. Riding up
to the tents of the intruders, he would ask, "Why
don't you camp outside the fence or go on to
Wagonhound creek, or to the Laporal where there
is plenty unfenced land? You are on patented land
and you better move oflf." Pollard never carried a
"gun," or made a "bluff." There was something in
his quiet manner and his big grey eyes that was
rather convincing, but quarreling was not his tac-
tics.

In the spring time the Labonte was banks full.
This being the time of travel, it was no small task to
ford the streams and particularly Labonte creek. A
pair of black stallions had been pressed into his
service for fording. The water was from four to six
feet deep and running like a torrent. When he got
a good-sized audience, riding one stallion and lead-
ing the other, right under the eyes of the disturbers,
Pollard would ride into the stream, slide back over
the horse's rump, hold on to his tail and be towed
through the water to the other shore.

Now the pilgrims saw what they had to en-
counter. Crossing back Pollard would quietly ride
to his ranch and leave the pilgrims to find out what
was to follow. Then half a dozen would follow him
to the house and begin negotiations for helping
them over the crossing. Here is where Pollard got

36 The Killing of Hunton

in his work. A camper would call out, "Cap, we'll
move out today if you help us across the stream."
"I'll cross your wagons for $5.00 apiece. The loose
stock can swim," Pollard would reply. Then came
an interval of silence. The men moved off to camp
with a worried look to hold a counsel as to what
could be done. Some were in favor of camping in
the field until the stream would go down. This
might take days or weeks and would their pro-
visions hold out? At the Labonte store flour was
$15.00 a bag, canned goods $1.00 a can. If this
lasted long they would all be afoot, so that in the
end Pollard had not been bluffed. But they paid
him $5.00 each and went away of their own accord,
instead of his having to pay them.
The only weapon he used was sand.

THE KILLING OF HUNTON.

James Hunton was killed by Indians in the
summer of 1876 on Chugwater creek. Returning
from the east I left Cheyenne with my span of
bronco horses to drive to Fort Laramie. The road
was counted safe as far north as Kelly's ranch on
Chugwater; beyond Kelly's it was risky to drive to
Fort Laramie. Colonel Townsend, the officer com-
manding the fort, left Cheyenne the same morning
by ambulance and as far as Kelly's we kept in sight
of each other and all arrived at the ranch about sun-
down. Kelly's was about half way between
Cheyenne and Fort Laramie — a drive of forty-six
to forty-eight miles. The next morning I made an
early start and soon after daylight came to the ranch

The Killing of Hunton 37

kept by the Hunton brothers. Here the Chugwater
following the main valley turns west and flows into
the Laramie river, where F. M. Phillips established
a cattle ranch, about nine miles west. The road to
the post ran due north. During the night there was
a shower of rain and the roads were a little muddy.
As I drove by Hunton's home along the roadside,
following the custom of the country, when no one is
in sight, I shouted a greeting. The door opened at
once and one of the brothers hailed me, and came
out to my buggy. He said, "Indians came to our
corral, let down the bars and drove off our horse
herd, about an hour ago. We were just getting up
and heard them go by, but thought it was some
ranchmen with a herd of cow horses. A little later
we looked out and saw the pasture bars were down,
you can see the tracks of the whole outfit in the mud
right here. Jim's saddle horse was in the barn and
he saddled up and took his pistol and started on the
trail leading towards Goshen Hole. His horse just-
came back with the saddle and bridle and I'm afraid
the Indians have got Jim. When you get to Fort
Laramie tell the officer in command, and ask him
to send a sergeant and some soldiers towards
Charley Coffee's ranch and perhaps he can overtake
them before they reach the Platte river."

I told Hunton the commanding officer was just
behind us, and I would wait until his ambulance
drove up. In a short time Colonel Townsend drove
up and heard the news. Turning to me he said:
"Collins, you can reach the post quicker than we
can. Give the officer in command my compliments,
and tell him to send a sergeant and twenty men

38 The Killing of Hunton

down near Coffee's ranch, in the Hole, immediately
and look out for a party of thirteen Indians,and it
possible pick up the trail before the Indians reach
the Platte river." It was thirty-one miles to the
post from Hunton's. My broncos were fresh, and
in good condition, and with James Smith, a colored
man who accompanied me, (this same Smith at this
writing is in charge of one of General Manager
George W. Holdrege's private cars in Omaha) I
started.

"Jog 'em kind of slow till we pass Johnny Owen*s
ranch, then cut 'em loose and we'll make it in two
hours sure," said Jim. When I pulled up on the
lines the horses champed the bits, shook their heads
and started on about a six-mile-an-hour gait. Soon
their speed increased and they whirled along over
the road, faster and faster as they limbered up. *'I
believe them horses know there's something the
matter," said Jim, and from their actions, you would
suppose Jim was right. We passed Owen's ranch
with the usual salute and got no answer. Soon after
we were over one of the sand spots and on a gravel
road, as smooth as a turnpike. Jim was in his ele-
ment and believed no other team in the country
could match this pair over a smooth road, and that
was the opinion all the ranchmen along the road
held. We were now in a somewhat dangerous In-
dian country ourselves. The roads continued
smooth, and improved as they dried on the surface.
"Here's where we make time; we are going like a
railroad train," said Jim. We passed the six-mile
ranch. The horses were in a foam of sweat, but the
further they traveled the easier they seemed to

The Killing of Hunton 39

move — they were headed towards home. We plowed
through a small patch of sand when in sight of the
fort, passed the "papoose tree," and as we turned in
to cross the bridge at the post, I looked at my watch ;
we had made the drive of thirty-one miles in two
hours flat.

As we crossed the bridge and drove by the
quartermaster's warehouses we met the officer of
the day and told him the news.

The papoose tree referred to was a big box elder
that stood three hundred yards from and opposite
the quarters called "Dobie Row," its branches cover-
ing a space of at least seventy-five feet in diameter.
It contained no less than forty bodies of Indian
children wrapped in skins and robes, and lashed to
the limbs of the Iree with buffalo thongs, at that
time the mode of Indian burial.*

After delivering Colonel Townsend's message to
the officer of the day, I drove to the headquarters
and repeated it to the officer in command.

In half an hour Lieutenant Allison and twenty
men were galloping across the Laramie river and up
Cherry creek over the Goshen Hole mesa towards
the ranch of Charles Coffee, situated about twelve
miles from the Platte river. Meanwhile Jim h.ad
rubbed the horses down, given them a little water,
and walked them around to cool off before feeding.
This thirty-one mile drive in two hours was con-
sidered the best drive known in the country, over
that end of the road.

•As the thongs rotted away the bundle would fall to the
ground and the coyotes would instantly come from far and
near and tear them open. Bones, heads and various trinkets
were scattered on the ground under the tree.

40 The Killing of Hunton

Soon after we left Hunton's ranch, Little Bat,
Charles Coffee, John Sparks, and two or three other
ranchmen, came to Hunton's, and hearing of their
fellow ranchmen being in peril, they immediately
took tip the trail. After following it nine or ten
miles, they came onto the body of Hunton, dead
and scalped. About this time Lieutenant Allison
came up with his men and they soon returned to the
fort. Little Bat and others carried the body on
their horse's back to Hunton's ranch and John
Sparks, now governor of Nevada, and Charles
Coffee, at this time an extensive cattle owner, and
president of the First National bank, Chadron, Ne-
braska, continued on the trail several miles beyond
where the body was found, to Coffee's ranch. No
better account of what followed can be given than
the letter, here printed, from Charles Coffee. This
letter was in answer to my request of an account of
the result of the journey of Mr. Sparks and himself,
alone, following thirteen Indians, after I had left
the Chugwater.

The troops sent from Fort Laramie arrived at the
point where the body was found about the time the
party from the ranch arrived, and knowing the
character of the country and that the "dead line"
or reservation line was the Platte river, upon which
they had no right to encroach, and believing the In-
dians would cross the Platte river before they could
overtake them, returned to Fort Laramie and re-
ported the result of their scout to Colonel Town-
send, who by this time had reached the post and
at once assumed command.

The Killing of Hunton 41

LETTER OF MR. COFFEE
Chadron, Nebraska, Sept. 3, 1904.
Mr. J. S. Collins,

Omaha, Neb.
My dear old friend : —

Your letter is just at hand and I have also re-
ceived your book which I know will be interesting.
You asked some questions about the killing of Jim
Hunton on the road from Cheyenne to Fort Lara-
mie. I think it was in 1876 near my ranch on Box
Elder creek. I had been out hunting the day before
and discovered Indian signs, so when I went back
to the ranch, I had all my horses put in corral and
put up a tent to fool the Indians. The next day
''Little Bat" came to my ranch and said that Hun-
ton's horse was close to the ranch, and he thought
the Indians had killed Hunton. I had come from
the Laramie road the evening before. John Sparks,
now the governor of Nevada, was with me at my
ranch and we two picked out a couple of my best
saddle horses and went out on the trail and found
Jim's body within a half mile, and we then took up
the trail of the Indians, thinking we could catch
them before they crossed the Platte river, as the
trail grew fresher and fresher the further we went.
When we reached the hills I stopped and said to
Sparks, "What will we do if we catch the Indians?
There are thirteen of them and only two of us." We
stopped and held a council and concluded we had
lost no Indians and went back to the ranch. If we
had caught up with them. Sparks would not now be
governor of Nevada, neither would I be running a

42 Mosquitos

bank in Chadron. This I think is what you refer
to and in order to get the information correct I
looked over some of my old books. If a fellow could
think of all that happened in those days he could
make some good reading for these quiet days, but
no one except the old-timers like you and I would
believe such things to be true. C. F. COFFEE.

MOSQUITOS.

The steamer "Cora" rounded up to the west bank
of the Missouri river near the mouth of the Judith
to take on wood. All the passengers were at supper.
While the boat was in motion no great incon-
venience was experienced from mosquitoes. When
the boat landed the insects came on board by the
million. Women left the table, rushed to their state
rooms and put on sunbonnets, veils and gauntlet
gloves and rushed frantically to get away. There
was no escaping the mosquitoes, they swarmed on
board and found their way into every inch of space
on the boat. The men passengers went on shore to
the great smudge fires burning around the camp.
The "mud" clerk hurried ashore with his eight-foot
measuring stick, laid it along the wood pile and
shouted back to the mate :

"Eight cords in this pile, do we want any more?"
The deck hands hurried ashore and in less than
half an hour had the eight cords on board. The
owner of the wood yard meanwhile sauntered into
a corral with two yoke of cattle, a Springfield rifle
on his shoulder. As he stepped on the garfg plank
to collect his pay for the wood I was saluted with :

Mosquitos 43

"Hello, Mr. Collins ; what in h — 1 are you doing up
in this God-forsaken country?"

The man was about seventy years old; his hair
hung down over his neck and a greasy and well
worn over shirt, whiskers a foot long and a mustache
covered his face. His eyes and mouth, almost con-
cealed with hair, he was a degenerated looking
Santa Claus. The corral he put his cattle in was
built of logs two feet in diameter and forty feet
long. The bars were secured with heavy log chains.
Inside this was the cabin where the old man lived
alone and between the continual and unceasing at-
tacks by mosquitos and the hourly danger that In-
dians would come in and raid his cabin he was
worrying through a miserable existence, seemingly
not caring whether he lived through it or not. He
had "gone broke" up in the mines, worked his way
down on the deck of a steamboat and, with a part-
ner, stopped at this big cottonwood grove where he
was daily in sight of and in fear of hostiles. His
story was :

"Collins, the d — d Injuns won't kill me as long as
they know I can get grub from a steamboat and
divide with them."

Of course I was curious to know who this grizzled
old man was that called me by name in one of the
most uninviting spots I had ever seen.

He had once driven a dray in Galena for our busi-
ness house ; hauling goods from our store, ten years
ago, as he explained it. He shipped at Omaha with
Captain Tom Townsend for Forf Benton and the
gold mines. He said to me : " When the grub gives
out I will try and be out of the country and save my

44 Scalped by the Sioux

scalp. God only knows why I should try to save it,
and perhaps starve later on; for a man over seventy
with not a dollar, can't expect much in civilization."

SCALPED BY THE SIOUX.

In the summer of 1866 I stood in my store on
Douglas street, Omaha, and saw one of our then
well known physicians, long since dead, drive by in
a buggy. A man beside him was wrapped from heaTi
to foot in a white sheet. They stopped in front of
the Hamilton house on Douglas street, a small brick
hotel, standing where now is the Calumet res-
taurant. Following a small crowd I saw the man in
the sheet taken out and assisted into the hotel. He
carried a bucket of water and in it floated the scalp
of the man who carried the bucket. Only forty-
eight hours before, this man, Conductor Crawford,
was running a freight train on the Union Pacific
road near Plumb Creek, Nebraska. The Indians, in
the frenzy of committing all the devilment they
could, had piled railroad ties on the track at a high
embankment and the first freight train that came
along, with Crawford in charge, was thrown down
the embankment. The engineer and fireman escaped
in the brush, but Crawford was caught, and left for
dead. Hearing the whistle of another engine ap-
proaching, and in their ha^te to get away, the scalp
was dropped by the Indians. A little later Craw-
ford regained consciousness and on his way out of
the brush came onto his own scalp. He picked it up
and hid in the brush until night came, then found

The Rattlesnake 45

his way up to the track where he saw the engine
that came to inquire the cause of the delay of the
freight. He was immediately taken to the nearest
station and there remained until an eastbound train
came along and brought him to Omaha, carrying
with him his own scalp, thinking it might be sewed
back onto his head. At the Omaha depot he was
met by a doctor and, as above stated, taken up town
where he remained several days. Being a strong,
healthy man, his lacerated head soon began to heal,
but the scalp, of course, could not be replaced.

At this writing, 1910, this scalp hangs in a glass
case in the Omaha city library on public exhibition.
Crawford, the owner of the scalp, was recently
known to be a conductor of a passenger train in
the vicinity of Salt Lake City, Utah, in good health,
following his old business, but always wearing a
skull cap.

This is one of the incidents of the building of the
Union Pacific railroad. The scalp is now owned by
a physician who is practicing in Omaha today.

THE RATTLESNAKE.

On Broom creek south of Rawhide buttes I was
following the trail of a blacktail deer one morning
before breakfast. I saw from my saddle a rattle-
snake lying along the trail. Midway its length was
a lump as large as a baseball. I shot the snake in
two and with a forked stick pushed out a fully
g^own meadow lark. Its feathers were almost dry
and the snake had swallowed the bird not more
than half an hour before my coming.

46 How Antelope Kill Snakes

HOW ANTELOPE KILL SNAKES.

Wherever antelope range there are rattlesnakes.
I have often seen a dozen or so antelope out on the
open range cavorting around. They do not take to
the brush or timber like members of the deer family
remaining entirely in the open relying upon their
fleetness and cunning to keep them out of harm's
way. They bound over gullies twenty feet in width,
but a wire fence eighteen or twenty inches high
used to stop them as they do not jump up into the
air like other quadrupeds.

One day north of Fort Laramie several miles I
saw a band of sixteen antelope a mile oflf on the
plains. They appeared to be bounding upward and
altogether acting queerly. Riding over to where
their antics had been carried on I found five dead
rattlesnakes, all cut to pieces. The antelope had
killed the snakes by bounding upward like a buck-
ing horse, bringing their sharp hoofs together and
so landing on the snakes, which was probably play
to the antelope but death to the snakes.

JIM BRIDGER.

No book bearing on the early history of the west
within the last fifty years is complete without men-
tion of the name of "Ji"^" Bridger. No man in the
west was better able to judge this rough old moun-
taineer than General G. M. Dodge who, during the
war of the rebellion, won his spurs and became a
major general in the United States army. It was

Holding up a U. S. Marshal 47

Jim Bridger who showed General Dodge the easy
way the Union Pacific could cross the continental
divide. General Dodge was then the ''pathfinder"
and the chief engineer of the road until reaching the
mountains. All the old-timers the general con-
sulted about this difficult task said : ''Send for old
Jim Bridger. He can show you the only way." And
that is the way General Dodge came to know
Bridger so well and he relied upon his judgment
implicitly.

General Dodge at the old home of Bridger erected
a monument to his memory paying for it out of his
private funds.

Back in 1864 I met and talked with Bridger at
old Fort Laramie, Wyoming.

HOLDING UP A U. S. MARSHAL.

During the early travel between Cheyenne and
the Black Hills, M. T. and A. S. Patrick ran a star
route stage line via Fort Laramie to Rawhide buttes,
Lance and Indian creeks and Red canyon. No
sooner had the Indians deserted that road, where
they had for a season held high carnival, killing
men and women, stealing horses and mules and
making it the most dangerous route of travel in the
west than the road agents organized and a reign of
terror followed that taxed the vigilance of the own-
ers of the stage line, the military and all the people
traveling by that road, beyond their ability to cope
with. Although detectives and messengers were
constantly on the road and succeeded in capturing,

48 Holding up a U. 5. Marshal

killing and hanging a number of the robbers the
depredations did not cease for many months. A
United States marshal located at Cheyenne felt it
his duty to take notice of the frequent robbing of
the mails. Armed with a new Colt's revolver, an
abundance of ammunition and a few threats that he
would put a stop to these high-handed outrages, he
took passage on the stage from Cheyenne, arriving
at Fort Laramie the next day. Being so near the
scene of action he considered he could transact his
business at the post and there he remained two or
three days to thoroughly post himself on the situa-
tion asking no advice and heeding no suggestions
from either the officers of the post, managers of the
stage line who suffered more from the robbing of
passengers and the treasury carried by them than
did dozens of freight and emigrant wagons, and
many men of the country. After remaining two or
three days at Fort Laramie he took the down stage
back to Cheyenne having accomplished nothing.
Three miles out was a small swing station with one
of the stage company men in charge of a stable built
of log slabs and any lumber that could be had, a
corral and a hay yard. Just before the stage reached
this station the driver called out his usual salute
to the stock tender. There was no answer and as
it was before daylight he concluded the stock tender
was asleep. Just before reaching there one of a gang
of robbers stopped the coach and ordered the driver
to "hold that team of Jack Rabbits," (six small gray
mules) or there would be trouble for him. A second
robber held a revolver on the marshal and the
passengers in the coach and after taking the mar-

Holding up a U. S. Marshal 49

shal's revolver and overcoat away from him, told
him to shell out his watch and loose change "d — d
quick," which the marshal proceeded to do without
remonstrance. All of this was completed in a brief
space of time and the driver was ordered to "move
on and not look back."

It was quite apparent that a United States mar-
shal could accomplish no more in the Indian coun-
try where road agents held full sway, than could any
other ordinary citizen so unfortunate as to be thrown
in their way, and this bit of adventure furnished
much amusement to those called **the men of the
country." A gentleman now living in Omaha may
recall this incident and no doubt is convinced that
robbers do not respect the star of the United States
marshal any more than they do a stray brand of
whisky that may be found on the road.

About this time there were other hold-ups, but the
sufferers were not boasting that they nould under-
take to regulate the robbers and put an end to all
troubles, as did the more sanguine marshal, who
thought he might quickly end the trouble.

At Fort Laramie I built for the accomodation of
travelers to the Black Hills, who could not obtain
meals and lodgings elsewhere at the post, the Rustic
hotel. There was a very good cook there by the
name of Morrison, whose chief fault was liquor. At
the end of two months he concluded to go to Denver
and visit his children. The stage for Cheyenne
came along about dusk. Morrison carried his earn-
ings in his bootleg. Among other passengers in the
coach were two women. When the stage arrived at
Eagles' Nest, (a ranch kept by Johnny Owens) and

50 Holding up a U. S. Marshal

pulled in to change horses at this swing station, the
passengers were met by two robbers who poked re-
volvers under their noses and ordered them to plank
down their valuables. In addition to this they
requested the women to take down their hair in
which they found a few diamonds that had been
concealed there. When the stage had changed
horses, Morrison lay over to take the coach going
back, he having no money with which to proceed to
Denver, and at daylight he knocked at the door of
the Rustic and told his tale of woe.

When the commanding officer heard of the coach
adventures as usual he ordered out twenty men to
search for the robbers. They found a trail of two
unshod horses that had doubled back north to the
Platte river. They crossed the Platte and in the vi-
cinity of the "4 P" ranch kept by one Breckenridge,
they met a party coming west, two Chinamen travel-
ing with them. The robbers had held up this party
and gone north.

HUNTING STORIES

WILD GOOSE HUNTING ON THE PLATTE RIVER.

When General Crook had finished his Indian cam-
paign of 76 and returned to Omaha to announce to
the people that the Big Horn country was then open
to safe settlement, and told of the nutritious grasses,
fine mountain streams and its special adaptability
to the open range for cattle, he was to enjoy his well
earned rest and to continue in command of the De-
partment of the Platte, with headquarters at Omaha.

There were voluminous copies and reports to be
made to the War Department of his Indian cam-
paign. Notwithstanding which, while he could not
go very far away from his headquarters for any
length of time, he could not overcome his fondness
for hunting prairie chicken, quail, snipe, curlew,
wild geese and ducks, squirrels, coyote and wildcats,
all of which were to be found in abundance near
Omaha in their season.

Among his many journeys to the Platte river (the
half way station for wild geese, where the geese
came and waited in great numbers in spring and fall,
between their southern winter quarters and their
breeding grounds in the alkali lakes of the northern
country,) one of our hunts for wild geese was in the
winter of 1881. A late fall and warm Indian summer
weather had kept the Platte river open until De-
cember, then came a cold snap that froze it over as
tight as a drum head, excepting a few air holes and

32 Wild Goose Hunting on the Platte River

narrow, swift channels that always remained open
the entire winter. The ice buckled up and cracked
in many places and through these cracks the water
oozed up and spread over the ice, often covering a
space of half an acre one to four inches deep. On
this trip. General Crook, John Petty and myself were
the party, and we took the Union Pacific train for
Central City, Nebraska. There a team awaited us
which carried us down near the river to the old log
cabin of one Tague, who had come out from Iowa
wild goose hunting twenty-five years before to settle
and make a new home in Nebraska. The ages of
himself and wife were near to three score years each,
when they settled on this homestead claim. They
had one son who, at the date of our visit, was about
thirty years old. When the family settled on this
farm in the Platte valley, the Indians outnumbered
the white settlers about ten to one, and as the old
couple recited to us the great tax of trying to feed
all the Indians who visited them to beg from their
meager store — and they gave all they could to keep
on friendly terms — their voices trembled and their
eyes watered as they told us of their sufferings. The
cabin was built of logs, hewed on two sides with an
axe, the inside and outside alike, no finish, only
chinked and daubed, mud being used instead of lime
or plaster. There were three home-made bed frames
covered with well stuffed feather beds, of feathers
of wild geese and ducks taken along the river.
These were partitioned off by calico curtains. A big
cook stove answered for heating the whole house, —
as there was but one room, — as well as for cooking.
The fuel was chiefly corn on the ear and corn cobs.

Wild Goose Hunting' on the Platte River 53

Out of their attempt to surround the cabin with a
timber grove, only a few cottonwood trees were
scattered about the unfenced house lot, — all that
were left from the numerous prairie fires.

The son, who at meal time always answered
.promptly to the name of "J^^k", had come home
ostensibly to visit, but as a fact to winter on the old
people. He told us the occupation he had followed
several years was that of a "buffalo skinner." A
white man could fall no farther down the ladder
than this and Jack gave evidence of having reached
the bottom rung. He was lazy and talkative, to any
one who would listen to his uninteresting confab.

The nearest neighbors of the Tagues were three
to four miles away. At the time of our visit, things
had considerably ixnproved with them over their
condition in former years.

The next morning after our arrival, we carried on
our backs, bags of sheet iron duck and goose decoys,
(for immense flocks of mallard ducks remained by
the river all winter, and fed with the geese in the
cornfields of the bluffs on either side, roosting on
the sand bars) — overcoats, hundreds of loaded cart-
ridges, besides our guns. We reached the river
bank a mile away and by picking our way, wading
open channels and avoiding the air holes, we came
to a sand bar where droves of geese had made their
roosting place the night before near some tow heads
about a mile from shore.

The weather was moderately cool and hazy, and
had every appearance of being a good goose day.
We at once began building blinds of drift wood
found along the bars, and willow switches, carried

54 Wild Goose Hunting on the Platte River

from the island. To find a suitable place for goose
blinds it is necessary to be on the sand bars at day-
light, in sight of where geese can be seen on the
bars. Just as the sun begins to show above the hori-
zon, a signal "honk" is heard and taken up by the
geese all along the river. At once their flight to the
feeding ground begins, and in half an hour not a sin-
gle goose remains on the river. Now is the time to
locate and build blinds and begin placing decoys.
An hour or two later the geese begin to fly back
from the fields to where they had roosted, and if the
blinds are properly located and completed, the de-
coys placed, and everything made snug out of sight,
now is the time the sport begins in earnest. Our
blinds were just completed, all the decoys properly
placed and everything appeared favorable for a fine
day's sport. We were just fully prepared when
away off in the east a rumbling rolling sound like
distant thunder was heard. The General was snug
in one blind and Petty and I in another not one hun-
dred yards away.

"General, I don't like that noise," said Petty. "I
think a blizzard is coming, and we better gather our
traps and get off the ice right away." The subject
of a blizzard was discussed for a moment, when the
swishing of trees was heard in the east, and the roll-
ing, rumbling sound came nearer and louder. We
at once began packing up decoys, ammunition, etc.,
to leave for the shore, and this we did in the quickest
time possible. The air was full of sand blown from
the bars. The wind suddenly grew colder and by
the time everything was gathered and loaded on our
backs a most terrific blizzard and snow storm striick

Wild Goose Hunting on the Platte River 55

us and the air was so dense we could not see beyond
our noses. We had the direction and started for the
north shore; it was agreed we all three should stay
together, for if one became separated, there was
great danger of his being lost in the storm The
wind shifted to the north after we had made a start
and it was almost impossible to make headway
against it on the ice. The General's hunting hat
blew off and as he turned round to catch it the wind
caught his big canvas overcoat and in an instant he
was skated away from us and out of sight.

We carried our heads down, braced our shoulders
up against the wind, and thinking the General was
just behind us, we kept on. Presently Petty asked
if the General was coming, and said, "I am going to
holler for him," and he let go two or three yells
louder than a Comanche Indian. There was no an-
swer. He yelled again but no answer came. If we
stopped and turned around the wind would skate us
over the ice and out of sight in an instant. There
was nothing to do but brace ourselves against it and
go on for the north shore, then unload and go back
and find the General. Just at the edge of the shore
there was an open channel of water, in we plunged
and waded through to the bank. In an instant our
clothing was frozen stiff, but paying no heed to this
we stripped ourselves of our load and overcoats and
started on a run to hunt the General. Before reach-
ing him the wind lulled, the snow ceased, and when
the air cleared we could see a small black
speck coming from behind an island towards the op-
posite shore, a mile away from us. We made all
haste over the smooth ice, through the slush ice

56 Wild Goose Hunting on the Platte River

on top, and open seams, toward it. I was the first
to reach the object, which proved to be the General.
He was so benumbed and so dazed he did not know
us. I took his load and his gun and tried to get his
great canvas coat off to enable him to walk more
easily, but it could not be unbuttoned. When he had
turned to catch his hat and left us, the wind had car-
ried it into open water nearly six inches deep and as
the wind caught and carried him over the smooth
ice into the water he picked his hat up half full of
water and put it on his head. The water ran down
and froze on his whiskers and coat collar and the
front of his coat to his knees in an instant. Petty
soon met us. The General could not speak. In half
an hour had he been alone he would have fallen on
the ice from sheer exhaustion and frozen to death.
We managed to reach the north shore, when we dis-
covered that his nose, face and ears were white and
frozen.

Petty on one side and I on the other, with slush ice
and snow we rubbed the frost out, and as the color
came back to his face he began to realize his situa-
tion and also recognized both of us. "General," said
Petty, "our goose shoot is busted for today, — let's
go up to the log cabin." "All right," said the Gen-
eral, and with one of us on each side to assist him,
both loaded to the guards with all of our hunting
paraphernalia strapped about us, we started on a
long and tedious walk through the tangled grass
that in almost every rod of travel one of us would
fall headlong. "This sporting life is h — 11," said
Petty. It was near an hour before we reached the

Wild Goose Hunting on the Platte River 57

log cabin, and the results of following incident
guided me in what to do.

At one time when I sold goods in Silver Bow,
Montana, a man was brought to my store in the
middle of a clear moonlight night on a horse led by
another man. It was in the dead of winter with
the mercury thirty degrees below zero. When I
went to the door the man who led the horse
said, "This man followed the stampede to Kootney
river mines and turned back with me. We have
waded streams and rivers, too swift to freeze, and
we almost perished. He is badly frozen but told
me, when we turned back, to lead him to John
Collins' store at Silver Bow." We took him into my
store, built of logs, that was only chinked and not
daubed, and took off his wraps. His legs were
frozen solid to his knees, his arms frozen to his
elbows, and face and ears frozen ; he was dazed and
almost unconscious. We cut his boots open to get
them off, ripped up his coat sleeves, put his feet in
a tub of cold water, rubbed his hands, arms and
face with snow until the frost was out; then I
applied coal oil out of a lamp (at that time coal oil
was scarce and selling at $5.00 per gallon), cut open
a bed comfort, picked the cotton out and spent the
balance of the night in caring for him. We were
successful in restoring him to life. When the morn-
ing came I was curious to know who in that far
away country had admonished his friend that if he
lived to reach Silver Bow he must be turned over to
me, as the one and only man he thought would take
care of him, and this is the brief story he told:

58 Wild Goose Hunting on the Platte River

"Don't you remember when I used to drive Cap-
tain Smith Harris' carriage in Galena? He was the
captain of the big side wheel steamer 'Northern
Belle.' "

I did remember, and was taught a lesson then and
there, that on the occasion referred to I had saved
a man's life with coal oil and cotton, so when we
had the General back to the Tagues' cabin, I imme-
diately asked for "coal oil and cotton" and we bound
his entire face and head in coal oil and cotton.

It was the third day after that that the General
made his first appearance out of the house, and was
able to be driven to the depot.

This is the incident referred to by Major John G.
Bourke, in his book, "On the Border with Crook,"
page 430.

The night we returned to the cabin after the
above incident, when it was time to go to bed, the
General and myself were assigned to one of the three
beds. Mr. and Mrs. Tague occupied the second, and
Petty the third. "Jack" the "buffalo skinner,"
bunked down on the floor near the warm stove with
plenty of buffalo robes over him, and soon we were
all asleep. About five in the morning, the old man
called to Jack and said, "Get up and build the fire ;"
there was no answer ; he called again and again, and
no answer; Jack had evidently forgotten his name.
"Gol darn you Jack, if you don't get up and build
that 'er fire, I'll get up and build it myself," said
the old man. I called to Petty ; he was sound asleep.
I rolled over and nudged the General, he was wide
awake, and heard all the conversation, which we
both enjoyed.

Wild Goose Hunting on the Platre River 59

As a hunter of wild game on the Platte river I can
safely say there is no hunting in the west in which
the hunter encounters more peril than that of prop-
erly and systematically hunting wild geese on the
Platte river, with all things to do that will insure
success. In the spring birds come in great numbers
when the Platte is still frozen. This is also the
time of a rush of waters from the mountains. I have
been on the ice snugly ensconced in a blind with
hunting companions and heard the signal, a sound
like the roar of a cannon, when the increasing flood
would break through the ice and spout water up ten
feet in the air, and the increasing torrent almost
equal to a Johnstown flood, would cover the ice
with from six inches to a foot of water in a short
space of time. The open channels would raise
twelve to twenty inches in less than half an hour.
Then is the time of danger in getting back to shore.
A goose hunter will take more desperate chances
than a hunter of any other game — not even except-
ing a bear hunter. To their credit be it said goose
hunters on the Platte were generally equal to the
emergency and few losses of life have been recorded
to my knowledge.

One of our successful hunts on the Platte river
was when General Crook, John Petty and myself
made a trip southwest of Papillion, with the Gen-
eral's big spring wagon, four mules and a two-mule
army wagon with tents, provisions, help and a cook.
We arrived on the bank of the Platte soon after
noon. While the men were putting up the tent and
getting camp in order for supper we three strolled
along the shore looking for sandbars that could be

60 Wild Goose Hunting on the Platte River

reached by wading, we having no boat with us on
the trip. The bars were entirely bare of birds as the
geese were all out in the corn fields feeding. It was
in March and nearly all the ice had gone out of the
river. The day was fair and no wind. There were
a few flocks of "Hutchins," with occasionally a flock
of "White Fronts" flying up and down the river
warily, but none came down to our decoys. All we
expected to accomplish was to find the bars the
geese would come to roost on when they began
flying in from the fields later in the day and possibly
get under the flight coming in. The afternoon was
spent in prospecting.

We succeeded in locating a bar where great flocks
of geese came to roost within a mile of where our
tent was pitched. When morning came, all of our
decoys made of sheet iron and painted, and mallard
decoys, had been carried to the bank opposite the
bar when the geese came to roost. We had a warm
breakfast an hour before daylight. The wind was
in the northeast and at the signal "honk" all the
geese along the river arose and began their flight to
the cornfields on the south shore. They were as
plenty as pigeons in the early days. We got no
shooting from the morning flight out. Now was the
time to make all preparations for their return from
morning feeding. As the day became cloudy the
flight began earlier than it would had the sun shone.

All hands gathered the guns, ammunition, decoys,
overcoats and lunch and waded into the river, pick-
ing our way through the shallow places. Arriving
at the roosting ground we dropped our loads and
began gathering pieces of drift wood from the bars

Indian Sympathy 61

and bringing in from the tow heads brush and
willows with which to build "blinds." This being
finished the goose and duck decoys were then prop-
erly placed the flat side towards the south. We had
scarcely got everything in shape and the hunters in
their blinds than the flocks began appearing in the
south. The first was a flock of Canadas, that came
over Petty's blind and were just ready to alight
among his decoys when two shots from his ten bore
Parker dropped five of them right among his decoys.

INDIAN SYMPATHY.

General Hatch, the commanding officer of Fort
Robinson, Nebraska, who was in camp near Ante-
lope Springs, north of Casper, Wyoming, wired
me:

''Collins : send for your friend Hayes and join me.
We have Bat and Indian guides, pack and saddle
mules, and we are in the heart of a good game
country."

I sent a telegram to Hayes who started immedi-
ately for Omaha. W. F. Fitch was going up that
way in his private car to show his successor, Mr.
Horace G. Burt, over the road and we joined them
at Omaha. Mr. Fitch took his car up beyond Cas-
per, the end of the road. The General had sent an
ambulance from his camp fifty miles to meet us
and carry us to a landmark called "Teapot," where
we arrived about dark.

The day before had been full of adventures for
the hunters in camp. Two or three grizzly bears

62 Indian Sympathy

had been killed, deer and antelope were abundant
and occasionally a band of elk was seen. The day
before our arrival Bat had killed a bear and near a
springy place on the mountain side had seen the
fresh footprint of a bear of greater size which inter-
ested him greatly. The next morning a party of
six of us, including Bat and the Indians Red Bear
and Red Sack, packed a mule with our supplies and
bedding and started over the mountain to be out all
night and sleep in the open air. I was paired with
Bat and a lively chase I had keeping up with him
over the mountains and through the canyons. We
passed the carcas of the bear he had killed the day
before from which he had taken the hide only. We
were on foot the principal part of the day and
towards dusk we climbed to the top of a steep
mountain where we could 'view the country for
miles around to see if we could get a glimpse of the
big bear out feeding. The wind blew a gale on the
high mountain and we found a shelter behind a
bunch of rocks where we waited until dark, but saw
no sign of a bear. It was rough traveling in the
dark, back over the rocks and through the timber
to where our mules were tied, but Bat, as usual,
went straight to the mules. We then had a three-
mile ride to the camp where we found the party
with a camp fire.

The next morning Red Bear and I decided to
make a tour north among the rocky ledges on our
return to the main camp. We soon came to a gorge
fully two thousand feet deep. At the top was a rim
of rocks projecting over from under which we
scared out eagles every few hundred yards. A more

Indian Sympathy 63

desolate place or one better adapted for that kind of
a bird to roost or nest could not be imagined. It
was about noon when we reached the mouth of the
gorge where we found our way down to a stream
and unsaddled for lunch. About three hundred
yards away two deer jumped from their beds just
across the creek and stood looking at us while we
got under cover to approach them. At a hundred
yards I had a fine shot and killed a magnificent fat
young buck. The interesting part of this kill was to
see Red Bear "strip" the deer and prepare it for
easy carrying behind his saddle, for we had a long
ride to camp. First he cut the head oflf near the
shoulder, took out the intestines, and then the liver
which he ate raw, as is the Indian custom, then he
skinned the deer, stripping the meat from leg bones
and ribs, saving the loin and in fact all of the meat
without an ounce of bone left, wrapped all of it in
the hide, tied it behind his saddle with two buck-
skin strings and the whole roll as packed would not
have weighed to exceed thirty pounds, while the
deer alive would weigh one hundred.

After dressing the deer and eating lunch we
turned south over a low divide and dropped into a
low narrow valley of ''bad lands." There was no
w^ater on either side, the valley sloped up to high,
sharp ridges and the narrow dark lines showed the
eflfect of rain on the ashy earth. The gullies leading
to larger ones below were from two or three inches
to three feet wide, some of them so deep a horse
could be lost in them. Our horses were kept con-
stantly jumping to clear them and occasionally as
their hind feet would clear the opposite bank the

64 Indian Sympathy

earth would give way and both hind legs would drop
in. To go lower down the valley the gullies would
be wider and deeper ; to go higher up they were more
numerous and would take us out of our course, so the
Indian chose a middle trail. The further we rode
towards camp the more difficult it became and more
care was necessary in clearing chasms. The Indian
stopped to adjust his pack while I rode on, placing
me nearly a hundred yards in the lead. The gullies
kept our horses constantly on the jump. Coming
to one about three feet wide I spurred my horse and
he fell on his side and shoulder with my leg under
him to the* knee and I had no little difficulty in dis-
mounting and pulling my horse out of the gulley.
Red Bear came up and with one look of disgust and
an angry grunt he "heeled" his horse and urging
him on, rode away as fast as possible, not knowing,
and what was more not caring, whether or not my
leg was broken or whether I could get out of this
dilemma and reach camp. I was then obliged to
ride at a slow pace. Finally the Indian was out of
sight, having never looked back. Had the ground
been hard the least that would have befallen me
was a broken arm or leg in either case the Indian
would have given me no assistance. It was dark
when we reached camp and all the hunters were in,
some with a deer or antelope behind their saddle
and some with no game except an eagle killed on
their way in.

Lost Near Camp 65

LOST NEAR CAMP.

On one of our fall hunts to the Salt Creek country,
Captain Patrick Henry Ray was in charge of the
government transportation train that carried us
down to where we first struck the creek and there
we camped two days. Captain Ray was one of the
sturdy army officers who was sent into the Arctic
regions in search of General Greely and party, and
who found them. Later he came to Omaha and was
judge advocate on General Crook's staff. Besides
Captain Ray, the other hunters of the party were
A. S. Patrick, Webb Hayes and myself with Little
Bat and another halfbreed Sioux, named Alex Mou-
seau, as guides. On this trip ten colored troopers
from Fort Robinson were our assistants.

Some amusing incidents occurred on this trip.
From our first camp, not finding game plentiful, we
moved down below to our old land-mark which we
had named "Pack Saddle Rock," because of its re-
semblance to a pack saddle. It stood out clear-cut
away from the other rocks and could be seen from
almost any direction for a distance of three or four
miles. As our camp was usually made in the creek
bottom among the scattering trees, obscured by
precipitous sheltering bluffs, the hunters returning
were always on the lookout for this rock.

Webb Hayes was somewhat handicapped by be-
ing a little nearsighted and we insisted on some one
always accompanying him. Alex Mouseau was his
companion on this day's hunt. With a liberal sup-
ply of lunch in their saddle pockets, plenty of ammu-
nition and their rifles, after announcing their route,
they started out soon after daylight for deer.

66 Lost Near Camp

Hayes, depending wholly on his guide, Alex,
found himself at dark five miles from camp. After
being in the saddle all day and the guide not being-
very communicative, about dusk it became a very
lonely ride. They, however, kept on a course that
Hayes was willing to go and as dark came on the
sage brush appearing to grow thicker and more
difficult to get through, he gave his horse his head
to follow his guide. A two hours' ride brought
them in sight of a moving light, then another light,
the latter being stationary. Alex could not account
for these lights on the high flat, when he knew the
camp was down fifty feet under a cut bank, where
no light could be seen from higher land. They
stopped and held a council. Hayes could plainly
see the superstition of the guide who thought the
moving light was guided by some spirit agency that
taxed his courage.

"We are near camp, but we must keep away from
those lights ; they are what you call 'spooks,' " said
Alex, and for fully an hour Hayes was compelled
to follow the superstitious guide.

Captain Ray had sent half a dozen soldiers with
all the wood they could carry on their backs, out
on the sage brush flat above camp to build a signal
fire. The night was dark and a lantern was neces-
sary to guide the party so they could select a promi-
nent place to build a fire that could be seen by be-
lated hunters. These were the lights seen by Alex
that he could not account for. Had it not been that
the men keeping the fire up had fired three signal
shots they might have wandered about all night half
a mile from camp. Hayes understood the signal,

i

Hunting Big- Game — Leaving Fort Fetterman.

iluntiny;- iiig Game — '•Bunched uj) " on the liuad.

Hunting Big Game — Crossing the Platte.

Lost Near Camp 67

took the lead and in twenty minutes they were safe
in camp.

It was eleven o'clock when they sat down to
supper in the cook tent and we were all up and
waiting for an account of their adventures. Alex
seemed inclined to shirk all responsibility and lay
the blame on Hayes for being lost within half a mile
of camp and as they sat at the table recounting the
adventures of the day and finished up on the delay
of coming into camp, Alex said :

"I was all right; if I had somebody along but a
tenderfoot who couldn't help any we'd have been
in two hours ago."

The next night it was necessary to send men on
the flat again to build a fire and fire signal shots.
Nine o'clock had come and Captain Ray had not
come in. This did not greatly concern the party, he
being an old campaigner who had served years In
the army besides having journeyed through Alaska,
the frozen polar seas and about as near to the north
pole as any living man had approached it, in search
of Greely's party. So it was natural that we paid
little heed to the belated captain, except that it was
a custom that no hunter would turn into his bed
until everybody was in camp. Darkness came. Nine,
ten and eleven o'clock. The fire was burning above
the bank, three volleys of signal shots had been
fired and yet no answer. It was concluded the cap-
tain had followed some game he had wounded and
when night came had picketed his horse out, lying
down on the pine needles and had gone to sleep —
the natural thing for a man lost in the mountains

68 In the Sand Dunes

to do. When midnight came the soldiers were
called in and we all went to bed.

An hour before daylight Captain Ray came into
camp, brisk and lively and at once recounted his
wounding a black tail deer that he had followed
until dark. He frankly acknowledged that as he
had no idea where camp was when dark came he
concluded to unsaddle. He picketed out his horse
and between the trunks of two trees he made a fire
and lay down between them — less than three miles
from camp.

IN THE SAND DUNES.

Twenty-five miles north of Casper, Wyoming, is
Sand Spring in the heart of the sand hills and the
"sand dunes." Going towards Salt creek we passed
a dry alkali lake on the high mesa. After a gradual
ascent our trail led into a low sag that in a few miles
opened out into a narrow valley carpeted with wet,
sour grass, indicating water here and there. By
digging down a foot or two an abundance of alkali
water could be had which, in a way, supplied
campers.

We followed up this ravine four or five miles and
found occasional pools of water — being in the sand
hills there were no running streams. Just south of
where we camped we passed over a long grade of
sand running east and west from one bluflf to an-
other, a distance of over three hundred yards. It was
as regular in width and as level on top as a railroad
grade and from twelve to twenty feet high, complete-

In the Sand Dunes 69

ly damming the stream. Above it a lake had formed
of several acres. On its west banks were the sand
dunes, two to three hundred feet high, bearing not
a sprig of vegetation and the prevailing winds being
from the northwest, this loose sand had been blown
across the valley and formed this monumental freak
of the elements. There was no other water nearer
than the Platte river on the south, or Salt creek on
the west, about equal distances, fully twenty-five
miles away. The hills around were a great range
for antelope and morning, noon and night great
bands were seen on the sand bluffs on all sides of
the lake, within three hundred yards to one-half
mile waiting to come to water and evidently wonder-
ing who was encroaching on their rights to drink at
this lake.

On our first trip to the Salt Creek country, Gen-
eral Crook and myself started ahead of the hunting
outfit and traveled to the north. Having missed
the trail, that at a point half way turned sharp west,
after traveling twelve to fifteen miles following a
game trail, we lost our bearings. The General said :

"We had better turn back, follow up this draw,
find the trail of the party and follow it directly to
camp."

We were following a grassy draw five or six miles
long and were in the brakes out of the sand hills
going north, so we immediately turned about. On
the way out we rode in the bottom of the draw fol-
lowing a game trail and were at all times in the
midst of antelope, but as our return to the railroad
would lead us back to the Springs when our hunt
was finished, we deferred killing these. The coun-

70 A Waierhaul in the Wind River Range

try was rough, broken and the only sign of civiliza-
tion was the trail of a round-up wagon. Antelope
were in bands of a hundred or more and black tail
deer were on all sides of us. At most we could only
pack one animal behind each saddle and, not know-
ing how far we must travel, we paid no attention to
either deer or antelope. Following this draw some six
miles on the back track at every turn two, three or
five deer would jump up ten to twenty yards away
and we counted seventy-two in six miles of travel.
Finding the trail of our outfit we followed it six
hours before reaching camp. On the day's ride we
were forty-five miles in the saddle, arriving after
dark. The tents were up, a roaring campfire of logs
made just under a cut bank thirty feet high, above
the creek bed and a good supper awaited us.

A WATERHAUL IN THE WIND RIVER RANGE.

One November General George Crook, General T.
H. Stanton, A. E. Touzalin, Webb Hayes and my-
self made a trip from Rawlins of nearly two hundred
miles north of the Union Pacific railroad, in an am-
bulance sent down from Fort Washakie. On our
arrival there we procured a camp outfit and went
over to the Wind river, following it up, crossing
Bull Lake fork, then up the North fork and over on
the East fork. This carried us into the lofty moun-
tains south of Jackson Hole. We traveled as far
as our wagon loaded with grain could go, then left
it on a high ridge in snow a foot deep, in plain sight
for full fifty miles on all sides, and with pack and
saddle mules we pushed on towards the timbered

A Waterhaul in the Wind River Range 71

mountains, and went into camp in a basin sur-
rounded by low, sharp foothills, streaked with
crooked black lines which we discovered were riv-
ulets of water from springs and melting snow. The
weather was intensely cold, sun dogs were visible
every day in the east and south and the snow was
eighteen inches deep. There appeared to be no
other water for miles around, and having no guide
and with some misgivings, we worked our way to
the center of these black lines and camped on a
small running stream. Here we spent five days and
hunted in all directions as far as we could ride
through the rough country and return to camp each
night.

Returning to camp on the fifth day, a storm of
soft wet snow came up and the old snow began to
melt. I was alone and as I came through an open-
ing in a patch of willows there were signs of an
abandoned Indian camp. Willows were bent over
and their tops tied together with bark. The bark
was eaten off from other willows by porcupines and
by Indian ponies. Piles of small horns and bones
lay around. I found my saddle horse was walking
on a soft substance that on investigation, proved to
be hair from deer, elk and antelope. A party of over
three hundred Indians, consisting of Chief Red
Cloud and his band of Ogalallas, had been on a visit
to Chief Washakie and the Shoshone Indians a
month before and on their return to Red Cloud
agency had camped here two weeks and killed about
all the game in the vicinity. To reduce the weight
of their packs they had camped on this spot and
sweated the hair off all the skins. For a space of

72 A Waterhaul in the Wind River Range

fifty feet square the hair covered the ground six or
eight inches deep. As we later learned, their kill
had been seven hundred antelope, three hundred
deer and nearly all the elk within twenty miles of
their camp and they packed the skins away on their
ponies to Red Cloud agency.

We had not seen a thing of life, bird or
animal. I should have excepted the very small
white snow rabbit called "Conie," smaller than
a guinea pig, snow white except a chestnut color on
each side of the neck which we found away up on
the smooth rolling mountains of snow where there
was no sign of timber or brush. Away beyond them
were the timbered mountains of the Wind River
range.

Webb Hayes and Mr. Touzalin brought out a
bear trap and packed it over to a bunch of thick
pines where one of the hunters told of seeing signs
of a small bear. After setting the trap in a favorable
place and putting a log twelve feet long through
the six-inch chain ring to prevent its being carried
away by any kind of game that might be caught,
both started back for camp. They separated and
Mr. Hayes followed along the edge of the timber
and the two hunters were soon lost to each other.
Although Mr. Hayes was somewhat handicapped by
the effect of the snow on his eyes he caught sight of
a small black object moving aimlessly among the
big trees and, dismounting, he waded through the
deep snow, dodging around and behind the trees
until near enough to make the discovery that the
object was a small black bear cub which he killed
and brought in behind his saddle. On account of its

A Waterhaul in the Wind River Range 73

size it seemed rather an insignificant specimen of a
bear and furnished no end to the amusement it gave
General Crook and the continual chaffing he gave
Mr. Hayes. This incident whetted the interest in
the trap the next morning.

On the fourth day in camp General Stanton, Mr.
Touzalin and I made an early start to prospect the
valley leading west. . In an hour a fall of damp
snow set in, the flakes being nearly as large as a
hen's e^gg. We were well protected by rubber coats
and leggins and continued on for seven miles when
we got off our mules under a fir tree one hundred
and fifty feet high. Under the shelter of the sloping
limbs we built a fire and ate our lunch, then started
for camp, our journey having been uneventful, and
no game was seen. The great flakes of wet snow
continued to fall and melt, and we found great diffi-
culty in traveling, for the feet of our horses, besides
balling up at every step, found gumbo mud and
their feet would continually ball with the snow and
mud making it hard traveling. We were four hours
on the journey of seven miles to camp where we
found General Crook and others of the party had al-
ready arrived. The colored soldiers had spent the
day in snaking in from the mountain side stumps
and butts of pine trees and had a pile as large as a
freight car. Our arrival was a signal for starting
the fire. In an hour it blazed up fifty feet in the
air and seemed to light up the whole country for
miles around. After supper we decided to move
out of the country the next morning, for we dis-
covered that while the ground appeared solid when
we made camp on the frozen snow, when it thawed

74 A Waterhaul in the Wind River Range

we were in a bog of bad lands, and in one more day
of wet weather it would have been next to im-
possible to get out at all. So we broke camp early
and after an hour's travel came in sight of our grain
wagon five miles ahead standing out on the great
white sheet of snow a picture of abandonment. For
three days we traveled towards the post and made
out last camp at Bull Lake fork, where in a swift
torrent of open water, we caught trout weighing two
to three pounds each. This is a most picturesque
spot of waterfall and boulders.

The next day by noon we were at Fort Washakie
having been eleven days out without killing a head
of game except a cub bear and one bear trapped.
The disappointment of this journey only whetted
our appetites for another trip before the snow went
off and the following March we went south and east
of Rock creek in the Sierra Madre mountains lying
west of North Park, Colorado, ^nd camped on Sheep
creek at the foot of the mountains the second day
out. This was counted the very roughest and most
difficult of all our mountain trips. We struck
straight east across the country, rough, rolling
plains covered with sage brush, cut up with wide
coolies and ravines, the banks so steep we had to
*'lariat" down and "double" up the opposite side.
We found snow at the foot of the mountains and
an abundance of dead pine trees for fuel, but no
water and the animals ate snow and pawed it away
to reach the grass. There were no foothills or
canyons to cross for the plains gradually sloped up
to benches and rocky gorges with no timber. Along
the foothills the deep ravines running away to the

Antelope Hunting 75

valley were filled with snow ten to forty feet deep.
These we crossed early in the day for we could ride
over the frozen crust, but when the sun came out
rivulets of water ran under the snow. Our saddle
animals would plunge into the snow and where they
would sink they would go belly deep in water and
slush, the rider dismount and the animal would
wallow up with his mount dragging after him hold-
ing on to either the bridle reins or the animal's tail.
On this trip Major Lord killed five mountain sheep
one morning and although only two miles from
camp it took the packers an entire day to pack them
into camp. General Crook devoted his time with
Chief Packer Moore to finding evidence of a bear
being out of his hole, but found no sign. In fact the
country they hunted over was barren of game and
the snow very deep. Charles Grosholz of Phila-
delphia, a relative of (the then Captain) John V.
Furay (since retired as colonel), depot quartermaster
at Omaha, was one of our guests and it fell to me
to see that he was in camp every night. The only
mountain climbing he had ever done was on a rail-
road train. My saddle mule was named *7""^P"
and his "J^"^/' o^^ ^^ account of the uncertainty
of his gait, and the other we could only conclude
was because of her amiable disposition, which all
"Janes" are supposed to have.

ANTELOPE HUNTING.

In the sand dunes north of Casper Lieutenant
(now Colonel) Mathias of the Fifth cavalry, sta-
tioned at Fort Robinson, was in charge of the gov-

76 Antelope Hunting

ernment transportation that took our party over on
"Salt Creek and the Dry Cheyenne," one of our fa-
vorite hunting grounds for black tail deer, antelope
and bear; we camped at Sand Lake the first night
out from Casper, about 4:30 p. m. in the month of
November. This was about the time of day the an-
telope came to water at the lake, there being no
other water nearer than the Platte river, twenty-five
miles away. No attention was given the antelope
for we expected to make camp at the same lake on
our return, and in a short time *'top out" our load of
elk, deer and bear, with all our teams could haul
back to the railroad, with antelope. The next
morning we made an early start for Salt Creek
and when well on our way it began snowing. Along
the trail there was no place to camp where we could
find water or grass, and we plodded over the divide
between the Platte and gait Creek through the snow
and sand and reached Salt Creek in time to put up
our tents and finish supper before dark. The next
morning there was good "tracking snow" in the
valley, and aside from the fact that a dry summer
had left the uncertain stream with little or no water,
except in holes and cow tracks and the water was
strong with alkali and about the color of coffee, by
digging wells we found plenty of the same kind of
water, of sweetish taste, the party as well as the ani-
mals drinking so freely that both men and animals
were completely upset. The next morning we con-
cluded to change camp and go over to the "Dry
Cheyenne," for there was danger of our being
snowed in where we were, and this was a fortunate
move, for the trail we came in on was deep in snow

Antelope Huuteis — "Anielupe Very Cuniun

Antelope Hunting 77

on the divide. The General had consulted Bat
who said, "we can pull up the gulch, climb a long
sage brush hill, and if the snow is not over a foot
deep on the divide, we can make camp by sundown."
We made the drive and reached the spring in due
time and this was to be our permanent camp. Be-
sides Bat we had three Indian guides, "Red Bear,"
"Red Sack" and "Short Bull." From this camp we
hunted a week and killed three bear, three mountain
sheep, the last of the race on this range, also one
bull elk, and he was also the last of his kind in the
vicinity, and a wagonload of black tail deer.

On our return to the "Fetterman Switch," where
we embarked from, we again camped at Sand
Springs about noon. There were bands of antelope
scattered about coming in to water and watching
our tents, teams and animals. While at lunch
Lieutenant Day said to Bat, "How near can you
approach one of the bands with two or three of us
along?" "Well, if we take a little time we can get
near enough to kill all we want with revolvers,"
said Bat. After lunch while our mules were be-
ing saddled. Bat looked over the situation and
we were soon off to try the experiment. Bat led
the way and we followed along down the valley for
three miles, then turned west and came north
against the wind, alarming one or two small bands
to which we paid no attention for Bat had selected
a band of about a hundred. We stopped and held a
council. "They are just over that second ridge, let
them feed over to the low ground then we will gal-
lop to the ridge and 'you fellers' stay back while I
take a look," was Bat's suggestion. Reaching the

78 Antelope Hunting

ridge we dismounted and Bat crawled and looked
over the ground; presently he returned and said,
"We will wait here a few minutes. They will feed
over the next ridge and into a draw that runs to
camp. When we get to the draw we must all come
up in a bunch, lean over our horses' necks and cross
twenty feet in plain sight. If their heads are
down feeding they won't notice us and we can ride
to the next ridge and get within fifty feet of the
band."

His directions were followed. We crossed the
draw without being seen and when we dismounted
Bat took another look, then dropped back to us
and said : "Tie your horses to the sage brush and we
get in fifty feet of the band." All abreast we walked
carefully to the top and found we were less than
fifty feet from where the antelope were feeding;
the band was bunched up like sheep and we
began firing. Before they got out of shooting
distance Day had brought down three (Day was
the crack rifle shot of his regiment), Bat killed
five, myself and my companion four, and in less
than five minutes the party had twelve dead ante-
lope in sight. Each hunter dressed his own kill, all
except Day having had considerable experience in
this. In half an hour Bat had dressed his five,
dragged them up in a pile and from an adjoining
ridge in sight of camp he signalled for pack mules
to come out and take the surplus game to camp
that we could not carry behind our saddles. Day
was a little loath to acknowledge that he was not
thoroughly "up" in the art of dressing game, but he
cut a hole in the side of a small buck, then cut down

How to Pack a Bear Trap 79

to the brisket, took out the entrals, then lifted it
onto his shoulder, in his effort to hang it on the
saddle horn before rolling it behind his saddle. He
missed the horn and it fell back over his head, com-
pletely encasing his hat, head and shoulders in the
bleeding carcass. One having no experience in load-
ing a freshly killed deer or antelope on a pack saddle
cannot imagine the difficulty in handling it, and our
hunters only deplored Day's misfortunes without
criticism.

HOW TO PACK A BEAR TRAP.

Preparing for one of our hunting trips up to the
Wind River mountains. Webb Hayes shipped to
Omaha a fifty-pound bear trap. At Speigle Grove,
his home (the fromer home of Ex-President Hayes
near Fremont, Ohio,) the Hayes farm grew the very
finest of side pears. Webb put the bear trap in a
barrel, loose, then filled the barrel with pears — also
loose. When it reached me at Omaha, the pears
and bear trap were thoroughly mixed and the ex-
press agent threatened to throw it in the river un-
less it was taken from the office at once. The pears,
of course, did not prove to be in a choice condition,
but after putting the trap under the garden hose
for a day, it came out in fair condition and on this
particular hunt proved an interesting addition to
our sport.

A fifty-pound bear trap has a stout chain attached
at the end of a six-inch, heavy iron ring to slip over

80 Mow to Pack a Bear Trap

an eight or ten-foot log to prevent its being carried
away when a "varmint" was caught.

From our camp out on the east fork of the north
fork of Wind river (today this may seem easy sail-
ing) Mr. Tonzalin, Webb and the Indian, Red Sack,
carried the trap on saddle over the mountain to a
low, grassy ravine some five miles from camp. They
also dragged along in a bag a lot of highly seasoned
entrails of game. The bait was hung on the limb of
a pine tree five feet high from the ground and limbs
of trees piled on each side, so a bear to get to the
bait, must go in at the open end and climb up the
tree. Here the trap was placed at the foot of the
tree. For a day or two the hunters were so busy
hunting over the high snow-capped mountains in
search of game no attention was paid to the trap.
General Stanton remarked one evening in camp :

"If somebody don't look out for that bear trap,
something will carry it away."

The next morning Mr. Tonzalin, Webb and the
Indians hiked away for the trap, but no trap was to
be found where it was left. Following the rough
trail they found it in a grove of fir trees, the ten-foot
log still fastened in the ring and a fine, young black
bear caught in it by one forefoot.

It was impossible for the bear to have dragged
the trap out of the thick grove of trees where it was
first placed, so there is no doubt the animal had
picked up the log and carried it with the other front
leg to where it was found some fifty feet away, was
Tom Moore's opinion.

Out on the Teapot Bad Lands 81

OUT ON THE TEAPOT BAD LANDS.

This hunt for big game was up near the "Tea-
pot," and the mules, wagons, buck-board and riding
horses were put in a freight car at the ranch of A. S.
Patrick at Patrick Siding, six miles northwest of
Fremont, Neb., on the Chicago & Northwestern
railroad, and shipped out to Fetterman yards, west
of Douglas, Wyo. Two days later our party, A. S.
Patrick, Robt. E. Patrick, John Patrick, Henry Ro-
man, Little Bat, Race Newcomb, Mr. Rainey, and
myself started out. There was a young fellow out
on my ranch on the Labonte creek, who knew
the country we were going into, and I suggested
we take him along also, as that would give us three
guides. Percy Pollard was the youngster, and I
was quite sure he would hold his end up with any
man in the crowd, and if he didn't throw the lazy,
trifling cook out of camp and "fit himself in," he
would make himself useful to every hunter in the
party. He said he would go along and "wrangle"
the horses.

When our wagons, horses, tents and supplies
were unloaded at the Fetterman yards, above Doug-
las, we pulled out for "Teapot," making first camp
at Sand springs. The next was near the head of
Salt creek, and after putting up our tents and tying
our horses for the night, it began snowing. When
morning came nearly a foot of snow covered the
ground. Al Patrick, with Little Bat, Homan and
Percy, saddled up and were off for a pine ridge on
the south soon after daylight, the rest of the party
going in other directions, as their fancy dictated.

82 Out on the Teapot Bad Lands

By the time we were all starting, we heard a "Yep,
yep, yep," from Percy, and through the flying snow,
riding a mule with some objects at the end of his
lariat, he came, bounding and gliding over the snow
and sage brush, and this prompted us to halt and
wait until he came up. The mule was on a stiff-
legged lope, and Percy made a swing half round the
tent, in cowboy fashion — and in the most artistic
fashion — to "unload" in front of us. Less than half
a mile from camp, Patrick and Bat had killed a fine
black tail buck and a doe. After discussing how
they could get the game back to camp without re-
turning themselves and losing time, Percy re-
marked, "You fellows go on, I'll get 'em into camp."
His mule never had been packed, and no one in the
party wanted to ride him, even with only the saddle
on. Percy dressed the two deer, passed his rope
over the heads of them, the other end around his
saddle horn.

"Now," he said, "give me a push," and away he
sailed over the snow on a gallop, dragging the deer
after him.

This tallied one good turn to the cowboy's credit.
Every day he scored, and became a general favorite,
for he had gumption and knew how to do things.

Another conspicuous event was on our last day
before leaving for the railroad. The entire party,
with Little Bat in the lead, started out together to
finish our hunt, so if more game was killed than we
could pack behind our saddles, it would not make it
necessary for an extra trip to bring it in. We
traveled all in a bunch, while Percy rode his cow
pony and led the mule with a saw buck pack saddle

Out on the Teapot Bad Lands 83

strapped along to pack game on, but we had learned
by this time that the cowboy had ways of his own
of getting out of a dilemma, so chaffing was
done rather gingerly. Percy said, "This mule has
got to earn, his grain, and if we kill game enough
Mr. Mule must do his share of the packing — we
didn't bring him along just to look at the scenery."
We had been on the way an hour, when suddenly
Bat halted and leaned his head down on the horse's
neck, swinging around to the left. Without any in-
structions we followed his tactics. Just over th<*
crest of the hill, in among the rocks, scarcely one
hundred yards away, he had discovered seven deer.
The wind whistling through the trees made so
much noise the game knew nothing of our presence.
We all dismounted, tying our horses to sage brush,
and leaving Percy with the mule, we crawled on
hands and knees, following Bat, until he signaled
us to raise up and fire. Five deer went down at the
first fire, and before the other two had run fifty yards
they fell also, scarcely a minute passed in killing
the seven deer. In preparing them for packing to
camp, the heads and legs were taken off and the
bodies dressed to lighten the loads. Bat loaded the
largest buck behind his saddle, and Homan took the
next, leaving five yet to be packed. The other
saddle horses would not carry, and it was supposed
Percy's mule was out of business for this work, and
after all kinds of suggestions by every one of the
party except himself, the young fellow butted in:
"This cussed mule has got to carry all five.
We didn't bring him along to show him the coun-
try, and if one of you fellows will stay with me to

84 Out on the Teapot Bad Lands

help me load and give the mule a push, I'll get them
to camp all right." That speech silenced every man
in the party. "If the old shave tail will carry two,"
said Patrick, "we will snake over the other three,
for our horses won't carry." We were standing in
six inches of snow. Percy asked Homan to hand
him his rope. He tied the front and hind legs of
each deer at the knees; he pushed the mule along
side a high bank, pulled his .legs from under him
and threw him to the ground. One deer was put on
each side of the pack saddle with its back down.
When made fast, we lifted two and tied them on
crossways; the fifth deer was laid in the middle,
and when all were securely lashed, Percy said : "I
want two strong men here."

Five of us took hold and lifted the mule to his
feet ; he staggered about a minute, tried to kick and
shake off his load; finding this entirely useless, he
suddenly started away, and so well did the mule
behave under this big load, — so securely were the
five deer packed, — but a single stop was made on
the road to camp to tighten up. So Percy with his
mule packed with the five deer arrived at camp
with the rest of us.

The load was unlashed, the pack saddle taken off,
and the mule turned loose. He grunted two or
three times, lay down and rolled over, and was soon
as docile as a kitten. During all these proceedings
Bat had made no remark, but as he turned to go to
the tent he said, — "That boy Percy is a good one, —
he is no 'sooner.' "

The next morning we pulled out for Fetterman.
To prevent waiting at these yards, where there was

Incidents 85

only a switch and loading pens for cattle trains, it
was necessary to inform Mr. C. C. Hughes, that
princely good fellow, the superintendent of the
Northwestern Railroad, that he could send his spe-
cial car and a freight car to load our deer and camp
equipments for home, and to provide hay and grain
for the stock on our arrival at the Fetterman yards.
Again the young cowboy came to the front. Percy
said, "It's sixty-two miles to Glen Rock ; I can ride
there tomorrow and have hay and grain at the Fet-
terman yards the day before you reach there."

We arrived the next day at three o'clock, and
found the young fellow waiting with the forage pro-
vided, having made two or three trips back and
forth from Fetterman to Glen Rock after his sixty-
two mile ride the first day.

The conspicuous references to Percy, — if the
reader has followed them carefully — will show he
was capable of making good in other ways than
wrangling horses for a hunting party.

INCIDENTS.

The many incidents of these royal hunts are often
of more real interest than any that are much longer
reaching a climax.

Our Indian guide, "Short Bull," who was a hun-
dred yards ahead of Henry Homan and myself,
stopped suddenly, and beckoned us to come to him.
There was good tracking snow on the ground, and
he pointed to a trail of several deer that had crossed
the valley during the night, not half a mile from

86 Incidents

our camp, going towards a bunch of bad land hills
to the north. Holding up his hands he indicated
seven in all, and by holding both open hands over
his head, it indicated two were bucks with big
horns; closing one hand tight and jerking it towards
the ground indicated that we would dismount, and
pointing his fingers away from his eyes and sweep-
ing over the country ahead meant that we were to
remain there until he looked around.

In five minutes he returned and motioned us to
get on our horses and follow, for the deer were
traveling fast. Following the trail, he led us over
a ridge of bad lands, where the descent was very
steep and the earth as soft as ashes. Down we
plunged, my horse planting his four feet firmly in
the soft earth, and stiflf-legged, slid part of the way
down, then stumbled, and I went headlong over his
head, landing squarely on my back, ten feet ahead of
him — leaving a few tender spots on my shoulder.
I again mounted and followed on. We were soon
out of the bad lands and going up a grassy ravine,
with low hills on each side.

Between Indians and wild game, I am forced to
the belief that a great sympathy exists. Suddenly,
Short Bull stopped, dismounted, threw the reins
over the pony's head and dropped them on the
ground. (This is ''tying your horses to the
ground"). Three or four draws led out of the valley,
and the Indian was as keen to investigate each scent
as a pointer dog would be on a covey of quail.
Looking back, he nodded to us that the game was
very near. From the trail the}^ had begun feeding,

\

'Fussin' " About Camp.

Incidents 87

and were as likely to be in one draw as another, so
we got off our horses and dropped the reins.

The peculiar antics of Mr. Short Bull were inter-
esting. Leaving the trail he would crawl to the top
of one ridge, then back and over the next. Peering
over a ridge at the head of a draw not forty feet
from where we stood, he suddenly dropped flat on
the ground and backed out and joined us. By signs
he made us understand that the seven deer were
right "over there" — the two big bucks nearest to us,
and all with their heads down feeding. Now Ro-
man was alive and so fidgety he trembled life a leaf.
He raised his head, put his rifle to his shoulder,
which the guide and myself also did, and in an in-
stant three shots rang out. The two bucks and a
small doe fell in their tracks. But Short Bull was
not satisfied; mounting his pony, he galloped up
the ravine, while the four deer ran to his left.

By the time the guide returned, we had the three
deer dressed and all tied behind our saddles. The
remaining four did not go but four or five hundred
yards away. The older animals will not go far
away from the younger ones (a mother instinct.) At
times they will come back to the spot, and a hunter
knowing this frequently kills a fawn on purpose to
bring the mother back within shot.

By the skillful maneuvering of Short Bull we
again came on to the four deer, and our three shots
brought down three more of the band — only one
escaping out of seven. The only credit due to Ro-
man and myself was that we hit our game, not
because of any superior knowledge of the habits of
deer, or our own great skill in coming onto them.

88 Incidents

If you want any lessons as to killing large game,
find such a hunter as "Little Bat," or look up a
Sioux Indian who knows its habits. The chief thing
to learn is how to trail a wounded animal over any
kind of ground.

MISCELLANEOUS ST0RIE:S

WORKING FOR WAGES.

When I managed the banking house of Nowlan
& Weary, at Helena, Montana, being counted an
expert in judging values of gold dust taken from
the various gulches, the firm paid me $500.00 per
month salary in gold. At this time $1.00 in gold
coin was rated at upwards of $2.50 in United States
currency. At this rate my salary amounted to
$1,250.00 per month in United States currency —
not a bad salary for a young man twenty-four years
old. In addition to this, the firm presented me with
a gold quartz nugget worth $125.00 and $75.00
in cash, the price of steamboat passage from Fort
Benton to Omaha. The latter luxury I did not
avail myself of, coming down the Missouri river in
my own open boat, rowed by hand, twenty-one
hundred miles.

IS THIS CONSCIENCE MONEY?

Not many years ago, an attorney in San Francisco
wrote me a letter of which this is the substance:

"I am directed to send you $200.00, which I will
do on receipt of a letter from you saying where it
will reach you. It will be useless to make inquiry;
the money belongs to you, and on your definite
reply I will forward it."

90 Hustling

I answered the letter promptly and in due course
of mail received a draft for $200.00. Although it
came in a draft of a California bank on Chicago and
was duly honored, no doubt it was sent there to
conceal the identity of the sender. I took the at-
torney's advice, accepted the money, and hope it
relieved the mind of the person causing it to reach
me.

HUSTLING.

On my various journeys through the west, before
the days of railroads west of the Missouri river, I
crossed the Rocky mountains on foot, on horseback,
by wagon, and by stage coach, nine times.

THE SQUAW MAN.

Nick Janice came to Fort Laramie in 1847, and
engaged in free trapping. Later he was employed
by one of the fur companies. In the winter of '48-
'49, he was employed by Captain Stansbury, a gov-
ernment engineer, who in the spring of 1849 sur-
veyed the Great Salt Lake and surroundings. Later
he returned as far as Cheyenne Pass, left the sur-
veying party, and at once "threw in" with the In-
dians. In the fall of 1850 he married in Indian
fashion a Sioux woman, who called herself Red
Cloud's sister, (John Hunton now at old Fort Lara-
mie is my authority for the above). Nick at once

I

The Squaw Man 91

began trading and trapping, and accumulated a few
head of horses. Later he acted as guide and inter-
preter for the government, and died at or near Pine
Ridge agency in 1903. His knowledge of the ways
of the world were limited; he could neither read nor
write, and coming from near St. Charles, Mo., was
known as a Missouri Frenchman. His traits of
character all leaned towards the lazy, idle Indian
life.

On my arrival at Fort Laramie in 72 Nick was
preparing to take up a ranch thirty miles from the
fort at the Big Springs (where now is an extensive
and well improved ranch owned by Colonel J. H.
Pratt and the Leiter estate), as soon as the Indian
agency, then located there, was moved over on
White river, where the town of Crawford, Nebraska,
now stands. This occurred a year or two later. At
this time his family of half-breed boys and girls
went with him on the ranch. John Reshaw (or
Richard) in those days a daring, wild and reckless
character of that country, who floated logs down
the Platte and built a bridge across the river near
Fort Fetterman, married Nick's oldest daughter,
Emily. Reshaw was later killed by Two Bears, an
Indian, at a camp near Mitchel's bottom on the
Platte river some forty miles below Fort Laramie,
and the vengeance that was later wreaked on that
Indian borders too much on Indian savagery to be
written in detail here. Suffice it then, that rumor
was afloat that the wife treasured up this crime,
and a day came when the slayer of her husband
was camped only a few miles from her home. Here
Emily took occasion to visit the camp of this same

92 The Squaw Man

Indian. Stories that were afloat in those days gen-
erally were true, and this was counted one of the
horrible tragedies of the Platte valley.

Nick had accumulated a herd of a thousand or
more cattle and was then quite a prominent cattle
man. About his ranch there could at all times be
seen from two to eight lodges of Indians.

Red Cloud by this time had become quite a
prominent chief, always disgruntled from that time
down to the present day, and the most hated Indian
chief of any tribe. The Indians around the ranch
were now all Nick's relations for he had married in
Red Cloud's family and they at all times quartered
on him, and as he told me, they were a terrible tax
on his commissary, consuming a "beef" a week, and
a barrel of sugar and a thousand pounds of flour a
month. This he pondered over a long time, but saw
no way of dispensing with these relations and cut-
ting down expenses.

When the Black Hills gold excitement broke out
and Jim Stephenson of Omaha (who, while serving
as city councilman, was best known as "Modoc
Jim") put on a stage line from Sidney to the Black
Hills, then the country became altogether too civil-
ized, and the Indian families moved back to the
agency on White river, leaving Nick alone with his
immediate family, numbering almost a dozen, old
and young. His ranch was on the main road and
convenient for a "swing station" where the stage
made a change of horses daily, no meals being
served. In those early days no stage was ever run
very long that did not have "Star Mail Route" and
it became necessary to establish postoffices and ap-

The Squaw Man 93

point postmasters along the Sidney route. Nick's
ranch was central for a dozen or two ranches five
to twenty-five miles away, and the cowboys soon
acquired the habit of riding their cow ponies over
to get the mail once a week. The only receptacle
for mail at this office was a wooden box that had
contained soap. When the stage arrived any one
who happened to be standing at the door would
hand in the bag which was opened at once, its con-
tents were dumped into the wooden soap box and
and every man in the room would help himself.
Then the outgoing letters were thrown into a bag
and handed to the driver and the coach would roll
away. At the present time this loose way of
handling Uncle Sam's mail would perhaps not be
tolerated. I have seen the stage going from
Cheyenne to Deadwood stop on the broad prairie,
the driver hand out the mail bag from the front
boot of the coach to a traveler riding alone in a
buggy. He would dump the contents of the bag
out on the ground. If there chanced to be a letter
addressed to him he would take it out, put the
letters and papers back in the bag, hand it up to the
driver and both go on about their business. So
there was no comparative reason for complaint at
the way mail was handled at Nick's postoffice.

When James A. Garfield was nominated for presi-
dent the National Republican Committee, according
to custom, sent the usual circulars to all the post-
masters over the country, asking for financial aid
to conduct the campaign. Nick was included in the
list, and he was notified by circular that $100.00
contributed by him to the fund would be accepted

94 The Squaw Man

as his proportion, he being a ''postmaster." This
was a stunner to him and he at once harnessed his
team and brought this circular up to Fort Laramie
for me to read and advise him what he had better
do in the premises.

About the same time the postoffice department at
Washington sent out the usual circulars calling on
all postmasters to account for the sale of postage
stamps, also for the box rent of the office. All of
these coming from Washington about the same
time Nick got the impression that the United States
government had a grudge against him, particularly,
and wanted to break him up in business, as he said.

On his arrival at the fort the conversation was
all by him and there was little for me to say. ''Who
is this man Garfield? I don't know him and I don't
owe him any money. If he is a poor man and will
come to my ranch, I will give him a beef and he
can stay at my house a week, but I don't want his
d — d postoffice at my ranch any more. Send him
money for my box rent? Why I bought this box
full of soap from you, Mr. Collins, and you know I
paid for it. Send money for stamps? I never had
any stamps but what I bought from you. I think
these people in Washington are trying to rob me
and I won't stand for it." Down at the ranch there
was a man by the name of Godfrey. Nick said he
could do "pen writin' " and he was going back to
throw that postoffice out on the trail and have God-
frey write Mr. Garfield he didn't want him to send
any more circulars to his ranch.

When Nick returned to the ranch, true to his
word, he put all the letters and papers that were

The Squaw Man 95

left over in a canvas sack, tied it with a string, and
when the stage came along he handed the bag to
the driver saying, "You can take the postoffice some
place else, I won't have it at my ranch any longer."

The civilizing effect of a stage running through
the Indian country had its educational effects also,
and there was occasionally talk of schools, teachers,
etc. Later one Hophoff started a school nine miles
below Fort Laramie. The settlers employed a
teacher and it was not long until it was known that
a school was in full blast down at Hophoff's. He
being a man of large family, at least two-thirds of
the pupils were his own children. The teacher, a
woman, boarded at his home.

Janice by this time realized that civilization was
about to encroach upon the wild country, and one
of his daughters, named Nettie, about sixteen years
of age, was selected as the proper member of the
family to go to school. To arrange this properly
he brought the young girl to my house at the fort
and asked me to fix her up so she could go to school.
She was rather neatly dressed and of fairly good
proportion. Her face was round and full, lips in-
clined to be thick, complexion more on the order of
an octoroon than a "half-breed" Indian, which is
slightly tinged with a copper color; her teeth were
white and of a shape and regularity to be envied by
an American belle; black eyes; and hair as black
and glossy as the color of a raven's wing, hung in
loose curls over her shoulders. She was very shy,
having never before been away from her own peo-
ple, and during the afternoon and the following
morning that she was at my house, although her

96 The Squaw Man

father would talk to her, I did not hear her utter a
word. That was the Indian of it. I gave Nick a
letter to Mr. Hophoff and explained that she wanted
to live with his family and go to school. A week
passed and I got no report on the new pupil. On
the tenth day Hophoff came to the fort to report
the girl missing. She had left his house the after-
noon before, and nothing had been heard of her
since, so he came to the fort to ascertain if she had
come that way. I sent a cowboy on horseback down
to Janice's ranch thirty miles away to inquire if she
had reached home and when he returned to the post
he brought word that the girl was safe at home.

The next day was Sunday and Nick drove to the
fort to buy some groceries and the account he gave
of his daughter was amusing. He said Nettie could
not talk "United States" and could not understand
anything that was said to her, and she didn't want
to go to school anyhow, so she wrapped her clothes
in a shawl and "hit the trail" for home, wading the
Platte river at the ford after dark, and arriving home
about eight o'clock, wet up to her neck. At the
ford near Nick's ranch the river was over two
hundred feet wide, and in places was near three feet
deep, and this is where she waded the river to reach
her home.

With Nick's many shortcomings he did not
neglect his personal appearance. During the many
years I knew him from 1872, scarcely a month
passed that I did not see him, and I cannot recall a
time when he did not wear a black cloth suit, a grey
felt hat and a white shirt. Among the ranchmen,
cattlemen, and people traveling through the country,

Down the Missouri River on a Steamboat 97

the clothing worn was canvas copper-riveted trous-
ers, woolen shirts and broad brimmed hats. So
Nick's black suit always attracted more or less at-
tention, and stood out conspicuously. Nick having
married a squaw, he became entitled to draw gov-
ernment rations, and his children having Indian
blood, they also were entitled to draw rations, when
of age. Many of the early white settlers married
squaws after an Indian fashion, and enjoyed the
same privileges, and these are known as "squaw
men."

DOWN THE MISSOURI RIVER ON A STEAMBOAT.

In 1868, the year after I shipped my mules over-
land, I made a second trip by stage from Omaha
to Helena, and returned via Fort Benton on a stern
wheel steamboat. At Fort Benton the only freight
coming down was a few beef hides and dressed
buffalo robes packed in bales of ten each, a bale
weighing about one hundred pounds. A few hun-
dred bales were loaded here, but the bulk of the
cargo was put on further down the river at the va-
rious Indian trading camps, at Fort Berthold and
old Fort Peck, and the Indian trading stores. When
the manifest was complete the clerk of the boat told
me there were sixty-five thousand buffalo robes on
board. They were unloaded at Bismarck, Yankton
and Sioux City.

Below the mouth of Judith river, our boat com-
ing down passed an up-bound steamer that had
snagged and sunk in ten feet of water, about twenty

98 Down the Missouri River on a Steamboat

feet from shore. It was in the country of the most
hostile Indians, and they were incHned to dispute
the right of any travel, even of a steamboat. In a
few hours after the boat snagged the Indians
bobbed up from behind every brush patch and tree
and rock along the bank. Immediately after sink-
ing the boat, the crew began preparations for de-
fence against the Indians. They first hoisted sev-
eral barrels of coal oil from below deck and got them
on shore. All the inside cabin berths were stove in,
the bucket planks taken off the wheel and put on
the outside of the cabin wall, and the berth mat-
tresses placed between, to ward off the bullets, for
the Indians had guns as well as bows and arrows.
This was completed none too soon ; the barrels con-
taining coal oil being easily handled were hoisted
out and rolled on shore over the gang planks. By
this time no less than five hundred Grosventre In-
dians had collected on the bank, and believing noth-
ing but "minnewa-kon" (fire water) or whiskey
was ever contained in barrels, they were getting
ready to make a raid on the stuff and have a glo-
rious time. To make sure of securing the entire lot,
they had moved their camp down to the river
bank, and the Indians called out to the officers
of the boat that they would make a raid on the
barrels and if they met any opposition they would
go on board and kill everybody on the boat.

It was a freight steamer, carrying no passengers,
and the captain, mate, pilots, cabin boys, "roust-
abouts," etc., including one chamber-maid (a
white woman), did not exceed twenty-five all told.
The boat had hauled in the gang plank, and being

Down the Missouri River on a Steamboat 99

fortified as above stated, they had nothing to fear
against the five hundred Indians on shore. The
captain had sent a courier on foot some two hun-
dred miles to Fort Benton to arrange for teams and
a military escort from Fort Cook to guard the
teams and come down overland after the cargo,
which was quite a valuable one, and the captain was
loath to leave it unprotected, having been in that
situation already ten days, and no one but the
chamber-maid (whom we afterward took on board
our steamer, bound down) caring to desert the un-
fortunate boat. We tied up along side and visited
back and forth for two or three hours. The ma-
rooned crew said they could protect themselves, so
we cut loose and proceeded on our way down the
river, leaving the crew on board the sunken steamer
to their fate.

I learned later that the cargo was taken off safely
and delivered by freight teams with a government
escort at Fort Benton. The officers and crew then
took passage on a steamer for St. Louis. Much of
the cargo was only slightly damaged and very little
was lost. Few people, except the rugged navigators
of the Missouri in early days, know anything of the
perils of such a voyage, and such experiences.

On the sunken boat a night watch was kept.
Every morning arrows were found on the hurricane
deck and many were found sticking in the pilot
house, the Indians no doubt thinking fhe guard
would always be located there.

100 The Pack Train

THE PACK TRAIN.

One of the most picturesque and animated scenes
witnessed on one of our many mountain hunts was
the loaded government pack train under Thomas
Moore, the chief packer and a dozen of his aids,
coming down the heavily wooded and steep moun-
tain side of the Sierra Madre mountains on our re-
turn from Grand Encampment lake. Each animal
carried from two hundred and fifty to three hundred
pounds, which included all of our deer, elk and
antelope. When we reached the mountain top, all
the mules came to a halt ; the trails down the moun-
tain side were dim and scattering, being the point
at which the mules had followed game trails leading
up on the mountain only a few days before. Each
mule pricked up its long ears and looked wisely over
the ground to see what trail it would follow. A
forest of pine trees and jutting ledges of rocks cov-
ered the mountain side. Mr. Moore hailed the
hunters and said: "You hunters pick your way
ahead of the bell mare and mules, and keep out of
their way or you will be run over." From our point
of view, it looked easy for a half dozen mounted
hunters to keep away from a loaded pack train.
Moore yelled to the gray bell mare, "Go on, crazy,"
and the caravan started following us. In many
places the trees grew so close together a naked
mule could scarcely go between them, a pack some-
times adding a foot on each side. We heard the
musical voice of the packers and the slangy
phrases and cuss words that usually accompany
their orders to the mules. Every animal picked out

Wild Buffalo in a Cattle Pen 101

his own route and started on a lumbering trot. In
a few minutes they were about to overrun us. A
pack mule would start between two trees and when
the narrow space caught his pack on both sides, he
would back out and look for a wider opening. This
sometimes delayed the animal, and his eagerness to
keep in sound of the bell mare would often drive
him almost wild. Going around the point of a rock,
if the pack struck the rock on one side, the mule
would lean over, back out and try it again. This
he would repeat until he cleared his pack, then go
on. In the thickest of the forest, where the trees
stood very close together, the mules became thor-
oughly tangled, and it required the greatest skill of
the packers to straighten them out. The shavetails
whinnied and thrashed around through the under-
brush as if they were almost mad, and when re-
leased, would go on a run down the mountain side.
Apparently their aim was to keep within sound of
the bell on the bell mare. When this was lost they
were like a ship at sea without a rudder. For-
tunately the hunters reached the foot of the moun-
tain ahead of the mules, and had the opportunity
of witnessing the skillful way in which each mule
dodged the trees and the rocks to clear his pack, and
when the bottom was reached, they all started on a
stampede to find the bell mare.

WILD BUFFALO IN A CATTLE PEN.

When F. M. Phillips had "cut out " all of his H
brand of cattle from the main round-up on Fish
creek, twenty miles above the mouth of the Chug-

102 "Jane"

water, and was driving them home to his ranch, he
discovered a wild buffalo bull in his herd. It was
not an unusual thing back in the '70's for the cow-
boys in rounding up cattle to find a stray buffalo
among the cattle. The only attention paid to this
was when the owner had "cut out" his brand to
drive back on his own range, or take them home to
"cut out the beef" for shipment. With whichever
herd the stray buffalo happened to follow, it was
driven along with the cattle, and found its way to
the branding pen or in with the "beef." Phillips'
corral was enclosed with logs on three sides, an al-
most precipitous wall of rock fifty or more feet high
forming the fourth side of the corral, and it was so
steep that cattle could not climb out — one would
imagine that even a mountain sheep could not scale
the wall. Imagine, then, Mr. PhilHps' surprise in
looking out of his window one morning to see this
wild buffalo bull almost to the top of this wall of
rock, and in a short time it got to the top and
scampered away over the open plains.

"JANE."

The many inquiries, "What became of Jane?" the
buxom Irish woman who came to Thomas Prowse's
train at Kearney, referred to in the first chapter of
this book, lead me to believe that the following sen-
tence was overlooked: "When the train reached
Virginia City, its destination, it was disbanded,
every one going his own way."

A few days after our arrival at Virginia City, I
met Jane on Wallace street, and in reply to my in-

Side Lights on a Gold Mining Camp 103

quiry, — "Have you found a gold mine yet?", she
said: "Lord bless yon, darlin', I worked a week in
the Virginia Hotel pnd got $35.00. Then I went to
washing and I'v got $75.00 in gold dusht in me
buckskin bag, — 'sure Mike', — and how is it wid ye?"
Jane "struck it rich" when she invested in a wash-
board and tub. The last I saw of her, four weeks
after our arrival at Virginia City, she was working
like a beaver and had then saved $150.00 in "dusht."

♦ * *

SIDE LIGHTS ON A GOLD MINING CAMP.

Only general reference has been made to the cu-
rious population of Virginia City, Montana, in the
year 1864. While "hanging bees," and banishing
the desperadoes was going on, the moral atmosphere
of Virginia City was improving each day. Aside
from this class there were others, for Alder Gulch
was known to be the richest and most extensive
placer diggings ever discovered, and it attracted
people of every calling in life from all over the coun-
try. Within a year from its discovery it contained
6,000 people, and its greatest peculiarity was that
among the number not two dozen women were in
the town. There were a few heroic wives who had
borne the hardships of an overland trip, with their
husbands; aside from these, the remainder, about a
dozen were adventuresses who gloried in such eu-
phonious names, as "The Memphis Iron Clad," "The
Dancing Idiot," "Orum's Pet," "Irish Ann," "Nelly
the Bilk," "Zulu Twins," "Salt Lake Kate," etc.
There were also a few of the younger set of that ilk

104 Side Lights on a Gold Mining Camp

that were the principal attractions at the dance halls.
Occasionally a leader of the above named ma-
jority of women, accompanied by one or two of the
same set, would take it into her head to fill up to
the brim on champagne, at $10.00 per bottle, and
go forth at midnight dressed in her best attire, wear-
ing diamonds galore to "clean out the dance halls."
Of course this would always end in a ruction in
which everybody in the room would take a hand.
The number of broken heads and black eyes seen
on the street next day, could be counted in bunches.
There were too many to single out. Some of the
upper ten of this class of women had respectable
balances to their credit in the two banks. I
was buying gold dust in the bank of Nowlan &
Weary, and this was one of the first places to get
the news of the proceedings of the night before.
Their supply of gold dust gone, diamonds lost, their
faces swollen, their tempers ruffled, their burdens
must be told to some.

Con Orum, a blacksmith from Denver, Colorado,
and the only professional prize fighter in the town
at the time referred to, kept a saloon on a principal
side street. Later came Paddy Ryan and Patsey
Marley, then Hugh O'Neill, who, as before stated,
was one of Wells Fargo's men. Each one of these
celebrities had his friends and backers, and a prize
fight was arranged between Con Orum and Patsey
Marley, to come off in an unfinished log enclosure
with no covering overhead, on the west side of
Wallace street, below Castner's hotel, some time
early in January, 1866, with the mercury twenty-five
degrees below zero. Ninety-seven rounds were

Side Lights on a Gold Mining Camp 105

fought to an overflowing house of as rough and
motley a set of human beings as ever assembled, at
what is called a "prize ring."

Omaha's robust late distinguished citizen, Count
John A. Creighton, was one of the witnesses
to the affair. There are a few others now living in
Omaha who were present as well as myself. Amuse-
ments in those days were bull fights, bull and bear
fights, dog fights and every kind of a fight that ma-
terial could be had for. A fight between a Mexican
bull and a grizzly bear was one of them. I recall
the time when citizens of that day and in that place
could stand some pretty hard things, but this occa-
sion was beyond the limit and not a few citizens,
who did not care to mix in the motley audience were
invited by Mr. Creighton to go on the roof of his
wholesale grocery store, that overlooked the ring
to witness the affair.

Paddy Ryan who was a "second" in the prize
fight, was the same Ryan who led the bread and
flour riot in Virginia City, when a sack of flour of
ninety-eight pounds had reached the price of $130.00
in gold dust. The alloted price being one ounce per
sack, when flour enough to make a biscuit cost half
a dollar, the miners would not stand for it.

Ryan, with an empty flour sack suspended from
the top of a pole he carried, led a mob into every
store, cellar, dugout, and residence, followed by
teams, and made the owners of flour divide. The
merchants had concealed their flour in every con-
ceivable place, even under the beds of the miner's
cabins, in holes in the ground, feeling sure that the

106 Side Lights on a Cold Mining Camp

great rise in the price of the staff of life, would be
met with great opposition and much trouble.

If a merchant had one hundred bags in his store,
the levy was not much less than fifty bags.
If a private dwelling had twenty bags hidden under
its beds, the tribute was ten of them, and so the
mob ransacked the town and took the surplus, and
in less than twenty-four hours the regular price of
a bag of flour went down from $130.00 to $45.00.

Professor Dimsdale who was at that time editing
the only newspaper published in the gold camp,
''The Montana Post," I think, was there and in his
serial notes, afterwards compiled in book form as
"The Vigilants of Montana," makes a somewhat
meager mention of these conspicuous events. They
would now seem to be no more than manufac-
tured stories, but in those strenuous days, it was
best to be circumspect and avoid the fate the toughs,
who were later hung or banished, would mete out
to too much meddling. No doubt there are many
men living, who think the editing of a newspaper
sometimes is attended with danger. Compare notes
with this man Dimsdale and he will be praised for
the courage of even brief mention.

Some time after the Orum-Marley prize fight,
Hugh O'Neill, came up to Virginia City and sly-
foxed around some months and finally brought about
a fight between himself and Con Orum. O'Neill was
a head taller and many pounds heavier than Orum,
and the match was counted uneven for weight and
size. Their fight took place in the "Theatre build-
ing" over on a side street. Ben. H. Barrows,
who was in Virginia City at that time, and is now

A Miners' Bread Riot 107

the collector of customs and in charge of the Omaha
postoffice building, will bear me out in the state-
ment that one hundred and twenty-seven rounds
were fought. Of all sights and scenes attending a
prize fight, I doubt if this has ever been equalled.
The crowd was the sight of a life time; the order
maintained has never been excelled. While the men
were unevenly matched in weight and size, their
pluck and staying qualities were evenly balanced.
The outcome, although a "drawn battle," is of little
consequence, for it was evidently "fixed." The
oddity of the affair was the part the women named
herein took in it. Some half dozen on each side of
the "ropes." At the end of each round, they fairly
deluged their favorites with perfumery that was
used as lavishly as water and cost $10.00, a bottle.
As for the betting, the entire audience would not
compare with the planking down by the women of
from ten to a hundred ounces of gold dust on their
man, and there was little difference in the number
of women in each corner besides the ropes, all of
them as loud and hilarious of manner as the very
totighest of the men.

A MINERS' BREAD RIOT.

On my reaching Silver Bow to open a store (with
one wagon load of goods) there were only two build-
ings in the town, one a store operated by a Mr.
Dorwin, a man of sixty years, who had married a
school teacher from Iowa of thirty years and she
kept house in the rear of his log store. The only
cast iron cook stove within a range of eighty miles —

108 A Miners' Bread Riot

which the miners had repeatedly offered $300 for,
was owned by Mrs. Dorwin. I started an opposition
store in a pretentious two-story log building. With-
in a range of five miles below and five miles above
and in the small side gulches, were perhaps seventy-
five miners' cabins containing a population of two
hundred and fifty people, all men and about one
hundred of these came to town to trade, usually on
Sunday. Flour was selling at $50 per bag of ninety-
eight pounds and Dorwin tried at once to induce me
to raise the price to $75, as snow on the main range
would prevent teams from bringing flour over the
divide until the next June, unless it came by pack
train, four months hence; but this I refused to do.
All the flour I had was twenty bags that cost me
$25.00 per sack in Virginia City, and the hauling in
dead of winter near a hundred miles and a profit of
ten per cent was all it would bear. Sunday Mr.
Dorwin was waited on by two wagon loads of
miners. They quietly loaded on the two two-horse
wagons all the flour, beans, rice and crackers the
horses could haul, paying him about twenty-five
per cent of his price on the goods taken and drove
away. These provisions they distributed among the
miners at cost, informing Mr. Dorwin that at a
second attempt to raise the price of the "staff of
life" he might be found at the end of an inch rope
just on the edge of town. The effect which this
episode had on my own business was to increase my
trade, which continued until July, when I disposed
of my stock and started for Helena to arrange for
my trip of two thousand miles in an open boat down
the Missouri river to Omaha.

Lively Staging in the West 109

LIVELY STAGING IN THE WEST.

On one of my staging trips to Salt Lake City,
west of old Fort Bridger, being in haste to get
through I was transferred from a Concord wagon
to a lumber wagon carrying only the mail and ex-
press matter. This filled the wagon and I climbed
on top of the mail sacks lying flat and holding on
as best I could. The night was pitch dark and if
the four horses had not been white I doubt if the
driver could have seen where the reins held in his
hands led to. A dare-devil young fellow called
"Spense" was the driver. Whether he was familiar
with the crooked and rocky road and the bridges
made of poles crossing the stream every 200 yards,
or depended on the horses' knowing the way, I
could not tell. He raced them down the canyon on
a full gallop, perhaps for my benefit. I hung on to
the mail bags. They slipped and slid around and I
was in constant danger of sliding oflf. If this had
happened, I doubt it Spense would have known it
until reaching the next station, for he was very
busy driving and yelling at the horses. We drove
into the swing station after fifteen miles at a terrific
speed and here I laid over to wait for the first
coach, which came two days later. There being a
vacant seat I continued my journey.

For many years I carried it in my mind to ''even
up" with Spense, if I ever found him in the canyons,
about Omaha or anywhere else oflF his own beat.
This is the sequel :

Many years after this wild, midnight ride, when I
became post trader at Fort Laramie, the Patrick

110 Lively Staging in the West

brothers ran a stage line from Cheyenne to the
Black Hills by the way of Fort Laramie. It was in
the palmy days of "road agents" and "hold ups."
There came a new driver on the line and he was put
on from Fort Laramie north. I had occasion to ask
his name before he had made many trips. To my
great surprise, it proved to be "Spense," the crazy
driver who took me down Echo canyon years be-
fore. Here was a morsel of satisfaction to me and
I soon began planning to even up with Spense, for
he was the tenderfoot now. I began planning with
the stage employes to have him taken over on Deer
creek on a "snipe hunt" by night and lost in the
woods. When the plan was fairly under way
Spense drove in from the north one forenoon for
the mail. He was rattled and nervous and wanted
to quit his job then and there. I happened to be
standing in the front door and he told the following
story, the slangy expressions he used were more
expressive than even the simplified spelling of to-
day. He said:

"I had a jolt last night. I doubled out from
Lance creek to the first 'red hold-up holler.' Two
men jumped for the leaders, fired a couple of shots
and told me to stop. One was a little slim cuss,
the other a fat red-headed rooster. They told me
as perlite as a school marm, *if I moved an inch
they'd drop me off the box full o' holes.' So I
obeyed orders. Two other fellows told the passen-
gers to get out, throw down their guns and hold up
their hands. They made me throw the mail sacks
out. The treasury box was built in the hind seat
of the coach and they appeared to know the com-

Lively Staging in the West 111

pany's grain wagon was a little ways back and there
was not much time to finish their job. After they
got the guns and all the money and jewelry from
the passengers they got into their saddles and told
me to 'hit up the trail hard and not look back.' I
threw the silk into the leaders and there didn't any
grass grow under their feet into Rawhide station."

Not two weeks after the hold-up, the stage going
up contained the "fat red-headed rooster" and *'the
little slim cuss" in irons, in charge of deputy mar-
shals going towards Deadwood. It was late in the
evening when they took supper at the Rustic hotel.
One of my employes, Dan Fitzgerald, was a
passenger and got off there. With the usual change
of horses the stage with four passengers drove on.
At the Platte ford, two miles away, the stage was
delayed at the crossing. The next day was Sunday.
All the cavalry was out in that direction, exercising
their horses. Along the trail just under a bluff
one company halted and the sergeant sent an or-
derly back to report to Colonel A. W. Evans, in
command. ''Two men hung at the Platte ford."

With my grey bronchos Colonel Evans and myself
drove over to the place designated and we found
the "little slim cuss" tied hands and feet hanging
to a Cottonwood limb, dead, the "red headed rooster"
lying on the ground at his feet, he having been hung
then cut down to make room for hanging the "little
slim cuss." Being shy of halter rope only one could
be hung at a time.

It was soon noised around the garrison that a
party had met the coach, taken the two road agents
out and told the driver to "move on." No further

112 Guarding a Prisoner

particulars could be obtained. The "hold up of
Spense" and the robbing of his passengers had been
avenged.

GUARDING A PRISONER.

When I sold goods in Silver Bow one ''jerky"
stage with two horses carried passengers and the
mail from Johnnie Grant's ranch on the Deer Lodge,
up to Silver Bow, thence over the Pipe jStone
range, which was the main Rocky Mountain divide,
to Virginia City. The waters on the west side of
the low narrow ridge run into the Deer Lodge,
through Pend Oreille, Hell Gate and Bitter Root
into the Columbia river and the Pacific ocean.
Within a stone's throw a spring headed the waters
flowing to the Jefferson, one of the three forks of
the Missouri river and into the Gulf of Mexico and
the Atlantic ocean.

To replenish my stock of goods, it was necessary
for me to go to Virginia City occasionally. The
stage went once a week and passed through Silver
Bow going west in the afternoon returning at once,
and arriving at Silver Bow going east again about
two a. m. It was necessary to engage passage as
the stage went west to be sure of a seat in the coach
going east soon after midnight. At two a. m. I was
called out to take the stage. My only baggage was
a hundred ounces of Silver Bow gold dust, worth
in trade $13 an ounce. I climbed into the coach and
found two fellow passengers.

A Nez Perces Squaw 113

"Get on the back seat with me, Collins," was my
greeting from a Doctor Day, who was either a
United States or a county marshal, and whose voice
I recognized. We had rolled along some four miles,
to the foot of the divide, when I felt a frequent
nudging and I was not long in understanding the
meaning of the maneuvers. The doctor handed me
a Colt's revolver and said :

"Mr. Collins, I depend on you as my assistant.
This man is my prisoner from Fort Owen and I de-
pend on you to assist in guarding him."

There I was, inside a coach, curtains all buttoned
down, with a marshal who had a "road agent" in
irons, both feet and arms shackled and I was ex-
pected to assist in seeing that he would be safely
delivered into the hands of the vigilantes in Virginia
City, perhaps to be hung within an hour of his ar-
rival.

Our duty was performed, and in half an hour after
our arrival in Virginia City the prisoner was hanged..

A NEZ PERCES SQUAW.

In my somewhat varied life of travel my business
west of the Missouri river carried me among over
forty thousand Indians of the various tribes during
fourteen or fifteen years and I had an opportunity
of seeing as much of their mode of living, occupa-
tion, dress and habits as many of the early trappers
and traders who had lived among them years be-
fore.

114 A Nez Perces Squaw

''Indian beauty" is one of the things looked for
by all people who travel among Indians. As for
myself, I saw one solitary squaw who could be
called a beauty. She belonged to the Nez Perces
tribe, which a long while before began its deviltry
among the whites with Chief Joseph at its head.
In time he gathered his entire band from out in
Oregon and began a raid through the settlements
east of Hell Gate, Bitter Root, Deer Lodge and
through Montana, crossing the Missouri above old
Fort Peck and was, with his entire band, captured
by United States troops just before reaching the
British possessions. The whole tribe was sent down
into the Everglades of Florida to remain prisoners
until they learned more of the peaceable ways of
the whites.

It was many years before this, when I began
storekeeping with one wagon load of goods in Silver
Bow, that a dozen lodges of the Nez Perces camped
on Brown creek, two miles north of Silver Bow, to
trap beaver and otter. They were well fitted out
with a band of about a hundred ponies of a mixed
breed called "piebald," "pinto" and "calico," red
woolen blankets, fair leathern saddles, etc., and
were better equipped than any small band I ever
met. They also had gold coin in $5, $10 and $20
pieces.

The band came to my store, two miles from their
camp, to trade, paying cash for all their purchases.
They were middle-aged or young men and women.
The first that came to the store was a baker's dozen
of as decent an appearing lot of the "copper colored"
as I have ever seen. There was a tall, well propor-

A Nez Perces Squaw 115

tioned, sleek-haired young fellow who acted as in-
terpreter. He told me he did not belong to the
tribe. His grandfather was one of the Hudson Bay
company's French voyagers and he came from the
French half-breeds at Fort Berthold with a train
of ox carts, fell in with a war party of Lacotas and
drifted over among the Pend Oreille Indians, and
when with his little band in camp on Brown creek,
he saw a pretty squaw, he had rounded up his herd
of twenty ponies and had come along with the band
"to get her."

Occasionally this pretty young woman would
come to my store without him and with four or five
women. She was the only one among them who
could by signs make me understand their wants.
She was of medium size, not stout, with but a slight
tinge of copper in her complexion, a clear, chiseled
face with eyes like diamonds, lips clean cut, a pretty
mouth, and teeth so white and perfect that a white
beauty of any "four-hundred" might envy them ; her
hair was fine, soft and glossy and fell in loose waves
over her shoulders; her ears thin and almost trans-
parent; she wore no other ornaments than a string
of large blue beads around her neck and a coil of
German silver around one wrist. She was dressed
in a striped calico skirt, black broadcloth leggings
embroidered in silk, deer-skin shirt and moccasins,
a bright plaid shawl over her shoulders and her
tout en semble was topped off with a wide-brimmed,
mouse-colored soft hat with a string under her chin
to hold it in place on the back of her head. She rode
a handsome little bay mare and when mounted
astride hers was a picturesque figure. But riding

116 Sixty Thousand Dressed Buffalo Hides

was not her proper stunt and did not show her
charms to the best advantage.

One moonlight night, after midnight, the half-
breed awakened me and said this girl was sick and
he came for a bottle of "Red Jacket bitters." I got
out of my bunk, gave him the bitters and he said,
"she pay" and rode off.

In a few days another bunch came to the store
and brought me a string of trout and the young girl
accompanying them, did not offer to liquidate for
the bitters, but handed me a smoked buckskin gold
dust bag, nicely embroidered in colored silk.

This bag I have retained all these years, and now
it holds some small nuggets and specimens of gold
I picked up in various mining camps.

SIXTY THOUSAND DRESSED BUFFALO HIDES.

After arranging for the driving of the herd of
mules to Carbon on the Union Pacific railroad, which
the Indians took possession of soon after their ar-
rival, I took the Wells, Fargo company's stage for
Salt Lake City to make inquiry for several loads of
saddlery goods started from Omaha by team over-
land late in the summer previous and snowed in in
the mountains east of Salt Lake City, where they
remained until early spring. When the spring thaw
came the owner of the train, to whom I paid $25.00
per thousand pounds freight, finally brought his
train into Salt Lake with the merchandise in good
order. I sold out the entire lot to Eldridge, Clawson
& Company of the Zion co-operative store, and re-

Sixty Thousand Dressed Buffalo Hides 117

turned to Helena by stage where I again spent
some time waiting for the arrival of the first steam-
boat from St. Louis, that would leave Fort Benton
for down river after unloading its cargo and try to
make a second trip up the Missouri the same season.
The first boat to arrive and unload was the big
stern-wheeler, "Cora." I went by team from Helena
to Fort Benton and embarked for Omaha. While
these commonplace events may not thus far interest
the reader it is necessary to relate them in order to
bring forward the following facts.

There was little or no freight going down the
river except dressed buflfalo hides, worth at whole-
sale $2.50 each, packed in bales of ten. The Cora
took on board all that were ready for shipment and
started immediately on the down trip. Both the
cabin and deck carried a full quota of returning
miners, every one of them with gold dust in buck-
skin bags. Half an hour after leaving Fort Benton
the bell announced that dinner was ready. The
cabin on each side of the table was lined with the
rough and burly miners, (at least double in number
what the boat registered to carry) who, by occupy-
ing a chair would be sure of a seat at the first table,
so they stood holding on to it until the second bell
would ring. To understand the determination of
these passengers to be first at the table, a stranger
needed but to try to edge in and get in advance of
one of these men. All of the passengers wore re-
volvers strapped to their waists and the sight of
these articles was enough to show that they were
carried for a purpose. As soon as the table cloth
was spread the miners gradually edged up towards

118 Sixty Thousand Dressed Buffalo Hides

it and before dinner was announced, every chair
along the wall of the cabin was occupied. When
dinner was ready the occupant of each chair pushed
it up in front of a plate and stood by with his re-
volver and his belt of cartridges convenient. Not
more than one-fourth of the passengers could be
seated at one table. When they finished, a second
table was set and the same process of getting pos-
session of a chair was gone through with again. It
required four separate tables at each meal to serve
the cabin passengers. Setting twelve tables a day
took from four o'clock in the morning until ten
o'clock at night. The cabin was actually overrun.
Every passenger not having a berth had a bundle
of bedding which was thrown on deck outside of
the cabin along the guards.

Passengers fortunate enough to have secured
berths, (each berth containing two single bunks)
were not allowed to occupy them alone. Six people
would be the allotment and they were occupied six
hours by each occupant, in relays. The table was
very poorly supplied and by the time the boat had
reached a trading post below Milk river provisions
began to run very low. At an Indian agency I
bought a bag full of dried buffalo tongues and for
the following ten days the supply of provisions
was bread and crackers, beans and rice, coffee and
buffalo tongue. When ten o'clock at night came,
the miners placed all the chairs out on the guards
and bunked down on the floor and from the bow to
the stern of the cabin, there was not a foot of space
unoccupied. The most difficult task for the miners
was to secrete the bags of dust they carried on their

Weighing a Grizzly Bear 119

persons and all lay down not only with their clothes
on, but with their revolvers and cartridges also. We
were twenty days making the voyage.

At all the trading posts along the river, bales of
buffalo robes were taken on board. The largest
number being from Fort Union, at the mouth of the
Yellowstone; Fort Berthold and old Fort Peck.
When the cargo was all on I asked the clerk how
many bales he had on board. After carefully cal-
culating the lots from each landing he handed me
the manifest. The "Cora" carried sixty thousand
robes, almost equaling in weight its entire tonnage.
At Yankton and at Sioux City the largest part of
the cargo was unloaded, the balance going to St.
Louis.

WEIGHING A GRIZZLY BEAR.

''Cap, I want you to weigh a bear." These words
were said to me by a grizzled, weather-worn, ragged,
old hunter with so much hair on his face and neck
he might have passed for the wild man of the woods.
His head was bandaged in rags, one arm cut out of
his coat sleeve and if I ever saw a white man who
looked the picture of distress he was the man. A
crowd at once gathered around his wagon and it
was easy to get men to "lend a hand" and drag the
big bear to the scales inside the store. Thirteen
hundred and sixty-five pounds was the actual weight.
When the bear was loaded back into the wagon with
bison, elk, moose and deer, the disfigured hunter
told the following story :

120 Weighing a Grizzly Bear

*'It was this way. You see, Cap, Dan and me (Dan
is my pardner, see?) were camped over in the Galla-
tin valley hunting for market, see? The cussed var-
mints were so bad we built a corral of fallen pine
logs to store our game in until we had a full load for
market. The next day we were going to "pull our
freight" for Virginia City and top out the load with
black tail deer that we could kill anywhere on the
road in any quantity. I was coming to the corral
from the west leading my horse with a young moun-
tain lion behind the saddle, when this here big brute
made a pass at jumping out of the corral where he
had been feeding on our game. Hearing my partner
coming from the east it was trying to escape not
having seen or heard me. Then it turned and ran
back and Dan and the brute came together. By the
time I could run around the fence they were mixed,
tearing through the underbrush. When the bear
left Dan it came for me and with one paw raked me
down from head to waist and before it could get its
mouth on me Dan's 45 bullet broke his neck. It was
a close shave for me. I had about an even chance
of being killed by the shot or chawed up by the bear.
The next morning we loaded up for town. That
was three days ago."

LAKES aiid WOODS nf WISCONSIN

In the spring of 1895, with Charles Turner of
Omaha, I visited the lakes and woods of Wisconsin.
Mr. Turner had been a woodsman in early life, —
being a surveyor by profession, — and the part of
Wisconsin which we visited was his old stamping
ground. He told me that as I was not familiar with
the timber country, there would be something new
and interesting in the trip, — very different from
plains and mountain life. — and, as we shall see, his
predictions were true.

J. B. Mann was the proprietor of a fishing lodge
on lower Trout lake, in the region known as "Toma-
hawk Group" in the Wisconsin woods. Before
reaching the town of Tomahawk, not far from
Minneacqua, we came to a logging camp. At the
station a burly lot of Finlanders got aboard the
train. These men had been in the woods all winter
engaged in logging and had just received their pay,
and were on their way to Tomahawk to spend their
earnings. "Bootleggers" and vendors of cheap
liquor had located near the logging station and all
of the Finns were more or less under the influence
of liquor. The conductor had a disagreeable time
getting the men loaded on the cars. They staggered
into the train and down the isles as only drunken
men could do, dropping into seats and sprawling
about. They were dressed in the clothing of all
lumbermen — suits of striped kersey blanket cloth,
heavy cowhide shoes, the soles filled with spikes

122 Lakes and Woods of Wisconsin

half an inch long. The crowd was a little too rough
for the other passengers, who, with Mr. Turner and
myself, went into the baggage car.

A few hours brought us to Tomahawk station
where all the Finns got off.

About the station and in the town the big trees
had been cut down, the stumps still standing and the
buildings were of unplaned boards running up and
down and battened. Some outside walls were
shingled but there was no paint on any building, —
the latter omission being of little consequence, how-
ever, as the Finns immediately started in to ''paint
the town."

At the station before reaching Tomahawk the
operator had told the conductor to look out for a
forest fire that might cross the track. We were not
long in running into the clouds of smoke and floa-
ting embers. Ahead of us was a narrow streak of
light where a strip of the timber had been cut
through and on a clear day one could see miles
ahead. The trees cut by the railroad along the right-
of-way were piled up as cord wood near the track
fully ten feet high and three or four hundred feet
long and near enough to the track to be handed to
the fireman on the tender. After we left the station
and reached the smoke from the fire, the train came
to a stop, the crew climbed out and met the con-
ductor, and the passengers were then called in con-
sultation to size up the situation. The engineer
said: *Tf the ties ahead of us are not burning I do
not think the rails are hot enough to warp and we
can make it if we can 'take a run at it.' There is
not water enough in the tank to carry us to the next

Lakes and Woods of Wisconsin 123

station back and we have got to make it, or lay up
and send back for water, and by that time the rails
will be hot and warped and we can't go ahead. We
must decide quickly what we will do."

It was decided to run slowly through the smoke
until we reached the fire, and then be governed by
circumstances. The conductor cried ''All aboard"
and we started.

We soon reached the burning trees and piles of
wood which were on fire on both sides of the track, —
a mass of flames and red coals. The ties were all
right as far as could be seen. "Shall we try it?"
asked the engineer, consulting the passengers. It
was decided we should, and all the car windows and
doors were tightly closed. With a prolonged whistle
we backed down a half mile; another long whistle
and we started ahead. The puffing of the engine
was slow at first, then faster and faster. We were
running through a blaze of flames all about us
Faster and faster the train flew. The heat came
through the glass windows so that we were com-
pelled to huddle in the aisles. There appeared a
streak of fire on both sides of the car and the smoke
coming through the cracks of the doors and win-
dows nearly stifled us. Five minutes of this and we
should be lying in the aisles suffocated. The en-
gineer could not see the smoke stack.

Our speed was terrific — a mile a minute and
even faster. "Will we make it?" asked the passen-
gers. The answer came : "We will die in our tracks
if we do not."

Presently there came a long shrill whistle, — a
signal that we were out of the woods and safe.

124 Lakes and Woods of Wisconsin

The train stopped and all hands got out, took a
long breath, and looked to see what damage had
been done to the cars. ''God, it was hot," said the
engineer as he almost fell out of the engine cab.
Look at the blisters on the coaches," said the con-
ductor; "but we are all right. All aboard," and in a
few minutes we were at Minoqua, the last station
on the line.

I reminded Mr. Turner that he had told me I
would see some new things on the trip and asked
if he counted this as one of them. *'Yes," he
answered, ''the Finns was one and this is number
two, and we are not yet at the fishing grounds."

The next morning a spring wagon took us to
Mann's lodge, over a new road where the trees had
recently been cut to open a new trail. Mann's lodge
is a log cabin, with partitions of rough-sawed, un-
planed boards, with its porches housed in with wire
netting, for mosquitos were there by the million.
Fully twenty-five fishermen had arrived ahead of us
and were preparing their tackle for the next morn-
ing. Half a dozen Chippewa Indians were on hand
to act as guides, at from $3.00 to $3.50 per day, the
use of a birch bark canoe being 50 cents extra, and
a clinker-built boat was $1.00 extra.

We engaged a six-foot, two hundred pound, raw-
boned "Kanuck" and an Indian named John Cat-
fish to row our boats, carry packs and make port-
ages. A Chippewa Indian will carry a pack of one
hundred pounds on his back, and on his head and
shoulders above this he will add a birch bark canoe,
carrying the load one or two miles without resting,

Lakes and Woods of Wisconsin 125

and at a pace that will worry an ordinary white man
to keep up with.

In much of the timbered country in Wisconsin
there is more water than land, — lakes and swamps
where horses cannot travel, with but few trails and
roads. The Indians traveling through this country
carry their birch bark canoes, blankets and provi-
sions over portages leading from one lake to an-
other on their route. It is a time-honored custom to-
leave a tin can or plate with pitch gathered from
the Norway pine trees and mixed with charcoal to
repair leaks in the canoes at a portage. When a
leak has to be mended a fire is built and by the aid
of a lighted torch a flame is blown into the pitch
until it is melted and then poured onto the damaged
boat until the break it covered. When the pitch is
cold the work is ended. If it is a puncture a piece
of cloth is laid on covering the hole and the hot
pitch is then applied. To resume the journey the
boatman lashes the paddle from one cross-piece ta
another and a stick of the same length is made fast
to the cross piece also, forming a yoke. The canoe
is turned bottom up, the boatman walks under and
it is balanced upon his shoulders.

Our first day's excursion was in the nature of a
prospecting trip to upper Trout lake. When our
party was nearing the head of the lake Mr. Turner
said: "Pull over to the point where the hemlock
tree stands," and as we landed on the beach, Mr.
Turner continued: "When I surveyed in this coun-
try forty years ago carrying my tripod, compass and
what little provisions and blankets I could add, I
camped alone under this tree. Then it was about

J.26 Lakes and Woods of Wisconsin

four inches in diameter; now it will measure nearly
twenty."

We made a fire under the hemlock and took lunch.

I wish it were possible to describe the joy and
real satisfaction that this event gave Mr. Turner.
Grown men often remember some particular spot
where, in their younger days, some of their pleasant-
est moments were spent, and nothing gives them
more pleasure than to visit that spot at some later
day in their lives. This point was Mr. Turner's
haven. Loitering here a few hours and drifting
leisurely back to camp we reached the lodge about
dark with a dozen or more lake trout, weighing
from two to four pounds each. All the fishermen
had come in before us and the most exuberant and
breezy of the lot was a Mr. Lawrence of the Grand
Pacific hotel, Chicago, who visited Mann's lodge
every spring during fishing season. He seemed
more interested in the catches of the others than he
did in his own success, and he was generally the
first man on the beach to meet an incoming party
and ascertain its catch.

Mr. Turner knew something of the possibilities of
the lakes of the region around us, and after consult-
ing Mr. Mann and John Catfish we decided on an
early start next morning for Sand lake, six miles
north.

At daylight we loaded our camp outfits into two
bark canoes, (Mr. Turner with a big, strong Cana-
dian woodsman for his boatman and I with the In-
dian, John Catfish. From the landing at the head
of the lake there was a portage of three miles to
Sand lake through the timber. Mr. Catfish's atten-

Lakes and Woods of Wisconsin 127

tion seemed to be drawn to a distant cloud of smoke
in the south, evidently from a forest fire, and we
asked him if it were possible that the fire could cross
our trail before we returned to the lodge. "Maybe
so; wind change, come sure in two days; no wind
no change, fire no come dis way," replied the Indian.
After a light lunch the boatmen lashed their paddles
to the canoes, then, with blankets and provisions for
the whole party lashed to their backs, they turned
the canoes bottom side up, walked to their center,
balanced them on their shoulders, and started off
on the trail. Mr. Turner and myself, carrying only
our rods, found it difficult to keep up with their fast
gait, although each boatman carried about one hun-
dred and twenty-five pounds. Only three times
the boatmen stopped to rest one end of the canoe on
a leaning tree or backed up against a fallen log for
six minutes, and then they were oflf again. When-
ever we passed through the open timber Catfish kept
his eye out for the cloud of smoke in the south, — to
me it seemed at least ten miles away.

We passed through a clearing where underbrush
grew. The wintergreen berries were red, the blue-
l)erries were just coming out in blossom, and that
princely and sweetest scented of all wild flowers of
the woods, the trailing arbutus, peeped out from the
edge of snow banks left from the winter — not yet
quite gone.

It was afternoon when we reached the lake, and,
after unloading their packs, the guides cut jack
pine trees and made a slanting shelter, gathered pine
boughs to lay under our blankets, built a fire and

128 Lakes and Woods of Wisconsin

cooked a lunch of coffee, bacon and potatoes, and
we were ready for the lake.

''Collins, you and Catfish go over to the north,
and we will go the other way. I think the channel's
good for muskallonge over there," said Mr. Turner,
and he pushed off from the shore. He had not been
gone ten minutes before he hooked a muskallonge
and our canoe was beating back and across the
inlet. A dash was made at my big skinner spoon
and the water swirled as if a big boulder had been
dropped near the boat. "Big Muskie," said Catfish,
"we go back, he come again." Putting the canoe
about, the Indian paddled back over our track and
near the spot another dash was made at my bait,
and this time with the hook set well in its mouth
the fish jumped its full length out of the lake, then
made a dash for deep water.

"Hold tight line; I take you place not so deep,"
said my boatman. I followed his suggestion all
right, but when the canoe was turned towards the
shore the fish made a straight dash for it, making
another leap clear out of the water and it was pretty
lively work to take in the slack of the line hand over
hand to keep up with its pace as it came right at us.
Ninety feet of line were out when it ran under the
boat. In this rush the reel was too slow.

Catfish was a star hand with the paddle. The
skillful manner in which he handled the canoe, al-
ways giving me its broadside toward the fish^
showed that he was an expert boatman. The fish
again started toward the boat and again I pulled
in the slack, hand over hand. As it came within six
feet of the boat Catfish reached for it with the gaif

Lakes and Woods of Wisconsin 129

hook, but missed. Then it turned its head on one
side and scudded away Hke a driving horse pulling
on one line. The Indian actually had it towing the
canoe. "Forty-pound muskie," said Catfish. But I
was too busy to make an estimate of its length or
weight, for it was gradually getting up greater
speed, and following it closely, I took in the line,
and when we drew alongside, the guide sank the
gaff hook into its side and lifted the fish into the
canoe where its floundering nearly upset the frail
craft. Catfish put his moccasined foot on the handle
of the gaff hook and held the fish down, then, with
two or three hard raps over the head with a club, it
trembled a moment and then lay still, dead.

Meanwhile, Mr. Turner had seen us cavorting
about and came over to watch our fun. He had
caught three or four muskallonge weighing eight,
nine and sixteen pounds, but I had the prize fish.

We all went ashore, gathered some moss from
the north side of the trees in a tamarack swamp, and
laid our fish on some ice we found under the moss,
which can often be found that early in the spring
at the foot of trees.

The big *'muskie" weighed twenty-six pounds and
measured forty-four inches long. After lunch we
started out again, catching as many fish as we could
possibly eat and carry back over the portage to the
lodge, returning early to camp and at dusk turned
in on our beds of pine boughs.

Next morning the guides were up at daylight pre-
paring breakfast. After watching the smoke from
the fire in the woods, Catfish returned to camp and

130 Lakes and Woods of Wisconsin

said: "No fishing more; wind change and fire will
cross our trail ; must go quick."

The camp was gotten together quickly, and, with
the fish divided into two packs, and the canoes, with
all our camp outfit, on the shoulders of the boatmen,
we started over the back trail. Before we reached
the clearing the fire had crept along the tamarack
swamp on our left, and the wind had drifted the
smoke across our trail and the brush was already
burning within one hundred yards of us. The south
wind blew it directly across our trail and the opening
was not a quarter of a mile across. The smoke was
so dense that we were obliged to get down on our
hands and knees and crawl through it. We suc-
ceeded in reaching the landing safely, not knowing,
however, what had become of our guides with their
heavy loads. But they came in a few minutes be-
hind us.

We ate a lunch at the landing on Trout lake, load-
ed our packs into the boats and started for the lodge.
All the load was put in Catfish's canoe, and Mr.
Turner, myself and the other boatman got into the
other boat. The wind blew a stiff gale from the
south. Catfish started for the other shore to get
into still water. Our boat was going through white-
capped waves, and as we rounded a point and looked
back we saw Catfish quietly paddling along in still
water, smoking his pipe, a mile behind us.

It was toward evening when we reached the lodge.
The fishermen had all come in and stood upon the
shore watching our arrival. Mr. Lawrence had
caught forty odd muskallonge from the Manitowisb
river, weighing from two to eight pounds each. One

Lakes and Woods of Wisconsin 131

of the party had hooked near the boat landing a
sixteen-pound trout. The others had fair catches of
bass and other fish. But our big "muskie" tipped
the beam at more pounds than any three taken
by the other fishermen, and was in reality the largest
caught that whole season.

After another day on the lakes with fair success
we packed our traps and drove to the railroad sta-
tion. When we reached the place of our wild ride
through the burning timber, the fire had crossed the
track and had drifted away to the north.

Upon our arrival at Omaha, the big muskallonge
was sent to the Omaha club and served for a full
dinner to all the club members.

The spring following we went to Gordon, Wis-
consin, southwest of Duluth, Minnesota. Here we
met the somewhat famous "Steve" Gheen. He had
the reputation of being the best lumber camp fore-
man, and the best man in a log jam, and was an all
around woodsman, earning $5.00 a day, while the
ordinary wages were from $2.00 to $3.00 per day.
He was a quarter-blood Chippewa Indian, a clean-
cut, dandy sort of a fellow, always gentlemanly, and
there was not his match in handling a canoe or bir-
ling a log in that vicinity. We employed him as our
boatman. The first day he carried a canoe to White
Fish and other lakes, among them being Red lake,
where, in one day, Mr. Turner and I caught ninety-
four big-mouth bass, besides a lot of catfish and
pickerel. The bass weighed from two to four
pounds each.

We had made a short portage to a camp and when
we counted our fish we found we had ninety-four,

132 Lakes and Woods of Wisconsin

it was suggested that we make another trip across
the lake and make the amount a full hundred. In
half an hour we were back to camp with sixteen
more bass, making one hundred and ten bass in the
day.

Out on a long point we found a loon's nest, half
floating in the water. It was built of rushes and
contained three eggs. I carried one of them to camp.
The hen bird had watched me robbing its nest and
kept up its wild call. It would visit its nest, then
sail away over our camp. It kept up its mournful
cry all night long as it hovered over the camp.

SAN FRANCISCO EARTHQUAKE
AND FIRE

All the public clocks in the city of San Francisco
were stopped at 5:15 a. m. April 18, 1906, by the
earthquake.

I was asleep on the ninth floor of the steel and
stone apartment house, The Alexander, on Geary
street, half a block from the St. Francis hotel. My
first impression upon awakening was that I was in
a railroad wreck. I had been thrown almost out of
bed by the first shock and the second threw me back
again. I sat up, but was again thrown back into the
bed. Then I put my feet out and stood upon the
floor and realize4 that I was in San Francisco and in
an earthquake.

The building shook and trembled like a tree in a
tornado while I staggered to a window where my
clothes lay upon a chair. Two more shocks fol-
lowed, not so violent as the others, and, as I looked
from the window, I saw the building adjoining crash
down. I learned afterward that twelve people had
been buried beneath its walls. I saw puflfs of smoke
around the horizon and realized that a great con-
flagration was imminent. With satchel in hand I
started down eight flights of stairs, not knowing
what obstacle I might meet to cut me oflf and leave
me beyond all possibility of escape. But the only
impediment I encountered was falling plaster, and
the farther down I went the more the plaster had

134 San Francisco Earthquake and Fire

fallen. It was my determination to get out of the
building if possible and over onto Union square,
where the Dewey mounment stood, where I would
not be killed by falling roofs or walls. I reached
the street and climbed over piles of stones which
had fallen from the building adjoining and I saw
that what had a few moments before been small
puffs of smoke had increased to great clouds and at
that early hour it seemed to me the city was doomed
to destruction by fire. Live wires were dancing about
and snapping like firecrackers, but the current of
electricity was soon shut off. Water pipes had
parted five miles out of the city and all power and
light of every description was out of service.

I reached the park safely and at once resolved
that no roof, unless it be a canvas tent, should again
cover my head if I could get out of the city and over
to Oakland across the bay. Scarcely fifty people
had reached the park when I arrived there. The
guests of the St. Francis were pouring out — men
and women with a sheet or a blanket wrapped about
them, women with a single gown, barefooted and
with hair flying. I saw one young woman, maybe
a bride of a few weeks, barefooted, her hair flying,
clothed in an elegant party dress, her fingers cov-
ered with diamond rings.

When the men had brought the women and chil-
dren into the park and had gotten courage to go
back to their rooms and get their clothing, there was
no one left there but the women and a few children.
There were no hysterics, no crying or moaning
among the women, only a look of resignation. They
all seemed resigned to their fate, — what happens us

San Francisco Earthquake and Fire 135

will happen them, what happens them will happen
to us, and no one can prevent it. It was not long
until people from the surrounding buildings began
arriving. To get away from the crowd I moved
over towards Post street, where I could watch the
scene.

While I stood wondering how it would be possi-
ble for me to get away from all of these scenes of
misery and horror and over to Oakland and away
to the east, I heard a voice saying: **Mr. Collins,
how would you like to be in Omaha today?". The
speaker was Harry Cartan of Omaha.

The only road to the ferry house that I knew was
down Market street. By this time dozens of blocks
of buildings were in flames, cutting off that route
completely and Mr. Cartan's voice seemed to solve
the problem of some other way out of the burning
city. For two hours we walked together about the
streets, viewing the destruction and damage the
earthquake had wrought. The sun in the east be-
yond the clouds of smoke and glare of the fire looked
like a great lump of red hot iron. The heat seemed
to have formed a draft straight up into the sky, a
mile above. Sparks and cinders floated about in the
sky until a current of air would carry them out over
the bay. No new fires seemed to have been caused
from floating cinders or sparks. The sky was a
brilliant sight to behold.

To undertake a meagre description of all that fell
under my eye would be a great tax on memory, and
ability to describe it quite beyond me. We walked
down to the Call building, the Palace hotel and over
to the Chronicle building to the Postal Telegraph

136 San Francisco Earthquake and Fire

office, to send telegrams. The office was jammed
with people. The clerks overtaxed and so driven
with work they had strength only to hold out their
hands and take messages and the money. The ques-
tion of their ever being able to even get the dis-
patches started on the wire was of minor considera-
tion. From my experience I know many dispatches
were sent by mail by the company.

We walked over to the banking district, where
every business building v/as vacated, doors closed,
and a watchman standing guard at the door. Piles
of stone and brick — the fire had not reached that
quarter — that the earthquake had thrown to the
sidewalk, blockading them completely. With tot-
tering walls on all sides it was only safe to walk
in the middle of the street. In places whole blocks
of buildings had sunken a foot or more below the
street, paving and curbing were warped out of shape
and left above the street level. Cracks in the street
were everywhere, from the width of your hand to
eighteen inches and more. A grotesque sight were
the show windows of the great dry goods houses,
where cloaks, handsome dresses and elegant bonnets
were displayed on figures. These figures were tum-
bled about in all shapes, some standing on their
heads, others fallen in heaps, bonnets, opera coats,
lace dresses, alt in confusion. We continued our
walk to keep watch of the progress of the fire and
every inch of the way the earthquake had left its
destructive path. On all sides where standing walls
were shaken and the sidewalks obstructed, the space
was roped oflf to keep travel in the middle of the
street and at times it was necessary to go entirely

San Francisco Earthquake and Fire 137

around a block. We spent three hours in walking
about the city, before the fire had reached as far as
Third and Market streets, but at the right and the
left of it it seemed like an unbroken blaze away to
the bay.

All kinds of rumors were afloat: "The ferry
building had gone down and boats could not land."
"Chicago stood in nine feet of water." "New York
had had a tidal wave," etc. These attracted little at-
tention because of our own surroundings. We
walked back to the St. Francis hotel and in the grill
room got a cup of coflfee and rolls and again went
out on the street.

By this time the terror-stricken people filled every
inch of space in the park. Geary, Powell and Post
streets were thronged.

Now the military had arrived from the Presidio
and the city was placed under martial law. Sol-
diers and policemen were stationed everywhere to
protect private property and to guard the people
against travel in dangerous places. Before 9 a. m.
this famous proclamation of the mayor was issued:

PROCLAMATION BY THE MAYOR.

The Federal troops, the members of the reg-
ular police force and all special police officers
have been authorized to kill any and all per-
sons found engaged in looting or in the com-
mission of any other crime.

I have directed all the Gas and Electric Light-
ing companies not to turn on gas or electricity
until I order them to do so, you may therefore

138 San Francisco Earthquake and Fire

expect the city to remain in darkness for an in-
definite time.

I request all citizens to remain at home from
darkness until daylight of every night until
order is restored.

I warn all citizens of the danger of fire from
damaged or destroyed chimneys, broken or leak-
ing gas pipes or fixtures, or any like cause.

E. E. SCHMITZ, Mayor..
Altaver Print. Mission and 22nd Streets.

The city water wagons began hauling water into-
Dewey park for drinking purposes. Loaves of bread
and crackers were brought and given to all who
asked for them. Dairy wagons loaded with milk
cans arrived on Geary street and milk was given out
freely. Down among the small saloons, liquor was
sold so lavishly and drunkenness became so general
that the saloons were ordered gutted and the liquors
poured out on the streets. It was not an infrequent
sound to hear the crack of a soldier's or policeman's
rifle or pistol ending somebody's career at an at-
tempt at some crime. In the great crowd Mr. Car-
tan and I became separated — an unfortunate circum-
stance for me, because I knew no easy way I could
get out of the city on account of being a stranger,
and among all the thousands of people I did not
know where to look for an acquaintance whom I
could reach. So I stood in places where I could see
the fire blazing its way up Market street. From
near Union square I watched the smoke pour out of
the upper tier of windows of the Call building; then
the next, the Palace hotel, and on down to the

The author's keys, which went through the San
Francisco fire. (The keys were found by workmen in
the debris of the hotel and returned to Mr. Collins
several months after his arrival home.)

San Francisco Earthquake and Fire 139

ground floor. By the time the smoke had reached
the ground floor, the flames were coming out of these
buildings. I watched them until the blaze came out
of every window and opening in the buildings — a
grand and awful sight. I saw the glare of light
through the yet unbroken glass, fronting on Market
street, of the Palace hotel. This was also a beautiful
sight, soon followed by smoke and flames.

In all parts of the city automobiles were hurrying
about, containing the governor, the mayor of the
city, the commanding general and army and munic-
ipal officers. To check the flames dynamite was
brought from the garrison. As each block of build-
ings caught fire on the corner a few stores away, a
hundred or two pounds of dynamite were used to
check the flames. Still the fire raged and two blocks
away they would fire dynamite until finally build-
ings were blown up three blocks ahead of the flames
to check the fire. All the streets were thronged with
people. A fair example of what was transpiring all
over the city could be seen in Union square where
the Dewey monument stood. Men, women and chil-
dren carrying baskets, bundles of clothing, satchels,
blankets, children with bird cages in one hand car-
rying their dolls by the leg or arm and to these little
tots it all seemed great fun. Parrots were perched
on the shoulders of men, pet dogs carried by women,
trunks of clothing with a rope at one end, scraping
and rasping over the asphalt pavement. Young
women carrying typewriters, young men carrying
books and stationery and every conceivable thing
was lugged along to a resting place until they could
go no further. As the fire progressed great crowds

140 San Francisco Earthquake and Fire

of people nearly wore their lives out carrying and
dragging after them the only articles they could save
from their homes, stores and offices, and hundreds
would fall on the street through sheer exhaustion
and in the end abandon their loads and go on. i
saw one couple, at least seventy years of age,
with a rope around a piano, the man pulling and the
woman pushing and to steady it from toppling over
the woman would hold back about as much as the
man would pull.

All over the city the booming of dynamite could
be heard every few minutes, exploded ahead of the
fire line. I walked over to the Union League club.
They were taking down their oil paintings and cart-
ing them away to a place of safety. There were also
heavy express wagons loaded with treasure from
the banks, each guarded by a dozen armed men,
going to safety deposit vaults. To give an idea of
the value the use of any kind of wagon or transpor-
tation, one incident is mentioned: An officer of one
of the banks stood on a corner stopping an express
wagon to engage it to take his bank's specie away.
"I am engaged and I can't do it," answered the cart
man. *T'll pay you any price," said the banker, "or
I'll buy your team. How much for it?" "I'll give
it to you for $500.00." "Come in and get your
money." The banker paid $500.00 in gold for the
outfit and the clerks began carrying the money out
to load in the wagon. The fire was approaching
upon that block and they did not wait to gather up
a thousand dollars of loose silver change left scat-
tered about the drawers and on the counters. Auto-
mobiles were whirling about the city in every direc-

San Francisco Earthquake and Fire 141

tion. Occasionally a soldier with a musket would
stop the auto, the driver and occupants would be or-
dered out, the name of the owner of the machine
taken, its number, the owner's address, and the offi-
cers needing it in the emergency would press it into
service.

It requires a more vivid pen than mine to describe
the incidents around me and the horrors cover-
ing every portion of the city. I watched them
all day. At 9 o'clock at night I stood in front
of the Alexander hotel where my trunk had been
left the night before on the ninth floor. It had been
useless to attempt getting it down. Twenty-five to
$50.00 for each floor was time and again refused by
porters. The only vehicle drivers on the street
charged $25.00 to $100.00 for taking a family to the
ferry landing. Automobiles for hire cleared from
$100.00 to $200.00 for the same service. At nine
o'clock at night all the people in Union square were
ordered to move away, as the fire would be on them
in half an hour. So loath were they to leave, it re-
quired soldiers with fixed bayonets to move them.

The St. Francis hotel and the Alexander were or-
dered vacated at 9:30 o'clock at night. When this
order came in company with three others I started
for the Presidio, nine miles away, thinking we might
find shelter in the military post. All day long the
great crowds had been drifting into Golden Gate
park and it was now estimated that a hundred thou-
sand people were there. Almost a panic was cre-
ated by the rumor that a tidal wave from the ocean
would flood the park. This, of course, was without

142 San Francisco Earthquake and Fire

foundation, but it served the purpose of prolonging
the exciting misery.

Our route was up Geary in the middle of the
street. After walking an hour we were halted by
soldiers and turned off of Geary street two or three
blocks west, continuing on towards Van Ness street,
which we reached just at midnight and on a piece of
vacant ground adjoining the street, ten or fifteen
thousand people were crowded.

In our travels we had heard that a final attempt
would be made to stop the fire over at the east end
of Van Ness street and we concluded to rest where
we were until morning. Almost every inch of space
was occupied. There was no drinking water.
Women and children were famishing from thirst.
It was rumored someone was selling water and that
they had been shot down immediately. Along this
route we saw great fissures in the street. I lay on a
carpenter's bench with my satchel under my head,
all that I had saved of my baggage. In half an hour
I had quite enough of that kind of rest, and waking
up my companions we again started for the Presidio,
still three miles away. There came along two or
three persons who greeted my companions. They
said the ferry was running and they were going to
Oakland. That being my direction, I immediately
joined them and went down Van Ness street west
to the ocean shore.

The condition of the people and the sights and
scenes along the route up the ocean and bay shore
were like those we had passed. A one-horse express
wagon was hailed by a woman who asked the driver
his price for carrying her to the ferry. Turning to

San Francisco Earthquake and Fire 143

one or two acquaintances she gave out that she car-
ried $105.00 and turning to the expressman for his
answer he said : 'I'll carry you for $100.00." Four
soldiers with muskets, just off of duty, were passing
and hearing the argument they ordered the express-
man to put the woman's bundles in his wagon and
carry them to the ferry without delay. Two soldiers
accompanied them. When at the ferry house the
driver was ordered to carry the bundles into the
waiting room and he was told, "Now you can go."
*'But who pays me?" asked the driver. "You get
nothing," said one of the soldiers, "Go !"

We had followed along the shore the long tedious
miles to the ferry. On all sides there were men,
women and children, Chinamen, — in fact people of
all nationalities and in every condition of life, many
had lugged along their loads until they could go no
further. We carried our satchels, which by this
time began to get very heavy, making it necessary
to put them down every two hundred yards or so and
rest and I may add that many was the time I would
look at my satchel on the ground and wonder if I
had not carried it long enough. Then the thought
would come to me, "It may be weeks and perhaps I
may be in the bread line before I can get any more
clothing," so I clung to the satchel. Many men,
women and children, some of them bare-footed, car-
ried no bundles, all their worldly possessions con-
sisting of what they wore. It is difficult to tell
whether their condition was as deplorable as the
many who had attempted to carry away what they
had saved.

144 San Francisco Earthquake and Fire

We began our walk the second time for the i^rvy
half an hour after midnight and reached the ferry
house at 8 :30 a. m., after almost twelve hours steady
walking. The glare of the fire lighted up the streets
so that it was by no means dark. It was pitiful to
pass the droves of Chinamen, women and children,.
Japanese and all manner of yellow-skinned people.
The Chinese way of carrying their loads was with a,
pole resting on their shoulder between two men, the
load often weighing two hundred and fifty pounds.
The Chinese have always been much dishked in San
Francisco. This made no difference. When it came
to the bread line no favor was shown that the Chi-
nese did not share, but in all cases each man and
woman took care of his and her belongings.

A mother lying on a bundle not twenty feet away
got up every few minutes and raised a lace curtain
that had been thrown over a baby carriage in which
a child was sleeping. She did not disturb it and lay
down again on her bundle. She and the baby had
been separated from the husband and father.

When we started again at one o'clock I realized
what the thirty hours had carried me through. Had
I known the sights and scenes of misery I would en-
counter in reaching a place of safety and rest I might
have hesitated and said : "Not another block." With
still ten or fifteen miles ahead of us, we walked on
and came in sight of the towers of the ferry house.
It seemed we could never reach it through the
throngs of people of all ages, sexes, colors and con-
ditions of life.

Many were lying flat on their backs in the dirt
with a wrap thrown over their faces, whether dead

The Marine's Story 145

or alive we could not tell. As we neared the ferry
house these scenes increased. People were tugging
at fallen and burned buildings along the way to res-
cue the dead or injured. There was no noise. Every
soul depended upon himself and every one had a
serious task to take care of himself or herself and
their children.

Down towards the Golden Gate there were many
government tugs, launches and private boats. These
were seized upon early in the day. Like many an-
other not acquainted with the city and its outlets I
had no such easy way of reaching Oakland across
the bay or the islands. I had lost Mr. Cartan and
all the acquaintances I had in the great crowd. Busi-
ness of all kinds was suspended by nine a. m. Peo-
ple generally felt that the city was doomed and all
that could be saved must be carried on their backs.

THE MARINE'S STORY.

One arm was buttoned under his overcoat. A
handsome, intelligent looking chap, came over to
me at the station in Oakland, where I was waiting
to take the train for the east, and said: "Ain't we
in luck to have plenty of good grub before us?"

"Tell me, what accident befell you?" I asked.

"I was on duty," said the marine, "between the
Grand and Palace hotels. A squad of marines just
arrived and I was to be relieved when somebody
said : 'Look at the Httle girl up in the window.' Three
stories above in the Palace hotel, the glare of fire
had already begun to show through the glass of

146 The Marine's Story

every window. The boys bunched up and made a
ladder and put me on top, because I was going off
duty. I kicked the window glass in, gathered all the
bed clothing I could, wrapped it about the young
girl and started back. Just then 300 pounds of dyna-
mite was exploded a block east and we were blown
out of the window and fell on the tangled telephone
and telegraph wires. Someone carried the girl away,
uninjured. In the fall, my shoulder blade was broken
and this arm broken twice. I just now came from
the hospital and have thirty days off and came to
see a chum going east."

The entire depot was in possession of the Relief
committee. Girls, young and old, mothers and the
best of humanity were there to offer every living
human being, who would ask for it, coffee and sand-
wiches. They were offered to me a dozen times, but
notwithstanding my being short of money I was not
penniless, and not likely to get into the "bread line."

In Oakland, money was money. A letter of credit,
drafts on banks or anything usually recognized as
money would not get you one penny, or buy a meal.
I had agreed to pay the fare of a young man who
had helped to "pull me through" the long night's
walk to Oakland, as far as Omaha.

"If I could get New York drafts cashed, at the
ticket office," I said to the agent, "I have a New
York draft for $100.00. Give me a ticket to Omaha
(the price of which was about $80.00), and the bal-
ance in currency."

"Nothing but cash will buy a ticket of any kind
for any distance. This is our order," said the agent.

The Marine's Story 147

As I turned away a gentleman tapped me on the
arm and said :

''My friend, I heard all of the common sense you
told that agent, I'll cash your draft."

"Then come up town with me and let me convince
you that you are taking no risk, and I will be glad
to accept the kindness," I replied.

John T. Bell, who recently published The Omaha
Mercury, was the only man I knew in Oakland and
to him and to his most estimable wife, who was a
Miss McClandish, brought up in Omaha, I am ever-
lastingly grateful, for their kind hospitality and the
efforts of Mr. Bell to help me "pull through." Mr,
Bell was in his real estate office and to the stranger
accompanying me said all the things necessary to
convince anyone of the truth of my "tale of woe."
Meanwhile the stranger counted out five twenty-
dollar gold pieces and asked me to endorse the draft.
"I am satisfied," he said.

This gentleman positively refused to accept one
cent for exchange or any pay whatever for. his kind-
ness in helping me out of a serious dilemma. His

name and address is

and if he ever travels my way I

will try and convince him that his great kindness
to me, under circumstances that seldom befall a man
in a lifetime, is not forgotten.

THE BATTLE OF SUMMIT SPRINGS.
NEBRASKA. JULY. IS69

After the battle of Beaver creek, the command
was marched to Fort Wallace, Kansas, where it re-
mained for several days refitting and organizing
pack trains preparatory to operations during the
coming winter in accordance with orders from Ma-
jor General P. H. Sheridan, commanding the de-
partment of the Missouri, who planned this cam-
paign, which was carried out under his personal di-
rection. It included columns from three different
points, the Seventh cavalry commanded by Brevet
Major General George A. Custer to operate from
Camp Supply, Indian Territory; the Third cavalry
under Major Evans to operate from Fort Bascom,
New Mexico; the Fifth cavalry under Brevet Major
General E. A. Carr from Fort Lyon, Colorado, and
a flying column under Brevet Brigadier General
Penrose, Captain Third infantry, also from Fort
Lyon. These columns were expected to converge
toward a point known as "the Antelope hills" near
the Washita river, the object being to close in on the
hostile Commanches, Kiowas, Arapahoes and Chey-
ennes known to be in fbrce on the Washita river
and its tributaries north of Texas, in vvhat is norw

(Note — The above graphic story was written for this
volume by Brlgkdler General Hayes, an old and closb friend
of the ailthor, at hid .earnest solicitation, Hayes county,
Nebraska;, 'was nataed for General ("Captain Jack") Hayes,
in alppr^cikUpn of, his ^erVlfces in ,!riddlns the We^erti l^afi^ df
Kfebi'aW^ frbni hb'jstlle Inaiatt^.'— k r. 6.)

The Battle of Summit Springs, Neb. 149

known as Oklahoma. General Carr's command
reached Fort Lyon late in December, 1868, and
after a few days' rest there, followed on the trail of
the flying column under General Penrose. This
column had preceded General Carr's command about
ten days or two weeks, but, through the inexperi-
ence of his scouts and trailers, had become lost and
failing to communicate with headquarters caused
grave concern. The trail made by General Penrose
was erratic and over exceedingly rough country, al-
most impassable for wagons, his supplies being car-
ried on pack mules.

The weather was cold and fuel scarce on this
march and much suffering was caused thereby.
General Penrose's trail at times being so indistinct
that it was hard to follow, but after much difficulty
his command was overtaken in camp where it had
been for several days so broken down as to be unfit
for service and unable to move and practically out
of rations. After furnishing the needed supplies,
the combined command under General Carr was
marched south to the Canadian river, which was
reached in a heavy snow storm Here was dis-
covered the trail of Major Evans' command follow-
ing the river in an easterly course in the direction
of Antelope hills where we later learned he had
struck the Indians and gained a brilliant victory.
General Custer with his column also struck the In-
dians further east and fought and Won the historic
battle of the Wishita. General Carres command,
hoWeVer, failed to comfe in cbnt'att with any Indians
and after Spending th^ wintW Scouling returned to
Fdr't Lydn, Cbrdralfdi fe'ariy in the fepring b\ 1869.

150 The Battle of Summit Springs, Neb.

From there I took advantage of a leave of absence
to visit my family, and rejoined the regiment at
Fort McPherson, Nebraska, May, 1869. During my
absence, the regiment had been transferred from
the department of the Missouri to the Department
of the Platte, and en route to join its new station.
Fort McPherson, Nebraska, had a successful en-
counter with a hostile band of Sioux Indians not far
from the fort.

Early in June, 1869, the Republican river expedi-
dition under Brevet Major General Carr — of whicli
I was its acting quartermaster and commissary —
consisting of seven troops of the Fifth cavalry and
a batallion of friendly Pawnee Indians — the latter
under Major Frank North, an experienced Indian
fighter — left Fort McPherson to operate against
renegade Sioux, Cheyenne and Arapahoe Indians,
known as "Dog Soldiers," and led by the fierce and
savage chief. Tall Bull, who had been creating terror
and dismay amongst the settlers living in the ex-
posed counties of Kansas, Nebraska and Colorado,
and was the scourge of that whole territory, cap-
turing and killing women and children and in many
instances torturing them in the most fiendish man-
ner. General Carr, who was selected to follow and
chastise these Indians, was a noted Indian fighter,
with a thorough knowledge of Indian character and
methods. He had served against Indians for many
years prior to and subsequent to the civil war. No
better commander could have been chosen.

The trail of the Indians was picked up in a few
dayfe .and Was. follbVeii. persistently and with ex*
cellent judgBient liniil the Indians' fears Were par-

The Battle of Summit Springs, Neb. 151

tially allayed and they became careless in their
watchfulness. This resulted in giving General Carr
his opportunity, when cutting loose from his wagon
trains, by forced marches night and day, he sur-
prised their main camp at Summit Springs, Ne-
braska, in broad daylight, July 11, 1869, — something
almost unprecedented in Indian warfare, especially
on the plains. This result was due in a great
measure to the daring and guidance of Colonel Wil-
liam F. Cody— ''Buffalo Bill"— chief of scouts, who
discovered the village and led the troops to the po-
sition they were to occupy in the attack without the
knowledge of the Indians. This was considered the
greatest of the many achievements of this wonderful
scout. In the unexpected charge on them which fol-
lowed, the Indians became more or less scattered and
in consequence the fighting was of the "hand to
hand" order and continued for some time in the
village and over the prairie, ending in a complete vic-
tory for the troops, the death of Tall Bull and sixty-
five or seventy of his chief warriors, the destruction
of the village and capture of the squaws and children
and hundreds of ponies, etc., and also the rescue of
two white women captives who had been toma-
hawked by the squaws. One soon died, but the other
ultimately recovered. The command remained a
day on the battlefield and then proceeded with the
captured prisoners and animals to the nearest mili-
tary post on the line of the Union Pacific railroad
for further instructions and additional supplies.

Summit Springs, the scene of this engagement,
was a noted camping ground for immigrant and gov-
ernment teams on the overland trail to California,

152 The Battle of Summit Springs, Neb.

and was located near the Platte river on the west
boundary line between Colorado and Nebraska, the
conformation being basin-shaped with a high rim
surrounding which concealed the spring from ob-
servation.

This campaign and engagement resulted in ridding
the frontier borders of these states of hostile Indians
and bringing peace to the distracted settlers.

E. M. HAYES,
Brigadier General U. S. A.