"YELLOWSTONE KELLY"












I  ' ~ '


5F


" YEILWSTNE KELLY
IN is-is






Yellowstone Kelly
The Memoirs of Luther S. Kelly
EDITED BY M. M. QUAIFE
WITH A FOREWORD BY
LIEUTENANT-GENERAL NELSON A. MILES, U. S. A.
New Haven: Yale University Press
LONDON: HUMPHREY MILFORD: OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
Mdccccxxvi




COPYRIGHT, 1926, BY YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA




HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION


T O Americans of whatever generation the land of
opportunity and of adventure has always lain
along the western frontier of settlement and
civilization. Today, the frontier has disappeared from
America and the process of idealizing it in myth and romance has long since begun. With sure commercial instinct for that which appeals most powerfully to the
public, the moving picture industry has exploited unceasingly the theme of the frontier, and in the world of
the silver screen the "western" disputes ws'ith the eternal
theme of romantic love for primacy in the hearts of the
multitude. Nor does this popular estimate of the importance which attaches to the subject of frontier life
and adventure differ materially from the judgment of
scholarship. For a generation the historians have been
engaged in exploiting the story of the frontier in American history, and there is today practically unanimous
acceptance, among scholars, of the view with which the
career of Professor Turner is so intimately bound up,
that to the existence and influence of the frontier we owe
those things which chieflyi distinguish American institutions and character from those of the Old World.
In the narrative of "Yellowstone Kelly" we have a
rare story of adventure and service. General Miles, who
knew him long and intimately, fitly compares him with
such heroes of the American wilderness as Daniel Boone
and David Crockett. We think of these men as the products of a bygone age and environment, as indeed they
were. Yet Mr. Kelly still lives in his California home, a
V




Historical Introduction


witness of the mechanical marvels and the material progress which mark the third decade of the twentieth century. Like Boone, he is a lover of solitude and of the
wilderness; unlike Boone, he has had the desire to preserve for posterity the story of the life he loved, and the
education and literary capacity requisite to the task.
His story is at once an important contribution to the
history of the western frontier in the decades to which
it pertains and a thrilling tale of sustained adventure
whose perusal should bring delight to every normal man
or boy.
In editing the narrative my principal task has been
one of condensation. The manuscript as originally prepared by Mr. Kelly was much longer than the contents
of the present volume. In preparing it for the press I
have freely altered the construction of sentences and
paragraphs, and have deleted unessential details. But
the story, as printed, remains the author's own; his are
the ideas and the statements of fact or opinion, and his
also the manner of expressing them, which seems to me
in essence profoundly poetic.
M. M. QUAIFE
Burton Historical Collection,
Detroit.


vi




CONTENTS


I.
II.
III.
IV.
V.
VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
X.
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.


List of Illustrations                        ix
Foreword.........     xi
My Years in the Army.......    1
From Fort Ransom to the Yellowstone..   15
Carrying the Mail to Fort Stevenson...  40
A Journey to Fort Peck.....   50
Exploring the Yellowstone.               67
Hunting Adventures on the Yellowstone.  84
A Military Reconnoissance and a Wolf Hunt   98
Hunting in the Judith Basin... 117
Campaigning with General Miles.... 139
A Winter Pursuit of Hostile Indians... 160
Chief Joseph Comes to the End of the Trail. 180
Northward to the Canadian Border..     199
Scouting in Yellowstone Park....   212
Scouting in Colorado...... 240
Index                                      257




I
Io




ILLUSTRATIONS


"Yellowstone Kelly" in 1878..           Frontispiece
Luther S. Kelly as a Private, 1865...Opposite page 4
Pictograph (1868), copied from an Indian Buffalo Robe  20
Kelly's Duel with Two Sioux Warriors....    46
Ed Lambert, John George Brown, and "Yellowstone
Kelly"...........  50
Sitting  Bull..........        70
Rain-in-the-Face.........        70
"Does the wasityu hold the road against the Yankton?"  92
"Yellowstone Kelly" on the Bank of the Missouri..100
Kelly and Sandy Morris Ieet a Yankton War Party.114
"Yellowstone Kelly's" Map.......    130
General Miles and Staff in Winter Garb, 1875-76.. 162
Buffalo Horn, Bannock Indian Scout..... 166
John Brughier, Half-blood Sioux Guide and Interpreter 166
"Liver-eating Johnson," Indian Fighter and Scout.. 166
General Nelson A. Miles in 1877....... 176
Chief Joseph, Nez Perc........    192
"Yellowstone Kelly," "The-Little-Man-with-a-StrongHeart"...........   218
Chief White Bull..........    238
Kicking Bear.                                    238
Ute Indians Encamped near Bear River..... 244




,I
I
I
I




FOREWORD


URING the transformation of the Great West
from wild prairies and mountain waste to
peaceful settled communities and states, a series
of wars occurred between the white race and the hostile
Indians in which very conspicuous and heroic characters
appeared. At that time that vast country was roamed
over by strong tribes of hostile Indians, and millions of
buffalo, wild horses, bear, wolves, elk, antelope, and
deer.
The nomadic Indians in time had to give place to the
home-builders, who developed the vast treasures of agricultural and mineral wealth that have made our republic prosperous and great. Now the railroads and telegraph lines have taken the place of the Indian trails,
and millions of domestic stock have replaced the wild
beasts. The music of peace and happiness is now heard
where the tom-tom and the battle cry were formerly the
signal for savage warfare.
During that exciting and eventful period there appeared a most interesting character, equally as fearless,
intelligent, and resourceful as Daniel Boone, David
Crockett, Kit Carson, or William F. Cody. His name
was Luther S. Kelly but he was better known as "Yellowstone Kelly." He loved the romance of the frontier
and seemed to appreciate and enjoy the beauty and
grandeur of nature in the highest degree. "Yellowstone
Kelly" was of good family, well educated and fond of
good books, as quiet and gentle as he was brave, as kind
and generous as he was forceful, a great hunter and an
xi




Foreword


expert rifleman; he explored that extensive northwest
country years before serious hostilities occurred and acquired a knowledge of its topography, climate, and resources that was exceedingly valuable.
My first acquaintance with "Yellowstone Kelly" was
when campaigning against hostile Indians in Montana,
North Dakota, and Wyoming. He came from the valley
of the Yellowstone entirely alone to my camp on the
banks of that river, near the mouth of the Tongue River.
He had recently killed a large bear and cut off one of its
huge paws, and upon this he inscribed his name and sent
it to my tent, as he had no cards at the timel In return
I sent for him, and found him a most interesting character and soon engaged his services. At that time he was
young and strong, a fine horseman, as supple as a panther, with an eye like the eagle. His knowledge of that
unmapped region was most valuable, and as a guide and
leader of the scouts and advance guard he was exceedingly useful. His knowledge of the Indians, their habits,
and hunting grounds was always reliable.
During the series of campaigns against the hostile Indian tribes, the Hunkpapa, Miniconjou, Sans Arcs,
Oglala, Cheyenne, Nez Perces, and Bannock under
such noted warriors as Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse, Two
Moons, Spotted Eagle, White Bull, Lame Deer, and
Chief Joseph (whose Indian name was "Thunder Moving over the Mountains"), "Yellowstone Kelly" was exceedingly enterprising, reliable, and fearless, always
and under all circumstances representing the highest
tyNpe of the true American spirit and character.
Later he became an officer and rendered distinguished
and valuable services in Alaska and the Philippine Isxii




Foreword


lands. A hero in war, a true American patriot in times
of peace, it gives me pleasure to commend him and his
adventurous story to those who are interested in the history of what was formerly the frontier of our beloved
country.
NELSON A. MILES,
Lieutenant-General, U.S.A.
Washington, March 1, 1921.


xiii
Xull








"YELLOWSTONE KELLY"
CHAPTER I
MY YEARS IN THE ARMY
I FIRST saw the light among the wonderful Finger
Lakes of central New York, in the historic region
made famous by Red Jacket and other noted chiefs
of the Iroquois confederacy. If the legend be true, these
lakes were formed when the Great Spirit dropped here
a slice of the happy hunting grounds and left the imprint of his fingers in the soft rocks so that his chosen
people, the Iroquois, could ply their bark canoes in deep
waters and build their habitations on the shores of secluded lakes.
Along Seneca Lake and the deep woods that bordered it I passed many a happy day of my boyhood, encroaching, no doubt, upon many hours that should have
been devoted to school. The inclination I had for forest
life and scenes, and later for the free life of the plains
and mountains of the Far West, may have been derived
from ancestry, for my family claims descent from that
strong character of early New England days, Hannah
Dustin, who, having been captured by Indians, rose
stealthily in the night when all were asleep, and killing
several of her captors, finally reached her home and
friends after an exhausting journey through swamps
and forests.
The opening steps in the Civil War, culminating in
the attack on Fort Sumter in April, 1861, came with a
series of shocks to my native village of Geneva, and the
excitement that prevailed is still fresh in my memory.
1




"Yellowstone Kelly"
There was marching by night of "Little Giants" and
"Lincoln Clubs" in resolute and solemn array, and I
yet recall how the oil dripped down from dusky, smoky
torches onto black wide-awakes and capes. Many of
those who so gaily or solemnly passed marched later in
lines of battle, and came back from the war battered or
crippled, or came not at all.
Nearly everybody wore a rosette of red, white, and
blue, and some of these were very gorgeous indeed. A
regiment of volunteers was soon recruited and a training camp was established in the outskirts of the village.
I well remember the day when the regiment, fully
equipped for service, marched down Main Street before
my entranced eves to the music of a line of drummer
boys stepping in front, among whom, to my astonishment, I saw two or three of my schoolfellows. This set
me to thinking deeply and I deplored the fact that my
youth and my position as eldest in the family rendered
it imperative that I remain with my mother, sister, and
brothers.
Toward the close of the war, having obtained my
mother's consent, I left the academy at Lima, New
York, where I had been attending school, to enlist as a
soldier. I was then not yet sixteen years of age. I have
a dim recollection of going before a board of officials in
my native village, who, after an examination, directed
me to proceed to Rochester, where I would have the opportunitv I desired to join the army.
On reaching Rochester I presented myself to the recruiting officer for the Fourth New York Cavalry, but
was summarily rejected because of my youth. Made
wise by this first failure —although at that period I had
not heard of the young recruit who, having been re2




My Years in the Army
jected in his first effort to enlist, rushed over to a shoe
store, had himself fitted to a pair of shoes, and ordered
that they be marked number eighteen, so that he could
say he was over eighteen-I succeeded in my second attempt. The regular army officer who examined me on
this occasion seemed impressed by my good looks and
tall stature. I was enrolled in the regular establishment,
and shortly a sergeant took me in charge and furnished
me a suit of army blue, which I donned with much satisfaction. So green was I at this time that I did not know
the difference between the volunteer and the regular
army.
Passing over trivial incidents, such as being served
with coffee without milk and bread without butter, I
soon found myself en route for New York. For a few
days we were housed with other recruits in a curious,
circular structure called Castle William, which stood
on the point of Governors Island nearest the Battery,
when we were ordered aboard a transport bound for
City Point, Virginia. I have little recollection of our
voyage except that it was a misty and boisterous one.
Coffee, hard-tack, and meat were served out to us on
the forward, unprotected deck of the ship, and I did not
see an officer until we arrived at City Point.
Here, all was confusion. A multitude of tugs and
steamers enlivened the water-side, while officers and soldiers rushed about on shore amid a lot of military wagons, tents, and other equipment. Disembarking, we were
marched a short distance to a camp and there lined up
for assignment to certain skeleton companies, whose
ranks had been depleted by losses suffered in recent
service. We were then issued equipment and dismissed.
My captain proved to be a stout, cocky fellow who
3




"Yellowstone Kelly"
had evidently been promoted from the ranks. He was,
however, an efficient officer. "Bring down those hands
with vim," was a favorite order when on drill. For some
time our service consisted in guarding prisoners of war,
and also general prisoners in bull pens.
After the cessation of hostilities, we marched from
Burkesville to Richmond, the view of which was marred
by burned buildings and bridges. Later we took the
road to Washington. At no time had I met more than
one battalion of my regiment. Our battalion was commanded Xby Captain Robert Hall, and Lieutenant Theodore Schwan was adjutant. When next I met these officers, a third of a century later, one was in the adjutant
general's office in Washington, and the other was in the
Philippines, and both were brigadier generals.
Arrived in Washington, the battalion encamped
south of the Potomac in the pines, where we remained
until after the Grand Review. On the evening of June
6, 1865, I was detailed as one of fifty men to act as
guard on the following day near the reviewing officer,
on the occasion of the review of the Sixth Army Corps.
Long before daybreak we were on the road marching
through the misty, fog-covered stretches to the Potomac. On either side, as we passed, could be heard the
morning call of bugle, fife, and drum, and stentorian
voices giving commands to moving cavalry.
Finally, in the morning light we saw the Potomac and
the low land about it. We crossed the historic Long
Bridge, and at length stopped to rest at some point on
Pennsylvania Avenue. Here, I remember, I purchased
a small pie of a negress, who had a stand near by. The
pie looked fine, but when tested it proved to be thin and
tough. The crust was not of the kind that melts in the
4




1;. <


At...   d" *
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gf 'em
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IU''HER S. KELLY
As a Private, Company (;, oth Infaintry, April, 186(3.
From a D aguerreotype.








My Years in the Army
mouth, and I retired disappointed and hungry; the
soiled shin-plaster which I paid for it was wasted.
About ten o'clock the officer in command lined us up
in front of the reviewing stand. As yet no one was at
hand to occupy the vast structure, which rose tier upon
tier of rough boarding, gaily decorated with flags and
bunting, although crowds of holiday sightseers were beginning to throng the streets. We were soon ordered to
stand at ease, and it was a relief to look about and compare notes.
Presently squads of police came along and stationed
men at intervals to clear the way. Our detachment was
brought to attention, for the column could be seen in the
distance moving down the avenue. By this time the reviewing stand was filling rapidly through the different
entrances: generals and staff and field officers were
much in evidence, while members of Congress and others
prominent in official and civil life were being frequently
greeted with bursts of cheers.
Soon all was excitement, as a burst of music heralded
the approach of a column of mounted police who led the
iway, followed, as I recall, by an escort of cavalry. Close
on their heels came the commander of the Sixth Corps
and his staff, followed by orderlies, the corps headquarters guards, and bands; then came the first division with
its staff, followed by columns of troops passing in review in lines of companies, the left of the line being only
a few yards away from where we were. As the heads of
the different organizations passed along we stood at
"present arms" until our fingers and arms ached with
the tension. Bronze-bearded fellows they were, clad in
the blue field uniform of blouse and cap or black hat;
infantry, cavalry, and artillery marched with the preci5




"Yellowstone Kelly"
sion and compelling force of veterans-a latent power
that enemies of the Republic might well have taken
note of.
I was but a recruit, and was unable to identify any
of the famous warriors who moved so gallantly by, but
I noted one dashing officer of high rank whose horse
seemed to have gotten the bit and was bearing his rider
at full speed along the line of march before he could
curb him. It may have been Custer of the waving locks,
although I am. not sure.
All day long that column passed, and our arms became numb with saluting and holding our rifles at a
carry. Some regiments were arrayed in white collars
and nianY had new uniforms; other regiments, perhaps
direct from the field, had had no time to make requisitions on the quartermaster for new clothing. So they
passed, horse, foot, and artillery, followed by camp followers and "bummers" in strange and quaint attire
gathered in foraging forays on the flanks of armies.
After our battalion had been encamped for some time
at Kalorama Heights my company was sent into Washington and stationed in some old quarters, where we suffered a good deal of discomfort from the heat and the
unsavory conditions generally. At length word came
that our regiment was to move to the Northwest to take
station on the frontier. Presently, after considerable
preparation, we boarded some antiquated day-coaches
and began our journey. Of it I remember little save an
incident at one station where iron kettles of hot coffee,
sweetened with molasses, were brought into the car and
with this, together with hard-tack and slices of pork,
our hunger was satisfied.
Arrived at St. Paul, my company and one other were
6




My Years in the Army
assigned to Fort Ripley on the upper reaches of the
Mississippi River, and shortly after we took up the line
of march through a thinly settled region to that point.
There was little excitement at this post and when winter
set in the routine of duty was dreary enough, but in the
spring, when the genial sun transformed the dead verdure into a blanket of green, I joyed in taking my rifle
and rambling through the silent forests and along the
pebbly banks of the Mississippi and its tributary
streams.
When spring had advanced somewhat, the company
received orders to march across country and take station
at Fort Wadsworth, Dakota Territory, in the vicinity
of Big Stone Lake. The country was still but sparsely
settled and in our march we encountered but few towns
or villages, so that it was not uncommon to see deer
break away from the head of the column. Whenever this
occurred the captain would direct two of our best shots,
who were usually veteran soldiers, to go ahead and kill
them. I noticed, however, that they seldom brought in
any meat. We came upon numerous lakes, and our camp
was usually pitched on the bank of one of them. Here I
was in my element, for I was an expert swimmer, and I
rather astonished the officers and men by my long underwater dashes.
Finally, my chance came. We made an early camp,
and after the tents were pitched I walked to the captain's tent, saluted, and asked permission to go hunting.
"Have you had any experience in hunting?" he inquired.
"No, sir," I replied, "but I do not see any of the expert hunters bringing in game, and I would like to try
my hand."
7




"Yellowstone Kelly"
He smiled, and gave me the required permission,
warning me at the same time not to get lost.
I had noted, a mile back on the road as we came
along, an open glade crossing a water course. I reached
this opening through the woods and skirted the timber
along it for some distance and then, striking a game
trail at right angles, turned off on it, but left it again as
I touched trails leading in the direction of the opening.
Once I caught sight of two white flags and saw the deer
as they took a long leap together over some tall brush.
I now became more wary. It was getting on toward evening and I finally retraced my steps in the direction of
camp after missing two good shots because I was not
ready. At length I stopped in a trail to listen, and
seemed to hear the muffled sound of chopping in the direction of the camp. While thus engaged I caught the
souin(l of light hoofs pounding the ground and suddenly
in the path a buck appeared, coming full tilt directly
toward me. As I raised my gun I inadvertently called
out "whoa" he stopped short as I fired low on his neck,
bringing him to the ground.
He was too heavy for me to pack or drag as he was,
and I was glad that no one was around to see the awkw ard way in which I opened him with my pocket-knife
and rid him of entrails and blood. He was still too heavy
to pack, so I let him drain and scraped the blood from
his coat; then, with much difficulty I cut off his head as
near the ears as possible.
I knew how to pack a deer, for I had seen the process.
I cut through the second joints of the front feet to the
muscles, then slipped my knife down between the bone
and muscles to the hoof joint. By inserting these bones
through the thin part of the hind legs a lock is made to
8




My Years in the Army
swing over the shoulder. I carried the deer in this fashion and my entry into camp was spectacular. I held a
reception with all the honors. After the carcass had been
duly inspected I was directed to turn it over to the company cook.
Our route now led direct toward the foothills of the
Coteau des Prairies. We were leaving the timbered lake
country of western Minnesota and entering the region
of the great plains. There was a tang in the air and the
very herbage was odorous of the range that attracts
wild game.
Soon we came in view of Big Stone Lake, with Lake
Traverse near by, with the Browns' homestead looming
like a gem amid its background of green hills. Lake
Traverse, I was told, is the source of the Red River of
the North, which runs very straight to Hudson Bay,
while the waters of Big Stone Lake flow in the opposite
direction, toward the Mississippi.
At our noon camp in the foothills a troop of Minnesota volunteer cavalry passed by in irregular column.
Impatient to regain their homes after dreary service in
the Dakota foothills, they would not wait for any formal turning over of the garrison, but skipped out bag
and baggage, leaving a quartermaster to attend to the
details. They were a soldierly-looking lot of men, and
though roughly clad and mounted seemed fit for service
in the field. Under their slouched black hats they took
in "us regulars" as merely Uncle Sam's unit to form
their relief. I should have liked much to talk with them
and gain some knowledge of the life and country ahead
of us.
Later in the day we rounded the point of a hill and
beheld the long-looked-for Fort Wadsworth, nestling
9




"Yellowstone Kelly"


between two small lakes and surrounded by a mere embankment of earth. We soon marched in and were assigned to one of the company quarters which had been
vacated by our Minnesota friends.
Fort Wadsworth belonged to the usual type of frontier post, having a square parade ground surrounded
on one side by a set of officers' quarters and offices, with
log quarters for three companies of troops and stables
and corrals completing the other sides of a square. The
aspect it presented was cheerless enough, with not a tree
nor a foot of cultivated ground.
The nearest post to the westward was at Devil's
Lake, but there was not a settlement anywhere in the
country nearer than those we had left behind in Minnesota. The region was devoid of both Indians and big
game, other than a few white-tail deer in the sparse timber of the adjacent foothills.
Earlx in the autumn the captain of my company, who
was also quartermaster and commissary, sent for me
and said: "Corporal, you will take three six-mule teams
and wagons and proceed to Sauk Center, Minnesota,
and load with potatoes and other vegetables and return
to this post. You will be furnished a saddle horse and
carbine, and besides the three drivers the post interpreter will accompany your party as guide. You will
allow no other person to join your party."
I felt quite elated a day or two later, a tall, half-breed
Sioux guide alongside, as I rode down the trail in the
lead of my small wagon train, with my letter of instructions in my pocket. I was only a boy, and so I felt rather
proud of the responsibility of my first command. When
we were about ready to halt for our camp the first night
we were joined by a sergeant of one of the other com10




My Years in the Army
panies, who had been sent by his captain to purchase
supplies for the company. I informed him of my instructions.
"Oh, well," he said, "I am not a person; I am a fullfledged non-commissioned officer like y* ourself. Of
course, if you insist upon a strict interpretation of your
orders I will walk ahead or behind your command and
thus meet requirements."
I did not insist on this, and I wvas glad to have his
company for he proved to be a good fellow. He rode in
one of the empty wagons and I did not envy him for I
well know what a comfortless vehicle a springless heavy
army wagon is.
The guide spoke a little English, and being familiar
with the region, pointed out to us various spots of interest, among them the ruins of a burned stockade where
the Minnesota Sioux had put to death some settlers who
had gathered there for mutual protection during the uprising of 1862.
We camped one night near Lake Amelia, just about
dusk. Seeing a farmhouse on the opposite side of the
lake, the guide and I rode around to it to see if we could
get some milk and fresh vegetables. Wie found the door
open and a fire burning in the stove, but no one was in
sight or hearing and we were obliged to return emptyhanded. The family may have been visiting some neighbor or it may have fled at the approach of an Indian,
garbed in blanket, shirt, and leggings.
Next day we started very early and before sunrise
saw two elk jump over a farmer's fence and scurry into
thick timber. Finally, we entered Sauk Center, then a
straggling village of one street, and passed on a couple
of miles to a farm where we were to load our wagons
11




"Yellowstone Kelly"
with potatoes, onions, and turnips for the return journey. We lay over there for several days, as the farmer
was away. The people were very friendly and invited me
to their table, which I thoroughly enjoyed after living
on hard-tack, bacon, and such fresh meat as we could
pick up on the trip.
In 1866 Sauk Center was a very small village in the
midst of a farming section. The sergeant camped there
with some German acquaintances and invited me to
come up and stay overnight. I found them most agreeable people and the table I sat down to that evening was
something to remember, loaded as it was with many appetizing dishes cooked in German style. At night I had
a genuine feather bed, the kind in which you lose yourself, and for cover a soft feather comforter of ample
proportions light as down. I marched my wagon train
back to Fort WaTdsworth in good order, turned over the
supplies to the quartermaster, and resumed my duties
with the company.
Early in the spring of 1867 the company was ordered to establish a station at the forks of the Cheyenne
River near Bear's Den Hill toward the northern boundary of Dakota Territory. The Cheyenne enters the
Red River near the site of old Fort Assiniboin.
Our course led over a rolling prairie. Nothing of interest occurred until the second or third day, when we
crossed a high and level plain which extended for many
miles. This plain was covered with a thin coating of ice,
and on all sides as far as the eye could reach was dotted
*with the bodies of dead buffaloes. These animals were in
good condition and bore no mark of bullet or arrow
wounds. The cause of their death was a mystery to us.
As we marched over the plain toward the valley of the
12




My Years in the Army
Cheyenne the appearance of so many carcasses scattered around made a strong impression on my mind,
perhaps because they were the first buffaloes I had ever
seen.
Bear's Den Hill proved to be merely a grass-covered
knob with no romantic associations attached to it as far
as I could learn. The adjacent country was a rolling
plain, bare of timber except along streams and in the
coulees, and it contained but little game. Judged by the
standards of the present day our situation was cheerless
enough. Wie constructed rude quarters of logs, floored
with boards and lighted by candles. Our daily ration
consisted of salt pork, bacon, beans, rice, dried apples,
and peaches, together Awith coffee and tea. Milk we procured only at rare intervals. We always had sweet fresh
bread, however, and were supplied with beef by contract. Notwithstanding our rude quarters and simple
fare, we were as happy and cheerful as soldiers could be.
For the evening meal wve marched through a dark corridor, cold as ice, to the kitchen, where the cook and his
assistant dished out a pint of tea and a good-sized chunk
of bread, while as a side dish there was usually a plate of
cold boiled pork from which each soldier might help
himself. Having procured our share of pork, we returned with it to our quarters, where we ate our meal. I
do not remember that any officer ever inspected or witnessed the issue of food except at Sunday morning
inspection.
Some time in the winter of 1867-1868 Colonel Whistler came down from the post at Devil's Lake to inspect
our command. He was a handsome man with black curly
hair. I did not see him again until 1876, when he was
serving as second in command to General Miles at a
13




"Yellowstone Kelly"
cantonment on Tongue River, Montana. Here I witnessed an affray between some Cheyenne warriors
and the Crows which will be described in a subsequent
chapter.
My term of enlistment was drawing to its close and
at last the day came when I was to bid good-by to soldier life. I was too much enamored with the free full
life of prairie and mountain to suffer the restriction
and discipline of another period of service in the army,
especially in time of peace. There is nothing finer for a
young fellow than a three-year term in the United
States army, for it teaches him method, manliness,
physical welfare, and obedience to authority. One enlistment is sufficient, however, unless one wishes to make
soldiering a profession.


14




CHAPTER II


FROM FORT RANSOM TO THE
YELLOWSTONE
T was early spring when I left Fort Ransom. The
only conveyance to the outside world was by dog
sled, which also carried the United States mail. This
meant that my bundle would find place on the sled while
I followed in the footsteps of the driver, whose muscles
had been hardened by months of such travel. I managed
to keep up with him during the first thirty or forty
miles, though not without making some strong drafts
on my store of reserve energy. After that my recollection is not clear as to how I reached the end of the first
stage of travel at Fort Abercrombie. Here I took the
regular stage for St. Paul, the place where my pay
vouchers were to be cashed. I remember passing Ottertail Lake, and I have no doubt the route led through a
beautiful country, but when we traversed it, early in
April, it was flooded with the melting snows and we
seemed to be traveling for miles through shallow lakes.
When my business at St. Paul was completed I embarked upon a project I had long cherished. This was to
proceed to the Canadian settlement of Fort Garry and
from there journey westward, wherever the spirit of adventure might lead me, until I had reached the wild
country at the headwaters of the Missouri River.
One day in May, 1868, when I had left the scattered
farms behind me, I found myself following a wagon
track that led north down the Red River Valley,
through a land of gentle slopes. The rich soil nourished
15




"Yellowstone Kelly"
succulent grasses and legumes; all the cattle in the state
of Minnesota could have grazed in this valley for a
month without injuring its value as a pasture land. But
there were no cattle and I encountered no buffaloes;
only a few deer now and then broke the monotony of
the landscape.
At night I halted near running water where wood
wvas handy, and picketing my pony in some good grass,
proceeded to make camp. I first built a fire and when
this vwas going well I cut an armful of coarse dry grass
for mv bed. Then I loosened the small bundle that was
tied behind my saddle and took from it a quart tin for
boiling coffee, a small frying pan, and the tin that fitted
into it, a cup, and a small sack of flour. Then I went to
the stream for water.
By this time the fire had become a mass of coals. I
mixed lip a lump of dough in the pan, added bakingpowder and salt to it, and then I raked out a lot of coals
on which I placed the frying pan at an angle, propping
it with a stick so that the heat would strike the bread
from both sides. When the bread had swelled out like a
baked potato I removed it and stood it up to keep hot
while I used the skillet to cook the bacon or fresh meat.
Bread baked in this way is sweet and satisfying. If
you do not happen to have a frying pan the dough may
be twisted around a green stick and baked by sticking
the end in the ground near the fire. The entire act is accomplished before coffee is made. Of course the camper's outfit is not complete without a Dutch oven, but
there is no sweeter hot bread than that made before the
open fire.
One night I stopped with a Frenchman who seemed
to be a man of culture, but as he could not speak English
16




Fort Ransom to the Yellowstone


and I could not talk French we could not exchange
ideas. At length I crossed a river on a flatboat ferry and
mounting my pony rode through a scattered settlement
until I came to a modest hostelry, where I put up. I had
reached Fort Garry, as it was then known, where now
is the thriving city of Winnipeg.
Among the boarders at the hotel were a number of
Montana miners who had "come across" to winter on
Red River, as the living was much cheaper here than it
was in the mining towns of Montana. They were very
friendly toward the "tenderfoot traveler," and I found
much pleasure in their company. They told me a great
deal, too, about the country through which they had
traveled in coming from the MIissouri River. When I
said that I was going that way they shook their heads
and sought to dissuade me. "When you get near the
Missouri," they said, "you are bound to run into war
parties. The Sioux are continually at war with the Ree,
Grosventres, and Mandan and it would be duck soup
for them to meet a lone white man." Such talk as this
was discouraging, nevertheless I was determined to go
ahead, trusting to fall in with some of the people going
out to make pemmican.
On my journey to Fort Garry I had met no Indians
except on one occasion. On the road through Minnesota
I was halted one day at a small river running through a
swamp. The crossing looked difficult and while I was
deliberating how best to accomplish it I saw close at
hand a large birch-bark canoe filled with Indians in
bright costume, stealing silently along. It was a beautiful sight, though startling at first. The gaily decorated
canoe, the handsome young men that manned it, their
garments garnished with bead, feather, and porcupine17




"Yellowstone Kelly"
quill work, the slow easy movement of the paddles, all
in a setting of green forest that bordered the sluggish
stream, formed a picture that has fixed itself in my
memory.
The warriors turned in slowly to my side where I sat
on a tree trunk. They stayed silently with paddle, and
one, evidently a leader, spoke and gestured at the same
time, saying as plainly as though it had been uttered in
English, "What is your trouble?" I have since seen the
same sign among the prairie Indians; it is called the
hailing sign, and means: "Who are you; what is the
matter?" or "What do you want?"
I recognized the language of my visitors as the Chippewa. They understood English but did not speak it.
They were very friendly. They not only took me across
the river in their canoe, while I led the pony at the end
of the lariat, but they gave me at parting three roasted
muskrats, on which I made an excellent meal.
The Montana miners put the pack on my pony and
lashed it on with the "diamond hitch," which was new
to me, and I tried to make the same knot when next I
loaded the pony, but failed on the combination. The
man who later taught me how to pack claimed that he
could put thirteen empty flour barrels on a pack mule
saddled with an aparejo [pack saddle], and lash them
on with the diamond hitch. Whatever skill I obtained as
a packer is due to the instruction of Christopher Gilson,
an old-timer well known to many old army officers who,
if still living, are now on the retired list.
At length all was ready and I started, westward
bound for the Missouri River. Although I had seen
three years of soldier life I was not yet nineteen. On
foot and leading my pony I passed through several set18




Fort Ransom to the Yellowstone


tiements of half-breeds; in one the French predominated, in another the English, and in a third the Scotch.
The French settlement was the largest of the three. In
one village I found a Yankee storekeeper by the name
of House.
One day a native stopped me on the road and said:
"Why travel afoot and make your horse's back sore
with light saddle? I will sell you one wooden cart and
you ride and carry load." His offer was specious enough,
but I was not in the market that day for a Red River
cart, so I shook my head and answered, "No, thank
you."
At the crossing of the Assiniboin River I fell in with
a party of English half-breeds with their carts, bound
for the buffalo grounds to make pemmican. They invited me to join their party, which I gladly did, and
shifting my pack to one of the carts I mounted my
steed and rode with the horsemen at the head of the
train.
One of the first things to strike my fancy was a blue
broadcloth Red River coat with hood attached, and I
lost no time in purchasing one. This style of garment is
of an ancient pattern and probably dates from the early
days when the Hudson's Bay Company supplied an
enormous trade in clothing to strike the fancy of a host
of employees, voyageurs, and fur traders. The cloth
furnished by this company was of the very best quality
and their blankets, in particular, were much esteemed
and in great demand in the western country in those
days. The coats were made of a good grade of blue
broadcloth and ornamented with flat brass buttons.
The blankets were of all colors, but the trade was mostly
in red and black, which seemed to meet the fancy of the
19




"Yellowstone Kelly"
traders and Indians above other colors. They were of
different grades and were marked with small black bars
in one corner; thus, a four-point blanket was heavy and
commanded the highest price. American goods were of
such shod(dy material as not to compare with English
goods in the Far Wrest.
With mv blue coat and red sash I felt more like a
free lance of the prairie, especially while with these halfbreed buffalo hunters, who made the prairie their home
a good part of tie year. There were about twelve or
fourteen families in the party. Some had pitched skin
lodges similar to the Sioux tepee, others used canvas in
place of skins for covering the conical framework of
poles, while a few families llad canvas tents. I slept on
the ground tinder a cart in the open air.
The carts were made wholly of wood, and not a single
nail or bolt entered into their construction. The rims of
the high wheels were covered with strips of raw bull's
hide laced on %while green, making very effective tires,
hard and durable as iron, and so light that the carts
would float while the ponies swam across streams.
We saw no game but antelopes on the rolling plains
until after we had passed Mouse River. At this stream
we feasted on fish which the half-breeds called "goldeyes." Their method of cooking them, however, did not
appeal to me, as the custom was to boil them in a pot,
heads and all. At night, after everyone else had retired,
a young man of the party brought a good-sized fish and
baked it on a slab in front of the fire. I thought it most
delicious.
It was on Mouse River that I first came in contact
with Sitting Bull and his war party. As we were going
into camp one day a party of horsemen suddenly came
20




SITTING BULL


Whose sign is shown ill the picture, shoots and scalps a frontiersman, hangs the scalp
on his bridle, and captures the horse.
Pictograph (1868), copied from an Indian Buffalo Robe.








Fort Ransom to the Yellowstone


into view, and approaching rapidly, dismounted and
went through our party shaking hands right and left,
using both hands in the process, which struck me as
singular in an Indian.
In our party were a man and a woman of the Santee
Sioux. Of course they told Sitting Bull that I was an
American and the warriors gathered around me where
I stood with my rifle in hand. The old man with whom
I messed had assured me that though we might meet
hostile Indians I would come to no harm as long as I
stayed with the party, so I looked them calmly in the
eye while they thronged about me, regarding me with
baleful eves, hate and vindictiveness pervading every
feature of their villainous faces. XWithout a wo{rd they
abruptly left me, and mounting their horses, soon
passed out of sight.
Sitting Bull appeared to be about thirty years of age.
He had a round, pleasant face, and wore a headscarf of
dirty white cloth, while most of his followers affected
black headgear. I suspected that the stiff leather cases
tied to some of the saddles contained war bonnets, as I
saw feathers sticking out of the pouches. They assume
their war regalia when on the war path, though they
usually strip to the breechclout when going into action.
They were armed with rifles and trade shotguns in addition to the usual bow and quiver of arrows. They reported killing a white man a short time before near the
mouth of the Yellowstone.
That night I kept my rifle very close to where I slept.
In the night there came a sprinkle of rain and the old
half-breed came out of his lodge to adjust the cover on
the cart and accidentally trod near my head. Like a
flash I was on my feet with gun cocked and pointing at
21




"Yellowstone Kelly"


his head. He was speechless with fright and I with consternation, realizing how near I had come to shooting
him, which would have been a great calamity in my
situation.
In trembling accents he said: "Would you shoot me,
boy?"
"I was sound asleep," I replied, "and thought it was
the war party stealing into camp."
These people did not make pemmican while I was
with them, as I left before the meat was dry enough to
work up, but having witnessed the process many times
since then I will describe it here for the reader.
The buffaloes being killed, and scattered over a consi(lerable area of ground, all hands turn in and cut up
the meat, which is packed to camp. Here it is cut into
great slabs the thickness of one's finger and hung on
long lines of rawhide or lariat to dry in the sun. When
thoroughly dry the meat, much reduced in weight and
size, is toasted slightly on coals, then placed on rawhides
or stiff canvas and broken up as much as possible with
flails very nmuch like those used for threshing wheat.
The desiccated meat is then placed in rawhide sacks
and the mass is solidified by pouring in hot tallow or
marrow fat, and the sacks are fastened with rawhide
thongs in much the same way that sacks of grain are
tied. One pound of this wholesome and concentrated
food is equal to about ten pounds of fresh meat. It will
keep in good condition one or two years, and the Red
Rliver people sold tons of it to the trade posts on both
si(les of the line, besides conserving great quantities for
their own wAinter use and for sale in the settlements. The
desiccated meat, fresh from contact with live coals, is
most appetizing and sustaining, and when mixed with
22




Fort Ransom to the Yellowstone


marrow fat it makes a rich food. A pony will pull from
1000 to 1500 pounds on a cart, and the pemmican is
usually made at a time of the year when the fur on the
buffalo is not in condition for a robe.
We were now on the prairie away from timber, somewhere north of Devil's Lake, and as we neared the divide that sloped to the Missouri River I looked forward
to leaving these simple, friendly people, who prayed on
Sunday, chased buffaloes regardless of prairie-dog holes,
and drank tea without sweetening. At last the morning
came when the old half-breed said: "We will make the
adventure this day." W'e rode a few miles to some rising
ground which he called the "Coteau des Prairies" and
there we parted. "Look out for the Sioux, boy," was his
parting injunction, as he pointed in the direction I was
to follow.
I rode leisurely along until I had topped the low divide of grassland, with here and there scrub timber in
the hollows and ravines, and from this viewpoint I saw,
not the valley of the Missouri, but the country beyond,
with rough hills and ridges covered with dark timber
like cedar. It seemed a forbidding-looking country, under the shadow of low-lying clouds far on the western
horizon. It was, indeed, a land of broils and feuds, where
dwelt many tribes of men of different tongues, whose
pastime was war until the white man came, who warred
against none, but fought all, because opposed.
I rode at a good pace and suddenly arrived on the
bank of the great Missouri, which rolled along between
narrow bluffs with no valley or timber on either side.
Perhaps not in hundreds of miles could the river have
presented to the stranger a more unattractive aspect
than at the bend where I touched it. Yet its potential
23




"Yellowstone Kelly"
power, mighty in its confinement between gray bluffs of
sandstone, was apparent at once.
Man and horse took a refreshing drink of mighty
Minliushushu, then I marked the places where Lewis
and Clark's boatmen must have trod while cordelling
their clumsy boats up the river, for there was no shifting
of the channel in that rockbound bend.
Ascending the nearest hill below this point, I descried two horsemen on a similar point about a mile
farther down the valley. I rode slowly in their direction
and whlen I had reached low ground out of their sight I
changed my course so that when next I sighted them I
was several hundred yards to the left of the direct approach. They had not moved, and reassured, I made
directly for them.
I folund them to be two young men who were guarding bands of ponies that I now saw scattered along the
rolling plains beyond. I could readily see that these men
were not Sioux, but had different features and dress.
Instead of wearing their hair in two rolls wrapped in
fur, the two coils hanging in front were garnished with
white discs of shell or mother-of-pearl, while the forehead was embellished with an upright brush of hair
stiffened with white clay. I had picked up a few signs,
so I asked them where the camp was; they pointed down
the river and indicated by the sun that it was about one
hour's ride. "Any white people?" I inquired. They said
that there were plenty of whites and asked where I came
from, and by the way they eyed my costume I surmised
that they took me for a Red River man, and classed me
as friendly to their enemies, the Sioux.
I passed on presently and noted that the country
ahead widened out into a valley several miles in extent
24




Fort Ransom to the Yellowstone


and was heavily wooded along the river bends. Finally,
I saw a collection of buildings and a flagpole on a low
bluff just above the river. A nearer approach disclosed
a village of round, earth-covered huts, with here and
there one or more Indians perched on top, like prairie
dogs on their mounds.
I was an object of curiosity as I rode by, but I did not
stop until I had reached the center, or front, of the more
pretentious buildings I had first sighted.
I soon found that I had arrived at Fort Berthold, an
Indian agency for the Arikara, Gkosventres, and Mandan, who lived amicably together for mutual protection
against their hereditary enemies, the Sioux.
The United States agent, a most amiable man, whose
name I cannot now recall, kindly allowed me to eat at
the agency mess, and later placed me on the agency rolls
until I had in a manner found m!self.
Being of an inquisitive disposition in those days, I
lost no time in looking about, for the place was replete
with new and interesting associations. Out on the plain
a short distance was an extensive Indian burial ground,
where the dead were elevated on platforms supported
on slender poles, on which were suspended the arms and
equipment of the departed, while underneath on the
ground were strewn all sorts of paraphernalia that an
Indian would require on his entrance to the happy hunting grounds, all in various stages of disintegration and
decay. Years before, the smallpox had descended upon
the village and taken heavy toll. The disease was aggravated by the native custom of taking sweat baths and
immediately jumping into the river.
Close by the agency but nearer the river bank stood
the trading establishment. This was a stockade affair
25




"Yellowstone Kelly"
with a strong gate that was closed and locked at night.
Inside were the country store and a dwelling or two.
The representative, like the Indian agent, was a very
decent gentleman, but reticent, not given much to conversation. Behind the counters was displayed a line of
goods calculated to touch the heart or desires of the red
man-bolts of coarse broadcloth, red and blue ornamental shells and beads, knives and hatchets, shawls and
headbands, powder in kegs and brown sugar in barrels,
flints and matches, trade guns and a variety of blankets,
and many other good. to catch the eye.
The trader had a few Henry carbines, but they were
for the white trade. Before I left Fort Berthold I purchased one of these carbines and it served me well for
several years, or until I was able to secure a Winchester
rifle. With the Henry and the stubby little.44 caliber
cartridge that went with it I killed many a buffalo, as
well as other game, and it stood me in good hand when
I was forced to defend myself in encounters with hostile
Indians.
There was also another store in a different part of the
post kept by the Gerard brothers, who were free lances
in the Indian trade, the older of whom was an old timer
in the Indian country. He was later with Reno in Custer's last fight and ran a narrow escape from being captured when Reno turned back.
In the sixties and early seventies there was much
fighting in the region about Fort Berthold. The vast
country across the river was a stronghold of the Sioux,
who greatly outnumbered the agency Indians. The latter could go to the distant hunting grounds only in
strong parties. I saw them bring their ponies up at
night in great bands and take them out again in the
26




Fort Ransom to the Yellowstone


morning. They had fields of Indian corn and squashes in
the bottom land and on these and the dried meat from
their caches of the winter's hunt they lived sumptuously
through the summer and harvest while they dried the
sweet corn and squashes for winter use. On my way to
the Indian encampment I stopped at the log store of the
Gerard brothers. This store contained a smaller but perhaps better selected class of goods for the Indian trade
than the larger establishment. There was keen competition all along the river.
The Indians usually came in groups to trade, but a
single family would sometimes ask for a private deal
and the shop would be closed to the others while it was
being carried on.
While I was there an Indian came in with a very fine
buffalo cow robe with some pictograph writing in pigment colors of some Indian scene or event faintly orutlined on the fleshy side. I noticed that the half-breed
who waited on him in measuring out twenty-five pint
cups of brown sugar to pay for the robe kept his thumb
full length in the cup, thereby subtracting from full
measure in each portion, which I found to be a common
practice.
It was told, though I cannot vouch for it, that the
Gerards made their initial stake by being first on the
scene after a party of Montana miners descending the
river in a small boat with considerable gold dust on
board had been attacked and killed by hostile Indians,
who shook the sacks of gold dust into the boat, having
no use for such stuff or being ignorant of its value.
I now proceeded to the village, which began only a
few yards beyond the trade store. Imagine a good-sized
village of round, earth-covered houses, each with a small
27




"Yellowstone Kelly"
opening at the top to serve for ventilation and as an outlet for the smoke of the fires built directly underneath.
In constructing these houses a stout square framework
of wood was first erected and around this slabs were
placed in circular form and above wooden rafters in
rounding form, the whole being plastered with mud and
covered with grass, on which earth was heaped to make
a covering a foot or more thick.
These houses were warm in winter and delightfully
cool in summer. From the housetops warriors harangued the settlement or recounted the latest news.
Here the members of the family gathered after the heat
of the day to gossip with their neighbors or for observation when anything novel or exciting took place. Across
the river lay a broad sand bar, with a forest of timber
stretching to the low-lying hills beyond. In their light
bull boats the natives crossed the river for wood, and
when an enemy suddenly appeared the river was alive
witl boats loaded with warriors, with their ponies swimming behind. A boat made of one bull-hide held four or
more men and their arms; no saddles were used on the
occasion of an alarm, only the lariat tied around the
pony's jaw to guide him.
In fair weather the entrance to the dwellings was left
open. I entered one and found a spacious interior fairly
lighted from the aperture above, and the air odorous of
the fragrant shrubwood used as fuel on the open fire in
the center. Along the sides, robes and blankets were disposed to form couches and sleeping places. I was
greeted with "Howl how!" and given the place of honor
farthest from the door.
Without a word an old fellow filled a long-stemmed
pipe with a mixture of tobacco and red willow bark,
28




Fort Ransom to the Yellowstone
which the Dakotas call cha8hasha, reached for a coal,
and lighting it, puffed thoughtfully for a moment and
then passed the pipe to me. I took it, for I was familiar
with the Indian custom, and though not at that time a
user of tobacco in any form, essayed a few whiffs and
returned it in the same manner.
Some abodes in this village were ornamented with
reed screens and bright-colored cottons, and many were
roomy enough to stable two or more ponies in time of
strife or cold at one side of the living space. When the
room was filled with young men and women and their
voices rose in unison to the chant of love or festival
songs there was some noise from the rude orchestra, but
a world of melody and feeling wild and sweet, differing
from the low wild chant of male voices that I once listened to from my concealment in a wood within fifty
feet of a war party encamped on a dark night j ust on
the edge of a forest on the upper river.
The harvest festival and ceremonial attending the initiation of the young Indian into the duties of a w^rarrior
is the greatest event of the year among these allied people. It has been too often described for me to undertake
the task here, but I cannot refrain from observing that
the spectacle of a young man suspended by thongs
thrust through slits cut through the skin of his back,
there to hang until flesh and skin give way under the
exertions of the ardent and longing victim, which proclaims him as one unafraid and able to endure, would
afford a thrilling picture for some moving picture promoter of the present day.
VWhen engaged in the chase or in strife the warriors
of the Fort Berthold agency led a most active life, but
at other times their life was one of ease and relaxation.
29




"Yellowstone Kelly"
After their sweat baths, to which they were much addicted, I have seen them stalk down to the river bank in
groups or singly, wrapped in robes like a Roman toga,
for the daily plunge. When they returned from the
bath, face, body, and hair were plastered with strips of
w hite clay.
The sweat bath was a simple affair. A circular framework was made by sticking willows into the ground so
as to make a round top. Over this pieces of canvas,
robes, or skins were hung to make the wickiup as airtight as possible. Then a fire was built over and around
a pile of rocks until they were well heated. With a green
willow looped, these are transferred to the interior of
the wickiulp and the bathers being seated naked around
the center, a little water is dropped on the red-hot rocks,
producing a cloud of steam which at first almost suffocates the lbather. At once a feeling of joyful languor
diffuses itself through the body and expels pain and
fatigue. Ten minutes is enough, and the after-plunge
into cold water is only for the strong and vigorous, cooling water and a rub being sufficient to close the pores in
any temperature.
There is nothing just like the vapor bath in an Indian
sweat house in its good effects; you recline on a robe on
the ground while the water oozes from every pore. An
Indian may have traveled fifty or a hundred miles in
the saddle or afoot, or danced all day and all night; he
will then immediately hie himself to a sweat bath and
feel invigorated for new efforts.
I suspect that in the sixties an Indian agent was very
much a free lance, untroubled by inspectors, with reservation boundaries rather vaguely defined. Here all was
Indian country. From the Missouri River westward to
30




Fort Ransom to the Yellowstone


the mountains stretched a vast terrain peopled only by
Indians. The land swarmed with game, so that one could
ride north for hundreds of miles and never be out of
sight of buffaloes and their attendant friends, the agile,
keen-eyed antelopes, who gave the alarm on approach
of danger.
I wish I could remember the name of the agent who
honored his office in the year 1868 at Fort Berthold.
The Indians respected him, and I believe him to have
been a faithful servant of the government. Of the white
men living at the fort I remember George Milford, tall,
quiet, and reserved; also Mike Welsh, a great hunter
and trapper.
Among the Indian chiefs there were some very fine
men. I can recall by name one, Sun of the Star, in whose
lodge I was always welcome. Years later, I was to meet
him again after the Nez Perce campaign. I had come
across country from  the Yellowstone with General
Miles and others who were in an ambulance, and at a
turn of the road about ten miles from Fort Berthold I
saw, a little way off, a group of Indians standing on
either side of the road. I was riding in advance and
pushed on to see who they were, while the ambulance
stopped. They proved to be from Fort Berthold and the
chief Sun of the Star, recognizing me, shook my hand
heartily, as did the rest. The General then came up and
the chiefs greeted him. After a few words of pow-wow,
mostly in the sign language, all started on and at Berthold, where we remained for the night, there was a
council with the chiefs.
When November came I grew restless. I had heard
so many stories of the upper river and its doings that I
longed for a change of scene. One day I went over to
31




"Yellowstone Kelly"
the palisaded store and purchased one of the brassmounted little Henry carbines that I have spoken of,
along with a supply of.44 caliber cartridges. If I remember correctly I paid fifty dollars for the outfit.
Next morning, with two woolen blankets strapped on
my back and a belt of ammunition with knife and case
around me, I started on foot up the river into the unknown. I kept along the river bank, as the ice which
covered it in some places made it easy to cut the bends
and there was less likelihood of meeting unfriendly people on the way.
I saw no game that day, as I was too close to the
agency for hunting. Late in the afternoon I tried my
new gun on a couple of prairie chickens that were foolish enough to leave the seclusion of the thick brush and
linger in the branches of a cottonwood tree. I aimed for
the neck, as there are two chances against one for missing. Then I went on a little way and built a fire in the
brush, and spitting one of the chickens on a green willow, held it against the fire until it was done brown.
Hunger being in a manner appeased, I rested awhile
before proceeding until it was so dark that I could not
see my way. I then made camp in the willows without a
fire, which I disliked, as the night was cold. I had but a
double blanket and there was no dry grass or willows
to gather to temper the hardness of the frozen ground.
At the first streak of dawn I was up and had scarcely
started on my way when I disturbed two deer that broke
through the brush and were gone. I continued on and
had gone but a few hundred yards when I suddenly
came upon a small Indian encampment of log huts in a
little clearing. It proved to be one of the winter camps
of the Fort Berthold Indians, a family group of Man82




Fort Ransom to the Yellowstone


dan. Although it was scarcely daylight these people
were already stirring about. I opened a door where I
saw a light through the chinks of the cabin, and they
bade me enter. The light came from a fireplace in a
chimney plastered with clay, and it served the purpose
well, being about twenty inches deep and four or five
feet in width. It was built with a slope like the rake of
a mast on a yacht, and the fuel was stood on end, so that
a generous light and heat pervaded the room as long as
it lasted.
In this room were several Indian men and women,
but the hostess appeared to be one Mlag Pease, a woman
celebrated in her day, tall, stately, intelligent, well-bred,
and hospitable, and held in high esteem by all who knew
her. There was also Sally Four-Bears, daughter of a
well-known chief. They gave me some parched corn and
dried meat for breakfast and urged me to stay with
them until the next day. I was glad to do so, and I spent
half a day to no purpose trying to pick up the tracks of
the deer I had encountered in the willows.
In the evening a few sticks of cottonwood thrown on
the fireplace made a bright light, and seated in a circle
on robes disposed on the floor the people questioned me
as to where I came from and why I had left such pleasant scenes to live in a wild country where there were
onlv wild creatures and a few white men.
I answered by asking if some of their young men did
not sometimes travel to distant countries and visit other
tribes who spoke a strange language, and come back
after months or years of absence to relate their adventures. I was like them, I said. I liked to travel amid
ever changing scenes. Meanwhile, the pipe circulated
among the men and a pot was placed on the fire with
33




"Yellowstone Kelly"
meat and dried squash and corn, and we ate and talked
far into the night, a young woman who spoke good
English acting as our interpreter.
At last the fire died down and the robes were spread
for those who slept in the house. My blankets were
spread near the center of the room and I was asked if I
wanted a young woman to sleep with. I laughed and replied no, that I invariably slept alone while in this country, and in the best language I could command said that
it was against my medicine to change my mind in the
matter. With this they were satisfied, and I believe that
the offer was made in courtesy and with no thought of
immorality and impropriety.
Presently, observing that most of the women had retired to their several sleeping places, I removed my
moccasins and with my coat for a pillow reclined on the
robe assigned me, covering myself with my blanket. An
aged Indian stood a few chips of dry cottonwood on end
in the fireplace, where they quickly blazed into a roaring
flame and almost as quickly fell amid a shower of
sparks. I fell asleep and woke only when a swarm of
Indian (logs in the early morning gave voice to a weird
chorus in emulation of a pack of wolves which was serenading the camp from the near-by hills.
After I had breakfasted on toasted dried meat and
corn I bade adieu to my hosts and resumed my journey,
and soon found a fair trail leading to the next winter
encampment. Late in the day I reached it, and entering
one of the log huts was greeted with loud cries of "Howl
how!" by a group of warriors who until my entrance on
the scene had been absorbed in watching a big pot of
meat and dried corn boiling in the fireplace. The master
of ceremonies was an old Indian who was armed with a
84




Fort Ransom to the Yellowstone


slender wooden paddle, with which he occasionally
stirred the mess, licking the paddle off with his tongue.
I was invited to join the circle, and finding that they
lacked minnesquea, as salt is called by the Sioux, I produced a handful from my supplies and it was added to
the broth.
I also became absorbed in watching the finishing
touches of that pot of Indian "mulligan." The old fellow now changed his method of manipulating the paddle, for on removing it after a vigorous stir, he used his
forefinger in transferring the oily drippings to his
mouth. Apparently the dish was now cooked, for he
signed to another Indian to remove the pot from the
fire, and, dishes of wood, stone, and copper being
brought, a general distribution was made in which each
one received a share, there being none left after tlhe last
man was served. I ate my portion until the first sting
of hunger was appeased without calling to mind the incident of the paddle and the Indian who was so partial
to it. Indeed, I have taken food in an Indian camp
where I suspected that dog was served, and found that
dog was not so bad after all. The usual pipe followed
and made the rounds of the circle, then a young boy
piloted me to another cabin, where I was regaled with
bruised dried buffalo meat and a chunk of pure white
marrow fat that was sweet and good. Not being served
with knife and fork I used my fingers in breaking the
meat and cut bits of the marrow with mv knife in the
trencher containing the food. A pipe followed, of Nwhich
I was fain to take a whiff or two, then came a call from
outside the door and my host signed for me to go. I was
led to another cabin and on entering found the people
ready for me with a fine robe folded near the fireplace
35




"Yellowstone Kelly"
for a seat and a soft piece of parfleche in front of it as
a spread. Seating myself in response to a gesture, an
old squaw brought a cast-iron tea kettle and served me
an excellent dish of coffee and with it a dish of cold
boiled venison.
Truly these people intended to fill me with good
things, and though I had already had enough I was fain
to stow away what was before me for fear of offending
my entertainers, one of whom I recognized as a man I
had befriended once upon a time at Fort Berthold, when
the trader refused to let him have some tobacco on
credit. "Bring your things," he said, "and sleep on that
robe tonight."
When I was ready to turn in, four or five young
women entered and made merry at my expense, asking
if I always traveled alone and if I did not get lonesome,
and if I was not afraid of meeting a war party of the
Sioux, to all of which they received little satisfaction
because of my inability to converse in the Mandan
tongue. Suddenly one of the young women asked if I
would give her one of my red blankets. I was in a quandar!, for I needed both of my red blankets badly on the
road. Picking one up, however, I folded it neatly and
held it out with both arms, but before she could take it
the people of the house scolded the young women out of
the room and they went away, laughing and unconcerned.
In the morning, after I had eaten and was preparing
to start on my way, my host said: "My son will accompany you and show you the road as far as the Painted
Woods. From there on there is a road traveled by
wagons."
"Good," I replied, "and if the sign is good we may
86




Fort Ransom to the Yellowstone


camp and look for deer and elk." The young man was
about my own age and carried a very indifferent-looking
shotgun.
The trail ran very straight across the sand bars and
bends where the banks were favorable, but it was not
used by horsemen on account of the ice being bare of
snow. We were ten miles on our way before any fresh
deer sign appeared; we then crossed trail after trail of
bands heading for the cedar ridges on the south side.
Proceeding with more caution now, we presently
came upon a band of about fifty strung out along an
opening in the cottonwoods and I shot two without difficulty. The next task was to dress them and then hang
them up on a tree out of reach of the wolves. In this
work the Indian was much more at home than I, and he
handled the buck in half the time that I was occupied
with the doe. They were black-tails, and though poor in
flesh were heavy animals.
The timber was all large, but I found a leaning cottonwood tree with low limbs, on which with some labor
and the use of a short elk-skin lariat that the Indian had
we elevated the two deer out of reach of prowling animals. The Mandan said that some of his people would
find the meat on the following day and that he would
return to camp with them. He tore a strip from his turban and attached it to a limb of the tree for the information of those who should follow us.
Reaching the Painted Woods late in the day, we
found numerous signs of game. We camped near the
cedar ridges in the river bottom, where I shot a young
buck. Selecting a spot where the thick brush would absorb the light of our fire and cutting a lot of coarse dry
grass for beds, we proceeded to roast ribs and brisket
37




"Yellowstone Kelly"
until our hunger was satisfied. Another dish was prepared by the Mandan that tasted very good. Taking
the larger intestine of the deer, he rubbed it clean in the
snow and then engaging it on the ramrod of his gun
turned it inside out. Having tied one end with a bit of
sinew, the container was ready for business. This was
accomplished by cutting bits of lean meat, adding some
buffalo marrow fat that he extracted from a parfleche
sack in his belongings, and stuffing the whole into the
intestine until he had produced a rough-looking sausage, w*hen he tied the other end and laid it gently on a
fine bed of coals which I had raked out for the purpose.
Here it was slowly cooked, exuding, meanwhile, a rich
aroma which gave promise of a feast not to be despised.
Before daylight my companion had built a fire and
set to work roasting some more ribs for our breakfast.
This was our parting place. I was to kill a couple of
deer swhich he would take back to his father if he should
succeel in intercepting some of his people, as he expected to do.
I was in no hurry, for the distance to Fort Buford at
the mouth of the Yellowstone was not great and I was
loath to part with the Indian as he had shown manly
qualities, and while I could not understand much of
what he said, he was cheerful and helpful at all times.
It was evening when I came in sight of the collection
of buildings that constituted the "fort." In reality it
was more of a cantonment, as it had no stockade around
it, as I remember. Situated in the bend of the Missouri
as it sweeps down from the junction, it was bounded on
the north by a rolling prairie which extended for a
couple of miles to the foothills and afforded a grazing
38




Fort Ransom to the Yellowstone


ground for buffaloes as late as the early seventies. A
couple of miles higher up the river stood the ruins of
old Fort Union, which had been a famous trading post
in its day.


89




CHAPTER III


CARRYING THE MAIL TO FORT
STEVENSON
HAD been at Fort Buford but a little while when
I learned that an important mail was about to leave
for the lower post at Fort Stevenson. The military
mail at that time was carried by two civilians, friends
of mine, George Parshall and a man called Dutch, who
took their lives in their hands about twice a month. These
riders were now long overdue and it was thought that
thNcr had met misfortune at the hands of hostile Indians.
Special inducements (with no takers) were being offered bv the authorities to anyone who would volunteer
in their place. I was in need of employment, and concluded to apply for the vacant job. IWhen I presented
myself to the officer in charge and offered to convey the
mail to Fort Stevenson alone, a shout of laughter went
up from a group of men standing near by, who had
overheard the conversation. I insisted that I was in
earnest, however, and the officer finally consented to
give me a trial. I decided to start at dusk, since this
would enable me to pass through some of the most dangerous portion of the road in the darkness.
Late in the afternoon, with a little packet of mail secured under my belt I wended my way to the quartermaster's stable for my mount. The stable was a long,
rambling structure built of logs, cool in summer and
warm in winter, and I felt the genial heat as soon as I
entered. There were two or three soldiers in attendance,
who soon brought forth my steed ready saddled and
40




Carrying the Mail
bridled. They held him by the head while I adjusted one
of my three-point blankets under the packet of grain
that was strapped to the pig-skin army saddle. I then
had leisure to survey my mount. And such a mount I He
was a mustang of the prairie, a roan with a chocolatecolored stripe down his backbone.
The man held him by the bit as I took the reins and
vaulted lightly into the saddle. He did not require any
pressure to start, but shot out of the stable in a way
that made me suspect he had not been exercised of late.
I let him have his head until he became used to the frosty
air; having in mind the long hard journey, I then tried
to check him, but he did not respond to my endeavor
and kept his gait untrammeled until we had gone a considerable distance. We then proceeded at a more moderate pace over the snow-covered, icy trail. I was now
headed for the Mandan camp where I had stopped on
my journey from Fort Berthold earlier in the winter.
It was after midnight when I rode into the clearing
where the cabins stood, but in one or two of them the
lights were still shining. A young Indian came out of a
large cabin and invited me to enter. As I dismounted
the bronco seemed to have discovered for the first time
that I wore a shirt of buffalo calfskin with the hair left
on. He snorted and struck at me with his fore foot and
despite my efforts to hold him broke loose and disappeared into the misty night. I let him go and entered the
lodge with the young man. It proved to be a tepee set
up against a log hut that had a fireplace, before which
several young men were feasting on buffalo ribs. It appeared to be some sort of young men's club or social
organization.
I placed my gun and trappings to one side and sat
41




"Yellowstone Kelly"
down on a buffalo robe near the genial heat of the fire.
Presently a wooden bowl of meat broth was brought and
placed on a piece of stiff parfleche, to which a couple of
broiled buffalo ribs were soon added, and I lost no time
in making a very satisfactory repast.
As yet no one had spoken a word to me, but now, hunger satisfied, a long pipe was produced and by a simple
gesture of the sign language I was asked to contribute
the "makings." I reached for the plug of tobacco that I
carried for such emergencies, and cutting it in two gave
one-half to the pipe-holder, who shaved off the necessarv amount to mix with a proper quantity of Indian
tobacco. This is of two kinds; the bark of the red willow
or "kinnikinic," and a low creeping plant with glossy,
dark green leaves, found only in certain situations near
the mountains and commonly known as "larb." Either
kind, whlen mixed with an equal amount of the tobacco
of commerce, affords a mild and fragrant smoke.
Conversation now unfolded and I was asked for the
news from up river. As best I could in broken Sioux I
gave them what news I had, and they told of an exciting
hunt to the head breaks of the little Missouri, where
they had killed so many elk and mountain sheep that
they had been compelled to pack all of their horses, and
themselves foot it to their village on the Missouri. They
also lamented the scarcity of buffaloes, which by constant hunting had been driven off their usual range towvard the country of the Sioux.
Presently a young man came to the door of the lodge
and beckoned me. I went out and found that they had
driven my steed into a lariat corral. I caught him, and
removing the saddle and bridle, tied him to a tree, where
he soon devoured the feed that the stablemen at Fort
42




Carrying the Mail
Buford had been thoughtful enough to provide. A
young Indian now brought him some sticks of green
cottonwood, but the animal did not savvy that kind of
food and would not touch it. I noticed in the morning,
however, that the bark had been peeled clean from tile
wood.
I slept sweetly on a robe in the lodge until daylight
routed me out. With some difficulty I saddled the irrepressible mustang and proceeded on mny wasy. I encountered only friendly Indians along the trail, which ran
through cottonwood much of the way, with frequent
crossings of the river, and without further incident
reached the stockaded camp of Red Mike, where I received a joyful welcome from that lonely trapper.
Mike was a fearless hunter, who had many narrow escapes from the Sioux. He related one amusing adventure with a friendly Arikara. WVhile hunting one day he
saw what he took for a jack rabbit in the edge of the
timber. This was very small game but it would make a
stew for his dinner. He could see the ears flapping back,
and taking a hasty aim he fired. Much to his surprise, up
jumped an Indian who had been mending his moccasins.
He had a white rag tied round his head with the ends
sticking up, and as he sewed away the swaying head
looked very much like a rabbit. The Indian was scared as
well as furious, and as 3Mike approached, he exclaimed,
"You tried to kill me." MIike protested that he had mistaken him for a rabbit. "You fool!" said the Indian
scornfully, "Vho ever saw a jack rabbit in the woods!"
Mike never got through paying this Indian; every time
they met there was a demand for tobacco, sugar, powder, or some other commodity.
Next day I reached Fort Berthold, and then pushed
43




"Yellowstone Kelly"
on for Fort Stevenson. Of the ride down from Fort
Berthold I now remember nothing, but I have a distinct
recollection of inquiring for the commander of Fort
Stevenson and of being directed to his quarters. There
I presented the mail and dispatches to Colonel De Trobriand, whom I remember as a portly man with a pleasant face.
After resting a day or two I turned my back on the
lower river and started on the return trip. It was a long
way to Mike's stockade, but I made it late at night, for
I knew that there I would find hay for my horse and a
welcome for myself.
I found there a hunting party of Arikara under the
leadership of Bloody Knife, a noted hunter and warrior. In the face of danger he was a good man, and in
later years lost his life along with Charley Reynolds on
that ill-fated day in June, 1876, along the Little Big
Horn River when Major Reno, hard pressed, gave the
order to retreat, leaving the advance scouts to shift for
themselves. His followers were young men and all were
garbed in regulation costume, black blanket leggings,
breechclouts, calico shirts, and blankets.
These young men talked of their hunting trips and
invited me to join them on the next big hunt. Seated on
the floor around the fireplace in that rude cabin they
told of an exciting chase after buffaloes where they had
driven a herd down a walled ridge to a precipice, and
though many perished large numbers turned and
charged through the ranks of their pursuers.
In the morning the Arikara rode into the hills after
game and I bade Mike good-by, little thinking that I
would be back again in a few hours minus my horse. It
was a pleasant winter morning as I rode along the trail
44




Carrying the Mail
through the cottonwoods to the open prairie, which was
really the river bottom land with bluffs on one side and
thick brush and cottonwood at a distance, above which
could be seen cedar brakes and bluffs on the opposite
bank.
After riding four or five miles I came to a point
where the timber and the bluff met, leaving a space of
a few yards through which the trail wound. Just as I
was about to turn a point of the bluff I saw two Indians
coming from the opposite direction. On seeing me they
at once dismounted and apparently sat dowen beside a
large cottonwood tree that stood near the trail. This did
not strike me as unusual, as Indians often get down to
smoke and chat when meeting friends on the road.
Nevertheless, I drew my gun out of its case and checked
the speed of my horse. XWhen I had approached within
about twenty or thirty yards they suddenly rose and
fired at me, one with a shotgun and the other armed with
a bow and arrow. At the same instant I dropped from
my nag and fired quickly at the Indian, who was running to the brush for cover. He never got a chance to
empty the remaining barrel of his gun, for as he ran I
fired at him without taking sight as far as I know, and
he dropped. I had no idea that I had hit him, for it was
a common ruse for an Indian to drop at the shot, and the
brush concealed him. The uncertainty that he might pop
up at any moment in my rear was a very disturbing factor during my engagement with his companion.
At the outset, when the Indian fired at me my horse
plunged, but I was already on the ground. I felt that he
was hit, and later perceived that he had joined the other
two horses. Now ensued a duel with the remaining Indian, who had quickly taken station behind the big cot45




"Yellowstone Kelly"
tonwood tree. I do not mind confessing that this duel
had little charm for me. My opponent did not appear to
have a gun, but from his vantage point behind the tree
he would shoot an arrow at me whenever the opportunity presented itself. I had the bluff behind me, while
for a background the Indian had the forest. Neither of
us could retreat without presenting a mark for the other
to shoot at, but I kept backing away step by step.
I think it must have been while I was dismounting
that an arrow was sped which grazed the skin above my
right knee, for it occasioned but a slight, dull pain,
which at first I scarcely noticed. The warrior had a
fancy for exhausting my ammunition, for he would
stick out his robe in the most enticing manner on both
sides of the tree and the moment my bullet shivered the
bark, like a flash he would discharge an arrow. But his
every action, which I closely watched, gave me the cue
as to the proper moment or movement to dodge the arrow so that presently, as I backed away, my course led
me to where arrows were sticking in the ground on each
side of my trail. This was kept up for some time. Once,
as I held the carbine poised ready to take aim, he
watched me out of his snake-like eyes, and I had a good
look at his malignant, treacherous face. He had a piece
of wolf-skin wrapped round his head, and his body was
hidden beneath his fine silky robe. Whenever I took aim
he retired within himself, as it were, behind the tree. I
was cool enough, my chief anxiety being in regard to
the situation of the other Indian, who had disappeared
at the shot, also the possibility that these two might be
the advance of a war party. "Who are you?" I demanded, once during an interval. "Oglala me," he replied, but to further questioning he made no answer.
46




.-.    me          P.%          I.1 I k. IL.             - -  %. /.-:-.!.;e     '.             - %-..CIFI
I \            -e   x        -,   -  a -             I


2kI.       —, -
1-.; -
w


< Z? 1I  '\."  % L


KELLY'S DUEL WITH TWO SIOUX WARRIORS
From aun ilIUDraion by C. M. Ruaull, in "'Back- Trailing on 9he Old Frostier,9








Carrying the Mail
I fell to studying the movements of his robe as he
stuck it out to attract my fire and finally I managed to
break his arrow arm by a well-directed shot. He rushed
toward me in fury and despair, attempting, meanwhile,
to place an arrow on the string of his bow, but I dropped
him in his tracks. During the encounter my horse had
joined the Indian ponies and the three animals were
working around the point of hill out of sight. In the
hope of detaining my mount I fired at one of the Indian
ponies before they were lost to sight. I was not disturbed at the thought of being set afoot so much, for I
was young and lusty and could make nearly as good
time on foot as I could mounted, but the horse belonged
to the government and I was accountable for him.
The Indian lay sprawled at my feet, dead. I surveyed
the situation and listened for sounds, for I was obsessed
with the fear that there was a war party close by. I knew
that not far up the river was the camp of friendly Indians with whom I had stayed on my way down. I
longed for company. At last I turned and made for the
stockade camp of Red Mike as fast as I could travel,
looking back every moment expecting to see a bunch of
mounted Indians in pursuit.
On reaching the stockade I surprised the hunter with
my tale, and his first act was to close and bar the heavy
gate, the only entrance to the cabin. Presently Bloody
Knife and his friends appeared on the scene, for it seems
that they had heard the shooting from the hills, and I
had to tell my story over again. At first they were mystified, but suddenly as with one impulse they jumped
on their ponies and galloped up the trail. Half an hour
later we descried them coming down the trail singing
and waving from long coup-sticks what looked suspi47




"Yellowstone Kelly"


ciously like scalps. They were in a great hurry to go
back to the main camp at Fort Berthold, and paused
only long enough to say that they had found the warrior
with the shotgun in the place where I had dropped him,
shot through the thighs.
The Arikara were not scared, but they wanted to get
away from the neighborhood. I thought it strange that
they brought away nothing but scalps. I afterward
learned that as Bloody Knife and his companions approached the main camp of the associated Mandan, Arikara, and Grosventres at Fort Berthold they rode
arotmd in circles, firing their guns and shouting a paan
of victory, and waving the scalps aloft. According to
Indian etiquette it is not the man who kills the enemy
that counts the victory, but the one who first touches
him with hand or coup-stick.
When I had bathed my knee I proposed to Mike that
we visit the battle ground and secure the trophies that
I had had no time to collect. We found one Indian lying
on his face near the cottonwood, minus his scalp. I removed his robe, his bow and quiver containing four arrows, and his belt, knife, and sheath. We then proceeded
to the other Indian, who was lying on his face, scalped.
The double-barrel shotgun with which he had paid his
compliments to me on first acquaintance was a very
good one for a trade gun, and it still had a load of slugs
in one barrel. I removed his robe, an extra pair of moccasins, a small sack of pemmican mixed with pounded
dried cherries, his belt, and a "possible" sack containing
sinew for mending, and his powder horn and some broken pieces of lead. I also brought away the picturesque
strip of wolf-skin that adorned the head of the bowman.
Early the following day we saw a party of Indians
48




Carrying the Mail
approaching along the trail in single file. When they
came close, we recognized them as friendly Grosventres.
They were all old fellows and on being admitted to the
cabin sat in silence for some time in a circle on the floor.
Finally, one old fellow, with a gesture in the direction
from which they had come, spoke one word, and Mike,
who understood, pointed to me. Thereupon the Indian
got up and shook hands with me solemnly, as did all in
turn without a word. They then produced a long pipe
and filling it with a mixture of chashashia and pulverized plug tobacco, the old fellow who carried the pipe
lighted it with a coal from the fireplace and took a few
reverent whiffs, during which he pointed it toward the
sky and the earth and to the rising and setting of the
sun. He then handed the pipe to his neighbor, and it
made the rounds of the circle until it was dead. They
did not ask for details, nor was there need for them,
for the story of the fight was written on the ground like
a pictograph on the under side of a buffalo robe. Mike
made them some coffee, and after smoking again and
shaking hands all round they departed as silently as
they had come.
On reaching Fort Buford I reported to the commanding officer and found that the story of the fight had
preceded me by Indian runners and that I had acquired
some notoriety for killing single-handed two hostile
Indians.


49




CHAPTER IV


A JOURNEY TO FORT PECK
HAVING made my report to the commanding
officer, I was the recipient of much commendation on the part of officers and civilians, who
one and all wanted to hear the details of my encounter
witll the two redskins who had endeavored to count coup
on a lone white man. Among the officers was Lieutenant
Cusick, who was so enthusiastic over the outcome of my
adventure that he wished to present me with a fine military overcoat of army blue.
He, also, had had an adventure with the hostiles. The
frequent appearance of war parties in the vicinity of
Fort Buford made it necessary to send out reconnoitering parties. One day Lieutenant Cusick, who was himself a full-blooded Indian, a member of one of the tribes
of the Iroquois confederacy, became separated from his
detachment and ran into a small war party; the hostiles,
knowing his Indian blood, chased him back to his command, meanwhile whipping him over the head with their
bows.
The two lost mail carriers soon returned safely to
Fort Buford by a roundabout route and Parshall took
me over to the camp of Ed Lambert, the post interpreter. He was a Canadian voyageur of the old school, a
man of great muscular strength. It was said that he had
once, on a wager, packed on his back a heavy keg of
pork around the stockade of old Fort Union.
Lambert spoke fairly good English, and he greeted
us with the effusiveness of a Frenchman. His cabin was
50




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, Iko
s,   4A       0
6
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Il


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lw.      al      I8,


ED LAMBERT'


JOHN GEORGE BRONN"N


JON EOGEBRWNELLOW'STION E K ELYIN'








A Journey to Fort Peck
mostly kept by his amiable squaw wife and their two
half-grown girls. I found him an honest, likable fellow,
and he later became a good friend to me. We presently
sat down to a repast of buffalo meat, coffee, and hot biscuit. I noticed that on a side table reposed part of a hind
quarter of buffalo from which the visitor might carve
thin slices of raw meat, which were made palatable by
the addition of pepper and salt.
I mentioned the Yellowstone and Lambert said:
"Wait until the warm spring weather and I will go with
you. We camp in the woods where the timber is to the
bank of the plain and we see the antelope at feed close
by, she look up and around then falls to feed again.
Here and there other antelopes in the sunlight; far off,
buffaloes."
Before long a band of semi-hostiles, whose habit it
was to go on the warpath when the grass was good, sent
in word from the Red Water, across the Yellowstone,
that they were coming in to trade and would give an
open-air dance for the benefit of the military. True to
their notice, they soon trooped in, men, women, and
children, as befits a trading party, and halted in front
of the post trader's store, turning their horses loose under guard along the prairie.
These Indians were mainly Yanktonai, but I fancy
there was among them a sprinkling of Teton and Oglala
from other camps, out for a good time. Under the direction of a sort of Indian major-domo they ranged in a
circle, stripped to breechclout and leggings, and adorned
with brass and silver ornaments, paint, and feathers.
Suddenly at the sound of an Indian drum thirty or
forty of them commenced to dance to a monotonous
chant in which they all engaged, shuffling, bowing, and
51




"Yellowstone Kelly"
turning in most grotesque fashion. Although the
weather was cold they did not seem to mind the exposure. In one dance the women joined, and though they
merely hopped about in clumsy fashion their voices
joined melodiously with the deeper voices of the warriors.
In another the men were garbed in buffalo robes
with the hairy side out. They presented a picturesque
appearance, some of their movements simulating the
advance and retreat of a band of buffaloes; now they
appeared confused, then, rendered desperate, they suddenly charged, and so on. I had reason to remember
these counterfeit buffaloes later on when Sandy and I
were stalked by a war party similarly habited, near the
Bear Paw Mountains in Montana.
Officers, enlisted men, civilians, and Assiniboin stood
at a little distance to view these dances, and in return
were keenly scrutinized by the dancing warriors.
5Meanwhile, the trader had provided materials for a
feast, consisting of a liberal supply of flour, coffee,
sugar, and bacon, which the squaws soon cooked over
their camp fires. After the repast was finished the warriors traded some fine buffalo robes and other skins for
more coffee, sugar, and flour, and loading up their ponies departed up river.
Some time after this affair a war party appeared before the fort and fired a few shots at the horse corral.
Being pursued hotly by the soldiers and friendly Indians, they plunged into the Missouri, although the ice
was still running, and swam across hanging to their
horses' tails. One of the friendly Indians captured a
horse and led it in triumph before the assembled camp
52




A Journey to Fort Peck
while some old squaws capered about, chanting a song
in praise of his achievement.
In advance of this event, becoming weary of inaction,
I had taken a pony and sled and crossed the river on the
ice, leaving a trail in the fresh snow that could be seen
for a mile.
A short distance up the Yellowstone a small gulch
comes in on the left. ProNwling along this gulch I came
upon an elk making tracks to the north. I shot him, and
after dressing the carcass, finding it too late to return to
the fort, I loaded it on the sled and made for the woods
near by. There I spread the elk skin on the snow and
lying down on it, wrapped in my blankets and with a
good robe over me, passed a comfortable night. A pack
of wolves made a din all night long, but knowing that
they never harm a live man I lost no sleep on their account and only regretted that I had not brought a bottle of strychnine along to make medicine for their pelts.
I returned to Buford in a snowstorm and it was well
that I crossed the river when I did, for a few days later
the warmer waters of the Yellowstone flooded the MIissouri and the river broke up, forming a jam that piled
the ice cakes high upon the bars and low bottoms, where
they remained long after the river and land were clear
of winter's gear.
Spring was long in coming and I became restless
again; life at Fort Buford seemed unbearably humdrum. To the north lay Fort Peck, a center of trade
where Indians came and went, with nothing between
but buffaloes and wild life, save the ruins of old Fort
Union. Alone, I wandered out there and amid the ruins
of the burned stockade and blackened chimneys pictured
in imagination the daily scene at Fort Peck; the lookout
53




"Yellowstone Kelly"
reports a party approaching; they come, and in the
camp house receive largess in the shape of tobacco and
coffee, and deliberate while the clerks take stock of their
robes and skins. After trading they feast, and if other
trading parties chance along together they wear out the
night with drum and dance. As I pictured such scenes
there rang in my brain the couplet,
Keep not standing fixed and rooted
Briskly venture, briskly roam
and I resolved to adventure the unknown trails leading
to the north.
Having nothing to pack but my rifle and blankets, I
turned my pony loose on the range to take his chance
with the herd, for I felt more at home afoot and safer
while traversing the friendly woods that bordered the
bottom lands of the Missouri.
"Start in the evening, boy; the Indians watch this
place," advised Lambert. He also cautioned me not to
scare the buffalo, saying: "That is food."
I bade my friends good-by, and, starting in the frosty
starlight, traveled until I thought I was near the Big
Muddy, where I turned into the woods and made camp.
The next morning there were buffaloes in sight on the
near-by hills, and I noticed a sentinel bull standing motionless on the tip of a small butte. Bands of antelopes
grazed near the herds of buffaloes and I was careful not
to disturb them, for they were the eyes of their big,
clumsy friends.
I traveled all day, and night had already fallen when
I suddenly ran into three lodges right on the trail. All
was dark and still. I opened the skin flap that served for
an entrance to one of the lodges and across some glim54




A Journey to Fort Peck
mering coals came a man's voice in greeting, with an invitation to enter. Stepping through the small orifice, I
was welcomed by a middle-aged Indian habited in black
leggings and breechclout, without shirt or blanket.
Pointing to a pile of robes back of the smoldering fire,
he proceeded to make a light with dry willows and cottonwood sticks as though he had only been awaiting my
appearance for this purpose.
Placing my rifle on the couch behind me, I unslung
the small pack I carried, removed my belt and knife,
and together with my light mittens, which I wore on a
sling across my shoulders, put all with my rifle. No one
else was about, but presently three little girls came in
and were much surprised to see a stranger. Then a
woman appeared, and paying no attention to me busied
herself about pots and pans near the entrance. Mleanwhile, I explained to my host, who swas filling a pipe,
that I was on my way to the trading post above. He
nodded, then smiled, and made signs that I had left the
soldiers' tepee the night before, which set me to wondering if he really knew or was only guessing.
I noticed that there was plenty of meat hanging on
light poles suspended across the skin lodge, which was
new and well made; also that the filled parfleches contained dried meat. After we had eaten some boiled buffalo meat and smoked together the woman went out and
soon after a stout-looking buck came in, and regarding
me coldly, asked my host why he harbored one of a race
who were not friendly to the Indians, and suggested
that he tell me to move on. The elder man by his gestures deprecated such treatment and intimated that it
was better to treat the stranger fairly and send him
safely on his way, all of which failed to convince my op55




"Yellowstone Kelly"
ponent, who departed scowling impatiently. I felt no
immediate concern for I knew that I was safe as long as
I should remain in the camp. After I left it would be
another matter, as I might be followed with hostile
intent.
I was given a warm nest of robes for a bed and I fear
that the little girls suffered from cold in consequence,
for in the night my host got up and made a fire. In the
morning, before I had got ready to resume my journey,
my host busied himself with a small buck-skin pouch
into which he put a couple of handfuls of mixed tobacco
and red willow bark, together with a short-stemmed
stone pipe such as the traders retail, and thrust the
whole into my hands, saying: "Wasityu! chanda, chasliasha. chandopia." The little Indian maids looked on
with interest.
Not to be outdone in the gift business, I picked up
three little sticks of irregular length, and concealing
them in my hand, signed to the little girls to each draw
one. They held back until the father motioned them to
comply. To the one who drew the longest stick I gave
one of my choicest red blankets, which pleased them all
very much. When I camped that night I filled the pipe
and smoked the mild combination which had been given
me. From that day I gradually acquired the tobacco
habit, which I found soothing and companionable.
Bidding my host good-by, I resumed my journey up
the river, keeping a good lookout for possible trouble
on the part of my surly friend of the night before. Although I saw nothing of him, for the sake of greater
safety before reaching Milk River I left the beaten trail
where it cuts through the open country toward Fort
Peck.


56




A Journey to Fort Peck
Buffaloes and antelopes were plentiful along my
route and tempted me more than once for a shot, but
caution held my hand until evening, when, about to
camp, I killed an antelope that had strayed from the
band into my immediate vicinity. At this season of the
year antelope meat is preferable to venison. It has a distinctive odor, differing much from deer, but the meat is
sweet and palatable, though a little coarse when fresh.
The animal does not take on back fat like a deer; instead the fat is distributed in layers through the meat.
Taking some ribs and the liver, I hung the carcass on a
limb for whoever might chance to come after me, and
turning into the dusky cottonwood forest, found a
camping place where I felt reasonably safe for the
night.
Fort Peck stood on the high bank of the Missouri opposite the mouth of the Big Dry and commanded a view
in three directions. The space between the river and the
bluff was so scant at this point that the bastioned stockade almost touched the hill in the rear, while in front
there was barely space enough to permit a wagon and
team to turn around. It seemed as though the locating
authority had approached the site by river steamer, and
dismayed by the never-ending bars, shoals, and snags,
had decided that the fort should be located on the next
high bank that showed itself free from erosion. From
the crest of the hill in the rear the view was more extensive. There was but one entrance to the fort, with a stout
wooden gate that was locked at night.
The Big Dry was a famous buffalo range and from
across the river came Yankton, Teton, Hunkpapa, and
Oglala Sioux with loads of buffalo robes and pelts of
antelope, deer, fox, wolf, beaver, and sometimes a
57




"Yellowstone Kelly"
mountain lion or wolverine. The robes were duly baled
in a regular baling press, the other pelts by hand. From
the north came Assiniboin and Santee, and lastly the
Red River half-breeds with their robes and pemmican.
Anyone was welcome at this post who would be of
service in an emergency, and all were free to stay as
long as they pleased. There was one table for employees
and a later one for the trader and his clerk and such
visitors as might happen along.
The Milk River country was one of the best buffalo
grounds in the Northwest. While there, I went out repeatedly to hunt. If there are no antelopes near, a
hunter can approach very close to a band of feeding
buffaloes, and if he can pick out the leading cow can
obtain several shots. On one of my hunts I happened to
shoot a young leader. The rest were confused for a moment, when another young cow, sizing up the situation,
forged ahead in the snow and the others instantly followed, the bulls, less swift, wagging their beards and
tagging on behind.
The following winter I spent a few days lower down
on Milk River with a veteran wolfer, trapping and
hunting. Leaving Ashby's trading post on the lower
river, we came to a favorable spot to put out baits for
wolves. We found a little bottom on a creek away from
the river, where there were a few old cottonwood trees,
some dry slabs for wood, and a small platform on which
reclined the skeleton of a young Indian with all his paraphernalia about him-a wooden saddletree with the
leathers removed, a few dilapidated articles of clothing,
an old bow minus a string, a cup, a broken pipe, and
some bits of lariat-none of which would pass muster
in the happy hunting grounds.
58




A Journey to Fort Peck
The proximity of departed spirits did not disturb us
for we knew that Indians as a rule would avoid the
place, or if they saw from a distance our fire at night
would hurry by muttering "Okshena Duta has built a
fire to warm his bones." We built a lean-to, and put out
our traps, also the carcasses of two buffaloes as bait for
wolves. Hardly had we completed these preparations
when a furious storm overtook us, which lasted for three
days. While it lasted we took things easy in our camp.
One day a herd of buffaloes drifted down before the
gale, which was blowing about fifty miles an hour, and
at the same moment we descried a herd of elk breasting
the storm along a ridge running parallel with our camp.
They made a fine show as they passed, massed in column, kicking up the snow, uncertain, but without fear
of the buffaloes in the hollow, who were within their
range of scent. I noticed many fine pairs of antlers before they disappeared from view in a whirl of snow.
Meanwhile, the buffaloes were pressing along so close
that we were in danger of being run over. At this juncture my partner threw a stick of wood, which hit an old
bull on the back. The animal paid no attention to this,
and thinking his hide would make a cover for us on a
cold night I rose up and plugged him in the center of
the mass of hair that hung over his eyes.
I had been told that a.44 caliber Henry bullet would
not penetrate the bone through this mass of hair and
sand, but he dropped and there was great tumult as the
herd parted right and left, slipping, sliding, and falling
over each other in their excitement. Skinning him was
no fun, but at night the heavy green hide stretched over
the canvas that covered our bed kept us snug and warm.
When we awoke in the morning we found it had frozen
59




"Yellowstone Kelly"
stiff, so that we had to raise it up and push it over like
a huge slab.
By the time we had skinned enough wolves to load
one pony we concluded to return to Fort Peck, for the
incessant firing to the north of our camp indicated that
the Indians were killing buffaloes on a big scale, and
though they might be friendly their proximity was not
at all reassuring.
Above Fort Peck the valley narrows so that the hill
and bluffs on both sides almost meet. Higher up the
river the ridges were clothed with cedar and here the
deer loved to range in winter. I found good hunting
here and brought down many a buck and doe until the
season advanced, when they began feeding on the pungent berries or branches of the juniper. I also noted
wolves, the big timber and buffalo wolves that follow
and preN upon all game.
Forming a party of four hunters at Fort Peck under
the leadership of an experienced trapper, we left the
cedar ridges one morning and turned our horses toward
the broken country between the Missouri and Milk
rivers. WNre soon arrived at a convenient ground from
which buffaloes could be seen on every hill, but two of
our party became dissatisfied or apprehensive of danger
and wished to turn back to the Missouri. This state of
feeling quickly resulted in a division of the food and
supplies. Jimmy Deere, honest friend and steadfast
partner, agreed to stay with me if I thought the locality
reasonably secure from Indians. The other men departed, leaving us with only one horse to pack our outfit.
Our camp was pitched in a little hollow near a water
hole. Spring was approaching and there was very little
snow on the ground. About three hundred yards away
60




A Journey to Fort Peck
was a sheltered hillside, where we soon killed an old cow.
We quickly ripped her open lengthwise and skinned one
side, then running the butcher-knife along the ribs close
to the backbone and the inner side of the forequarter we
pulled the entire side down flat on the ground and removed the paunch and entrails. The two big hollows
thus formed we filled with meat slashed from the ribs,
hind quarters, fore quarters, neck, and brisket. To this
mess we added the contents of two small vials of strychnine, but before doing so we removed the cow's tongue
and marrow bones. Buffalo tongue is very rich eating
and roasted marrow bones are not to be despised. Swabbing the mess by hand with a big chunk of meat and
rubbing an extra bottle of poison into the slashed parts
of the animal, the bait was ready. In cold weather it was
customary for the wolf hunter to flag the carcass the
first night so as to let it freeze hard and compel the
wolves to gnaw slowly; otherwise, a small pack of
wolves would devour a bait in one sitting.
Nothing bothered our bait the first night, and the following day we put out a couple more buffaloes higher
up the rocky little valley, which was bare of shrubs and
vegetation. The next morning on getting up Jimmy
exclaimed: "The bait has been moved; it is not in the
place where we left it." Sure enough, it was on another
little side hill. It did not seem possible that anything
short of a team of horses could have dragged it down
into the gulch and up the hill where it now lay. We hastened toward it and when we arrived about half way we
perceived what had really happened. A big cinnamon
bear had tackled our bait, dragged it down to the hollow out of observation, and having gorged himself had
61




"Yellowstone Kelly"
gone to sleep on the hillside, where we mistook him for
our bait.
Our program did not contemplate poisoning bears
for they, being fat, were supposed to be immune. Moreover, with our meager transportation facilities weight
was a consideration, and wolf-skins were more valuable,
pound for pound, than bear. However, the hide proved
an asset in more ways than one. Our pony had a sore
back, and when we placed the hide on his back, skin side
down, the baptism of grease hastened the healing process. The animal's fur was in good condition and we utilized the skin to soften our bed, for there was nothing
else suitable for this purpose within reasonable reach.
The buffaloes had not been disturbed by our invasion
of their natural feeding ground and, as usual, I saw
bulls on the extreme points of buttes, like so many sentinels. One old bull took a roll near our camp, kicking
up his heels like a horse, and I am not sure but he rolled
over, which he might easily have done by giving his heels
the proper twist and the muscles of his back the right
swing.
Two days later we went to our advanced baits to skin
the w*olves and having finished had returned but a short
distance when we heard a shot in the hills. This gave us
some concern, yet we did not hasten our footsteps. On
reaching our camp we tied the horse in a little hollow a
few yards away and ate a cold lunch, at the same time
keeping a good lookout; we then disposed our things in
the best manner for defense and waited to see what
would happen. Before long we descried at some distance
a line of Indians afoot, following in single file the tracks
we had made in returning to camp. As they approached
62




A Journey to Fort Peck
I saw that each man had his weapon in hand, ready for
use, and turning to Jimmy, said: "I will do the talking."
I could not talk much but I could make signs. There
were twelve or fourteen in the party, all men excepting
one boy. Most of them wore robes with the skin side out;
some had blankets, all with a belt or thong tied round
the waist allowing the top part to hang down, while
across their shoulders were suspended buckskin or elk
sheaths for their arms.
They were now coming along on a hot trail, confident
that they were nearing their quarry. When I thought
them close enough we rose from behind the rocks that
formed our shelter, and displaying our arms, I signed
to them to halt. With one voice they cried out: "Dakota 1" and returning their bows and guns to their
sheaths, advanced smiling and grinning.
As soon as they spoke I knew that they were Assiniboin, for their accent was different from that of the
Yankton and Teton Sioux, who also call themselves
Dakota. The Assiniboin, as we knew them on the
American side of the boundary line, were not a warlike
people, although they had some husky warriors. They
were at peace with the Sioux and were also on friendly
terms with their nearest neighbors on the north, the
prairie Grosventres.
They laughed and pointed at the pony in the hollow
and called for tobacco, producing a long-stemmed redstone pipe. I gave them a piece of plug from the supplies left us by our late comrades. By this time they were
all seated on the ground. The man with the pipe quite deliberately cut the tobacco into fine particles, and mixing
it with larb, thrust part of the mixture into the pipe,
tamping it in with a round piece of wood the size of a
63




"Yellowstone Kelly"
lead pencil, which he carried for that purpose. I took
a puff and then passed the pipe to Jimmy, who in his
turn sent it on around the circle, the fragrant larb filling
the air like burning incense.
The partisan, as they call the leader, informed me
that they had come from Milk River, that the women
and children were now en route to the trading post by
the travois trail, and that they had many skins and robes
loaded on ponies and dogs. I asked him if travois were
used on dogs. "Yes," lhe said, "and they carry two robes
an(1 sometimes a papoose." When they found that they
could not separate us from a piece of bacon (which they
prize mostly for the salt and fat) or some coffee, they
got ulp. shook hands, and struck out in the direction of
Fort Peck.
WNre also made preparation to leave. I had observed
the Indians glancing at the pony and I knew that he had
once belonged to these people but had changed hands
several times. He might change hands again if they
found him unwatched, for the poor animal had to feed
some distance from camp in order to find subsistence.
He had been a buffalo horse. That meant swiftness to
overtake cows and to swerve lightly after the shot to
protect his rider.
AWe could not carry all of our plunder, but we packed
the pony and after dark started for the cedar ridges bordering the Missouri. We did not go far, for we stumbled
onto a small bank of snow on the shady side of the ravine
where there wsas some grass, and camped.
Next morning we were up bright and early, and soon
were traversing the fragrant cedar ridges, now much
tracked with deer sign.
Wanting some deer meat, I now took the lariat from
64




A Journey to Fort Peck
Jimmy's hand, and leading the horse, forged ahead with
mind and eye intent upon a bunch of deer retiring
slowly from the trail in front, while my companion kept
watch on all sides a little way back. Suddenly a shot
rang out close behind me and turning I saw immediately
behind the pack horse a large mountain lion lying across
the trail, dead without a quiver.
I will let my companion tell how this happened, as he
related it when we reached the trading establishment:
"Kelly was ahead leading the pony and stooping down,
for there were deer almost within shot, when I saw this
mountain lion about three yards from the trail, crouched
and ready to spring. Seeing that my partner had not
noticed him and fearful that the lion would strike him
or the pony, I fired; at the shot he sprang into the air,
and when he landed on the trail he was already dead."
Of course the lion was watching the deer when I disturbed him, and being in a stooping position, he was not
alarmed and perhaps had a notion to attack, but I think
that the squeaking of the leathers on the pack saddle
made him pause and then Jimmy's bullet struck him.
Loosing the lariat halter from the pack horse so that
he could nibble the slender herbage of the ridge, we
stood for a moment admiring the supple proportions of
the lion as he lay relaxed in the repose of painless death.
Then we removed his hide and passed on. Descending
the ridges, we came to the Missouri and had a refreshing
drink of its wholesome water, than which there is no better when free of the sediment that comes with the June
flood.
We made an early camp in a wood and stretched some
of our skins to keep their shape and lighten our load.
Though we did not kill a deer we nevertheless had a
65




"Yellowstone Kelly"
feast at this camp for we brought with us a couple of
marrow bones clothed in meat, a length of intestine, and
a marrow gut.
I prepared the principal dish, which consisted of a
stuffing, using the large intestine for a container. Washing this for the second time, I turned it inside out
and washed it again. Then I tied one end with a bit of
sinew. It was now ready to be filled. Cutting bits of
buffalo meat and adding some bits of bacon to give it
body, I mixed a little of our precious flour and made
some tiny dumplings which went in with the meat until
the container was properly full, then I tied the end and
laid the whole on a bed of live coals and watched it cook.
It lost shape rapidly and had a tendency to curl, making
it difficult to manage, but it cooked without a break; the
marrow bones, meanwhile, were browning, and when
ready needed only a tap with the back of a butcherknife to break in two and reveal the richness within.
My masterpiece was now not at all attractive in appearance, but when cut in two and shared each particular morsel was a delight, and with the marrow and a cup
of coffee fulfilled the requirements of a square meal.


66




CHAPTER V


EXPLORING THE YELLOWSTONE
IT was in the month of May, close on to June, that
Chagashape, "Worker of Wood," as the Indians
called Lambert because he was handy with an ax,
gathered his things together and bidding good-by to his
family, indifferent to the reproaches of his wife for "going off on such a fool trip," said, "Hurrah, boy, the sun
is soon quit; let us go."
The trail led through a long stretch of cottonwood
timber to a point on the Missouri opposite the mouth of
the Yellowstone where I had left a light skiff, with
which we entered the river, avoiding the shifting whirlpool that sucks with a strong eddy where the two rivers
meet. At this point, where the land is bare of timber or
brush, there stood a stout post of cottonwood with a
crotch, and a couple of old buffalo skulls lying at its
foot. I fancied that an Indian scaffold had once stood
there and I asked Lambert about it.
He said that many years before a fight had occurred
on that bottom between a war party of Crows and the
Sioux, and a chief was killed. He did not remember
whether it was a Crow or a Sioux, but a low scaffold
was erected and on this rude platform the body,
wrapped in a fine robe, was placed, together with the
arms and other equipment considered necessary to furnish the ghostly abode of dead warriors. Over all was
placed a stout skin lodge of the regulation type, poles,
smoke fenders, and entrance flap.
This landmark stood for many years. Gradually the
67




"Yellowstone Kelly"
sinews and thongs that held skin and framework rotted
and fell apart. Storms scattered the light gear and the
wood decayed until nothing was left but the stout crotch
and the buffalo skulls at its foot.
Into the current we paddled our light craft, up and
around Snaggy Bend, where the channel was infested
with sharp snags into which the current drove; but we,
skirting the shallows with difficulty, soon left the whirling waters behind. As the shadows of evening deepened,
we halted beside a sloping bank and made our camp
close to where a family of beavers had a nest under the
bank. In the moonlight we could see their dark noses
pointing swiftly up and down stream, leaving a Vshaped wake behind. When alarmed, or in play, they
would strike the water with their flat tails, making a
loud noise as they disappeared, only to reappear at a
distance and repeat the operation.
In the morning we pulled our boat several miles up
the river to a timbered bank, beyond which lay a broad
expanse of prairie that extended to the distant hills to
the northward, rich land covered with buffalo and bunch
grass. Here we cached our boat, for we did not intend
taking it farther. We made a temporary camp and then
went to take a survey of the prairie.
It was a beautiful place and view. The smooth bottom
land was turfed to the edge of the timber, to which the
bank, six feet higher than the bottom, sloped. It was an
ideal spot for a camping ground, but Lambert opined
that Indians did not camp here for the reason that for
some distance the river bank was not suitable for watering stock, as shown by the absence of game or buffalo
crossings. Within one hundred yards of us two beautiful creatures, antelopes, were quietly grazing. Many
68




Exploring the Yellowstone
more were to be observed out on the flat, while beyond
them grazed a small herd of buffaloes.
Your prong-horn is a graceful animal. If you show
yourself suddenly he will turn and look, then dance
away, or perhaps circle around and stop again, for he
has great curiosity, and if you lie down and flap your
arms or legs vigorously he may come within gunshot. In
winter the ankles of the front feet are often a mass of
prickly pear thorns, but this does not inconvenience
him for he has been equipped by nature to seek the
protection of areas of cactus when pursued by wolves or
coyotes, who halt suddenly on the edge of a cactus
patch. He also stamps the cactus to get at the tender
grass. The mother antelope conceals the newly born in
such places. I found one once, well grown, and caullght it
with a view of making it a pet, but coming along to a
wayside cabin in the Judith Basin, I learned of the
tragedy of the Custer battlefield of a few days earlier
and leaving the young antelope with the man in charge,
turned my horse toward the Yellowstone country.
Lambert and I wanted an antelope that day very
badly, but we would not kill one of the two so close to us
because the shot might alarm the buffaloes out on the
plain; so we wandered up the stream a couple of miles
and keeping close to the timber, out of observation,
killed a two-year-old, skinned and cleaned it, and suspended the carcass on a tree, where the drying winds
soon formed a glaze on the meat which prevented the
blow flies from getting in their work.
On we went, sometimes in the timber and then again
skirting the prairie, but saw no deer or elk, they being,
as we surmised, higher in the gulches and ridges. Beaver
sign was abundant, their yards in the water being
69




"Yellowstone Kelly"
jammed with white-peeled sticks of cottonwood on
which they feed, the strong odor of their castors filing
the air.
We returned to the place where our boat was cached,
and building a small fire toward evening cooked some
antelope meat and boiled a few potatoes that Lambert
had raised and stored in a cache in the Mandan style.
After we had eaten of the meat and potatoes and refreshed ourselves with a cup of coffee, we sat and talked
while the fire sank to a bed of coals. I wish I could remember some of the tales of adventure that Lambert
delighted to relate, so that I might recount them here
with the accuracy they deserve, but I can now recall
only one, that happened at Fort Peck when Lambert
was interpreter and trader.
Sitting Bull was among the noted Sioux leaders who
frequented the buffalo ranges between the Yellowstone
and the Missouri, for the region lay on the line of movements of big game and was also convenient to the Fort
Peck trading establishment, as well as for forays on the
Crow, Piegan, and Blackfeet north of the Missouri.
They could also kill a white man occasionally and lay it
to their enemies. The Red River people, also, had their
camps in the Milk River country, where rum might be
obtained for furs and horses. For all these reasons the
region was much resorted to by many bands of Sioux,
and later by their allies, the Cheyenne.
Sitting Bull, being somewhat of a prophet and medicine man as well as a warrior, attracted restless spirits
from all tribes, and though his immediate following
might consist of a few families he had the nucleus of a
good-sized war party. Crossing the river at Fort Peck
with his gang of cutthroats, he demanded that the goods
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z

rig       1,1








Exploring the Yellowstone
store be opened for trade. When this was done he went
behind the counter and said, "I will show you white men
how to trade with Indians." He measured cloth and
dealt out sugar, coffee, flour, powder, caps, and ammunition to his followers in exchange for furs and skins in
proportions which he deemed fair and just, while Lambert walked up and down past an open keg of powder,
smoking his pipe, ready to blow up the store if things
went to extremes. Even a savage would think twice,
however, before destroying the most prominent trade
store in the country, so they cooled down and finally
went their way after setting fire to several ranks of
cordwood piled on the river bank.
Lambert and I made preparations for an extended
trip up the river afoot if we found things quiet and no
fresh Indian sign. Caching the greater part of our stuff
we traveled light, stopping where we had hung the antelope to cut the meat in thin slabs for frying, taking care
to tie a white rag to keep off the birds. Past the lignite
vein of coal exposed on the opposite bluff with its curious slope, past some rapids and shoals, we finally came
to the neighborhood of a creek where Glendive is now
located. Above that point, convenient to the river we
killed a bull and a fat cow. Skinning the animals carefully, we cut up the meat for drying, arranged it on
poles, and set about making frames of willow for two
bull boats.
After the green skins had been tied on to the frames
they were left to dry and we traveled farther up the
river. There were some bluffs on the south side that we
wanted to examine for mountain sheep, but we concluded that it might be unsafe to wander so far from
the river, not knowing how close we would get to camps
71




"Yellowstone Kelly"
or hunting parties whom it was the part of wisdom to
avoid. The valley had narrowed so that there was almost
no plain, and the swift current indicated that more rapids were near. Finding there was better cover on the
south bank, we made shift to tie together a raft of driftwood with willows, a work at which Lambert proved to
be quite skilful. Crossing over, we advanced to where
there was open country ahead, and just before us the
fresh skeleton of a sweat wickiup built of newly peeled
willows, showing a recent occupation, and a well-worn
trail down the bank across to the opposite sand bar,
where many horses had passed. There was no concealmert anywhere but the bank under which we were.
Looking over the bank, we saw five mounted Indians
heading directly for us on the trail. A few yards below
us a broken point of the bank projected a little and to
this we ran, hoping that the Indians would cross without
ol)serving us. The! rode down the bank, and taking the
ford without stopping, their attention was occupied for
a moment in keeping their horses on the course; on getting into shallow water they saw us, and scattering, circled around on the sand bar, but seeing no hostile movement on our part, one of them who recognized Lambert
called him by his Indian name, demanding his business
in the Indian country.
Lambert answered in Sioux, saying: "We have been
hunting and are now on our way home."
This did not satisfy the speaker and he asked:
"Where is the rest of your party, and what people are
they?" To which Lambert shouted, "Go on, go on; when
you come to our house to trade for goods do we ask you
questions?"
They had kept their horses moving all this time,
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Exploring the Yellowstone
though not increasing their distance from us, and on
these words they holloed loudly and would not listen to
Lambert's further remarks. They moved off slowly and
when they had attained what they considered a safe distance indulged in some insulting gestures. They had
another channel of the river to cross, and we watched
them as they climbed the farther bank and low bluff.
There they dismounted and consulted among themselves, apparently, while regarding us. Then they led
their horses over a rise and disappeared from view.
Lambert said that they were Oglala and a mean lot.
We, also, held a hasty consultation, the result of which
kept us on the course we were pursuing until we reached
the mouth of a deep gulch, up which we turned as far as
the low cedar hills and worked our way down the country parallel with the river to a point opposite tile place
where we had tied the raft, which we managed to reach
without further incident and, as we believed, unperceived.
Getting aboard, we used poles for paddles in keeping
the unwieldy craft in mid-stream and dropped to the
lower end of the bend, where we tied it up again for use
in a possible emergency and took to the tall timber. It
was not until the next day that we reached our bull boat
camp, which had not been disturbed. The boats were not
more than half dry, neither was the meat, which we hastened to turn over on the poles so as to give the other
side a chance to cure. We liked this camp, and having
taken all due precaution, felt that we could camp for a
day, or two days if necessary, to dry the boats and the
meat sufficiently to lighten our loads. After a trip to the
prairie to see if everything was serene, we carried the
heads and bones of the two buffaloes to a bunch of brush
73




"Yellowstone Kelly"
and removed traces of the killing as much as possible.
From the edge of the prairie numerous antelopes were
seen feeding quietly, but the number of buffaloes had
increased greatly so that they covered the far extent of
the plain and the hills beyond.
Lambert surmised that the Indians had been hunting
them on the south side of the river and when the buffaloes crossed had followed leisurely and made camp at
some distance from their feeding grounds, as usual, and
would probably resume the chase when the camp got
short of meat and skins. This was the season when they
made new lodges and parfieche, and leather for footwear and other uses.
The scene was exhilarating; the dark bodies of the
buffaloes as they moved in clusters or singly, the combativre bulls raising a dust cloud as they came together,
contrasted with the light-colored antelopes on the outskirts, ready to give alarm at a moment's notice.
It was said that wolves killed more buffaloes than the
Indians and whites combined. I am convinced that the
men engaged in poisoning wolves for their pelts rendered a good service in protection of herds of wild game.
I have seen in the North bands of wolves numbering
fifty or more traveling with noses up on the scent of buffaloes borne by the wind. They killed the young calves
and hamstrung the cows and bulls. On the other hand,
the Indians were very wasteful of the buffaloes. The
rapid and continuous firing that we heard when camped
by the bier of Okshena Duta near Milk River was
caused, I learned later, by Indians killing cows for the
unborn calves for purposes of feasting, the cows being
at that time of year poor in flesh and the robes by no
means prime.
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Exploring the Yellowstone
When Lambert and I started on this pilgrimage the
probability of meeting hostile Indians was considered
and we agreed to avoid conflict, if possible, and if compelled to fight to go the limit according to the occasion.
The five Indians whom we met would never tackle two
white men on their guard, and even if they succeeded in
taking us unaware they would still reckon on some
avenue of escape. We had been lucky so far and had had
a good time-always a little camp fire at night-because
we took precautions. Now we must take still greater
precautions for the Indians now knew that at least two
white men were in their country disturbing the buffaloes,
or spying around for some purpose, and must be hunted
out.
We had no desire to play hide and seek, after the nanner of Cooper, with these crafty fellows who were buffaloes one minute and yelling savages the next, so while
Lambert fried some meat and boiled coffee I stood guard
with my rifle in the twilight at the edge of the prairie,
intent to see any strange movement of man or beast
and listening for any sound or stir that might smack
of hazard. We ate our supper by the light and warmth
of the dying cottonwood coals that preserve their redness longer than most woods, then rolled in our blankets and went to sleep, leaving no one on guard, for the
Sioux do not attack at night.
Before daylight we were up and spent an hour or so
looking around. Finding everything quiet, we packed
the bull boats through the woods to the water's edge.
We loaded our meat and stuff in the smaller boat and
putting some skins and blankets together with our arms
in the larger, got in and pushed off into the stream. You
use a short paddle in propelling a bull boat and this is
75




"Yellowstone Kelly"
done by reaching straight out and pulling the paddle
toward you. No great progress is made, but it is a safe
craft, riding a few inches in the water and rolling
around any obstruction it meets, unless it be a tree at
right angles to the current.
The friendly deer, and even antelopes, gazed at us
undismayed from the sand bars and banks where they
had come down for water in the early morning, while
elk were plentiful in the willows that fringed the bars.
Where the river touched long reaches of prairie we
stopped to look for possible enemies. About noon a
hasty meal was cooked in a bend of the woods and we
continued our journey.
The next day or the following one we reached the
place where our skiff was concealed. Here we stayed
long enough to kill an elk and a deer, the meat and skins
of which were quickly distributed to our various craft,
which in motion now assumed the appearance of a small
flotilla. With the skiff in the lead our progress was more
rapid down stream and with better purchase the skiff's
paddles enabled us to race the current, for, as Scott's
hero remarks: "even a haggis, God bless her, can charge
down hill."
Reaching Snaggy Bend, we had to employ more caution, and taking possession of the larger bull boat, I
turned the other adrift and slid around the snags without accident. We landed in front of Fort Buford and
had our bull boat, meat, and baggage conveyed on a
Red River cart to Lambert's house, where the array of
food and skins cheered the hearts of the inmates and
their many friends and relatives, who made heavy inroads upon the hospitality of these good people, who
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Exploring the Yellowstone
never turned anyone away from their table as long as
they had a bite to offer.
Three men with whom I had some acquaintance lived
in a cabin on the west side of the Missouri a few miles
above the Big Muddy, which comes in from the east
about thirty-five or forty miles above the mouth of the
Yellowstone. In the early fall of 1869 I paid them a
visit. Their cabin, which stood on the bank of the river,
was built of green logs, cool in summer and snug in
winter. The floor was of tough clay and the pinned pole
roofing was covered with a layer a foot thick. In one
corner was a stone fireplace and chimney. There were
three wooden bunks and a gunrack, while some robes,
skins, and traps constituted the movable property in
sight. There were no port holes in this cabin, but it had
two small windows on either side at about the height of
one s eyes.
Behind the cabin a forest of heavy cottonwood and
willows extended to the bluff about half a mile distant.
Beyond this lay the country of the Sioux, the Sans
Arcs, and the Teton, to the M5usselshell and the upper
reaches of the Missouri, where the mountain Crows and
prairie Grosventres resorted. In the timber, white-tail,
and along the bluff, black-tail deer thronged, while beyond grazed antelopes and buffaloes. Beaver were numerous in the river and at night they could be seen
puffing along like miniature steamboats, leaving a
broad wake behind.
Truly these men courted danger, engaged as they
were in cutting cordwood for the river steamboats plying to Fort Benton, the head of navigation, and to intermediate points. This work they regarded as a side
77




"Yellowstone Kelly"
issue to obtain ready money, along with their hunting
and trapping.
As it turned out they were more fortunate than a
party of four men, new to the country, who had been
landed a year or two before at a bank a few miles above
by the up-river steamboat, where they built a cabin of
rough logs and covered it loosely with slabs and an
earthen roof.
One evening a war party encamped near by, and an
adventurous warrior stole away in the night to investigate. Concealing himself at a corner of the cabin near
the door with his bow and arrows ready for a shot, he
waited patiently for a victim. Before long a white man
came out for some purpose and the Indian promptly
transfixed him with an arrow. This was followed instantly by a second arrow, which he held under his hand
on top of the bow, the first arrow being on the string.
In the morning the Indians maneuvered to attract the
attention of the inmates to one side of the cabin while
the main party approached on the other side. Seizing
the muzzles of the white men's guns protruding from
the port holes, they pulled down the loose and heavy
split timbers of the roof onto the men below, whom they
soon dispatched, and when the boat returned from upriver nothing remained but blackened walls and mutilated bodies.
I had been out in the hills hunting one day and was
packing home an antelope when my attention was called
to the actions of a buffalo cow that came tearing frantically down the hill and ran past me into the woods. I
walked back along her track to discover what had
caused this commotion and saw down the river, where
an open bottom began, a spiral of smoke ascending and
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Exploring the Yellowstone
some ponies grazing. I made for the timber as fast as I
could travel with the antelope on my back, and striking
a game trail lost no time in getting to the cabin, where
I found that one of my companions had also learned of
the presence of strange Indians and had been close
enough to their camp to get a good look at them.
"I was down at the lower end of the point near the
slough," he said, "when I heard the tinkling of the bells
on their ponies. From the thick willows I saw that they
had stopped. It is a war party, for I saw the leather
cases that hold their war bonnets and things. They are
not Sioux or Crows. I did not stay any longer."
It was agreed that we would go down after supper
and reconnoiter. After filling up on buffalo meat, coffee, and home-made bread Ed remarked that he had not
lost any Indians and if we wanted to hunt Indian camps
in the night he would hold the cabin.
Frank and I put on our cartridge belts, and picking
up our rifles, stepped out into the clearing and made our
way silently in the shadow of big trees and across several openings in the direction of the lower point. The
timber was full of noises of the night, animals breaking
about and beaver in the river thumping the water with
their broad tails, making a report that sounded like the
popping of a gun or pistol.
In about half an hour we reached the belt of willows
that screened the open bottom land just beyond the
slough. As we cautiously made our way, muffled sounds
came to our ears and soon the tinkling of bells on the
ponies, picketed and hobbled, sounded on the night air.
It was apparent that these Indians were not aware of
their proximity to white men or they would have taken
more precautions. They were now chanting a war hymn
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"Yellowstone Kelly"
that sounded weird and wild as it rose and fell on the
still night air. The hymn was a prelude to feasting, for
it ceased when roasted meat and bones were handed
around the circle. We were so close that the odor of
burning sagebrush and roasted marrow bones drifted
toward us. One fellow had a side of ribs planted in front
of him which he removed carefully and with his sheath
knife cut off some of the ribs, which he distributed to
those on either side. He then called to someone off with
the ponies, but without waiting commenced his repast.
Suddenly, behind us in a tree the low hoot of an owl
startled us. The Indians stopped eating at once and
looked steadily in our direction. We scarcely breathed,
for we thought they must surely discover us where we
were crouched. Again came the "hoo-hoo-ah!" of the
owl, more mournful than before. An Indian got up and
went off toward the ponies. Then Mr. Owl left his perch
and with a swish of wings was lost in the night. Our
curiosity was satisfied and we retired, silently if not
gracefully, into the dark shadows of the forest and returned to the cabin.
The incident of the evening did not disturb our slumber and in the morning there came to our shore an esteemed trapper friend, "Missouri," who was a character
in his wav. For instance, he preferred to travel and trap
alone. Where not two a crowd? Did he ever fall out with
himself over beaver traps, or where the trail parted?
Not at all. Another thing that to our minds awakened
mild scorn was the fact that he drank gruel in place of
coffee. Otherwise, he was a good fellow, full of that
quaint personality one attaches to Pike County. We fed
him and broke the news of the war party.
Life did not seem to run in a satisfactory groove as
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Exploring the Yellowstone
long as these Indians remained in our neighborhood and
the reason thereof unsolved. After due deliberation on
this matter, therefore, we sallied forth into the woods
and by trails known to us reached the spot of their late
encampment, where we found nothing but an empty
prairie, a slinking coyote, some piles of bones, and the
ashes of their camp fire still warm.
We now decided to climb the hill back of the river,
from which a fine view was to be had, as we had no time
to follow the tracks that seemed to overrun the flat.
When we had done so, finding nothing in sight, we sat
down on the grass to smoke and rest. Suddenly a
mounted Indian showed himself about five hundred
yards away and circled around as though he had just
discovered us. I knew that I could come pretty close to
that Indian for I had killed an antelope once at about
that distance, so I raised the sight on my rifle and fired.
Before I could note anv result of the shot the ground
around the savage was fairlv alive wvith Indians whipping their horses in our direction. On they came in wild
disorder, their ornaments of bright metal flashing in the
rays of the morning sun, and there was such a flutter of
waving plumes and feathers that the sight was altogether thrilling. We did not stop to admire it, however,
for so great was our anxiety to reach the protecting line
of timber that with one accord we dropped behind the
hill and made for cover as fast as our legs would carry
us.
I fear that we did not present a pleasant spectacle as
we raced downhill in this sudden change of base, but it
was good strategy. On the edge of the slough we turned
about and faced the war party, which had now divided
its force and was streaming out of the coulees on either
81




"Yellowstone Kelly"
side. They had a notion of charging us direct, but on our
opening fire they scattered, and forming a thin line,
charged past our position, delivering their fire as they
passed. The bullets sped over and around us but no one
was hit, for the sagebrush afforded us some protection.
Our fire was more effective. Missouri tumbled an Indian
off his horse and soon there were several riderless animals running about.
One fellow who was riding a white horse paid particular attention to me, and as he rode by like the wind, having already fired at me three times, I pulled down on
him as he lay half-concealed along his pony's back plying his whip and shifting his bull-hide shield, and hit the
pony instead of the man, which made me sorry, for it
was such a fine creature.
While these Indians were drawing our fire several
others had dismounted below and were entering the timber. Seeing this movement, I called to my companions
to enter the woods. In crossing the slough everyone lost
his moccasins except Ed, who wore boots. Entering the
willows, we waited for the attack of the Indians, whose
shrill cries sounded in different parts of the wood in support and encouragement of each other. We sat in the
shadow of a drooping cottonwood, tense and ready for
them, eagerly watching for some movement that would
afford a mark to fire at, but they contented themselves
with a few desultory volleys in our direction as though
feeling us out and then all was quiet.
As the war party greatly outnumbered us we looked
for them to follow up their advantage, since they had us
on the run, but they evidently lacked stomach for it,
though I have known three reckless Sioux warriors to
follow two white hunters into thick brush, an encounter
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Exploring the Yellowstone
that ended in a draw of one white man and one Indian.
As for us, being barefooted, our ambition for fighting
had dwindled to the zero point, and we sympathized
with the sentiment of one of our party who had seen
more or less fighting in the late war: "I wish I was a
baby, and a girl baby at that."
Painfully we made our way across openings and
through patches of fire-killed cacti to our cabin, where
we found that the Indians had been there before us and
had taken everything worth taking, leaving as miementoes of their visit an arrow and a coup lance sticking in
the doorway.
Not having any leather for the manufacture of moccasins, we were reduced to most primitive means for a
supply of footgear, in which Missouri's little dugout
played its part in conveying hunters across the river
where game was found and skins obtained. As for myself, I shot a couple of beaver that same night and made
a pair of rough shoes which I wore green, keeping them
soft in the process of drying by a liberal use of oil and
working the skins until they had shaped themselves to
my feet. After vainly waiting several days for a
steamer, we made our way afoot to Fort Buford for
needed supplies.


83




CHAPTER VI


HUNTING ADVENTURES ON THE
YELLOWSTONE
HE three years following the incident just recorded were not especially noteworthy, although
full of the incidents relating to the life of a
hunter and trapper. My memory is fresh on incidents,
but not always with respect to dates or years. As I relate one incident it brings to mind another, happening
before or afterward.
On one occasion I traded a rifle and two mountain
lion skins to an Indian for a buffalo pony. The Indian
had represented the pony as "heap dusa," which means
fast. I then started in to hunt buffaloes and once got so
close to a bull that I felt tempted to reach out and lay
hold of his tail, but thought better of it and bore down
on some cows on the edge of a prairie dog village. The
animals seemed to sense that I was left-handed for they
kept on the right-hand side of the village, which put me
at a disadvantage. However, when on clear ground I
managed to kill two, one of which made a buffalo robe.
The pony was winded after the first run, and no wonder, for he had had to fill his belly by hunting grass under the snow. Soon after this I lost him and never saw
him again. No doubt he found his old range across the
Yellowstone more to his liking.
In the summer and autumn I made several trips up
the Yellowstone; once with Jack Mail, a young man
who had hunted in the lower country and was an allround good fellow and clever hunter. Between trips I
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Adventures on the Yellowstone


read a good deal in books loaned me, and renewed acquaintance with Scott, Poe, and Shakespeare, whose
works I had read when I was too young to appreciate
fully their value.
One winter I visited a hunting party of Indians who
were camped on one of the main branches of the Little
Missouri River, near the head of the stream. I remember that it was a very broken country of cedar and pine,
where deer and mountain sheep were quite plentiful
and not at all wild. It was not far from the rolling plain
where buffaloes ranged. It was a new country to me at
that time.
There were about forty Indians in the party, two or
three of whom were women. They built huts, tepee fashion, of poles and covered them with a thick coat of cedar
and pine boughs, and they were verv comfortable as
long as they were fresh and green. A small fire in the
center served to warm the interior and cook the food,
which was mostly meat. Mv little package of tea, coffee,
and sugar did not last long, nor did nw tobacco, which
was in constant demand. "Here," I said, the first night
after the shelters were built, "is mv supply of tea, coffee, and sugar. Take it. I want it divided and used at
once, but the tobacco is another matter; I shall furnish
one plug each night as long as it lasts." "How! How!"
shouted the assembled hunters, and the pipe man got
out his pipe, chashasha bag, and little wooden board
and tamper, ready for the round circle smoke.
This was in a tepee, much the largest in the camp, but
it would not hold all the crowd. I slept in another lodge
where the company was more select. In the big tepee
people were up all night, smoking and singing, but
85




"Yellowstone Kelly"
there was no drum; that was tabooed for some reason,
probably on account of the hunt.
As we were in the heart of the game ground, with
deer and mountain sheep on all sides, the method pursued was to hunt in a circle. No one was permitted to
start until all were ready. At the signal we spread out
on all sides as quietly as possible so as to cover some
ground before disturbing the game. This usually resulted in a lot of deer being left inside of the circle. The
people left in camp got a chance at these when the shooting began.
I took with me a young man who was a near relative
of the Mandan youth who on a former occasion had accoinpanied me from the Mandan village to Painted
Wroods, on the river below Fort Buford. Our course
took us up a fork of the branch we were camped on, and
I ran into bunches of black-tail deer and commenced
killing them as soon as I heard firing on either side. I
very soon had as many down as we could properly handle, and after butchering the animals by removing the
entrails and paunch, we turned them over on the snow
to drain. They were now ready for those who followed
with pack ponies, while we went on to repeat the operation as opportunity offered.
At night there was, of course, great feasting and the
air was tainted with the odor of burning bones. I looked
for the deer and other game to leave the country, but
game was found every day, only farther away. Nothing
in the waNr of meat was wasted, the heads, brains, and
some of the intestines passing muster for food, while
many pony loads of deer and elk meat were taken to the
camps on the Missouri.
This party of hunters was a mixed one and included
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Adventures on the Yellowstone
men of the Mandan, Arikara, and Grosventre villages.
I understood from their conversation that the Sioux villages were well to the west of the Yellowstone and that
it would be safe to hunt for several days, at least, from
the present camp. They held a council each night and
laid out the course for the morrow. A watch was kept
to prevent surprise, and I saw young men returning
with buffalo meat from the plain which extended
roughly to the region of Powder River.
When I saw this I wanted to go and get some, also,
and broached the subject at a night council. There was
silence for a moment while the long flat-stemmed redstone pipe made its rounds. Then one of the leading
men, whose name I cannot recall, spoke: "3My friend, it
is a long way to the buffaloes, and the young men engaged are sent to spy on the enemy and it is no part of
their duty to disturb the buffaloes, but when they find
one in a coulee they cannot resist trying their arrows. It
is best that you do not go."
I was somewhat taken aback, but countered by saying: "If your young men can stand it, I can." But I did
not secure the coveted permission. Evidently there was
a reason.
I could stand a straight diet of meat for a week or
even ten days if necessary, but after that, however rich
and palatable the food, I longed for bread and coffee to
go with it. I found these hunters agreeable and friendly,
but I could not converse with them for I could not talk
their language and very few of them could talk Sioux,
of which I had acquired a smattering, for it was the
language most used by the interpreters and others in
their intercourse with the natives; besides, it was easy to
learn.
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"Yellowstone Kelly"
On the third day I caught my pony from the herd. I
had had enough hunting for a while, and my ammunition was running low. I was to get a share of the mountain sheep that had been killed, if it could be sent to
Fort Buford. I bade my friends good-by and they all
shook hands.
The weather was not cold for late November. I wore
at this time a white blanket long coat with hood, and under this a soft buckskin shirt of well-smoked leather.
There were no fringes or beads on this shirt, but it had
a narrow strip of fur-edged collar and cuffs. I wore
moccasins of elk-skin and dark jean trousers, which were
encased below the knee. In winter I usually wore a fur
cap, either of fox or beaver fur.
On one of our trips up the Yellowstone Jack and I
found a bull elk that had been shot the day before. Indians had shot him, but did not have time to follow and
finish him. We decided that the skin would be capacious
enough for a bull boat, but after removing the hide and
sizing it up on some bent willows we concluded otherwise, and pegged it down in a retired spot to dry.
We had already been on the river two days and had
secured part of a load of meat. That morning I had
spent half an hour approaching an antelope that was
very keen-eyed and suspicious, and while running across
a bottom to head him off I heard the danger signal of a
rattlesnake. I was already in the air, but I made a lightning calculation as to the probability of landing on him,
struck ground free, and kept on. The antelope proved
to be a very heavy one and was as much as I could pack
to camp. On the way a feeling that would not down possessed me that Indians were near and I told my companion we had better get out without delay.
88




Adventures on the Yellowstone


A serviceable raft was built and our stuff was loaded.
In the late afternoon we were at the head of a snaggy
bend where a wood camp had been established by a contractor to furnish cordwood for the post, and here Nwe
learned that on that very same morning a war party of
Sioux had swooped down on some workmen going to
the post with wagons and killed two, filling them with
arrows, and dispersed the rest. There was supposed to
be a guard of soldiers, but the wsagons were strung out
and the surprise was complete. Wre luckily escaped contact with that war party, which wsas said to be a big one.
numbering fifty or more.
The following year (I think it was about September
or October, 1871) I left the mouth of the Yellowstone
mounted on a fine pony that I had traded for, b)ollnd for
the Milk River country in northern Montana.
Along the upper Missouri at some point between
Wolf Point and the Porcupine a river steamboat, the
Amelia Poe, loaded with a cargo of wh iskey and other
liquors bound for Fort Benton, had been wrecked on a
sand bar some years before. Efforts had been made to
remove the machinery and by herculean labor the boiler
had been hauled to the top of the high bank, the valuable and small parts being placed in a hole underneath
out of reach of Indians *who might be tempted to make
way with usable steel and brass. The savages had
promptly burrowed into this cache, however, and taken
what they wanted. The boiler remained a landmark that
could be seen some distance.
The shifting of the channel and the encroachment of
the sand bar had made it possible for parties to explore
the hold of the vessel in search of liquor that it was a sin
to lose, and this was the scene that unfolded itself as I
89




"Yellowstone Kelly"
rode up one fine morning to survey this old landmark:
a fire of driftwood on the sand bar convenient to the
river's edge; several men, two of them naked, standing
around in its genial warmth; a wagon and camp equipage; and one man with grappling irons up to his neck in
the water, feeling with his toes for casks and barrels to
fasten to with his grapnel, when those on shore would
give a brisk pull on the rope whereupon something
would come, it might be a cask of gin or a barrel of
whisky.
It sometimes happened that a strong pull would tear
the top off the cask and the contents would be spilled in
the river. When this occurred it extorted a general wail
from the bystanders over the loss of so much good liquor, and they would hasten to revive their spirits from
an open dish that stood on a box. I tasted some of it and
decided that such whiskey could very well go into the
river, though I did not claim to be a judge in that line.
I assume that AIajor Reed, who had charge of the
agency on Milk River, was along to see that no illegal
use was made of the salvaged fire-water in his district.
I had lunch with the men and renewed acquaintance
with the Major, who at that time was in the prime of
manhood, punctilious, dashing, and brave, a gentleman
of the old school and a fine type of frontiersman. When
next I met the Major he had formed a partnership with
Bowles and was established in the Judith Basin, Montana, that beautiful region where one could stand in one
spot and see buffaloes, deer, elk, mountain sheep, and
bears, all at one time. The basin was then a borderland,
a disputed ground where Sioux, Crows, and Blackfeet
met and exchanged courtesies in the usual savage fashion with clash of arms. This was in the years preceding
90




Adventures on the Yellowstone


General Custer's advance on the hostile camps along the
Little Big Horn, where the Seventh Cavalry met with
disaster.
I met the Major again in the little town of Carroll on
the bank of the Missouri, above the mouth of the Musselshell, during the retreat of the Nez Perce Indians in
the autumn of 1877. I had gone there with Lieutenant
Bailey of the Fifth Infantry, accompanied by a small
escort of cavalry, across country, and the mission of this
officer was to secure a quantity of rifle ammunition which
had been left there for military use. Major Reed, it appeared, had locked it for safe-keeping in a small log
cabin. We did not know this at the time, and learning
where it was stored and not having the key we proceeded to break into the building. The Major came
while the soldiers were occupied with this business and
was somewhat amused at our antics.
Skimming along the smooth bottoms of Milk River,
a day or two after leaving the scene of activity at the
wreck of the Amelia Poe, and keeping out of the way of
the buffaloes and their alert pickets, the antelopes, I
came to the spot where I had had an experience with a
war party of Sioux the previous spring that I shall not
easily forget.
I was traveling afoot bound for Reed's fort. The sun
had just risen over the hills as I reached the center of a
good-sized flat, when I saw coming over the crest of the
rising ground beyond, each particular metal ornament
or scheme of fluttering color illumined by the glorious
sun, a considerable body of Indians, afoot, strung out in
a line at right angles to my course. As they marched
slowly down the grassy slope in irregular lines-for
more were coming over the crest-with lances and feath91




"Yellowstone Kelly"
ers waving, the whole presented a spectacle most striking and war-like. But not for me.
I looked around. It was a far cry to the timber, my
mainstay. What was the use? I thought. I could have
made it, I presume, for I could run as fast and as far as
an Indian, but I felt that I would rather die than be
chased like a wolf. There was a rock four or five feet
high directly in front. I advanced to this, and taking
four or five cartridges out of my pocket held them in
my right hand.
The Indians were scattered now, but they came on
smith that easy, graceful motion of the moccasin wearer,
alert and keenly noting, as I suspected, my every motion. When they had approached within one hundred
and fifty yards I picked up my rifle and holding it on
my right arm ready for use, held up my left arm and
made the signal to stop. They halted at once, but after
a moment the leader came on ahead. He did not, as I
have known them to do on the summons, spread his
blanket on the ground and with great ostentation place
his arms and sheath knife thereon, but came fully armed,
a dignified warrior, with a circlet of bears' claws about
his neck and a coil of lariat in his belt, and stood gravely
a moment in front of the rock that formed my defense,
regarding me while I looked him firmly in the eye. Then
with a sweep of his hand to his followers, said, as near as
I could understand his words: "Does the wasityu hold
the road against the Yankton?"
Relieved to hear the speech of the Yankton, which
differs slightly from that of the Teton, Brule, Oglala,
and other tribes of the Dakota, I answered: "No, let the
Yankton come on I" suiting the action with a gesture in
92






4


I


~ 4


-1                        ib
C.,
0.
j. I
I    i
It., 


a


I "
Lm


IIFi.




"" DOFIS THE 11'.1-NITYU HOLD TllF, IMAD AGAINS.T THE YANKTON? ""




I




Adventures on the Yellowstone


the sign language, for the Yankton were not accounted
hostile, though there were some hard men among them.
The main party had halted only for a moment and
was on the move before I had answered the leader's
question, who now, seeing the cartridges that I still held
in my fist, placed his hand over his mouth, a sign of wonder, but made no comment. By this time they were all
around me, grinning and talking among themselves; the
greater part, however, had turned aside toward the river
in the direction of the large creeks that come in from the
north to the Milk River.
While talking to the leader, to whom I had given a
plug of tobacco which I always carried, I learned that
this war party had been to the Crow country to steal
horses, had fought, and were returning afoot as they
had gone out. While we were still engaged in talking a
great hubbub arose from the Indians, who were vet only
a little way off advancing in an irregular line in the
short brush toward the timber. This caused everyone to
race with mad speed in the direction of the commotion
and I was suddenly left alone.
It was a wild scene, and looking I saw what caused it.
A large brown or black bear had been disturbed and was
making frantic efforts to escape, in great bounds or a
clumsy gallop. He would turn his head first to one side
and then to the other in the most grotesque manner. The
Indians were seemingly gaining ground when all entered the timber and were lost to view, but I could still
hear their cries, mingled with the report of firearms, as
the pursuit continued. Though a fairly good sportsman
I was not hunting bear that day, although the obtrusion
of his bearship at a happier time might have had its effect. I therefore continued my journey, after a delay
93




"Yellowstone Kelly"
that seemed an hour or more, but was only a few minutes of stirring life.
And so it was that I came to the scene of a former adventure and reined in my horse beside the rock to survey the prospect about me. The view was different now.
The turf was yellow, with that tawny cast of the northern plain. The woods that concealed the meandering
river, thinned of their autumn foliage, showed gaps and
the yellow hills beyond where well-beaten buffalo trails
converged to the crossings.
I traveled on and later in the day struck a fresh lodgepole trail, which presently merged into a party of Assiniboin, bound for some trading post on the upper Milk
River. The headman of the village rode in advance, followed by a number of warriors; then came the women
leading ponies laden with rolls of skins and tepees, the
poles being attached underneath on the saddles with the
big ends dragging on the ground. Smaller bundles were
carried by some twenty collared dogs atop of poles that
were fastened dexterously to the collars and a band that
fitted round the hairy animals back of the forelegs.
These ran loose along with the ponies and colts on which
the small children rode. The rear was brought up by
loose ponies, driven by men and boys.
With this cavalcade was an animal that at once attracted my attention. The creature was large for a dog,
and had all the actions of a bear, his head and feet only
being pure dog. Brown, with short tail and thick fur, he
ambled along with the gait peculiar to a brown beara very odd specimen.
In early May, 1873, I was visiting an acquaintance
who had a small wood yard on the south bank of the
Missouri about twenty miles below Fort Buford. He
94




Adventures on the Yellowstone


was alone and had no horse to help with the wood cutting. I used my horse to haul his wood to the bank of
the river, until one day the horse turned up missing and
could not be found on his usual range. This was the
third horse I had lost.
I told my companion that if I could find the trail I
would follow it as far as it could be followed, no matter
where it led. So I armed myself wvith a blanket, a lariat,
some provisions, and the improved Henry rifle that I
now carried, which was load enough without impeding
my movements, and took the long trail through the
woods to the point above. There, not seeing any tracks
going up river, I turned about, keeping between the
forest and the foothills. When I reached the lower edge
of the point I found the familiar hoofprints, showing
that the animal was headed down river and going right
along as though he had important business.
I suspected at once that someone w as astride his
back, as the movements of the animal indicated that his
rider was hunting game or looking for lost horses. At
one place, the signs showed, this fellow stopped to take
on meat that he had left hanging in a tree. He was in
no hurry and made no effort to conceal his track, and
by the moccasin track that appeared at intervals on his
trail going in the opposite direction, I gleaned that my
man was simply an Indian hunter, who, having made a
killing and found a horse, was returning veri wvell satisfied to his camp.
Along in the afternoon, having attained a rise of
ground that commanded a view of the next point of timber below, I saw a considerable body of people coming
in my direction. Not wishing to be observed until I had
satisfied myself as to their friendly character, I re95




"Yellowstone Kelly"
mained concealed behind a bush until they had approached nearer, when I saw that the party consisted
of a number of families traveling with camp equipage,
and on their closer approach I stepped from cover to
accost them.
These Indians belonged to the tribes gathered at Fort
Berthold, and among them were faces I had seen before.
I did not have to question them about my lost horse for
I saw him in the crowd, pretty well concealed under a
load of skins fastened to a lot of tepee poles that were
lashed to the rude Indian saddle that was cinched rather
high on his withers.
The procession had halted to converse with me, but I
cut short the talk and strode to where the horse was
standing and laying hold of the lariat halter that was
tied around his jaw, made to unload him. A very stout
woman who had hold of the end of the lariat cried out
and resisted my efforts, whereupon an elderly Indian
who was standing by addressed me in the Dakota language, saying: "Cuda, this horse may belong to you, as
you say, but a young man found him in the woods and
brought him to our camp. Wait a little, we go a short
distance to our stopping place, and the horse will be returned to you."
I replied by making the sign for good (which is a
wave of the hand straight out from the heart) and motioned them to proceed. At the camping ground, which
was on the bank of the river, an Indian indicated where
certain lodges should be erected and the others grouped
themselves accordingly. The stout woman unloaded my
horse with many exclamations, not at all complimentary
to me, I suspect, and removing the lariat, hit the horse
on the flank with the end.
96




Adventures on the Yellowstone


Indian women have a good deal to say about the management in some camps. For instance, they may desire
to move camp. Wood may be scarce or too far from
camp. The women get together and take down the
chief's lodge. The lowering of the chief's lodge is the
signal to break camp. Every lodge comes down and is
rolled up ready to be packed on horses or sleds.
An Indian caught my horse and a crowd gathered to
see the white man make a rope headstall with the lariat
I carried. This was a simple affair in the Mexican style,
and when adjusted and fitted to the head of my horse
proved more humane than the Indian nmethod of putting
two half hitches around an animal's lower jaw. Laying
the blanket across his back I jumped aboard, which you
must know is not an easy thing to do on a loose blanket,
and after giving him a drink at the river, sped away on
my return journey.


97




CHAPTER VII


A MILITARY RECONNOISSANCE AND
A WOLF HUNT
A FEW days after the recovery of my horse a
steamboat drew into the bank from down river
and the first man to walk down the gangplank
was that incomparable river man, Captain Grant
Marsh, whose skill as a pilot won him fame in the Civil
War and later on the Yellowstone. He introduced me
to General George A. Forsyth of General Sheridan's
staff, who had at that time a military mission to ascend
the Yellowstone to make some examination of the channel and the country as far as Powder River, also to determine the possibility of steamboat navigation beyond
that point. An adventure of this kind suited me very
well and it was arranged that I should accompany him
on the Far WJest, which Captain Marsh was engaged
to pilot up the Yellowstone. As there was no room on
the boat to carry a horse I decided to leave mine for the
use of my friend at the wood yard. He would find him
useful in his business and the animal would be as safe
there as anywhere.
I embarked, carrying my baggage in one hand, and
was assigned a stateroom, the boat not being crowded
with officers and men until we left Fort Buford. On
reaching that point there ensued a great bustle of preparation on the part of the officers and men detailed for
this much-desired service. The addition of eight officers
and the better part of two companies of infantry with
their equipage and supplies rather crowded the boat and
98




A Military Reconnoissance
I made shift to find another sleeping place before all the
available space had been occupied.
Of the eight officers taken on at Fort Buford not one
may now be found on the list of retired officers of the
army. They were all fine gentlemen, as one might expect
of the regular establishment, and among them I recall
Lieutenants Walker and Chance and Major Bryant.
There was also, if I am not mistaken, a Captain Ludlow
of the engineer corps as a passenger or guest.
The Far West entered the mouth of the Yellowstone
and steamed slowly against the current. I was curious to
see how Captain Marsh would handle the boat through
Snaggy Bend, but there was no difficulty, for the river
was low and clear, showing plainly all the snags. On the
pilot-house platform an officer was engaged in tracing
the course of the river. General Forsyth was a close observer of the river banks and the broken country beyond, and he questioned me frequently as to the lay of
the land beyond the visible divide and the creeks and
valleys that had living streams and springs. Some queries I could not answer positively for the reason that at
that period I had never been far from the valley of the
Yellowstone, but I pointed out great trails over the low
divides made by buffaloes and traveled bv Indians.
These trails led to water courses that emptied into the
Missouri and continued on north across the upper AMissouri to the great grazing grounds of which the Little
Rocky and Bear Paw mountains formed the center, and
north of these were vast plains where other tribes of Indians and the Red River people obtained hides and meat
used in putting up large quantities of pemmican for
winter use and trade.
The boat tied to the bank at night, and there I spread
99




"Yellowstone Kelly"
my blanket with instructions to the guard to wake me at
one o'clock. Armed with rifle, belted ammunition, knife,
and scabbard I made my way through the timber which
skirted the river until I reached the edge of the prairie.
Then, finding a retired spot, I laid down behind a tree
and promptly went to sleep. I rose before daylight,
thinking that I was not far enough up the river to make
a killing and pack the meat to a bank on the channel
where the boat could touch and take it on. The Far
JVest would cut loose from her moorings at break of
day and the noises of departure on a still morning might
alarm the game in the woods and on the edge of the
prairie.
It was still dark and I sat down against a cottonwood
tree, waiting for the dawn. When it was light enough to
see to shoot I began to hunt for antelopes, sure that they
would be found on that stretch of prairie confronting
me. Yes, there they were, four or five of them, but
scattered.
In order to get a shot I must go farther up, but first
I must take a long look around to see if there was anything else stirring on the prairie. Everything was quiet,
so I picked my way carefully along until I was in position, then fired quickly. I heard the bullet strike his ribs
as the antelope bounded, fought to maintain his footing,
lunged in a circle, then fell. I could have shot another
as they bounded off, but refrained for I was not sure that
I could come after him. I turned the slain antelope on
his back and with my hunting knife made the usual slit
from the brisket to the thigh bone, removed the internal
parts, and while the carcass was draining of blood and
liquids cut the front feet above the first joint to the bone
and inserting them through slits cut between the sinews
100




AI
Aft.,
IL
YE 1. 1, WSTO N F, KFAAA" ()N THE BANK OF 'I'l I., HS ()Ul I
FAR     IMUNDIN(I     BFND




I




A Military Reconnoissance
and bones of the hind legs, swung the antelope across
one shoulder and started for the bank of the river.
I reached it in about half an hour but found no sign
of the Far West or of its smoke. I hung the antelope on
the limb of a fallen tree in plain sight, also a silk handkerchief that I wore around my neck, and returned to
a near point of the prairie where I killed another antelope and got it to the river just as the steamer was
rounding the point.
While the boat was picking its way along the channel,
bucking the swift current, I looked around and found a
lot of dry wood, for whenever the Far W'est stuck her
nose into a bank everybody turned out to "wood boat,"
there being no wood yards on this river and therefore no
dry wood except what the beavers and Indians had left.
The Far West made a landing near Glendive Creek
and the soldiers disembarked and proceeded to unload
the bulk of the military supplies and equipage aboard,
while General Forsyth and some of the officers ascended
a hill near by which commanded a view of the broken
country as well as the river line. I accompanied them
and pointed out such places as I was familiar with. The
cargo, as I remember, was disposed in a way to form
some protection in case of attack.
I cannot say how long the boat remained here before
it proceeded to the mouth of the Powder River. Perhaps
if I had a copy of General Forsyth's report of the trip
I should be reminded of some incidents worth recording.
I remember that the General was expecting some party
traveling overland from the lower country, and that I
undertook to spy their approach one clear night from a
distant point, but saw nothing but the rough country
through which ran an old road made by former expedi101




"Yellowstone Kelly"
tions. With the excellent field glasses furnished me I
noted buffaloes quietly feeding. Having attained this elevation in the night, I rested in a depression of a ravine
that ran to the summit. I remember the faint odors of
sage and other herbs that made fragrant the still air as I
lay on the ground looking up at the stars, waiting for
the dawn.
Having accomplished the object of my trip, it remained for me to make my way back to camp on the
river by daylight, as I did not relish remaining in that
waterless spot until darkness favored me; so I wormed
my way slowly down ravines and gulches, scanning the
ground for footprints of Indians and horses, a part of
my business for which I needed daylight on ground that
was much marked by the footprints of deer and buffaloes. In exposed places where there was no cover I literally crawled from rock to rock or from one shrub to another, such was my caution to avoid the sharp eyes of
some prowling Indian, for I knew that they thought
nothing of lying concealed all day without water when
on the lookout for some enemy, or in a willow-covered
eagle trap on a high point motionless for hours waiting
for the great bird to drop for its bait, when it is seized
by the legs with eager clutch and deprived of the prized
tail feathers.
At Fort Buford I shook hands with General Forsyth,
and so ended the trip up the Yellowstone. A very pleasant gentleman, quiet and reserved, not much given to
recounting past deeds and events, never a word of
Beecher Island or the stiff fight and defense made there.1
1 General Forsyth has himself told the story of his remarkable
Beecher Island fight in September, 1868, in his book, The Soldier
(New York, 1900), Vol. II.-ED.
102




A Military Reconnoissance
Before long I began to feel the need of change again.
Late in the year (1873), one of Broadwater's bull trains
rolled along on its way to Helena, and the leader wanted
a man familiar with the country to show him the route
through the Indian country. I was the man. I joined the
train while it was strung out on the road between Fort
Peck and Milk River. Skirting the edge of the Little
Rockies, never out of sight of buffaloes, we finally
reached an icy plain along which were many bands of
buffaloes. We made a camp on this plain, which commanded a view of a large extent of country along the
Missouri and beyond it as far south as a group of mountains bordering Judith River.
There were buffaloes feeding within half a mile and I
took my rifle and started afoot to get some meat. I approached to within seventy-five yards of a bunch of
cows that stood unafraid gazing at me. There was some
choice of meat here, for there were many two- or threeyear-old heifers and young bulls. Though it seemed
doubtful that they would stay for nearer approach I
walked along for ten or fifteen yards, for I was mindful
that I carried a.44 Henry and the little flat-nosed bullet
did not always stop a bull at seventy-five yards. Selecting a two-year-old heifer I let drive and she did not go
many yards before falling inert on the ground. The
herd, of course, at the shot fled to some distance. Evidently these buffaloes had not been disturbed for some
time. I packed some of the choice parts back to camp
and returned with my saddle horse for the rest of the
meat and the fine skin of dark silky fur, for I judged it
would make a fine robe when dressed and properly
smoked.


103




"Yellowstone Kelly"
Meanwhile, a couple of strangers rode into camp and
made themselves known as Bill Norris and another
(whose name I no longer recall) from the little post of
Carroll on the right bank of the Missouri. Norris appraised the fat meat that I unloaded by saying, "When
I see fat meat like that I am sure going to camp with
it." At my invitation they helped themselves to some of
the ribs, which they proceeded to roast at the cook's fire
wvith a zest that made me suspect they hadn't tasted buffalo meat for some time. Perhaps they needed an appetizer in that biting air, for presently everybody was
roasting ribs, to the discomfort of the cook, who could
not get near his fire.
Our foreman, or wagon master, was a very decent fellows, as were all of these Montana men, especially the
cook, a big, bearded fellow whose gruff call of "grub
pile" brought everyone pronto to where an iron kettle
of coffee and Dutch ovens of frying meats and hot biscuits awaited attention. The cook had choice names for
some of his concoctions, not listed in any menu save the
unwritten one of a bull train.
In a few days we reached a point where the old wagon
road wound around toward the west end of the Bear
Paw Mountains and connected with the roads and trails
of the north country that converge to Fort Benton on
the upper Missouri River. Here I left this Montana
outfit and turned aside to make the crossing of the river
above Carroll.
Carroll was situated on the right bank of the Missouri
in a narrow strip of cottonwood timber, the bank being
only about four or five feet above high water. The channel was close to this bank, which made it convenient for
steamers to close haul and tie to a tree. There was a
104




A Military Reconnoissance


trade store, storehouse, and factor's residence, also a few
shacks and cabins. I don't remember seeing any Indians
there except a war party that came down the breaks,
fired a few shots, and retired with greater speed, their
hurry being hastened by an unorganized body of hunters and sojourners who followed them thirty miles.
In a small way Carroll was a rendezvous for hunters
and trappers, who outfitted there, the region on both
sides being stocked with game of all sorts, including
fur-bearing animals. The factor, doing business for the
firm of Ashby of Helena, was a pleasant gentleman and
was kind enough to lend me one or two volumes of the
prose works of Edgar Allen Poe. I also met here some
old acquaintances. One was Jim Cooper, an excellent
type of the men who come out from the state of Georgia, well read, a good talker, and fine fellow generally.
Then there was Blount, of a different type, hailing from
the Carolinas, honest and reliable. I seem to hear his soft
southern accent, telling of the time the Indians had
them coralled in a small stockade. A negro stood undecided with an axe in his hand: "What shall I do,
Blount?" "Frow down that axe, you black bugger, and
go to fouting." Some of these Southerners were called
"galvanized yanks." Having been taken prisoners during the war, they were released on taking an oath not to
take up arms against the Union cause, and drifted to the
mining regions and plains of the Far WVest.
Here I again met "Red Mike" Welsh, who gave me
shelter after my first encounter with hostile Sioux. He
was a cool man with a rifle and a very, good shot. I recall
one occasion when we were about to start from Fort
Buford for Fort Peck, a white man of our acquaintance
came and asked to travel with us for protection. He was
105




"Yellowstone Kelly"
a man of good character and I think had been in the
military service. He had espoused an excellent woman
of Indian blood, and by her had two or more young children. They had for conveyance a Red River cart, drawn
by a pony that belonged to a young man, a relative perhaps, who also accompanied them.
About the second camp the Indian became dissatisfied for some reason and in the morning while we were
packing to break camp saddled the cart pony and
started off at a swift gallop up the river. Mike was the
only one in the party who had his horse saddled, and before anything was said, after the first outcry of the
woman, he had mounted and was in quick pursuit. He
very soon overhauled the Indian, who jumped from his
steed and disappeared into the woods, and we shortly
proceeded as before.
With four other men I organized a little hunt, from
which we returned with a quantity of skins, among them
a very large elk skin, bagged by a certain member of the
coterie, who, when skinning an elk, took great delight
in leaving as much meat on the hide as possible. The
trader knew a bit about skins and when all were weighed
and paid for he left the elk skin on the scales, and I used
to go in there every few days to see how much the skin
had lightened. I will venture to say that there were over
ten pounds of meat on that hide that did not belong
there, and was only fit for fertilizer. Indians never resort to such practices as this. The skins they bring to the
trader are clean, dry, well stretched, and neatly packed,
as if prepared for their own use.
I had not at this time met Sandy Morris, whom I
shall have occasion later to mention, but I ran across
Bill Atwood, one of whose adventures in the early sev106




A Military Reconnoissance
enties I still recall. With one companion he was hunting
and trapping along the upper Missouri. They had
agreed that if they should be surprised by Indians each
would grab whatever was at hand and strike for shelter.
One day while in camp they were suddenly fired into by
a roving war party and each grabbed something and
started for some near-by trees. After the Indians had
been put to flight the two men compared notes: "Well,"
said Atwood, "I brought a loaf of bread but I see an Indian has shot a hole through the center of it." "Let's
see," said Jack. Thereupon the sack was up-ended and
out rolled the camp grindstone.
Once when a war party of Sioux made a raid on Carroll, from which they beat a hasty retreat, one of the
men and I raced to the hills to see what we could find
and there ran into a beautiful black mare tied to a tree.
My companion was first to put his hand on her and so
claimed the find. We left her tied while we concealed
ourselves near by, thinking that the owner might return
for his property, but he failed to appear. The mare
proved a swift runner in the trial races around Carroll,
and I afterwards purchased her.
When in July, 1876, the columns returned to the Yellowstone from pursuit of the hostiles and the expedition
was about to break up, I happened along, having come
over the divide from Judith Basin on hearing the news
of General Custer's last stand. Several infantry units
were camped along the river, some about to march to
their stations in Montana, others waiting for transportation eastward. I sold the mare and her handsome black
colt to an officer commanding one of the companies,
Captain Cusick, whom I had met several years earlier
when he was stationed at Fort Buford. The soldiers of
107




"Yellowstone Kelly"


the company straightway made a pet of the colt, whose
well-being and comfort was assured from that moment.
Along in the winter of 1874 I noticed a red-headed,
freckle-faced man going about Carroll with his arm in
a sling. He proved to be Sandy Morris. We soon became acquainted and I learned his story. He and
George Horn had rigged out and gone to the foot of
Bear Paw Mountains, that debatable ground claimed
alike by the Crows, Blackfeet, and Sioux, then the winter range of herds of buffaloes that came down from
their summer range on the northern plains to find shelter and grass in its lee. The particular purpose of the
hunters w\\as to string out a lot of buffalo baits for the
wolves that hang closely to the herds of buffaloes, hamstringing the cows and bulls and worrying the young
calves in the spring. They carried a supply of strychnine to poison the baits. They had a saddle horse apiece,
and one pack horse. They put out several baits in favorable situations and were in a fair way to secure a good
lot of skins, as the wolves appeared to be plentiful.
Camp was made one day in an exposed place at the head
of Cow Creek, where there was a lone cottonwood tree.
After a light fall of snow they went along the base of
the mountain for a mile and killed a bull, which they
poisoned. Returning to camp just before dusk, they
built a fire against a big log about forty feet from the
tree and after they had had their supper sat in front of
the fire with their backs to it. In this situation a war
party of Santee Sioux, who had watched their movements, approached their camp after dark, and having
secured their horses, fired a volley into them from behind this tree.
The two men, though hit by this fusillade, jumped to
108




A Military Reconnoissance
their feet and returned the fire. Horn fired one shot and
then fell prone, while Sandy emptied his Winchester in
the direction of the redskins, who, thinking they had
overshot or missed the white men, retired precipitately.
George Horn was shot through the chest and Sandy
was shot with slugs in the shoulder and neck. Sandy, ignoring the danger, carried his partner, who complained
of being cold, to the fire and made him comfortable with
blankets and robes, but he expired after a few minutes.
Covering the dead man with blankets and canvas, Sandy
struck out into the night and snow and next morning
reached a cabin on the Missouri occupied by two white
men. They brought him into Carroll, where a party was
organized at once and went after the body of Horn.
In a few weeks Sandy had recovered from his wounds
and one day he offered me a half interest in the enterprise if I would furnish a pack horse and go with him to
the Bear Paw Mountains and help secure and skin the
wolves that had probably accumulated around the baits.
I questioned him about the lay of the land around them,
the water courses and camping grounds, and in a few
days we had made our arrangements, obtained needed
supplies from the trading store, and were ready to
march. I had provided a good stout pack animal and
this was the only horse we took.
It was pleasant going along the bottom lands of the
river with an occasional divergence where the river channel had eroded the low bluffs. Going up one sharp
ridge, the pack horse slipped and rolled end over end to
the bottom. I thought every minute he would break his
neck, but he came up standing, with nothing worse than
a good shaking. With the pack it was different, however, and we had to take it off and rearrange the load.
109




"Yellowstone Kelly"
When we arrived at the mouth of Cow Creek we
stopped for supper, after which we packed again and
proceeded along well-worn trails that cut the dry channel of the creek many times in the first few miles. The
cabin of the two white men who had assisted Morris
stood on the bank of the Missouri some distance below
the mouth of Cow Creek, and was abandoned.
Just ahead of us on the trail was a band of buffaloes
numbering a hundred or more. They would scarcely get
out of our way. We would drive our pack horse before
us until he was within a few yards of them, when they
would make a spurt for a short distance, and we would
repeat the maneuver. After dark the shadowy outline of
a war house loomed before us on one side of the trail and
we halted, intending to camp for the night.
War houses in that region were built according to the
material at hand. If slabs and poles were available the
structure was made in the shape of a conical tepee, thick
enough for shelter and protection, with the open entrance overlapping and the loose top affording an exit
for smoke. A similar shelter was sometimes built in the
shape of an unfinished Mandan wigwam. The one we
had come upon was conical and shapely, and showed
signs of having been occupied recently by Indians.
Our nag was turned loose to pick up what he could,
while we made ourselves as comfortable in the war house
as we could without a fire. A couple of matches showed
us where best to arrange our blankets and we were soon
settled for a good night's rest. It may be thought that
we would have been safer by turning off to one side of
the gulch and concealing ourselves in a ravine, but it
was all rough rocks, snow, and frozen, uneven ground
and we preferred the comfort of a dry habitation and
110




A Military Reconnoissance
were not intimidated by the knowledge that this war
house had been built by a roving party of Indians who
might again seek its shelter at any time. By dawn we
were out after the horse and by daylight were on the
trail, as there was no water to make coffee and to melt
snow was too slow for our business.
As we neared the head of Cow Creek I shot a blacktail buck and poisoned the carcass. Throwing the bloody
hide over the pack, we had proceeded only a short distance when we ran into a herd of bulls. I had never seen
so many together in the late winter time. They stared
for a moment, intently if not fiercely, then as if at word
of command up went their tails and instantly they were
trotting in a close body directly toward us. I shouted to
Sandy: "They are going to charge us, throw your overcoat over the pack!" He was just in time and the bulls,
no longer seeing red, turned to one side. I do not know
what might have happened if the hide had not been
promptly covered. The spectacle of being surrounded
and charged by a lot of bulls would have been more than
comical.
When we reached the spot where Sandy and his partner had been fired upon, I saw the cottonwood tree and
the log and ashes of their fire near it. We did not find
the wolves as plentiful as Sandy had expected, but in a
few days we secured enough to make a load. After we
had put out a few more baits we cached some of our
things and returned without further adventure to Carroll.
After resting a week at Carroll, during which the
wolves along the Bear Paw were being afforded an opportunity to become familiar with the choice meats prepared for their palates and to overcome their inherent
111




"Yellowstone Kelly"
distrust of food not killed by their kind, we made a new
start for the head of Cow Creek, and in better trim, for
a saddle horse was added to our equipment, to ride or
pack as desired.
On entering the gulch of Cow Creek we camped in
the same war house we had utilized on our first excursion. Some traveling Indians had left strips of fat buffalo meat hanging to a crosspole above the center, which
we proceeded to consume. Evidently they intended to
return the same way. Their tracks were plain in the
morning and only a day or two old. When Sandy saw
the moccasin prints he remarked: "Our trails are likely
to meet if this thing keeps on." "Yes," I replied, "and
if they leave some more fat meat we will be more chary
of making use of it."
We made camp on the spot where Sandy and George
Horn had been attacked, and from there went along the
base of the mountain, where most of our baits were. No
Indians were seen until we had skinned all but two or
three of our last pile of wolves. Then a rifle shot
sounded a little way off along the edge of the mountain
and we debated whether to quit at once or finish skinning, as it looked stormy. Soon we saw some Indians
traveling parallel to our course. As we were in plain
sight they evidently saw us, therefore we were not much
concerned. Presently three of the men detached themselves from the main party and came toward us and we
waited their approach. They proved to be "Stonies"
from across the Canadian border, who had come out
with their women on a hunting expedition. They were
as black as burnt wood, the result of camping in the
mountains and using pine for fuel. I could not talk to
112




A Military Reconnoissance


them to any advantage as they were as poor in the sign
language as I was.
We were now through with the Bear Paw Mountains, and returning to camp for our equipage we laid
our course across country for the Missouri, camping for
the night in the cedar breaks. Crossing the river on the
ice (it was now about February, 1875) we made camp
just above the river, intending to remain a few days and
see what could be added to our load in the way of pelts.
I went out early in the morning to look at the country
and put out a bait. Sandy had some traps to look after.
The river passed between high banks here and the trail
along the cut bank was narrow and icy. Ten feet down
was the snow-covered solid ice. Right there I came upon
the scene of a tragedy. Blood, hair, gnawed bones, and
the trampled surface of the ice told of a buck pursued
and surrounded by wolves. Here, according to the story
told in the snow, he made his stand, panting and distressed, while the wolves leaped upon him en masse.
Picking my way carefully along the treacherous trail,
I came suddenly upon a blind pocket on mv left in
which was an old bull lying down. I could not turn
around or run without the risk of slipping and falling
to the ice below. When I spied the animal he was about
thirty feet away, but he proved to be a very lively bull,
for he sprang to his feet instantly and with head down
and tail up came for me. I shoot from the left shoulder,
but there was no time for that operation, so, quickly
shifting my little Henry rifle, I held it on that grisly
ornament of his face, the forelock, heavy with sand and
matted with burrs, which hung between his eyes, and
when he was about ten feet away let him have it. He
dropped on the instant.
118




"Yellowstone Kelly"
I felt immensely relieved, for you cannot always
count on a successful issue in shooting at the forehead
of a buffalo bull. I stood by and contemplated my unsought and unlovely prize, lying prone on the frozen
ground. He was too tough to skin for a bait, for your
wolf is a discriminating animal unless starved. The hide
and fur showed signs of being close to the off-season,
though it had the familiar look of some of the stiff and
heavy skins that the contractor used to work up into
ivinter overcoats for Uncle Sam's soldiers serving in
below-zero climates. Neither the tongue nor the marrow
bones appealed to me, so I went my way until I found
a suitable place for one or two baits.
Sandy was amused at my recital of the encounter
wvith the bull and wvas curious to see the kind of trap I
wvas caught in, so the next morning we went out of our
way a quarter of a mile to look at the place. Tying our
horses to a shrub, we walked down into the pocket, the
only outlet being toward the river bank where I had
stood. Looking around, Sandy speculated over the vagaries of chance by which an undertaking might fail
through a simple accident. I remarked that worse things
might happen. We led our horses into the low cedars and
I shot two antelopes where I had thought to find deer.
The carcasses lay about sixty or seventy yards apart
and our horses were between. Sandy started to cut up
the farther one while I proceeded to the other and was
about to engage it with my sheath knife when by merest
chance I looked around and saw some objects in motion
about one hundred yards away that struck me as very
odd. They came over a little ridge in single file and
looked like young cows. While I was observing them under the brim of my hat they went out of sight into a hol114




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A Military Reconnoissance
low. I signaled Sandy and we started for our horses, but
before we got to them the cows had transformed themselves into a party of Indians, habited in buffalo robes,
who were coming boldly in our direction.
Being ready for them, I held up my hand and signaled them to halt. They complied and the leader put
his robe on the ground, placed on it his gun, bow and
quiver of arrows, knife and sheath, then strode toward
us. I said to Sandy: "Keep your eyes on the crowd and
if they edge up closer warn them back." "You bet I
will," he answered. He was a little excited and nervous,
but true blue.
The leader was now before us, an unprepossessinglooking fellow with remnants of red and yellow paint on
his face. He demanded tobacco. I asked Sandy to give
him a piece, and he reached down into his pocket and
extracted two pieces of plug, one large piece and one
smaller. He held out the smaller piece, but the Indian
made no motion to take it.
"I want both pieces, I want it alll" he said. Without
a word Sandy shoved both pieces into his pocket and
quickly raising his rifle, shouted to those behind to keep
back. I warned the Indian to keep his men back. "That
man will shoot," I said.
"Do you want to fight?" he demanded. "No," I replied, "not for a piece of tobacco."
He then expressed his willingness to take the piece
offered, but I said: "No, go back to your party and
travel around." I made a sweeping gesture with my
hand at the last word, adding, "too much talk," and
cocking my gun motioned him to depart. He went
quickly without a word, mad all through. Stopping a
moment to harangue his party, he took the lead, and de115




"Yellowstone Kelly"
scribing a circle to the left, passed over the hill. When
we saw them again they were half a mile away and still
going to the north. It was fortunate that I saw them
when I did, for I am satisfied that if they could have
got close enough unobserved they would have poured a
volley into us and counted some coup.
I heard of them afterward; it seems that the Pole
Cat's son, Yanktonai, from the Porcupine, north of
Milk River, formed a war party to steal horses from the
mountain Crows. They had a skirmish with a party of
Crows and got away with one or two wounded.
Sandy and I returned to camp without delay, for the
neighborhood had lost its charm for us that trip. Not
that we were afraid of this party, now that they had
been discovered, but we were concerned for the safety
of our horses. If we lost them there would be extraordinary toil and hardship expended in an effort to recover
them. Better to get out easy and come again when we
were ready.
When everything was packed and ready for the trail,
Sandy asked: "What about the traps?" Sure enough,
we had forgotten them. We took the packs off, and
mounting, rode up the river and recovered the traps.
That night we camped in the cottonwoods, a great
relief after the wind-swept barren ridges of Cow Creek
and the foot of the Bear Paw Mountains.


116




CHAPTER VIII


HUNTING IN THE JUDITH BASIN
T    HE summer of 1875 I spent mostly in cruising
in and about the Judith Basin and vicinity. The
basin proper was too open and exposed to afford
good hunting, but southeast of Judith Mountain on the
slopes and cedar ridges extending to the Musselshell
River and beyond to the breaks of the Yellowstone was
a veritable hunters' paradise for game of all kinds, including elk, deer, and mountain sheep, and cinnamon,
black, and brown bear. I noted also that it was a good
country to run into war parties of the Sioux, Crow, and
Blackfeet tribes.
In the basin Major Reed and his partner, Bowles, had
erected a cabin for trade, and this was the gathering
place for hunters, trappers, explorers, and Indians, for
there was a highway, or at least a wagon trail, leading
in directly to Bozeman and the mining camps that
dotted the valleys and gulches of Montana. Did I make
the acquaintance of George Bird Grinnell about this
time or was it the following spring, near Reed's ranch?
I cannot remember, but it was only for a moment and
he was off with his guide. In that lonely region, teeming
with game and exuberance of mountain flora, he had no
time to spare. But fresh in memory is the Major and
his log cabin set in grass land beside a clear stream and
close by the funeral lodge of Long Horse, a noted Crow
chief, who was killed at the head of his warriors while
charging the hostile Sioux concealed in thick bush and
timber.


117




"Yellowstone Kelly"
Back again in Carroll in the early fall of this year,
arrangements were made to exploit the region southeast
of the Judith Range for wolves, and a party of four, the
Erwin brothers, Mike Welsh, and myself, formed an
association for that purpose. The Erwins had a team
and wagon, while Mike and I had a saddle horse apiece,
besides a pack horse which I furnished. We proposed to
go in style and comfort. Among our effects were two
cast-iron Dutch ovens, a small grindstone, shovel and
pick, two axes, half a pound of strychnine, and provisions and ammunition to last until spring. All this cost
a pretty sum of money, but the trader had faith that we
would make good in the spring with furs and skins, for
of course we had some traps as well as poison.
IWe made our camp in the Cone Butte Pass, near its
outlet to the south, where there were some deep crevices
in the rim-rock in which we could cache our skins as they
accumulated. We designed to build a cabin as a base
from which to visit our baits for wolves, which would be
scattered over a circuit of fifty miles or more if hostile
war parties did not interfere too much with our movements.
AWe remained at the Cone Butte to hunt while the
ground was new and undisturbed. While the deer and
elk were in good condition we wanted to put up several
hundred pounds of fat meat by the use of salt which we
had brought along for this purpose. Later on, all game
would deteriorate in flesh and become poor. Primarily
the buffalo wolf and the timber wolf were the lure that
induced us to pitch our tents in this isolated region that
lay so conveniently between the Sioux and Crows, and
we did not want to kill any game animals other than
what were needed for baits for wolves and food for our118




Hunting in the Judith Basin
selves. The slope of the Judith was ideal for deer and
elk. One man stayed in camp. The other two might
choose to hunt together, but I delighted to hunt alone,
to wander through the open timber and grassy openings, not caring whether I saw a deer or not until it
came time to return to camp. Then I got busy, for I
could not go back empty-handed.
One morning I had not gone far when I struck a deer
trail and presently came to where the print of a bear's
track came into it. I followed along with gun held in
both hands ready for action. Soon another track appeared, all very fresh, and they might have been black
bears for I noted several flat rocks and rotten logs that
had been turned over in a search for b)tlgs and mice. I
walked very slowly along the trail, expecting to stumble
on to one any moment. I was now in the pines with low
bushes and rocks scattered around. About two hundred
yards farther on two more bears, making large tracks,
joined the procession, making four bears on the trail
somewhere just ahead of me. The trail was now beaten
smooth, obliterating all deer tracks.
I stopped to meditate on the situation. Mv curiosity
was aroused, for I wanted to see what this drift of bears
toward one little deer trail led to. It might be there was
a carcass of deer or elk ahead, which the keen scent of
bruin had detected. If I kept on I would be obliged to
kill a bear or two, if they did not kill me; the skin would
be of little value, and heavy as lead to pack. Bear meat,
unless it is very young and fat, like a sucking pig, is not
good eating. So I hesitated, being alone, but finally decided to go ahead a little way to where an opening led
higher up the ridge to the deer thickets.
Before I reached the point where I intended to turn
119




"Yellowstone Kelly"
off I heard two shots in quick succession ahead and to
the right, followed by the whine of a she-bear. I quickened my footsteps in the direction of the firing, feeling
certain that one of my companions had run into the
snarl of bears and was having a picnic all by himself.
The shots, of course, stirred game in the vicinity, and
watching my opportunity I brought down a young
buck. Noting a fallen pine near where he fell, I pressed
on and discovered Mike in the act of skinning a goodsized cinnamon. Hearing my shot, he had suspected who
it was and resumed his job of removing the hide. "I first
saw two black bears," he said; "while watching their
antics the cinnamon came within shooting distance, and
paying no further attention to the black bears, I let him
have it. He started for me and I plugged him again,
and he laid down to rest." The cinnamon had good hair
and I suggested that he hang it up and we would come
after it and the other meat with our saddle horses. This
was agreed to, and after hanging the skin on the limb of
a tree and flagging it we separated. I returned to dress
the buck I had killed, after which I went higher up the
ridge and killed another.
The main cabin of green logs was to have a stone fireplace in one corner and everything fixed comfortable as
a place of retreat and rest during the stormy weather,
for it was our intention at the approach of cold weather
to cache the greater part of our supplies and accumulated skins in some dry and secret place safe from the
inquisitive eyes of prowling natives and depart with
saddle and pack horses to some buffalo grounds near
the big bend of the Musselshell.
The carcass of a buffalo loaded with three-eighths of
an ounce of crystallized strychnine and frozen to resist
120




Hunting in the Judith Basin
the angry onslaught of a pack of wolves was no mean
aid to swell the hunter's collection of pelts. From ten to
fifty large wolves are sometimes found stretched in all
kinds of postures around the bait and if the hunter does
not visit his baits every two or three days, he will find an
occasional eagle, raven, or magpie dead or disabled.
These scavengers of the air tear holes in the bellies of
half frozen wolves (the belly being the last part to
freeze) and extract the swallowed poisoned meat,
which, if they get enough of it, places them hors de combat. For this reason frozen wolves were usually put in
a pile and covered with brush or snow until a chinook
wind or spring weather afforded opportunity to thaw
them sufficiently to be skinned. Sometimes a salable
hide is manufactured from the mutilated skins of two
wolves by clever matching and patching.
One evening while we wvere at the camp in Cone Butte
Pass a party of eight or ten Crow Indians suddenly
made their appearance while wve were eating. They were
afoot for a wonder, and came in that noiseless way habitual to the moccasin wearer. Thev were friendly, and
when we accosted them they cried out "Absaroke! Botsots!" which means Crows, or good friends. After shaking hands all around, the circle about the fire wvas extended and our visitors were given a cup of coffee each
with bread and meat. On first acquaintance Indians do
not have much to say until they have broken their fast
and smoked the pipe.
They are very observant of everything about them,
though without appearing to be so. As a rule the wild
Indians of the mountains and plains are well-bred in
company, and possess a natural politeness and decorum
of manner well worth observing. Transport one of them
121




"Yellowstone Kelly"
suddenly to a crowded drawing-room, and though the
change would be startling it is safe to say that he would
rise to the occasion and in bearing, at least, would conduct himself with all the ease and nonchalance of a man
of the world. Of course Indians differ as other peoples
do, and there was a marked difference in the scale of intelligence, in early days, before the government established schools among them. The Crows differ from the
Sioux in feature and dress, and very much in language.
Within the border of Wyoming and Montana territories there were eight or more tribes of Indians, each with
a language of its own, differing from the others as much
as English differs from Russian. Of these the Sioux, of
which there are several dialects, is perhaps the most
musical, affording a copious flow of words.
The men of the Crow tribe dress their hair in two
long braids, wrapped in strips of otter skin which hang
on either side of the head in front halfway to the waist.
Over the forehead and banged with an upward curve the
hair is stiffened and kept in place by an application of
white clay. Around the neck brass ornaments and pink
shells are hung. Leggings and blankets, or buffalo
robes, plain or garnished with bead work or painted
characters, complete the costume, while fringed or
feathered leather cases for gun or bow add to the picturesqueness of their attire.
Our visitors disposed of their food in silence. Then
an old fellow who was treated with some deference
brought to light a long buckskin sack, from the depths
of which he drew a redstone pipe, then a long, flat
wooden stem with a bit of feather, which he proceeded
with great deliberation to fit into the pipe. A request
was then made for tobacco, and a piece of plug being
122




Hunting in the Judith Basin
produced it was given to another Indian, who proceeded
to cut it up fine in the hollow of his hand and mix it with
a proper quantity of larb as described on an earlier
page. With the larb the Crows have a fancy for mixing
a minute pinch of the dried castors of the beaver.
The tobacco prepared and the pipe filled and lighted,
the old fellow takes a few whiffs, then touches.the bowl
of the pipe to the ground, after which it is held aloft for
a moment while he follows it with his inscrutable gaze.
Then the stem is pointed first to the east, then to the
west, and after a few puffs to keep alive the medicine it
is passed to the right around the circle, each one taking
a couple of whiffs and passing it to his neighbor. This
is the ceremony, somewhat curtailed, of passing round
the pipe. The office of pipe bearer approaches that of
standard bearer and is usually held by the chief haranguer or wizard of the party. Conversation was now
in order, and the leader of the Crows asked where the
rest of our party was. On being told that all were present and accounted for he expressed surprise by placing
his hand over his mouth.
"Friend," he said, "the Sioux village is only two
sleeps away and their war parties pass very close to this
mountain; whatever can induce you to stay here?"
The answer to this was that we were hunters, that we
carried medicine for wolves and in our guns carried
medicine for war parties, if they interfered with us; that
our hearts were "good," but that we were very bad people to trifle with. This sort of talk met their understanding and was assented to without comment. The old
fellow told us his village was only half a day's journey
from our camp, and while running buffaloes the day be123




"Yellowstone Kelly"
fore they had heard our shots and curiosity had led them
to investigate. All but two of the party were young men.
As the day wore on they threw off their natural reserve and joked and laughed like boys. The young men
sang a hymn or chant of friendship in low tones to a
wild but not unpleasing air. The leader said they were
glad to get away from camp, for the women and old
men had been wailing all summer over the loss of
twenty-two warriors who had perished in battle with the
Sioux. From the story it appeared that in the previous
autumn twenty-three Crows had started on a horsestealing raid against the Sioux on the Yellowstone.
They discovered two large camps of the enemy in the
bad lands before reaching the Yellowstone, and succeeded in rounding up and driving off, unperceived, a
number of horses. They traveled along until dark, then
camped to rest for the night. One of the party, however,
refused to stop, and taking his share of the horses kept
on his way. He did not propose to take chances so near
the enemy. He was the only one who came out alive.
The Sioux discovered their presence and pursued
them. They came in sight of the Crows at daylight. Being surrounded and outnumbered ten to one, they managed to gain the crest of a hill, where they constructed
a rude breastwork of rocks and defended themselves
with the bravery of despair as long as their ammunition
lasted. The Sioux harassed them with fire from every
rock, bush, and hollow in the vicinity, and when the
Crows were reduced to five or six in number a charge
was made by the young and untrained warriors of the
camp, to whom was presented a grand opportunity of
winning the aboriginal spurs and counting a first coup
under the eyes and encouragement of their own people.
124




Hunting in the Judith Basin
Several of the Sioux bit the dust in this encounter before the Crows were exterminated. One of the Crows
who feigned death turned on his side and sent an arrow halfway through a young brave as he was riding
full tilt over him. Not satisfied with this he sprang up
and pulled the Indian off his horse and had actually
mounted the animal when he was shot down. Their people, meanwhile, in the far Crow camps near the upper
Missouri River, knew nothing of this great disaster and
for days after the return of the one man a lookout was
kept for the rest of the party, but they failed, of course,
to materialize. Finally, their fate was learned in a
roundabout way from the whites, who received the news
by mail from one of the agencies for the Sioux on the
lower river.
The conversation was carried on partly in the Sioux
language and partly by the aid of signs, it having transpired early in the interview that as a medium for the
exchange of ideas and sentiments we struck no common
ground in the Crow tongue. The Sioux tongue is pretty
well understood by the Indians of the northern plains,
and the sign language adapts itself as gracefully and
as readily to these Indians as their robes and blankets.
By the middle of November we were ready to strike
out for other hunting grounds, and after caching most
of our belongings we gathered our saddles and pack
ponies together, left the log cabin in the Cone Butte
Pass, and turned our faces southeast toward the Musselshell. No one in the party was familiar with this part of
the country, beyond such knowledge as was gained from
observation from mountain tops or gleaned from other
hunters of the Crows.
Avoiding the trails along the creeks, we traveled
125




"Yellowstone Kelly"
along the cedar ridges. Droves of black-tail deer on
either side turned off down the ravines or scattered
among the cedars. Buffaloes would look at us for a moment and then trot down the slope out of sight. Late
in the afternoon we came upon a substantial war house
and concluded to camp for the night. This war house
was well put up, roomy and comfortable, and had
probably held twenty-five of the red rascals who constructed it. Our packs were transferred to the interior
and the stock was turned loose, for there was abundant
grass near at hand.
As there was some daylight left yet, we set out in
different directions to look at the country and see what
the prospect was for fur and skins. At night we gathered around our little fire, drank coffee or tea and ate
fat venison or buffalo meat, with which we made it a
point to keep well supplied. Flour we had, and one of
the party took pride in making light, sweet bread, baked
in a frying pan, braced on edge in front of the fire.
Smoking and conversation usually filled the evening.
After looking around it was agreed that the country
promised well for our business and we decided to remain
for a few days and put out some baits in the neighborhood. The howling of the wolves at night was almost incessant. One would start a prolonged howl, then another
would take it up in a different key; others would join
in quick succession, producing a medley of most satisfying discord; but for a mournful howl, commend me to
an old dog-wolf in a storm; the hoarse notes swell and
die away with each succeeding blast like a veritable demon of the gale.
Timber wolves have yellowish markings on the side.
The buffalo wolves we found north of the Missouri were
126




Hunting in the Judith Basin
coarse haired compared with the gray wolves obtained
near Flat Willow Creek; some were pure white, others
different shades of cream, the full-grown ones being of
the very largest size. Man has nothing to fear on the
score of wolves in this region; as for the wretched little
coyotes that were ki-hi-ing all hours of the night and
sometimes in daylight, we considered them hardly worth
skinning. It is true that the hair and fur is of finer texture than that of the gray wolf and is better adapted to
some uses. Commercially they were of little value to us,
and they devoured valuable baits placed by members of
our party, at some labor, to attract bigger game.
We put out only three buffalo baits at this camp, the
weather not being cold enough for our purpose, but we
tacked down about twenty large wolf-skins, intending
to take them up on our return from down country. I do
not remember clearly just what course we pursued to
reach Flat Willow Creek, whether we cut across the
cedar ridges or traveled farther down the country before
turning aside, but I know that we camped in the open
and slaughtered a lot of deer in the cedar ridges opposite. The creek bed was dry or nearly so, and snow was
melted for camp use. We reasoned that no large war
party bent on a big enterprise would attack us, for there
was little to gain and much to lose.
We found a retired place in a coulee to store our
skins, and traveled down stream to where the Flat Willow was joined by creeks coming in from the east. Here
a war house was found and camp made for a day, when
the elder Erwin and Mike Welch left us with packs
bound for the rough country to the east, to place baits.
Jean Erwin and I remained at this camp several days.
One afternoon I went afoot across the hills to put out
127




"Yellowstone Kelly"
a bait. Keeping well in the hollows, I had not traveled
more than a mile when I perceived a buffalo cow lying
down in a prairie dog village. "Now," I said to myself
after looking all around, "if I can kill that cow right
where she is in the prairie dog village, it will be in an excellent situation for wolves." It was an exposed place
and it took me some time to work along the depressions
in order to gain a point of vantage without disturbing
the cow. I did not want to shoot hastily and have the animal run off to some hollow to die, for although I was an
indifferent marksman, I always liked to kill my game
with as little pain as possible to the quarry.
Suddenly two large wolves came into view and
trotted up to the cow, which got up at once, facing them
with lowered head, and I then saw that she was lame.
The wvolves acted with superb indifference and even
turned their backs to her, then they trotted down toward
me and came to within fifteen yards of where I was
crouched, motionless and observant. After observing
me casually for a moment, they returned to the cow as
they had come. I could not fail to note the abandoned
grace of action in these wild animals, every movement
exact and businesslike, as though time were a factor to
be considered. As soon as they left me I took the opportunity to creep up closer, and as the cow turned with
lowered head to repel the wolves, now about to attack, I
placed a shot back of the shoulder and she fell without
a struggle. The wolves made off at the shot.
When I approached the carcass of the cow to prepare
it for wolf bait I saw about a hundred yards away, some
standing, some sitting on their haunches, twenty or
more large wolves. They formed a very pretty picture
on the yellow and gray prairie, that was partly wind128




Hunting in the Judith Basin


swept of snow. What surprised me was their utter unconcern when I came into view. They were lined up in
a row as though they had been bidden to a feast and
were not particular as to how it was served.
Laying my gun and belt on the ground, I tackled the
carcass of the buffalo cow and soon had it prepared with
strychnine in the manner that I have elsewhere described. My audience of wolves took an unusual interest
in the work and scarcely moved during its continuance.
I surmised that this was not the first time they had posed
as spectators of a meat-carving entertainment, and that
they may have followed Indians on a buffalo hunt.
Though uninvited guests, I would not allow their appreciation to pass unrewarded.
When I had finished I washed the blood off my knife
and hands in a bank of snow, threw away the empty
vials that had held the poison, and backed off leisurely
toward the hollow by which my approach had been
made, whence I took my way to the war house.
Close to the war house there was a large beaver dam
with evidence of recent occupation. In our leisure moments we tried our hands at digging out the ulnderground lodgers, an easy feat, seemingly, as there was no
water running in the creek bed and the pond created by
the dam, though fed by the spring, was frozen solid. We
had to give it up, however, for the light prospecting
pick and superannuated shovel in our possession made
little impression on the outworks and we concluded that
beavers were friendly creatures and good neighbors.
In building this dam the clever animals had chosen a
season when the creek was at a low stage of water, had
chiseled a cottonwood tree near the bank so that it fell at
a sharp angle up stream, and had repeated the operation
129




"Yellowstone Kelly"
on the other bank, so that the head of one tree rested on
and interlocked with the other. This mass and weight of
green top had caused the stream to rise and the added
weight of water to straighten out the trees, in the process
of which a rigid interlocking of branches resulted. It
was then that the beavers got busy with brush, stakes,
mud, and tails to anchor the whole mass superimposed
upon the clay and gravelly bottom. Thus a foundation
was made to harbor one or more families of these intelligent and useful rodents. Useful, because they hold the
waters back in a too rapidly draining country, thereby
causing savannas to form, with resulting vegetation for
their own subsistence and that of other creatures, including man. As one of our party remarked, "the beaver
is the water farmer of the plains."
At night a small fire dimly lighted the interior of the
war house. The frying pans and tins had been put to one
side and the slender sacks of flour, sugar, and coffee reposed in their respective places in a parfleche container
hanging to a cross-piece to keep it out of the way of
mice. My companion and I sat on opposite sides of the
lodge engaged in making willow pegs for stretching
wolf-skins, wondering, meanwhile, where our partners
were at that moment.
On the third morning Jean Erwin and I made the
round of our baits and piled up many wolves. At the
place where I had had an attentive audience while cutting up the body of the cow, we found twenty-two large
wolves around the bait, though some had got several
hundred yards away before succumbing to the effects of
the powerful poison. From the wolfer's point of view
they were beauties. Two were almost pure white, one
was of a creamy color, and several had the tawny mark130




r, A.
*-                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       4p
- lb








Hunting in the Judith Basin
ings of the timber wolf; the rest were gray, but of finer
hair than the buffalo wolf. They were frozen too hard to
skin, so we piled them in a near-by coulee and covered
them with snow in a spot out of range of the sun's rays.
The country round about for a distance of three or
four miles was now pretty well marked with our shoe
and pony prints and we concluded to move camp. Our
skins and pelts were well secreted and those we had
pegged to the ground would not suffer if left in that
state until our return.
We traveled down the creek and camped on another
tributary. Scarcely had we completed the task of putting out two or three baits when a two-day blizzard set
in that confined us closely to an old war house, our only
choice of shelter. We spent a good share of one day collecting firewood and a lot of slabs and poles to patch the
crevices of our refuge. These, with a couple of buffalo
hides which we fortunately had saved to lay on the
ground, sufficed with other skins to keep the snow from
beating in, but we were most uncomfortable for the
smoke would not pass out, the surging storm beating it
back.
Toward morning of the third day the storm gradually died down and by daylight it was clear and still,
with zero weather. The safety and whereabouts of our
ponies was our first consideration. Be knew that in a
storm they would travel with it to the first sheltered
coulee or ravine and our course, therefore, was to travel
in the wake of the late storm and scan the country ahead
for signs, for the drifting snow had obliterated all
tracks. Presently we saw them feeding in a wind-swept
flat above a timbered hollow, where they had no doubt
taken shelter.


131




"Yellowstone Kelly"
On our return we went out of our way to look at a
bait in a gulch, but before we got to it we came upon
some fresh moccasin tracks made that morning in the
snow and coming from the direction of our camp. As
they made but one track, each following in the footprints of the foremost man, we judged that there were
not less than four or five people. They held a long stride
and were in a hurry. We immediately took the back
trail to see how things were at our camp, for we were
anxious about our saddles and our spare ammunition.
The tracks kept closely to the gulches that led out
from the creek bottom. About three hundred yards
above our camp we found a war house that plainly
showed recent occupation. Tracks were plain all about
in the snow, and the interior indicated a hasty withdrawal. A pair of old moccasins of Sioux make and
pieces of blanket used as foot wraps were still hanging
on a line, and the fire in the center of the lodge was still
warm.
The surroundings, taken in connection with a few
shots that I had fired at a deer shortly after starting in
the morning, told the story. There were no tracks anywhere except around the lodge. This said plainly that
the inmates had come there during the last night's
storm and had stumbled upon this old war house as a
means of shelter. The wind and snow had swept away all
traces of their approach. On hearing my rifle shots they
had made a hasty departure, fearful, no doubt, of an
instant attack. As for us, we were thankful that the
storm had concealed us from our undesirable neighbors.
After this experience we kept a better lookout. Our
horses were not allowed to wander from camp, and in
three aays we were on the trail again toward the Mus132




Hunting in the Judith Basin


selshell, leaving the usual notice to inform our partners,
whose return we expected any day now, of our probable
whereabouts.
In a couple of days we were together again. Erwin
and his companion had had their experiences also. They
were caught in the storm without any fresh meat and
there was no killing any until the storm was over. In
the interval Mike shot a coyote and undertook to see
how the meat would go boiled. When the pot had boiled
the usual length of time he fished out a piece and chewed
on it awhile, but it was either too tough to masticate or
the stomach rebelled, or perhaps the merriment of his
partner interfered with the destined course of the choice
morsel. The pot was again put to service on the coals
and a fresh burst of cooking rendered the meat more
tender, if not more palatable; MIike managed to swallow
a piece, and thereupon set up a howl in simulation of a
wolf, to the great amusement of the one onlooker. Thus
is the strenuous life relaxed and relieved. Erwin and
Mike ran onto an old she-bear suckling two well-grown
cubs. The dressed meat of the cubs they brought with
them, and most delicious meat it was, just like young
pig, a great seasoning for the lean meat of that season.
The party now being together again, we proceeded
to the Musselshell, where we collected a number of wolfskins, and tacking down those that were green, cached
those that were not dry enough to pack under a pile of
brush near our camp. Taking advantage of thawing
weather, we now retraced the course already traveled,
skinned the wolves we had piled in the vicinity of the
baits, and with such loads as could be carried made for
the cabin in the Cone Butte Pass.
We found everything just as we had left it, our hides
133




"Yellowstone Kelly"
and furs having been cached in the crevices under the
shelves of sandstone that lined the hillside near our
cabin. The skins of elk, deer, wolf, and fox soon covered
the ground in process of airing and drying; fresh skins
and those only part dry were repegged. This task consumed about a week, when we packed our horses again
and set out to clean up our winter's work.
When we arrived at the Musselshell River we found
that the snow had fallen during our absence and there
were many old footprints made by Indians around our
camp. On looking around we found a newly constructed
war house in the pines, a great green tepee covered very
cleverly with pine boughs. We were certainly fortunate
to have missed the party that built it, for it was a large
one.
Our good fortune in avoiding Sioux war parties was
a subject of frequent remark. Of course we used all
proper measures to attain that end. A collision with the
Sioux might spell disaster, or interfere seriously with
our enterprise of gathering valuable furs and skins. We
were not bloodthirsty, and if they would let us alone we
were willing to give them the road. It- was only when
they were viciously inclined and aching for a fight that
we met them halfway. For that reason we used our skill
and knowledge to keep out of their way, though we
often suffered discomfort in doing it.
On the way back we camped for a day or two on a
creek that is marked McDonald's on a map before me
of the state of Montana bearing the date of 1911 and
filled out in counties with a maze of streams, towns, and
railway lines, to say nothing of parks, game preserves,
and reservations. This creek, bank-full of snow water,
did not show any signs of beaver dams or houses but
184




Hunting in the Judith Basin
seemed to be alive with beaver, of which we killed a
number, recovering more after the water had subsided,
for a beaver will sink if not killed instantly.
When we were ready to leave Cone Butte Pass the
season had advanced and for some reason it was decided
to go to Reed's place in the Judith Basin before returning to Carroll. I remember camping at a beautiful
spring near a running stream and I am told that the
city of Lewiston now covers this ground. The war
parties were very active that spring of 1876, and on the
way across the mountain we had crossed a fresh horsetrail at right angles to our course, made by a party of
a hundred or more. We heard from this war party a
couple of days later.
From Reed's cabin the prairie stretched clear for a
mile to some rising ground, over which the trail to Carroll had its way. Some friendly Indians had encamped
near the trade store and let their bands of horses stray
near these foothills nearly a mile away, when suddenly
there was a cry, "The Sioux! the Sioux!" and rushing
out I saw a cavalcade of Indians, fifty or more, sweeping along the edge of the prairie at an easy gallop with
the evident intention of cutting out the pony herd. Our
own horses were safe in the opposite direction and while
my companions hastened to secure them I kept on at a
smart run in the direction of the pony herd, which
seemed to be without a guard. I was soon joined by a
young Indian from the lodge.
My intention was to come as near the pony herd as
possible and get in a few long-distance shots at the Indians before they reached it. The war party, however,
paid no attention to us nor did they quicken their pace,
but for all their indifference I surmised a keen calcula185




"Yellowstone Kelly"
tion as of experts in the business of stealing horses.
When they started to round up the stock and turn it toward the foothills I sat down and pumped at them as
they came into line or bunched, but I could see no result
except a scattering when I fired at three who happened
to be close together. The young Indian with me never
stopped, and when the thieves disappeared over the hill
with the band of horses he was still on the trail.
Not being able to dispose of our skins and furs to advantage in the Judith Basin, we made our way to Carroll and unloaded in the enclosed ground of the principal trader, spreading our stuff out to air and dry, and
also for inspection. The other trader, Clendenning, bid
on the skins, but the price did not come up to our expectations. Meanwhile, the Missouri was rising rapidly
and the chocolate-colored flood was encroaching on the
bank at the rate of thirty or forty feet a day. The river
bank was less than a hundred feet away and the force of
the current seemed to concentrate at that point. WVhen
the corner of the stockade threatened to dispense with
its foundation we moved our furs and skins back, and
had moved them a second time when the forces of the
flood called a halt and ate great slices of the bank lower
down.
At this stage, to our great satisfaction, an up-river
steamboat put in and a buyer from St. Louis agreed to
our price. Prime wolf-skins were worth five dollars each,
but I do not recall now what beaver and other furs
brought. I know that the check went to the trader and
there was a snug little sum left to divide among the
four hunters after he had deducted for his merchandise.
I had only to saddle my pony and lash my belongings
on the pack horse and I was ready for the trail. I did
136




Hunting in the Judith Basin
not remain long in Carroll. The lovely hills and valleys
called me.
I remember that instead of taking the old wagon road
that connected Carroll with the Judith Basin I selected
at random a point of ridge, for I liked to go by devious
ways, if feasible, and never the same course twice. This
brought me to the open country much to the right of my
direct road. I could look back and see a maze of ridges
and backbones, all trending toward the Missouri. I remembered the ridge where the Indian warrior, creeping
and trailing the phantom deer as they fed and lured him
from bush to denser shrubbery, was struck down by a
mountain lion which, slinking in the dusk of ebbing twilight to intersect the same quarry, saw with baleful vision his evening meal stalking beside him, leaped on the
instant and struck a mighty blow, and sped away at
contact with man.
I rode along the wooded ridge, still colorful of late
springtime, in the shade of stunted pines and cedars and
the entire scene assumed shape in my mind and was reenacted in minute detail. I seemed to feel the concern of
the warriors as the deer hunter failed to return. The
little spots of camp fires shaded with green boughs were
dimmed and darkness settled over the bivouac. I saw in
the early morn the return of the scouts who had nothing
to report; a hasty conference, instant separation, and
the hunt for sign in the difficult and much trodden
ground began. In a series of circles they pick up the
footprints of the hunter and the track of the lion. Where
the lines converge they see a dark form; "That is he,"
they murmur; they gather up the cold and lifeless figure
of the warrior, bear it to the rendezvous, and prepare it
for burial; wrapped in his blanket, with his bow and ar187




"Yellowstone Kelly"
rows, his knife and gun, lashed to a light scaffold in a
cedar tree, they give him to the ardent Sun God and the
friendly stars.
Thus musing, I picked my way along the ridges till
the rolling plain gave a view of the Judith Mountains,
their slopes coming down to the plain in rough outline,
but seeming smooth in the distance. I saw smoke rising
from the valley and toward it I made my way, knowing
that I would touch the road I had left.
From the road I turned again toward the smoke, for
I saw lodges and knew that friendly Indians were encamped. I passed wrnkled old squaws splitting firewood from dry logs and stumps with axes that had seen
better days. These Indians were strange to me and I inquired by sign. The sign they gave me was also strange,
but when I pronounced the word "Piegan," they nodded
and signed me to alight and eat. Though I saw no
preparations for a meal and no sign of buffalo meat mi
camp, the pursuit of which, I learned, had brought them
here, I was nothing loath to eat when invited and so I
dismounted, taking my bridle off to let my pony graze
where he would. One of the women brought a stew of
meat and gave me a portion in a wooden dish. It tasted
good, but I am sure that it was not buffalo, elk, or deer
meat. I had a suspicion what it was, but not the heart to
question.
I wandered my way along the foothills of the Judith,
where wild strawberries bloom and ripen, and in the
course of time looked down on the basin and afar off saw
the white tents of a military encampment in grassy
ground a little way above Reed's cabin.


188




CHAPTER IX


CAMPAIGNING WITH GENERAL MILES
TURNING aside from my projected trip to the
Gallatin Valley, I headed for the Flat Willow
country and was soon jogging down one of the
numerous game trails that follow water courses. Small
game, such as deer and antelope, were pretty well scattered at this season and the buffaloes had mostly moved
north, but a few were still coming from the direction of
the Yellowstone, caused probably by the movements of
troops and the restless activity of the redskins in that
region. I felt satisfied that no war parties would take the
field against the river Crows or the Blackfeet while soldiers were in the Yellowstone Valley, and that therefore
it was reasonably safe for a lone hunter to travel across
country. If not safe, I must take the chances and whatever followed.
My usual caution deserted me, though, when a big
black bear jumped from his resting place and went loping swiftly up a smooth ridge, covering ground awkwardly but with the speed of a more nimble animal. I
jumped from my horse, intending to see how close I
could place a bullet without hurting him. The bullet
struck the ground close to one of his hind legs, raising
a little spot of dust. As quick as a flash bruin struck the
spot with a mighty whack of one of his paws. I seemed
to hear it, and believe I did, but I may have been like
the denizen of the Arctic, who, watching the aurora
borealis, seems to hear a rustle when the mighty cur139




"Yellowstone Kelly"
tains, flaming in color, fold and unfold in wonderful action across the sky, but if his eyes be closed, cannot.
But for my curiosity to see a bear jump and hasten
his stride, I might not have fallen in with John Stanwix
and his party of five, trappers all, for I had proceeded
but a little way when I saw three riders, who had just
emerged from a grove of pines and stood fixed in their
tracks, gazing intently in my direction. As I approached, three more riders came out of the wood with
pack ponies, the sight of which caused my own pack
pony, which followed loose behind my saddle mare, to
prick up his ears and forge ahead.
One of the three who had watched my approach rode
a little way to meet me. He was a soldierly-looking man
of about thirty-five years, with a pair of keen, dark eyes
set under a soft brown hat, and I remember that he
wore a woolen shirt of drab with a rolling collar, and
that a light rifle in a short, stiff leather case was attached under his leg to the saddle.
"I am John Stanwix," he said, "and I know that your
name is Kelly, for I have seen you before. Where are
you now bound for?"
"Mr. Stanwix, I am glad to meet you," I replied, "I
am headed for the valley of the Yellowstone, but I have
a notion that I may camp with you this night."
"Good," he rejoined, "stick to that notion. I would
like nothing better. May I ask what you were firing at
just now?"
The rest of the party had dismounted and were tightening and rearranging packs as we approached. Several
nodded to me, and one chap who would take the prize
on red hair, asked: "Where is your bear? I sure heard
one whine after that shot."
140




With General Miles
"Oh, it was a happy miss," I said. "Poor fur and little fat on an old she-bear this time of year."
We sat on the grass and smoked and some mention
was made of General Custer's fight with the allied
Sioux, accounts of which had dribbled in by way of the
Gallatin Valley. When "Stan," as they called the
leader, mounted his horse we all took leather and pushed
on to the Musselshell, where, as I learned, they had
cached some prospecting tools earlier in the season.
At night around the camp fire there was more talk
about the fight on the Little Big Horn, and it appeared
that Stanwix knew a whole lot about the Sioux and
could talk the language quite fluently. I surmised that
he was familiar with the Sioux agencies in the lower
country. In his opinion this was the last combined rally
of the non-agency Indians. Their choice hunting
grounds, extending from the Black Hills on the south
to the Canadian border and beyond on the north, were
about to be invaded by a railroad. and that meant disaster and loss to what the Indian valued most.
"Personally," he said, "I am not painfully distressed
over the outlook, for now" (picking up a battered gold
pan and drumming on it), "we can go where we like to
prospect, without hiding out from the redskins."
Turning to me, he said: "A short time before we
made this cache, we had an odd experience with a war
party of Sioux and Cheyenne. The party is complete
with the exception of one who is not with us now." I remember that one or two of the party chuckled, and the
red headed man, who wore no hat and was called
"Vance," said, "And I reckon, Stan, that Crow boy is
running yet."
"Yes," replied Stan, "that Crow was going to show
141




"Yellowstone Kelly"
us gray quartz on the Musselshell that had little specks
of gold all through it.
"Well, we were piking along somewhere this side of
Wolf Gulch or Wolf Spring when we ran plumb on to
four Indians afoot, packing a big bundle between them.
Then we saw just ahead four mounted Indians, each
leading or driving a pony. We headed for them and you
may be sure they saw us on the instant, and putting
down the bundle ran to join the others but not before
they gave a couple of war whoops, whereupon one of
the mounted men discharged his musket in the air. Then
we saw quite a party ahead riding slowly, but they
turned, and scattering out came flying in our direction.
I waved those nearest us to stop, and called out in Sioux
that we were heart good. They turned immediately and
rode toward us and I saw that the bundle they had carried was alive, and, as I had suspected, a wounded Indian.
"By this time the main party, about twenty in number, were almost upon us and I waved them to halt,
shouting: 'Do not come nearer than the hill; we are
white men and will see what can be done for this man.'
"The Crow, who was helping to keep the packs on the
trail in the rear, at first sight of the Indians turned and
skipped and we saw him no more.
"Handing my rifle to Jim, here, and cautioning all
to keep a watch all around and wave back any Indians
who tried to get closer, I told the Indians to unwrap the
cover and take off the bandages so that I could examine
the hurt. Two of them proceeded to do this, while the
other four stood a little way off with the horses. The
Indians on the hill dismounted, letting their ponies
graze.
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With General Miles


"I had a small bundle of medicine in a pack and the
men brought a canteen of water. As the Indians unrolled the cover I saw that the sick man's leg was
wrapped with an entire paunch case of an elk taken,
probably, fresh and smoking hot from the animal.
Nothing, to my notion, could have been better to allay
swelling and inflammation. But what a sight They had
cut off the thick parts of the paunch and whipped out
the contents and wrapped it around the shattered limb
while it was still hot and moist.
"The steam from the hot skin, together with the gastric juice that may have adhered to the lining of the
stomach of the elk, probably played their part in an effort to aid nature in restoring and making good a torn
and crushed limb, but I do not know; I am not a surgeon. Anyway, there was no pus, though the knee was
crushed and the small bones were protruding. Meanwhile, a fire had been built and water was heating,
awaiting which I busied myself in removing loose bones
while the Indian, a young man, regarded me with quiet
eyes. Pointing to the knee, I asked how many sleeps,
and he held up three fingers, but to my question what
caused it, he closed his eyes, and another Indian answered for him, 'Blackfeet.'
"The water being now at a boiling point, I tore apart
an old cotton shirt that Jim had in readiness, and passing it through the water wrung it out and washed the
wound as well as I could, then dusted common baking
soda on the torn flesh. The Indians brought dry willows and I made an attempt at splints, but it was a
poor job.
"Finally, with a stiff piece of manta, off the packs,
and the improvised splints we bound up the leg. Mean148




"Yellowstone Kelly"
while, one after another of the Indians that stood by
would go to the main party on the hill, and another
would return in his place, I suppose to see what was
going on. I asked the one who helped me what they
proposed to do with this man, and he answered: 'He is
my brother. We will carry him to a safe place that we
have in view and I shall stay with him until he dies or
is able to travel.'
"There was not a saddle in the party. They had been
away more than a year on this foray, visiting Santee
and Assiniboin and other friendly tribes, and whatever
saddles they had had or accumulated must have been
lost or disposed of before they struck the pony herds of
the Blackfeet.
"I let them have one of our old pack saddles, as our
packs were getting light, and instructed them to make
a strong litter and fasten one end low down on each side
of the saddle, then two men could easily hold the other
ends and walk along at a good gait without jarring the
sufferer much, also to loosen the canvas-bound leg if it
swelled, and bathe it with warm water, and if the leg
got 'bad' to kill a deer and wrap it as before. I also gave
them some of the soda, as that was the best thing I had
for cleansing a wound. Though I had a bottle of good
liquor I judged it too good for an Indian, and gave him,
instead, a dose of pain-killer, of which I had several
bottles.
"While we were shifting packs and repacking, four
Indians rode away in search of dry poles for a stretcher
that could be fastened to a horse. And so we left them
and pursued our way to the Musselshell, but we found
no trace of quartz with yellow specks in it, and do not
know to this day whether the Crow meant beyond the
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With General Miles
Musselshell, in the Little Rocky Mountains, where, I
am informed, good colors may be found, but no ledges,
or farther still, to the Bear Paw Mountains. Anyhow,
we had our travel for nothing."
I suspected that Stanwix and his crowd had passed
the winter somewhere between the Snowy Mountains
and Emigrant Gulch, the other side of the Yellowstone,
while we were hunting wolves in the country bordering
the Judith Basin, but did not ask, since they chose not
to impart information as to their movements other than
as given in the adventure above related.
They were frank and agreeable in all other matters,
and on their part asked no questions. I put them down
as Southerners, perhaps from the Texas border; however, my curiosity concerning them was only mildly
alive, being content with their good fellowship. A
chance remark that was made about "Hunter's
Springs," and "Whitmore's Basin" led me to suspect
that they intended to strike the Yellowstone higher up
than I intended, but I would go along if they desired
my company, knowing that I would not lack for company when once I reached the river.
Next morning while drinking our coffee and testing
the contents of a Dutch oven well filled with fried meat,
Stanwix said: "Kelly, we are going to hit the high
places for the Yellowstone today, and it may be higher
up the river than you want to go. I hope that you %will
keep right along with us."
"Well," I answered, "if you will let me off somewhere
near the mouth of the Big Horn I shall feel at home."
I got out my supply of sugar, coffee, salt, and flour and
divided with them, saying that I had enough to last until I struck some military camp.
145




"Yellowstone Kelly"
Somewhere below Pompey's Pillar I left my chance
acquaintances, who wended their way up the river while
I pursued my course in the opposite direction on a wellworn road. By the time I reached the mouth of the Big
Horn I met and passed wagons going down with supplies, and a wagon train going up the Yellowstone accompanied by detachments and units returning to their
stations in the mountains. I remember one or two camps
of soldiers between the Rosebud and Tongue rivers,
temporary camps awaiting orders, or getting ready to
march with Crook across the Black Hills.
I did not follow the windings of the river or I might
have run into other organizations, but at the mouth of
the Powder there was considerable stir, for Crook was
getting his cavalry in shape to follow the retreating
Sioux, whose trails led to the breaks of the Little Missouri River. Steamboats were in evidence and I am not
sure if I did not meet again my old friend, Captain
Grant Marsh of the Far West. I know that at the Powder I ran across Vic Smith, who was already a prominent and valuable scout attached to some of the expeditionary forces.
When the military cantonment at the junction of the
Tongue and Yellowstone rivers was in process of
building, I was on my way up Yellowstone Valley intending to return to Judith Basin, when I fell in with
some Montana miners and.prospectors traveling down
stream. The news these men had caused me to change
my mind about going to the Basin and to turn back with
them to the new camp, which I now learned was under
the command of General Miles.
With one of these men I turned aside to hunt in the
cedar hills on the north side of the valley, where we ran
146




With General Miles


upon a very large cinnamon bear, which at once put up
a ravine. My companion and I separated, he going to
the left and I to the right, though I saw no justification
in shooting a bear at that season of the year. Presently
I saw Mr. Bear only a few yards off in a hollow, and I
plugged him with a.40 caliber bullet. He lurched and
fell, tried to get up again, and fell dead. While I stood
near his head regarding him, mv companion returned
and dismounting, fired point-blank at the head of the
already dead animal, saying, "You can never tell when
a bear may revive and rush one." I suspected, however,
that his chief desire was to be in at the killing. When we
overhauled the cinnamon he proved to be very fat. We
estimated that several hundred pounds of fat covered
his back and sides and that he would weigh ten or twelve
hundred pounds, or perhaps more. The fur was poor
and thin and of little value. I contented myself with taking a generous slab of back fat, one of his big paws, and
the remaining claws, and then I had a load that was disagreeable to both the pony and his rider.
In those days the valley of the Yellowstone held some
grand bottom lands with groves of cottonwood with
grassy prairies between; and where the shallows of the
river swept around were thickets of tall willows where
the deer and elk loitered in the heat of the day, and the
Indian came for material to build his sweat house or
bull boat. The beautiful land is still there, but it is now
fenced in and the romance and the wild life are gone
forever.
Down the valley we rode, ever on the watch for game
movements, for fresh trails crossed in every direction.
At last we arrived near the site of the military cantonment, situated on an open plain on the south side of the
147




"Yellowstone Kelly"
river, about a mile above the junction of Tongue River.
Crossing on a rude ferry operated by soldiers, we found
the camp nearly deserted. Only Captain Randall, quartermaster, was visible, and he, good soldier and responsible officer, was looking after his property. We got acquainted without much ceremony; the soldiers were off
in the woods cutting timbers for use in building quarters
for the command and cover for supplies, and General
Miles was along with the working parties.
Captain Randall noticed the big bear's paw hanging
from my saddle. He smiled and said, "That's about as
big as they make them, is it not?" I slipped the paw
from the saddle leather and held it up; it was over a
foot long without the claws.
"The General will want to see you," said the Captain. "He is curious to learn all he can about this country."
I still held the cinnamon's right hand aloft, having in
mind to give it to him, but I said, "I will send it up as
my card."
Captain Randall called an orderly and sent the paw
to the General's tent with my compliments. After he
had returned from the forest and learned who had left
the card he sent for me. I walked over to the camp and
tapped at his tent door. He bade me enter.
I had met him but once before and then only casually
while with Vic Smith, the scout, whose acquaintance I
had made one day at Powder River while observing the
stir and confusion incident to drawing rations and supplies, for Crook was to begin his march to the Black
Hills in the morning. While standing there General
Miles rode up and accosted Vic Smith. Any picture of
Miles at that period will show him in the full vigor and
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With General Miles
flush of manhood. He had an eye for details, and noticing something loose about Vic's bridle he leaned over
and adjusted it while Vie said, deprecatingly, "Oh,
never mind, General."
The General questioned me about the country north
of the Yellowstone and as far as the British line, its accessibility as a field for operations against hostile Indians, and the location and disposition of the Sioux toward the north, all of which I answered to the best of
my ability, having roved for years in parts of that region, hunting, trapping, and "standing off" bad Indians. The country just north of the mouth of the
Tongue River and beyond the valley of the Yellowstone
as far as the Missouri was little known to me, however, or to anyone who lived in the country at that period. It had been given over to the Sioux and their allies
and was a blank on any map available. Before our interview came to a close I was impressed with the fact that
General Miles had in view considerable fall and winter
campaigning, not forgetting hunting trips as a source
of relaxation.
I wended my way to the camp of my hunter friends
near the river, where I found a cozy camp fire under
the cottonwoods. I was nowN chief scout for the district
of the Yellowstone.
Not many days had passed when I received instructions to proceed north to the Milk River country to
learn what I could about certain semi-hostile Sioux reported to be encamped on or near Frenchman's Creek
in the heart of a great buffalo region. Nearly all of the
country to be traversed was a great game country and
choice buffalo range, dominated in part by the different
bands of Hunkpapa, Teton, Oglala, and Yankton, who
149




"Yellowstone Kelly"
were jealous of encroachments by other Indians. No
white man in my time had gone through that region.
My intention was to strike straight across country for
Fort Peck, opposite the mouth of the Big Dry, on the
Missouri. It was a long, lonesome trip and I asked that
Vie Smith be detailed to accompany me, as two pairs of
eyes were better than one. General Miles gave me a
note to Colonel Otis, who was in command of a station
on the lower Yellowstone near Glendive Creek. Vie was
his guide and scout. It was really an imposition on my
part to deprive the Colonel of his services, but I had to
have someone of experience on such a perilous trip.
I rode down there and we made a little pack of bacon,
flour, sugar, and coffee to tie on our saddles. Late in the
afternoon we stopped at headquarters to bid the Colonel
good-by. As I remember it, this station was but a military camp of white tents, pitched convenient to the river
bank. Colonel Otis was a very pleasant gentleman,
whom I remember meeting but once again on the road
to Bismarck, Dakota, when Joseph and the remnant of
the Nez Perces were en route under guard to the states
in the following year.
Colonel Otis said, "I wish you a successful trip, but I
have not the slightest idea where you are going."
I told him that we purposed crossing the Missouri
near the Fort Peck trading post, and that the information received there would probably govern our further
movements before returning directly to the Tongue
River cantonment.
As we left the broken country bordering the Yellowstone and approached the low divide that looks down
upon dry water courses that give to the Missouri we exercised more caution. I had an excellent pair of heavy
150




With General Miles
field glasses of that day, which I had obtained a short
time before from one of General Terry's teamsters in
exchange for a pony. As he gave me my choice of a mule
or the glasses I surmised that they were contraband of
war, as both were the regulation article. However, the
government charges such losses to accidents in the service, or to a battle, and Jake Gordon, teamster, was
probably aware of the fact.
It was now night, with no moon and the sky only
partly clear. I had never before been in that part of the
country. Nevertheless, we continued on far into the
night, as long as we could see. We had encountered no
timber since leaving the Yellowstone, excepting here
and there a scraggly cottonwood, but now before us
was a low plain dotted with shrubbery and a shimmer
of water. Was this a mirage of the night? We stepped
carefully toward it and the whole thing melted away as
a band of buffaloes and their near friends, a cloud of
white antelopes, slipped out of sight.
Farther on we came to the edge of a ridge and could
see far down, seemingly into a park of scattered timber.
The descent appeared precipitous. "Here is where we
walk," I said, as we dismounted. Leading our horses we
stepped over the edge and in a few yards found ourselves on a little flat covered with sage brush that the
night had magnified into big trees afar off. Traveling
across country over unfamiliar ground on a night not
too clear is trying to the nerves, and we made our way
slowly, routing out buffaloes that were invisible to us,
but indicated by our horses pricking up their ears and
changing gait a trifle. They could see pretty well in the
night, but for us the rumble of hoofs, the odor of warm
151




"Yellowstone Kelly"
bodies, and the light skim of dust that held in the air
was convincing enough.
After midnight we halted in a place which seemed
to be secluded from observation, where there was a little
grass. Picketing our mounts, we sought out a smooth
spot where we placed our saddles and rolling our blankets about us slept until the sun was up. It is hard to
find a place in the night that is not exposed to view from
some point, and ours proved no exception. Nevertheless,
we dared not move for fear of alarming the buffaloes
that were all about, which would quickly draw attention
if any Indians happened to be in the vicinity. According
to my reckoning we were not far from Big Dry Creek.
If correct, we could reach that stream lower down by
following the tributary on which we were encamped.
About noon we started down the gulch and after watering our horses made good time to Big Dry, where we ascertained that the trails had not been used by horsemen
lately, and, satisfied that the coast was clear, rode rapidly on, reaching the mouth late in the afternoon.
I found some changes at Fort Peck since my last
visit, when en route with Broadwater's ox train to Carroll, on the upper river. An agent of the Interior Department was in charge and a class of young Indians
was in process of formation for instruction. What a
changel Gone was the romance of the trader, trapper,
hunter! Enter the new order of educationl A trim and
pleasant-faced gentleman gave us a bed to sleep in.
Heretofore you spread your blanket, or perhaps requisitioned a buffalo robe from the storeroom for your bed,
on the puncheon floor, and made a roll for a pillow.
This teacher engaged us in conversation and spoke
of plans for the welfare of the red man. I told him that
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With General Miles
if the plans of the district commander on the Yellowstone were carried out more than one camp of hostile
Indians would be settled in the valley where the soil
was rich and would need instruction in cultivating the
ground as soon as confidence and good feeling were
once established. I was dipping into the future somewhat, but all this came to pass in less than a twelvemonth, for the Sioux and Cheyenne whom we fought
at Wolf Mountain came out of the hills and made peace
with General Miles at the military camp near Tongiue
River on the Yellowstone.
I missed the old-time cook, George Cooley, who was
an artist at compounding dishes in which meat formed
the principal part. Whlen stormy weather hlad dispersed
the game to their sheltered haunts and fresh meat was
lacking, he made stews of pemmican of an alluring flavor. The factor would send favored Indians to George,
who would serve them meat and coffee and sometimes
bread, if they had rich furs to trade, for real bread was
a luxury in those days.
We learned that there were no permanent camps of
hostiles north of the river, and what few Indians had
drifted from the main camps were safely north of the
line. We returned to Tongue River in due time by another route, I think by the Red Water and Flagg
Creek, where no water is, but much mountain sheep
sign.
About October 15 came a courier from Colonel Otis'
command telling of an attack by hostiles on a wagon
train en route for Tongue River. At once preparations
were made to take the field and I looked any moment
for an order to go somewhere, but none came. The
wagon master got his train together, the commissary
153




"Yellowstone Kelly"
was issuing rations, and the ordnance officer looked after
his fieldpieces. Finally, General Miles with part of his
command crossed the Yellowstone and took the road
leading northwest along the river. Somewhere about
Sunday Creek he called me up and directed me to take
some scouts and make a night march and ascertain if
the Indians had left their camps below on the river, or
were still in hiding. It was assumed that their camps
were not far away and it was desirable to know if they
were encamped where it was feasible to approach them,
though my own opinion was that if they were on the
north side of the river they could easily recross and
harass any force that might attempt to use the same
ford. Anyway, it meant a night ride on a moonless
night, as I well remember, across a rough country, some
of it like the bad lands in character.
I had four scouts besides "Billy," a half-breed, who
was of much use to me in reaching the point I aimed at.
We traveled on and on under the mistv stars, stopping
at times at ridges and ravines to examine trails for
lodge-pole tracks. In the early hours of the morning it
became darker. We were now near the wooded valley
which infringed sharply upon the foothills, or bluffs, we
had crossed. A well-traveled trail led along and soon
turned off into short brush which had been cleared, and
here was the site of an Indian village that had been
abandoned but a short time before, as the lodge fires had
left the ground still warn under them. We examined
the ground as hastily as we could and noted that there
were two camps in this place, one where the lodges were
pitched without order and one in which the tents were
arranged in a circle, indicating the presence of a party
of Cheyenne.
154




With General Miles


Some of the horses were pretty well used up. The Indians had gone and we must be sure to pick up the main
trail at first streak of dawn. I looked at my watch and
said, "We will rest here one hour." In a moment every
man tied his horse to brush or willow, and lying down
where we were, sleep came at once, as though we were
on a bed of spruce boughs.
At the very first streak of dawn we were up and looking for the trail, which was found with difficulty, and
we sped along, men and horses greatly refreshed by the
short rest. The air was calm and cool; as the morning
changed from semi-darkness to light the outlook ahead
presented a stretch of ridges to a divide that seemed a
long way off. Each point was searched for some form of
life, but there was nothing moving that could be seen,
only a bare country of brown and yellow grass and low
shrubs that struggled for existence.
Before we reached the divide the boom of artillery was
heard at intervals, indicating that some fighting was going on. We pressed on, eager to learn how the fight was
faring, and to take part in it if possible. Before we
reached the top of the divide horsemen could be seen
circling on the far hills, and as we got higher there lay
before us a wide, treeless valley of yellow grass, on the
farther slope of which a small train of army wagons
moved slowly toward the ridge, while on either side a
line of soldiers afforded protection against the Indians,
who were darting and circling on two sides of the train
and exchanging fire with the troops, who were firing at
will whenever a mark presented itself. The main column
marched in front and a rear guard behind.
The command was over a mile away, but we dashed
down from the divide full tilt toward the train, for there
155




"Yellowstone Kelly"
was no other way of approach without making a wide
detour on our back course, a change which did not commend itself at that moment. The Indians paid little attention to us until we had got to the dry water-course in
the center of the flat valley, thinking perhaps that we
were a part of reinforcements coming to their aid. Then
they turned upon us while we were trying to keep out
of the way of the burning prairie grass, but we easily
drove them back. The valley was now hazy with smoke;
only the rear guard was visible, and they seemed farther
off than they really were, as we rode toward them, when
suddenly they fired a volley point-blank at us.
Hardly had the bullets ceased to whine over our
heads, or the smoke to roll from the rifles of our sharpshooter friends, before we had taken to cover. I went to
the right tinder a bank, my companions to the left in a
ravine. My thirst was so great at this moment that seeing a pool of water in front of me, just beyond a roll of
prairie fire, I dashed through it, and falling flat, drank
until my thirst was allayed. Returning to the friendly
bank that had sheltered me, I peeped over and saw the
rear guard, each man bent over and carrying his gun at
a trail, advancing cautiously toward the spot where they
supposed they had dispatched or placed hors de combat
the too eager hostiles, who a moment before were pressing on their front so confidently. A non-commissioned
officer was in advance, and when he came near I raised
up and called to him. As soon as he saw me he turned to
those behind him and called out, "Men, it's the scouts!"
My companions were little pleased with our adventure, and thought that I displayed unseemly glee at being subjected to a fusillade at such close quarters. Of
course if the atmosphere had been clear, instead of be156




With General Miles
ing hazy with smoke, these soldiers never would have
missed us. They were not shooting for fun and I blessed
the gods that watch over careless folks. I made my way
to the head of the column, which had halted, and General Miles smiled as he greeted me.
The hostiles, seeking to detain the troops while their
people encamped beyond the hills were making a hurried retreat back to the Yellowstone, now left us, and
the pursuit took the broad trail which the Indians could
not hide, though the grass had been fired with the purpose of effacing it. The command encamped without
turning aside from the trail.
Some time in the night a soldier awakened me from
sound sleep, saying the General wished to see me. I
found him with his staff of officers lying on the ground,
wrapped in their military cloaks and blankets. The
General questioned me at some length regarding the
distance to the river, the fords, probable course of the
fleeing Indians, and other matters that I do not remember now, though I have a vivid recollection that the
night was clear and cold and while all around the
ground was covered with sleeping bodies the commander was awake and taking measures for the coming
day's work.
As usual, the scouts were ahead of the column. WVe
came to the bank of the Yellowstone about noon that
day, on an open, grassy bottom, the Indian trail leading
to the ford a few hundred yards above. By direction of
the General, Lieutenant Bailey of the Fifth Regiment
went to examine the ford and I accompanied him. I
think there were two or three soldiers along. I rode part
way across the channel at the deepest point in order to
demonstrate to the onlookers that the ford %was feasible
157




"Yellowstone Kelly"
and easy if a fellow did not mind wading in cold water
to his waistline, about forty feet on a gravelly bottom.
It shallowed to the farther bank, but I hesitated about
going over, not knowing how many redskins might be
concealed in the low fringe of willows that garnished the
sand bar.
Indians were seen in the woods at this place before
we returned to the waiting command, and I was expecting an order to take the scouts and see what kind of
hornet's nest we could stir up on the farther bank, when
an Indian rode into view, bearing a pole with a white
rag attached, and halloed across the water.
I am not sure whether Billy, the half-breed, acted as
interpreter during the parley that ensued, or whether
that fine interpreter and man, John Brughier, served in
this capacity. Anyway, the Indians responded to an invitation to talk and came over in numbers. Some did not
come direct to meet the officers, but circled around like
wild creatures suspicious of a trap. Finally, the leading
men sat down in a half-circle on the yellow grass, facing
General Miles and his officers. With the soldiers hovering in the background and the October sun above casting light and warmth, the group made an interesting
and striking picture.
One incident I recall clearly. Gall, the cunning fellow,
did not come in with the rest of the chiefs, but after the
conference had started he crossed the river alone and
took his seat with the rest in the circle. Hard-tack had
been passed around, and Gall, taking four in his hand,
took a big bite out of all four like a hungry man. Some
point of interest being stated, he suddenly ceased
munching with his jaws and listened intently, while a
wild look shone in his eyes.
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With General Miles


The parley ended by the Indians agreeing to go to
their agencies, and to show their good faith they left
several of their chiefs as hostages for the surrender of
their people. The troops now returned to the cantonment on Tongue River.


159




CHAPTER X


A WINTER PURSUIT OF HOSTILE
INDIANS
T was not long before General Miles had another
expedition organized and ready for field service.
He had learned that part of the hostile Sioux had
escaped north and knew that a winter campaign would
bring them to terms or result in driving them so far
north that they would cease to be a menace. This was
hard on the troops, but still harder on the redskins, who
were forced to live on the country and had no supply
depot to fall back on.
Your wild Indian in order to live comfortably must
camp where there is game and also grass for his pony
herds and where the women can dress hides to barter for
flour, cloth, powder and shell munition, salt, and sugar.
So they slipped north to their old hunting grounds east
of the Musselshell and along the Missouri and north of
it, where they could scatter out safely.
Early in November we crossed the Yellowstone and
headed for the unknown country of the Big Dry, a
tributary of the Missouri that is not much of a watercourse during the dry season, but a great feeding
ground for buffalo that come down out of the far north
at the approach of winter and fill all the shelter ranges
along the Bear Paw Mountains, Milk River, and the
country south. Traders and half-breeds came down from
the Canadian side and made robes in the Milk River
region, and bought robes of the wild Indians on this side
of the line. Occasionally the Indians could buy a little
160




A Winter Pursuit


Red River rum in exchange for robes and skins, a beverage that found much favor with them.
A crossing was made of the Missouri near Fort Peck.
Here I was detached with a small party of scouts, with
orders to go down the right bank of the river a certain
distance in search of any camps of Indians that might
have been delayed in joining the main camps said to be
moving north, and then cut across country and overtake
some troops who wNere to be detached from the main
column to explore the forks of the Big Dry for hostile
Indians. The command was well organized to encounter
cold weather as well as Indians, and most of the nmen and
officers, accustomed to service on the plains, were hardened to a high point of efficiency, willing and able to go
anywhere.
We rode down the right bank of the Missouri while
dark clouds gathered denoting a storm. Finally, it (lid
snow heavily, covering all tracks, but we pushed on for
there was no stopping until we had got beyond WANolf
Point. Down in the bottom a dry cottonwood stump
was burning and had melted the snow away, and here
we found evidence of a small camp of three or four
lodges of Indians, who had decamped leaving no trail,
for the snow had covered it.
The air now being clear of snow, and not deeming it
necessary to follow the river any longer, I left my companions to make a fire while I crossed the river to a
small cabin or trading establishment to obtain what information I could regarding hostile Indians in the vicinity. This was a risky piece of business as there was
water and slush on top of the ice. I therefore dismounted, and making a rough hackamore of the end of
my lariat, led my horse, so that if the ice proved to be
161




"Yellowstone Kelly"
thin I could recover and either return or make a detour
on firmer footing. It was dark before I had made my
way through the woods to the buildings used for trading with the Assiniboin and other Indians that passed
along the trails going to or returning from the north. I
learned that three families had crossed the river that
day, having been alarmed at the approach of the military down the Big Dry, of which they had been advised
by relatives in the Sioux camp.
It was too dark to return that night across the river,
though I feared that if the thawing weather continued
there would be much water on the ice by morning. Nevertheless, I took the chance and spent a pleasant evening with these people, who confidently looked forward
to the government at last taking the wild Indians in
hand and establishing agencies for their betterment. In
the morning an Indian boy showed me where the families had crossed, though the moving water had obliterated all signs. The boy said that the ice was auta, and
offered to go ahead, but I shook my head, thinking that
I would rather encounter the danger alone than have a
boy, even an Indian boy, tackle it in my behalf. I
pushed ahead without leading, as the water was clear
and I could see that the ice was strong.
I found my companions ready to take the trail, and
having decided that we had come far enough on our
quest, which was now blocked by the cover of snow,
without wasting time I led the way over the hills to join
the expedition en route for the Big Dry, for they might
be in need of our services if they went very far in that
direction. We took the high ground so as to be able to
see over the country for some distance, but the gray sky
gave a somber cast to the uplands, on which the ante162




, -  r    r'. A


I


t


I SW;!'NEILI, AIL1S.NI) STA[F IN WINTER;ARIi,(1s,!$75-76








A Winter Pursuit


lopes trotting in a circle stood out clear and distinct
against clay bank or drifted snow. We saw no other
game, not even a slinking wolf or fox.
Late in the afternoon Jim Wood, one of the scouts,
killed a two-year-old buffalo bull in a hollow where a
few young cottonwoods gave promise of water seepage.
Our horses were tired and hungry and we did not wish
to appear on the skyline after a shot had been fired, so
we went into camp. As soon as the saddles had been removed from the horses we took our light axes and cut
down the green cottonwoods, and after removing the
limbs, turned our animals to the trunks, which they began to nibble at once with gusto. There is a lot of nutriment in the green bark of the yellow cottonwood and
horses munch it eagerly. Cattle will chew the buds and
smaller limbs, but cannot gnaw the bark.
Our horses being provided for, we rustled dry brush
and limbs for a fire, which was soon blazing with little
or no smoke. We then fell to upon the buffalo carcass.
First the tongue was deftly extracted; this went to the
man who had dropped his quarry so conveniently within
the limits of our camping ground. The hide was next removed, a careful operation where several knives were in
juxtaposition. This also went to the killer, who spread
it on the ground and carefully pegged it down, a soft
and warm adjunct to blanket cover for a night's rest.
Around the small camp fire men gathered with sharpened green saplings, garnished with strips of raw meat
and ribs, and sought to smother the fire with drippings
of fat, the odor of which carried on the night air to a
greater distance than the light of the fire. Afterward
coffee was made and then the fire was dimmed, for our
163




"Yellowstone Kelly"
horses would scent an Indian or a wolf and give us
timely notice.
We were off early next morning without breakfast.
Coming to the Big Dry, we found that we were a little
ahead of the trail, and circling around we found it faring up a more northerly branch, where we stayed a
space for breakfast and to let the stock graze on the
herbage. Following on, we came to where the land flattened out and saw on a far ridge a single horseman, but
could not tell whether it was a white man or an Indian.
Following the soldier trail, we came to some rough
ground of washed ravines and cut banks on our left, and
riding on, received a volley of musketry which startled
our horses, and for a minute we had a hard time holding
them. We saw five Indians running for dear life to shelter and before they reached cover gave them a volley,
though it did not stop any of them. They were so close
that we could see their breechclouts trailing behind
them, and the feathers fastened in their hair. We raced
up and down to find some place to come at these fellows,
but the ground was too rough and broken to work in.
They had been waiting for us in safe ground near the
trail, knowing that we were bound to pass that way, and
the man on the ridge no doubt advised them as to our
movements.
As no one was hurt I thought it advisable that we push
on and join the column ahead, which we found on one of
the forks of the Big Dry. Learning that the officer in
command expected to remain in that vicinity for a number of days, or as long as his supplies permitted, I made,
at his instance, a trip to the divide north, to spy out the
land and ascertain whether there was any movement of
troops in that direction.
164




A Winter Pursuit


Not discovering anything to warrant going as far as
the Missouri I returned to the command at the Big Dry,
and the commander having determined to return to the
cantonment at Tongue River, I led him by a way that
would reveal any hidden camps of Indians that might
have scouting parties out, such as the one that had fired
into our party a few days back. The general course,
however, led toward the Yellowstone, which we reached
without further incident a few days later.
It now appeared by the latest information that the
General purposed on his return trip to cross the Missouri somewhere below the mouth of the M[usselshell
River, and thus penetrate the favorite hunting grounds
of the hostile Indians, attacking them or driving them
toward other columns detached for the same purpose,
and keeping them on the move in winter weather when
they were least prepared for such a movement and harry
them until they were in a mood to submit to the government. It was a well-laid plan, and was carried out with
skill and resolution with a small body of troops, who
traversed a great extent of country over unknown trails
in a vast region but poorly mapped. The officer in command of the cantonment in the absence of General
Miles directed me to return across country and make
every effort to find the main column of troops still in the
field. I took two scouts with me. On the second day
while we were cooking our breakfast two shots came
faintly on the wind, and taking horse we rode forward a
mile when we saw the prints of two pairs of army shoes
and the ground torn where a band of buffaloes had been
disturbed. Farther on was a lift of smoke above a gulch,
or narrow valley. When we worked around to get a better view there was disclosed a military force in process
165




"Yellowstone Kelly"9
of breaking camp. It proved to be General Miles and his
command, in very good trim after the arduous campaign, which was now nearing completion. The General
received us with some satisfaction and inquired for the
welfare of the column operating along the Big Dry.
Soon afterward we struck the trail we had made and
took our way to the cantonment.
Here, soon after our arrival, occurred one of the
minor tragedies of the war. From the hostile camps
near the head of the Tongue River came a small party
of Indians. To their left lay the cantonment; to the
right, the timber-fringed river, along which a few lodges
of Crow Indians were encamped. They saw the Crow
lodges but did not pause, confident, perhaps, that the
nearness of the white soldiers would afford them protection. As they trotted along on their hardy ponies the
Crows advanced with outstretched hands and under pretense of shaking hands pulled several off their ponies,
shooting and stabbing them at the same time. The rest
sped to the hills unpursued. It may be that they came
to spy on the military, or perhaps to confer with them in
order to propose a truce for the winter, which would
have been much to their advantage if not offset by conditions hampering their freedom to hunt on their favorite buffalo grounds.
A few days later a party of thieving Indians drove
off the beef herd from the outskirts of the cantonment.
General Miles at once organized a force to follow the
raiding party. In order to carry plenty of supplies, the
transportation was increased by the addition of an ox
train of wagons. A start was made in the last days of
December, 1876, the scouts, as usual, in advance. The
almost constant passage of buffaloes and Indian travois
166




I{'.'.A 1( )   tI(lRN
iBANNOC)'K INDIAN       S(i'()"i'.J1IN     IlI{'(.IIIlE{!I\IAI.-Ii.()I) S~I}('X (GU     I)E.\NI)
i NTl'iI~t PIlt Fi.T'1. it


"L IVI 1-t-lV\I'ING(; JOHNSON"I
IND)IAN I'!H;1I1'ER AND SCOUT








A Winter Pursuit


packs kept the trail smooth up and down water courses,
so that the wagons had little difficulty in keeping up
with the marching column, and we made very good
progress up Tongue River until we came to a remarkable congregation of rude shacks, big and little, that
lined one side of the valley.
These were built of slabs and poles, rocks, and turf
set in heterogeneous fashion, as though a large party of
Indians had suddenly been attacked and driven from
their camp on a freezing night and in their flight had
happened on this spot and built these shacks to keep
from perishing. It seems quite probable that this was
the village that General Mackenzie had attacked and
destroyed earlier in the season. As we advanced up
Tongue River the valley narrowed and we came to
where a large camp had been abandoned a day or two
before, for the ground was still warm where the tepee
fires had been. This camp was a large one and extended
for miles up the valley. The trail of the stolen cattle led
to it, and some of them had been butchered there.
Next morning, where we crossed the river through
the willows there was a strong smell of Indian tobacco
in the still, cold air, and the fresh print of pony tracks
indicated that the young men were keeping watch over
the advance of the troops. I had with me the three Johnsons (one of whom was the celebrated hunter and frontiersman on whom rested the sobriquet of "Liver-eating
Johnson"), Tom LaFarge, interpreter for the Crows,
three young Crow men, and Buffalo Horn, a Bannock,
who was one of the bravest Indians I have ever had anything to do with.
Soon after, one morning early, the ox drivers, assisted by two or three soldiers, were driving in the cattle
167




"Yellowstone Kelly"
that had wandered, when they were attacked by a party
of hostiles and two of the soldiers were killed. We were
in the advance and turned back, but the Indians had disappeared. The command halted to bury the two soldiers. Their grave was dug on the trail so that the passage of the troops and wagons would obliterate any
sign of the burial. The scouts went ahead, and I think
that it was that night that we made a night march to the
Rosebud to ascertain if there were any camps on that
stream. No sign was apparent, so we returned to camp
about daylight.
That day we traveled farther than usual ahead of the
command and had gotten more than a mile when we
struck an open place in the timber where the winter sun
shone warmly. We stopped to rest without posting a
picket, and before we knew it every man was in a
drowse. The valley of the Tongue River had now narrowed to a wide gulch, pretty well timbered. On one
side the timber obscured the line of low bluffs; on the
other side it was more open and we could see the banks
above the gulch. While we were nodding (traveling all
night had beguiled us from paying strict attention to
business) the Indians were watching us from both sides,
and it was easy to signal from one side to the other.
They were creeping through the brush to attack us, and
had nearly reached a position where they could fire on
us without exposing themselves greatly when the three
Crow scouts and Buffalo Horn, from the column now
nearing, passed through our little opening, and riding
on to look for deer ran on to these hidden hostiles, who
fired point-blank at them and decamped at the instant.
The Crows retired, flat on their horses, with much
precipitation, but Buffalo Horn followed the attacking
168




A Winter Pursuit


party, closely supported by the white scouts, who pushed
the Indians through the timber and over the ridge to
where they seemed to be in great force. The command
stopped and went into camp, the Indians, now fully in
view, watching us from a point of rock. Before dark
they went up the river and we saw no more of them until
the next day. As we advanced the country ahead became
rugged and elevated. WVe were getting close to the WAVolf
Mountains, out of which the Tongue River debouched.
The command halted and went into camp, while the
scouts went ahead. There was a strong, cold wind and
we stopped behind a cedar tree for shelter and concealment while looking ahead. I took my field glasses from
the case, and turning them in the direction of the winding valley above, noted some figures moving in our direction. The Indians soon discovered them and said at
once that people were approaching. Ahlien they came
a little closer I saw by their peculiar swi inging gait that
some of the party were women, and I notified the Indian scouts that they must not be harmed or startled,
that we would show ourselves quietly to them and convey them to headquarters.
They continued to advance along the snow-covered
trail, unaware, apparently, that their people had moved
camp and were far above the Tongue River. I now saw
there were three women, a boy, a girl, and a child. As
they came within a few yards of the position we had
taken we rode quietly out, making signs to them not to
be alarmed. They stopped where they were and commenced to cry. The Crows touched each gently with the
coup stick and I motioned them to continue along the
trail. They seemed rather above the average type, and
though we questioned them in Sioux they made no re169




"Yellowstone Kelly"
sponse. I surmised that they were probably members of
some prominent family who had been on a visit to some
distant camp, and returning missed their people who
were all around us. I reported to General Miles and
they were kindly treated, a tent and food being provided for them.
Shortly after this there was another alarm of Indians.
I routed out the four white scouts and we raced up the
river again, the Crows and the Bannock not following.
We soon saw four or five warriors showing themselves
from behind the crest of a ridge. When we had attained
the point where the women were found we could see ten
or fifteen Indians behind the ridge awaiting our approach. Having the lead and thinking rapidly, I concluded the proper thing to do was to charge them. They
were resting their guns on their crossed gunsticks and
when we arrived within fifty yards some forty or fifty
of them who had been concealed rose up and delivered
their fire as we circled and returned the volley. The indifferent marksmanship of the Indians alone saved us.
Tom LaFarge's horse was shot under him and another
horse was disabled.
There was a little bunch of scrub oak in a hollow a
short distance away and we made for it. To reach it we
were compelled to jump our horses down a rocky shelf
five or six feet to solid ground. All this time the Indians
were firing away at us, the bullets striking the rocks and
raising little dust patches from the ground. It was miraculous that no one was seriously hurt.
Arriving at the bunch of oaks, we quickly changed all
this. Throwing the bridle reins down, our horses stood
while we paid attention to the Indians, who were now
scattered along the ridge and would pop up, but never
170




A Winter Pursuit


in the same place twice, and without taking much aim
blaze away at us. Whenever an Indian showed his head
long enough to draw a bead on it he generally disappeared for good, but they were very shy of exposing
themselves long enough for us to get a shot. They kept
up a constant whooping to encourage each other and
shifted their ground so as to surround us on three sides.
Our Indian scouts, who had tardily followed us, took
up a position about two hundred yards away in the direction of the command and did good execution in keeping their side clear, but the Bannock, Buffalo Horn,
who was with them, came riding up to us at this critical
time as calmly and deliberately as though nothing had
happened and took station near me.
Our enemy now numbered more than a hundred.
There was a lull in the firing, an ominous lull. Pointing
to the high bank just above us, I nodded to Buffalo
Horn and together we dashed up it just in time to intercept three Indians who were stealthily approaching our
retreat. Almost before we could fire at them they had
worked out of sight in the most wonderful way. They
seemed to fly along the ground, but I am confident that
I made a hit in that flying exit of feathers, legs, and
arms. The Indians now made it so hot for us at this
point that I hastily returned to my companions, but
Buffalo Horn, ignoring my call, secreted himself in
some crevice and kept them off on that side.
It may be imagined that the command was not idle
during this fusillade. Being informed of the firing, General Miles directed a detachment of soldiers under Lieutenant Hargous to proceed up the valley, but to beware
of an ambush. At the same time the General ordered a
171




"Yellowstone Kelly"
shell fired at some Indians who could be seen on a hill
near our position.
There was another lull in the firing, broken only by
scattered shots, and we fully expected to be charged by
the ever increasing body of Indians. Just then a shell
came over our heads and exploded a little way beyond
their line. This scattered and confused them somewhat,
and gave us a chance to get to higher ground and fire a
few more shots at them. We now saw the detachment of
infantry marching rapidly in our direction; as it was
now nearly dusk we got out of the place as quickly as
we could, but no persuasion would bring the Bannock
and it Nwas long after dark when he reached camp. He
hid behind a fallen tree and shot two of the Cheyenne
as they followed the soldiers to camp.
All night the Indians surrounded the camp, and under an overcast sky some of them managed to creep
close enough to communicate with the women prisoners,
who cried out to them in answer to some shouted words
in the Cheyenne language. Some shots were exchanged
with the camp guards, then quiet settled down, for all
lights were out. The Indians, seemingly, had retired, as
was usual, to a distance to their bivouac, to await the
dawn.
The military were astir very early the next morning
and breakfast was served without delay. We were
camped on the right bank of the Tongue River, and a
bench above the edge of the camp formed a little mesa
to a sloping bluff that extended to a ridge about four
hundred yards distant. The bank leading to this ledge
was about twenty-five feet high. Up this bank a fieldpiece was taken and planted in a position to resist attack, or to be held in reserve for any emergency.
172




A Winter Pursuit


The fighting soon became general on two sides; above
in the timber, and across the stream, which at this point
was shallow and small. The Indians closed in gradually,
taking advantage of the convenient covering on all
sides. But the soldiers also had excellent cover, of which
they took advantage to drive the Indians from some of
the positions they had attained. The firing now was fast
and furious on both sides.
As this was a soldiers' fight, where the scout would
find little freedom to exercise strategy in stealing upon
the enemy without danger of being subjected to a cross
fire from both sides, I became a mere spectator, so I took
my place near the artillery on the bench, where General Miles stood with a little switch in his hand directing
operations.
The fieldpiece was a target for some of the Indian
marksmen, and the mules had been taken down from the
hill, one of them having been shot. Indeed, a bullet
struck one of the spokes of the wheel while I stood there.
I got busy with mv field glasses and searched every
bush and tree within rifle shot for signs of the hidden
marksmen, thinking that if I could locate the rascals I
might by some artifice turn the tables on them, under
the protection of the fieldpiece, before they did some serious harm.
But soon my attention was attracted to another point
by the hasty gathering of a large force of horsemen in the upper part of the field for some demonstration. When they started I called General Miles' attention to the movement and he was quick to see that they
were headed for the ridge within musket shot of the spot
where we stood. Two companies were ordered to the
summit to drive the Indians back. This force was led by
178




"Yellowstone Kelly"
Majors Butler and Casey. As the troops labored up the
steep ascent in the snow the Indians raced to anticipate
them and arrived at the summit first. The General gave
another order and presently I saw Captain Baldwin,
with a box of rifle ammunition on the front of his saddle,
riding to overtake the column. Certainly the box could
not have been full for the weight would have taxed the
strength of both horse and rider, but he made it manfully and when next I caught a glimpse of him he was
waving his hat and urging the men on.
The Indians, having won the race to the summit, resorted to a ruse to draw the fire of the soldiers in the advance. The ridge was level and along it in full view the
medicine chief of the party in full costume of feathered
cloak and war bonnet danced for a space of forty yards
in the most graceful and nonchalant manner. To the observer who understood the meaning of this action the
different phases that assumed shape as the little drama
proceeded were of absorbing interest. In his fate the Indians would read success or failure in their sally; if the
magic of his charm worked he could not be killed, and
supported by this demonstration his confederates would
carry everything before them.
As soon as the soldiers arrived at the point where
they could see the medicine man they stopped and commenced shooting at him. He paid no attention, however,
but just danced along and when he got to the end of the
path that he had apparently marked out for himself, he
swung easily and danced to the other end. The longer
he was the object of attention the faster the soldiers
blazed away. But he did not stay long, for his pace subsided to a walk and finally he tottered and disappeared
from view just as the Indians got into position to fire at
174




A Winter Pursuit


the approaching soldiers, who took the ridge in storming fashion. Several warriors were killed or wounded in
this skirmish, and as the soldiers mounted the crest of
the hill the Indians were seen retreating down the ridges
to the main body. They never rallied after this, but
moved slowly up the river into the shadows of Wolf
Mountain.
Snow had been falling for some time, yet General
Miles followed the Indians with part of his command to
make sure that they had left for good, and then returned to camp. The expedition now returned to the
cantonment. The captive women were treated with the
utmost kindness and after being held a month or two
they were sent back to the hostile camp under charge of
the half-breed interpreter, John Brughier, with a message to the hostile chiefs. Brughier, who was a very capable and trustworthy man, had lived in the hostile
camp, having fled there to escape the officers of the law,
who were after him on account of a misunderstanding
he had had with a white man. At Cedar Creek he came
over to General Miles and from that time had been
identified with the military operations.
So Brughier and the three Cheyenne women traveled
up the Tongue and across the hills to where the hostile
Sioux and Cheyenne had made their camp near the Big
Horn Mountains. Finally, all trails led in one direction
to where herds of ponies grazed on snowy hills and
along wooded gulches, and there young men came out
to meet the travelers and escort them to their people.
The result of this meeting and the message Brughier
bore was to bring the leading warriors to the cantonment for a conference, where good feeling and confidence were established to such a degree that the major
175




"Yellowstone Kelly"
part of these warring people moved to the valley of the
Yellowstone in the vicinity of the cantonment, where under the direction and care of the government they were
taught the arts of peace and agriculture-truly a sudden
change of life for a wild people. Subsequently, acting
on the advice of friends, Brughier gave himself up to
the courts, where he was defended by that brilliant genius of the law, "Bill" Erwin, the famous criminal lawyer
of Minnesota, and cleared of the charge held against
him.
It was now about twelve years since I had left home
to enter the army in the closing year of the Civil War,
and as everything seemed quiet on the border I broached
to General Miles the subject of going east on a short
trip; he was not averse, but said that he had in mind a
spring campaign that I might not want to miss. However, I had my way about it and he gave me letters of
introduction to prominent officials in Washington, and
I departed.
The ice had gone out of the Yellowstone, and a small
party of non-commissioned officers and soldiers was
about to start on some business down the river in a large
boat, or mackinaw, so I made shift to secure passage
and I make no doubt but I paid my way in steering that
old tub through perilous rapids and around the rocks
and snags. I have a letter before me, written a few years
ago by one of the soldiers, Mr. L. Barker, now of Clay
Center, Kansas. "I have always held you in grateful remembrance since we made that voyage down the Yellowstone," he writes. "That ride through the ice and uprooted treetops worried me more than all the Indian
fighting I ever did."
Turning a bend near the mouth of the river, we came
176






GENERAL NELSON A. 1MILES IN 1s,7








A Winter Pursuit


suddenly upon an ice jam extending high above the
banks that blocked the channel from side to side and we
made haste to reach the shore. In the night the ice gorge
broke with much grinding and din, leaving a solid wall
on each side of the channel, and next morning, after a
survey to see if old Minnishushu was clear, we made our
way through this forbidding avenue of thrashing water
until the broad and swollen current of the Missouri received our battered craft and wafted us along a wooded
bend for the space of a mile to a plain on the farther
bank, where stood the military post of Fort Buford.
My stay in the East was short. City life, though exciting enough, was not to my liking, and aside from the
pleasure of a reunion with the home folks and meeting
again the friends of my boyhood, a trip to New York
and Washington completed the rounds and I was ready
to return to the plains and mountains of Montana and
Dakota.
I had my own saddle and in Bismarck, Dakota Territory, I borrowed a pony and set out for the lonely ride
up the Missouri. Of this journey I have little recollection until I reached a cabin halfway between Fort Berthold and the mouth of the Yellowstone. Here the hunter
who occupied the cabin informed me that an Indian
bound for the Yellowstone had camped there the previous night and was not more than three hours ahead of
me. I was now on familiar ground, though I had last
traveled the trail almost ten years before, wahen I had
my first serious conflict with wild Indians. I had been
on the trail about two hours when I suddenly came upon
a mounted Indian. I recognized him at once as Two
Moons, one of the chiefs who had fought us at AVolf
177




"Yellowstone Kelly"
Mountain the previous winter. We shook hands and
proceeded on our way in perfect amity.
Two Moons was the leader of one of the bands of
Cheyenne and Sioux that came in and submitted to
General Miles in preference to going to the southern
agencies to surrender, as many of the Indians did. He
was on his way back from the Middle West, whither he
had gone with other leading men to visit General Sheridan at his headquarters in Chicago, on some mission, as
I understood him, for the establishment of his people in
or near the Yellowstone Valley. A few months before
this, in bitter cold, we had been pursuing and fighting
these Indians, who were about the wildest and fiercest
on the plains. Now, in good fellowship, Two Moons and
I rode along the trail, single file as though we had always been the best of friends.
Two MAoons weighed about two hundred pounds and
had a pleasant face. He wore a black felt hat with a
feather and garnished band, a woolen shirt, leggings,
moccasins, and a painted robe adorned with picture
writing. If he carried a revolver it was not in evidence.
At the crossing of the Yellowstone he spied a wildcat
high in a cottonwood tree and called my attention to it
by pointing upward. I stopped and saw the animal on
the topmost bough. I drew a bead on him and he fell almost at our feet, to the great satisfaction of my companion, who exclaimed, Ah-hil wastel or something to
this effect, as though it was something of a feat. I
skinned the beast and gave the pelt to him, which
seemed to please him greatly.
By easy stages we made Tongue River, our destination. On this journey along the Yellowstone I noted the
scarcity of game, though it was not the season when it
178




A Winter Pursuit


might be found in abundance along a line of travel. Two
Moons, noticing my sweep of the plain for some moving
object, shook his head and said, "No buffaloes," and
pointing to the road, "Plenty wagon tracks, buffaloes
take to high ground." And it was true that on the hills
beyond the valley buffaloes were grazing.


179




CHAPTER XI


CHIEF JOSEPH COMES TO THE END
OF THE TRAIL
ARLY in the spring of 1877 I was directed to
go north to the Missouri River and beyond to
look for hostile Indians that had escaped north
to the border in the previous year. Sitting Bull and his
band had barely missed capture on the Red Water when
Lieutenant Frank D. Baldwin with a detachment of infantry charged the camp in a snowstorm. Joe Culbertson, a fine type of frontiersman, was guide on this occasion and did excellent work here and elsewhere. The
Indians got away, but they lost a lot of equipage and
some horses.
I well remember the night that Lieutenant Baldwin
returned to the cantonment on Tongue River and made
his report. I was with General Miles in his tent-covered
hut, having called on him in the evening, and he was relating some adventure of the battle of Chancellorsville
when a tap on the door was followed by the entrance of
this staff officer fresh from the field, who was greeted
warmly by the General. After shaking hands, I excused
my-self and retired for I saw that they had much to talk
about.
For my trip north I selected to accompany me Red
Mike, who was now a scout, and Haddo, a young corporal of the Fifth Infantry, who made one or two trips
with me and was a fine fellow as well as a good shot. He
was killed in the fight at the Bear Paw Mountains when
Chief Joseph of the Nez Perces surrendered. I did not
180




Chief Joseph's Retreat
know that Haddo was a medal of honor man until I saw
it in a book published almost thirty years later.
The region of country between the mouth of Tongue
River on the Yellowstone and Big Dry Creek had become familiar ground since I first traversed it with Vic
Smith in the late fall of 1876. Then we had traveled in
the night for safety; now we three were traveling at our
leisure in broad daylight with no pressing anxiety, for
were we not free scouts? Anyway, it was at least two
sleeps to the nearest camp of hostile Indians.
Though we had meat on the pack Mike shot an antelope and we camped in a coulee near an old gnarled cottonwood, close to a water-hole. I remember that roasting bones of the antelope kept us busy far into the night
-a treat in a safe camp before rolling into our blankets.
A most appetizing odor arises from bones roasting before an open fire, an odor that promotes congeniality
and fires expectation.
After we had crossed the Missouri and were jogging along a grassy plain covered with a new fall of
snow, Haddo looked behind and shouted, "Look back!"
We stopped, and turning saw a bunch of buffalo bulls,
twenty or more, headed for us at full speed, driven by
five Indians.
We dismounted and stood to one side, watching to
see what would happen. Before the animals came
abreast of us they swerved a little and one Indian, lunging alongside one of the buffaloes, deftly let loose two
arrows that buried themselves in his shaggy hide. His
example was followed by two others of the racing riders.
One of them, an elderly man, stopped his horse beside
us and dismounted. Letting his pony stand, he reached
for a buck-skin pipe sack, and holding it up said: Cha181




"Yellowstone Kelly"
shasha, ota; chanda, no; which meant "Red willow
plenty, tobacco none."
"Who are you?" I demanded.
He replied, "Yanktoni mea."
I felt for a piece of plug that I carried especially for
this purpose, and gave it to him. His face lighted up,
and gathering his robe around him he rose easily to the
homemade saddle, the seat of which was covered with a
strip of calf-skin. Before he started after his companions he told us that they were killing buffaloes with arrows because they were short of powder and cartridges,
which they were saving for deer and elk. "Tonight," he
said, "plenty of buffalo meat, plenty of smoke."
His companions had already disappeared from view,
but they left their sign along the trail in the shape of
dead buffaloes. At one carcass which we passed there
was a quirt or riding whip across the neck to indicate
ownership. It looked as though there might be other Indians coming along to skin these animals, and we made
haste to get along before they should arrive.
I do not remember just how or when Good Dog, a
Yankton whom I had known several years, came to us
and stuck-a self-appointed escort or guardian —but it
must have been near old Fort Peck, after swinging
around from the Milk River country, that we ran into a
bunch of Indians, men, women, and children, with travois, returning from trade at Fort Peck and now looking for a convenient camping ground. Three Indians
that spied us came dashing up from the far side of the
ravine and as soon as they were out of sight in the hollow we swerved to the right to cross lower down. The
Indians seemed to be animated by the same purpose, for
when we reached the crest of ground that gave to the
182




Chief Joseph's Retreat
hollow and could look over a little the heads of the three
bobbed up directly in front of us. They quickly vanished, however, and we saw them no more.
Good Dog was near by and seemed concerned. To our
questions he replied rather evasively that they came
from beyond the Milk River. I learned later on that
these people were from the bands that had joined Sitting Bull at Woody Mountain, across the line. It was
easy to see why these Indians, enjoying the protection
of the English government north of the boundary,
ranged south of the line where hunting was easy and
game abundant in the lower Milk River country, while
the terms of barter were more favorable at the Missouri
River posts than at Woody Mountain, and the young
men could engage in a raid or two and then skip back
to the North.
After two days' travel, during which we circled
around the lower Milk River country, encountering
only a friendly camp of Assiniboin, we turned our horses
again in the direction of the Missouri. AWe learned from
these friendly Indians that one of their young men had
seen a large village of the Sioux from Woody Mountain camped on Frenchman's Creek early in the spring,
and that they were killing many buffaloes, which accounted for the numerous herds that drifted down the
valley of Milk River soon after. They also had made a
killing, and every lodge had fresh and dried meat.
On our return we found the Big Drv, which usually
carries only a dribble of water, channel-full from bank
to bank. It looked bad, but we selected a crossing where
the water barely came to the bellies of our horses. In
some way Mike's horse stumbled in midstream, and in
order to save the animal from falling Mike jumped off,
188




"Yellowstone Kelly"
and before the horse recovered his footing Mike's rifle
slipped from the leather case attached to the side of his
saddle and was washed away. We searched some time
for the gun, by trying to feel for it with our feet, but
had no success. It was a serious loss and Haddo, who
stood guard while Mike and I waded across and up
stream, loaned him his revolver. We stopped where
wood was handy, built a fire, and dried the only clothes
we possessed, while Mike vowed that he would come
back when the water was out and hunt for his rifle.
Early in the summer I made another trip across country to the Missouri, and again and again as the Nez
Perc6e trouble culminated in a retreat before General
Howard's forces in Idaho to the district of the Yellowstone. On one of these trips I was accompanied by John
Howard. He was an Englishman of versatile understanding, who had seen much of the world, and having
worn the edge off military life in the Old World, now
sought diversion in a new field of action. He was a
cheerful companion and talked entertainingly on many
subjects. If hie is still on "this poor ledge" I trust that
he will recall when our tea gave out and we brewed tea
from wild cherry bark, in a region where there is no
good water to drink. Memory affords but vague details
of this trip, though I remember that at the crossing far
above Fort Peck we found a broad river, and stripping
our horses, drove them naked into the river and urged
them to the farther shore; then, placing saddles, bridles,
guns, and clothing on a flimsy raft, we pushed it ahead
of us as we swam the stream.
I was kept on the move all these summer months. On
one occasion I made a trip to Carroll, when I saw my
old acquaintance, Major Reed, again, and a steamboat
184




Chief Joseph's Retreat
unloading government ammunition. I was with a party
of four or five men, all civilians, and we passed down
Lodge Pole Creek to a pleasant camp in a nest of dry
cottonwoods with grass all around. We had several buffalo tongues and some hump ribs. One of the party was
expert at cooking buffalo humps. An excavation was
made for the fire, and the hump ribs were prepared with
pepper and salt and what other condiment, paste, or relish, I will not say (it being the cook's secret) but when
the fire-hole was aglow with live coals the hump, in a
piece of green hide, was consigned to it, the mass of
coals was drawn over it, and over all dry earth was
packed. When the hole was opened in the morning and
the skin cover removed the steaming hump was revealed,
juicy and brown, cooked to a turn. At least we thought
so, as seated around the camp fire with tin cups filled
with coffee we attacked this choice roast. It was a feast
to make one wish for absent friends to be present and
enjoy.
As we broke camp and approached the 5Musselshell,
which was close by, a string of Indians was seen coming
afoot through the edge of the timber at right angles to
our course. They did not seem to be alarmed by our approach, and we awaited them at the edge of the timber.
They traveled, as usual, in single file, twelve or fifteen
in number, and halted, leaning on their rifles, while the
leader came to us. They were Sioux from the north, returning home after a raid for Crow horses. They did not
have much to say, nor did they tarry. Uncommunicative, but not unfriendly, they passed along and I noted
that they were clad in Hudson's Bay blankets and headcloths of a somber color.
I made another trip to Carroll about the time the
185




"Yellowstone Kelly"
Nez Perces, whom General Howard was pursuing,
slipped around the Seventh Cavalry near Heart Mountain and headed for the Judith Basin. General Miles
ordered me to accompany Lieutenant Bailey of the
Fifth Infantry and a detachment of cavalry to Carroll
to forestall any attempt the Nez Perces might make to
raid the ammunition stored there. We rode by easy
stages across the Big Dry to the Musselshell a few miles
above its junction with the Missouri. Crossing the Musselshell near the place where we had encountered the
Indians on the occasion of my last journey to Carroll,
I led the detachment to Crooked Creek, as it is now
called, and across to the long ridge that looks down
upon the Missouri, where the wild Indians may have
looked down in wonder at the boats of Lewis and Clark
as they ascended the stream two generations earlier.
At midday we saw below us the houses and cabins of
Carroll, the descent to which was long and slow. We
found the government ammunition locked in a small
building and apparently no one responsible for it, but
soon Major Reed came along and we learned that he
had kept an eye on the property, and had caused it to be
locked up. He could give us no information about the
Nez Perces, but late in the day came Bill Norris with a
message from General Miles directing me to join the
command at the mouth of the Musselshell. I was surprised to learn that the General and his troops were at
the Musselshell, for when we left the cantonment on the
Yellowstone there was no movement on foot for an expedition. I saddled my horse and wended my way along
the ridges, disturbing much game in the evening time.
There was little air stirring and I remember that a
mountain lion crossed my path, tempting me to take a
186




Chief Joseph's Retreat
shot at him. As the darkness fell the sky became lu
nous with stars, and it was still and warm on the high
ground. When I had descended at midnight I came into
the chill air of the lowlands, and found and followed the
fresh trail of the column leading down the Musselshell.
Presently I saw the dying light of a camp fire and
soon came to where the pack train had unloaded with
its rows of aparejos. I stopped at the fire long enough
to swallow a cup of hot coffee and to inquire of the
watchman as to the location of headquarters. Learning
that General Miles was aboard the steamboat at the
river's bank, half a mile away, I traveled on through
camps of sleeping soldiers, unchallenged, to the steamer,
and found General Miles and his aide, Captain Baldwin, the only people about, engaged in a friendly tussle
to determine which should have first choice of two beds
that had been spread on the deck for them. They
laughed when they saw me coming, and the General told
me that he intended to cross the river soon and wanted
me to take the scouts and go ahead and pick up the Nez
Perce trail if it could be found, though the Nez Perces
were last reported in the Judith Basin.
I retired and went to sleep somewhere. It was now
past one o'clock A.M., September 25, 1877. In the morning I learned that some troops had been put across
the river the day before to scout the country and that the
General was waiting for news. At any rate he allowed
the steamer to go, but it was still in sight when a couple
of men came down the river in a small boat and said that
the Nez Perc~s had crossed below Cow Island, forty or
fifty miles above.
The steamer was almost out of sight when General
Miles ordered a field gun to be fired with shell, and
187




"Yellowstone Kelly"
jumping onto a stump he waved an army blanket to attract attention. The people on the boat evidently heard
the gun or saw the shell explode along the bluffs, for it
presently came back and the scouts crossed on the first
trip.
We rode rapidly a general course northwest, about
thirty or thirty-five miles to the group of Little Rocky
Mountains, and ascending a prominent peak near the
eastern end, searched the country beyond with our
glasses. Below our point of observation lay People's
Creek, its course being traced a long way in the direction of Milk River. Beyond People's Creek to the left
extended a broken plain to the foot of the Bear Paw
Mountains, hazy and dim in the distance. From the
Bear Paw to the Missouri every ridge was scrutinized
for signs of travelers, for it was apparent that no great
company of people with a multitude of live stock could
conceal from view their movement on that open plain,
nor would they try, expecting pursuit only from the
rear. We looked long and earnestly, but no object appeared to move, not even buffaloes where one might expect plenty.
The day was advancing and light was failing. Nothing could be seen of the command, but the view of the
country to the east was obstructed by buttes and ridges.
We descended from the lookout which gave such an excellent view of the region the Nez Perces would have to
cross to reach the boundary line to John Bull's country.
I reasoned that the Indians, having put the Missouri
between them and their pursuers, might rest near the
river for a day at least before renewing their march. On
the other hand, if they had passed on without halting
we would pick up the trail by striking across to the foot
188




Chief Joseph's Retreat
of the Bear Paw. Before doing this I wanted to ascertain General Miles' course after leaving the end of the
Little Rocky Mountains, at the east end of which, I surmised, he would camp that night. So we pushed along
the foothills until we struck his trail, and following it
for a mile or two found the command in camp.
The camp, made just as they halted on rough ground,
had more the appearance of a bivouac, though as evening was near I could not see much of it. There were
some Sioux and Cheyenne present, organized from the
surrounding Indians as an auxiliary force. I had not
seen them as yet and I surmised that they were camping
by themselves.
On reporting the result of my observations to the
General, he directed me, as I had expected, to push on
in search of the trail. I at once set about hunting up
scouts and selected three: Haddo, my soldier scout,
Milan Tripp, and one other. Tripp was a new man.
Someone whose opinion I respected brought him to me
and said: "Milan is employed to drive some beef cattle
in order to give him a job, but he will give better service
as a scout if you can arrange it."
We started without delay for I %wished to get clear
of the camp while it was still daylight, for the weather
looked threatening, with signs of rain. WVe had not gone
very far before we were overhauled by Lieutenant
Maus, a gallant young officer whom I did not know, but
of whom I had heard good accounts. He had two soldiers with him, but the equipment of all three was such
that they would scarcely be taken on the prairie for soldiers, a desirable thing in itself, for if we ran into the
Nez Perces they would hardly suspect that we were connected with a military command. Lieutenant Maus now
189




"Yellowstone Kelly"
assumed command of the party, but we proceeded as
before.
It soon became too dark to distinguish objects near
by or any trails that we might pass, and the air was
misty with moisture. Under the circumstances I suggested to Lieutenant Maus that we halt where we were
until it should become light enough to see our way, there
being some rough ground ahead. Near some grass we
unsaddled and let our stock nibble the short buffalo
grass. The air was perfectly still, as is usually the case in
a stiff mist that carries fine rain. After a while we secured our horses and each disposed himself as best he
could to rest until the pall should be lifted, or dawn of
day should make it possible to proceed on our quest.
As for myself, I placed the narrow folds of my saddle blanket against the saddle on a smooth spot, and
wrapping the blanket that I carried as a roll in place of
a coat about me, I lay down and tried to sleep, but could
not for thinking of the necessity of being on the way at
first light. However, I did sleep, for hours afterward
Haddo awakened me, saying that the mist was lifting
and morning near.
All were roused and the horses were saddled. It appeared to be a retired spot and we undertook to light a
fire and make some coffee, but before this was accomplished the head of the column appeared in sight some
distance off and we mounted and sped off for fear that
the troops would get ahead of us. I do not remember
how far we had advanced before the light of day made
clear the view ahead, but our course led to a gap in the
Bear Paw Mountains directly in front of us. The clear
air made beautiful the mountains, partly shrouded in
clouds and mist that wasted slowly under the rays of the
190




Chief Joseph's Retreat
morning sun. As we rode now at a trot or canter across
the pebbly mesas approaching the foothills of the Bear
Paw, I noted for the first time the singular line of rock
monuments, or tall cones, that occur at regular intervals along their face.
Suddenly as we were mounting a rise of ground that
commanded a view of the country to our left I saw some
objects afar off moving toward the base of the mountain. We halted, and observing them  through our
glasses, made out two horsemen driving some ponies.
Presently they disappeared into a narrow valley that
ran along the base of the mountain and we hurried on to
intercept them. They must have heard us pounding the
turf for when we came to the edge of the hill looking
down into the hollow they had stopped and were listening, or seemed to be.
They now abandoned their horses and ran up the
rocky hillside, where there was cover of brush which concealed them from view. It was impossible to descend
into the valley at this point and before a trail was found
the Indians were halfway up the mountain. Some of the
scouts, however, did not wait for orders. but commenced
shooting. Simultaneously with the first report of the
rifles the discovery was made that the broad Nez Perce
trail lay before us in the hollow, and the recently abandoned camping ground, with the remains of several buffalo carcasses scattered around.
The scouts were ordered to stop firing, for it was not
a part of our business to pursue these Indians, who were
now on the trail and near the gap. We descended to the
abandoned camp-ground and noted that one trail led
over the mountain through the pass, but whether this
was the main trail it was impossible to tell at once as the
191




"Yellowstone Kelly"
Nez Perces had such a multitude of horses that all other
trails were obliterated. Lieutenant Maus sent a dispatch to General Miles apprising him of our discovery
and Milan Tripp, having the best mount, was selected
to carry it. There was now nothing to do but await the
approach of the troops.
General Miles was quick to take advantage of the
slightest incident to further success. A change in the
weather hid his command from observation, and led by
his Sioux and Cheyenne Indians he advanced through
the mist to the right point of the Bear Paw, where he
stood ready to surprise the Nez Perces in their camp or
to intercept them on their march north to the Canadian
border.
We waited some time for the arrival of the command,
when, suspecting that General Miles had moved to the
eastward of our position, I suggested to Lieutenant
Maus that we move along the base of the mountain and
get in touch with the column. We had gone but a short
distance when we came upon a broad, fresh trail, which
showed that the troops had passed and were about a
mile ahead.
We pushed on more rapidly, but before we overtook
the command it had struck the Nez Perce camp. The
first charge and dash had given way to an investment, a
cordon of troops being drawn around the entrenched
position of the Indians, for true to the lesson implanted
in the battle of the Big Hole it was the practice of these
Indians, thereafter, to entrench or build defenses at
every important camp. Looking down into the hollow,
I could see nothing but a few skin lodges. The women
and children were safely secreted in underground excavations, while the warriors held a number of well192






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CHIEF JOSEPHI-, NEZ         'I{RCE
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Chief Joseph's Retreat
placed rock rifle pits, from whose shelter they picked off
any who showed their heads.
Joseph and his followers were trapped at last, and
excepting the fieldpiece that occasionally mouthed a
shell into the seemingly deserted hollow the battle had
degenerated into a duel between sharpshooters on either
side. I noted that the troops were disposed in such a way
as to inclose the hollow that concealed the Nez Perces
and prevent their escape.
The ground about the place was bare of timber, and I
unsaddled my horse near where the pack train had
camped, just below the fieldpiece, which was vomiting
shot at intervals into the center of the Indian stronghold. There was no excitement, and I remember seeing
Lieutenant Baird of the staff go by with a bullet-hole
through one of his ears, while Captain Carter was talking earnestly to General Miles. The Captain's company
had met a murderous fire when it charged the camp and
the men had been forced to hug the groulnd for some
time before they could return the fire and force the Indians to take cover. The cavalry had suffered, also, and
two gallant officers and a number of brave troopers were
killed in the first dash. Behind the first line I saw a row
of bodies covered with blankets.
I saw an Indian named Hump, a bold and picturesque fellow, crawling along the ground toward a rifle
pit that held a warrior who had taken heavy toll of the
soldiers. I watched Hump as he wormed his way skilfully from one little depression to another. He could
travel flat on the ground with the greatest ease, but I
did not envy him his present quest. Another Indian had
started with him, perhaps to give him encouragement
and support, but he had stopped halfway and from his
193




"Yellowstone Kelly"
vantage point, which was as close to mother earth as an
Indian could get, lay watching Hump's farther advance.
Others were watching too, as well as myself, among
them several Sioux and Cheyenne scouts, who were
friends of Hump. Suddenly Hump came to a stop, and
shifting his position slightly, pulled his rifle slowly to
the front and carefully sighted it toward an object at an
angle to his line of advance. He fired, gazed a moment,
then crooned a war-note which was heard by his waiting
friends, and edged along on the course he had pursued.
He had killed his man, for when the Nez Perces surrendered we found a rifle pit in the direction of his fire,
and in it, cold and stiff, a warrior bowed over his rifle.
It would have been better if Hump had retreated
after the shot, which he could have done with honor,
having counted a coup, for he had progressed but a little way when he sensed his enemy, who was having his
hands full just then with other opponents all along the
line. The course Hump had pursued was down a grassy
draw that led to a certain point where it was commanded
by twvo or three rifle pits and would be under an enfilading fire.
Finally, still hugging the ground closely, Hump came
in sight of the ragged tips of the rock pile which sheltered the warrior who, so far immune, had with matchless
skill and desperate courage countered every attempt to
dislodge him. Several of our men had tried conclusions
with him from various nooks, but one had been killed
outright and two more were disabled and under the surgeon's care. For the moment, apparently, the warrior's
attention was directed elsewhere, and I could see by
Hump's attitude that he was waiting for some sign before placing a shot.
194




Chief Joseph's Retreat
Finally it came, and raising himself slightly Hump
fired twice quickly, but his opponents were not idle, for
he himself received a bullet that laid him flat on the
ground for several minutes. We thought for a moment
that he was dead, but he was only motionless, trying to
locate the new enemy. He gave it up, however, and satisfied, perhaps, that he had counted all the coups possible, painfully worked his way back to his friend, who
assisted him to safety.
I wandered along the line and came upon Corporal
Haddo, who had borrowed my field glasses and was trying to locate the Nez Perce who was working such havoc
among the soldiers. I told him to be careful about exposing his head over the crest, but I very soon became
interested in this fellow who was exchanging shots with
sharpshooters at other points, and told Haddo to place
the glasses on a roll of his coat, and keeping as low as
possible, mark the hole in the rock from which the Indian fired, and I would try to get him. He soon indicated the spot and I fired at it twice, with what result I
cannot say, but I do not think the distance was over a
hundred yards.
I now left him to seek the camp of the packers, for I
wanted a cup of coffee and some meat. Before going I
advised Haddo not to stay in one place but to move
along and keep low. He said that he wanted one more
shot and then he would hunt the company and see what
they had to eat. While I was eating my lunch at the
pack train someone came and said that Haddo had been
shot just above the heart. I ran to the place and found
him speechless and dying, Poor Haddo! a fine man and
a good soldier. I missed him much. Cool and fearless,
he had been my companion on many trips.
195




"Yellowstone Kelly"
That night, September 80, was dark and lowering,
which increased the difficulties of the extra pickets stationed to prevent the Nez Perces from escaping. I
spread my blankets near the headquarters bivouac in a
hollow filled with sleeping men, and lay awake, listening
to the intermittent firing as individual Nez Perces
sought to escape between the lines under cover of the
darkness. Finally, I fell asleep, but later in the night I
was awakened by someone calling my name. It was an
order from headquarters to proceed on the back trail to
meet and bring in a wagon train that was following the
command.
I rose and called another scout and together we
hunted our horses. On reaching the battle field that
morning I had left my horse saddled, thinking I might
need him, but later on had removed the saddle and bridle, which I left with the pack train, letting my horse
feed while there was still grass to be had. I had not seen
him since. I felt that it was useless to hunt for him on a
night like this, so we went down to one of the cavalry
camps, for I knew that the cavalry had spare horses
after the day's fight, and procuring a couple of mounts,
we started off in the gloom of a starless night.
I had no information as to the probable whereabouts
of the train, but I assumed that it had followed the command the day before and had been delayed by the necessity of cutting down banks and making fills. I was satisfied that as soon as night struck the men would go into
camp, and as soon as camp was made a fire would be
made unless an officer was along to forbid it. We lost
the trail many times in the darkness, and finally left it
for good, relying on some glimmer of firelight to guide
us. We proceeded as far as the crossing of People's
196




Chief Joseph's Retreat
Creek, when I called a halt, feeling that we had passed
the train in the darkness. I was not worried for I knew
that the men could not travel after darkness set in, and
that they would push on with the first flush of dawn.
The sequel confirmed my conjectures. At first dawn
of day I took our bearings and we were soon following
the wagon tracks. We would have overtaken the train
before it reached the camp where the Nez Perces were
being held at bay, had I not seen off at the right a lot of
horses on a sidehill which I thought it important to investigate. On the battle field there were rumors that
Sitting Bull with a large force of Sioux was near the
boundary line ready to render assistance to the battling
Nez Perces. We turned abruptly off our course, sought
cover, and gradually approached the horses, which were
feeding quietly on a hillside and in the gualch beyond.
Riding among them, I found that they were nearly all
branded U.S., and I was satisfied that they belonged to
the command.
As the camp was not over two miles away I decided
to leave the animals where they were for the present,
and speeding along on our way, we found that the
wagon train had arrived safely. Reporting the matter of
the government horses so far away from camp without
a guard, General Miles informed me that a lot of stock
had stampeded in the night. Much concern was felt lest
they had fallen into the hands of predatory bands of
Sioux, and parties had been sent out to trace them. His
own saddle horse, a very valuable animal, was among
them. By his direction I took another scout and returned to the place where I had discovered the stock,
and rounding up more than a hundred horses, mules,
and ponies, returned safely with them to camp.
197




"Yellowstone Kelly"
It was on this day, as I remember, that Chief Joseph
asked for a parley, and Lieutenant Jerome of the cavalry went into the Nez Perce camp as a pledge, I think;
anyway, he was detained, and after his release told of
being held in an underground passage the Indians had
excavated, a damp and chilly place where the warriors
danced to keep warm, and finally left him, saying, "We
must fight again pretty soon to get warm."
On the fourth of October came General Howard with
a small escort. I remember seeing him and General
files seated on the grass in consultation, with the other
officers grouped near by. On the following morning
Chief Joseph surrendered to General Miles.
That day or the next, after the dead had been buried,
the camp was moved a short distance to where a little
valley gave out from the mountain, and here travois
were constructed for the wounded and other preparations made for the long trip to the Yellowstone. General Miles says in his account of that date: "Our
wounded suffered greatly, owing to the rough broken
country passed over, and some died en route. On reaching the Missouri, I found two steamers that had come
up from Fort Buford in response to my dispatch of
September 17, and these furnished supplies and food,
and upon them I placed all the severely wounded soldiers and Indians, sent them down to the nearest hospital, and with the remainder we moved across the country
to the Yellowstone. The command looked like a great
caravan moving over the prairie-the troops, a large
herd of captured stock, prisoners, ambulances, and pack
and wagon trains, all covered by an advance guard,
flankers, and rear guard."


198




CHAPTER XII


NORTHWARD TO THE CANADIAN
BORDER
I WAS not with the command on that journey, for
just before breaking camp General Miles sent for
me and said, "I want you to go north with dispatches for General Terry, who is now on his way from
Fort Benton to meet the British commissioners on the
boundary line." I had not known before of the joint
commission to establish the status of Sitting Bull and
other hostiles, who in great numbers had fled across the
border. The General handed me a large official envelope
which I did not for a moment know what to do with as
I had no pocket large enough for it, but I stuck it in my
belt and said, "General, I will take one of the scouts
with me in case I should need a man." I picked Tom
Newcomb, who had joined the scouts a few days before
from somewhere, and was noticeable on this occasion as
he had on leggings made of red blanket stuff.
We lost no time in getting started on our journey
and wound along the west end of the Bear Paw Mountains as the troops moved south. On the other side of
Crow Creek we met a lone horseman on the trail, leading
a fine horse. To my query as to the whereabouts of General Terry the man said: "General Terrv left Fort
Benton yesterday, and will camp at    Spring tonight. When you get around the point of the Bear Paw,
strike due north and you will hit their camp."
When we got around the spur of the mountain I laid
a course due north and we traveled on over a rolling
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"Yellowstone Kelly"
prairie all the afternoon. About dusk we saw a light
straight ahead which seemed near but was afar, for we
traveled hours before it loomed as a camp fire, in whose
light we passed around a considerable camp of infantry
and cavalry to a group of tents, where we dismounted
and asked the guard if General Terry occupied the large
tent. The guard replying in the affirmative, I tapped
and entered, Tom Newcomb following.
The tent seemed a very large one, even for a headquarters, and was comfortably furnished. I recognized
General Terry, whom I had seen before, and an officer
coming forward, I stated that I had dispatches from
General Miles and gave them to him. The General, who
was seated, came toward us and questioned me concerning the campaign just ended, and learning that we had
left the command that morning he directed a young officer to find us refreshment and a place to sleep.
The officer went in search of a sergeant, who came
and showed us a tent that we could occupy for the night.
He gave us grain for our horses and we unsaddled and
fed them on the spot. Then he piloted us to a company
mess tent, where we filled up on hard-tack, bacon, beans,
and cold coffee. The pangs of hunger having succumbed
to the ordeal, we wandered back to the A tent, for we
now had a vast desire for sleep after our hard dav's ride.
With our saddles for pillows, I held a lighted match
while Newcomb spread the blankets, or as he facetiously
termed them, "wind-tanglers," on the coarse but comfortable straw mattress, and I remember nothing more
than the remark of my companion, "This beats camping
out."
In the morning at the bugle call for reveille I arose
and looked about me on a familiar camp scene that was
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Northward to the Border


fall of life. A company of infantrymen near by were
engaged in various duties. Some were rolling their blankets into suitable bundles to place on the wagons; others
had their haversacks and were waiting the call for
breakfast. The tents, if they had any, had already been
disposed of. Farther on troopers were returning from
water and were rubbing down their mounts at the horse
line. I cannot remember now the strength of this military force that formed the escort to General Terry, but
I think there were two troops of the Second Cavalry
and one or two companies of the Seventh Infantry. To
carry all their impedimenta required a number of heavy
wagons, and there they were, the old U.S. army wagons
with wooden boxes painted blue, with six mules tied to
each one and the drivers putting on the harness.
Breakfast call sounded-most inspiring note-and
I called Newcomb, for I saw the sergeant beckoning
me to the mess tent. While Newcomb was getting ready
I walked down to the watering place and scrubbed my
hands and face as well as I could. After breakfast with
the company, I noted that the officers were in no hurry
to break camp, and looking around for my horse, saw
that he had been fed. I do not remember the names of
any of the officers with whom I had conversation, but
before the march began General Terry sent for me and
said, "Kelly, I want you to carry a letter to the line,
where you will meet the English commission or their
representative, to whom you will deliver the letter and
return with the answer."
We took the road, Newcomb and I, over the same
rolling country, but I remember some dry lakes on one
side of Milk River and many, manv antelopes, beautiful
creatures! After we made the crossing of Milk River
201




"Yellowstone Kelly"
we fell in with three young Sioux Indians, well armed,
who appeared suddenly as if from nowhere. They sat
on their horses regarding us.
"Where are the Sagadashas?" I inquired.
They pointed to the hills to the right of the road.
These Indians have a habit of gesturing with their
mouth to indicate direction or an object that may be
seen, and such a gesture was made by one of these young
men. I laid my field glasses in the direction indicated
and saw a lone horseman on a hill and on either side of
him, at an interval of a mile or so, two elevations that
I recognized as mounds marking the international
boundary.
We followed the road a while, then turned off directly toward the lone horseman. As I had suspected, he
proved to be a vidette who had been posted to give information of the approach of the Americans. His uniform indicated that he was a member of the Northwest
Mounted Police. He informed me that his party was in
camp a short distance away, and we proceeded until we
came to a conical wall tent, differing somewhat from
our Sibley tent of that day. Near by was a light wagon,
and beside it a light tent fly was pitched, sheltering
three men, one of them an officer. He courteously welcomed us and I delivered the letter to him.
The camp had been pitched near a spring and, with
grass all about it, was a pleasant enough place. The
simplicity of equipment and the absence of military
pomp was in marked contrast to the imposing establishment maintained by General Terry. The hero of Fort
Fisher believed in traveling in comfort as well as in
state. And why not, when you have the command and
the opportunity? Troops grow rusty in quarters and
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Northward to the Border


their upkeep costs but little more in the field than when
housed in post or cantonment. Soldiers are not averse
to camp life, especially in pleasant weather.
In the morning we left our agreeable hosts and
turned our horses in the direction from which we had
come, to meet General Terry's command which was
traveling the same road. The English people broke
camp for the same purpose. On rejoining the command
I presented my letter to General Terry, who shortly
afterward went into camp near White Horse Lake,
and here the English party joined us.
Early the next morning the General took the road
with a small following, leaving all the troops and nearly
all the transportation in camp. It was said that Sitting
Bull, upon hearing through his spies of the approach of
a formidable American force, told the English officers
that he would not attend any council if soldiers were
present, and if the American officer wanted to hold a
council with the Indians he must leave his soldiers at the
border.
With Newcomb I followed the commission, and when
we had nearly caught up with it the quartermaster, Captain Freeman, I think, rode up and said, "Did You not
understand that no one was to cross the border except
those whom General Terry had specially indicated?"
"No," I replied, "I supposed that we were to proceed
with the party and return with dispatches."
"No," said the quartermaster, "the order is plain;
you must return to the camp." And without further ado
he turned his horse and regained his party, while we
stood in the road looking at one another. I was much
disappointed and not fully satisfied that the quartermaster was correct in his understanding of the orders,
203




"Yellowstone Kelly"
or in his zeal in applying them. There were bound to be
some hot speeches at the council, and I wanted much to
be present and observe the situation. Though General
Miles had made no suggestion that I pursue my journey to the place set for the council, I felt that he would
not be displeased if I gleaned at first hand any information of interest that would be of value to his command.
We returned to the camp by the Lake of the Milky
Water. I do not remember how many days we waited
here for the return of the party from the north, but I
was glad to turn my face southward once more and
leave these cheerless plains, which had charmed me in
former years when they were thronged with buffaloes
and antelopes, and elk in great bands were found along
the wooded streams and mountain slopes near by. Now
the elk had wandered or been frightened away by the
many bands of hostile Indians camped along the border,
whose hunting parties had cleared the plains of buffaloes.
We headed for the east end of the Bear Paw Mountains, thinking to pass over the Nez Perce battle
ground, which we had not gone over thoroughly at the
time of the surrender. We had almost reached the place
when we were suddenly surrounded by a band of twelve
or fifteen Indians. We were taken completely by surprise, for our attention had been concentrated on the
prospect of game, but with our rifles in our hands we
were equal to the occasion.
As they made no hostile movement I made the usual
sign, asking who they were. They answered by a sign
that I did not understand. Newcomb, who had been in
the lower country, said at once on hearing them talk,
that they were Pawnee, but I knew that the Pawnee
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Northward to the Border


did not come so far north, and then it dawned on me
that they were prairie Grosventres. I asked them in the
sign language if they were prairie Big Bellies; they
nodded their heads and shouted, "Aye," but some only
grunted and laughed at my grotesque attempt at the
sign name. They were fine-looking fellows and were
well armed. I noticed they had some brass-mounted
Henry rifles and double-barrel shotguns for running
buffaloes. They told me they had unearthed a cache
made by the Nez Perces, and that they had seen the
smoke of a steamer on the river. They soon went their
way and we pursued ours.
The battle field, forsaken of life, looked gruesome
enough with its scattered bones of cavalry horses and
mounds of freshly piled earth that covered the remains
of soldiers and warriors who had answered their last
roll-call. The cache which the prairie Indians had discovered exposed a gaping hole in the ground filled with
miscellaneous goods and household effects, all new, as
though they had just been removed from a warehouse.
Cooking utensils of all kinds, pillows, clothing, and
other articles were mingled in the utmost confusion,
while flour, sugar, and other provisions were scattered
over the ground. When the Nez Perces crossed the MIissouri near Cow Island they had captured a lot of freight
that a steamboat had unloaded on the bank, and this explained the cache and its contents.
We took the trail for the Missouri and at nightfall
went into camp. In the morning we found three horses
on the trail, one of which proved to be General MIiles'
saddle horse, a beautiful white animal, which had been
lost in a stampede on the first night of the investment
of the Nez Perces. Separated from the mass of flying
205




"Yellowstone Kelly"
animals, the white horse had consorted with two Indian
ponies and through instinct had gradually worked
around to the trail over which he entered the country.
I shifted my saddle and equipment to the General's
horse, after which we resumed our way, driving the loose
animals before us. When we drew near the valley of the
Missouri we met two white men driving a bunch of
ponies along the trail. They seemed to be in a hurry, but
paused long enough to inform us that there was a
steamboat at the river and three troops of the Seventh
Cavalry in camp. Urging our horses forward, we soon
entered the open cottonwood timber of the Missouri
bottom and came to where the cavalry were in camp
alongside a river steamer. One of General Miles' aides
was aboard, and I turned over the General's horse to
him. Captain Benteen of the Seventh was in command
of the three troops of cavalry, and after I had had some
conversation with him the boat ferried us across the
river, there being no ford in the vicinity. The remainder
of our journey to the cantonment lay over familiar
ground and nothing worthy of note was experienced.
The Nez Perces were scarcely settled in comfortable
camps near the cantonment when orders were received
from Washington to send them down the river. Under
military guard they were taken overland to Bismarck,
and eventually to Indian Territory, where half of them
soon died of malarial fever. Quiet reigned in the valley
of the Yellowstone, and soon settlers began coming into
the country to establish homes and subdue the wilderness. I was ordered to make a trip to Deadwood in the
Black Hills to determine the feasibility of a wagon
route to the mouth of the Tongue River on the Yellowstone, with the idea of establishing a mail line, this being
206




Northward to the Border


a shorter route than the one by way of Bismarck and
Fort Buford. The original order, written in ink that is
still unfaded, is before me:
Capt. Heintzelman, P.Q.M.
Sir: The commanding officer of this post has issued an order to
equip a small detail to accompany L. S. Kelly on D.S. The
wagon brought in by Cris Gilson is to be used and the C.O. directs that two of your stoutest horses be used with the wagon.
Respectfully,
G. W. BAID, Adjt. & A.A.A.G.
April 25, 1878.
Headquarters, District of the Yellowstone.
Fort Keogh, Montana Territory
April 26, 1878.
This detachment of four men is sent out from these headquarters
to examine the country between this place and the Black Hills.
All officers of this command are directed, and all others requested, to render to them any needed assistance.
N. A. MILES, Col. Fifth Infantry.
Bvt. Brig. General, U.S.A.
My intention was to travel across country where a
wagon trail would be found only occasionally, hence the
light wagon, which appeared to be a modified buckboard, admirably adapted to buck the rivers, coulees,
and ravines en route. The detail consisted of Sergeant
Gilbert and Privates Fox and Leavitt of the Second
Cavalry.
We started in some style, Sergeant Gilbert and myself in the lead, Leavitt driving the team, and Private
Fox as rear guard. Pack mules were dispensed with on
this trip, much to our satisfaction, and the light wagon
conveyed our luggage and provisions. We went up the
207




"Yellowstone Kelly"
Tongue River to Pumpkin Creek, where an enforced
halt was made to secure a loose tire, which gave us a lot
of trouble until the wood had swelled sufficiently to hold
it. With the aid of some wire which happened to be in
the wagon temporary repairs were made by binding the
tire to the felloe, and thereafter the wheel was taken off
every night and given a good soaking to tighten it.
We crossed Pumpkin and Mizpah creeks and camped
on Powder. After leaving the valley of the Powder, I
laid a course in the direction of the Black Hills, or as
nearly so as the nature of the country permitted, for one
object of the expedition was to find a feasible route
from the Yellowstone to the mining camp of Deadwood. Antelopes and buffaloes appeared in sight as we
advanced across a rolling country which I do not remember well, though much of it appeared to embrace a
choice stock range, with farming lands along the watered valleys. At one point of the journey, while ascending a gulch toward the divide where we surmised a first
view of the Black Hills might offer, we stopped to examine some curious petrifactions of marine life which
occurred in strata along one side of the gulch.
From the divide the Black Hills loomed in dark mass.
At their foot we crossed the Belle Fourche, a shallow,
gravelly stream of mountain water, and to the left entered a freshly made wagon road that wound along the
right side of the valley through which flows Deadwood
Creek, a road of easy grade with here and there marks
of placer workings in the bottom land. This was the
first road or wagon trail we touched after leaving Powder River, nor was there sign of habitation anywhere
save old camp grounds or sites of Indian villages.
About midday we saw some scattered huts and tents
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Northward to the Border
at the entrance of a rather narrow gulch, indicating the
beginning of a mining camp, and the town of Deadwood was before us. At that day there were few buildings that could be called pretentious, but our attention
was at once attracted by the sight of a powerful hydraulic hose and nozzle in operation that required the
combined efforts of two men to handle. It threw a
stream of water against the side of a high bank or hill,
washing down tree stumps and roots and moving rocks
that must have weighed a ton, as if they were blocks of
wood.
An enterprising reporter for the leading paper in
town interviewed me, and I have the result, clipped
from the next day's paper, showing that the young man
made the best of his opportunity. It reads as follows:
Mr. L. S. Kelly, better known on the border as "Yellowstone
Kelly," the scout, accompanied by Sergeant Gilbert and Privates Fox and Leavitt of the Second Cavalry, arrived in the
city yesterday. The expedition is traveling under the direction
of General Miles, for the purpose of viewing the proposed military route from the mouth of the Tongue River to Deadwood,
and making a report of its practicability as a route of travel
from the Yellowstone and Powder River countries. Mr. Kellv
finds the distance from the mouth of the Tongue River to Deadwood less than two hundred miles, and saN's for most part his
route was through the terra incognita of the West, and laid
open to view one of the finest grazing and farming districts vet
explored. He says the road through is almost a natural one,
save that portion that runs through the "bad lands" or maulAs
terres of the Missouri. Much fine timber, many beautiful
streams, and some wonderful natural rock formations were encountered. The country abounds in petrifactions, the most curious and attractive; the region is a paradise of game, and no
209




"Yellowstone Kelly"
Indians or fresh Indian tracks were seen on the trail. Mr.
Kelly's opinion, which is entitled to much weight, he having
been in the employ of General Miles the past two years, and
with that gallant officer during his Nez Perc6 campaign, is that
this section of country has little to fear from Sitting Bull's
forces the coming season, as none of his marauding bands
will be able to leave their present rendezvous without receiving
a heavy and terrible blow from General Miles' command. From
a frontier acquaintance with "Yellowstone Kelly," the scout,
which has traversed nearly a dozen years and has been mingled
with many Indian experiences on the Missouri, the writer with
pleasure attests his bravery, intelligence, and courtesy. After
resting the stock a couple of days the expedition will return to
Tongue River, taking in another supposed practicable route on
the way.
Our light wagon, having a newly set tire, was ready
for the trail. After crossing the Belle Fourche we
turned to the left and entered that great plain that
gives a view of the Devil's Tower, that black rock, or
collection of rocks, that stands out from the mountain,
of gloomy aspect when in shadow, but often fantastical
under sunlight and heat waves from the plain. But we
were miles and miles away from it and always bearing
to the right. We saw buffalo bulls and tried to approach
them, but the ground was too level. They were canny
beasts and commanded all the shallow dry swales made
by storm floods. Antelopes, of which there were many,
proved easier and we had our usual feasts.
Powder River was high and unfordable. Casting
about for a place to cross, since we had on hand a wagon
to consider, a considerable detour was made, which took
us some distance from any practicable direct route to
the mouth of Tongue River. Finally, we came to a rope
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Northward to the Border


ferry which gave access to a military camp under Captain Pollock, to whom I reported my presence and business. Captain Pollock informed me that Colonel Merritt with the Fifth Cavalry was coming to select the site
for a new military post in the vicinity, and that his arrival was expected any moment. We therefore hastened
to get away, for fear that our wagon and team might be
commandeered for the use of the cavalry.
Sergeant Gilbert, who had been along the Bozeman
trail before, showed me the site of old Fort Phil
Kearny, under the shadow of a ridge, with nothing left
but a fragment of the flagpole prone in the dust.' We
passed along with bare prairie on the right and on our
left wooded ravines carved out of the foothills of the
Big Horn Mountains. Once more we camped near a
rushing mountain torrent, and if hostile Indians had
been about, such as roamed the land a twelve-month
earlier, they might have walked into camp without our
hearing them. Without incident of any kind we traveled
down Tongue River to Fort Keogh, 'where I turned the
team and light wagon over to the quartermaster in better shape than I had received them, and hastening to
headquarters, made my report of the journey.
1 Fort Phil Kearny, established in 1866 and abandoned in 1868,
underwent a practically continuous state of siege during the twoyear period of its occupancy, featured by some of the most determined fighting in the annals of Indian warfare. A spirited narrative of these events is Mrs. Frances Carrington's My Army Life
and the Fort Phil Kearny Massacre.  (Philadelphia, 1910).ED.


211




CHAPTER XIII


SCOUTING IN YELLOWSTONE PARK
OMEWHAT later in the season I made a trip to
Yellowstone Park. I still have the original order
1 received for this mission, and since it explains
the object of the journey I present it here:
HEADQUARTERS, DISTRICT OF THE YELLOWSTONE,
ACTING ASSISTANT ADJUTANT GENERAL'S OFFICE,
Fort Keogh, M.T. July 10th, 1878.
Scout L. S. Kelly,
Fort Keogh, M.T.
Sir:
Yourself, Sergeant Gilbert, and one man will proceed without delay and follow up a party of prospectors and ascertain
if they are trespassing on the Crow reservation; you will also
ascertain what parties are infringing upon the rights of the
Crow Indians and any information you may glean on these
matters you will report to the district commander. You will
also endeavor to ascertain if the Bannocks, or their allies, are
making any movement eastwardly and should they do so you
will report the fact to the nearest post and the District Commander without delay.
Should you need supplies you will go to Fort Custer or Ellis
for them and the commanding officers of these posts are hereby
respectfully requested to furnish you any assistance you may
require.
Very respectfully, Your Obdt. Servant,
FRANK D. BALDWIN,
First Lieut., Fifth Infantry, A.D.C., A.A.A. Gen.
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In Yellowstone Park


These directions covered considerable territory. Our
quest for the prospectors might lead us a long way from
the Bannock, and vice versa. When last heard from the
Bannock were still west of the park and supposed to be
in hiding in the mountains. I had spent many years in
Montana and Dakota, but the region of country west of
the Big Horn Mountains was still an unknown quantity, and at that day was used mostly by the mountain
Crows and the Arapaho as a hunting ground. Before
starting on this trip I went to the office of General
Miles. I met him on the walk in front of his quarters
and after some conversation he gave me the following
additional order, which I still retain:
Fort Keogh, Montana,
July 10, 1878.
Any officer or steamboat captain having government forage
can supply the government horses and Yellowstone Kelly's
scouting party with grain, taking his receipt.
N. A. MILES,
Col. U.S.A., Comg. District.
The preparations for our trip were quickly made, our
first objective point being Yellowstone Lake, whence I
intended to go to Fort Ellis or Bozeman for supplies
and then return to the west side of the lake and the geyser basin, in case we did not pick up the Bannock trail
en route. The third member of our party was a friend
of Sergeant Gilbert, a first sergeant in another troop,
who wanted to go on this expedition.
Gilbert was a quiet, amiable man, a skilled hunter,
whose delight it was to get away from the irksome discipline of a headquarters command. The other man
(whose name I do not now recall) was a disciple of
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"Yellowstone Kelly"
Izaak Walton, and kept the camp supplied with trout
whenever we were near a mountain stream. Besides our
saddle horses we had three extra mounts to pack our
blankets and supplies. Our course led up the Yellowstone Vralley to the mouth of the Big Horn and thence
up that stream to Fort Custer. Here we remained a day
to draw supplies and rest our horses for the arduous
task of penetrating the wilderness of mountains which
form a barrier along the eastern limit of the park, with
no road but the chance game trails, and where but few
white men had preceded us.
We might have gone a shorter route across country
to Fort Custer, but for the most part it is a rough and
uninteresting region, hard on horses, and I wanted to
see what changes had come over the valley in the two
years of military occupation. In this I was disappointed,
for there was little settlement below the mouth of the
Big Horn on the north side; above that point embryo
towns were in the course of building, with here and
there farms in the making.
Fort Custer was built on a bare bluff which commanded a fine view of the mountains to the west. The
Big Horn Mountains are usually enveloped in a soft
blue haze when seen at a distance, and the effect is fine.
On a nearer approach the peaks and pinnacles stand out
in clear and rugged outline like stately sentinels of the
landscape.
Our first day's ride led over the mesas and prairies
along the foothills of the Big Horn Mountains, with
beautiful stretches of grass and a profusion of wild
flowers on every side; colors that harmonized with the
brown rocks, as did the graceful antelopes that rose
from the tall grass or started from some hidden ravine
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In Yellowstone Park


and scudded swift as the wind to a safe distance. Early
in the afternoon we selected our camping ground for the
night near a foaming little brook, under the shadow of
the pine trees with a carpet of grass and pine needles.
About twenty-five miles from the Big Horn, at a
point where it leaves the Black Canyon, we entered
Pryor Pass, which gives upon the huge basin ringed by
the Wind River Mountains and the mountains east of
Yellowstone Lake. Looking west, the plain extends to
the sheer wall of mountains that run north to the valley
of the Yellowstone. The cuts in this wall show the canyons of the Stinking River, Clark's Fork, the Stillwater, and Rocky Fork. To the south may be seen
Washakie's Needles, a group of slender peaks named
after a Shoshone chief; to the east, the dark, gloomy entrance to the Black Canyon, and above it, Cloud Peak
with its cap of perpetual snow.
Clark's Fork is noted as the scene of one phase of the
retreat of the Nez Perces in the fall of 1877. Starting
from Idaho, these Indians had made their way under
great difficulties through Montana and the fastnesses
of the mountains around Yellowstone Park. Pursued
by the columns under General Howard, they forced
their way with great courage through more than one column of troops sent to intercept them. When they
reached Clark's Fork and were about to debouch upon
the plain they found General Sturgis with the Seventh
Cavalry in possession of the only outlet. With Howard
pressing on in hot pursuit, the day looked dark enough
for this intrepid band of aborigines. They extricated
themselves from their desperate situation by a clever
feint. Showing themselves to the cavalry, they slowly
retired along a high ridge, disappearing behind it. Sur215




"Yellowstone Kelly"
sing that they were about to escape to the southward
through some other gap in the mountains, General
Sturgis marched his command in that direction along
the base of the mountains, and when he was out of sight
behind Heart Butte the Nez Perces, who were closely
watching his movements, took advantage of the open
way, and reaching the plain, pressed on to the Yellowstone. When Sturgis, after making a considerable detour, regained the trail, he found himself in the rear of
Howard's command. Two days later the Seventh Cavalry came up with the retreating Indians as they entered a canyon on the north side of the Yellowstone and
promptly attacked them, but were repulsed, as the Nez
Perces had the advantage of position.
From Pryor Gap we passed to the Stinking River
Canyon, whose gorge could be seen like a knife-cleft in
the side of the mountain. The stream itself, bare of timber, is a beautiful mountain torrent of clear sparkling
water where it issues out of the canyon. It receives its
name from a small geyser which impregnates the water
and the air wvith sulphureted hydrogen. The walls of
the canyon are composed of a beautiful granite, and I
noticed a cap of limestone. A couple of gentlemanly
prospectors whom we met here, who had pitched their
tent for the day near the water's edge, expressed the
opinion that it was useless to look for gold near a limestone ledge, or where there was a limestone cap. I could
not then gainsay the statement, but I have since, in Nevada, mined in rock charged with copper elements and
also carrying gold, that was frozen to a ledge of limestone.
Learning that there was a small camp of prospectors
somewhere along the face of the mountain, I rode up
216




In Yellowstone Park
there accompanied by one of the other men. It proved
to be the tail end of what was known as the "Whitmore
stampede." The story goes that years before, when it
was not safe to travel in these mountains, a miner of
that name had found a rich prospect; he had been compelled to leave, and when he returned with a strong
party he could not find the place he had located. Now,
here he was again with a following from the Black
Hills, miners, lawyers, even judges, eager for the quest.
Whitmore, with two men, had gone in search of the find,
the rest of the party remaining in camp awaiting their
return.
As the discovery prospect was manifestly off the
Crow Reservation I did not see any reason for disturbing these people. Their camp was in a little ravine near
Heart Butte, and I found them in a very bad plight,
for the camp had been visited by a cloudburst a night or
two before that had washed away most of their provisions and baggage. I saw rocks that weighed half a ton,
which had been moved by the sudden rush of water.
Before returning to camp we made a detour through
the mountains, much of it almost impassable for horses.
On the summit we stopped for awhile to watch the odd
maneuvers of a black bear on a snowbank. He appeared
to be raking in something with his claws, which he devoured with much gusto. Finally, our curiosity was so
excited that we moved toward him to see what he was
eating. As there were fresh elk sign in the vicinity we
had no intention of firing at the bear. Of course he stampeded as soon as we came into view, ambling off in the
usual ludicrous manner, turning his head first on one
side and then on the other to watch us. We found that
the snowbank was literally covered with grasshoppers,
217




"Yellowstone Kelly"
which had become benumbed in crossing the range. At
the edge of the snowbank, where it was melting, the water carried down quantities of the hoppers to where the
trout lurked around the mouths of small streams.
From our point of observation the vista stretched up
the north fork of the Stinking River and was altogether
lovely, wild, and picturesque. The sharp, pine-clad
ridges sloped gently to the valley, the dark green foliage of which was dotted with groves of the brightertinted aspen and cottonwood.
I quickly decided that this valley was the course to
the lake, and surmised that it could not be more than
twenty miles beyond where our view terminated. As
we descended the mountain to the north fork we saw two
horsemen riding rapidly in our direction. While awaiting their approach we saw that a camp had been formed
on the river bank near the forks, about a mile distant,
where the valley opened out to form a little park above
the narrow canyon.
The riders proved to be an officer from Fort Washakie and the guide, McCabe, from that post. The officer,
with a party of cavalry, was looking for two deserters.
Seeing my companion, who was in uniform, they naturally thought they had come up with their quarry, until
upon a nearer approach they saw their mistake. As our
course lay at right angles to the one they were pursuing
we had dismounted to await their coming. The officer
asked me where I was from. I replied, "Fort Keogh,"
adding that we were out under orders from the district
commander. He then told me the object of their search.
They soon moved on and we struck a bee line over
the mountains to our camp, which, like most short cuts
in a wild country, involved double the labor and fatigue
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In Yellowstone Park


we would have encountered by traversing the smoother
and more roundabout trail, besides compelling us to
camp out another night. We regretted, then, that we
had not gone to the cavalry camp and enjoyed their
hospitality for the night instead of wearing ourselves
out in toiling over the rocks and through the chaparral
of the mountains. We reached our camp early the next
morning and soon prepared to push on to the lake.
Winding along the north fork of this mountain
stream was a pleasant diversion, for here the game trails
led, ever upward, through the cool sequestered woods of
pine and aspen which bordered the tiny streams. Early
in the afternoon we camped in a little park of grass and
flowers and feasted on coffee, trout, and venison,
flanked by cans of condensed milk and currant jelly.
After this repast I picked up my rifle and was soon
lost in the forest primeval of the narrowing valley. In
this tangled wilderness I was keen to find the trail to
Yellowstone Lake. On either side were strata of red
rock overtopped with lava formation, the red and gray
of which contrasted with the mountain's vegetation.
The way became steeper and soon with one long spurt
I gained the summit and throwing myself breathless on
the ground gazed long at the beautiful view spread out
before me. Below was the lake at a distance of ten or
twelve miles, like a gem of silver in an emerald setting;
beyond, the continental divide, with'the Three Tetons
looming dark and misty to the left in the distance,
jagged and capped with snow. With my glasses I could
see whitecaps on the lake, snow-white flocks of pelicans,
and steam rising from some geysers on the east shore of
the lake. Reluctantly I turned away from this enchant219




"Yellowstone Kelly"
ing view and retraced my steps to camp, on the way
shooting a noble buck, whose horns were in velvet.
The ascent to the summit of the pass the next morning was very toilsome and in some places we were
obliged to cut our way through the tangled chaparral.
While doing this a band of elk started in plain view and
we ceased our labor a moment to watch them. The male
is a very stately animal, as with head thrown back and
nose in the air he trots through the timber like a true
monarch of the forest. On the summit, while our horses
were getting their second wind, we stayed to examine
the country ahead, then descended through the pines to
the lake shore and camped near a pond where the timber
was open, with no underbrush.
One of the men reported that he had seen a beaver
asleep on a stump in a small lake near by; this I thought
so odd that I took my gun and walked down to the
place. The animal was still on the stump when I got
there, but it did not look like a beaver. I fired and he
disappeared like a flash in the water. I was able to reach
the stump and after ws aiting a moment saw a shadow in
the water, and reaching down I brought to the surface
a fine otter. Quite elated, I carried it back to camp and
soon had the pelt stretched on a willow frame.
From our camp we made our way down to the foot of
the lake, forded the outlet at a shallow place, and made
for the head of the main finger on the west side of the
lake, keeping close watch, meanwhile, for Indian signs,
although I did not expect to find anv so far away from
the main trails leading to the Clark's Fork country.
Skirting the lake, we wandered to the left a mile or two
and found a tiny lake from which we drew a salmon, an
indication that its waters emptied into some tributary
220




In Yellowstone Park
of the Snake. The country was quite flat and heavily
wooded with pine.
We kept on to the foot of Mount Sheridan, where we
camped near two tiny springs, one hot and one cold.
Leaving my companions to look after the camp, with
orders to do no shooting, I ascended the mountain,
which I found bare and rocky, and from the summit
had a fine view of the surrounding country. Long and
earnestly I swept the country with my glasses for signs
of smoke or Indian tents, but there was no sign of life
except the white swans and pelicans on the lake, which
from this point showed plainly the fingers and thumb
characteristics of this body of water. Descending to our
camp, I removed the ban on shooting; Gilbert promptly
killed a fine buck and we had meat galore for two or
three days.
I had a desire to essay the direct passage through the
wilderness to the geyser basin, but I had been informed
that it was very difficult. Indeed, I learned that Captain
Jones of the engineers with a party from Fort Washakie had made the attempt and had succeeded in getting
through only after many mishaps in a maze of windfalls
of fallen timber. However, we had ouir work cut out for
us in finding that elusive camp of Bannock, if the drive
of these Indians eastward should prove a reality and not
merely a surmise.
Midday found us near the outlet of the lake, that silent stream flowing smoothly to where it gained headway near the upper falls, and past the paint-pot holes
with their ceaseless plop, plop, more distracting than
the noise of a roaring cataract. Pursuing our way along
the river trail, we suddenly came to the lower falls of the
Yellowstone, where the river drops with a cloud of
221




"Yellowstone Kelly"
spray into a gleaming yellow-walled canyon, down
which it frisks until lost to view.
There was no sign of Indians or of a fresh trail at
the only crossing at Baronett's bridge, nor along the
east fork of the Yellowstone leading to Clark's Fork
and the open country; nor could we glean any information at the Mammoth Hot Springs, where Norris, the
superintendent of the park, had his headquarters. In
the chill mist of early morning we passed like ghosts
along a rude road into the geyser basin. The steam rising from the pent waters seemed a part of the mist. We
could see but a short distance ahead and did not know
what we were missing, but we heard the roar of a geyser
in close proximity. The trail had disappeared and we
were treading a crust formed by steaming subterranean
waters, a crust that sounded hollow and was hot to the
touch. I dismounted and led my horse carefully around
the thin places for fear he would break through and
scald his legs.
We traveled in this way for a mile or more, stopping
at one point to admire a deep pool whose cerulean
depths were lost in darkness. Another mound-like pool
that boiled and threatened to explode in our faces, but
never did, was a natural laundry, for we later found
that a foul and sweated saddle blanket, thrown into its
engulfing maw, was churned into cleanliness in short
order. As we moved along, charmed by the sights on
either hand, the morning sun shining over the tops of
the pines pierced the mist and disclosed to our gaze Old
Faithful, a tall rugged mound gleaming in grays and
whites from a recent display of its spouting column.
There came a throbbing in the inner throat of the geyser, producing an increasing violence in its steamy depth
222




In Yellowstone Park


that forced a mass of boiling water above the rim and
before this could sink back it was forced to a greater
height where it hung for a moment undecided to sustain
its cohesion, when with a roar like wild beasts breaking
all restraint in a mad dash for freedom, a solid column
of the churned water rose high into the air, breaking
away but always reinforced by succeeding columns until, exhausted by the accelerating and stupendous effort,
it returned slowly upon itself while all about a flood
ebbed four ways, leaving little douches of mineral to
build and maintain those beautiful cup-like troughs or
channels of delicate hues which are peculiar to this formation.
We returned through the park by another route and
found that the Bannock had slipped through despite our
watchfulness (we had a hundred miles or more to cover)
and had been intercepted and captured by General
Miles, who was on his way to the park with a party of
friends and guests and a detachment of soldiers as escort. Learning that the Bannock had crossed the mountains, he hastily changed his plans and sending his party
to Fort Ellis, intercepted the Bannock with the aid of
some mountain Crows, and in an earlv morning skirmish killed a number of them and captured the rest.
Captain Bennett of the Fifth Infantry was killed in
this action. The Crows, as usual, got away with the
ponies.
General Miles and his party later camped near the
lower falls of the Yellowstone, where we reported to
him. Idling here even amidst such beautiful surroundings became monotonous, and together with the two
cavalry sergeants, nothing loath, I hit the trail for new
scenes of exploration. I am not sure if it was in the fall
228




"Yellowstone Kelly"
of this year or in the following one that at the instance
of the superintendent of Yellowstone Park, Mr. Norris,
I went to meet a troop of cavalry en route from Camp
Brown, Wyoming, to the park to act as escort to the
Reeves Boundary Survey, charged with the duty of
surveying the west line of the park.
I was alone in camp on the west side of the Stinking
River Pass when in the clear air of early morning I
heard voices and the shuffling footsteps of horses approaching. I recognized the voice of the one talking, and
going a little way from my camp toward them, I concealed myself behind a tree and when they had passed
a few yards beyond me I stepped out and in a ringing
voice ordered them to halt. They proved to be George
Towne, a trapper whom I had seen a few days before
at Mammoth Hot Springs, and Mr. Seymour, an artist
from New York City, who was making sketches in the
country. The message that Towne brought from the
superintendent was not very clear as to the whereabouts
of the troops of cavalry, but I surmised that they would
naturally come down the river above the lake.
At this time there were practically no trails in the
park aside from game trails, only a rough track connecting the geyser basin with Mammoth Hot Springs.
The east side of the lake was heavily timbered, with considerable underbrush. It was not easy traveling and the
course I took, as nearly straight to the head of the lake
as was feasible, was rough enough. To add to my troubles, Mr. Seymour would persist in stopping to sketch
whenever he saw a likable contour or a promontory
head, and I was more than once obliged to halt or go
back after him, for once lost he might be lost for good.
When I had gained the head of the lake and had trav224




In Yellowstone Park


ersed a mile or two of the upper Yellowstone River,
which here was not much of a stream, I decided to cross
and see if there was a fresh trail on the other side. Here
we found a fresh horse and mule trail going down
stream. After we had followed it a couple of miles it
turned off into a swamp nearer the river. Here it meandered around, as though the people who made it were
lost, then it led back to high ground, and very soon we
came to a cavalry camp in a little opening. Inquiring
for the officer in command, I was told that Captain
had gone ahead to look up the trail.
I went into camp, tired enough with the day's journey. In about an hour I met the captain, a fine-looking,
stocky cavalryman, who said that he had been trying to
pick up the tracks of the surveyors, who had gone ahead
to the geyser basin, leaving their burro pack train with
his command. He added that he expected to join the
surveyors at the basin and was glad that now someone
was along to show them the way.
It did not look easy to me, for I knew that there was
no trail from the west side of the lake. Indeed, report
made it a jumble of down timber, and the most experienced guides in bringing tourists from the entrance to
the park, Mammoth Hot Springs, to the lake returned
by the same route to AMary's Lake, or some other point,
to where a trail diverged to the geyser basin.
An early start was made the next morning. The troop
had a fine pack train of mules and I wondered how the
surveyors' train of burros could keep up and surmount
such obstacles as fallen trees and logs. Wie had traveled
barely eight miles and had reached a pleasant halting
place when I proposed to the captain to camp, while I
went ahead to look out a course through the wilderness.
225




"Yellowstone Kelly"
He seemed surprised, smiled, and said, "Why, we have
only come a short distance, seven or eight miles."
"Yes," I replied, "but there is some bad traveling
ahead for the packs that I wish to avoid." He consented
without further question, and I went ahead and had
progressed about half a mile when I ran plump onto a
big bull elk lying down in the shade of a tree.
The elk had scarcely gained his feet when he fell with
a bullet in his heart. I waited long enough to open him
and remove most of the viscera, then I returned to camp
and the captain sent out two pack mules and packers
for the meat. They were mighty glad to get that meat,
and the packers told me that the troop had killed nothing in the way of fresh meat since leaving Camp Brown,
but had lived mostly on fish. I then went on and finished
my survey and returned to camp, satisfied that we could
make the west side of the lake without much difficulty.
In the evening the company cooks set to work making bread with the last of the supply of flour. A trench
one foot in depth having been dug by the soldiers and
partly filled with red-hot coals, the cooks at the proper
time, having filled a large number of iron mess-pans
with raised or baking-powder dough, placed the pans
in the trench and covered each with another and slightly
larger pan. Hot ashes and coals were then heaped upon
the pans, the whole being then covered with turf.
I was not present when the trench was uncovered in
the morning and the loaves removed, but I saw them
later, when the morning meal was served, light and
beautiful bread, crisp to the touch when broken, sweet
and wholesome as any that ever came out of an oven,
with a nutty flavor born of the compressed steam that
enveloped them in their earth prison. This soldier-made
226




In Yellowstone Park


bread was an unusual treat with elk meat, steam-roasted
in a Dutch oven furnished for the occasion by the civilian
cook of the surveyors' pack train.
Driving straight through the primeval woods where
the going was good, weaving in and out of patches of
fallen timber and making detours where forced to, the
long line of horsemen and packs made a heavy trail, for
all traveled in single file, the mules stopping to nibble
at the wayside brush and then racing each other to get
second place to the bell mare that led the train and
scared all game within sound of its brazen appendage.
The burro train coming behind found a ready-made
trail, their packs striking the trees on either side a few
inches lower than the mules.
We made one of the fingers of the lake and camped
at the head, where a water avenue afforded a charming
view of the lake. I was now approaching ground that
was familiar. We were not so far from the foot of
Mount Sheridan that I could fail to sense landmarks. I
knew that between the base of the mountain and the
lake there was a swamp, of what extent I could only
surmise, but I thought proper to make a detour and
avoid it. This we did and I was soon on the course pursued earlier in the summer when with the two cavalry
sergeants I passed along the west side of the lake looking for the Bannock. We were now out of the wilderness, though still in the woods. The somber forest lay
all about. Early in the day we came to the spot on the
west side of the lake, of dubious repute, where a man
might throw for a trout and without changing his position swing the trout, still on the hook, to a spot where it
is cooked in the boiling water of a hot spring issuing
from the shallow bottom.
227




"Yellowstone Kelly"
From this point we were to leave the lake and penetrate an untraveled and unknown forest to reach the
geyser basin. I was confident that we could make it, but
expected to strike very rough going. That piece of
country had an evil reputation. Alone, or with a companion, I should have liked nothing better than to attempt it. We went into camp by the lakeside —a poor
place, there being little or no feed.
Bright and early next morning we were on the way,
I in the lead, the captain following at the head of his
troop in column of twos. When next I looked back the
troop had changed to a single line, the end of which
could not be seen. We passed a pretty lake with a
meadow around it, crossed some little ridges, and soon
came in sight of a little cloud, straight ahead of us,
which on closer approach proved to be Old Faithful,
spouting for our entertainment. We rode around a little
knoll to the left, crossed a gulch and the Firehole River,
and found ourselves in the upper geyser basin.
Mr. Norris, the superintendent, immediately dispatched a construction party to cut out and build a temporary roadway along the course of our trail. I say he
hastened to do this, fearing, mavhap, that otherwise the
trail might disappear and leave no trace to guide the
eager tourists whom he expected in shoals to view the
sights of this wondrous region. Kind, amiable gentleman, a man of parts, he took an interest in me and
would have me walk with him of an evening at our
camps in the park, ostensibly to view the beauties of nature but mostly, I suspected, to wear off some of his
nervous temper. He had a penchant for odd things, as
witness his road of glass on the way to the Firehole
Basin, where a ledge of black obsidian obtruded, which
228




In Yellowstone Park
he wore into shape by building fires and when the glassy
mineral was well heated pouring water on it.
The winter of 1879-1880 was bitterly cold. In December the buffaloes left their winter ranges along the
base of the Bear Paw Mountains and Milk River and,
drifting south, vast herds were massed in the valley of
the Yellowstone in January, on the plain opposite the
mouth of Powder River. The cold wave extended far
into the north. The allied Sioux gathered around Sitting
Bull's camp near the Burnt Wood Mountain north of
Milk River suffered from this movement of the larger
game, for their chief dependence for food in those days
was on buffalo meat. Many of their ponies had perished
and the intense cold had daunted the ardor even of the
young men who formed the predatory winter war parties of the region.
In February there came a mild chinook that warmed
the air and made water of the snow, and the hordes of
buffaloes overcame their fear of the white man's road,
crossed to the south bank, and were gone, and I suspect
but few came back from that south country, swarming
with Indians and hide hunters.
But before their departure I had an opportunity to
see this great plain when it was covered by masses of
these wild and picturesque beasts, to the number of half
a million or more. In February a hunting party of soldiers from Fort Keogh with two or three wagons were
on their way to this ground when I joined them. The
weather was so cold and calm that the smoke from a
camp fire rose in a slender black thread high into the air.
We approached a little bottom with the intention of
camping, and found that a bunch of young bulls occupied the ground. It was so cold that they refused to
229




"Yellowstone Kelly"
move and the soldiers killed enough to fill the wagons.
We made camp by putting two A tents close together
so that the openings faced, and entrance was effected by
pulling the two ends of the tents apart and squeezing
through. Of course the little Sibley stove stood here,
the pipe thrust through a tin protector at the top, the
entire combination forming one long tent with a stove
in the center. When a fire was burning in the stove the
tent was uncomfortably warm, but as the fire died down
the bitter air rushed in from all sides. To cook a meal in
the cramped funnel-shaped space around the stove required great ingenuity.
The butchering of the buffaloes we had killed required
the use of bare hands and proved a troublesome job.
Handling the warm flesh and hot viscera was easy, but
the outside work called for the use of mittens. We removed the paunch and entrails and left each carcass in
shape to drain. This was a great mistake, as it should
have been quartered for easy handling in loading. The
consequence was that in the morning when we came to
load the wagons we found the meat frozen so hard that
an axe in the hands of a soldier made little impression on
it, and meat and hide slivered off like ice. The thermometer that morning at the post hospital forty miles
away registered fifty degrees below zero.
My old friend, Sandy Morris, whom I had accompanied to the base of the Bear Paw Mountains after his
partner, George Horn, had been killed, was trapping
on Powder River with a new partner when they discovered fresh moccasin tracks one morning in the valley
and hastily retreated down the river, where they made
camp in the bottom where drift slabs and poles had col230




In Yellowstone Park


lected, of which they built themselves a substantial
breastwork.
Early on the following morning, while they were eatig breakfast, six Indians suddenly appeared in the adjacent timber with evident hostile intent. Sandy motioned them to keep off, whereupon one of the party laid
down his rifle and advanced with his hands extended.
He was allowed to enter the little corral and while
Sandy was talking to him his companion kept an eye on
the other Indians, who were partially concealed by the
timber. Now Sandy, as I have reason to know, while
true blue in contact with hostile Indians, was nervous
and trembled like a man with the ague. It may be that
the Indian noticed this agitation on Sandy's part and
was rendered desperate by the situation, for when some
suspicious movement among the other Indians attracted
Sandy's attention for a moment he suddenly seized the
rifles the two men held in their hands. Had the other
Indians rushed in then it would have been the end of the
two white men.
In the scuffle that ensued both men fell to the ground
with the Indian on top. Sandy's Winchester went off
accidentally, grazing him on the wrist, but he finally
managed to extricate himself and gun and shot the Indian in the stomach. The Indian jumped over the corral
and disappeared among the trees before Sandy could
get another cartridge into the chamber of his Winchester. A skirmishing fire ensued during which Sandy
shot another Indian, who exposed a dusky head from
behind a tree. Shortly after this the Indians retired and
the two white men made haste to reach the fort, a distance of about forty miles.
On hearing their story General Miles ordered out a
231




"Yellowstone Kelly"
small detachment of soldiers under command of a corporal of cavalry who had had some success in following
Indians. The party comprised seven cavalrymen or
mounted infantry, about the same number of our Cheyenne allies, Sandy, myself, and one other civilian. A
late start was made and it was dark before we had traversed more than two-thirds of the distance to Powder
River. I still remember that dark moonless night and
the rough trail we followed.
Arriving about midnight at the scene of the encounter, the horses and mules were attended to and disposition was at once made for repose. We were astir
very early in the morning, breakfast was prepared, the
saddle horses and pack mules were fed, blankets folded,
and all impedimenta packed for an early departure to
follow the trail of the Indians, not a difficult matter in
the soft ground of that thawing period.
Meanwhile, my attention was drawn to a young
Cheyenne scout prowling around in the timber, who uttered a low exclamation, and drawing near, we discovered under a pile of brush a dead Indian wrapped in his
blanket with a bullet-hole between his eyes. Further
exploration revealed the fact that the Indian who had
been wounded in the corral had turned back to his home
country accompanied by one of his companions, as
shown by the tracks, leaving three of the six to continue
their quest and divert possible pursuers from their
wounded comrade.
The tracks of the three Sioux led up Powder River.
By sunrise we were on the trail, which was easy to follow, as the February sun thawed the snow sufficiently
to retain the clear impress of any track, which the frosty
232




In Yellowstone Park


nights froze into rigidity. They were already trapped,
for they could not conceal their footsteps.
We had not traveled more than ten miles when it became apparent that the Sioux realized that they would
be followed, for they would take advantage of every
slope or ridge that was bare of snow, and twice they left
their direct course to travel along the bed of gulches
down which trickled little streams of snow water, expecting that the flow of water would increase in volume
and wash out the tracks. In one place they had doubled
on their tracks and had camped in a little hollow which
formed an excellent ambush from which to strike any
who might pass. The Cheyenne pointed to this spot significantly and laughed as they rode by.
From this point on we were more deliberate in our
manner of travel and took turns in riding ahead. Are
had left the Powder River Valley and were traversing
the broken ridges that border the Alizpah; the way became more difficult and broken cliffs appeared on either
side, covered with the stunted cedar and pine of that locality and frequented by mountain sheep and blacktail deer. Late in the day we made camp in a grassy
hollow, the Cheyenne a little apart, as our party was too
large to find comfort around one camp fire.
All appeared to be in good spirits that evening for
there was some excitement in the chase, though the advantage was clearly in our favor. After supper the Indians sat in a circle around their little fire, and passing
the pipe from one to another, sang in low tones snatches
of song, which must have been of a humorous nature as
it was frequently interrupted by laughter.
The corporal interrogated one of the Cheyenne,
whom I will call Yellow Bull, as to the probability of
233




"Yellowstone Kelly"
our overtaking the Sioux. He expressed the opinion
that we would come up with them about noon of the
next day. This he expressed in the graceful gestures of
the sign language, then added in the Yankton Sioux
dialect (which is generally used in the region of the upper Missouri by the different tribes in their intercourse
with the whites), Kichegapa eba duxya —"They will
fight." This was a foregone conclusion with nearly all.
Only a short time before these same Cheyenne scouts
had been hostile Indians and had doubtless been in
much the same predicament as the Sioux ahead. With
the instinct of a savage every detail of the chase was
clear to Yellow Bull; every artifice used approved itself
to his understanding, and he probably knew the very
spot or points from which the Sioux would watch the
pursuit.
By daylight we were on the trail. The way became
rougher as we advanced and the raw February wind
swept down from the gulches with chilling force. Troops
of black-tail deer sped away from our front into the
cedar groves, but no one fired a shot. About noon, as we
were traversing a grassy glade, the wind, which swept
through every hollow and apparently from no particular direction, wafted to us the odor of burning sage. At
once all were on the alert. The Cheyenne scattered out
to find the quarry; we followed suit and some little time
had elapsed, for we moved with extreme caution, knowing the artifices these fellows resorted to, when my attention was attracted by the movements of one of the
Cheyenne scouts who stood behind Douglass, one of the
cavalrymen, pointing eagerly ahead in a manner to encourage the soldier to advance while he followed in the
rear. Just at that moment a shot was fired from the
234




In Yellowstone Park


gulch ahead killing Douglass almost instantly. He
lunged forward over the bank and fell in the sage brush.
The Cheyenne dropped instantly and remained motionless for a time before he dared to move; then with
strange contortions of the body he exerted himself slowly
and slipped away without exposing himself to a shot.
There was more or less confusion for a bit, during
which shots were exchanged between some of our party,
who had crossed a ravine onto an opposite rise of
ground, and the Sioux, who were concealed in a sort of
ice cave under a large rock. A short distance from the
rock their camp fire was visible, near which a couple of
blankets had been flung down, showing that the Indians
had been taken by surprise, though the camp had been
made near the rock with a view to its possible use as a
place of refuge. It was a sorry retreat for it was merely
a hole large enough barely to conceal them, and desperate indeed was their situation without their blankets.
Fronting the ravine and facing this retreat, a hundred
yards or more away, was the crest of a small hill that
overlooked the ground in front. Thither the Cheyenne
had betaken themselves, and in a short time a number of
our party had congregated at the same point for consultation. One of the cavalrymen who ventured too close
to the retreat of the Sioux received a shot in the breast,
and as he was very weak it was thought best to send in
to the post for a surgeon. A volunteer was called for to
carry a dispatch; none of the Cheyenne responding, a
young Sioux scout who was with the party stepped forward and offered to go. Apparently the matter was settled and the young man had gone to fetch his pony when
the Cheyenne protested, representing that he was a
235




"Yellowstone Kelly"
Sioux and not to be depended on for such a mission, and
several now offered to go in his place.
The corporal stood irresolute with the scribbled note
in his hand, and was about to give it to a Cheyenne. I,
also, was momentarily stayed in my mind by the specious argument, but the young Sioux, sensing the situation, protested in his turn that he was an honorable
warrior and would faithfully deliver the paper. The
corporal being still undetermined, I came to his assistance, advising that the young man be employed for the
service. The Indian put the dispatch in his pouch and
jumping onto his pony made off at full speed over the
hills.
The rest of the party now brought rocks and I
crawled to the crest of the hill and built a protecting
barrier from which to survey at ease the dark entrance
of the retreat in which the Indians were concealed.
When the barrier had attained sufficient height I made
a porthole in it with enough cover to protect an observer.
AWith my field glass I looked long and patiently, but
could see nothing to shoot at but a shadowy hole. I soon
gave place to Sandy, who at my suggestion elevated his
old black sombrero on a gun stick just above the top of
the lookout. They seemed to recognize his headgear and
promptly plugged it with a bullet.
Tiring of this unprofitable hazard, we soon abandoned the place to our allies, who made persistent use
of it. It was certain that the three Sioux were in
wretched plight; huddled on the icy ground in a dark
hole, without protection, having foolishly abandoned
their blankets, sheer desperation would force them, as
I believed, to make a break for liberty in the dark and
get away.
236




In Yellowstone Park


Guards were placed in a circle to prevent their escape, and disposition for camp was made in a little hollow near the rise where Douglass had received his death
wound. His body lay just over the rise, in full view and
close to the retreat of the concealed warriors. I had
thought of a plan to crawl to his body after darkness
set in and secure his rifle, and if possible his belt of
ammunition.
It was a cheerless camp; a raw, cutting wind prevailed and the night was dark, the moon showing but
dimly through the drifting clouds. After we had eaten
a scanty meal of bacon, hard-tack, and coffee I uncovered my plan and made readv with a light rope, one end
of which I proposed to lug and attach to the body if it
seemed feasible to drag it clear from any entangling obstruction. It was but a few steps from the fitful light of
the camp fire and all followed to see the start. I borrowed a revolver, not being able to use my rifle to advantage in worning my way over the crest, where I
might be observed from the front; but I did not fear
this, for I saw that the cedars in our rear formed a background that would render me invisible to observation in
the absence of light. Gaining the top, I la! motionless a
moment trying to visualize the ground ahead, but it was
all a blur. The rope proving too short for the purpose
designed, I dropped the end wnhich I held in my hand,
and cautiously working along between the short shrubs
and tufts of grass, came to where I could lIly my hand
on the foot of the dead soldier.
Raising myself slightly, I could discern the outline of
the retreat. All was silent as the grav e, save the wind
sighing through the cedars. I could have thrown a stone
against the rock that concealed them, as we did earlier
237




"Yellowstone Kelly"
in the day from the bank above them on the other side,
but I had no desire to draw their attention. I could also
see the rifle of the dead man, lying where it had pitched
forward from the nerveless hand that could no longer
retain it. In order to reach it I would be obliged to step
over the body, take two steps, and make a quick grab
and a quicker retreat. This I had no desire to do; it involved great risk for too little profit. On the other side
of the cave were soldiers and Cheyenne on guard, watching for any attempt of the enemy to escape, and as they
were not aware of my adventure any movement on my
part might bring on me a volley from both friend and
foe. I returned with utmost caution to the bivouac, much
to the satisfaction of my friends, who did not approve
of the risks that I ran.
Dawn found the camp astir, and while devouring our
hastily cooked breakfast a scheme was devised to rout
the Sioux from their nest under the rock. This scheme
was simply to rush in a body on their retreat and kill
them if they made resistance, otherwise to drag them
out. This plan met the approval of our allies, the Cheyenne, though it is safe to say they had no intention of
forming the van of such a venture. While getting ready
for this attack, someone drew our attention to a body
of Indians sweeping down in a swift gallop from the
near-by hills. While considering them we soon perceived
that they were followed by a column of mounted soldiers and we knew that our Sioux courier had lost no
time in reaching Fort Keogh with his dispatch.
Captain Snyder of the Fifth Regiment with his company rode up, and learning how matters stood, sent
White Bull, a Cheyenne chief, to parley with the Sioux
and endeavor to persuade them to surrender. White
288




IIJ
io
b
top
de








In Yellowstone Park


Bull took his stand on a small eminence and harangued
the hollow some little time without eliciting any reply.
Finally, a faint response came, then a short parley, and
the way being made clear, our three hostiles came forth.
The foremost one was a tall, sullen-looking fellow
wrapped in a white Hudson's Bay blanket-coat with
hood of the same material; the others were of the same
type, but shorter and with stolid, impassive faces. They
were all of a tremble, but not with fear, and it was painful to see the leader as he stood with arms folded tight
against his breast while being interrogated.
The prisoners stated that they lad come from Sitting
Bull's camp near Woody Mountain, north of Milk
River, and were on a horse-stealing expedition to their
enemies, the mountain Crows, until the unfortunate affair when their leader was killed. After that they had
continued their original course in a desperate attempt
to deflect pursuit from their wounded comrade. One of
the trio had received a shot in the leg while lying in the
hole.
The wounded soldier was cared for by the surgeon
and placed upon a horse. The dead one was wrapped in
a canvas, lashed onto a pack mule, and so transported
to the Yellowstone. Down the company street the cavalcade took its way, and then, in the presence of the post
commander, company officers, and the company to
which the man belonged, the body of the dead soldier
was unlashed from the pack mule and delivered to his
waiting comrades.


239




CHAPTER XIV


SCOUTING IN COLORADO
PRING came on apace, and now, sure that peace
reigned in the valley and the surrounding region,
the old restlessness came over me and I felt impelled toward other fields of endeavor. It was not easy
to part from old friends and acquaintances-the gallant
officers and men with whom I had camped in fair
weather and in foul, who had trusted me to guide them
in unfamiliar and hostile country where often water,
fuel, and grass were not combined or available for a
considerable body of troops and their transport.
The great blank spaces on the map of this extensive
region had now been filled with trails and wagon routes;
hunters, stockmen, and prospective settlers roamed at
will looking for locations. Even the red men who had
fought us at Wolf Mountain and had surrendered in
good faith to the military were contented in their camps
under the observation of competent officers; while the
hostile and turbulent element, under the leadership of
Sitting Bull and other chiefs, were safe-as we then
judged-across the border to the north, under the observation of the Dominion officers.
A steamer was leaving for the lower country and
with my rifle and duffle bag in hand I walked aboard.
Of that voyage down the Yellowstone and the Missouri
I remember little, save that at Fort Berthold there was
the usual throng of Indians on the high bank to view the
passing show, always new, a custom that has prevailed
probably since the day when the first peace treaty was
240




Scouting in Colorado
made between the Arikara, Mandan, and Hidatsa more
than one hundred years ago.
At last one day the stage from Georgetown, Colorado, crawling ever upward through the cooling pines,
arrived finally in the cool atmosphere of Leadville,
where a comfortable and roomy tent lodging received
me and my slender belongings, the heaviest of which
was my rifle. It was a relief and a pleasure to enter at
once into a company of quiet, courteous men, all miners
apparently, but men who had studied for the business
before launching out into the rough and ready ways of
typical mining camps. There were mining engineers,
bearded fellows, who had seen service in military camps,
experienced miners and prospectors, and graduates of
schools of mines, in quiet discourse or reading books
and papers.
I did not stay long in this mining camp. Having purchased a pony and some provisions, I climbed the ridge
past the tiny twin lakes and traveled on across Boulder
Creek to Aspen, another tent city in the making, prospecting and killing deer as I needed meat, for all of
that region swarmed with deer, elk, and bear. On Plateau Creek, under the Grand MIesa, I ran into old Colorow, a Ute sub-chief, who was hunting deer all by himself. Like many another Indian, Colorow took a fancy
to my rifle and offered two horses for it. My decisive refusal blocked any further parley on the subject.
This chief, with others, had been concerned in the killing of Mr. Meeker, the agent for the Utes, on White
River in the preceding autumn. The Utes had been very
insolent toward the agent and the whites generally for
some time, and the Interior Department had asked that
a military force make a demonstration in that direction
241




"Yellowstone Kelly"
with a view to placing the Indians on their good behavior.
In response to this call a column of cavalry under
command of Major Thornburg marched rapidly from
Rawlings, Wyoming, on the road to Bear River and
was well into the Utes' country before the incensed Indians learned that an invasion was impending. A large
war party under the leadership of Jack proceeded
from the agency up the valley one day in the autumn of
1878 to where the road debouched from a narrow gulch,
and turning up this thoroughfare they stopped behind
a low ridge at one side of the road where a pony trail
cuts the winding course of the gulch. Here they waited.
The column of cavalry was approaching, the commander in an ambulance at the head, the baggage wagons following. The air was crisp with the spell of the
exhilarating altitude, for the spot lies on the western
slope of the Rocky Mountains, where the waters flow to
the Pacific Ocean. The road wound around a hollow,
but the guide, either intentionally or by mistake, took
the grass-grown Indian trail that led directly over the
hill, a low divide that separates Bear River from White
River. Bill Williams' Fork of Bear River lies over the
hill, and here the ancient trapper used to trap and hunt
the beaver which harnessed the streams in every direction in those days. Unconscious of the lurking Indians
behind the ridge, the column came on. The Indians
clutched their rifles in anticipation of the conflict, but
kept their ponies well in hand ready to skip out if the
venture failed.
A rifle shot rings out, then another. The Utes rise
from their concealment and pour a volley into the troops
as they ride up the slope. The soldiers, though taken by
242




Scouting in Colorado
surprise, return the fire in some disorder. Major Thornburg is killed in his ambulance and the retirement that
is ordered becomes a pursuit on the part of the Utes,
who follow closely and fire from rock and brush, for
they outnumber the soldiers two to one.
Meanwhile, the wagons, having unfortunately struck
the most unfavorable spot in the entire gulch for defense, halted in their tracks and could not afterward be
moved, for the Indians, grown bold by the success of
their attack, surrounded the command and from behind
the rocks and ridges that commanded the position of the
soldiers poured in a steady fire, killing men, mules, and
horses in rapid succession.
The troops defended themselves as best they could
behind the protection afforded by the corralled wagons
and entrenchments hastily constructed, until night
closed the conflict. During the night Jack dispatched a
swift messenger to the agency, where Colorow and
Douglas, the chiefs proper, held sway, to inform them
of the situation. The chiefs thereupon proceeded to kill
Mr. Meeker and the other employees of the agency, and
taking the women as prisoners withdrew to some fastness in the mountains.
Meanwhile, the troops were in a serious dilemma.
They could not move to better ground, for the only water to be had was at their present camp, and they had
many wounded men and no transportation left. So they
made themselves as secure as possible and under cover
of the darkness dispatched the guide to Rawlings. for
assistance.
The Utes conducted the siege in leisurely fashion, retiring at night to their bivouac and renewing the attack
in the morning. A troop of negro cavalry on escort duty
248




"Yellowstone Kelly"
somewhere in the vicinity, learning of the desperate
situation of Major Thornburg's command, rushed to the
rescue and arrived early in the morning before the,Utes
had reappeared from their camp to harass the hemmedin troops.
The fight went on in desultory fashion during the
day, the Utes popping away at any object that showed
among the wagons and the soldiers returning the compliment whenever the Indians skirted the crests of the
hills on their fleet ponies, as they frequently did in bravado. After a siege of three or four days' duration, during which the wounded were in desperate shape, a relief
column under command of General Merritt appeared
on the scene and the Utes quickly vanished. They were
never punished for this outbreak, unless the deprivation
of their lands and curtailment of hunting privileges
might be deemed a punishment.
Skirting the ridges that look down on Grand River,
I came to tle heads of Plateau Creek, a beautiful region, but not a place to look for gold. What did I care?
Being heart and mind free, I gave myself up to the joy
of living and camped in the shadow of aspens in lovely
spots where deer and elk were abundant. I had killed a
buck and I hung the quarters on the branch of a tree under which I lodged, and then I had to move for the bees
and wasps were so thick about the fresh meat that I
could not get near it.
From the Grand 3Iesa, which looks down on the
Gunnison where it joins Grand River, I wandered down
to Grand Junction, situated on the north bank of that
stream in a sagebrush flat devoid of timber or shrubbery, another tent city, garnished with a multitude of
wells with long wooden sweeps for raising water. This
244




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UTE INI)IANS E"NCAMPEJ)
Skeltc/ hy C. S. Sf ohie, First Scuu, 1


NEAR BEAR RIVER
Wh'Iite Rfirer De1 Agency.




w,




Scouting in Colorado
was before the railroad had been constructed down the
Gunnison. I found the people very friendly and hospitable. They had high hopes of its development as a railroad center and of its agricultural and fruit possibilities
because of a rich soil and favorable climate, combined
with abundant water for irrigation. An immense valley,
of which it seemed to be the center, was bounded on the
north by high bluffs of upheaved strata of oil slate, beyond which the land sloped toward White River and
embraced an excellent stock range, where the Utes
pitched their tents and found easy hunting, for deer
were very thick in those days.
From this point I drifted to the military camp on
White River, where a battalion of the Fifth Infantry
was in cantonment. Major Drum was in command and
it was not long before I again became a scout for the
government. AIy duties were light and I spent much
time in hunting on the headwaters of White River. On
the north fork, near the head of Bill Williams' Fork of
Bear River, I found a beautiful little lake hidden in the
forest, called Trappers' Lake, that was swarming with
trout. There was not a sign of a trail leading to this lake,
nor was there any grass for camping purposes.
To this spot I led a party of officers from the cantonment. There was no trail, so I took a straight course
through the woods, crossing hills and ravines, and as we
had a number of horses and pack animals a well-marked
trail was left for those who came after.
It was a virgin trail, over new and out-of-the-way forest lands. Suddenly we came upon the residence of a
beaver family; there was the dam across a little brook,
with fresh-peeled willows and other edible-bark shrubbery scattered about. These clever rodents had selected,
245




"Yellowstone Kelly"
for safety, a site far from choice cottonwood saplings,
their cherished food, and now they were no longer safe,
for here was a trail  They were discovered at last. Their
simple habitation of brush rose above water at one side
of the dam and their pathways and slides lined the bank,
the water still glistening where they had gamboled.
Now all was discreet and still.
We passed along at a walk between the trees, when
out of the forest sprang half a dozen wood deer with
startled speed and away. We were now nearing Trappers' Lake and I had no time to play, for I was in the
lead and wanted to strike the lake at its outlet, where
the trout were so thick that they hid the shallow bottom.
It was easy to miss, riding through the thick woods.
We had started one bright morning and instead of
following the old wagon road that led to the forks of
White River I cut to the left over the hills and we made
an early camp in the timber where there was fine water
and fresh game sign. After lunch I started off alone for
fresh meat of some kind, either elk or deer, before the
promiscuous shooting should frighten the game from
the vicinity. In the evening or early morning I would
have skirted the edge of the timber, but being midday I
entered the wood and slowly and cautiously picked my
way between the trees with all senses alert for signs and
sounds, halting frequently to listen, for I sensed a game
odor not far away. There did not seem to be a breath of
air stirring for it was that hour after noon when all nature seems at rest.
Standing there, either by design or inadvertence I
stepped on a dry twig, which snapped ever so lightly
but occasioned a crash in the timber near by. I looked in
the direction, but could see nothing but a white dead
246




Scouting in Colorado
lmb against a tree. As I looked, it moved in that stately
and graceful fashion that strength gives to weight, and
I knew it was a bull elk. The rest was easy. I fired and
the elk lunged forward and dropped with a great tumult and thrashing of brush. With some difficulty I
cleared a space sufficient to handle and dispose the animal for packing to camp. I returned at once to camp
and had two of the soldiers saddle up and return with
me for the meat and head.
The next morning we traveled down a long ridge to
the north fork of W rhite River and crossed; thenceforth
it was through the forest until we reached the outlet of
Trappers' Lake, where we stopped to rest and admire
the swarm of trout that filled the stream at that point.
We found a little spot at the head of the lake where
we might camp and have scant picking for the animals
for at least one day and night. We made a pleasant
camp in the open and caught with ease all the trout
needful for our use and to take back to friends at the
cantonment. These were exposed to the cold and frosty
night air and in the morning wrapped in rushes.
I now led the party up a long ridge in the direction of
Bill Williams' Fork of Bear River, where we camped
in the pines. In the evening I went down the ridge a
short distance and killed two black-tail deer, which
were packed on the mules when we returned to the cantonment. We took with us, also, a hard-tack box which
we had packed with trout in layers of leaves and green
rushes in the frost of the early morning. Thus ended a
very pleasant outing.
Some time after the excursion to Trappers' Lake,
Captain Van Vliet and I spent a few days in the forested hills beyond the forks of White River, where deer
247




"Yellowstone Kelly"


and elk were plentiful. Once we stopped near the brink
of a sharp ridge, where I peeped over and saw a buck
reposing under a pine tree, and we watched that deer
get to his feet carefully and almost crawl to cover,
whence he bounded off to safety in the timber.
Another time while in the same neighborhood with
Lieutenant Patterson we came upon the fresh trail of
two bears in the early morning, when frost was on the
grass. We followed it to the edge of the hill and peering
over saw two bears, one brown and one black, standing
at attention, listening with all their might. I fired at the
big one, but the bullet drove high and made a splash on
the ground beyond him.
With a single motion the bears turned and galloped
up hill, coming straight in our direction. "Let's get to
that treel" I cried to the lieutenant, and we did, standing ready. Presently they came bounding along in their
clumsy gait only a few yards away and when they were
*within thirty yards or less the officer fired at the big
brown one and bruin dropped. The other one escaped.
When we came to examine our prize we discovered that
I had shot him through the ear.
One day the commanding officer sent for me and directed that I proceed to the camp of Colorow, and tell
him to move out of the country. At that time his camp
was somewhere on the head of Piceance Creek, and consisted of about a dozen lodges and tents. I had some
trouble in finding the camp, but finally arrived in sight
of it early in the evening.
Dismounting near the principal lodge and holding
my horse by the lariat, I raised the canvas flap that
served to cover the entrance and stepped within the
smoky atmosphere. Several Indians were seated on
248




Scouting in Colorado
skins and blankets in a circle about the fire, and a voice
from one of them, whom I recognized as Colorow,
greeted me with "How How I"
"Colorow," I said, "the soldier chief at White River
camp sent me to tell you that you must move your camp
away from this White River country at once."
Colorow understood English fairly well. He was silent for a moment, then he said, "Well, where I go?"
"Follow the way water runs, the way the Utes went,
across Green River into Utah," I told him.
"All right, all right, I go," he said, and made no further comment.
So the Indians had to move on. The region where
they had pitched their tents was such as to give them a
comfortable living, but apparently it was the policy of
the Department of the Interior to assemble the Utes
around the nearest agency, where they could be watched
and taken care of. They would have been happier, I
know, where they were not under the eyes of the military. The region they vacated was not made use of for
years after their removal. I understand that in recent
years oil shale has been found in it.
There being no feed in the vicinity nor any invitation
for me to stay, I mounted my horse and took the back
trail about five miles; then, turning off the trail into the
hills, I found a comfortable place to spend the night,
and picketing my horse, spread m! blanket against the
saddle and slept.
The next time I received orders they were given me
in writing instead of verbally. It was the first week in
October, 1882, when Major Drum issued an order from
his camp on White River directing me to proceed on a
scout over the trail leading southward to ascertain if
249




"Yellowstone Kelly"
there were any Indians about and to report upon its
practicability as a wagon road. The scout was not to extend farther than Grand River.
I knew there were no Indians near the trail south to
the Grand, so I took the trail west toward Piceance
Creek in order to find out just where the Indians were
and thus enable me to make a proper report. After proceeding some four or five miles on a plain trail in the
Piieon8, I came face to face with a dozen Utes traveling
in single file. The way was narrow, with rocks and trees
on either side, and there was scarcely room to turn out.
Clearly someone must get off the trail, and in that wild
place the ethics in the premises might rest in point of
numbers.
I kept on the trail until my horse's head touched the
head of the horse bearing the leading Ute. We were all
now at a standstill. The leader, a man of pleasant features, about twice my age, was simply habited in a
leather shirt and had a black silk cloth around his head.
We held a short confab, mostly in signs, in the course
of which the leader learned that I was hunting, and I
that they were on their way to the cantonment on some
business whose nature I could not make out. Finally,
the leader, reading my mind, perhaps, and realizing that
I had no notion of giving them the road, pressed his
bridle rein against the neck of his mount and with a
smile turned off the path, the others following his example.
I pursued my journey without looking back. Late in
the day I met a Ute riding in the direction I was going
and joined him. In a couple of hours we came to his
camp of several hundred people. I rode through the
camp and returned to the trail I had left. I noted that
250




Scouting in Colorado
very few people were outside of their tepees. I had got
a few hundred yards away when I happened to look
back and saw a multitude of armed Indians riding furiously in my direction.
I halted at once and waited their approach. They
came on in a menacing attitude and I thought they were
going to ride over me, but they checked their horses a
few feet away and I suddenly found myself the center
of a mob of gesticulating and excited Indians.
I made the sign that I did not understand and they
brought forward a man who could talk English. He demanded to know what I was doing out there, and where
the soldiers were. It was evident that the Indians supposed that I was spying out their camp.
"Tell your chief," I said to the interpreter, "that I
met some of your people this morning on their way to
the soldier camp on White River and they asked me the
same question, and I told them that I was hunting and
looking at the country. I am alone, and there are no soldiers anywhere except at their camp."
I rolled and lighted a cigarette and looked at my
watch —not that I wanted to know the time of day, for
I knew it was time to go. While they were debating
among themselves I waved my hand with an "adiosl"
and passed on. I was doubtful whether I had convinced
them that all was well, but they made no move to follow
me and I rode until dark. Then, as on the previous occasion, I turned off the trail into the pinon hills, where I
might find a place to sleep in safety.
Another incident occurred in the following winter.
There were no thrills about it, only hard and drudging
labor; the labor of following a mountain lion in deep
snow.


251




"Yellowstone Kelly"
I had been looking for a band of elk whose tracks, a
day or two old, showed along the foot of the mountains
near Bill Williams' Fork, not far from the site of the
Thornburg fight. While on their sign I ran onto the
track of a mountain lion and followed it. Lions were
common enough, but the track of this one was unusually
large-the largest I ever ran across. Lions are cowardly creatures until wounded and cornered.
The snow was about a foot deep and the going rough,
but I kept on to where the lion had stopped near a
heavy bank of snow and excavated a pit nearly six feet
in depth to the remains of a range steer incased in its
shriveled hide. Satisfied that there was nothing there in
the shape of food, the lion pursued his course and got
into such rough country that it was too trying for my
horse and I turned aside toward the lower country, for
it was nearly dark and there was no place suitable for a
camp. I had not gone more than a mile when I again
ran on to his tracks, not more than twenty-four hours
old and going in the direction of the starting point. I
got off my horse and examined the track. It was the
same old lion with the big feet, meandering toward the
lower country where the deer flock along the juniper
ridges, where there are rocky caverns and retreats.
Satisfied, I turned away from the lion's footprints,
aiming to go far enough to be out of the scent of the
beast, it being according to my experience a matter of
chance or good luck to get within shot of such a wary
prowler. I found a little bench where the horse could
paw the snow and find short and succulent grasses and
sweet herbage, which would hold him better than the
dry, washed-out grass of the valley. I selected a spruce
252




Scouting in Colorado
tree near by, under which I made my camp on the bare,
dry ground.
I soon had a fire started and snow melting for coffee,
there being no water anywhere near. I always carried
meat tied to the saddle in starting out, for the reason
that I might not want to shoot or lose time in hunting
game; m any event I could take only a little of it and
waste a whole lot. I usually carried ribs of deer or other
game, which I roasted on the coals. So with a cup of
coffee and roast ribs I could make out a satisfying meal
without bread.
I placed my saddle at the trunk of the tree and rolled
in the blanket and light canvas I carried. I was up by
dawn and had breakfast, after which I picketed the
horse, for I feared he might stray off in search of water,
snow not being very satisfying. This hunt was to be
afoot, and I lost no time in getting under way. I cut
across to strike the track and when I got to it I found it
looked much fresher in daylight. I began to feel there
was a sporting chance to come up with him. The pursuit
led me for hours up and down hill. Once I came to where
the lion had maneuvered for position to pounce upon a
deer. A bunch had been feeding on a hillside where there
was scattered shrubbery that offered concealment. The
outcome was plainly revealed, like a pictograph traced
in the snow; how he crept from bush to bush, waiting
patiently to make a further advance like a cat crawling
on a bird or fowl; then, when close to the quarry, making a sudden dash which must have brought him very
close to one deer, as shown by the scramble and springing of the surprised and frightened band as they scattered in flight, still pursued by the lion.
The tracks led to lower ground and I turned off the
258




"Yellowstone Kelly"
direct trail to intercept it again in the direction I surmised they would go. When I again struck the trail of
the deer there was no sign of the lion. By this time I
was becoming weary of the chase, but I turned to the
right and after traveling a mile had described a half
circle before I again saw his fresh track. He was heading for higher ground and took a course that led toward
camp. The way became rough, and in some rocky
gulches he seemed uncertain which way to travel. Finally, as I topped a rock ridge to one side of the direct
trail (I was beginning to be wary of him myself) and
stopped to rest and look around, I saw him against some
gray, shelving rocks about one hundred yards away. He
was lying down looking straight at me.
I fired on the instant and he bounded into the air and
disappeared over the ledge. I lost no time in making
for the spot where I last saw him. There was blood on
the rocks and his tracks led over another ridge, as I
could see in the snow. When I had surmounted this
point I saw him about fifty yards away, spitting and
snarling, lying down and looking around in my direction. I let him have it again and he stretched out in the
snow and when I got to him there was no sign of life.
He did not come up to my expectation in point of
size, though far above the average, and his lower limbs
and paws were abnormally large. A mountain lion that
helped himself to one of our baits in the Judith Basin,
Montana, was estimated to weigh one hundred and fifty
to one hundred and sixty pounds. This animal would
weigh more, and when the hide was stretched to dry
later the legs were out of proportion, giving it an odd
appearance.
254




Scouting in Colorado
I shall not weary the reader by describing my task
of laying out a military route to the valley of Grand
River, which was built by Captain Stephen Baker with
two companies of infantry, nor the log cabin that I
toiled to hew in one of the river loops in this same valley after the abandonment of the military cantonment
on White River, which occurred a year or two later.
After the close of the military occupation in this region I was urged to proceed to some other station, but I
preferred to remain in Colorado, where there were fine
hunting grounds in the lands lately vacated by the turbulent Utes. Also, I had some notion of turning farmer,
an idea which was destined never to materialize.
There was no longer any wild frontier on whose verge
the picturesque savage disputed the passage of the white
man. The campaigns conducted by General Miles
against the allied Sioux and Cheyenne on their own domain, keeping the field regardless of the weather, alike
in deep snow or in burning heat of midsummer, had convinced them of the futility of longer opposing the government. Strange to relate, many who had fought the
whites most bitterly were among the first to adopt a
peaceful mode of life and to turn their attention to the
cultivation of the soil as a means of livelihood.
There was no longer in this region any field for the
exercise of the talents of a scout, and my happy, eventful life on the plains drew to its close. M1y army friends
found a place for me in the War Department and I returned once more to the peaceful life on which while still
a mere boy I had turned my back. I was yet to wander
far, to Alaska and the Philippines, and to undergo
many interesting and venturesome experiences. But the
255




"Yellowstone Kelly"
recital of them must await another occasion. The present narrative properly ends with the termination of the
happiest period of my life, as a plainsman and scout in
the region of the Yellowstone.


256




INDEX


AMELIA POE, river steamboat,
wrecked on upper Missouri,
89.
Arapaho    Indians,   hunting
ground of, 218.
Arikara, shot at by Mike Welsh,
48-44; scalp Oglala shot by
Kelly, 47-48; in hunting
party, 87; peace treaty with
Mandan and Hidatsa, 241.
Assiniboin, at Fort Buford, 52;
bring pelts to Fort Peck, 58;
meeting with, 68; on the road,
94; camp on Milk River, 188.
Atwood, Bill, rescues camp
grindstone, 106-107.
BAILEY, Lieut., secures
ammunition,  91;   examines
ford, 157; forestalls  Nez
Perc6 raid on Carroll, 186.
Baird, Lieut. G. W., shot
through the ear, 198; order
signed by, 207.
Baker, Capt. Stephen, builds
military route to Grand River
Valley, 255.
Baldwin, Capt., carries ammunition, 174; friendly tussle
with Gen. Miles, 187.
Baldwin, Lieut. Frank D., attacks Sitting Bull's camp,
180; order signed by, 212.
Bannock Indians, Kelly ordered


to report on, 212-218; captured by Gen. Miles, 228.
Barker, L., on trip down Yellowstone River in mackinaw,
176.
Bear eats grasshoppers in snowbank, 217-218.
Bear's Den Hill, life at, 18.
Bear's paw as a visiting card,
148.
Beaver, dried castors mixed with
tobacco, 123; attempt to dig
out, 129; construction of dam,
"water farmer of the plains,"
180; at McDonald's Creek,
184-185.
Bennett, Capt., killed in
fight with Bannock, 223.
Benteen, Capt. -, in command of cavalry, 206.
Billy, half-breed scout, 154; interpreter, 158.
Blackfeet Indians, Judith Basin
claimed by, 90; Bear Paw
Mountain district claimed by.,
108; war parties of, 117;
Sioux wounded by, 148-144.
Bloody Knife, leader of Arikara
hunting  party, 44; scalps
Sioux shot by Kelly, 47-48.
Blount,, corralled by Indians, 105.
Bowles,, partner of Major
A. S. Reed, 117.


257




Index


Bread baked before camp fire,
16.
British commissioners to establish status of hostile Indians,
199; Kelly carries dispatches
to, 201-203.
Broadwater, -, owner of bull
trains, 103.
Brughier, John, half-blood Sioux
guide and interpreter, 158;
joins Gen. Miles, escorts
Cheyenne captives, 175; acquitted, 176.
Brule Indians, speech differs
from Yankton, 92.
Bryant, Major --, on Gen.
Forsyth's staff, 99.
Buffalo Horn, Bannock scout,
takes part in fight with Cheyenne, 167-172.
Buffaloes, used as wolf-bait, 61;
attack  hunters,  111, 113;
method of cooking hump, 185.
Bull boats, made by Lambert
and Kelly, 71, 78; method of
propelling, 75-76.
Butler, Major, leads company against Cheyenne, 174.
CARROLL, town of, on Upper
Missouri,  104;  rendezvous
for hunters and trappers, 105.
Carter, Capt., in attack on
Nez Perce, 193.
Casey, Major -, leads company against Cheyenne, 174.


Chance, Lieut., on Gen.
Forsyth's staff, 99.
Chanda (tobacco), mixed with
red willow bark, 56; given to
Yankton, 182.
Chandopia, see chanda.
Chashasha (red willow bark),
mixed with tobacco by Indians, 29, 49, 56, 181-182.
Cheyenne Indians, John Stanwix' experience with, 141;
make peace with Gen. Miles,
158; tents arranged in circle,
154; women captured, 169;
shot by Buffalo Horn, 172;
medicine man dances along
ridge, 174-175; captives escorted to camp, 175; assist
Gen.   Miles  against  Nez
Perces, 189; lead advance,
192; in fight with Sioux, 282 -239; Gen. Miles's campaigns
against, 255.
Chippewa Indians, take Kelly
across river in canoe, 17-18.
Clendenning,, trader at
Carroll, 136.
Colorow, offers two horses for
Kelly's rifle, 241; murders
Meeker, Ute agent, 243; ordered to leave White River
country, 248-249.
Cooley, George, cook at Fort
Peck, 158.
Cooper, Jim, a Georgian at Carroll, 105.
Coyotes, of little commercial


258




Index


value, 127; cooked by Mike
Welsh, 188.
Crook, Gen. George, prepared
to march against Sioux, 146,
148.
Crow Indians, fight with Sioux,
67; on upper reaches of the
Missouri, 77; claim Judith
Basin, 90; Yankton attempt
to steal horses of, 93; Bear
Paw Mountain district claimed
by, 108; war parties of, 117;
visit Kelly's hunting party,
121-122; manners, characteristics, and  dress, 121-122;
pipe-smoking ceremony, 122 -128; raid against Sioux, 124 -125; guide Stanwix' party,
141-142; attack hostile Indians, 166; Tom LaFarge, interpreter for, 167; scouts with
troops in fight against Cheyenne, 167-171; infringement
on rights of, 212; hunting
ground of, 218; aid   Gen.
Miles in intercepting Bannock, 228.
Culbertson, Joe, guides Lieut.
Baldwin in attack on Sitting
Bull, 180.
Cusick, Lieut., full-blooded
Iroquois, beaten by hostiles,
50; buys mare and foal from
Kelly, 107.
DAKOTA Indians, include Assiniboin, Yankton and Teton


Sioux,  68,  difference  in
speech, 92.
Deadwood, Kelly visits, to determine feasibility of wagon
route, 206-210.
Deer, method of packing, 8-9;
sausage,  88,  66;   Indian
method of hunting, 86.
Deere, Jimmy, hunts wolves
with  Kelly, 60-66; shoots
mountain lion, 65.
Department of the Interior,
policy in regard to Utes, 249.
De Trobriand, Col.  -, commanding Fort Stevenson, 44.
Douglas, Ute chief, murders
Meeker, 2.18.
Douglass, -, cavalryman,
killed  by  Sioux, 234-235;
Kelly attempts to recover rifle
and ammunition of, 287-288;
body delivered to comrades,
289.
Drum, Major -, commanding Fifth Infantry, 2415; orders Kelly to scout southward
from White River, 249-250.
"Dutch," mail-carrier from Fort
Buford to Fort Stevenson, 40;
returns to Fort Buford, 50.
EAGLE trap, Indian concealed
in, 102.
Erwin brothers, go wolf-hunting
with Kelly and Welsh, 118 -186.
Erwin, Bill, famous criminal


259




Index


lawyer,  defends   Brughier,
176.
FAR   WEST, river steamboat,
carries Gen. Forsyth's expedition up the Yellowstone River,
98-101; Grant Marsh captain
of, 146.
Forsyth, Gen. George A., commands expedition up Yellowstone River, 98-102.
Fort Benton, head of navigation
on Missouri River, 77; Amelia
Poe bound for, 89; north
country trails lead to, 104;
Gen. Terry leaves, to meet
British commissioners, 199.
Fort Berthold, Indian agency
for Arikara, Grosventres, and
5Mandan, 25; description of,
25-81; throng of Indians at,
'240.
Fort Buford, description of, 38;
mail carried to Fort Stevenson, 40; Gen. Miles receives
supplies by steamer from, 198.
Fort Custer, on Big Horn River,
visited by Kelly, 214.
Fort Garry, on site of Winnipeg,
17.
Fort Peck, location of, 57; hunting party formed at, 60; convenient to buffalo ranges, 70;
changed conditions at, 152 -158.
Fort Phil Kearny, site of, 211.
Fort Stevenson, mail carried
from Fort Buford, 40, 44.


Fort Union, ruins of, 89, 58.
Fort Wadsworth, description of,
10.
Four-Bears, Sally, daughter of
Mandan chief, 88.
Fox, Private, accompanies
Kelly on trip to Deadwood,
207-211.
Freeman, Capt. -, forbids
Kelly to cross the border, 208.
GALL, Chief, joins conference
called by Gen. Miles, 158.
"Galvanized  yanks,"  released
Confederate prisoners, 105.
Gerard brothers, free lances in
Indian trade, 26; get their
start by recovering gold dust,
27.
Geysers in Yellowstone Park,
222-228.
Gilbert, Sergt., on trip to
Deadwood, 207-211; accompanies Kelly on trip to Yellowstone Park, 212-228.
Gilson, Christopher, instructs
Kelly in the art of packing,
18; wagon used by, 207.
Good Dog, Yankton, joins Kelly,
Welsh, and Haddo, 182-188.
Gordon, Jake, teamster, sells
field glasses to Kelly, 151.
Grinnell, George Bird, meets
Kelly near Reed's ranch, 117.
Grosventre Indians, visit Kelly
and Welsh, 49; at peace with
Assiniboin, 68; on upper
reaches of the Missouri, 77;


260




Index


in hunting party, 87; unearth
cache made by Nez Percts,
205.
HADDO, Corporal,   on
scout with Kelly and Welsh,
180-184; on scout with Kelly
and Tripp, 189-192; killed,
195.
Half-breeds, Kelly joins party
of, to make pemmican, 19-28.
Hall, Capt. Robert, battalion
commander, 4.
Hargous, Lieut., leads detachment in fight with Cheyenne, 171.
Harvest festival, Indian, 29.
Heintzelman, Capt., post
quartermaster, 207.
Hidatsa Indians, peace treaty
with Arikara and Mandan,
241.
Horn, George, goes wolf-hunting with Sandy Morris, 108;
killed by Santee, 109.
Howard, Gen. 0. O., campaign
against Nez Perc6s, 184, 186,
215-216; consults Gen. Miles,
198.
Howard,   John,  accompanies
Kelly on trip to the Missouri,
184.
Hump, Indian scout, kills Nez
Perch, 198-194; is wounded,
195.
Hunkpapa Indians, cross Big
Dry with pelts, 57; control
buffalo range, 149.


INDIAN, method of making
pemmican, 22; burial ground,
25; village, 27-29; harvest
festival, 29; initiation of warriors, 29; sweat bath, 80;
"mulligan," 84-85; etiquette,
48; pipe ceremonial, 49, 122 -128; dance, 51-52; manners,
121-122; pipe-bearer, 128.
JACK, Ute chief, leads attack
against cavalry commanded
by Major Thornburg, 242 -244.
Jerome, Lieut., goes as
hostage to Nez Perc6 camp,
198.
"Johnson, Liver-eating," hunter
and frontiersman, on Tongue
River expedition, 167.
Johnsons, the three, scouts on
Tongue River expedition, 167.
Jones, Capt., takes direct
route to geyser basin, 221.
Joseph, Chief, taken to United
States under guard, 150; surrenders at Bear Paw Mountains, 180; leads Nez Perc6
retreat, 185-198; trapped by
U. S. troops, 193; asks for
parley, surrenders, 198.
KELLY, Luther S., in Civil
War, 2-6; at Fort Wadsworth, 7-12; at Bear's Den
Hill, 18-14; at Fort Garry,
17; joins party of Red River
half-breeds, 19-23; meets Sit

261




Index


ting  Bull, 20-21; at Fort
Berthold, 25-81; carries mail
from Fort Buford to Fort Stevenson, 40-44; duel with two
Oglala, 46-47; at Fort Buford, 49-58; at Fort Peck, 57 -58; trapping and hunting, 58 -66; explores Yellowstone with
Ed Lambert, 67-76; encounter
with war party, 81-88; goes
hunting with Indians, 86-88;
in Milk River country, 89-98;
meets party of Yankton, 91 -98; recovers horse from Fort
Berthold Indians, 95-97; accompanies Gen. Forsyth up
the Yellowstone on Far West,
98-102; guides Broadwater's
bull train, 108-104; at Carroll, 10.-109; goes to Bear
Paw MIountains with Sandy
Morris, 109-112; encounter
with Yankton raiders, 114t116; goes wolf-hunting with
Mike Welsh and Erwin brothers, 118-136; joins John Stanwix, 140-146; reports to Gen.
Miles at Powder River, 148;
is sent to Milk River country,
149-153; makes night march
on trail of Cheyenne, 154 -156; accompanies Gen. 'Miles
on winter campaign, 160-176;
takes trip to New York and
Washington, 177; travels with
Two Moons, 177-179; goes
north to look for hostile Indians, 180-188; on scouting


trips during Nez Perc6 retreat, 184-198; carries dispatches to Gen. Terry, 199 -208; recovers Gen. Miles's
saddle horse, 206-206; goes
from Fort Keogh to Deadwood, 206-211; scouting trips
in Yellowstone Park, 212-228;
joins hunting party from Fort
Keogh,   229-230;   follows
Sioux who had attacked Sandy
Morris, 282-289; goes to military camp on White River,
246; sends Colorow to Utah,
248-249;  encounters  Utes,
250-251;  shoots  mountain
lion, 252-254; lays out military route to valley of Grand
River, 266; obtains place in
War Department, 255; goes
to Alaska and Philippines,
255.
LAFARGE, Tom, interpreter for
the Crows, on Tongue River
expedition, 167; horse shot,
170.
Lambert (Lambier), Ed, Canadian voyageur and post interpreter at Fort Buford, 50-51;
cautions Kelly, 54; explores
Yellowstone with Kelly, 67 -76.
Larb, mixed with tobacco, 42,
68-64; dried castors of beaver
mixed with, 128.
Leavitt, Private, 207-211,


262




Index


accompanies Kelly on trip to
Deadwood, 207-211.
Long Horse, Crow chief, funeral lodge of, 117.
Ludlow, Capt., passenger
on Far West, 99.
MAIL, Jack, accompanies Kelly
on hunting trip, 84, 88-89.
Mandan Indians, Kelly visits
winter camp of, 32-86, 41-48;
with Kelly on trip to Painted
Woods, 86-88; Kelly joins
hunting party of, 85-87; peace
treaty with Arikara and Hidatsa, 241.
Marsh, Capt. Grant, pilots Far
West up Yellowstone River,
98-99; meets Kelly again,
146.
Mackenzie, Gen., attacks
village in Tongue River Valley, 167.
McCabe,, guide from Fort
Washakie, searching for deserters, 218.
Maus, Lieut., assumes command of scouts following Nez
Perce trail, 189-192.
Meeker, -, agent for Utes at
White River, killed by Colorow and Douglas, 241, 248.
Merritt, Col. Wesley, selects site
for military post on Powder
River, 211.
Miles, Gen. Nelson A., meets
Sun of the Star, 31; Kelly's


first interview with, 148-149;
sends Kelly to Milk River
country, 149-150; makes peace
with Sioux and Cheyenne,
158; sends Kelly and scouts
on night march, 154; Kelly
reports to, 157; holds parley
with chiefs, 158-159; organizes winter campaign against
Sioux, 160; crosses Missouri
and attacks Indians, 165; organizes expedition to punish
raiders, 166; provides food
and lodging for Cheyenne
prisoners, 170; directs fight
with Cheyenne, 171-172, 173;
joined by John Brughier,
175; gives Kelly letters of introduction, 176; Lieut. Baldwin reports to, 180; sends
Kelly to Carroll, 186; Kelly
joins command of, on the.Musselshell,  187;  recalls
steamer, 187-188; sends Kelly
in search of Nez Perce trail,
189; surrounds   Nez Perce
camp, 192-193; sends Kelly
to recover horses, 197; Chief
Joseph surrenders to, 198;
sends Kelly with dispatches
for Gen. Terry, 199; Kelly
recovers saddle horse belonging to, 205-206; sends Kelly
to Deadwood, 207; gives
Kelly order for supplies, 213;
camps near lower falls of the
Yellowstone, 223; sends detachment to follow Sioux, 231 -

268




Index


282; result of campaigns conducted by, 255.
Milford, George, at Fort Berthold in 1868, 81.
Minnesota, volunteer cavalry return, 9.
"Mlissouri,"  trapper,   joins
Kelly's hunting party, 80; in
fights with Indians, 81-88.
Morris, Sandy, encounters with
Sioux, 108-109, 114-116, 280 -281; hunting trips with Kelly
to Bear Paw Mountains, 109 -112; joins party in pursuit of
Sioux, 282.
Mountain lion, strikes down Indian warrior, 187; killed by
Kelly, 252-254.
NEWCOMB, Tom, scout, accompanies Kelly on trip with
dispatches for Gen. Terry,
199-205.
Nez Perc6 Indians, retreat of,
91; sent to United States under guard, 150: retreat before
Gen. Howard's forces, 184;
elude Seventh Cavalry near
Heart Mountain, 186; cross
river below Cow Island, 187;
surrounded by Gen. Miles,
192-198; surrender to Gen.
Miles, 198; cache of captured
freight unearthed by Grosventres, 205; removed to Indian Territory, 206; account
of retreat, 215-216.
Norris, Bill, visits camp of


Broadwater's bull train, 104;
brings Kelly message from
Gen. Miles, 186.
Norris, -—, superintendent of
Yellowstone Park, headquarters at Mammoth Hot Springs,
222; sends Kelly to meet cavalry troop, 224; builds roadway along trail, 228; road of
glass, 228-229.
Northwest Mounted Police, outpost encountered, 202.
0
OGLALA Indians, Kelly's duel
with, 45-47; at Fort Buford,
51-52; cross Big Dry with
pelts, 57; meet Lambert and
Kelly, 72-78; speech differs
from Yankton, 92; control
buffalo range, 149.
Okshena Duta, burial place of,
58-5'.
Otis, Col. -, in command of
station on lower Yellowstone,
150; tells of attack on wagon
train, 158.
PARSHALL, George, mail-carrier between Fort Buford and
Fort Stevenson, long overdue,
40; returned, 50.
Patterson, Lieut., with
Kelly in White River country,
248.
Pawnee Indians, Newcomb mistakes Grosventres for, 204.
Pease, Mag, Mandan Indian in
winter camp, 88.


264




Index


Pemmican, method of making,
22.
Piegan Indians, Kelly visits
camp of, 138.
Pole Cat's son, Yanktonai, forms
war party to steal horses from
Crows, 116.
Pollock, Capt., in command
of military camp at Powder
River, 211.
RANDALL, Capt., meets
Kelly at camp on Yellowstone
River; sends him to Gen.
Miles, 148.
"Red Mlike," see Welsh. Mlike.
Red River, coats and blankets
furnished by Hudson's Bay
Company, 19-20; carts made
wholly of wood, 20; halfbreeds, Kelly joins hunting
party  of, 19; half-breeds,
bring pelts to Fort Peck, 58.
Ree Indians, at war with Sioux,
17.
Reed, Major A. S., has charge
of agency on Milk River;
forms    partnership   with
Bowles, 90; locks ammunition
in log cabin at Carroll, 91,
186; builds cabin in Judith
Basin, 117; Sioux steal horses
from Indians at cabin of, 185;
military encampment near
cabin of, 188; meets Kelly at
Carroll, 184.
Reeves Boundary Survey, sur

veys west line of Yellowstone
Park, 224.
Reno, Major Marcus A., at Battle of Little Big Horn, 44.
Reynolds, Charley, killed at
Battle of Little Big Horn, 44.
Road of glass, built by Supt.
Norris, 228.
SANS Arcs Indians, on upper
reaches of the Missouri, 77.
Santee Indians, bring pelts to
Fort Peck, 58.
Sauk Center, Minnesota, Kelly
takes mule teams to, for supplies, 10-12.
Schwan, Lieut. Theodore, adjutant of battalion, 4.
Seymour,, makes sketches
of Yellowstone country, 224.
Sioux Indians, in hunting party
on Mouse River, 21; Kelly's
duel with, 45-47; fight with
Crows, 67; frequent buffalo
ranges between the Yellowstone and the Missouri, 70;
do not attack at night, 75;
country of, 77; attack hunting
party, 81-83; Judith Basin
claimed by, 90; make raid on
Carroll,  107;  Bear   Paw
Mountain district claimed by,
108; war parties of, 117; annihilate Crow raiding party,
124-125; language generally
used, 125; moccasins of, 132;
war parties avoided by hunters, 184; steal pony herd at


I


265




Index


Reed's Cabin, 185-186; Stanwix' experience with, 141 -1 t14; Gen. Crook follows, 146;
make peace with Gen. Miles,
158; Gen. Miles plans winter campaign against, 160;
camped    on    Frenchman's
Creek, 188; return after raid
for Crow horses, 185; organized as auxiliary force against
Nez Perc6s, 189; lead adv:ince, 192; rumor of plan to
assist Nez Perc6s, 197; suffer
from cold and hunger, 229;
attack Sandy Morris and his
partner, 280-281; pursued by
cavalry, Kelly, Morris, and
Cheyenne scouts, 282-284;
kill Douglass, wound cavalryman, 285; scout volunteers to
carry dispatch to post, 285 -286; surrender, 289; Gen.
NMiles's campaigns against,
255.
Sitting Bull, visits camp on
Mouse River; meets Kelly,
20-21;   frequents   buffalo
ranges between the Yellowstone and the Missouri, 70;
shows white men how to trade
with Indians, 71; nearly captured by Lieut. Baldwin, 180;
rumor of plan to assist Nez
Perc6s, 197; joint commission
to establish status of, 199; refuses to attend council if soldiers are present, 208; followers suffer from cold and


hunger, 229; capture of Sioux
from camp of, 289; believed
to be in Canada, 240.
Smith, Vic, scout, at Powder
River, 146; conversation with
Gen. Miles, 148-149; accompanies Kelly on scout to Milk
River country, 150-158.
Snyder, Capt., sends White
Bull to parley with Sioux,
288.
Stanwix, John, with party of
trappers  and   prospectors,
joined by Kelly, 140; experience with war party of Sioux
and    Cheyenne,   141-144;
bound for the upper Yellowstone, 145-146.
Stony Indians, on hunting expedition, 112-113.
Sturgis, Gen., eluded by
Nez Perc6s, 215-216.
Sun of the Star, Indian chief,
accompanies Gen. Miles to
Fort Berthold, 81.
TERRY, Gen. Alfred H., meets
British commissioners, 199;
Kelly and Newcomb report to,
200; sends Kelly and Newcomb to border, 201; leaves
camp for border, 208.
Teton  Indians, at Fort Buford, 51; bring pelts to Fort
Peck, 57; accent differs from
that of Assiniboin, 68; on upper reaches of the Missouri,


266




Index


77; speech differs from that of
Yankton, 92; control buffalo
range, 149.
Thornburg, Major -, leads
column of cavalry against the
Utes, 242; killed, 248.
Towne, George, trapper, with
Mr. Seymour, 224.
Travois, used on dogs, 64.
Tripp, Milan, accompanies Kelly
on search for Nez Perc6 trail,
189-191; reports to Gen.
Miles, 192.
Two Moons, Chief, meets Kelly,
177; costume described, 178.
UTE   Indians, murder agent,
241; attack detachment of
cavalry, 242-244; retire, 244;
hunt in White River country; 245; ordered to Utah,
249; Kelly's encounter with,
250-251; Colorado hunting
grounds vacated by, 255.
"VANCE," trapper, member of
John Stanwix' party, 141.
Van Vliet, Capt., goes
hunting with Kelly, 247-248.
WALKER, Lieut., on Gen.
Forsyth's staff, 99.
War Department, Kelly finds
place in, 255.
War houses, method of building,
110.
Watityu (white man), 56, 92.


Welsh, Mike, hunter and trapper, Kelly meets, at Fort
Berthold, 81; mistakes Arikara for rabbit, 48; entertains
party of Arikara, 44; Kelly
returns to stockade camp of,
47; goes with Kelly to scene
of duel with Oglala, 48; entertains party of Grosventres,
49; meets Kelly at Carroll,
105; recovers pony from Indian, 106; goes wolf-hunting
with Kelly and Erwin brothers, 118-186; shoots cinnamon
bear, 120; goes eastward with
the elder Erwin, 127; cooks
coyote and tries to eat it, 188;
accompanies Kelly on scout to
northward, 180-1 84; loses rifle, 183-184.
Whistler, Col., inspects
command at Bear's Den Hill,
18; second in command to
Gen. Miles at Tongue River,
18-14.
White Bull, Cheyenne chief, persuades Sioux to surrender,
288-289.
Whitmore Stampede, 217.
Wolf-skins, value of, 186.
Wolves, method of poisoning, 61,
120-121; varieties of, 126 -127; color of, 180-181.
Wood, Jim, scout, kills buffalo,
168.
YANKTON (Yanktonai) Indians, at Fort Buford, 51-52;


267




Index


bring pelts to Fort Peck, 67;
accent differs from that of
Assiniboin, 68; Kelly meets
party of, 91-98; control buffalo range, 149; Kelly gives


tobacco to, 182; dialect generally used in region of the
upper Missouri, 284.
Yellow Bull, Cheyenne scout, in
pursuit of Sioux, 288-284.


268