Then and Now - or, Thirty-Six Years in the Rockies

By Author	[ A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z \| Other Symbols ]
By Title	[ A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z \| Other Symbols ]
By Language

Download this book: [ ASCII | HTML | PDF ]

Look for this book on Amazon

We have new books nearly every day.
If you would like a news letter once a week or once a month fill out this form and we will give you a summary of the books for that week or month by email.

Title: Then and Now - or, Thirty-Six Years in the Rockies
Author: Vaughn, Robert
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.

*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Then and Now - or, Thirty-Six Years in the Rockies" ***

[Illustration: Very truly yours

Robt Vaughn (handwritten dedication and signature)
]

THEN AND NOW;

OR,

Thirty-Six Years in the Rockies.

Personal Reminiscences of Some of the First Pioneers
of the State of Montana.

INDIANS AND INDIAN WARS.

The Past and Present of the Rocky Mountain Country.
1864-1900.

BY
ROBERT VAUGHN.

MINNEAPOLIS:
TRIBUNE PRINTING COMPANY.
1900.

COPYRIGHTED, 1900.

BY
ARVONIA ELIZABETH VAUGHN.

DEDICATION.

ARVONIA ELIZABETH VAUGHN,
Great Falls, Montana.

MY DEAR LITTLE DAUGHTER:

The following series of letters, which include a short history of
Montana’s early days, together with a brief sketch of your father’s
life and a copy of my letter to you, giving an obituary of your dear
mother, I dedicate to you, knowing that they will be appreciated, and
hoping that you will have the pleasure of reading them after I am gone.

Your affectionate father,
ROBERT VAUGHN.

Great Falls, Montana, May 15th, 1900.

PREFACE.

It may not be out of place to explain how this book came to find its
way into print. It was written for my little daughter, in the form of
letters at various times, and not intended for publication, but many
friends after reading them insisted that they should be published. One
said: “You must not wait until you are dead before these letters are
given to the world.”

As my desire is, by the grace of God, to live many years yet, I now
present these letters to the reader, supplemented by others from old
time friends who braved the perils and dangers of pioneer life; and as
they are intended to be a part of the history of this great state, care
has been taken to keep strictly to the truth.

It is hoped that a line here and there will be appreciated by those
who ride in palace cars as well as the old pioneers who came west in
prairie schooners.

ROBERT VAUGHN.

CONTENTS.

Page

From Home to the State of Illinois, 17

Crossing the Plains, 22

On a Stampede to the Yellowstone, 35

The Discovery of Alder Creek, the Richest Gold Gulch on the
Globe, 39

The James Stuart Prospecting Party, 46

From Alder Gulch to Last Chance, 57

From the Mines to the Farm, 64

A Letter to My Little Babe, 72

From the Farm to the City of Great Falls, 77

Montana Pioneers, 84

The Dark Side of the Life of the Pioneer, 89

The Indian Praying, 103

Indians Stealing my Horses, 106

The Great Sun River Stampede, 109

A Trip from Virginia City to the Head of Navigation on the
Missouri River in 1866, 113

My First Buffalo Hunt, 124

Tom Campbell Running the Gauntlet, 127

Edward A. Lewis’ Early Days in Montana, 130

A Brave Piegan War Chief, 141

Bloody Battles and Tragedies in the Sun River Valley, 147

Charles Choquette Coming to Montana in 1843, 163

A Trip to the Twenty-eight Mile Spring Station, 171

John Largent’s Early Days in Montana, 176

A Visit to Fort Benton, 188

John D. Brown, a Narrative of his Early Experiences in the
West, 201

A Pioneer Minister, 216

An old Letter, 223

Warren C. Gillette’s Early Experiences in Montana, 229

A Meal in an Indian Camp, 245

The First Settlement of What is now Montana, 247

Montana Then and Now, 266

A Sample of the Pioneers of Montana, 275

The Indian, 288

The Sioux War, 297

General Sherman’s Letters, 329

The Nez Perces War, 345

An English Tribute to the American Scout, 367

Returning of Sitting Bull from Canada, 370

The Indian Messiah and the Ghost Dance, 377

An Indian Legend, 395

The Roundup, 403

Traveling “Then” and Traveling “Now,” 410

Yellowstone National Park, 422

From the Prospector’s Hole to the Greatest Mining Camp on
Earth, 447

ILLUSTRATIONS.

Page

Robert Vaughn, 6

Leaving Home, 19

My First View of the Rockies, 28

An Indian Grave, 31

In the Rockies, 32

Nature’s Grand Masonry Work, 33

Indian War Dance, 42

A Prairie Schooner Crossing the Plains, 59

A Scene in the City of Helena, 61

Great Falls, Montana, 78

Copper Smelter at Great Falls, 80

Lewis and Clark Meeting the Mandan Indians, 81

A Group of Pioneers, in front of Old Court House, Helena, 85

Mrs. James Blood (a Piegan woman), 111

Freighting in the Early Days, 115

Indians Hunting Buffalo, 126

Wolf Voice (Gros Ventres), 139

The Piegans Laying their Plans to Steal Horses from the
Crows, 143

Going Home with the Stolen Horses, 145

Father De Smet, 149

Little Plume, (Piegan Chief), 153

Alone in the Rockies, 166

The Mule and Mountain Howitzer, 195

Indians with Travois, 197

“Then,” Buffaloes; “Now,” Cattle, 199

“Then,” Deer; “Now,” Sheep, 200

Rev. W. W. Van Orsdel, 217

A Mountaineer in his Buckskin Sunday Suit, 226

Indian Camp, 246

General George Crook, 299

General George A. Custer, 305

Colonel William F. Cody (Buffalo Bill), 309

Rain-in-the-face (Sioux War Chief), 323

A Crow Scout (winter costume), 325

General Sherman, 331

General Miles, 362

Chief Joseph (Nez Perces), 363

Robert S. S. Baden-Powell, 368

Sitting Bull (Sioux Chief), 373

Agency Indians having their pictures taken, 387

Cree Manuscript, 390

Mo-See-Ma-Ma-Mos (Young Boy), a Cree Indian, 391

Cree Alphabet, 392

Little Bear (Cree Chief), 393

Roping a Steer to Examine the Brand, 403

St. Ignatius Mission Stock Brand, 404

Pioneer Cattle Company’s Brand, 404

The Roundup--Turning Out in the Morning, 406

First Attempt at Roping, 408

Lake McDonald, 412

In the Rockies on the Great Northern Railway, 414

Gate of the Mountains, Montana Central Ry., 420

Old Faithful Geyser, Yellowstone Park, 428

Mammoth Hot Springs, Yellowstone Park, 432

Castle Geyser, Cone and Diana’s Pool, Yellowstone Park, 433

Norris Geyser Basin, Yellowstone Park, 435

Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, 438

Quartz Mining at Niehart, Montana, 456

THEN AND NOW;

OR,

THIRTY-SIX YEARS IN THE ROCKIES.

FROM HOME TO THE STATE OF ILLINOIS.

I was born in Wales June 5, 1836, and was reared on a farm until I
was nineteen years old. My parents’ names were Edward and Elizabeth
Vaughan. There were six children--Jane, Hugh, Robert, Edward, John and
Mary. Edward lives in the old home at the present time. His address is:
“Dugoed Bach, Dinas Mowddwy, Mereoneth Sheir, G. B.”

My parents were of good family; by that I mean they and their ancestors
were good Christian people, father and mother were members of the
Episcopal Church. Father was a warden as long as I can remember. Mother
was my only teacher. She taught me to obey, to tell the truth, to be
kind, to respect others, and above all to fear God.

I left home when I was between nineteen and twenty. At this time I
could speak but the Welsh language. I had a great desire to learn to
acquire English; therefore I went to Liverpool, where sister Jane
lived. I secured employment from the Hon. Benjamin Haywood Jones
to work in a flower garden at his beautiful home on the West Derby
Road. He was a rich banker in the city. I remained there over a
year. Brother Hugh had gone to America a year before I left home,
locating near Rome, N. Y. In the fall of 1858, instead of going home
as I intended, I concluded that it would be a good idea for me to go
to America and see my brother; then return in four or five months.
So, without the knowledge of my parents, I took passage on board a
steamship named the “Vigo” bound for New York. I was on the ocean
twelve days and a half. As soon as I landed I wrote home and stated
what I had done, and that I would be back home in four or five months,
and at that time it was my honest intention to do so. From New York
City I went to my brother’s, and stayed with him about three months;
then I went to Palmyra, Ohio, to see Aunt Ann, my father’s sister.
I was right at home now, and my father was satisfied since I was in
the care of his sister. I was there over a year, going thence to
Youngstown, Ohio, where I worked for Joshua Davies on a farm, and in
the coal mines. From here I proceeded to McLean county, Illinois, where
my brother had been for two years. I farmed with him one summer, then I
went to Fairbury, Livingston county, and mined coal until 1864. During
all this time I wrote home regularly and received letters in return.
Instead of going home I was continually getting further from it.
Somehow I could not resist the desire of venturing into the unsettled
regions of the West. I kept drifting further and further until I found
myself in the heart of the Rocky mountains, six thousand miles from
home.

[Illustration: LEAVING HOME.]

In this way forty-one years elapsed since I left my childhood home,
but the picture remains in my memory as though it were but yesterday;
everything appears to me as it was the last time I saw it. The house
still seems the same; the ivy creeping up its walls; the sycamore,
alder, birch and spruce trees stand there like sentries guarding it.
The rose bushes and the evergreens in front, the hollies where the
sparrows huddled together at night, the orchard and the old stone barn;
and I imagine that--

“I see the quiet fields around,
I stroll about as one who dreams;
’Til each familiar place is found,
How strangely sweet to me it seems.

“The old and well known paths are there,
My youthful feet so often pressed;
Gone is the weight of manhood’s care,
And in its place a sense of rest.

“The broad expanse before me lies,
Checked here and there with squares of green;
Where, freshly growing crops arise,
And browner places intervene.”

I see the dancing rill flowing by the garden gate, and the great arch
of white thorn overspanning the passage way that led to the main road.
There my mother embraced and kissed me and bade me good-bye for the
last time. Here my “only teacher” gave me her last instruction, it was
this: “My dear son, be careful in selecting your companions to go out
with in the evenings. God be with you, good-bye.”

Oh, how sweetly her voice fell on my listening ear,
And now, I imagine those soft words I hear;
If I ever view her silent grave,
My tears will flow like tidal wave.

There she stood staring at her wandering boy leaving home. We watched
one another until a curve in the road took me out of sight; that was
the last time I saw my mother. Father came with me about a quarter of a
mile. We spoke but very little; we were both very sad. Suddenly father
turned to me and took me by the hand and said: “Well, my son, fare thee
well, be a good boy.” I was weeping bitterly and after I had gone a
little way I looked back and saw father leaning against a gate which
led to the meadow, with both hands on his face; this caused my tears to
flow faster than ever. I shall always believe that father was praying
for me then. And that was the last time I saw him. Father and mother
are now sleeping in the silent tomb. But in my memory they appear like
statues as I saw them last, and that was forty-one years ago. Mother
standing at the gate with tears in her eyes waving the kind and tender
hand that soothed and fondled me when I was a babe, and father leaning
on that rude gate with his face buried in his hands offering a prayer
in my behalf. Nothing can efface that vision from my memory. Mother
more than once said in her letters to me that she always remembered me
in her prayers. I often think that I might not have fared so well and
perhaps be a worse man than I am, were it not for the prayers of my
father and mother.

ROBERT VAUGHN.

Great Falls, Mont., March 20, 1898.

CROSSING THE PLAINS.

I left Fairbury, Livingston county, Illinois, March 4, 1864, in company
with James Gibb, John Jackson, James Martin, and Sam Dempster and wife,
destined for the new gold fields in Idaho, for the Territory of Montana
had not then been created.

Our mode of traveling was with a four-horse team and a farm wagon. A
great portion of Illinois and Iowa was then but sparsely settled; we
would travel for hours without seeing any signs of habitation. The
roads were very bad through those states; and it took us twenty-five
days to come to Council Bluffs, which was then but a small frontier
settlement. An old man, one of the inhabitants of the place, called my
attention to two small hills on the bluff above the village and said:
“It was there General Fremont, with his men, held a council before
crossing the river to traverse the plains to California, and from this
incident the town derives its name.” We crossed the Missouri on a
ferry boat. Omaha had scarcely twelve hundred people. Here we made up
a train of sixty-five wagons, some drawn by oxen. It was a mixed train
as far as the destination was concerned. Some were going to California,
Oregon, Washington, and Salt Lake, but mostly to the new gold diggings
in Idaho. We were to travel together as far as Utah.

Our trail was on the north side of the North Platte river as far as
Fort Laramie, following most of the way the surveying stakes on the
line of the Union Pacific Railway. For several hundred miles, while
we traveled in the Platte river valley, we passed over fine land for
agriculture. Here we met a great many Indians of the Pawnee tribe, but
all appeared to be friendly. I was approached by one of them, who came
and asked me to give him some coffee; he was over six feet tall, and
had a very large bow and arrows. I made a mark on a big cottonwood tree
and stepped off fifty paces and told him if he put an arrow in that
mark I would give him some coffee. At once he began sending his arrows,
every one piercing the tree about two inches in depth, and the fourth
one into the center of the mark. I gave him his coffee. On another
occasion I put my hat on a bunch of sage brush for two Indian boys to
shoot at for a piece of bread; the next thing I knew there was an arrow
through my hat. Several days, when traveling in this valley, not a
stick of timber of any kind could be had; the only fuel we could obtain
was buffalo chips which were abundant.

The mail carrier told us that after passing a place called “Pawnee
Swamp,” which was about fifty miles west of Fort Kearney, we would be
in the Cheyenne and Sioux country, and that those Indians were very
hostile to the whites. It was two days after we crossed this line
before we saw an Indian. The third morning at day break, when I was
on guard, I discovered one from a distance who was coming towards our
camp. I kept watching him; finally he came to me and spoke, at the
same time making signs; of course I did not understand either. While
going on with his gibberish and making those motions with his hands he
stepped up and patted me on the breast and on my vest pocket. I told
him in plain English that he was getting a little too familiar for a
stranger, and to keep away from me. Then he picked up a stem of some
dried weed about the size of a match and scratched it on a stone as a
person would when lighting a match. This convinced me that he wanted
some matches. I gave him half a dozen and he thanked me, or at least I
thought he did, for he gave a kind of grunt with a faint smile and went
back in the direction he came from.

In the afternoon of the same day we crossed a small creek; on its bank
there was a newly made grave in which a young woman twenty-two years of
age had been laid to rest. At the head of the grave, for a head-board,
a round stick, which had been used at one time for a picket pin, was
placed, and on this some unskilled hand had written with a pencil
“In memory of ----,” the name I could not decipher, but the words
“dear daughter” were plainly written, which indicated that there was
a parent present to kiss her marble brow before it was lowered into
the silent tomb. This instance made a deep impression on me then when
viewing that lonely grave in the heart of the wilderness and thinking
of its occupant, who possibly was once the center star in some lovable
family, but was left there alone in her earthen couch to sleep and rest
forever; and when, on the coming of spring, no one would be there to
even pluck wild flowers and lay them on the grave of the unfortunate
young traveler. What more sorrowful sight could there be than
witnessing those parents leaving that sacred spot before continuing
their westward journey, and, when on that ridge, taking the last look
at the little mound by the winding brook in the valley below? Here the
curtain drops on this pitiful scene; the emigrant train is out of sight
and all is over.

At Fort Laramie we met the noted frontiersman, John Bozeman, after whom
the city of Bozeman, Montana, was named. He sought to organize a train
to take a cut-off route east of the Big Horn mountains. There was also
a man by the name of McKnight, who was a trader at this place. He had
two wagons loaded with goods for Alder Gulch, each wagon being drawn by
four fine mules, and he was getting up a train to go west of the Big
Horn mountains and through the Wind River country. McKnight said to me
that he wanted about one hundred wagons and about five hundred good,
resolute, determined men and they would get through all right. I told
him that there were five of us, and that we would accompany him. There
were scores of wagons passing Laramie every day and most of them were
bound for the new gold diggings.

The first day we got twenty wagons to join the McKnight train, and
we pulled out about a quarter of a mile in the direction we were to
travel. This new camp was a kind of “refinery;” here one and all might
consider the perils, dangers and privations likely to be encountered.
The faint-hearted ones took the safer route by way of the South Pass.
However, in a few days we had four hundred and fifty men and over one
hundred wagons. We were aware that we were going to travel through
several hundred miles of an untrodden wilderness, where Red Cloud and
Sitting Bull reigned over twenty or twenty-five thousand savages, so
it was very necessary for us to be well armed and organized. Before
starting we took a vote and selected a captain and two lieutenants, and
a committee of three to examine every one and see if he was prepared
with guns, sufficient ammunition, and if his outfit was substantial
enough to make the trip. A paper was drawn in which was inserted
a provision that we were to stand by and defend each other at all
hazards; to this we all signed our names. We realized that it was a
perilous undertaking, but we pressed onward. We depended a great deal
on our guide. He was a tall, well-built, straight, dark-complexioned,
resolute and intelligent man; he was reared in Canada and had been
in the employ of the Hudson’s Bay Company. He was a famous scout and
versed in the language of every Indian tribe from the Platte to the
Saskatchewan, and was both feared and respected by all. He was a
brave and true man, whose tact and courage, on more than one occasion,
resulted in avoiding trouble with hostile redskins.

Roll was called every evening. Each man had to be on guard in his turn
for four consecutive hours during the night. To form the camp the first
wagon had to make a circle until it faced the hindmost one, and each
one followed forming thus a stockade, the horses being driven past the
inside hind wheel of the wagon in front; after unhitching the tongue
was thrown over the wheel and rested on the axle. At night all the
horses and the tents were on the inside and those standing guard being
on the outside. We invariably formed our camp in this way, and were
always on our guard, for no man can tell when danger may be near in
an Indian country. When there is not an Indian to be seen it is the
time they are the most likely to make an attack. An incident I well
remember. The writer and Gibb were ahead of the train and about half a
mile on one side from the direction we were traveling. Crossing a small
ravine we saw two Indians hiding under some willows. They pretended not
to see us. It is probable that there were many more in that vicinity,
although there was no indication of the kind.

One day we came through a Sioux village of eighty-five tepees; there
were from two to three hundred Indians, chiefly women and children. On
a slope of a hill near by were over eight hundred horses in charge of
six Indians. Though we camped at noon but a short distance from them,
only two approached us, and their actions were different from those
of the other Indians whom we met. When the Sioux came to our camp
they would go from one tent or wagon to another in a sullen manner
with a contemptible look as if they were going to massacre every one
of us, and likely the reason they did not was that we had taken them
unawares and before they had time to prepare, besides we were as good
as an equal number of soldiers if it had come to fighting. But by the
year following they were better prepared, for they had obtained guns
and ammunition from the traders. They killed many immigrants. And the
year succeeding traveling through that part of the Sioux country was
entirely discontinued, and Fort Phil Kearney was established. A few
months later all the soldiers, eighty-one in number, were killed by the
Indians--not one was left to tell the story. And, these savages kept up
their murderous deeds until the Sioux war of 1876.

Many times I thought of the perils and dangers that we escaped on that
eventful journey, of which I now give an account.

It was against the rules of our camp for any one to kindle a fire after
dark. The object was to prevent the Indians from locating us at night.
We were obliged to camp where an abundance of water could be obtained.
A small spring would not meet our requirements, for we had nearly three
hundred horses, sometimes we had to make long drives to the next stream
or a place where there was plenty of water. Other times we had to stop,
from early noon until next day, for we could not make the drive in one
afternoon. For the balance of the day we frequently had considerable
sport by playing several games, shooting at a mark, short and long
distance jumping, wrestling and foot racing; but as the journey grew
longer the contraction of the muscles put a stop to the latter three.
On one of those long evenings we saw a torch light at the base of a
mountain not far off. It was swung back and forth for several minutes.
It was an Indian sign, and that put a stop to all games for that
evening. We looked for trouble that night, but had none. We were all
happy and had no sickness on that trip. There were six or seven men
from the southern part of Illinois who had the ague at the time they
joined the party, but as we came nearer to the mountains all traces
of it disappeared and returned no more. It was hard for us to secure
game of any kind, for the Indians kept driving it away as we went,
and it was not prudent for us to venture far from the course we were
pursuing to look for any. We saw many deer and buffaloes, but they were
a long ways off; occasionally we would get some of the smaller game.
We traversed much good grazing land where water was plenty; also many
valleys with rich lands for farming and an abundance of good timber.

[Illustration: MY FIRST VIEW OF THE ROCKIES.]

The atmosphere was very clear when we first saw the Rocky mountains.
They were several hundred miles distant; an old Californian pointed
them out. They appeared to be of immense height and it was difficult
to convince many of us that they were mountains, for they looked more
like thunder clouds to us who came from the prairie states. Every
day brought us nearer, and soon the perpetual snow was visible, then
the green pines and the rocky cliffs above the timber line, where no
vegetation exists, were plain to be seen, and, as I gazed at those high
rocky peaks, reaching above the clouds, it was plain to see why the
Rocky mountains were called “The Rockies.”

It did not take many days to skirt those lofty mountains and wind our
way through their canyons, listening to the rebounding echo of our
wagons rattling over the rocks and boulders as we went.

In one of those narrow valleys in the mountains we camped one June day
for dinner. Trout was abundant in the creek. On both sides there was
a dense growth of pine. Thinking that it was a good place to look for
deer, I took my gun and climbed the mountain side until I reached where
the land was almost level. After I had gone about a mile, I arrived at
an opening in the woods; two or three hundred yards away I saw a large
brown bear and elevating my gun I took aim at the big brute; just then
a second thought came to me, and I said to myself: “If I kill it, all
well and good; if I only wound it I’ll get the worst of it.” I paused
for a minute, looking at the bear, and the longer I looked the larger
it seemed; the bear stood and looked at me, and finally he walked away
slowly, occasionally looking back. I was walking as the bear did, only
in the opposite direction. Soon the bear stopped and faced towards me
and I made a bee-line for the camp, for I was not looking for that kind
of game that day.

We frequently passed trees in the branches of which a dead Indian was
placed on a kind of scaffold eight or ten feet above the ground. This
place of burial was constructed of poles and branches of trees tied
together with strips of rawhide. The remains were carefully wrapped in
beaded and painted robes, in Indian fashion, and secured with rawhide
ropes to the scaffold. Thus the dead Indian rested, high and dry, on
his sacred roost until his gorgeous couch was destroyed by the elements
and his bones picked by birds of prey. We also passed several scaffolds
built on four forked stakes, on which remains of Indians were placed,
and wrapped in the same manner as those on the trees.

Very often some aged Indians would visit our camps and go from one
tent to another and peep in as if they were counting to ascertain how
many there were. We treated them kindly and gave them something to
eat; they always asked for matches and were very fond of tobacco. Our
guide warned us that they were spies and for us to have our guns in a
conspicuous place so they could see our strength. We had many obstacles
to contend with on our journey. One day we had to travel forty miles
without water. It was very hot; many of the horses giving out, their
tongues being swollen until they protruded from their mouths. At
another time we had to let the wagons down the mountain with ropes,
with the hind wheels locked; and we had to cross rivers on rafts and
wagon boxes; again fording streams where there was great danger of
being taken down by the surging waters. Four of our men came very near
losing their lives in this way; but being good swimmers they avoided
drowning. We crossed the Powder, Clark’s Fork, Rosebud and Yellowstone
rivers and many other streams. The first we came to were very high, for
at that time the snows were melting off the mountains.

[Illustration: AN INDIAN GRAVE.]

Upon reaching the Rosebud we pitched our tents and camped till the next
morning. It was in the latter part of June; the trees and shrubs were
in full foliage and the wild flowers perfumed the air. The Rosebud is
one of the prettiest rivers I ever saw; like all mountain streams the
current is swift and its water as clear as crystal. Its beds are inlaid
with pebbles of all imaginable colors, with occasional large boulders,
where the speckled trout hides as one approaches the water’s edge.
Along its banks are groves of ancient trees, with underbrush of many
varieties and wild roses in great profusion. The bottom lands for miles
are but nature’s meadows, while the rolling hills, as far as the eye
can see, are a vast pasture land dotted here and there with clumps of
timber. Although away from civilization, the small birds flutter among
the branches, singing their sweet songs with as tender cadence as if in
somebody’s front yard in the civilized East. The same can be said of
nearly all of the streams and valleys that we crossed and came through
on our journey. On first view of these beautiful landscapes a person
would think that some prehistoric race had cultivated these fertile
valleys and planted those ancient trees and groves that grew as uniform
as if the ground had been laid out by some expert landscape gardener.
On further observation, we could see high, tempest tortured towers of
grand masonry work, which had withstood the elements for ages. All is
but the handiwork of nature, directed by the Great Architect of the
Universe.

[Illustration: IN THE ROCKIES.]

[Illustration: NATURE’S GRAND MASONRY WORK.]

When in the Yellowstone valley we saw from a distance a party of
Indians all mounted and coming towards us. Our captain at once gave
orders to form into a camp, and, before the Indians got near, we were
formed into a stockade and ready for battle, if necessary. As the
Indians approached our guide stepped forward about two hundred yards
to meet them. They were eighty-five in number. Then they whipped their
horses to greater speed and began yelling. When within about two
hundred yards of him, he lifted his hand and the Indians stopped as if
they were shot. The chief of the party and our guide had a sign talk
for a few minutes; the chief came forward and stated that they were
“Crows” and he wished to know who we were. He was informed who we were
and where we were going. They talked for about ten minutes, then the
balance of the Indians came forward and were invited to come to our
camp. They were mounted on good horses and had on their war paint and
all were stripped to their waists. We gave them bread and coffee and
took a smoke with them. Smoking with an Indian signifies that he is
friendly. They all left very peaceably and never came back. They were
the last Indians we saw until we got to Alder Creek.

Some distance after crossing the Yellowstone river the writer and two
others were considerably ahead of the wagons and crossing our course
was a ripple of clear water. The sun was hot and the effect of the heat
made us thirsty. All three, nearly at the same time, got down to quench
their thirst with the sparkling water. The first one cries at the top
of his voice: “My God, it is hot;” the second remarked: “Well, boys, we
must be near to the jumping-off place,” while the third thought that
we were getting near to the infernal regions. However, it was a great
wonder to us, for this was the first hot spring that we had ever seen.

This spring is to-day the renowned Hunter Hot Springs, a place of
resort for its mineral properties, where hundreds of people are treated
every year for rheumatism and kindred diseases. It has fine hotel
accommodations and all modern conveniences and improvements for the
comfort of its patrons. What was “then” but a ripple of hot water is
“now” a Western Saratoga.

After a journey of two thousand miles over plains and sandy deserts,
up the hills and down the canyons, crossing rivers and through many
beautiful valleys, fatigued by much suffering, hardships and dangers,
we arrived in Alder Gulch July 13, 1864. We found it to be a great
camp, and were told how many dollars to the pan and how rich the mines
were, and of the “road agents” robbing and killing people; of the
organization of the vigilance committee and the good work they were
doing by hanging the desperadoes, and suppressing lawlessness. Not
until we arrived did we learn of the organization of the Territory
of Montana, for it was completed May 26th, while we were in the
wilderness. Truly, Montana “then” was but an infant in its cradle.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Feb. 11, 1898.

ON A STAMPEDE TO THE YELLOWSTONE.

In September, 1864, James Gibb, Jack Williams, Charles Howard, myself
and a man named Wilson, left Alder Gulch on a “stampede” to the upper
Yellowstone country. It was reported that a rich gold discovery had
been made not far from the canyon at the Yellowstone river. Each of
us procured a saddle pony, and a pack horse. We undertook to follow
the base of the mountains; crossing the headwaters of the Madison,
Jefferson, and Gallatin rivers. We were traveling by direction of a
map and the use of a compass, but made the mistake of keeping too near
the mountains, for we were delayed several times by the dense pines
that grew so thick in some places that we had to chop our way through.
In one small valley there was a great quantity of petrified wood, and
in the bed of the creek nearly all the stones were petrifactions.
I remember that we stopped on the banks of this creek for dinner.
The mountains were very steep. On a cliff about one hundred yards
off stood a Rocky mountain goat. At first we thought it a domestic
sheep, for it was very white, bleated, and acted as if it was glad to
see us. But then, as there were no settlers within several hundred
miles, we could not imagine how a sheep could get to such a place.
While we were discussing the matter, the animal leaped over cliffs
and up the mountain as if it was on level ground, and this satisfied
us all that it was a Rocky mountain goat. Not one of us had seen one
previously. The next day we came to a small lake on top of a mountain,
on approaching which we could see a big black bear rooting in the edge
of the water, but it disappeared before we had a chance to shoot.
After that we were on the watch for bear. Sometimes we would travel
for several miles on a well-beaten trail made by wild animals. At one
time Jack Williams was considerably in advance of the balance of the
party, and on one of these game trails, at a point where the ground was
a little marshy so an impression of any kind would show very plainly.
Suddenly we could see Jack coming around the bend helter-skelter as
fast as his pony could carry him, saying that he had seen the track of
a grizzly bear coming straight towards him. I asked, “Do you mean to
say that you saw a grizzly bear coming straight towards you?” “No,”
said Jack, “I saw its track coming this way.” “And you went after the
bear, did you?” Jack studied a minute and said: “I’ll be hanged I never
thought of that, but I’ll tell you, boys, those tracks are fourteen
inches long and eight inches wide; I don’t care what direction they
point to, the sight of them is enough to convince a man when he is
alone that he has not lost any bears.” On the seventh day we camped on
the Yellowstone and stayed until the next morning. The river was not
wide, but the current was very swift and the banks and the bed of the
stream were very rocky. It was a fine place for trout fishing, and we
caught some that weighed two pounds. We could not see any indications
of travel up the river, but we went as far as the canyon. Wonderland
was not known then. We concluded that the new Eldorado was not in that
direction, so we turned back and went down the valley for many miles;
we did some prospecting along the route. Finally we found about fifty
men working in a place which had been named Emigrant Gulch. There
were but few taking out gold in paying quantities; most of them were
prospecting in the gulch and on the bars. We remained there several
days, but found nothing that we thought would pay, although a great
deal of gold has been taken out of this gulch since. Consequently we
decided to go home. This time we took the lowland until we reached the
emigrant trail. On our way, on the divide between the Yellowstone and
Gallatin valleys, we saw about one hundred and fifty elks all in one
herd, on a slope of a hill, grazing. Grass was abundant and game was
plentiful; wherever we traveled we had all the trout and deer meat
that we could eat. At the crossing of the Gallatin we met Mr. John
Bozeman, for whom the City of Bozeman, Montana, is named, as I have
mentioned in a previous letter. The last time that I met him was on
the North Platte. There were with him three or four Indian people. He
was returning from Alder Gulch, having made a successful trip with a
train of emigrant wagons, of which he was guide. He brought this train,
which was about one hundred and twenty wagons, from the North Platte
river and by his “New Bozeman route,” east of the Big Horn mountains,
to the Yellowstone valley and thence to the gold fields; now he was
on his way back to organize another train for the same place and by
the same route. Some time afterwards and but one day’s travel from
the place where I met him last he was murdered by the treacherous
Indians, for whom he had done many kind acts. Thus the brave pioneer
and frontiersman John Bozeman, came to the end of his route. We
had been very lucky; we saw but few Indians; the weather had been
delightful, and all enjoyed the trip. We saw grand scenery, groves of
lofty pines, natural parks stocked with wild deer and elks, brooks of
clear water where the speckled trout played among its pebbles and had
all the harbor to themselves; beautiful springs bursting forth from the
mountain side, still higher the majestic peaks stood in bold relief
above the mountain pines, where lay the perpetual snow; and to render
man’s enjoyment complete, his lungs are filled with pure mountain air
perfumed with scent of pines and herbs that grow everywhere. I know of
no place like the mountains for one that loves nature in all its glory.

After twenty-nine days of “roughing it” we returned to Alder Gulch, not
any richer, but wiser, men.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Feb. 12, 1898.

THE DISCOVERY OF ALDER CREEK, THE RICHEST GULCH ON THE GLOBE.

On April 9, 1863, several courageous miners met at Bannock City,
and formulated plans to organize an expedition to the country of
the Yellowstone and Big Horn rivers for the purpose of prospecting
for gold, and if successful, the idea was to lay out townsites,
and so forth. James Stuart, a brother of Granville Stuart (now of
Butte), and William Fairweather, were the prime movers in getting
up the expedition. It was agreed that those who were going to join
the expedition should meet at Rattlesnake creek the next day. There
the form of organization was to be adopted; the original manuscript,
which is now in the possession of the Historical Society of Montana,
reads thus: “Having determined to explore a portion of the country
drained by the ‘Yellowstone’ for the purpose of discovering gold mines
and securing townsites, and, believing this object could be better
accomplished by forming ourselves into a regularly organized company,
we hereby appoint James Stuart captain, agreeing upon our word of honor
to obey all orders given or issued by him, or any subordinate officer
appointed by him. In case of any member refusing to obey an order or
orders from said captain, he shall be forcibly expelled from our camp.
It is further understood and agreed that we all do our equal portions
of work, the captain being umpire in all cases, sharing equally the
benefits of the said labor both as to the discovery of gold and
securing townsites.

“(Signed.) James Stuart, Cyrus D. Watkins, John Vanderbilt, James N.
York, Richard McCafferty, James Hauxhurst, Drewyer Underwood, Samuel
T. Hauser, Henry A. Bell, William Roach, A. Sterne Blake, George H.
Smith, Henry T. Greery, Ephraim Bostwick.”

George Ives overtook the party the next day; he had not yet signed the
agreement, but he intended doing so.

William Fairweather, Lewis Simons, Bill Sweeney, Thomas Cover, Barney
Hughes, Henry Edgar and Rogers intended to meet Stuart and his party
at a given place, but on account of losing their horses they failed to
make the connection, but arrived there three or four days after Stuart
and his party had passed. They took their trail, making as good time
as possible, with the expectation of overtaking them in two or three
days. But, on the upper Yellowstone, they were met by a large party of
Crow Indians who took them prisoners. And this is the reason why the
“Bill Fairweather party” and “the James Stuart party” became separated.
The consequence was that Fairweather and his men were forced to turn
back, and, when returning from what they thought was an unfortunate
trip, they discovered Alder Gulch, which proved afterwards to be the
richest gulch in the world. And it appears to a man in the moon that
the Crow chief had a hand in making this discovery, and likely if Bill
Fairweather had thought of it he would have staked him a claim.

When the news reached Bannock that Fairweather’s party had made a rich
discovery everybody rushed for the new Eldorado, and in a few days
Bannock was almost deserted. June 6, 1863, the Fairweather district was
organized (in Alder Gulch), with Dr. Steele president and James Fergus
recorder. And then and there the sills and rafters of the State of
Montana were hewn.

Since then over $85,000,000 has been taken out of this remarkable gulch.

Recently a correspondent of the Anaconda Standard had an interview with
the Henry Edgar referred to, which interview was published in the
“Standard” Sept. 5, 1899, from which the following extracts are taken.
Mr. Edgar said:

“In February, 1863, I sold my claim, which was No. 8 on Stapleton’s
bar at Bannock, and went to Deer Lodge to get an outfit for this
expedition. We intended to join Stuart’s party, which left Bannock
about the same time we departed from Deer Lodge. That was the latter
part of April or the first part of May. We were in reality bound for
the Black Hills. Simmons accompanied us as our guide. There were six in
the party. We had got two days’ travel below the mouth of Clarke’s Fork
in the neighborhood of Pompey’s Pillar, when we were captured by the
Indians. There was no fighting. That would have been sure death, they
so far outnumbered us. They took us into camp and made medicine over us
for three days.

“It was jointly through Bill Fairweather and Lewis Simmons that we
were saved. I do not understand why it was, but a rattlesnake would
never bite Bill. When he saw one he would always take it up and carry
it along with him. They never seemed to resent anything he would do
with them and he never killed one. As we were going towards the Indian
village he picked up a rattlesnake, and just at the outskirts of the
village he picked up another. When the Indians saw him come in with a
rattlesnake on each arm they were awed. He put the snakes in his shirt
bosom and Simmons told the Indians that he was the great medicine man
of the whites.

“They took us into the medicine lodge, where a large bush was placed in
the center. They marched us around that several times and finally Bill
said if they repeated it he would pull up the sacred medicine bush.
They marched us around again and Bill pulled up the bush and walloped
the medicine man on the head with it. We then were formed three to
three, back to back. We had refused all along to give up our guns and
revolvers. The old chief drove the other Indians back with a whip. They
had a council which lasted from noon till midnight. In the meantime we
were sentenced. If we proceeded they would kill us. If we turned back
and relinquished our horses we would not be harmed. It was Hobson’s
choice. I received for my three horses an old horse, blind in one eye,
and a yearling colt. For my three pairs of Oregon blankets a buffalo
robe and a half, and for my grub, consisting of flour, bacon, coffee,
beans, etc., a dozen dried buffalo tongues. Simmons remained with the
Indians.

[Illustration: INDIAN WAR DANCE.]

“We came back on the north side of the Yellowstone, after one day’s
travel. We met an old squaw, who warned us not to cross the river. We
took up into the mountains and camped there until morning, fearful of
the Indians. We then saw thirty or forty of them looking for our trail.
We remained until night and then crossed to the south side of the
river. We came up pretty near to Shield’s river or Twenty-five-Yard
creek, where we crossed to the north. There we found the Indians
were ahead of us and had gone over the hills toward West Gallatin.
We came on over the pass where the city of Bozeman now lies, and saw
the Indians coming up the valley. We concealed ourselves in the brush
along the creek and exchanged shots with them. There was a parley. They
agreed that if we came out they would not harm us, but we wouldn’t
trust them. We waited until dark and then struck for the Madison
river, crossed it and went into the hills between the Gallatin and the
Madison. The following day we crossed the Madison river and came up
what is now known as the head of Wigwam gulch. We camped beside a lake
at the foot of Bald mountain. We killed an elk there, and remained
during the afternoon and over night to dry and smoke the meat.

“The day after we came down by the lake and over the bridge to Alder
gulch. That was on May 26, 1863, about 4 o’clock in the afternoon, and
the sun was shining brightly. Fairweather and I were to make camp and
stand guard. The other four proceeded up the gulch, to what is now
Highland, prospecting. About sundown Bill went across the creek to
picket the horses.

“‘There is a piece of bed rock projecting,’ said Bill, ‘and we had
better go over and see if we cannot get enough money to buy a little
tobacco.’ So Bill took the pick and shovel and I took the pan and we
crossed the creek. He dug the dirt up and shoveled it into the pan.
I went down to the creek to wash it. While I was washing the dirt he
scratched around in the bedrock with his butcher knife and picked out
a piece of gold and called: ‘I’ve found a scad.’ I had the pan about
half washed down and I replied: ‘If you have one I have a thousand.’
And so I had. That first pan weighed about $2.30. We washed three pans
before dark and the three aggregated twelve dollars and some cents.
As we finished, the other four returned tired and hostile because we
hadn’t taken care of the horses. They had only found a color. I showed
Sweeney what we had and asked him what he thought of the pan. ‘Salted,
by G--d,’ exclaimed Sweeney. ‘You know well enough if you pike me down
and run me through a sluice you couldn’t get a color,’ said I. Then all
were in good humor. We had dried elk meat for supper.

“The next morning, as soon as daylight, we were all out. Sweeney’s
first pan weighed five dollars. Hughes and Cover went up the gulch.
Fairweather, Rogers, Sweeney and I went down. We staked two claims
apiece, two hundred feet to the man, all connecting. We took fifty feet
adjoining the claims on each side of the creek.

“We obtained about $180 that day altogether. We were tired and hungry
and all out of provisions. As we panned the last gold we saw five
antelope on the hill. Bill said to me: ‘Old man, if you ever looked
straight for your supper, look straight now.’

“He went around one way and I went up the hill the other side, and
each of us secured an antelope. We had neither coffee nor bread. Our
supper consisted of antelope straight and visions of gold. We spent the
next morning measuring the ground and staking it off. I wrote out the
notices. The first I wrote was for Barney Hughes.

“‘What shall we call the gulch?’ I asked. ‘You name it,’ he said. So I
called it Alder Gulch on account of the heavy clump of alders along the
banks of the creek.”

Mr. Edgar was born in Dumfries, Scotland. He came to the United States
when eighteen years of age. In 1850 he was in the Michigan lumber
region; in 1857 he lived at Fergus Falls; in 1858 he was at Fort
Geary, in the British possessions; in the fall of 1862 he was mining in
Bannock and the following spring joined the party that discovered Alder
gulch. Mr. Edgar is now past seventy-four years of age, and lives with
his wife in a cozy mountain home near Plains, in Missoula county, in
this state.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Sept. 25, 1899.

THE JAMES STUART PROSPECTING PARTY.

This expedition had the most desperate experience of any party of
men in the Rocky mountains. They were chased by hostile Indians for
hundreds of miles, endured untold privations, perils and hunger, some
being killed; and during all this time they were in an unexplored
region where assistance could not be obtained.

The first part of the history of this expedition has been given in the
foregoing letter. The day the Fairweather party discovered Alder gulch
the James Stuart party was being chased by Indians. The following are
extracts from Captain Stuart’s diary, which he kept on that eventful
prospecting trip in the “Yellowstone Country” in the spring of 1863.

“April 28, 1863.--We have traveled twenty miles today. About an hour
before sundown, while lying around camp resting from the fatigues of
the day, we were startled by hearing several guns fired from a clump
of cottonwoods across the river, and immediately afterwards we saw
about thirty Indians fording across. They came on a run, vociferating
‘How-dye-do,’ and ‘Up-sar-o-ka,’ which latter means ‘Crow Indians,’
in their language. By the time they were fairly in camp we had our
horses all tied up, and every man prepared for emergencies. They first
inquired who was our captain. I told them, and asked which was their
captain. They showed me three, one big and two little ones. The large
chief told me to have my men put all our things in the tents, and keep
a sharp lookout or we would lose them. I then gave him a small piece
of tobacco to have a grand smoke, and I also found that one of them, a
very large man with a big belly, could talk the Snake Indian language,
and he was at once installed as interpreter. They (the interpreter and
chiefs) sat down in a circle and requested the pleasure of my company.
I accepted the invitation, and our party soon stood guard over our
horses. Meanwhile the other Indians began disputing with each other
about who should have our best horses. I requested the chief to make
them come from among the horses and behave themselves, which he did.
At eight p. m. I put on double guard, and at ten p. m. all except the
guard retired to rest. The Indians wandered around camp all night,
like evil spirits; and such an odd night’s sleep as we had! Every
few minutes somebody would have to rush out of his tent and capture
something which the Indians would steal from under the tents, in spite
of the guard, and this, too, when it was bright moonlight. At daylight
I aroused the party, and we proceeded to ascertain our losses; each had
lost something. As soon as we began to pack up they at once proceeded
to forcibly trade horses, blankets, etc., and to appropriate everything
they wanted. I saw that the time had come to do or die; therefore I
ordered every man to be ready to open fire on them when I gave the
signal. With one handful of cartridges and my rifle in the other, I
told the Indians to mount their horses and go to their camp. They
weakened, mounted their horses and left. Two of the chiefs, however,
very politely requested to accompany us, which we refused, but they
came along. After the Indians fed on the fragments of the breakfast,
the chiefs and five others offered their robes, which we refused, I
saying to keep them until we met again. After breakfast they went back
and we traveled on down the river. After sundown we saw two Indians.

“April 29.--Started at sunrise accompanied by the two chiefs and six
others. One of them had a letter from Agent Schoonover of Fort Union,
which stated that the bearer was ‘Red Bear,’ one of the principal
chiefs of the Crow nation. We gave them some supper, etc. He then
presented me with a black horse; said he was all right; friend of ours,
etc. Had a long talk with him, in the course of which he asked about
old Jim Bridger, and also Peter Martin, desiring to know where they
were and why they never came to see the Crows. The other Crows had told
me that the Sioux had attacked the Fur Company’s express boat from Fort
Benton, near Fort Union, and some said they had taken it, and others
said they had killed some of the crew, but had not captured the boat.
I asked Red Bear if it was so, and he replied that a rumor to that
effect was current among the tribes, but he did not know whether it
was true or not. When we retired to rest I gave orders to the guards
not to kill, but take prisoners, any Indians which they might discover
prowling around after our horses, and sure enough, about eleven p. m.
they discovered one crawling up to two of our best horses that were
tied to the same tree. They watched and waited until they got dead
wood on him, and then captured him and called me up. I introduced him
to Red Bear as one of his good Indians, who, he had just been telling
me, would not annoy us any more, as he had told him not to, etc. He
said the man was crazy and had no ears, etc. The old story, anything to
excuse him. We had already had a practical illustration that stealing
or attempting to steal is far from being considered a crime by even
the best of them. We turned the thief loose, and early in the morning
they all started back, leaving us alone in our glory. Traveled eighteen
miles.

“April 30th.--Traveled all day down a valley between terraced table
lands and buttes; valley about eight miles wide; snowy range to the
west about eighty miles distant; no other snowy mountains in sight;
low, open country around base of mountains. Camped three miles below
the mouth of a large stream coming in on the south side; suppose it
to be Clark’s Fork. I accepted Red Bear’s black horse last night and
presented him my white mare in return. I thought at the time I had a
little the best of it, but I found, during the day’s travel, that I was
mistaken. We are so far away from any high mountains that all the party
feel discouraged and lonesome. Give me the mountains in preference to
plains, where one can see more level ground than he can ride over in a
day. The ground is literally covered with young crickets. Between them
and the grasshoppers I am afraid the grass will soon be used up. Course
of river, six degrees north of east. Traveled fifteen miles.

“Friday, May 1, 1863.--About one o’clock last night Bostwick had his
roan horse stolen while he and Greery were on guard. It was taken
by two Indians, one of whom showed himself, but not plain enough to
shoot at; while the guards were both watching to get a shot at him,
his companion crawled into the other end of the camp and cut the horse
loose and got away with him without attracting their attention; and
this, too, when the moon was nearly at the full and without a cloud.
Verily, the Crows are world-beaters, and words cannot do the subject
justice. Fortunately, Bostwick was on guard himself, so he cannot
charge anybody with carelessness. Course of river nearly northeast.”

The summary of the journal for the next eleven days is as follows:
May 2d they saw large herds of buffalo and elk. May 3d they camped a
few miles from Pompey’s Pillar. Arriving at this natural monument,
they found the names of Captain Clarke and two of his men cut in the
rock with the date, July 25, 1806. There were also two other names
inscribed--Derick and Vancourt--dated May 23, 1834. On May 6th five
men were detailed to cross the Big Horn river and survey a townsite
and ranches, and another party of four was sent out prospecting for
gold. On this day James Stuart and four others engraved their names
on a sandstone up the river. On the 7th the party went up the west
bank of the Big Horn, traveling eighteen miles that day. On the 8th
they traveled fifteen miles through a desolate country. On the 9th the
remains of an Indian were found buried up a tree. On the 11th a party
of three white men was observed a little ways across the river; they
would neither answer nor halt. It proved afterwards that this party
were J. M. Bozeman and John M. Jacobs and his daughter, eight years
old. They were on their way from the Three Forks of the Missouri river
to Red Butte, on the North Platte river, and were then selecting a
route for a wagon road, which was afterwards located and known as the
“Jacobs and Bozeman cut-off.” This party had been chased by a party
of Indians a few days before, and when they saw the Stuart party they
at once mistook them for Indians. But two days afterwards they met
about eighty mounted Indians. Knowing that they would be plundered of
everything they had, if not murdered, Jacobs dropped his rifle and
ammunition into a bunch of sage brush. Sure enough, the Indians did
capture and stripped them of nearly everything they had and many were
for killing them on the spot, but, after holding a kind of council,
they let them go after giving them three miserable ponies for all
their horses; most of their clothing and what provisions they had were
taken away from them. They started off slowly until the Indians were
out of sight, then returned and got Jacob’s gun and ammunition, but,
unfortunately, there were but five bullets. Soon these were exhausted,
and when they got through to North Platte they were in a famishing
condition.

Again Mr. Stuart says: “May 13, 1863.--Last night Smith and I had the
first watch, and about eleven o’clock the horses at my end were scared
at something, but it was very dark and I could not see anything. I
thought it might be a wolf prowling around the camp. A few minutes
before eleven o’clock I sat up and lit a match to see what time it
was, and also to light my pipe, but at once lay down again; we were
both lying flat on the ground trying to see what made the horses so
uneasy, and to this we owe our lives. Just then I heard Smith whisper
that there was something around his part of the horse herd and a few
seconds later the Crows fired a terrible volley into the camp. I was
lying between two of my horses and both were killed and nearly fell on
me. Four horses were killed and five more wounded, while in the tents
two men were mortally, two badly, and three slightly wounded. Smith
shouted, ‘Oh, you scoundrels!’ and fired both barrels of his shotgun,
but, as far as we could tell next morning, without effect; he most
probably fired too high. I could not fire, for the horses were in the
way. I shouted for someone to tear down the tents to prevent their
affording a mark for the murderous Indians a second time. York rushed
out and tore them down in an instant. I then ordered all who were able
to take arms and crawl out from the tents a little way and lie flat on
the ground, and thus we lay until morning, expecting another attack
each instant and determined to sell our lives as dearly as possible.
When, at last, day dawned we could see a few Indians among the rocks
and pines on a hill some five or six hundred yards away watching to see
the result of their bloody work.

“An examination of the wounded presented a dreadful sight. C. D.
Watkins was shot in the right temple, and the ball came out at the
left cheek bone; the poor fellow was still breathing, but insensible.
E. Bostwick was shot in five different places--once in the back of the
shoulder, shattering the shoulder blade, but the ball did not come out
in front; three balls passed through the right thigh, all shattering
the bone, and one ball passed through the left thigh, which did not
break the bone; he was sensible, but suffering terrible agony. H.
A. Bell was shot twice--one ball entered at the lowest rib on the
left side and lodged just under the skin on the right side; the other
entered near the kidneys on the left side and came out near the thigh
joint. D. Underwood was shot once, but the ball made six holes; it
first passed through the left arm above the elbow, just missing the
bone, and then passed through both breasts, which were large and full,
just grazing the breast bone. H. T. Greery was wounded in the left
shoulder blade with an arrow, but not dangerously hurt. George Ives was
shot in the hip with a ball--a flesh wound; S. T. Hauser in the left
breast with a ball, which passed through a thick memorandum book in his
shirt pocket and lodged against a rib over his heart, the book saving
his life. Several others had one or more ball holes through their
clothes.”

Mr. Stuart continued his diary until they arrived at Bannock on June
22, 1863.

As the “Standard” man always camps on the trail of the pioneers, again,
November 5, 1899, he met John Vanderbilt, who was with the James Stuart
expedition of which I have spoke. During his conversation with the
“Standard” reporter, Mr. Vanderbilt consented to give an account of
that historical event. He said:

“We left Bannock on April 9, 1863. Our principal object was to explore
the Wind, Big Horn, and the Stinking rivers. We got down among the
Crows on the Yellowstone, when our troubles began. As we went into
camp they tried to rob us of this thing and that, whatever happened to
strike their fancy. We had a parley, but it did no good. They became
so desperate that we had to show we were ready for action. There were
probably thirty or forty Indians in the party, but they all gave in
after we showed fight. That was in the latter part of April. They put
down their bows and arrows and retreated. We immediately packed our
camp and moved on. They followed along some distance behind. It was
this band of Indians who turned back the Edgar and Fairweather party,
which was just one day behind us.

“After that trouble we followed on down the Yellowstone, keeping guard
at night. We frequently saw signs of the Indians, but had no more
trouble for a few days. We camped seven days at the mouth of the Big
Horn and laid out a townsite which we called Big Horn City. It still
bears that name. We merely took a survey and platted the town, but took
up no land. On May 3d we camped at Pompey’s Pillar, where we were much
interested in reading the inscription bearing the names of Captain
Clarke and two men, and the date, July 25, 1806.

“Then we started up the east side of the Big Horn river, crossed the
Little Horn and went further up as far as the canyon. That was probably
seventy-five miles from the mouth. On that night--the night of May 12th
to 13th--took place our great fight with the Indians.

“It was just about midnight when the Indians attacked us. Stuart and
Smith were on guard. They didn’t hear the Indians until they began
firing on us. They first fired one or two shots and then a volley.
Bostwick was the first one wounded. Then Watkins was shot through the
head. Bell was shot in the side. A ball went through Underwood’s arm
and into his breast. Another ball struck a memorandum book in Sam
Hauser’s pocket and glanced onto a rib, saving his life.

“After this attack the Indians withdrew. Stuart told us, however, to
lay low, as it is a common custom with Indians to attack again just
before daylight. Some of our men were groaning, and in the darkness we
could not tell the full extent of our casualties, nor could we tell at
what moment the attack might be renewed. It was, indeed, a terrible
night.

“Morning came without any further attack. Watkins died just about
daylight. We found that three or four of our horses had been killed.
Bostwick was badly wounded in the side. Bell was also severely injured.
We held a consultation. To remain meant the certain extermination of
the entire party. Yet we were reluctant to leave the wounded behind,
and it was impossible to take them along. Sometime before we had all
agreed that, in case we had a battle, each man would reserve one bullet
for himself, so that he could not be captured and tortured. It was also
agreed at that time if any were wounded he would not permit the others
to remain behind to help him, but would end his own existence. It was,
however, decided that if a man’s wound was not mortal the others were
to stay with him. It was decided that Captain Stuart should be sole
judge as to whether a man’s wound was mortal or not.

“That being the previous agreement, it was decided to wait until noon
to see how serious the wounds of Bostwick and Bell might be. It was
not considered possible to delay longer and save any of the party.
All the forenoon the Indians were in sight on the side of the canyon.
Stuart approached them and challenged them to come out and fight, but
they made no response. As noon approached Bostwick asked us to go on
and leave him, as he could not live long. We did not want to leave him
while life was left in his body. He then asked Greery for a revolver,
and at the last moment it was given him. He put the revolver up to his
head and killed himself.

“We started at noon, leaving all our camp except provisions, for eight
days. Bell said he couldn’t travel and didn’t want to kill himself,
so we left him on the ground. We got about a quarter of a mile away,
going toward the east, when we saw Bell motioning us to wait. We went
back, put him on a horse, and he kept along with us. He got through all
right.

“That same evening Greery accidentally shot himself with his rifle. We
made the practice of laying our guns in the same place. His rifle, as
he picked it up, became entangled in the sage brush, exploded and shot
him. After fifteen or twenty minutes he begged us to kill him, as he
said that he was suffering intensely and could not live. We refused,
however. Finally, when it was necessary for us to go on, we let him
have his revolver. He asked Stuart where the surest place for him to
shoot himself was situated, and Stuart told him in the ear. All bade
him good bye. I was the last to see him alive. I pleaded with him not
to, but he said he couldn’t live long anyway. I stood on a little
raise. He was behind it. He was very weak. He pulled the trigger, but
it didn’t go off. Then he pulled a second time and killed himself. We
dug a hole in the ground and buried him in his blanket. The Indians
were constantly in sight during this time.

“We then packed up and continued that long and terrible journey. We
traveled nights and rested part of the day. In that way the Indians
following our tracks would almost overtake us, but we would get ahead
again during the night. We suffered hardships that can never be told.
We took only eight days’ provisions along after the battle, and that
was soon consumed. One night we had nothing to eat. Then Stuart killed
an antelope. The next day we had nothing but a fawn two or three days
old, which made us all sick. After that we had plenty of buffalo meat,
and for eight or ten days we had nothing else, and only alkali water
to drink. For a long distance we traveled through snow two or three
feet deep and would sometimes sink down into pools of ice water. While
crossing the Big Horn range we were wet nearly all the time. We hadn’t
been able to buy boots or shoes at Bannock and had nothing on our feet
except moccasins. Crossing the Big Horn mountains we were guided by the
stars, changing our course a good deal.

“We struck the Wind river above the canyon and followed it up, going
in a southerly direction. Bell complained of pain all the time, so we
could only go at a walk. When we crossed the divide we saw emigrant
wagons on the road twelve miles away. Hauser felt so overjoyed he tied
his handkerchief to a stick and hurrahed. Then we traveled rapidly
along towards the road, which we soon reached. The emigrants thought we
were Indians; we were so black and dirty, and they came out to fight
us. We soon convinced them that we were all right. They let us have
flour, potatoes and everything we wanted. They didn’t want to charge
us, but we had plenty of money and so paid them for what we obtained.
We went on to Pacific Springs, on the California road, by the Snake
river to Bannock, which we reached sometime in June. We left Bell at
a soldiers’ station, where the bullet was extracted, and he remained
until he had recovered.”

Mr. Vanderbilt has made his home for several years past in New York
state, but recently he returned to this state, where he has met many of
his old-time friends. He says that the changes made in the “Rockies”
by “Then and Now” are great, but that the old mountains that he used
to climb in search of gold are the same; and that the high peaks that
reached to welcome him back to his old camping ground are the same
“now” as they were “then,” otherwise he would have thought that he was
still in the East.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Nov. 14, 1899.

FROM ALDER GULCH TO LAST CHANCE.

Having remained in Alder gulch all summer working in the mines for Boon
and Vivian at ten dollars per day in gold dust, in December, 1864,
four of us made a bargain with a man who had two small Mexican mules
and an old spring wagon, to take us and our baggage to the new gold
mines called Last Chance (now Helena). It was understood that we were
to walk, and help the mules (or “Jerusalem ponies,” as one of the boys
called them) up the hills. The little animals were not over thirteen
hands high, and would weigh about 400 pounds each. We came down the
Prickly Pear creek, where now the Montana Central railway is. “Then”
there was no town of Clancy, nor a quartz mill nor a smelter on the
creek; not a sound could be heard there, except that of the pick of the
prospector on the mountains, hunting for gold. We kept on the trail
until we got to the new Eldorado, where several hundred miners were
at work; many were taking out gold in great quantities, others were
prospecting their claims.

Before going any further we will stop a minute and listen to “Now”
telling a short story in connection to the creek referred to. “A few
days ago I was invited to go to the roundhouse at this place to see two
new locomotives which had just arrived from the East. They were the
largest in weight and dimensions ever built in any country up to that
time, each weighing one hundred and fifty-four tons. Mr. Bruce, the
master mechanic at the railway shops, informed me that they were to run
on the Montana Central railway from Clancy, on Prickly Pear creek, and
over the Rocky Mountain divide. Although this is one of the heaviest
pulls in the country, the big engines each are to draw six hundred and
seventy tons. Several hundred passengers are drawn over this divide
every twenty-four hours, besides about seven thousand tons of freight,
principally coal from Cascade county to Butte and Anaconda, and copper
ore from the Butte mines to the copper smelters and refiners at the
falls of the Missouri river, near Great Falls, and lead and silver ores
to the East Helena smelter.

When looking at those two great locomotives I could not avoid thinking
of the contrast between them and the two Mexican mules, and of the
motive power on the old trail, and the motive power on the new. The
little mules were thirteen hands high and drew one thousand pounds;
each of the big locomotives is fifteen feet, or forty-five hands, high,
and draws six hundred and seventy tons. It is to me like a dream to
think of the great changes that have taken place since that time.

Then Helena was but a mining camp, consisting of but a few log cabins.
There is where I helped to run a drain ditch, commencing at Discovery
Claim, near where now stands the Montana Club building. We reached
bed rock in the upper end of the city. Among the gravel in this drain
ditch, about forty-five feet from the surface and near where the
Helena fire department building is, a mastodon tooth was found; it
was a grinder, three inches on top, six inches deep and eight inches
lengthwise; it was as perfect as it was when it came from the monster’s
mouth, when this northern country was a tropical region. In another
claim a tusk was found like that of an elephant. Many other remains of
animals have been found in mines and rock formations in the Rockies,
showing that the Rocky mountain region has, at one time, been the home
of animals that are not now in existence, at least not in the western
hemisphere. It is estimated that thirty millions of dollars have been
taken out of Last Chance gulch and its tributaries, and most of it from
where the streets of Helena now are.

[Illustration: From Painting by C. M. Russell.

A PRAIRIE SCHOONER CROSSING THE PLAINS.]

Miners’ wages were then ten dollars per day; common laborers seven
dollars. During the winter of 1865 eatables of all kinds were very
dear, except meat, for game was plentiful; flour sold for one hundred
and twenty-five dollars per one hundred pounds. “Then” my friend
Charley Cannon was an humble baker, and was selling dried apple pies
that were not sweetened, with crusts as thin as a wafer, for one dollar
a piece. “Now” he is an honored and respected citizen and one of the
wealthiest men in the state. “Now” Helena is a city of twelve thousand
inhabitants and the capital of the state. The capitol building is in
course of construction, and, when completed, will be one of the finest
in the West. Where the log cabins stood, handsome business blocks and
pleasant homes are everywhere visible.

Besides the Montana Central, which runs north and south and through
Helena, the transcontinental line of the Northern Pacific connects the
Atlantic and Pacific by extending east and west. Their freight and
passenger depots are located on the old mining claims, where husky
miners, in their overalls and flannel shirts, swung the picks and
tossed the shovels with their brawny arms and contributed thousands of
dollars to the world’s treasury. Today railroad conductors and other
officials are skipping over the same ground in broad cloth, with pen
and pencil behind ears that are braced up by high collars attached to
boiled shirts.

And so it goes--the miner, the mechanic, the herdsman and plowman, the
conductor, the railroad official and the man with the pencil, yes, the
tie ballaster and the newsboy, all are linked in the endless chain of
Western progress. And now a commerce is created which brings a revenue
to our government amounting to millions of dollars annually, besides
many millions more to the laborers and those who furnished the money
to carry on these industries and enterprises that are continually
developing and adding to the wealth of the nation.

Thus the wheel of progress has moved forward with tremendous speed
since my first arrival in Helena in 1864 with the man who had the two
“Jerusalem ponies.”

[Illustration: A SCENE IN THE CITY OF HELENA.]

From Helena I went to Nelson gulch, where there were some very good
diggings. The richest was that owned by the Maxwell & Rollins company,
near the head of the gulch. In July, 1865, this company had a crew of
ten men running a set of sluice boxes in very rich gravel. The man who
used the fork to throw the stones which were too heavy for the water to
carry out of the boxes, noticed that one small stone that he cast away
was very heavy for its size. Wishing to know what kind of a stone it
was, he went to the pile and examined it. To his astonishment it was
a nugget of gold worth two thousand and seventy-three dollars. All
hands quit work to see the big nugget, and the men on the adjoining
claims came also to view it. Finally three cheers were given, and
repeated several times until the echo went up and down the canyon. I
was about a quarter of a mile down the creek at the time. Hearing the
yelling, many thought that a serious accident had occurred. Soon the
men came down the gulch with the big nugget suspended from the center
of a pole, with the crowd following, and, as they marched down the
gulch, everybody joined the mob: and when they reached the town which
was near the lower end of the gulch where there were two stores and as
many saloons, besides several miners’ cabins, the crowd numbered three
hundred or more. From two to three hundred dollars was spent by the
Maxwell & Rollins company in treating the boys. The nugget was pure
gold with no quartz. It was the shape of a hand with the thumb turned
under. In 1877 another nugget worth one thousand and fifty dollars
was found in the same gulch by Mr. Rogers. The gold of the Nelson and
Highland gulches is the purest of any ever found in Montana.

The largest nugget was found in Snow Shoe gulch in 1865, which weighed
one hundred and seventy-eight ounces and was worth three thousand two
hundred dollars; there was some quartz attached. This nugget was long
in shape, more like a foot than a hand. Snow Shoe gulch is located on
top of the main range of the rockies, and near the Mullen tunnel on the
Northern Pacific railway.

Deitrick and Brother found a nugget on their claim in Rocker gulch in
1867 worth eighteen hundred dollars. Many other large nuggets were
found in different gulches, but these were the largest. The placer gold
varies in size from microscopic powder to the monster slugs spoken of,
and in quality from 600 to 990 in fineness.

Several hundred bars and gulches were in operation in the years
1865-1866, and were producing thousands of dollars daily. Those mines
extended through a region one hundred and twenty-five miles square.
The greatest producer of all was Alder gulch, with thirteen miles of
pay ground. It is estimated that from seventy to eighty-five million
dollars have been taken out of this gulch. Last Chance ranks next.
Many other gulches were as rich, but not so extensive. It is safe to
say that Confederate gulch produced more gold from the same number of
square yards and in less time than any other placer mine ever found in
the state. In the summer of 1866 a party of men took out of this gulch
two and one half tons of gold worth one and one half million dollars.
Early in the fall of the same year it was hauled by a four-mule team,
escorted by fourteen armed men, to Fort Benton for transportation down
the Missouri river. Mr. Lindiman and Mr. Hieediman, the two men who
were the owners of most of the gold, accompanied the outfit.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Dec. 18, 1898.

FROM THE MINES TO THE FARM.

I remained in Nelson gulch over three years; during this time I did
some mining, afterwards kept a meat market.

I had not the least idea of establishing a home in Montana, and,
in truth, the field was not, just then, an inviting one for the
homeseeker. All of us then were seeking gold and nothing else. Nearly
everyone had made up his mind as to the specific amount he wanted,
after which he was ready to return to the states to enjoy the same.
Many made fortunes and carried out precisely this programme, but others
were not so successful--among the latter myself. I was not ready to
return at the end of the first or second year. I observed, with others,
that our ponies and work cattle fattened readily on weathered bunch
grass, and would live on this provender through the winter without
care or shelter; that the meat of the deer, elk and buffalo was in
prime condition, even in the dead of winter; and that experiments on a
small scale in growing vegetables and grain in the valleys were very
successful, and that the climate of the country gave health and vigor
to both man and beast. In view of these observations, I concluded that
Montana was a good enough country for me to live in.

In the fall of 1869 I came to the Sun river valley and located a ranch
on the north side of the river, nine miles down the valley from Sun
River Crossing, and near the Leaving Stage Station (now Sunnyside), on
the Helena and Benton road. I remember well when I made the entry in
the land office at Helena, that the register said to me: “Well, Vaughn,
this is the first entry made in Choteau county.”

A few weeks later Colonel Baker made a raid on the Indians on the
Marias river. During the years 1867, 1868 and 1869 the Blackfeet and
Piegan Indians caused a great deal of trouble by attacking freighters,
killing settlers and stealing their horses. These outrages became so
frequent that the war department finally decided that those bands of
bloodthirsty Indians must be taught a severe lesson.

General Sheridan was in command of the military division of the
Missouri, which embraced Montana. Direct telegraph communication
existed between General Sheridan’s office and Fort Shaw. In December,
1869, all the minutiae of the campaign were worked out at the division
headquarters, and the necessary details sent to the commanding officer
at Fort Shaw. Cavalry from Fort Ellis and infantry from Fort Shaw were
detailed for the expedition, and the forces were under the command of
Colonel Baker of the Second cavalry, with Joe Kipp, Henry Martin and
Joe Cobel as guides. Every effort was made to keep the destination of
the troops secret. It was late at night when they marched to the point
where the guides intended to take them. On account of frost in the air
and a few inches of snow on the ground they had some difficulty in
keeping the right course. Finally the command arrived at the bluffs
overlooking the Marias river; the tepees of the enemy were hardly
observable, but the scouts had located the Indian villages, and, before
daylight, they were completely surrounded by the soldiers. At an early
hour the firing commenced and before the bugle called a halt nearly
two hundred Indians had joined their ancestors in their happy hunting
grounds. Two soldiers were killed in this terrible battle. When the
news reached the stations along the Helena and Benton road, there were
a few who became alarmed for fear that retaliation would be made by
the Indians. But they did not retaliate; the battle was the best thing
that ever happened to Northern Montana at that time. For several years
afterwards the Indians were very shy, although some roving war parties
of different tribes would cross the country and kill people and steal
horses and cattle.

William Sparks and myself were only farmers in Northern Montana for
several years, although some farming had been done in Sun River valley
as early as 1858, by my namesake, Colonel Vaughn, who built the first
agency for the Blackfeet Indians, which was located on the north side
of the Sun river, about one-half mile above the crossing, and was
known as the “Government Farm.” Here is where Colonel Vaughn, as an
experiment in behalf of the government, cultivated a number of acres
of land, several acres of which were sowed in wheat. It proved to be a
grand success. The colonel estimated that the wheat crop would average
seventy-five bushels to the acre, and so reported to the department at
Washington. A story is told on the colonel that, in addition to his
agricultural report, he also reported that the beavers were so numerous
that the wheat crop was in danger of being destroyed by them, and to
send him immediately five hundred beaver traps. The traps were sent
at once by the fastest express then in existence, and arrived at the
“Government Farm” after the wheat was threshed and put in the granary.
The traps were used during the following winter by trappers, as they
were intended in the first place. It was a good joke on the officials
at Washington, for who ever heard of a beaver eating wheat.

In 1861 Mr. Sam Ford settled and located two miles above where now
stands Fort Shaw. In 1862, also, the following named people were living
on the government farm: J. H. Vail and family, a sister of Mrs. Vail’s,
Miss O’Brien (who, in 1863, married Henry Plummer, the only sheriff
then in what is now Montana; but he was a traitor, for at the same
time he was the leader of a gang of desperadoes, although unknown to
the young lady).

The following is from a letter written by Judge F. M. Thompson of the
probate court for Franklin county, Massachusetts, to a friend in this
city:

“It would give me great pleasure to visit your city, the site of which
I first saw June 5, 1863, under somewhat interesting circumstances. I
was at that time stopping with my friends, Mr. and Mrs. Vail, at the
‘government farm’ on Sun river, awaiting the arrival at Fort Benton
of the St. Louis steamers. Besides us at the farm were Joseph Swift,
who had wintered there, my partner, Mr. C. E. Wheeler, Henry Plummer,
Miss Electa O’Brien, two Vail children, and a hunter-herdsman. I quote
from my diary: ‘June 5, 1863.--About 3 p. m., with Mr. and Mrs. Vail,
Miss O’Brien and the two children in the government ambulance, and the
remainder of the party on horseback, we left the stockade in charge of
the hunter and started for the ‘Great Falls’ of the Missouri river.
The Indians are very saucy and are cleaning out small parties of the
whites, whom they can intimidate and steal from. We feel somewhat the
risk we run in taking the women and children on the trip. Near sundown
we had a scare, as Plummer, Wheeler and Swift in advance climbed the
top of a knoll and suddenly stopping made signs of Indians, but,
fortunately, the moving figures proved to be antelopes. Arriving at the
lower falls after dark, we camped in a ravine, so that the light of our
campfire might not be seen by the Indians. The next forenoon was spent
in fishing and viewing the falls and building a large stone cairn, in
which we deposited a paper claiming that the ladies of our party were
the first to view the falls. (In this I think we were mistaken, as
probably Mrs. La Barge and a friend visited the falls in the summer of
1862.) After dinner we started upon our return to the Fort, and, coming
within sight of the farm, we found that the bottom was covered with a
large number of Indian ponies grazing, under the charge of a guard.

Recognizing them as Spokanes, and friendly, we found a large party of
their warriors visiting the farm. Finding that only one man was in
possession, and he having locked the gates, they parleyed with him at
the front, while some young bucks scaled the walls in the rear and took
possession of the premises, compelling the hunter to cook from the
stores of the station dinner for the whole crowd.

After a full discussion of the situation, by aid of the little
‘Chinook’ I had picked up, and a vigorous exhibition of sign language
on our part, we finally persuaded the chief that it was best for him to
‘clatawaw,’ which he did much to our relief. (Clatawaw means go away.)

On the 20th of June, 1863, at Sun river, Henry Plummer and Miss Electa
O’Brien were married by Rev. Father Minatre of the mission of St.
Peter, Mr. Swift acting as best man, and, for the only time in my life,
I acted as “bridesmaid.” The happy couple immediately left the farm
in the government ambulance, to which were attached four green Indian
ponies.

A few months later Henry Plummer had ended his career upon the gallows
at Bannock.”

There was no farming done by those settlers except gardening on a
small scale. In 1867 John Largent bought a cabin from a trader named
Goff, and built another one near where now stands his fine residence.
The same year Joe Healy built a cabin where now is H. B. Strong’s
residence. Those two men were the first settlers of the town of Sun
River.

In 1872 Ed Dennis, Hod Maine, James Strong and Charley Femeston farmed
in Sun river valley. John Largent had then a store and blacksmith shop
at Sun River Crossing; J. J. Healy and Al Hamilton kept a trading post
on the north bank of the river, near the bridge. They had a large
trade with the Indians.

In 1871 R. S. Ford and Thomas Dunn brought the first range cattle to
the Sun River country, and, for that matter, to Northern Montana.
They had 1,100 head. The following year O. H. and D. H. Churchill
brought eight hundred head. These cattle were turned out on the range
north of Sun River, between the Leaving and the falls of the Missouri
river. The following winter thousands of buffaloes came from the north
and we had to cross all domestic stock to the south side of the Sun
river, and herd them, to some extent, to keep the buffaloes away. A
few years later two brothers named Rock settled near the mouth of the
Sun river and were engaged in chopping wood. Near where now stands
the Montana Brewery plant was an empty cabin which had been built by
hunters (the same cabin, which is made of logs, has been removed and
now stands half a mile southwest of its first location, and is the
property of the Great Northern Railway company). One morning, as one
of the brothers was going to his work, twelve Indians, who had been
secreted in the old cabin, rushed out and murdered him. The other
brother was on the opposite side of the river, the present site of the
city of Great Falls, and saw the Indians perpetrate this cold-blooded
murder, but could render no assistance. After shooting him, they all
made a rush to see which one would get there first to secure his scalp.
Just then the brother, who was across the river, fired several shots.
This scared the Indians and they fled before reaching their victim,
who was killed instantly by eleven bullets, ten through the body and
one in the head. “Scalping” is a cruel practice that these savages
commit after capturing an enemy. They take off the crown of the head;
sometimes they do this first and the killing afterwards. They preserve
the scalp, and the one who has the greatest number to his credit is
considered the bravest and is promoted in his tribe, and often obtains
the chief’s daughter in marriage. It was not long after the killing
of Rock that an Indian, while in the act of skinning a young domestic
cow, was shot by one of the settlers. At this point on the Missouri
river, where now stands the railroad bridge, there was a good ford.
Here the Flatheads, Pend d’Oreilles, Nez Perces, Bloods, Piegans and
Black feet crossed to get to the Judith and the Musselshell country en
route to their winter hunting grounds; returning in the spring laden
with dried meats, buffalo robes and pemmican. It was also a lurking
place for the Blackfeet warriors when on their way to steal horses from
the Crows. In returning the Crows would follow them up and commit all
sorts of depredations upon the settlers along the line of their forays.
As the buffaloes were getting scarce and more cattle were being put
on the range the Indians became more troublesome by killing cattle.
Once, as a party of Sun River settlers were crossing the country, they
met eight young warriors on foot and among the cattle. They were on a
horse-stealing expedition and well equipped with lariats and guns. The
settlers, all well armed and mounted, made a swoop on the Indians and
rounded them up. They took their arms and marched them out about five
miles on the prairie towards the agency; then they gave back their
guns and released them, telling them to make quick tracks for the
reservation. As the Indians expected to be shot, they lost no time in
getting away. This put a quietus on their cattle killing, and from that
time they became more peaceable.

As more mines were discovered and operated, the population of the
territory rapidly increased. The traffic on the Helena and Benton road
was very great during the boating season on the upper Missouri, and
before there was a railroad nearer than Ogden, Utah, consequently more
settlers came into the valley. There were twelve locations between the
Sun River Crossing and The Leaving. We joined together and constructed
an irrigation ditch. We succeeded in growing a large crop of oats,
wheat and barley; as high as eighty to one hundred bushels to an acre
were raised by the writer and others. Also the largest and finest crops
of potatoes I ever saw were raised there.

Now the Sun river valley and its tributaries have developed into some
of the most extensive and wealthy settlements in the state. It has
several towns with populations ranging from one hundred to thirteen
thousand, having schools, churches, railroads, telegraph and telephone
lines, flouring mills, refineries and smelters, electric lights and
power and many public works.

The once hostile Indians have been subdued and are now on their
reservations cultivating the soil by following the plow, running the
mower and self-binder, raising horses, sheep and cattle, and are fast
becoming civilized. Fort Shaw military post has become an Indian
school. The parade ground, where the soldiers used to drill and prepare
for Indian wars, is now used for picnic grounds and for the young
Indian students to hold their Fourth of July celebrations.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Jan. 29, 1898.

A LETTER TO MY LITTLE BABE.

_My Darling Little Babe_--Your mother died January 13, 1888, when you
were but thirteen days old. Today you are seven weeks old. Your tongue
and communicative powers are tied with the tie of infancy. You can’t
tell papa how dear mamma was loved and how sweet her last kiss was. You
can’t tell papa that mamma said, “Take good care of darling babe,” and
how she embraced you to her bosom and blessed you for the last time.
Neither can you comprehend papa telling you how happy papa and mamma
lived together. You are now sleeping in the cradle, and I am sitting
alone by your side thinking of your dear mother and how she loved you
before you were born, and the pleasure she had when making your little
clothes during the last four months, before she was confined to her bed.

But she has gone to that land where rivers flow over golden sands;
where pearls and many a gem deck the shores. Last night as I was
mourning over her and thinking of her loving companionship and her kind
words, a still voice came to me saying: “Tell our darling babe that we
lived happy.” This set me to thinking that I may have passed through
the “valley” before you will be old enough for me to tell you this
happy tale. But, by the grace of God, I comfort myself with the hope
that you and I will be companions to each other for many years to come,
and that I will have the pleasure of listening to you reading me this
letter which I am now writing. God bless you, sweet angel!

Your dear mother was born near Toronto, Canada, March 19, 1855. She
was the daughter of Matthew and Jane Donahue. We were married August
25, 1886, at the home of Uncle and Aunt Spencer (where also she made
her home), by Rev. J. H. Little. The same morning we left for Helena.
We arrived there next day. It was fair week. We remained five days
and met many friends. Here we had our photos taken and purchased our
household goods--the organ, sewing machine, etc. And this is the time
I had her ring made out of a nugget of gold I had taken from the mines
twenty years before. We came home happy and went to work and organized
our little home, and in about three weeks we had it--to us, a little
palace. And oh! such a welcome she always gave me when I came home!
What a heart she had! So large and pure, so kind and womanly! She
always kept everything so neat and nice. She made me love home and gave
me new thought--how very little happiness depends upon money. Often in
the still hour of the evening we would stroll away through the meadows,
sometimes down along the banks of Sun river, and carelessly hold each
other’s hands. She walked closely at my side, telling me some sweet
words and sometimes rhymes, and often we sang some favorite hymn. And
now it seems to me how beautiful those happy days were. They are like
dreams.

Your dear mother was always pleasant. I never left the house to be
away all day without her giving me a kiss before I left, and she never
failed to meet me at the door to give me a kiss and a welcome on my
return. We truly loved each other. No wedded couple ever lived happier.
Whatever I would do she always thought was done right, and whatever
she would do I could not improve. It was impossible. Anything in the
house, if it was moved from the place she had for it, I could preceive
it at once. Even a picture on the wall could not be moved anywhere else
to look as well as the place she already had selected for it. She was
a perfect mechanic. She was genial. She was gentle and polite in her
manners. A more faithful partner never lived. A more true, affectionate
wife and more loving mother never existed. Your dear mother was a
Christian. She lived and died as such. The first time we met in our
little chamber to go to rest for the first night together, your dear
mother knelt by the bedside and prayed to God to give us grace and
bless us as we started on the voyage of life together. She asked Him to
give us grace to live a happy life, to live so we could die happy. And
many, many times I have thought of her prayers during our happy life,
and of her sweet words, “Tell the folks I die happy.” From that time
until she went to her final rest she always prayed before she retired
at night. Also in the morning she kneeled before the Throne of Grace
and thanked the Lord for his loving kindness. She always had her bible
on the dresser or on the table in our bed room and perused it with
care. She said one day: “If we can’t attend church regularly in this
country, we can be good by prayer to God and read our bible regularly.”
And her motto, in her own handiwork, is now over our bed-room door,
chosen by herself years ago. It is this:

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* Simply *
* To Thy Cross I Cling. *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She illustrated on her death bed how this beautiful motto was engraved
on her heart, for among her last sayings was: “Blessed be the Saviour
who died on the cross, and I cling to that cross.” Oh, what a treasure
she was! Our short life together was but a holiday, and a happy one.
And here now, I ask you, my dear babe, let your creed be the bible and
your example your dear mother. If your father is not with you, ask
some one to teach you to pray when you are young, for He said: “I love
them that love me, and they that seek me early shall find me.” “The
same God who moulded the sun and kindled the stars watches the flight
of an insect. He who balances the clouds and hung the worlds upon
nothing notices the fall of a sparrow. He who gives Saturn his rings
and placed the moon like a ball of silver in the broad arch of the
heaven, who gives the rose leaf its delicate tint and makes the distant
sun to nourish the violet, the same being notices the praises of the
cherubim and the prayers of a little child.”

It is He who is the father of the orphan; He whom your dear mother
placed her trust in and who comforted her through life and death.

The following is her testimony on her death bed of a happy life ending
in a happy death. She said to your sorrowful father: “My dear, do
not let this worry you. Trust in the Lord and he will support you. I
have trusted in Christ through all my life; now I trust in Him and He
comforts me, for the Lord doeth all things well. I am ready to meet
Him. I am ready to die. Take good care of our darling babe and tell
her that we lived happy. God bless the little angel. It seems hard to
us that we must part after living but a little while together, but it
is God’s will; it is well. Do not be sad! be happy. The ring you made
for me in Helena I will take to the grave with me. Call my loved ones
to my side and let me kiss them and bid them good bye. Tell the folks
I die happy. Blessed be the Saviour who died on the cross. Oh Lord!
I am ready--take me, Oh Lord! Take me at midnight or in the dawning
of the morning. Dear Lord, take me. Let me go home in peace. The
valley is lighter. I see the great white throne. I want to go home.”
She frequently said: “I want to go home” or “Take me home,” during
her last hours on earth. Thus your dear mother passed away in peace,
prepared to meet the God in whom she had placed her trust. I imagined
hearing the soft wings of the angels fluttering in the room when they
came to take her home and their soft whisperings saying: “She is dying
happy. She is clinging to the cross;” then a voice: “Open the gates of
heaven; she is coming home.” Her remains are sheltered safe from sorrow
in the cemetery at Great Falls. Dear is the spot where she sleeps.
“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear
no evil, for Thou art with me.”

Now, my dear little daughter, I am about to close this
joy-mingled-with-grief letter, hoping that you and I will be loving
companions to each other to scatter flowers over your dear mother’s
grave for many decoration days to come.

Remember dear mother’s words, her Saviour’s cause extend--
Live pure and holy here, as through life’s way you wend--
And when the journey is over and you come to the valley,
May her words be your words: “Tell the folks I die happy.”

The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you. May He be your guide.
Put your trust in Him. And that He will comfort you in life and in
death is the prayer of your affectionate father,

ROBERT VAUGHN.

P. S.--This letter and your mother’s jewels, which she willed to you, I
will deposit in the First National Bank of Great Falls for safe keeping
for you.

R. V.
Sun River, Mont., Feb. 18, 1888.

FROM THE FARM TO THE CITY OF GREAT FALLS.

[Illustration: GREAT FALLS, MONTANA.]

In the year 1889, after meeting with my great loss in the death of my
wife, I sold my farm in the Sun river valley and came to Great Falls,
and built the “Arvon Block,” and the “Vaughn Building,” in which I now
live, in rooms fifteen and sixteen, with my dear little ten-year-old
daughter. Like the man who chased his shadow, I have chased myself from
place to place for the period of sixty-one years, and for the distance
of six thousand miles, and at last have caught up with myself. Now it
is in order to give a sketch of my first visit to this spot where I now
reside. It was in the winter of 1870, and it was rather a cold day,
when, mounted on my gray mustang and looking down from the summit of
the hill on the west side, where now stands the residence of Hon. T.
E. Collins, I first saw the beautiful landscape, the site of the city
of Great Falls. As I bent in my saddle to view the panorama before me,
I longed to be an artist, that I might portray it. It was a picture
that I shall never forget. On the south side of Sun river lay an Indian
village, two tepees were on the north side, and one on Indian hill. The
latter, I was afterwards told, sheltered a lookout who watched for the
approach of an enemy and to observe in what direction the buffalo herds
were moving. On Prospect Hill was a band of antelope, and through the
low divide, west of J. P. Lewis’, a herd of buffalo were slowly moving
in single file towards the river. In the grove some of these monarchs
were rubbing against the trees, and, I should judge, were enjoying
themselves immensely. Further east, on what is now Boston Heights,
several hundred more were feeding on the grasses of the bench lands.
While viewing the open plains, stretching on to where the Highwood
and Little Belt ranges rose, covered with the first fall of snow, the
winding rivers, the confluence of the Sun and the Missouri, following
the latter in its course until lost to view between high bluffs, I
forgot all save the scene before me, hearing only the roaring of the
waters as they rushed over the Missouri falls further down the river.
Just then I saw an Indian about half way between myself and the two
tepees; he was on foot and coming towards me. As I had not lost any
Indians, I put the spurs to my horse and headed for home. When I had
gone about a mile I looked back and saw the Indian standing where I had
been but a few minutes before. Today I once more looked down from the
summit of the same hill, but what a changed picture was spread before
me! The plains that were “then” dotted with buffaloes are “now” covered
with pleasant homes and imposing business blocks. Where was once an
Indian village, today the stock farm of Hon. Paris Gibson is located.
The two tepees are replaced by The American Brewing and Malting
company’s plant, and at the foot of Prospect Hill, where the antelopes
were, a water plant for a city of fifteen thousand inhabitants is
in full operation. On the commanding bluff, “then” occupied by the
lookout tepee, “now” the lofty smokestack of the Boston and Montana
copper smelter stands in bold relief against the blue background of
the sky, a landmark for hundreds of settlers for many miles around.
The Missouri river is spanned by several steel bridges which carriages
and locomotives cross at will. The buffalo trails have given place
to electric railways, and the grove, where these shaggy-looking
animals used to rub their coats, is now a beautiful park echoing with
children’s laughter. But the greatest change of all has been wrought at
the falls of the Missouri. Its mighty voice “then” paramount, “now”
has been overpowered and well nigh silenced by the humming of dynamos
and the sound of the great ore crushers as they labor on day and night,
the slaves of the white man’s civilization. A brief sketch of these
falls is proper at this time. The falls of the Missouri river were
first made known in 1805. Thomas Jefferson, the third president of
the United States, was a leading figure in the purchase of Louisiana,
which embraced the country west of the Mississippi from its mouth north
to the forty-ninth parallel at the Lake of the Woods. The forty-ninth
parallel constituted the northern boundary to the Rocky mountains; the
western line was the summit of the Rockies to the Arkansas river, to
the one-hundredth meridian, thence south to the Red river, thence down
that river to the ninety-fourth meridian, thence southerly along that
meridian to the Sabin river, thence down the Sabin river to the Gulf of
Mexico.

[Illustration: COPPER SMELTER AT GREAT FALLS, MONTANA.]

In 1803 Jefferson sent a message to congress, asking for an
appropriation of $2,500 for the exploration of the Missouri and
Columbia rivers. The result was that the amount was granted. Lewis and
Clark were chosen to take charge of the expedition.

The expedition spent the winter of 1803-1804 near the mouth of the
Missouri river. The Northwest was then a wilderness. The expedition
ascended the Missouri river to Fort Mandan north of Bismarck, where
they laid over during the winter of 1804-1805. Their means of transport
were several rowboats. July, 1805, they arrived at the falls of the
Missouri river, where they spent two weeks surveying and making a
portage. Lewis and Clark were the first white men who visited the falls
of the Missouri river, or at least they were the first to make its
existence known to the world.

The lower falls, known, as the Great Falls, is a perpendicular fall
of about ninety feet. The river at this point is estimated to contain
a volume of water about three times greater than that of the Ohio at
Pittsburg. This immense volume is here confined between rocky walls
on either side, from two hundred to five hundred feet in height and
about three hundred yards in width. Next to the right bank nearly
half the stream descends vertically with such terrific force as
to send continuous and always beautiful clouds of spray sometimes
two hundred feet or more in the air. The other side of the river
is precipitated over successive ledges of from ten to twenty feet,
forming a magnificent view some two hundred yards in breadth and ninety
feet in perpendicular elevation. A vast basin of surging, foaming
waters succeeds below, its deep green color and commotion betraying a
prodigious volume and depth.

[Illustration: From Painting by C. M. Russell.

LEWIS AND CLARK MEETING THE MANDAN INDIANS.]

Five miles above are the Crooked and Rainbow Falls, the latter fifty
feet in perpendicular descent. Here the entire river, one thousand two
hundred feet wide, hurls itself over an unbroken rocky rim, as regular
in its outline as a work of art, into a vast rock-bound amphitheater,
where when the sun is shining a rainbow spans the river from bank to
bank. This with the sprays, the roar and commotion of the water make a
fascinating scene. From this rainbow the falls received its name.

Another two miles up the stream is the Black Eagle Falls. Here the
entire river takes a vertical plunge of twenty-six feet. On an island,
and just below this falls, there formerly was a large cottonwood tree,
in the branches of which a black eagle had built its nest. It is from
this that the Black Eagle Falls received its name.

The river where these falls are located flows through a grand natural
canyon, where in its ceaseless flow, has cut a path for itself through
the rock of the plains, sometimes to a depth of five hundred and fifty
feet. The series of falls and cascades add a wild beauty to the scene.

In no place has there been found so great a water power. Within a
distance of ten miles, including falls and cataracts, there is a
descent of five hundred and twelve feet.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
June 27th, 1899.

MONTANA’S PIONEERS.

Who were the pioneers of Montana? They were the brave men and noble
women who came here first; they were descendants of many countries,
and were the most courageous of the nations from which they came. They
were the heroes who rescued this beautiful mountain land from the hands
of the savages and laid the foundation and moulded the destiny of this
great state.

The cut-throats, robbers and murderers who were here in the early days
were not worthy of being called pioneers, for they made a desperate
effort to demolish what the real pioneers were building up. To expose
their kind, I will refer to two of this class who were hung at Virginia
City in the presence of several hundred citizens. They belonged to a
gang of highwaymen and murderers. Each stood on a separate box with a
rope around his neck, which was attached to a crossbeam, and, while
in this position, one was using the most profane language and cursing
every one present; just then a friend of the victim whom he had robbed
and killed shoved the box from under his feet; while this one was
dangling in the air the other one looked at him, and with an oath
said: “Kick away old boy, I will be in hell with you in a minute,”
then jumped off the box himself and into eternity. Though these men
were human beings, the wicked and vicious habits they had contracted
had destroyed all the humanity they possessed. Now, in consequence,
nothing was left of them but the brute, for they neither feared God nor
respected their fellowmen. Between those ruffians and the Indians the
pioneer had his hands full. He had to work for himself, and at the
same time he was ready at a moment’s notice to defend the right and his
fellow-man with as much pluck and bravery as any soldier ever displayed.

[Illustration: A GROUP OF PIONEERS.]

Many think that most of the early settlers of Montana were of the rough
element, but this impression is wrong. Most of the old pioneers were of
the best law-abiding citizens that could be found in any country, men
of culture as well as courage. Many of them afterwards helped to frame
the constitution and the laws that govern the state at the present
time (1899). Edgerton, her first governor, was here before the name
“Montana” was thought of.

Ex-Governor S. T. Houser is now carrying a scar which he received at
the time the James Stuart party, of which he was a member, had that
terrible battle with the Indians on the Yellowstone in 1863. W. A.
Clark, recently elected United States senator, and Ex-United States
Senator Wilbur F. Sanders, and others who have already represented
Montana in the halls of congress, also have worked in the prospector’s
hole. Granville Stuart, who was appointed Envoy Extraordinary and
Minister Plenipotentiary to Paraguay and Uruguay in 1894, and served
a term of four years, were here among the first comers. Nathaniel P.
Langford (now of St. Paul, Minn.), the author of “Vigilante Days and
Ways,” and who at one time was bank examiner for Montana, Idaho and
Washington, was one of the first pioneers. Ex-Chief Justice W. Y.
Pemberton was one of the pick and shovel brigade. Judge Knowles, Judge
Hedges, and many others who are now holding high positions were with
us. Judge Frank H. Woody is a Montana pioneer, for he came to what
is now Montana in 1856, when the western portion of this state was a
part of Washington Territory. Many of the leading lawyers that are now
pleading at the bar of the state also have spoken in those “miner’s
courts which were held in the open air.” Jack Fisk, Will H. and Robert
N. Sutherlin and others who are to-day among the leading journalists of
the state, were here before a single type was set. And there are scores
of the veterans of early days, who, when the opportunity was given,
have ranked themselves with the best business men of the state. When
the roll is called of the self-made men of Montana, her pioneers will
head the list.

And there were men who held divine services wherever the opportunity
was given them; they were no cowards, either, for it took a pretty good
man to fight the devil on his own half acre and whip him, too. I am
glad to state that there are some of these old reverends “still in the
ring.”

Peace be to the memory of those who have gone to receive their rewards
for the good work they have done. With all respect to the Christian
people, Catholics and Protestants alike, they did considerable for
Montana in the early days and more than anyone knows, for a great deal
of their work was done in the “Sacred chamber” without making any
noise. I now recall two old prospectors who were up in the mountains
searching for gold. After delving all day, they cooked and ate their
supper, and then sat by the camp fire. One was telling about the dear
ones at home, and that he was almost certain that they were thinking of
him that very night. The other one spoke of his wife and three little
children whom he had not seen for four years, but that he was writing
to them constantly and he was receiving letters in return, and said he
was in hopes of “striking it” soon and then he would go home. They sat
up rather late that night; the moon had gone down, and the shade of the
dark green pines made it still darker. It was in autumn when the leaves
were falling. As the fire was getting low, they both went to bed side
by side. It was a calm, still night; the rustling of the dead leaves
that were strewn on the ground could be heard as some wild animal was
passing their silent chamber, with occasionally the rumbling sound of
a piece of rock which had broken loose from some distant cliff and
went rolling down the mountain to the canyon below, re-echoed by the
screeching of night birds, while the cataracts of many ripples swelled
the midnight melody. Not a word was spoken for some time, each thinking
that the other was asleep. But one began saying his evening prayers in
a low, murmuring voice, which was as follows:

“Near the camp fire’s flickering light
In my blanket bed I lie,
Gazing through the shades of night
At the twinkling stars on high;
O’er me spirits in the air
Silent vigils seem to keep,
As I breathe my childhood prayer
Now I lay me down to sleep!

“Sadly sings the whippoorwill
In the boughs of yonder tree,
Laughingly the dancing rill
Swells the midnight melody;
Indians may be lurking near
In the canyon dark and deep,
Low I breathe in Jesus’ ear
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,

“’Mid the stars one face I see,
One the Saviour called away,
Mother, who, in my infancy,
Taught my baby lips to pray,
Her sweet spirit hovers here
In this lonely mountain brake,
Take me to her, Saviour, dear,
If I should die before I wake!

“Fainter grows the flickering light
As each ember slowly dies,
Plaintively the birds of night
Fill the air with saddening cries;
Over me they seem to cry,
‘You may nevermore awake,’
Now I lisp, if I should die,
I pray the Lord my soul to take!

“Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.”

These things that I have mentioned indicate that there was much of
the better element here in the early days, and also a great deal of
intelligence among those who wore the buckskin shirt, and to them a
large portion of the credit should be given that Montana is today one
of the brightest gems in our star spangled banner.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
March 4, 1899.

THE DARK SIDE OF THE LIFE OF THE PIONEER.

In another letter giving an account of Indian depredations, I stated:
“I will not attempt to follow their war path, for it is too long,”
but allow me at this time to vary a little from that assertion. My
object in doing so is to add to the already written history of this
portion of the Northwest, where I have lived from my early manhood, and
this portion of the country which was then in its infancy as far as
civilization and settlement were concerned, therefore, to use a common
expression, “we growed up together.”

Though a frontier life is free and fascinating, still, like everything
else, there is a dark side to it, and this letter is principally
intended to show the “dark side” of the life of the pioneer.

As a frontiersman, I, myself, may not care to again experience what I
have passed through, yet, with all its perils and dangers I would not
give my pioneer days in the West for all the balance of my life.

The following events occurred in Northern Montana. All are facts,
and some of them I know of my own personal knowledge. Some of those
whose names appear hereafter were killed by Indians, others died from
exposure. I have often thought of the many victims that have fallen in
the West; even their death never has been known nor heard of by anyone.
Many remains of white men have been found without a trace of anything
to lead to their identification.

Once there were three of us in the mountains prospecting. In a
sheltered place under a projecting cliff there lay the skeleton of a
man. It appeared that he had laid down to rest or to sleep. Nothing
could be found to indicate whose remains it was. The clothing was
weatherbeaten and torn, and an old silver watch and a gun laid on the
ground with the scattering bones. The hair was light in color. It
was one of those instances of “somebody’s boy” dying without even a
stranger to record his last words.

By examining the following list the reader will find that the
identification or names of twenty per cent of the unfortunate victims
herein mentioned were not known, and that all included in the list,
except six or seven, were killed in what was then Choteau county. They
are but few in comparison to all that were killed in what is now the
state of Montana.

First on the list is Little Tex, who was killed in 1866 by Blood
Indians at the agency on what was then known as the government farm,
on Sun river; then Indians set fire to the buildings. There is no
certainty as to the number that perished.

Early in the spring of 1866 three men were murdered by Blackfeet
not far from old St. Peter’s mission, which was then located on the
Missouri river near Ulm on the Montana Central railroad. April 6th of
the same year John Fitzgerald, an employe of the mission, was killed
almost in sight of the buildings by Bloods. His grave and that of a
man by the name of Johnson, a blacksmith, who was formerly at Fort
Benton, and about fifteen other graves, mostly of Indians, are at the
foot of the hill and near the Montana Central track, about half a mile
from Ulm. The next day after the killing of Fitzgerald, Father Giorda,
and all the inmates of the mission left for Helena, fearing that more
trouble might come.

Lagree and Hunicke were murdered by Blackfeet and Bloods at Three
Tree Coulee, Jan. 9, 1866. James Chembers was killed by Blackfeet at
Dearborn in 1866, and old man Thebeaw killed at Dearborn the same year.

The murder of the builders of the town of Ophir occurred in May, 1865.
Ophir was a new place located at the mouth of the Marias river, twelve
miles below Fort Benton. At this period there had been only one or two
houses built. The men, eleven in number, were about one mile above
the location cutting logs and some of them were chopping wood for the
steamers that were coming up the Missouri to Fort Benton. They were
at work when the Indians killed them; not one escaped. When the news
reached Fort Benton a party went and buried the unfortunate victims on
the bank of the Missouri river near where they were killed. Thirty-four
years have passed since then and the gradual cutting of the bank by
the swift current has washed away that little graveyard, and now the
resting place of these founders of states and builders of cities has
been swept from the face of the earth and its occupants swallowed up by
that mighty stream.

Six men were killed by Bloods on Old Man’s river early in 1865. The
victims came from Fort Garry (now Winnipeg), and were reported to
possess a large amount of money. Their leader was an old white-haired
man.

William Berry was killed by Bloods on Elbow river, and Joe Monroe was
killed by Bloods on Old Man’s river in 1874.

Miller was killed by Bloods on Old Man’s river in 1872.

McMillan was wounded by Assinnaboines, near Bow river, in 1874.

Two unknown men were killed by Assinnaboines, near Milk river, in 1874.
The bodies were found tied to trees and riddled with bullets. Cottle
and another man were killed in their house on Flat creek in 1877. The
Nez Perces were supposed to be the murderers, as a few stragglers of
that tribe were seen in the vicinity about the time the deed was done.

A party of men, women and children were killed by Bloods near Porcupine
mountain in 1865. Their identification could not be obtained.

A soldier was killed by Piegan Indians on Marias hill, not far from
Fort Benton, in 1873.

Wey and Mitchell were killed by Piegans on Badger creek in 1875. Five
days before they were killed, both stayed over night at my ranch
and bought some oats to feed their horses while on this unfortunate
prospecting trip.

Joe Day and Howard were killed by Piegans, near the Marias river, in
1875.

John Rock was killed by Blackfeet, at the mouth of Sun river, in 1875.
An account of him I have given in my letter “From the Mines to the
Farm.”

Jack Gorman and Frank Keisser were killed by Assinnaboines, on the Milk
river, the same year.

Frank Robinson was killed by Gros Ventres Indians, near Cow creek, in
1877.

Joseph Spearson was killed by Bloods, on Belly river, in 1870.

Nelse Kyse, George Huber and one man, name unknown, were killed by
Sioux Indians, on Squaw creek, near the mouth of Musselshell river.

Andy Harris was killed by Assinnaboines on Milk river in the winter of
1867, and a soldier was killed by Piegans at Camp Cook in the spring of
that year.

Bozell A. Bair was wounded by Piegans on Eagle creek in 1867.

Paul Vermette was killed on the Teton river in 1866.

Champion was killed by Arrapahoe Indians at Fort Hawley in 1867.

Malcolm Clark was killed by Piegans in 1869. Clark had been a classmate
of General Sherman’s at West Point. The former, after finishing his
term, instead of entering the army, came west as an employe of one of
the fur companies which operated in the upper Missouri river country.
After following the Indian trading business for many years he located
in the Prickly Pear canyon, about twenty miles north of Helena, and
kept a stage station. The place is now known as “The Mitchell Ranch.”
Once a party of Piegan warriors came to the premises. One of the
Indians, who was well acquainted with Clark, approached the door and
asked for the latter; just as Clark stepped into the door he was shot
and killed by this Indian. Several shots were fired into the house. A
bullet struck Clark’s wife, and one of his sons was shot in the nose;
in course of time both recovered from their wounds, but the tragedy
caused the mother to go insane and she died a few years ago still in
that condition. Clark is buried near the house, and now his resting
place is marked by a railing crowning the grave. A few months later the
“Col. Baker Indian Massacre on the Marias river” occurred. And when the
firing commenced on the Piegan camp the murderer of Clark was there
sick in bed; when he was told that the soldiers had come there to kill
him, he took a long knife and plunged it into his heart.

When General Sherman passed through this section in 1875 on his tour of
inspection of the government posts at Fort Shaw and Benton, he stopped
for dinner at Clark’s old ranch. The general inquired for Malcolm
Clark. He said that Clark had been a schoolmate of his at West Point,
but had gone west to trade with the Blackfeet Indians while he was yet
but a young man. When the story of Clark’s career and of his death
had been told, and the grave of his early associate shown him, he had
been but a few moments on the spot when he showed signs of grief and
requested to be left alone for a while. He stayed for some time and
when he came away traces of tears could be seen on the cheeks of the
brave old warrior.

Charles Carson was killed by Piegans, near Dearborn river, in 1866. He
was a nephew of Kit Carson, of frontier fame. He was killed and buried
near the ford on the Dearborn.

Mrs. Jennie Smith, who at one time lived in Helena, was scalped alive
by Sioux Indians at the mouth of Musselshell river in 1869. The
unfortunate woman recovered and was still living in 1879.

Jack Leader was killed by Sioux at the mouth of the Musselshell river
in 1869.

A man named Lowe was killed by Blackfeet. His remains are buried on
the old Helena and Benton road at the crossing of what is now known as
“Deadman Coulee.” The place received its name because it is the place
of the death and burial of Mr. Lowe.

Macgregor and Tabor were killed by Sioux, and another man wounded, near
Fort Peck in 1868. Also two unknown men were killed by Sioux near the
same place and in the same year.

Ross and McKnight were killed in 1868, by Sioux, at the mouth of
Musselshell river. McKnight was a brother to the Hon. J. H. McKnight of
this city. At the time the tongue of their wagon had broken, and, while
they were cutting a tree to make a new one, they were killed.

Nat Crabtree was killed by Piegans, near Camp Cook, in 1868.

Old man Lee was killed, and Charley Williams and Drew Denton wounded
by Sioux, near Carroll, 1870. Denton’s life was saved by the bullet
striking his pocket in which he had a plug of tobacco and some letters.

A Frenchman was killed by Piegans in the summer of 1868 on Sun river,
south of where now stands Pressle Rowls house.

McArdle and a comrade were killed by Crow Indians near Benton in 1869.

Tom Ross was killed by Sioux near Fort Peck in 1873.

Michael Thebault was killed by Piegans on the Teton in 1868.

James Quail was killed by Piegans, near Silver creek, in 1869. He was
killed only half a mile from where I was mining at the time, and about
nine miles from Helena. He was getting his horse, which was grazing on
the slope of a hill near his cabin, when he was shot and killed by an
Indian who robbed him of his horse and of a gold watch on which his
name was engraved. The watch was seen afterwards in the possession of
an Indian in a Piegan camp on the Marias river.

Clark was killed by Piegans on Sun river in 1868, of whom I have given
an account in my letter, “Indian wars and tragedies on Sun river.”

Dauphant was killed by Sioux near the mouth of Milk river in 1865.

Charley Desronin was killed by Indians near the Bear Paw mountains in
1870.

Little Frenchie was killed by Assinnaboines on Milk river in 1869.

A man who was taking care of some cattle for Carroll and Steell was
killed by Indians on Milk river in 1869, and Sam Rex was killed by
Bloods the same year on Eagle creek.

Fifteen men and one woman and two children were killed by Sioux in
1863. They were returning from the mines, and on their way by the
Missouri river route in a Mackinaw boat, which they had built at Fort
Benton. Their names I cannot give, except one whose name was Thomas
Mitchell, and who joined the party at one of the trading posts further
down the river.

It was plain to be seen that the Indians did not kill them for their
gold, for it was spilled on the shore where the mutilated bodies of
the men lay. The woman was hanging to a limb of a tree, the limb being
driven through her chin; the two children, one on each side of the
mother, were hanging in the same manner, and the bodies were full of
arrows.

Jim Matkins was wounded by Piegans, near Benton, in 1868. Mr. Matkins
was one of my best friends. At the time he was shot by the Indians he
was an employe of the “Diamond R. Company,” a firm that had several ox
teams engaged in hauling freight from Fort Benton to various towns and
points in the territory. He related to me the following particulars of
the chase he had with the Indians at the time he was shot. He said:
“One day at Fort Benton I loaded sixteen of the company’s wagons with
freight for Helena. Tom Clary and J. C. Adams had charge of the outfit.
They pulled out that day and camped the following night at Eight Mile
spring. I was clerking for the company at the time. I could not get the
bills of lading ready at the time they left; so, late in the evening,
after dark, I got on my saddle horse and started for their camp. After
I had gone about three miles I heard the clatter of horses’ hoofs,
and, looking back, I saw eight Indians coming as fast as their horses
could carry them, and bullets began whizzing by me; but what frightened
me the worst was their fearful “Indian yell.” I put the spurs to my
horse and rode for dear life towards Clary and Adams’ camp, which was
five miles further. I had a Winchester rifle that had sixteen loaded
cartridges; I fired several shots at the Indians. In this way I kept
them at bay for a while. But there was one who had a very fast horse
and he was the only Indian that could keep pace with me, for mine was
a good runner; but this redskin could run up to my side whenever he
wanted to. After running in this way for about three miles, and in a
shower of bullets, I discovered that I was shot in the hip. I could
see but one Indian and he had slacked up his pace to load his gun.
I dismounted and took as good aim as I could in the dark and fired
four shots. I believe that I wounded him or his horse, for he came no
further. I could feel that my boot was filling up with blood and I was
getting very weak; it was as much as I could do to mount my horse.
When I arrived at the camp I told all that had occurred. I was put in
a wagon drawn by two yoke of oxen, and Clary and Adams, with two other
men took me back to Benton that night, and my wound was dressed. The
bullet is still in my hip.”

Mr. Matkins afterwards died from the effects of this injury. He is
buried in the Highland cemetery at Great Falls.

This recalls one Decoration day when the Grand Army veterans were on
their way to the cemetery with beautiful flowers to cover the graves of
their comrades. I spoke to one of them: “Say, comrade, I am a veteran
pioneer. An old comrade of mine is buried in that cemetery. He was shot
by the Indians and died from the effects. I have a few wild flowers
with me and I am going to decorate his grave. Won’t you ‘take me in’
and let me march with you?” I did not march, but the wild flowers were
placed on poor Jim Matkin’s grave.

Old man Long, Foster and Jordan were killed by Sioux near the mouth of
Pouchette creek.

Henry Simpson was killed near my ranch on Sun river in 1870. He was
shot twice.

A shepherd by the name of Hunt was killed near Grassy Lake, eight miles
north of my home, in 1883. He was found with several bullet holes
through the body.

George Horn was killed by Assinnaboines on Cow creek in 1874.

Bill Morrison and John Hughes were killed by River Crows on Arrow creek
in 1877.

Antelope Charley and Cook were killed by Piegans at the mouth of Eagle
creek in 1873.

Little Rock was killed by Sioux on Judith mountain in 1874.

Buckshot and Poulett were killed by Assinnaboines at Rocky spring in
1871.

Joseph Gipperich was killed by Bloods on Saint Mary’s river in 1872.

E. B. Richardson and Charles Steel, James Downey, Charles Buck, J. J.
Barker and an African were killed by the Nez Perces in October, 1877,
near Cow creek, during the tour of Chief Joseph through the country.

One man, name unknown, was found dead near the Marias in 1875. He was
killed by some of the Northern Indians.

One man, name unknown, was killed by Piegans on Sun river in 1868. No
clue to the murderers could be had.

Seven unknown travelers were killed by Sioux on the Missouri river,
above Fort Peck, in 1868. It was supposed that they were on their way
from the East to the gold mines, for they were well equipped for a long
journey.

Two men, names unknown, were killed by Sioux at the mouth of the
Musselshell in 1868.

Four men, names unknown, were killed by Sioux at the mouth of the
Musselshell in 1873.

One man, name unknown, was killed by Piegans on Warm Spring creek, near
the Judith river, in 1874.

The remains of a man were found a few miles up the Missouri river, from
the mouth of Sun river, in 1887. His identification could not be had.
The opinion was that death had come from exposure.

The above are a few of the shadows that darkened the life of the
pioneer.

It is human nature that every person is pleased to hear others saying
something good about him. Joaquin Miller said of the pioneers of
Montana that some fell from overtoil, others in battle with savages;
some died even as they sat for the first time by the new-laid
hearthstone waiting for wife and babes to arrive with the first flowers
of spring; and that the world does not, perhaps, understand what it
cost to come here in the early days.

And, as Mr. Miller says, the Pilgrim fathers set forth in the ship and
landed on Plymouth Rock; the Cavaliers of Virginia sailed pleasantly
up the James river and scarcely knew what a camp in the wilderness
was until they sat down in their future home; the Argonauts of
California, many of them, merely sailed from port to port; but Montana
was a thousand miles from any ocean, a wilderness in the center of an
untrodden country with savages in her every pass and valley, and so,
necessarily, every man that came here among the first was in some way
a soldier, yes, a veteran soldier, who had mustered, camped, marched
and battled, endured hunger and exposure to all kinds of weather--all
that the bravest soldier endures--before he ever came within sight of
the Mecca that he was toiling to reach. He truly says that there was
a great difference between the Montana veteran and the bravest of the
brave in any war that has ever been; that the soldiers Caesar, Napoleon
and Grant had their governments to clothe, feed, pay and pension them,
but the hero of Montana stood alone.

I have just given the names of seventy-six of those heroes who fell
victims to the wrath of the redskins, and of several that were wounded
and died afterwards. The names of the fourteen men, the woman and the
two children, I have not, but their relatives were informed of their
sad death. Of the other party of men, women and children no further
account of them but the finding of their bodies could be obtained. And,
in addition to all, we have twenty-two unknown who were killed; not a
trace of their identification could be found--no one knew either their
names or where their homes were--therefore, an account of their death
could not be given to friends or relatives, who may never know what has
become of their dear ones who went West years before.

Think of the affectionate sister who had ceased receiving letters from
her brother who had gone to the unsettled West to try and better his
condition in life. She said: “My brother John used to write to me
often, but now, for a long time he has not written. It may be that
he is in the mountains prospecting, and that he has no way to send a
letter to me. I expect the next letter, when it comes, will be full of
good news.” Month after month has passed and she is patiently waiting
for that newsy letter to arrive. Poor girl! She does not know the
fate that has befallen her brother. And thus of a loving wife, with a
babe on her arm, and with her other arm embracing her kind and loving
husband when he left home to go to the gold fields of the “Rockies” to
hunt enough of the yellow metal to pay off the mortgage that was on
their little home. She said that her husband had been gone nearly four
years; that during the first three years he wrote every month, and, in
every letter there was some money for her, and that in the last letter
he stated that he had good prospects and hopes of “striking it” before
she would get another, and would be home with enough money to pay off
everything. And she, too, is waiting, waiting. It has not entered her
mind that her beloved husband has been----.

Again a fond and loving mother, bent with age, and who parted with her
only son several years before. For a long time after he left for the
gold regions, she said: “He used to write to me very often and always
send me some money, and one time he sent me a nice specimen from the
mines, but now I have not heard from him for a long time and I am
afraid something has happened to him. I am getting so I can’t sleep at
night thinking of my darling boy.” He was advertised in the newspaper
nearest where his last address was, and the editor of the paper, for
the sake of a broken-hearted mother, left the advertisement in double
the time the contract called for, besides inserting, “other papers
please copy.” But no one responded. All this time an unheard voice was
saying: “He is one of the unknown that were killed by the Indians in
an isolated place in the Rocky mountains a long time ago.” It may be
that some of the relatives of those unfortunates are still hoping that
the lost son, brother, husband, or father is yet alive; but the fact
is, their remains are resting in an unmarked grave on the plains, or,
may be, far in some lonely gulch in the mountains, and the once little
mound is now leveled by the elements and the secret spot robed with
herbs and wild grasses, so that even his fellow pioneer who buried him
cannot designate the place where the remains sleep and rest forever.

One night, when lying in nay blankets under the spreading bows of a
pine tree, thinking of those lonely graves that are scattered here and
there through the west, in which lay the “unknown,” the following lines
occurred to me:

Slain by Indians a pioneer was found,
His home or his kindred nobody knew;
Over his cold form bendeth
The grasses in tears of dew.

A fellow pioneer, as best he could,
Laid the body in a newly made grave;
And after the task was done, he said:
Here’s where lies one that was brave.

Many memorial days have passed;
But no mother, no sister has ever come,
To lay beautiful flowers
On the grave of the unknown one.

There is a broken heart somewhere,
Bleeding from a terrible wound;
A hope that has nearly perished,
For the dear one that cannot be found.

There is a grave--in those grasses,
A pioneer’s grave--and lo!
Him whom those green sods cover;
His name no one knows.

But the name of the unknown
In the Great Book is recorded,
As well as those of the world’s rulers,
Kings, princes and potentates.

And, when comes the last day,
They, too, will be gathered
The same as those rulers--
Not one neglected.

Some people, after reading this letter, may say that it was wrong
for those daring men and brave women to go into such a country,
occupied only by savages. Well, that may be so, but the unexplored
West never would be developed were it not for the immigrants, miners
and prospectors who had the ambition, courage and pluck to commence
to conquer. They are the “John the Baptists” of civilization, and the
founders of states that are represented by stars in our banner and of
those yet to come.

I came to Montana when a young man, now I am old, enjoying excellent
health, but I may be robbed of this greatest gift to man, and I may,
like “Job,” be reduced to poverty, but there is nothing that can rob me
of the pride and glory of being a “hero of Montana,” one of those who
stood by its cradle.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
March 4, 1898.

THE INDIAN PRAYING.

The winter of 1869 and 1870 was my first winter in Sun River valley.
For a while I boarded with Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong, who kept the Leaving
Station adjoining my ranch. This place was so named because it was
at this point the road leaves (Leaving) the Sun River valley to Fort
Benton. (This was the winter that Col. Baker made a raid on the Indian
village on the Marias river.) Also this same winter and spring the
smallpox caused many deaths among the Indians. Several whites died also
from the same disease. Two stage drivers who drove from Benton to the
Leaving died; and as they stopped at the station where I boarded, I
took the smallpox in a mild form and was very sick for two weeks, but
it left no marks. About this time I concluded to fence the farm. Early
in the spring I went to a bend in the Missouri river about ten miles
south to cut posts and poles for this purpose. Here there were several
log buildings that had been erected sometime in the early sixties by
some of the Catholic missionaries and used as an Indian Mission (old
St. Peter’s Mission). In 1868 it was abandoned for missionary purposes.
After that it was occupied in winter by Indians. In the same bend is
now what is known as “The Churchill Ranch.” During the time I was
chopping I lived in an old empty cabin that had been built by some
trappers; it was in the edge of the woods about a quarter of a mile
from the old Mission buildings. There was neither a door nor a window,
but it had a good fireplace; I hung a blanket for a door, and cut lots
of wild rye-grass for my bed. Although alone, I was very comfortable
and slept well at night, for I worked hard all day. There were in all
about thirty Indians in the old buildings, many of whom were sick with
the smallpox; and a great many had died of the same disease. Their mode
of burying the dead was to wrap the corpse in a buffalo robe and lay
it under a tree in some secret place in the woods and cover it with
leaves and branches off the trees; others were placed on a scaffold in
trees, as heretofore described. There were a great many buried in this
way in the woods where I was working. One Indian buried his wife and
two children two days before I came. The female relations showed great
grief by hacking their legs from the ankle to the calf into many small
cuts barely through the skin; and they would sit alone with a robe over
their heads and mourn and sigh. Once in the dead of the night, when I
was asleep, some unearthly noise awoke me. It was at my cabin door. I
raised on my elbow in my bed which was on the ground. As usual, when
danger came, I grabbed my old gun which was under my head and pointed
it at the door where the blanket hung. I listened, and finally decided
that it was a human voice. It was a kind of chanting talking and in the
most mournful tone, with now and then a deep, pitiful sigh as though it
came from the bottom of the heart. It was the most mournful and pitiful
utterance ever made by a human voice. It was kept up for at least
twenty minutes. There was living with the Indians a half-breed who
could speak English. His name was Simpson. (Afterwards he was killed by
the Indians on the hill across Sun river from my ranch.) Next morning I
told the half-breed of what took place at my cabin the previous night
and he interpreted to me that it was an Indian, “the husband and father
of the woman and two children that died the other day,” and that he was
praying, and asking me to ask the Great Spirit to stop the smallpox.
A few minutes later the Indian and the half-breed came together to
see me; the Indian said to me that his wife and two of his children
were already dead and that more of his relations were sick. He firmly
believed that I could do a great deal towards preventing the disease.

I told him that the Great Spirit was listening to his praying last
night and heard every word, and as soon as the “warm winds” came the
smallpox would be no more. This appeared to be of great consolation to
him. It was plain to be seen that the poor fellow loved his family.
He was the Indian that saved Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy’s lives only few
months before at the Kennedy ranch near the mouth of the Prickly Pear
canyon when the Indians took them out of their home and were going to
kill them, but this Indian came forward and stood between Mr. and Mrs.
Kennedy and the other Indians that would be murderers. He raised his
gun and spoke in a firm voice: “If you kill this man and woman you
must kill me first.” He stood them off and saved the lives of two good
citizens. He was well known by the whites and was always friendly and
honorable. He went by the name of “Cut Lip Jack.” This kind and brave
Indian is dead, but Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy are alive and live in Missoula
county, Montana. Will Kennedy of this city is their nephew.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Jan. 14, 1898.

INDIANS STEALING MY HORSES.

In the month of August, 1871, I went near the mouth of Sun river to
make hay. John Traxler, the man I had hired, was with me. I had a very
fine span of gray mares which were brought to Montana from the State of
Missouri, and they had cost me three hundred dollars. We pitched our
tent on the open prairie and away from the brush, for it was a safer
place in an Indian country, beside the mosquitoes were very bad. Each
of us had an old army needle gun with several rounds of ammunition.
When night came we picketed the horses about five hundred yards off
where there was good grass; the picket pins were iron and the ropes
were new, so we had the horses well secured. We went to bed and covered
our heads to keep the mosquitoes from biting us. When morning came
I went to change the pickets for the horses so that they could get
fresh grass, and John went to prepare breakfast. But to my surprise
the horses were gone, and on investigation I found that the ropes
had been cut near the picket pins, I decided at once that they had
been stolen and so reported to John. He could see that I was feeling
very badly over losing my fine team. “Well,” he said, “I will let you
have all the money I’ve got to get another team.” After breakfast and
discussing what was best to do, we went to see in what direction the
horses had been taken. We found moccasin tracks near where the horses
had been picketed, and we tracked them going north. It was plain to
be seen that Indians were the thieves. John went up the valley and
I took the direction the horses had gone, each of us taking his gun
and ammunition; we soon lost sight of each other. After I had gone
about four miles, and on the flat north of Alkali Springs, I found the
tracks of the horses and they were very plain, for the gray mares were
shod. Going a little further I discovered where they had been changing
saddles, for there were pieces of buffalo robes and old Indian blankets
that were full of horse hair and wet with sweat from horses; no doubt
there the change had been made from the Indian ponies to the gray mare.
I followed the tracks crossing the Benton road and in the direction of
the Teton river. After traveling in a northerly direction for fifteen
miles I changed my course and headed for the ranch. I was eight miles
from home. I got home in the afternoon and found John there. Early
next morning I went to Fort Shaw and told my story to the commanding
officer, who was General Gibbon. He at once called for Bostwick, the
interpreter, and asked him what Indians were camping up the valley.
Bostwick replied that they were Gray Eagle’s party. “Go and bring Gray
Eagle here to me,” the general said. Bostwick, with six mounted men,
went after the old chief, and in about three hours they had him and two
of his staff in the general’s headquarters. The general told Gray Eagle
(through Bostwick, the interpreter), that some of his men had stolen
my horses and if they were not returned immediately that he and his
people would be severely punished, and he further said that he was in
this country with his soldiers to look after such thieves as they. The
old Indian listened eagerly, and said, that he was very sorry that my
horses had been stolen; but he assured us that there were none of his
men out that night, and said in the most emphatic manner that none of
his men stole the horses; but that he would do all in his power to find
them and bring them back to me. After considerable discussion about the
matter, the general told the chief that if he would get those horses
and bring them to the fort that he would give him a sack of sugar, and
I said that I would give a sack of flour. Again the general said: “If
you let me know who stole Mr. Vaughn’s horses, I will give you a sack
of coffee and a sack of bacon.”

The old Indian promised faithfully that he would do all in his power to
find the horses. However, after eleven days from the time the horses
were stolen, the morning of the twelfth, the first thing after opening
my cabin door was to see the two gray mares feeding on the grass only
a few yards from my door. And I was a happy man. No one asked for the
reward. That was the only time the Indians ever stole anything from me.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Jan. 25, 1898.

THE GREAT SUN RIVER STAMPEDE.

In the years 1865-66 there were from fifteen to twenty thousand people
in the various mining camps of Montana, and its mountains were swarmed
with daring prospectors. In those times nearly every day had its new
discovery, and the slightest whisper of a new “find” would create a
stampede, in which instances the most extraordinary endurance and
courage were displayed. There is no animal on earth that will stampede
quicker, keep on going with the same stubbornness and determination,
as a fortune hunter; they are worse than Texas cattle. For one
instance, I will relate the following: McClellan, an old mountaineer
and prospector, and who was the discoverer of the “McClellan Gulch,”
but sold his claim in that renowned mine for a song, and, after having
two or three weeks’ good time in town, he began laying his plans for
another prospecting tour.

In the following fall (1865) he decided to go to the Sun river country,
that was about one hundred miles north of Helena, and hunt for more
mines. He was considered a lucky prospector in finding gold, and when a
report came from him it could be relied upon.

After having prospected for two or three months the cold weather began
to set in, and, as he had already found some gold, he decided to build
a cabin and keep on prospecting till spring. In a week or so he had his
house up and everything in apple-pie order, except one thing, and that
was, to have some one to have his meals ready after returning from the
hills where he had been working hard all day. As there was a Piegan
camp not far off he went there one day and engaged a squaw to come and
cook for him. As the new employe had many relations, who became her
frequent visitors, it was not long before the proprietor discovered
that a few extras in the line of groceries had to be gotten, an extra
sack of flour, a few pounds of soap, and so forth; besides some calico,
beads, brass ear rings and bracelets for the new housekeeper, who was
trying her hand for the first time in her life at house-keeping.

One day Mc mounted his pony, and, with another pack horse, struck
for Helena to get the goods. On his arrival he met many of his old
friends, and of course they were anxious to learn what success he had
prospecting. He said that so far he had not discovered anything that
would pay, although he had found what he called good indications. For
all that a close watch was kept on the old prospector during the few
days he was in town, and a suspicion was aroused among many that on
account of the fact that he was buying considerable goods he must know
of something greater than he wanted to tell. To one of his confidential
friends he told of the pleasant home he had in the Sun river country,
and, in a whisper, his last sentence was: “I have got as good a thing
as I want,” meaning his new housekeeper and the household outfit that
he had just purchased. Two of the anxious ones stood near and overheard
him saying, “I have got as good a thing as I want.” They decided at
once that a new find was meant. The news spread like wild fire to every
camp in the vicinity, and, like the story of the “three black crows,”
something was added to the first report as it went from camp to camp.
A tremendous stampede followed, and, although it was in the month of
January and the thermometer stood thirty-five degrees below zero, and
there was over a foot of snow on the level, this did not check the
rush. From twelve to fifteen hundred rugged miners participated in
this stampede; some went on horseback, others on foot, and, after
traveling about one hundred miles, the new Eldorado could not be
found. Before returning home several suffered severely from cold and
hunger and two died from exposure. Some threats were made against the
one giving the false report, but no foundation could be found that
McClellan had said that a discovery of gold had been made, but to the
contrary it was proven that he had said that no diggings had been
found. And, when the particulars of what started the stampede were
learned, no further complaint was made. All returned home except a few
who had supplied themselves with enough provisions; they stayed and
prospected.

[Illustration: MRS. JAS. BLOOD (A Piegan Woman.)]

Mr. Thomas Moran of St. Peter, who was on this stampede, told me only a
few days ago that at least seven hundred men were one night in camp in
a bend of the Missouri river and near where the St. Peter’s Mission was
then. He said that Father C. Imoda, who was in charge of the Mission,
treated them kindly and gave assistance to many that were suffering
from cold and hunger. Mr. Moran said that the thermometer registered
forty degrees below zero that night.

All of the old timers remember this event, and it is known at the
present time as the “Great Sun river stampede in the winter of 1866.”

ROBERT VAUGHN.
April 21, 1899.

A TRIP FROM VIRGINIA CITY TO THE HEAD OF NAVIGATION ON THE MISSOURI
RIVER IN 1866.

It was about the 20th day of April, 1866, that the first wagon train
drawn by oxen pulled out of Virginia City and down the famous Alder
Gulch bound for Fort Benton, the head of navigation on the Missouri
river; and this train was the property of Sutherlin Brothers, of whom
the writer hereof was a member. The train was not a large one, for
our firm was not rich and had all it could do to equip four teams.
Work cattle were then worth from $130 to $160 per pair, and they could
be bought only for gold. One feature of this little train was the
coupling of wagons together which had never been in practice before,
so that one driver could handle five or six yoke of oxen pulling two
wagons carrying from seven to eight thousand pounds. This was the first
train of the kind to go on the road, a view to economy caused its
invention. Our firm had some wagons of four thousand pounds capacity
and could secure lighter ones for trails, while to buy big “Prairie
Schooners” was out of the question. We had tried the plan of coupling
wagons together for the saving of drivers the year before and found
it practicable, hence no risk was taken in outfitting upon a more
extensive scale for general freighting. The usual freighter had but one
heavy wagon to a team, but it was noticed that our little train hauled
as much per team as they, and made better time, consequently many
adopted the same plan, and in a few years rich firms had gone into the
freighting business, with teams of from nine to twelve yoke of oxen,
and four wagons; each team hauling from sixteen to twenty thousand
pounds. Eight to ten teams constituted a train. One driver to a team,
a night herder and wagon boss, was all that was necessary to make a
full crew.

At the time we made this trip to the head of navigation there were no
stage coaches, except the lines to Salt Lake and Helena, and there were
no liveries, the principal means of travel being on horseback, the
traveler taking his bed in a roll behind his saddle or upon an extra
horse, together with frying pan and coffee pot.

The large number of steamboats which had left St. Louis for Fort
Benton, laden with merchandise, seemed to offer an easier means of
going east and south, then fifteen days and nights of stage coaching
via Salt Lake to Denver, then to Omaha or Kansas City; and, as a great
many people had already made quite a fortune, passage on a freight
train to Fort Benton was acceptable, even with our ox train, which
was among the first to leave Virginia City. The mule trains had the
preference until reports came of the Indian raids and danger of loss of
mules when the business was quite evenly divided. An ounce of gold dust
was the customary fare from Virginia City to Fort Benton.

Our crew was fairly well armed and the passengers were generally
provided with revolvers; as many of them carried considerable gold dust
weapons of defense were considered essential to safety.

From morning until night our little train moved along, fifteen miles
being the usual extent of a day’s drive. Down the valley by Pete Daly’s
station, then to “Garney’s,” across the Jefferson, up White Tail
over the Boulder range, the Boulder valley and into “Last Chance.”
I remember my first glimpse of Bridge street, then the principal
thoroughfare of the new metropolis, Helena, for the greater part of
Main street was a winding wagon road over piles of tailings, around
sluice boxes and miners’ huts; and I remember, too, the winding road
out into the unsettled and apparently valueless valley that spread
out as we proceeded northwestward and the large herd of antelope that
scampered away as we approached, disappearing in the virgin meadows
which hid them. The little town of Silver City, where a few people
were placer mining, lay to the left of our road. The head of Prickly
Pear canyon, the home of the brave Malcolm Clark, has a place in my
memory, for it seemed to be the sunniest spot in the wilderness. Lyons
Hill, Medicine Rock, and other somewhat mountain-like high places were
passed, and then the crossing of the Dearborn river, which was made
between showers when the stream was so deep that the water came into
the wagon beds, I do not forget.

[Illustration: FREIGHTING IN THE EARLY DAYS.]

At “Bird Tail Rock” some of our party took their first hunt. Mountain
sheep in considerable numbers were seen at the base and far up the
rugged sides of that great landmark, and a taste of the rare mutton in
the mountain wilds they longed for before getting back, as they said,
to “God’s country, America,” but the jaunt was a long one, further
to the game than they had anticipated, and the ramble was abandoned,
the party reaching camp long after camping time satisfied to go home
without the taste of mountain mutton.

At Sun river an unexpected halt was made; we called it a “layover.”
There had been copious rains, together with the melting snow, and the
river was booming, out of its channel in some places. The ferry boat,
a small craft built of whip-sawed lumber and capable of carrying only
one wagon and one yoke of oxen, was intact, but the cable had to be
stretched. In doing this, after several efforts, the end was landed
on the opposite shore, but in drawing it up out of the water the
strong current parted it. This was repaired after much exertion, but,
in crossing, the first wagon of the Bullard train, which was among
the number in waiting, the trail rope again parted, and it was with
difficulty that the boat and contents was landed. J. J. Healey, the
ferryman of the boat crew had already departed for Benton to secure
a new cable, and there followed several days of waiting before his
return. During the days of waiting a number of trains arrived. Finally
the ferryman came with a new cable and then followed the task of
placing it in position, a job more difficult than the first, owing to
the continued rise of the river. Effort after effort was made, each
proving a failure. The end of the cable was brought across the river,
but it was not possible to draw it out of the water, and when, with
a long team of oxen, it had been drawn across from the east shore J.
J. Healey and many freighters had almost despaired of placing it in
position. Ben Anderson and his three associates volunteered to perform
the task. These Indiana boys had for years followed the business of
rafting saw-logs down the Wabash river and proved to be the right men
in the right place on this occasion. They made several rafts out of
dry cottonwood logs, and, locating them at intervals up the bank of the
stream, the cable was stretched on them in such a manner that it was
held above the water, then starting with the upper end the rafts were
swung around, the further one reaching the opposite shore, when it was
easily raised to the proper height without touching the rapid current.
It did me good to see the hats go up and hear the round of applause
that echoed out upon the beautiful Sun river valley as the cable was
anchored--“hurrah, hurrah, hurrah for the boys, the Indiana boys.” This
feat gave our little train the first right of way over the ferry, and
we crossed in time to drive as far as the “Leavings,” a nine-mile pull
down the river bank.

I almost forgot to state that Mr. Healey, besides bringing the big rope
from Benton, brought the report that a large body of Blackfeet Indians
were camped on the Teton river not many miles away to the north, and
that their mission was to steal horses, pillage and murder. This was
not pleasant news to the passengers who, though well armed, felt that
they “might be taken in.” It was sundown when camp was made at the
“Leavings,” and I cannot forget the anxiety manifest as I went around
to the several campfires. Up to that date we had no night watchman,
but it was easy to see the necessity of a night sentinel, therefore I
volunteered to perform that duty. It was not a new duty by any means,
for I had seen weeks of it in crossing the plains to Denver in 1863 and
coming to Montana in 1864. To make the night easy my friend, Joe Lacky,
volunteered to take the first half of the night and went on his beat at
nine, all rolling into bed about the same time.

It was 12:30 when I was awakened by a whisper, to which was added:
“The camp is all right.” With my revolver in my belt and Ballard rifle
in hand I was soon on duty. The oxen were lying down, broken clouds
hung over head, and all was quiet except the hooting of owls in the
hills across the river and who seemed to be keeping company with
their neighbors located some distance away. So far away were these
that they were but faintly heard. At first I paid little attention
to the hooting, but as the hours began to grow longer and the clouds
thickened, the hooting became more interesting. These hootings came at
intervals, while between them the stillness seemed almost unbearable.

There is much that I might write of that night of picket duty at the
“Leavings,” but least I may tire the reader the same is passed. Writing
at this time, thirty-three and a half years later, my thoughts go
back to more recent scenes of the place, and I cannot pass on without
recalling just one or two visits there quite as distinct as the first.
The Sun river tour of 1879, when introducing the “Rocky Mountain
Husbandman,” comes fresh. It was then I rested a day with my friend,
Robert Vaughn, who had cultivated on that lonely spot a fine farm,
built a good home, and owned herds of horses and cattle. We talked of
the early days gone by, of Indians and Indian hunting, and wound up
the day of pleasure in a hunt among the feathered tribes--geese, ducks
and swan. Mr. V. showed not alone his markmanship, but his skill in
selecting young birds of which it was less than an hour’s sport on the
river to capture a dozen. But this is digressing from my subject.

The morning of that lonely night in 1866 dawned, the oxen arose to feed
and the expected attack by Indians did not materialize. We were on the
road early, for the drive to the lakes was a longer one than we had
usually made. Without especial incident the day passed and we reached
the head of the lakes about sundown. The wagons were corralled--drawn
up in a close half circle, cattle turned out to graze, supper cooked,
etc. No Indians or signs of Indians had been seen and our passengers
were buoyant with hopes, for it seemed that the head of navigation
would be reached in safety, there being but two more days’ travel
before us. Having the lead from the ferry we were a day’s travel ahead
of the other trains, and realizing this added somewhat to the anxiety
and I might say fear. The night passed quietly, particularly the latter
part. We were too far away from the cliffs to hear the hooting of the
owls, and the only charm I can remember was when a breeze came up from
the southeast which brought with it the roar of the great Missouri
river falls, some twenty or more miles away.

The following day’s travel was also long on account of the scarcity
of water. Getting an early start the journey was made, arriving at
Twenty-eight-Mile Springs about sunset. Just before turning the summit
of the ridge west of this well known place we were overtaken by a
large mule train, probably forty wagons, four to six animals to each
wagon, and they were well loaded with passengers--probably about one
hundred and forty persons. This train pulled by, and, passing the
springs, turned south and went into camp on the summit of the elevated
lands six or seven hundred yards away, while our little train halted
for the night close to the springs. Soon after turning out our teams
several visitors came from the big train. Nearly all were from Virginia
City, and among them there were few ladies. Several of the passengers
carried large amounts of gold dust, the estimated amount in the train
being over $400,000. This train had been making fast time, having that
day come from the “Leavings,” a distance of twenty-five miles. Fresh
stories were told us of the large Indian camp and the probable raid,
for at this time we were near to their camp. We were solicited to join
the big party, but our teams were turned out and we had to decline.
This request came several times, and lastly in the shape of a message
from his excellency, Acting Gov. Thomas Francis Meagher, who was among
the passengers. This brought our firm and friends together for council,
at which it was decided to remain where we were. If an attack was made
by the Indians the object would be to secure the mules and horses, as
they could not expect to drive our cattle away, and if siege was made
we would be better off in reach of water than on the hill. Further
summing it up, we considered our people better off camped as we were,
and as the mule outfit was placing a strong guard for the night we
could all turn into our beds and sleep. Soon after dark the lights were
put out and quiet reigned. The night was cloudy, and in getting into my
bed under a wagon it was surmised that I might be driven out by rain
before morning. We had but one horse and he was tied with a long lariat
to a wheel of the wagon under which I slept. That horse was my body
guard. I knew that if Indians appeared he would snort and try to pull
away, which would awaken me.

It was perhaps 3 o’clock in the morning when a single report of a
gun rent the air south of the mule camp, and following close on this
I heard in the distance the sound of many hoofs. Then a general
commotion ensued at the mule camp. General Meagher was among the
first to rise and his strong voice could be heard giving orders. He
was the self-constituted commander on this occasion, and I could hear
him knocking on the sides of the wagon and commanding every one to
get out and prepare for an attack. A messenger came down to inform us
that Indians had attempted to stampede the mules, but the guards had
succeeded in rescuing them and driving them into the corral, and an
attack was expected. General Meagher sent us word to leave our wagons
and join the mule camp, and for a few moments it seemed that some of
our passengers were willing to do this, but better judgment prevailed,
and all decided to remain with their wagons and protect, if possible,
their own valuables, which could not well be removed at that hour. Our
men were all up and in readiness, but the night was too dark for one to
shoot with any degree of accuracy, and it seemed hardly reasonable that
the “Redskins” would make an attack until the beginning of daylight.
There was, however, no let up to the racket in the mule camp. General
Meagher got his fellow passengers out in line and marched them in
regular soldier form around and round the big corral in which the mules
were secured. This corral was composed of wagons drawn up in a circle
and ropes so tied between that the mules once inside could not get out.
I could hear the commands given and I listened with interest to the
exchange of words with some of the men who attempted to evade the duty.
“I have but a small pistol and can do no good if I come out there,”
said one of the men. “Yes, you can do good,” said Meagher, “these
helpless women and children must be protected and I beseech you to come
like a man to their rescue.” “Fall in line, shoulder arms, forward,
march!” “Why, sir, do you dare disobey orders?” “Oh, why, I was just
looking into the wagon to see if things were all right.”

The truth of the matter was that those fellows who protested had
little pets in their wagons in the shape of sacks of gold dust which
were unhandy to carry and they were afraid of losing the treasure. But
the energetic general appeared to take more interest in the safety
of those women and children than of those gold sacks, and his strong
voice echoed for nearly three long hours, as he gave commands to keep
in line ready for action and protect the camp. Quite an episode when,
after marching for more than an hour, the general chanced to find a
little Jew covered in his blankets and crouched down in one end of a
wagon. Loud calling did not seem to disturb him--all this time he was
playing that he could not hear--but by prodding he was aroused, and the
general, thinking him deaf, shouted very loudly trying to arouse him to
action in resisting the enemy. It was said that the fellow could hear
as well as anybody, but took that plan of evading the general’s orders,
preferring to keep closer watch of his treasures which, it appears,
were too heavy to be handily carried, but the general kept on urging
until he got the Jew into line. Perhaps the most laughable incident
that occurred during the scare was when the general’s messenger
returned from a visit to our camp and reported that “them folks with
the ox train are Missourians and won’t get up.” It was a mistake,
however, as our party did get out and were ready for the fray, and
afterwards one of them remarked that it was really too bad that the
“Redskins did not give us a fight, that we were entitled to have some
fun after so much preparation.”

Early next morning our train was on the road, and the mule train, at
the general’s suggestion, fell in and kept company. Plenty of evidences
were seen to establish the fact of the near approach of the Indians
that night, and I attributed their failure to attack to the action of
General Meagher and men in the mule camp. Forty wagons and teams added
to our little train, with from eighty to a hundred armed men marching
by their sides and about thirty mounted on horseback scouting in
advance on either side, made up a pretty formidable procession. I had
the honor of accompanying General Meagher on horseback as an advance
picket during most of the day, and it was rare enjoyment listening
to sketches of his early life adventures, his leave taking of the
old country, and incidents of his connection with the war of the
rebellion.

The general was en route to meet his wife who came up on the
“Josephine.” Our trip of the day was without material interest, and
it was cheering to my soul to see the glad faces of our passengers as
our caravan hove in sight of the quaint little fort and city, nestled
beneath the rounded hills, and three Missouri river steamers, the “St.
John,” the “Waverly” and another moored at the wharf discharging their
cargoes.

WILL H. SUTHERLIN.
White Sulphur Springs, Mont., Nov. 12, 1899.

* * * * *

By request the above letter was written for publication in this book.
Mr. Sutherlin has been a resident of Meagher county ever since June,
1865, and has contributed much to the upbuilding of the county and the
state. He was elected and served two terms as sheriff, also filled
the office of county clerk and recorder one term, and was ex-officio
probate judge during the same time.

He was elected in 1886 to the office of territorial councilman, and
served two sessions. A number of the laws remaining on the statute
books of Montana were originated and passed through his efforts. He
was chairman of the committee on agriculture of the State World’s Fair
Board and erected and had charge of Montana’s agricultural exhibit
at the World’s Fair at Chicago in 1893. He was the commissioner
for this state and had full charge of the state’s exhibit at the
Trans-Mississippi Exposition at Omaha in 1898. He was one of the
founders of the Rocky Mountain Husbandman, November, 1875. His
brother, R. N. Sutherlin, was and still is associated with him in
its publication. Mr. Sutherlin is one of the best authorities on
agriculture in the Northwest.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Great Falls, Mont., Jan. 7, 1900.

MY FIRST BUFFALO HUNT.

I do not think that there is anything more exciting, combined with
fun and enjoyment to a man, than a buffalo hunt, or, as some call it,
a chase, especially the first. I well remember my first experience
along that line. It was on the lake’s flat, between Sun river and Fort
Benton. John Argue and James Armstrong were with me. We could see for
several days buffaloes in the coulees on the Muddy. The weather had
been cold and snowing for some time. The first clear day we mounted our
horses and prepared for a chase.

After we arrived on top of Frozen Hill we could see that the Lake flat
and the region beyond was entirely covered with buffaloes. It was a
sight to behold. Without exaggeration there were a quarter of a million
buffaloes in sight; the main herd covered eight miles by three miles,
and they were so numerous that they ate every spear of grass as they
went. We rode slowly until we got near the herd, for they were quietly
feeding. Soon we could see that the outside ones discovered us, and we
made the charge with guns in hand. I had a dragoon revolver, the kind
that the cavalry used the time of the war. I was riding a very fine
horse. Soon we commenced shooting. It was not long before every buffalo
was on the move. And now the fun began. Tens of thousands of these
ponderous animals were running at a furious pace; the earth trembled,
and the clicking of their hoofs could be heard for miles away. By this
time my horse had me in the midst of the herd, for he could run like
a racer, and I had two big buffaloes badly crippled and they fell to
the rear. Now I had gone all of two miles and fired a dozen shots,
with buffaloes in front of me and buffaloes behind me and buffaloes on
each side of me; in fact I could see nothing but buffaloes. It takes
some practice to load a gun while on horseback and on full speed.
However, I was doing this with considerable accuracy. Now I had my old
dragoon loaded the third time, and I took after a fat young cow. The
chase began to tell on my horse for it was as much as he could do to
keep up with this particular buffalo. Soon I had two bullets in her
and one more in my gun; I was determined to make a sure shot with it.
I now could see that the pace of the buffalo was slower. I spurred
my horse and with a spurt he was at her side. As quick as lightening
the buffalo whirled around and caught my foot with her crooked horn
and came very near throwing me out of the saddle and as near goring
the horse. This warned me to be more cautious. The buffalo started in
another direction, but very slowly. I followed it; finally it stopped
and turned, looking directly at me. I was fifty yards off. I took a
deliberate aim at it and down she came. I shot it directly between the
eyes. This cow buffalo netted nearly nine hundred pounds and it was
as fine meat as I ever tasted. I was now in the center of the buffalo
herd and all running like mad and going in one direction; the clouds of
fine snow and dust making it very dangerous for a man, being liable to
be run over by the buffaloes. At this juncture I had to stand in one
place, hat in hand, yelling at the top of my voice to keep them from
running over me and my horse. Once a big bull, coming on a terrific
speed directly towards me, was in ten feet before he saw me, but made
a dodge and at the same time gave a snort and passed me, brushing his
shaggy coat against my buckskin suit. It was not long before the big
rush had gone by and I had had my first buffalo hunt. A few miles west
of me some Indians were chasing another herd. On my way back I found
the first two buffaloes that I crippled; one was dead and the other
could not get up. Armstrong and Argue had good luck. Next day we went
back and brought home a wagon load of as good meat as anyone could wish.

[Illustration: From Painting by C. M. Russell.

INDIANS HUNTING BUFFALO.]

The buffaloes are the most watchful animals that I ever saw. At the
least disturbance in the herd they are all at once on the watch as if
they had some way of telegraphing to each other; and their scent is
remarkably keen. When getting away from the hunter they all run one way
and invariably go north. They have remarkable lung power; it takes more
than an ordinary horse to keep up with the average buffalo for a mile,
and, if not in a mile, good bye horse, for about this time the buffalo
begins to warm up and is getting ready for a race. This was in the
winter of 1872.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Jan. 23, 1898.

TOM CAMPBELL RUNNING THE GAUNTLET.

All of the old-timers of Northern Montana remember Tom Campbell (now
dead). He was always jolly and a good fellow in general. Tom told me
of what happened to him one time when out in the hills and alone. At
the time referred to he was employed at one of the trading posts down
the Missouri river. One day he was sent to get a deer for meat at the
post. When he was about six miles from the camp he came in contact
with four Indians. They at once captured him and wanted to know what
business he had to hunt in their country. One Indian leveled his gun at
Tom’s head, while another one took his horse and gun from him. One of
the Indians had seen Tom before at the trading store. This Indian told
his comrade, who was threatening to shoot, to lay down his gun. And the
four then held a kind of council to consider and decide what to do with
their captive. Tom understood their language and overheard what they
were saying. One wanted to tie him to a tree and all take a shot at
him; another one wanted to scalp him first and then kill him; the other
two were undecided. Finally, one of them, a strapping big fellow, said
that he knew this man and that he did not want to kill him, but that he
would take away everything he had and then let him go. Tom said that
this Indian had a great deal of influence over the others. After having
considerable talk about the matter with the other three, he turned to
Tom and said: “I want that coat.” “You can have it,” said Tom. Again
the Indian said: “I want that vest and shirt.” “All right,” said Tom.
“And I want them pants and shoes you have on,” said the lordly red
man. “You can have them, too,” said Tom. Tom was speedily divested of
all his clothing. The Indian who made the demand had a rawhide lariat
in his hand, and, with it, gave Tom a whack across the shoulders and
a kick where his coat-tail used to be, and told him to go home. Tom,
naked and barefooted, made a bee line towards the post. After he had
gone a certain distance the Indians began shooting at him, and at the
same time running after him, but, as Tom was in good condition and
stripped for a foot race, he outran them; though the bullets whistled
about him, he got home without being hit.

Tom said that it took him but a few minutes to cover the distance, and
that when he arrived his feet were bleeding terribly.

About two years afterwards, on Front street, in Fort Benton, Campbell
met the Indian who struck and kicked him and divested him of all his
clothing. He seized the Indian by the arm and demanded that he should
come with him. The Indian appeared greatly frightened and asked Tom
what he was going to do with him. “Come with me and ask no questions,”
said Tom. The Indian obeyed, and in a few minutes they were in I. G.
Baker’s store. “Now,” said Tom, “I want you to pick out the best shirt
and the best pair of blankets in this store and I will pay for them.”
The Indian was greatly surprised at this and it was evident that it was
the first time in his life that he ever was whipped with a golden rule,
for all this time he thought that Tom was taking him to some place to
receive punishment, or that he was going to be killed for what he and
his companions had done to Tom when out hunting two years before. Tom
said to the Indian: “You stole my clothing, you struck me, and the kick
you gave me was a hard one, but all that, I owe you my life and I am
glad to have the opportunity to return you this compliment.” The Indian
was much pleased and promised Tom his friendship as long as he lived.
This Indian was prominent in his tribe, and this “golden rule” act of
Tom Campbell’s was made known to every Indian in that tribe, and not
a hair of his head they allowed to be injured. And from that time he
was always treated with the greatest kindness, and many trophies he
received as a token of friendship from those Indians.

Mr. Campbell was well educated. For a long time he was in the
employment of the American Fur company, and always occupied a post
of trust. At the time I had the above conversation he was doing a
prosperous business for himself.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
April 7, 1899.

EDWARD A. LEWIS’ EARLY DAYS IN MONTANA.

Having been acquainted with Mr. Edward A. Lewis, who lives on a
thousand-acre farm in the foot hills near St. Peter’s Mission,
twenty-five miles southwest from this place, and, knowing that he is
one of the earliest settlers in Northern Montana, one day last week I
took a drive and had a very interesting interview with him in regard
to his early days in the West. In the year 1869 he was married to a
daughter of a Piegan war chief named Meek-i-appy (Heavy Shield). Father
Imoda officiated. Mrs. Lewis had been baptized in the Christian faith
previous to her marriage. She is an intelligent woman and speaks fair
English; she is a splendid housekeeper, and, above all, a true wife
and loving mother. They have three daughters who are well educated;
the oldest is married to Mr. John Taber, a well-to-do farmer and stock
raiser. When I arrived at the house Mr. Lewis, with his hired man, was
in a field near by stacking grain. I asked him how many crops he had
harvested off that field; he said: “This is the twenty-ninth crop.” I
should judge that forty bushels to the acre would be a fair estimate of
the present one.

This beautiful mountain home is but a natural park, of a horseshoe
shape, surrounded by high hills crowned with perpendicular cliffs to
the height of several hundred feet, with here and there a low divide
beyond which nothing is visible but the blue sky. One of the hills
east of the house is called Skull mountain. When Mrs. Lewis’ mother
was a young woman, the Flatheads and Piegans had a fight in the little
valley below, in which the Flatheads came out victorious. Eight of
the Piegans fled to the top of this mountain, and there fortified
themselves by building breastworks with stones and pitch pine logs.
They held the fort for one day and a night, but the Flatheads greatly
outnumbered them, and they were overpowered and killed; not one
escaped. Many years afterwards Mr. Lewis and Mr. Morgan, his neighbor,
found the skull of one of those Indians and brought it home. From this
“Skull Mountain” received its name. The little fort was standing until
a few years, when some school children tore it down, and now nothing
remains but the ruins.

Mr. Lewis, calling my attention to a clump of pine near the summit of
Skull Mountain, said: “There is where there is a bed of oyster shells
that are as perfect as those on the seashore.” Pointing his hand at
another high hill, he said: “And there is where there is another bed
of the same kind of shells.” On entering the house, and after I had
asked him a few questions in regard to his early adventures in the
West, Mr. Lewis said: “It was always my desire to go West. When but
eighteen years of age, at St. Louis, Missouri, I hired to the American
Fur company to go and work at Fort Benton on the upper Missouri
river. I left St. Louis the eighth day of May, 1857, on the steamboat
“Star of the West.” I arrived at Fort Benton the twenty-second day of
September of the same year. The boat was loaded with goods to pay the
Indians their annuities for the treaty they had made with Governor
Stevens in behalf of the government for the right of way for a wagon
road through their country. The American Fur company had taken the
contract to deliver the Indian goods. The boat came as far as about
five miles below the place now called Culberson on the Great Northern
railroad. There the goods were taken off the steamer and some of them
were issued to the Indians at that place. We had brought with us from
St. Louis enough lumber to build two Mackinaw boats, and we whipsawed
dry cottonwood logs into enough lumber to build the third one. With
these boats we took the balance of the goods up to Fort Benton. We
had to tow them all the way. There were seventeen men to the boat;
sometimes we had to cross the river on account of the high banks and
other obstacles. It was hard work, besides sometimes we were in the
water up to our waists. It took us sixty-five days to come to Fort
Benton from the place where the steamboat landed. In the fall of the
same year I, with others, was sent to Fort Union with Mackinaw boats
loaded with furs. For several years all the robes and furs belonging
to the company were taken from Fort Benton to Fort Union in this way.
The distance overland between the two places is three hundred and
seventy-four miles, but much greater by the river route. When on these
trips we often had to travel at night for the purpose of passing the
many hostile Indian camps that were along the river. Notwithstanding
all our precautions, many times we had narrow escapes from being robbed
and killed by those Indians. Immediately after arriving from the trip
referred to, I returned to Fort Benton overland in company with Bill
Atkinson, a Frenchman named Rinober, and Henry Bosdwike, who, for
several years afterwards, was an interpreter for the government. In
1877 he was killed in the Gibbon fight with the Nez Perces Indians at
Big Hole. We had in our charge two carts that were loaded with Indian
goods and were drawn by oxen, two to a cart. Then it was difficult to
get enough goods to Fort Benton to supply the Indian trade. In the
following spring I was sent down the river to Fort Union on the same
kind of a trip. When we got there the agent wanted volunteers to take
a dispatch boat to Omaha. Mr. Armel, Bill Fatherland and myself took
the job. We went down the Missouri in a small cottonwood boat twelve
feet long. For our provisions we had nothing but dried buffalo meat.
We were happy and contented until we got to a Mandan Indian village;
there we were informed that the Sioux chief, “Bighead,” who was a
bitter enemy of the whites, was in camp with five hundred lodges on the
bank of the Missouri river near the mouth of Cannonball river. This
was gloomy news to us, for we knew that Chief Bighead was one of the
worst Indians on the river. However, there was nothing for us to do
but take the chance and to pass the village in the dead of the night.
We glided along, stopping now and then to look for Indian signs in the
sand on the shores. After coming near Grand Prairie we decided to cache
our boat in the willows day times, and from there on run at night.
One evening after an hour of hard rowing, we came where we could see
the reflections in the sky from the fires in the Sioux camp, as from
a good-sized town lighted by electricity nowadays. As we were getting
near the village we stopped for a short time to lay our plans. It was
decided that we would wait until the Indians were asleep, and then let
the boat drift close to the high, steep bank next to the Indian’s camp,
for it would not do to use the oars for fear of making a noise. As we
floated close to the bank, we could hear the Indians talking to each
other. After we got past, one of the guards discovered us and gave the
alarm, but as the lay of the land and the thick brush along the bank of
the river were in our favor, and the way we worked the oars and made
the little craft fly, we were soon out of danger. We hid ourselves and
the boat in the willows on an island the next day, and the day after
in a similar place, but after that we traveled day and night until we
got to Omaha. There the company’s agent paid our fare to St. Louis, and
soon afterwards we returned back to the mountains.

It was in the year 1858 an agency was established in the Sun River
valley where now Mr. H. B. Strong’s ranch is. Here is where the annuity
of Governor Stevens’ treaty was issued to the Blackfeet Indians. Major
Vaughn was agent to issue the goods.

In December, 1859, the company sent nine of us to the Highwood
mountains, about twenty miles from Fort Benton to cut logs to make
lumber to build Mackinaw boats, for the fur trade was doubling every
winter, consequently a great many more boats were required to take the
goods, consisting of fur robes and pelts, to Fort Union. After being
in camp a few days we had everything running smoothly. Phil Barnes and
I drove the ox teams. Some of the men were new hands who had come from
St. Louis that summer and could not speak a word of Indian and did not
understand their sign talk. One day when Barnes and I were about half
a mile from camp we could hear from behind us the clatter of horses
and the cracking of whips; on looking back we discovered thirty Crow
Indians coming as fast as their horses could carry them, and were
coming right towards us, all having their bows strung and their hands
full of arrows, and as they approached us, they rent the air with their
Indian yells. One pressed an arrow against Barnes’ breast and demanded
where our camp was; we told them and pointed in that direction.
Twenty-seven of them left at once for our camp; the other three stayed
to pilot us the same way the others went. The Indians soon could tell
who the new men were and they stripped some of them, and then used the
ramrods of their guns on them. They made us cook for the whole gang,
and when night came they put us all together and stood guard over us
all night, and until the evening of the next day, when one Indian named
Red Bear, and who was the chief, told Barnes and I to get the oxen and
go to Benton after more goods; and that they were going to take all we
had, and he further said: “We have got all the horses your people had.”

Barnes and I took an ox team, as Chief Red Bear had told us, and left
for Fort Benton on that evening. We traveled all night, and when we
arrived at Fort Benton, we were told that the night previous the
Indians had stolen two hundred and fifty head of the company’s horses.
At the time they were holding us as prisoners the others of the party
were stealing the horses that were on Pablow Island, near Fort Benton.

It was Chief Red Bear and his gang that robbed and plundered the James
Stuart party on the Yellowstone four years later.

In 1860 Major Blake, with a detachment of troops, came up the Missouri
river to Fort Benton and was bound to Fort Colville in the then
Territory of Washington. Blake and his troops came on the steamboat
named “Chippewa,” and this was the first time a steamboat ever landed
at Fort Benton. The same year Captain John Mullan was building a
wagon road from Walla Walla to Fort Benton, which was afterwards
known as the Mullan road. Major Blake, when on his way up the river,
was very anxious to know the whereabouts of Captain Mullan, who was
then somewhere west of the main range of the Rocky mountains. Malcolm
Clarke, who had been in St. Louis attending to some business concerning
the American Fur company, was on the same boat. When at Fort Union
Clark volunteered to take a message overland to Fort Benton and from
there forward it to Captain Mullan, saying that he would get to Fort
Benton several days ahead of the steamer.

Clark mounted one of Major Blake’s government mules and arrived at Fort
Benton six days from the time he left Fort Union and five days ahead of
the “Chippewa.” From Fort Benton I was sent with the message to Captain
Mullan, whom I met on the Hell Gate river. I traveled on the old Indian
trail up the Prickly Pear canyon and crossed the main divide where now
the Northern Pacific Railway crosses.

At the mouth of the Deer Lodge river I met a Flathead Indian who could
talk a little English. I asked him where those soldiers were. He told
me that they were a little ways down the river and on the other side.
It was in the month of June, the snow was melting off the mountains,
and the streams were very high.

The Indian came with me to show where Mullan was, and we followed down
the banks of the Hell Gate river for a few miles until we came opposite
where Captain Mullan’s camp was. I told the Indian that I had a letter
for Mullan and he said he would swim the river and take it to him. I
gave the Indian the letter and he swam the swift current of that great
river with the letter between his teeth and landed, after going down
the stream nearly a mile. I was then a good swimmer, but I would not
undertake to swim that river then for any consideration. Mullan, after
reading the letter, wrote one to Major Blake, which I delivered on my
return to Fort Benton, where I met Blake. It took me seven days and a
half to make the trip. At the Benton Lake I met Captain W. H. Reynolds’
United States engineer corps expedition, which was in camp there at the
time. They had been viewing the Missouri Falls.

In the summer of 1861 the same steamer (Chippewa), when loaded with
goods for the company, blew up somewhere near Fort Union, when on her
trip up to Fort Benton. Mr. Sam Ford, who now lives at the city of
Great Falls, was on the boat at the time of the accident. The cargo was
lost, consequently they had to get another supply from Fort Union. The
goods had to be hauled overland to Fort Benton. I, with others, was
sent to bring the goods. We left Fort Union with several wagons and
carts drawn by oxen and horses. Mr. Andrew Dawson, who was connected
with the company, had charge of the outfit. One morning, when we were
traveling, a war party of Crows came to us. They at once demanded some
goods. Mr. Dawson gave them all, a small gift, but, for all that, they
kept troubling us by trying to stop our teams and they would get on
the back of the horses that were pulling the wagons and climb on the
wagon tongues and ride the wheel oxen. In this way they kept following
and tormenting us. Sometimes they would go away, but only to return,
and no doubt they intended to rob us when the first night came. One
time they surrounded and stopped us and demanded more goods; some of
them attempting to get into the wagons. Again Mr. Dawson gave them
several blankets, a box of tobacco, a box of hardtack crackers, and
other small trinkets; this satisfied them then, but it was not long
before they came again and acted meaner than ever. One Indian, while
trying to get on the wagon tongue, was kicked by the wheel ox and he
fell, the wagon wheel going over and killing him. The other Indians
carried him away and we went on for several miles unmolested. But
soon there came a large band of the savage devils, with nothing on in
the way of clothing except a breech clout; they had their hands full
of arrows and their bows strung ready to send an arrow on a moment’s
signal, and, in an angry manner, forbade us to go any further or there
would be trouble, and with violent threats demanded pay for the killing
of their man. Mr. Dawson reasoned with them, saying that it was the
Indian’s own fault that he was killed, but this would not satisfy them;
they were bound to have goods and plenty of them, or scalps. Just then
a Gros Ventres chief, with about fifty warriors, arrived, and, no
doubt, was the cause of saving us from being massacred by the savage
Crows. At this time a large camp of Gros Ventres was at Wolfe Point,
about twenty-five miles up the river. Through some source they were
informed that the Crows were interfering with our wagon train and came
to see about it. It appears that about twelve months previous the Gros
Ventres and Crows had made peace with each other, and, at this time,
they were on friendly terms. It was but a few minutes after the arrival
of the Gros Ventres that their chief, whose name was “Sitting Woman,”
called the Crows and whites together and had a council. Addressing the
Crows, he said: “The Crows and the Gros Ventres have made peace with
each other. That is good. The Crows and Gros Ventres smoke together.
That is good. The Crows and Gros Ventres make presents to each other.
That is good. The Crows and Gros Ventres trade horses with one another,
and that is good. But these white men are our white men; the goods that
are in their wagons are goods that they are bringing to trade with us.
If you are going to fight these white men you must fight us.” Not a
word was spoken by the Crows, and they left in small groups of three
or four at a time, badly disappointed and without a cent’s worth of
goods. The Gros Ventres escorted our train the balance of the day and
camped with us that night, and traveled with us until we reached their
camp the next day at Wolfe Point. And, after that, the whole camp came
with us for over one hundred miles up the valley of the Milk river. Mr.
Dawson paid them well for their kindness by giving them goods.

Between Milk river and Fort Benton we met many of the Piegans, Bloods
and Blackfeet Indians; many of them followed us to Fort Benton, for
they were anxious to trade with us. From this time on the Indian trade
increased very rapidly, and new steamers were built to operate on the
upper Missouri, consequently the company established several trading
posts at different points, and more employes were sent from St. Louis.

[Illustration: WOLF VOICE (GROS VENTRES.)]

I well remember when the steamer “Gray Eagle” made her first trip with
my friend John Largent on board, who now lives at the town of Sun
River. He, too, left St. Louis after having hired to the American Fur
company to work at Fort Benton. At this time I was in charge of several
men repairing the outside wall of the fort, which was built with
sun-dried bricks, or “adobes.” One day Largent was on top of the wall
laying brick; suddenly he came down, saying that someone was shooting
at him. I asked him if he was not mistaken; he said he was not, but
that he would go and try it again. He was not there but a few seconds
before he came down again saying that a bullet whistled by his head.
As I was anxious to have the wall finished that day, I went up myself,
but I was not there more than a minute before a rifle shot struck the
brick that was in my hand, and I also came down on the double quick.
Some Indians were doing the shooting from under the bank of the river,
about two hundred yards off. In 1864 I went to the mines. In 1865 I
formed a partnership with Malcolm Clark and obtained a charter to build
a toll-wagon road through the Prickly Pear canyon, which charter we
afterwards sold to James King and W. C. Gillette.

In 1868 I located this place where I now live, and where I intend to
stay the balance of my life.

Mr. Lewis told me of many adventures he had during the time he was
in the employ of the American Fur company, of which I have made no
mention. Fort Benton at one time was the greatest fur trading point in
the Northwest, but, as the whites came and settled the country, the
buffaloes and all fur-bearing animals disappeared like chaff before a
hurricane, and now the fur trade at Fort Benton amounts to but a trifle.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Sept. 12, 1899.

A BRAVE PIEGAN WAR CHIEF.

At the time of my visit to the home of Mr. Edward A. Lewis, an account
of which is given in the foregoing letter, Mr. Lewis asked his wife,
who was at the time busy with her house work, to come to the room in
which we were sitting and tell me of the fight that occurred between
the Piegans and a party of Pend d’Oreilles Indians in 1868, and in
which her father was engaged. She said that the Piegans were in camp
on the Teton river, about eight miles above where now stands the town
of Choteau, when the Pend d’Oreilles came and made a sudden attack
on the Piegans and stole several of their horses. A desperate fight
followed, both parties using guns, bows and arrows, and war clubs; many
were killed on both sides. She said that her father was struck with a
war club by a Pend d’Oreille; thinking he was dead, the Pend d’Oreille
in a hurry undertook to take the rings her father had on three of his
fingers. Failing to slip the rings off, he jerked a large bowie knife
out of a scabbard and chopped off the fingers. During all this time her
father was unconscious, and it was after the fingers were cut off that
he came to his senses. Many of the Indians believed that the cutting
of the fingers was the cause of his coming to life again. The women
dressed his wounds and the next day the plucky war chief, Meek-i-appy,
with a party of his warriors, followed the Pend d’Oreilles and the
following night recaptured the horses and returned home without firing
a gun or a shot from a bow.

[Illustration: From Painting by C. M. Russell.

THE PIEGANS LAYING THEIR PLANS TO STEAL HORSES FROM THE CROWS.]

Meek-i-appy has been dead for several years. I knew him well. He was
known among the whites as Cut-Hand, but I was never aware how it
came about that he lost his fingers until this narrative was told
by his daughter. She told me of another instance in which her father
was one of the principal actors. This time--I relate the story as
it was told to me--the Crows had been stealing some of the Piegan
horses. Determined to play even, a war party of Piegans, of which Mrs.
Lewis’ father was the chief, prepared themselves to go to the Crow
country. Each warrior was equipped with all that was necessary for a
horse-stealing expedition. Those who did not have guns had perfect
bows, and their quivers were filled with well-pointed arrows, and the
chief had with him his medicine bag, which was a weasel skin stuffed
with some herbs and the bark of a certain tree; to this medicine bag
two small bells were attached; it was carried on the breast and tied to
a string of beads worn around the neck. It was sometime after entering
the Crow country before they could locate an enemy. Finally a camp of
about ten lodges was discovered in a small valley between high hills in
the Little Snowy mountains, the slopes of which were covered with pine.
The Piegans worked their way cautiously through the woods until within
a short distance of the Crow camp and there lay hidden the balance
of the day, making their plans to get away with the horses that were
grazing near the tepees. When night came they again began approaching
nearer and nearer the camp of the Crows. After getting to the proper
distance, which was about three hundred yards from the tepees, they
halted and waited until they were satisfied that all the Crows were
asleep. The Crows had their horses close to their tepees and many of
them were picketed. The chief was to do the stealing and mount all of
his warriors with the stolen horses, for he was considered the bravest
and most expert performer in the party. The chief placed his warriors
behind a small grove of willows that were thick with underbrush. Then
he tied several long strings of rawhide together; this he attached to
a bush in the center of the grove and on the same bush he hung his
medicine pouch; then he stretched the rawhide, which was about sixty
yards long, to the extreme edge of the grove and most remote from the
Crow camp. Now everything was ready, and the time for the fray had
arrived. The warriors stood behind the bushes to receive the stolen
horses, and the chief sneaked towards the horses with the lariats
in his hands. The first haul that was made he brought three horses,
and repeated this until he had a horse for each of his warriors, who
mounted and drove away the balance of the herd. Not satisfied with all
the horses, Meek-i-appy determined to steal the Crow chief’s medicine
pouch (to steal the medicine pouch from the chief of the enemy is
considered the bravest act a warrior can perform). Knowing the chief’s
tepee, and knowing that, according to Indian custom, all chiefs hang
their medicine pouches above their heads before going to sleep, again
the Piegan leader crawled slowly but surely toward the tepee of the
head man of the Crow camp and stole his way inside. The Crow chief was
sound asleep. When retiring only a few hours before, and when wrapping
himself in his gorgeous robes, he never thought or dreamed that there
was an enemy anywhere near. The Piegan reached out his hand and took
the trophy that hung on a tripoon and near the sleeping chief’s head;
he placed it under his belt and was quietly retreating when he stumbled
and fell as he was getting out at the door of the lodge. This waked
the Crow and he gave the signal war whoop, “enemy in the camp.” All the
Crow warriors were out in an instant and came very near capturing the
Piegan, but he got into the brush, where he had placed his medicine
pouch, only by a scratch. In a few minutes the willow grove was
surrounded by the Crows and they all began shooting into the brush. It
may be well to state here that an Indian never follows an enemy into a
thick brush, especially in the night time.

[Illustration: From Painting by C. M. Russell.

GOING HOME WITH THE STOLEN HORSES.]

The Piegan by this time had hold of the rawhide string; he gave it a
few jerks and the bells that were attached to the medicine pouch rang.
This drew the attention of the Crows that way, and thinking that the
Piegan must be there, they all began shooting in the direction of the
bells, and the more they shot the oftener the bells would ring. The
firing was so rapid and the flashing of the old flint-lock guns was so
blinding to the Crows that the Piegan killed three of them. They could
not tell the direction the shots came from, still, after they ceased
firing, the Piegan, who was at the other end of the string, would
occasionally ring the bells. Finally all the Crows stood together near
the brush, and opposite to where the bells were ringing, and asked
several questions as to who was ringing the bells. One asked in a loud
voice: “Are you a man or are you a ghost?” In reply the bells rang
three times. Finally the Crows, who are a very superstitious people
as a tribe, went away convinced that they had killed the Piegan, and
that his ghost was ringing the bells. And Meek-i-appy came out of the
willows without harm, and, with the medicine bag, which proved to
be good medicine, also with that of the Crow chief which was a bad
medicine to its first possessor. Soon the Piegan war chief was with his
warriors, who were waiting for him in a coulee that was not far off.
He was mounted on the best horse and the one the Crow chief was riding
the day before. After a ride of over one hundred miles in one day and
a night, Meek-i-appy and his warriors arrived home safe with all their
spoils.

The warrior who displayed the greatest strength, good generalship and
bravery, was elected or appointed by the head chief to the honor of
war chief. On account of the prudence, bravery and good generalship
Meek-i-appy had always displayed, he was elected war chief and was such
at the time of his death, which was about 1878.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Sept. 22, 1899.

BLOODY BATTLES AND TRAGEDIES IN THE SUN RIVER VALLEY.

The first printed records of the Sun river we find in the travels of
Lewis and Clark, who, on June 14, 1805, viewed the lower part of this
fertile valley, from the bluffs near the upper falls of the Missouri
river. And Captain Lewis, on his way back from the Pacific slope, came
down the Medicine river valley and praised its beauty and the purity of
the waters in its streams.

The Sun river was then termed by the Indians the Medicine river. The
valley is sixty-five miles long. Its course is nearly east and west,
extending from the Missouri river to the base of the Rocky mountains,
while the river itself is twice that many miles, extending far into
the mountains. On the south side the bench and tablelands, that are
carpeted with luxurious grasses, extend for many miles; while on the
north the same kind of landscape reaches to the British possessions, a
distance of nearly 150 miles. The few old Indians that are now living
admit that the Rosebud and the Sun river regions have always been their
favorite hunting grounds; where game of all kinds was plentiful, summer
and winter alike. And today the same ranges are the most favored by the
herdsmen to graze their flocks and herds of domestic animals. It was
no wonder that the Indians fought desperately before giving up this,
“their favorite hunting grounds.”

The first thirty years of the last half century the Sun river, Teton
and Marias valleys were a great field for trappers and traders
belonging to the various fur trading companies, who, to a certain
extent, like our traveling men now-a-days, were soliciting trade for
their respective companies; consequently, many Indians would collect
at the same locality, bringing with them skins of different kinds,
buffalo robes, and other trinkets; these articles they exchanged for
Indian goods from the traders. These valleys had always been the home
of the Blackfeet nation, of which the Piegan tribe was one of the most
powerful.

The beautiful and fertile valley of the Sun river has been the scene
of many tragedies and bloody battles between Indians of different
tribes. On account of the shallow ford on the Missouri river, on the
east, giving the Crows easy access to the lower end of the valley, and
the Cadotte and Priest passes, in the main range of the Rockies on the
west, through which the Flatheads, Pend d’Oreilles and other warlike
tribes of the Pacific slope entered the upper end, the Blackfeet tribes
were always prepared for war.

The following story was written by Father De Smet, the great Indian
missionary, and who, I think, was the first to preach christianity
in what is now the state of Montana. Besides showing his success as
a missionary, it also shows the warlike character of the Blackfeet.
Father De Smet says:

[Illustration: FATHER DE SMET.

The first man who preached Christianity in what is now Montana.]

“In 1840 I visited the Blackfeet Indians, who, though they are a very
warlike tribe, received me with a kind welcome. On this occasion I gave
them a crucifix, merely explaining to them who Christ is, and how He
died on the cross for them, to bring them to heaven with Himself. Again
I paid them a visit in 1855, when I was still more warmly received and
welcomed; in fact, with every mark of affection. This greatly surprised
me, and I was going to ask the cause of it, when I was invited to a
council of all the warriors of the tribe. I went and soon found myself
in the presence of their great men, and of the chieftain himself, who
wore on his breast the crucifix I had given him years before. When I
was seated, you may guess my surprise and delight when he began his
harangue to me by begging me to send them black-gowns to teach them
the way to heaven. ‘Black-gown,’ said he, ‘we know that what you teach
us is true;’ and when I asked what had brought this conviction to their
minds, he told the following fact: ‘Three snows ago, Black-gown,’ said
he, ‘I and my warriors, thirty in all, went on the warpath against the
Crow Indians, our enemies, and we entered their territory. We knew
that the moment we entered their land we were beset with dangers,
and therefore we took every precaution to prevent our track being
discovered. Besides, when we camped for the night we built up a kind of
fortress of dead wood to protect us, in case of a surprise, from their
shots and arrows. Spite of all our care, the Crow Indians discovered
our trail, and during the dead of night surrounded us with a body very
much larger than ours, and then raised their wild warcry. We who were
within the enclosure, giving ourselves up for lost, began to sing
our death song, when I bethought myself of the crucifix which you,
Black-gown, gave me, and of the words you said. I saw there was no hope
but in it. Then I addressed my fellow warriors, and I said to them:
‘Trust in Him who died on the cross for us!’ and taking the crucifix I
held it aloft in my hands and prayed to the Great Spirit to save us. I
then kissed the crucifix and placed it on my head, and rubbed it over
my arms and breast, and gave it to my companions. They all did the
same. I took the crucifix in my hand and held it before me and told
them all to follow. I burst through the palisade, right in the midst
of the enemy, followed by all. Shots and arrows flew about us in every
direction, yet, Black-gown, owing to the power of Him whom we invoked,
we passed through unscathed, not even one of us being hurt. From that
moment we all longed to see the black-gown again.’”

Some time in the early fifties a bloody and desperate battle was
fought between the Blackfeet and Crows which decimated both tribes,
nearly half of the braves on each side being killed. Some of the
fortifications that were built by the Crows then are still visible.

An account of this bloody encounter was given by Little Plume, a Piegan
chief, to three old frontiersmen of the Sun river valley, James Gibson,
Judge Burcher and S. M. Carson, who at the time was on the staff of the
_Sun River Sun_, and in which paper the story was published December
25, 1884.

The chief says: “When I was a boy and had not yet gained a name for
myself in the annals of war, I was a witness to one of the hardest
fought battles ever waged in this valley. The chief of the Piegans and
a small party of his followers were encamped on the river near the
mountains, when one morning a deputation of Crows came in, praying
that a council be made, saying that they were tired of war and wished
to make a treaty that would insure peace between them for all time to
come. To the council the chief readily consented, and stated that on
the morrow everything would be in readiness to receive the Crow chief,
as their head men were not so far away but that they could be summoned
by that time. When the morrow came, the Crows and Piegans feasted
together for the first, and, as it proved to be, for the last time.
The council had proceeded without even so much as a sign of hostility
in the past, and as to the course to be pursued in the future, it
was to be one that would make the Crows and Blackfeet as one nation.
Everything had progressed to the satisfaction of all. The council had
adjourned to give place to feasting and dancing during the night, and
to give time so that Skoon-a-taps-e-guan, a medicine man who had not
arrived, might be present at the final agreement. The feasting had
been one round of pleasure from the first, and much good will had been
shown by both parties. Still the feast went on and “The Strong Man” had
not arrived. A few more stragglers from the Crow camp farther down the
valley now and then dropped in.

“With the assistance of a dog, the prying eyes of a Piegan woman found
among a bundle of moccasins that had been hidden in the snow a fresh
scalp, which, on closer inspection, proved to be that of a Piegan.
Fearing to cry out, lest they should but give the signal for a general
massacre, they quietly informed their chief of what they had found,
and the chief as wisely said nothing, but after a little he quietly
went out from the lodge, and, to his astonishment, he saw dangling
from the neck of a Crow the identical burning glass (sun glass) with
which the ‘Strong Man’ was wont to light his pipe. He knew then that
Skoon-a-taps-e-guan would never give his consent to a treaty of peace
with the Crows. Going back to the council, he told the Crows that
it would be impossible for him or his people to sign the treaty of
peace until the “Strong Man” had given his consent, and further, that
until such consent was given they would be considered enemies. Having
thus delivered himself, he walked out, being followed by several of
the leading men of both tribes, who inquired his reason for thus
breaking up the council. His only answer was to the Crows, whom he
told to go to their camp and prepare for war. The council having been
thus suddenly broken up by the Piegan chief, it was deemed by the
Crows necessary to put as great a distance between the two camps as
possible. They therefore hastily moved their camp down to the breaks,
some fifteen miles above where the village of Sun River now stands.
Here they threw up fortifications and prepared to meet the Piegans if
pursued. The Piegans, on the other hand, sent runners to the different
camps, informing them of the murder of their medicine man and of the
turn affairs had taken. By the time night came on the peaceful camp
was broken by the hurrying tramp of over a thousand war horses, each
carrying upon his back the sworn enemy of the Crows. The particulars of
the murder of Skoon-a-taps-e-guan had been learned by several of the
outside camps about the same time the chief discovered it. It seemed
that the “Strong Man” had received the summons and had immediately set
forth, accompanied by his assistant, and when within a few miles of
their destination they were suddenly attacked from behind whilst in the
act of lighting their pipes. The “Strong Man” received his death wound
from the first blow, but his companion was only stunned, from which
he recovered in time to see the murderous Crows hastily making off
with the scalp of his leader dangling from the saddle bow of a young
brave. Knowing that to stir or show any signs of life would be to bring
sudden death, he lay quiet for a long time, not even daring to raise
his hand to his aching head, from which the scalp had just been torn.
After lying in this position for a considerable time, he raised himself
to a sitting posture, from which he cautiously took in the situation,
and seeing no signs of the Crows, he immediately made off as fast as
his legs could carry him. Having arrived at the camp from which he and
his companion had so hopefully started in the morning, he told of the
tragedy in as few words as possible, and then fell exhausted on the
floor of the lodge. Runners were immediately sent to all the outlying
camps, informing them of what had happened, and ordering them to at
once repair to the camp of their chief. So rapidly does news travel
in an Indian country, that before darkness came on, several hundred
warriors were with their chief, as before stated.

[Illustration: LITTLE PLUME (Piegan Chief).]

“On the morrow the Piegan forces were largely augmented by these new
arrivals and the chief deemed it best to immediately move against the
Crows, who were reported by the scouts as being intrenched at what were
then called the “Breaks.” Every preparation having been made, the whole
force moved forward in one vast column. Soon they fell in with the
Crows and drove their outposts into their trenches, and then commenced
one of the most bloody battles ever fought between two nations having
a red skin. The Piegans, after fighting all that day and night, finally
succeeded in dislodging the enemy, who, early in the morning, began
to move off down the valley. After resting until evening, they again
started in pursuit, and overtook the Crows at what the white men now
call the “Middle Bridge,” which is about two miles below the town of
Sun River. Here, if you remember, a high point of bluff puts in close
to the river, affording great defensive advantages. This is where the
Crows made their second stand. Bright and early on the morning of the
third day, the Piegans moved forward, and, against the most fearful
odds, succeeded, just as night was coming on, in driving the Crows
out of their intrenchments; but, owing to the peculiar formation of
the bluffs at this point, it was of no great advantage, as the ground
immediately beyond was as well adapted to defense as that just lost.

“The Crows had again intrenched themselves, and when morning came,
yells of defiance answered the taunts of the Blackfeet. Both parties
had received such reinforcements that the combatants numbered 5,000 on
either side, each bent on the extermination of the other; and so near
did they accomplish this, that when the fight was over five hundred
Piegan warriors marked the spot where the fight was made. For two days
the fight continued, the Crows yielding but a little at a time. They
seemed to still have some hope of victory, but fate was against them.
Just across the river from where is now Robert Vaughn’s place, they
made their last stand. Here the hardest fighting was done, and when the
last charge was made by the Blackfeet the ground was literally piled
with killed and wounded of both tribes. The Piegans were so crippled by
the continuous battle that when the Crows broke from their cover and
retreated down the river and across the Missouri, they were satisfied
and made no effort at further pursuit. Although,” said Little Plume,
“it took the Blackfeet nation over twenty years to recover their
strength, Skoon-a-taps-e-guan was only partially avenged. As long as
there remains a Crow and Piegan, so long will there be war. When the
last Crow shall have been killed, then, and not till then, will the
‘Strong Man’ be avenged.”

Little Plume was one of the chiefs who were friendly to the whites.

In the fore part of July, 1876, when the Sioux war was going on, and
soon after the Custer massacre, the chiefs of the Piegans, Bloods
and Blackfeet were invited by the head men of the Sioux to an Indian
council held at Cypress mountain. Among the attendants was Chief Little
Plume. When the Yanktons and Santees, of the Sioux nation, proclaimed
a war of extermination against the whites, Little Plume would not
consent, thereby breaking up the council, thus saving the lives of many
settlers. Judge Burcher and Mr. John Largent, of Sun River, who have
lived in northern Montana since the early sixties, always speak highly
of Chief Little Plume, and at the time of his last visit he was treated
kindly by those gentlemen. Little Plume is now living on the Blackfoot
reservation, in this state, and holds the honorable post of lieutenant
of Indian police. He is about seventy-five years of age.

Several years later a great battle was fought where is now located the
Floweree ranch. I am not able to state who were the forces, except that
the Blackfeet and Piegans were on one side.

Some of the old employes of the fur trading companies, who are now
living, state that the old Indians who were living when they came here
about fifty years ago were telling them then that the Flatheads and
Blackfeet were often having great battles in the valley of the Sun
river. One of these long-ago encounters took place near where is now
Allick Pambron’s ranch; no one can tell who were the participants. All
that the oldest Indians who are now living can say as to the time this
battle was fought is that it was “heap long ago.” It must have been
in prehistoric times, for the arrows they used then had flint points,
for many of this kind of arrow points have been gathered on this old
battlefield. Mrs. McKalvy, who is one of Mr. Pambron’s daughters, told
me a few days ago that she and her little brothers used to pick up
these points off this historic spot, filling several tobacco sacks for
General Gibbon at Fort Shaw.

In 1858, and near where the Sun river irrigation channel is taken from
the river, an agency for the Blackfeet Indians was built. In 1866 the
same Indians killed its occupants and burned the agency.

In June, 1869, a party of Piegans had come to the Healy and Hamilton
trading store at Sun river crossing, with buffalo robes, pelts and furs
to trade. They had with them a great many horses. At the same time
there was a party of Pend d’Oreilles, whose home was west of the main
range, and who were on their way back from the Judith country, where
they had been hunting buffalo during the previous winter, and at this
time were in camp several miles down the river. One day many of the
Pend d’Oreilles were at the trading store. The Piegans suspected that
there would be trouble that night. They placed their horses in a corral
that was near J. J. Healy’s house. Sure enough, late in the night, the
Pend d’Oreilles made an attack, and, when breaking down the corral
where the horses were, a desperate battle was fought, lasting about
twenty minutes or more. Next morning seven dead Indians were found.
One, after he was shot, fell into the well. The Pend d’Oreilles stole
all the horses. The bullet holes in Healy’s old house can be seen at
the present time. The following night, while the Pend d’Oreilles were
in camp on Flat creek, the Piegans recaptured their own horses and many
more besides.

Another time a white man named Clark was killed near the Middle bridge
by two Indians; one of them was hung to a tree by the citizens, and
the other was shot while trying to escape. Not later than one week ago
Judge Burcher, of Sun River, stated to me that he and D. H. Churchill,
in 1874, were across the Missouri river, opposite the mouth of Sun
river, and on the slope of the hill near where now stands the south
side school house in the city of Great Falls. There they found four
dead Indians, lying not far from each other. By the beadwork designs on
their moccasins, the judge recognized that they were Piegans. Likely
they had been killed by the Crows.

A Frenchman was murdered by Indians on the Sun river, south of Presly
Rowles’ house.

“Little Dog,” a Piegan chief, who was friendly to the whites and lived
most of the time (up to his death in 1869) in the Sun river valley, had
built a low log cabin for himself and family where now is located the
Birkenbuell ranch. He was a man gifted with good sense and considerable
intelligence for an Indian, and was as brave as a lion. But at last he
was murdered by his own people.

The following was written by J. J. Healy and appeared in the Benton
_Record_ in regard to this noted warrior:

“It so rarely happens that an Indian is gifted with good, solid sense
that when one of this kind is born into the world he soon becomes a
prominent member of his tribe. Not that Indians as a race are wanting
in intelligence, but there are few whose intellect is sufficient to
overcome their brutish instincts or to understand that their habits and
mode of life are slowly but surely wiping them from the face of the
earth.

“Little Dog, the soldier chief of the Piegans, was one of the noted
exceptions to this rule. He was braver than the bravest member of his
tribe, a terror to his enemies, but always a devoted friend of the
whites. No doubt he inherited the universal feeling of his race that
the whites were his natural enemies and oppressors, but he had the good
sense to understand and acknowledge that they were the superior of his
people in all things and that entire submission to their rule could
only be a question of time. And these truths he endeavored to impress
upon the minds of his tribe, using arguments when his great oratorical
powers were likely to prevail, but adopting force when, in opposition
to his commands, the warriors committed the slightest depredation upon
the surrounding settlements.

“Little Dog had a son who was the father’s counterpart in personal
appearance, and also possessed the reckless courage and remarkable
intelligence of his parent. It is said, and I have personal knowledge
of more than one instance in proof of the assertion, that these two
men were, in deadly encounter, more than a match for ten of the best
warriors of the tribe, and such was the confidence felt in their skill
and prowess that a war party under their command would follow them into
the very jaws of death. I will relate one instance to show the sort of
stuff these two Indians were made of.

“A war party of Piegans, consisting of twenty well armed and mounted
men, had encountered six Assinaboines. The latter had taken shelter in
an Indian war house, a structure built of logs and affording a strong
and safe defense to those within. After fighting hard all day, the
Piegans were unable to take the fortifications, and would probably have
withdrawn from the contest after the sun went down. But towards evening
Little Dog and his son, attracted by the firing, came up, and learning
that the war house was defended by only six men, they laughed at
their own warriors, the Piegans, calling them cowards and squaws, and
without a moment’s hesitation dashed up to the fort in the face of a
deadly fire from those within, leaped over the logs, killed four of the
defenders, and dragged the remaining two by the hair out of the fort
and turned them over to the squaws to be put to death.

“It was no uncommon thing when a war party returned to camp with horses
or other property stolen from the whites for Little Dog and his son to
turn out with pistols and tomahawks in hand, and kill every one of the
thieves and then return the property to its rightful owners; but when
the offenders were too numerous to be punished, the two men would leave
the tribe and live together with the whites until the time the improved
conduct of the tribe appeased their anger.

“But the depredations of the Piegans gradually became more frequent, in
spite of the efforts of the chief to prevent them, and finding at last
that his threats and punishments failed to have the desired effect, he
came to Fort Benton to consult with the agent as to the best course to
be pursued. Gad E. Upson was then agent for the Piegans and the agency
was located on Front street. The chief told his story and was advised
by the agent not to kill the offenders, but to arrest them and bring
them to Fort Benton and that he would punish them.

“In compliance with this advice, Little Dog and his son arrived in town
one day with a prisoner who had stolen some horses from the whites.
‘Hang him, shoot him; do anything you please with him,’ said the chief.
‘I can do nothing with him.’

“But however much the tribe feared the great chief and his son, they
were not willing to submit to this sort of treatment, and no sooner
had the prisoner been turned over to the whites than they concocted a
scheme to rid themselves of these dreaded men.

“While returning to camp, after delivering up the prisoner, the party,
who had provided themselves with a good supply of whisky, halted near
the river bank to rest and have a social time. The plotters, headed
by a half-breed named Isadore, suggested that as they were liable
to get drunk, they had better put away their arms to provide against
accidents. Little Dog and his son gave up their weapons without
hesitation, and the boy left the party to indulge in a bath in the
river.

“The spree then began. After the cowardly plotters had nerved
themselves sufficiently for the bloody work, they secretly recovered
their weapons and then began to quarrel with the chief. The latter,
with his usual intrepidity, replied to their sneers and insults with
contemptuous epithets, and finally brought the quarrel to a climax by
kicking three of them over the river bank. The cowards then opened fire
upon the defenseless chief and he fell riddled with bullets. Meanwhile
the son, attracted by the noise, left the water and came to the
assistance of his father. He was shot down four times, but reached the
spot where his father laid and fell dead upon his body.”

Many other skirmishes have taken place between Indians of different
tribes in this vicinity, of which I shall make no mention, and, as
Chief Little Plume said: “As long as there remains a Crow and Piegan,
so long will there be war.”

One more instance to confirm this statement I wish to refer to. It was
in 1874. There were six of us working on an irrigation ditch near the
bank of the Sun river, two miles from Fort Shaw, and on the opposite
side of the river. One day, when we were eating our dinner that was
spread on the sod, and near to the edge of the woods which grew thick
on both sides of the stream, suddenly twelve Crow warriors rode up on
us. They wanted to know how far up the valley the Piegan camp was. It
appeared that the Piegans had been stealing some of their horses. Not
satisfied with the information they sought for, they dismounted and
began to take possession of our dinner. One of the Indians reached for
my coffee, which was in a tin cup; just then I gave him a shove which
landed him on his back on the ground, but he took it in good humor.
Another one grabbed Tom Cristy’s tin plate which contained his dinner.
Tom, being always a daring fellow, jumped to his feet and slapped the
Indian in the face; it was no fun for this Indian. He gave a savage
look, ground his teeth and tried to swear in English. His face, which
was already red with war paint, began to get still redder. By this
time indications were that there was going to be a general fight. At
this juncture I invited the leader of the party to come with me, and
told him I would direct him to where the Piegan camp was. He followed
me up a steep hill, to the elevation of about two hundred feet, and
in plain view of Fort Shaw, and, as it happened, a small squadron of
soldiers were preparing for target practice. There, said I, pointing
at the fort, is the Piegan camp. The Indian stared for a moment, then
his jaw dropped like the lower half of a bellows, and I fancy that his
complexion became nearer like that of a pale face than it ever was
before. They spared no time in going down the valley as fast as their
horses could carry them, and crossed the Missouri river at the ford
near the place now spanned by the Great Northern railway bridge. They
did not get any dinner either.

Evidently they did not know of the close proximity of Fort Shaw, for at
this time they were away from their home and in the Blackfeet country.

All this goes to show that the Blackfeet nation and Crows were always
enemies. Of course, “now” they are on their respective reservations,
and are taught the principle of “Love thy neighbor as thyself.”

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Oct. 20, 1898.

CHARLES CHOQUETTE COMING TO MONTANA IN 1843.

The following sketch, from Charles Choquette, appeared in the New York
Sun in the summer of 1899. Mr. Choquette says:

“My home was in the state of Missouri, near St. Louis. One day in 1843,
when I was twenty years old, I went to St. Louis, and, against the will
of my parents, hired to Pierre Choteau, who was the head man of a fur
trading company that operated on the upper Missouri river. A few days
after signing articles with the company I was put in charge of a crew
to take Mackinaw boats loaded with goods to trade with the Indians. Our
destination was Fort Union, which was a trading post belonging to the
company to whom I hired. The distance from St. Louis to Fort Union is
about two thousand miles. As oars were of little service, the big boat
had to be towed nearly all the way. First on one side and then on the
other, tugging on a rope, at times up to our waists in chilly water,
and at other times forcing our way through brush that grew thick on the
banks of the stream. After seventy-two days of hardships and dangers,
we arrived safely at Fort Union, which was near the mouth of the
Yellowstone river.

“It was not long before I and others were sent out along the various
streams and into the mountains to trap fur-bearing animals that were
very plentiful then. Many trappers had been killed by Indians, and
others were continually robbed by them. It was not until I finally
married a Blackfoot woman and traveled about with the tribe that I felt
reasonably safe of getting my season’s catch of furs to the company
posts. For several years after I arrived at Fort Union I went with one
or two companions each season up the Milk river to the Snowys or the
Little Rockies, and about half of the time the Indians stole our furs.
The first big catch I made was the time I met Jim Bridger, the great
trapper, hunter and scout, and one of the bravest men that ever lived.
Now I will tell how it happened that we met.

“In the spring of 1848 we returned to Fort Union and we had only the
few beaver we caught coming down the river. We had wintered up on the
Fourchette, and the Assinaboines had raised our cache. We worked around
the fort all summer, hunting for the company, and finally the time came
for us to start out for another season’s trapping. There were three of
us--Antoine Busette, Louis La Breche and myself. All summer we had been
trying to decide on the best place to go, where there would be plenty
of beaver and where we would be likely to be safe from the Indians.
We concluded to try the country of the Yellowstone. There were many
Indians to pass--Cheyennes and Crows and Snakes--besides the chance of
war parties of other tribes, but once in the mountains beyond these
people who always hunted on the plains, we felt we would be safe. We
played Indian ourselves and traveled nights, hiding in some good place
during the daytime.

“We left the fort late in August. Each of us had a saddle horse and two
pack horses. Our outfit was simple; a couple of skillets and pots, a
little bedding, an Indian lodge for shelter, a couple of axes, three
dozen traps, and plenty of ammunition and tobacco. Having crossed the
Missouri just below the mouth of the Yellowstone, we struck out over
the rolling prairie, keeping far enough back from the latter stream
to head its long coulees and breaks. None of us had ever been up the
Yellowstone, but we had obtained a general idea of the country from
the Indians who visited the fort. On every side there were buffalo and
antelopes in countless thousands, from which we could have selected
a fat one for our breakfast, but there was no water, and we were as
thirsty as we were hungry; so we kept wearily on towards some wooded
breaks a long ways ahead, where water as well as game was sure to be
found. When we got within a mile of our destination, a dozen or more
horsemen suddenly rose up out of the valley and came straight at us.
Our hearts sunk; it seemed as if we had jumped out of the frying pan
into the fire. Our horses were played out; we could not retreat, and
were preparing to dismount and fight the best we knew how when we
discovered that the strangers were white men. We had never expected to
meet anything but Indians in that wild country. On they came, a big,
strong, broad shouldered, flaxened-haired, and blue-eyed man in the
lead, riding as fine a saddle animal as I ever saw. They were now quite
close; they came within a few paces and stopped.

“‘How?’ exclaimed the big man.

“‘How, how,’ we exclaimed, shaking hands with him in turn.

“‘Who are you?’ he asked, ‘free trappers?’

“‘No,’ I replied, ‘we belong to the Company. And you?’

“‘My name is Bridger,’ he said, ‘Jim Bridger. Maybe you’ve heard of me.’

“We had. There wasn’t a man west of the Mississippi river who did not
know him or know of him, for he was the greatest hunter, trapper, and
Indian fighter of us all. As we rode along with him and his men to
their camp, we told of Indians we had seen the day before, and advised
Bridger to move at once, as there was a big camp in the vicinity. He
laughed, and just then we came to the edge of the valley, and, with a
sweep of his hand, he said: ‘Does that look much like running?’

“It didn’t; around a number of small fires his band of white
men--eighty in all, as we afterwards learned--were whiling away the
time, smoking, cooking, cleaning guns, and mending clothes.

[Illustration: ALONE IN THE ROCKIES.]

“‘No,’ said Bridger, as he noticed our astonishment, ‘we only move when
we get ready to, and God help the Indian outfit that tries to stop us.
We’ve fought our way out here and we can fight some more.’

“This was Bridger’s first trip into the Yellowstone country, he having
before always trapped south of it. He told us that he left St. Louis
in July and had fought his way through the country of the Sioux, the
Pawnee, the Cheyenne, and the Crow, and that he intended to winter
wherever he could find a good fur country. Well, we joined in with him
and next day moved westward. It was on the Little Big Horn that we met
him, and did not think that twenty-six years later our soldiers would
be killed by the Indians there. We traveled on up the Yellowstone for
a number of days until we came to the mountains, where, on a little
tributary of the river, we built some cabins, got everything in shape
for the winter, and then spread out over the country, each one for
himself, in search of beaver and other furs. Bridger was sick nearly
all winter, but kept doctoring himself with various roots he found and
along towards spring recovered his health. He was unable to do any
trapping himself, but his men got a big pile of fur, beaver, otter,
fisher and marten, of which he owned a share. It was his intention to
turn his furs over to the American Fur Company and get drafts for them
on St. Louis, so when spring came we all packed up and started for the
nearest post, which was Fort Cotten, situated on the Missouri river
about forty miles below the Falls.

“We crossed the Yellowstone and swung up into the Musselshell country,
trapping leasurely along the way, and by the time we reached the point
of the Snowy mountains our animals, even the saddle horses, were so
heavily loaded with furs and skins that they could carry no more. At
that time of the year beaver trapping was at its best and they were so
numerous that every one of us hated to quit. So we made a big cache of
our furs, each one putting a tag with his name on his bundle. Three
men were then sent to the fort to notify the company to come and haul
in the furs, and the rest of us continued on our course, skirting the
foot of the Snowy, the Judith and the Belt mountains. I never saw
beaver more plentiful, and it was not long before our horses were again
well laden. It was in the latter part of April that we came to the
Missouri river, exactly where the city of Great Falls stands to-day.
All the morning we had seen occasional Indians riding and dodging about
ahead of us, and finally we came to the bank of the Missouri, opposite
the mouth of Sun river and could look up that valley for quite a
distance and we were not surprised to see a string of lodges scattered
along the edge of the timber as far as the eye could reach. ‘Bridger,’
says I, ‘those are surely Blackfeet and we’ve got to fight them.
Don’t you think we had better find a better place to camp than this
unprotected flat?’

“‘No,’ he replied, ‘this is good enough for us. If they come at us here
I reckon they’ll get their bellyful of trouble.’

“I said no more, and we went into camp beside the river, at the upper
end of the flat on which the city is built. Night came on and the
horses were all brought in, hobbled, and staked close to the river,
and we made our beds in a circle about them, each one piling his furs,
saddles, and whatever he had at the head of his couch as a sort of
breast-work. Double guards were put on and betimes the rest of us
turned in. I don’t think many of us slept much at first and the time
seemed to pass slowly. At midnight the sentries were changed, Bridger
himself taking a turn. It was just daylight when the air was filled
with whoops, yells and the high-keyed war song of about 400 Indians, as
they charged down upon us from all directions.

“‘Don’t get excited, boys, and be sure of your aim. Take it easy, now,’
Bridger hollered out.

“Well, ‘twas good advice, and we did our best, but I tell you the sight
of 400 yelling, painted and feathered Indians coming down on you just
as fast as their horses could run was mighty trying to one’s nerves.
I guess they expected to find us asleep and to stampede our horses in
the first round. But when our rifles began to crack and some of them
began tumbling out of their saddles, they were more surprised than we,
and they turned and wheeled off. Some of them tried to pick up their
dead, but we made it too hot for them. One fellow, who had his horse
shot under him as he was trying this, lit out, running, and I guess as
many as a dozen bullets struck him at once. He tumbled all in a heap.
They had done some shooting, too, and two of our men were dead and one
wounded. Besides that, some of our horses had been shot. We could count
eleven Indians lying out on the plain here and there, and some of the
boys started out to scalp them, and did get the hair off several of the
nearest ones. But that brought the others back again, and for a while
we had another exciting time, as some of the bravest came right at
us. If the rest had followed them it would have been all day with us;
but they didn’t have the nerve, and of those who did attempt to close
in on us few got away. One great, tall fellow had his horse shot from
under him and when he struck the ground he made for Bridger, holding a
wicked-looking war club in his right hand and a knife in the other. His
gun was empty and he had thrown it away.

“Bridger just laughed as he saw him come, and he motioned us to let
him alone. His gun was empty, too, but he had a pistol in his left. He
wouldn’t use that, though. When they met the Indian aimed a blow at him
with his war club, but Bridger caught it on the barrel of his rifle and
it flew away off to one side. Then the Indian tried to knife him, but
Bridger just punched him with his rifle barrel, so the fellow couldn’t
close in, and all of a sudden he hit him square in the forehead and
smashed his skull just as cool and easy as could be. We all saw this
out of the tail of our eyes, you may say, for we were pretty busy on
our own account for a while. But our rifles and good shooting were
too much for the Indians, and we made them draw off once more, having
killed a lot of them and they only one of our party. We thought then
that they had got enough of it and would go away. About 10 o’clock,
however, they charged once more, but they didn’t come with half the
spirit they had previously shown, and in a few minutes they left us for
good and recrossed the river at the ford below. That afternoon we saw
them break camp and move up Sun river towards the mountains. They had
left forty-seven of their number on the plains before us.”

I have known Mr. Charles Choquette for twenty-nine years. He formerly
lived in the Sun river valley and was engaged in farming and stock
raising there for several years. He has always been considered one of
our best citizens.

The home of Mr. Choquette at the present time is in Teton county in
Northern Montana at the foot of the “Rockies,” not far from the Great
Northern railroad. He is still a prosperous farmer and stock raiser. He
is seventy-six years old, but hale and hearty. Although having roughed
it fifty-seven years in the “Rockies,” few men twenty years his junior
can keep up with him in climbing mountains and riding horseback. I do
not know of one white person who is as old a citizen of what is now the
State of Montana as Charles Choquette.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Great Falls, Mont., Jan. 15, 1900.

A TRIP TO THE TWENTY-EIGHT-MILE SPRING STATION.

In the fall of 1872 I made a contract with Gov. Pollinger, the manager
of the Wells-Fargo stage line between Fort Benton and Helena, to
furnish firewood to the Leaving and the Twenty-Eight-Mile Spring
Stations. It was in the month of November that I delivered the wood to
the latter place. My teams were six yoke of oxen and two wagons coupled
together. The days were getting short, therefore I had to leave the
ranch very early in the morning to get through in one day, for the oxen
were very slow. Besides I had on the two wagons five cords of wood,
which made a heavy load, and I had to travel through unsettled country
all the way. I left home about two hours before daylight. The air was
cold and frosty; I was watching anxiously for the sun to rise. Before
long the eastern sky was colored by the beautiful Montana sunrise, soon
the top of the mountains was the color of gold, and by the time I was
crossing the first ridge the bright sunshine was at my feet. It was on
this morning that I first saw the sun, moon and stars at the same time,
for there was not a cloud in the sky. I stopped at the lakes for two
hours to rest and graze the cattle, and to eat my lunch; then I yoked
the oxen and started on my journey. After I had gone about two miles
I discovered some Indians peeping over a small hill and apparently
watching me, and as I came nearer they made their appearance for the
second time and made a rush for the road a few hundred yards ahead of
me. There were sixteen of them, all on foot; they had ropes and were
well armed with bow and arrows and five had guns; apparently they were
equipped for a horse-stealing expedition. Likely it was good for me
that I had cattle and not horses. One Indian started towards me. I
quickly got my gun ready and this one lifted up his hand and gave the
sign that they were good Indians. He came and met me and offered his
hand, at the same time saying, “Me good Indian,” I shook hands with
him, while at the same time I had my gun in the other hand. I did not
stop the oxen, but kept them going and at the same time speaking to
the Indian. He walked close to my side, and as we came to the other
Indians he ordered them one by one to shake hands with me; after we
got through shaking hands they all followed me. The first Indian still
kept walking close to my left, as the cattle were on my right. I became
suspicious of him that he might be waiting for an opportunity to grab
my gun, which I had in my right hand; I kept an eye on this Indian
and a firm grip on the gun. I had the whip in my other hand and now
and then made a ringing crack at the oxen, for then I could use the
“bull whip” to perfection. And as I was driving the oxen and calling
them by their names the other Indians were walking promiscuously, some
behind the wagons and others opposite to me and on the other side of
the cattle. They would repeat the names of the oxen after me. It was
not long before they knew the names of them all, especially Tom and
Jerry, the leaders, and would laugh every time I would speak the name
of the off wheeler, which was “Chief.” I could not get them to tell
why they were following me, but would make signs that they were going
to cross the Missouri river to the Crow country. Some of them inclined
to be ugly and spiteful, acting as if they wanted to make me angry.
At one time one of them came from behind and gave me a shove and then
ran; as he was getting away I gave him a crack with the whip; then the
others would laugh and wanted me to run after him, but I stayed with
the outfit, for I could see that they had some bad motive in view.
Already they had traveled five or six miles with me, and by this time
it was dark and I had several miles yet to go. It is true that I had
lots of company to make the time short, but somehow at that time of
the night, considering the complexion of my companions, I would rather
have been left alone with but the cattle. When on top of the hill two
miles from the station I stopped the oxen and told the Indians to get
on top of the loads, for the balance of the way was down grade; in an
instant they were on, and this was the first time that my left-hand
bower deserted me; he was the first one to get on. When I spoke to the
oxen and called on Tom and Jerry and the wagons began to move, all the
Indians began to sing, and they kept up the concert until I stopped to
unyoke the oxen at the station. It was fun for me to listen to their
singing. Some of them humming, others barked like a fox or wolf, but
they managed to keep good time and the chords were excellent; the ones
that were humming would be half an octave or an octave lower than the
barkers, or vice versa. I really enjoyed their singing as well they
enjoyed the ride. By the time I had the yokes off the cattle I could
not see an Indian. Now it was 9 o’clock and very dark, for the moon
was not yet up. I had to drive the oxen to a spring, which was about a
quarter of a mile off, for I knew they were very thirsty. In about half
an hour I was back and got my roll of bedding off the wagon and went
to the stable. Here I found the Indians peeping through the windows
and cracks to see if any one was in. The stableman was there alone;
the room where he cooked and slept joined the stable. He was scared
nearly to death, for he had not been there long and had not seen many
Indians; beside I was a stranger to him. It was some time before I
could persuade him to let me in to spread down my blankets. Dutch Jake,
the man who kept the station, was on the Teton, hunting buffaloes.
The Indians were hungry, tired and cold. I took them to an empty cabin
which was near by; the door was locked, but I took the window out. I
went in and the Indians after me. Inside of the cabin we found six
quarters of fresh buffalo meat with the hide on. The cabin had a good
fireplace, and they soon had a fire. I told them to take a quarter of
the meat; that it belonged to my friend, and that I would settle for
it. I went back to the stable; the hostler had hot coffee, good bread,
and plenty of fried buffalo steak for me, and I ate a hearty supper.

[Illustration: A FRONTIERSMAN IN HIS BUCKSKIN SUNDAY SUIT.]

After supper we both went to see how the Indians were getting along,
and they, too, were eating broiled buffalo meat and having a good time.
I got up very early the next morning, but the Indians were not to be
seen. Several years afterwards I met some of those Indians, and they
always remembered me.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Jan. 28, 1898.

JOHN LARGENT’S EARLY DAYS IN MONTANA.

Friend Vaughn: As per your request I give you the following sketch of
my early days in what is now the State of Montana:

I hired out to the American Fur Company in the spring of 1862 at
St. Louis, Mo., to go to Fort Benton at the head of navigation on
the Missouri river. My pay was to be $19.50 per month, including
board. I had a friend and companion by the name of Thomas
Mitchell, who concluded to undergo the dangers and hardships of
the three-thousand-mile trip and go with me. We took passage on a
steamboat called the Spread Eagle and landed in Fort Benton ninety days
afterwards; and I assure you these days were not spent in picnicking.
The adventures had, the trials encountered, the hardships endured
cannot be detailed in the limited space alloted for this sketch. I
can only say that, while we took passage on the boat named above, it
did not carry us all the way to Fort Benton by any means; in fact,
the reverse happened; we tugged and carried it much of the distance.
We stayed in Fort Benton during the remainder of the summer. There
were no buildings in Benton at that time except the fort. Our time
was occupied principally in repairing adobe buildings about the post.
Andrew Dawson was chief in charge of affairs. Major Culbertson, who
held some interest in the company, and who, with his wife, had made
the trip from St. Louis with us, was here. About twenty-four white men
comprised the entire force at the fort, and, as far as I could learn,
it was fully half the white population of what is now known as Northern
Montana. Matters and things had changed very materially since I had
quit civilization in the “states,” but I soon adjusted myself to the
situation.

The Indian tribes who came here to trade were North Bloods, Mountain
Crows, Blackfeet and Piegans. Coffee and tea were sold to them at one
dollar per pint in trade; tobacco, five to eight dollars per pound.
Major George Steell, now so well known throughout Montana, and who was
for several years the agent at the Blackfeet Agency, was then one of
the trusted employes of the company. In the fall of 1862 he was sent
to the mouth of the Musselshell river to build and superintendent
afterwards a new trading post to be called Fort Andrews. Steell took me
with him and was the means of having my wages raised from the before
stated salary of $19.50 to $40 per month. I said Mr. Steell took me
with him; this is incorrect, inasmuch as he sent me and my friend
Mitchell overland with the horses while he himself and eight other
men went down the river in a Mackinaw boat, carrying the goods and
provisions. I remember the names of some of the men were as follows:
W. R. Teasdale (Col. Spikes), James Chambers, William Oliver, Unica and
John Wren; the three others I have forgotten.

In order that you may understand the hardships and privations endured
by Mitchell and myself on this overland trip I will state that we were
provided with a gun each. I had a muzzle-loading rifle; Mitchell had
an old flintlock. In the way of provisions we had a few hardtacks and
a small quantity of salt. There were no matches at that time to be had
here. In place of them we used “flint rock,” a piece of steel and gun
powder. We reached our destination after being out four days and five
nights. A detailed description of this trip would make an interesting
sketch, but let us pass on to scenes more familiar to me.

After arriving we at once went to work building the post and other
winter quarters. A house was first erected to live in, then a stockade
surrounding it. Our provisions and ammunition ran short during the
winter, and after that we subsisted partly on wolf meat; these animals
we caught with traps; other diet I think of now was corn. A lot of this
had been brought there to trade with the Indians; it was all disposed
of, but the mice had carried some of it into their burroughs. This we
found and dug out and ground it in a coffee mill into meal and made
bread of it. The mice had eaten the kernel or heart out of this corn
and it was strongly impregnated with mice pepper, but the bread fitted
pretty well in our hollow stomachs. The Indians were very troublesome,
and great care had to be taken to preserve our lives and property.
Much of my time was engaged as hunter to secure meat for the men at
the post. The post was enclosed with a stockade made of logs. At one
corner there was a large gate. From the time I would be sent out to
hunt, a man was placed on the outside of this gate to open it at once
in case I should be run in by the Indians. I have had some close calls
for my life on these occasions. One day I went out in the hills to
slay some buffaloes, for we needed meat. I saw a large herd feeding
and started to approach them when suddenly I heard and saw the whole
herd stampeding. I rode up on a hill to better view the situation. I
discovered that Indians were on both sides of me and buffaloes in front
of me, and all running towards me. I saw that my only chance for life
was to flee ahead of the buffaloes, and spurring my horse ahead of
them, I went. The Indians discovered my intentions and tried to head me
off, but by this time the herd had me surrounded and the Indians could
not reach me. Finally I reached a descending bluff that separated the
herd and over which myself and horse tumbled, but, again with myself
in the saddle and the horse on his feet I kept going, the dust that
was created had the effect of hiding me from view of the Indians long
enough to reach the fort and get behind the gate. The horse that I rode
on this occasion was the property of Charles Carson, one of the famous
Kit Carson’s family. Charles was killed some time afterwards by the
Indians at Dearborn river.

I had another close call for my life by the Indians while at this
fort. Bill Oliver (known as “Canada Bill”) and myself went out one day
to rustle for meat. Elk and deer were plentiful at that time. We had
reached a point ten miles from the fort, and were on the lookout for
game, also Indians. We saw Indians first and lost our interest in game.
The Indians were on foot and we could easily have escaped from them on
our horses, but Oliver mistook them for “friendlies” and would not run
away. The Indians were coming towards us, running and yelling, when I
said to Oliver “turn your horse and run!” He replied: “No, I shall not
do it; these are friendly Piegans.” I said: “Go to the devil, then; I
am going to get out of this sage brush.” I had an unbroken colt, and
when I tried to move him I found he would not leave Oliver’s horse.
I struck at him with a small hatchet I had in my hand at the time;
missing the horse my left hand caught the blow and it nearly severed
one of my fingers. The Indians soon reached us, but they proved to be
Bloods, a savage band, and out skirmishing for easy prey. Bill shook
hands with the red devils and said, “how! how!” but he was deceived,
for they were on the war path and we were in imminent danger of being
murdered by them at any moment. After taking my horse, gun and knife
they held council for a few minutes, during which time they kept
looking at me. I could understand by the signs they made that I was
considered to be an important capture, while my partner Bill was not in
it, so to speak. I well remember of ruminating on my chances of ever
again being set at liberty. I observed upon counting that there were
twenty-seven Indians of the party.

A movement forward was finally made. Three of the ugly devils had
gotten astride my colt, and two on Bill’s horse, he being allowed to
ride with them, while I was made to walk. The party marched single file
and kept me near the center of the column. My anxiety as to the object
of our capture was quieted somewhat when I discovered we were moving up
the river and towards the fort.

The Indians soon after got tired of packing my gun, fired the charge
out and made me pack it. Night soon came on and they camped near some
dead timber and made a series of fires in one grand circle and one in
the center. I was told that the center one was for me. I took a seat on
the ground, and to all outward appearances was at home; but there was
an inward awkward feeling that belied it. My friend Oliver was allowed
certain freedom to move about, but I was carefully guarded; however,
I was not roasted, as they threatened. During the evening no supper
was eaten; and I must confess I did not sleep very well that night.
The next morning an Indian brought me a small piece of raw meat and
gave me a pointed stick to reach out over the fire and cook my meat
on. My wounded finger was paining me some now, the excitement having
subsided somewhat. Soon after daylight we started on the move again,
the imps still keeping a close watch on me. During all this journey we
were heading towards the fort; this action was a query to me, and I
marveled much what it meant. We finally halted within about two miles
of the fort, and there I learned that I was being held for ransom, and
that the object in going there was to offer the American Fur Company
my freedom for a certain consideration. The Indians sent Oliver with
two of the party to the fort to state the terms, which were a quantity
of blankets, coffee, tea and tobacco. George Steell soon came out
and paid them what they asked and I was again at liberty. I thus
became indebted to the company for quite a sum of money, for it must
be remembered that these goods were very expensive here at that time.
However, I was glad to get back to the fort once more; but I was mad at
those Indians and have not yet forgiven them for the manner in which
they treated me.

A PECULIAR INCIDENT.

In connection with this story, and while held here in the hands of the
Indians, and about the time Steell arrived with my value in goods,
another white man was captured and brought into the Indian camp. This
man was none other than Nels Kies, the prospector, who is known to have
discovered and worked a gold mine somewhere in the lower country, and
but a short time after this occurrence, and who, to the disappointment
of many, was killed by the Indians before the location of his mines was
made known. Our honored citizen, John Leply, and others were interested
in this discovery, but on account of Kies being killed the mines never
have been found. It may be that the “Nels Kies lost mines” are in the
vicinity of Fort Andrews. Kies was allowed to go to the fort with us,
but remained only a short time when he departed alone, stating that he
was going to his camp.

We had a number of scraps with the Indians at this post. They came
in once ostensibly to trade, but in reality to clean us out. George
Steell, who was in the trading house, discovered their intentions and
calling the boys to arms checked them before they started to murder us.

At the time of which I speak the Gros Ventres and Mountain Crows
were at war with each other, and their battle grounds were near Fort
Andrews. In one battle fought here it was estimated that one-fourth of
the warriors on each side were killed. One morning, just at daylight,
an alarm was given, and someone shouted: “Hostile Indians in the
corral!” All rushed out at once and discovered a party of Indians and
one of them leading away my favorite saddle horse. I forced my way
forward and took hold of the rope attached to the animal’s neck and
made a sign to the Indian that I loved that horse and would not part
with him without trouble. He said that he was going to keep him and
motioned me to let go of the rope. I refused. He then strung his bow
and pointed the arrow at my breast. I still held on to the rope and
told him that he might kill me, for I would not give up my horse. He
then struck me in the breast with an arrow, cutting me quite freely, so
much so that I felt the blood running down my body. I then let go of
the rope, mentally resolved that if I ever got an opportunity I would
make a good Indian out of that fellow. He was killed about two years
after this by one of a party of white men out hunting for Crows.

A BEAR STORY.

My friend Mitchell, having made up his mind to return to his home in
Illinois, desired to kill a bear before leaving the West, and I was
very anxious that his wish should be gratified and sought every means
to aid him to get his bear. One morning a splendid opportunity came
for this. I discovered a bear passing down a trail close to the fort.
I hustled my friend outside the enclosure. A tree had fallen near the
trail mentioned, and to it I piloted Mitchell, who, while in hiding
there, was instructed to shoot the bear at close range and in a vital
part which I pointed out was directly behind the shoulder. Watching
Mitchell, I gave the word to fire and at the same time shot at the
bear myself, fearing his shot might not be a deadly one. The bear fell,
growling and roaring in the underbrush. I then asked Mitchell where he
hit him, and he said in the heart. I then proceeded to reload my gun
and requested him to do the same, and when he did so, he discovered his
gun cocked and still charged--he had not fired it off at all. I was
mortified over this because I wanted the boy to at least think he had
killed a bear and be able to tell the story when he arrived home. The
following sketch will show, however, that this was all useless, for he
never again met the loved ones at home:

About the first day of August, 1863, there came a Mackinaw boat down
the river from Fort Benton with a party composed of fourteen men, one
woman and her two children. These people had come overland from the
Frazier river mines, by the way of Bannock, and had in their possession
a considerable quantity of gold. At Benton they built their boat. The
party stayed with us for several days making some repairs. The men
built breastworks on the boat for protection against Indian attacks.
During this time the lady and her children stayed in the fort. My
friend Mitchell, who, as before mentioned, being homesick, determined
to return with the party. He used much persuasion to induce me to
return with him. The risk of losing one’s life in going or remaining
was equally great, and I chose to stay where I was. So we separated.

One bright morning they bade us good bye and the little craft started
on its long voyage down the Missouri river, with all on board jolly and
happy. Five days afterwards we received news of the massacre of the
entire party by the devilish Sioux Indians. It was never revealed to
the whites just how it was done. A half-breed Indian reported at Fort
Berthold the finding of the bodies horribly mutilated, the remains
of the men laying on a sand bar with their feet in the water; having
been placed there by the Indians; the woman was found hanging by the
chin, hooked on the limb of a tree, and the children, one on each
side of the mother, hanging the same way. The Indians apparently knew
nothing of the value of gold, for they had cut the buckskin sacks
containing it and strewn it all about the bar. Some of it was gathered
up by half-breeds and taken into Forts Randall and Berthold some time
afterwards.

Jerry Potts, a half-breed Indian, who lived and worked with us at Fort
Andrews, started out with a companion one day to go to Fort Gilpin, a
trading post at the mouth of Milk river. The Indians got after them and
they retreated and came back to the fort. Potts was carrying a powder
horn which was pierced by an arrow thrown by an Indian while they were
retreating, the horn saving him from being killed. Some time after this
we got orders from Fort Benton to move to this post and a boat was sent
to us to transport our goods down the Missouri river from Fort Andrews
to Fort Gilpin. I had orders to take charge of the boat and send our
horses overland in charge of two of the men. The boat crew was to be
provided with firearms, including a small cannon, which were to be used
in case of attack by foes. After we got the goods on board and ready to
start, I found that none of the men would take the horses on account
of the danger of being taken in by the Indians, so I was compelled to
make the overland trip myself. I selected Chambers to accompany me,
and Colonel Spikes to take charge of the boat crew and about seventeen
thousand dollars’ worth of goods, and he holloed “all aboard for
Gilpin,” and moved away. Chambers and myself soon after started for
the same point overland. We traveled mostly by night, under cover of
darkness, in order to avoid the Indians stealing our horses and killing
us.

We succeeded very well until the last night out, when we left the hills
about twenty miles west of Fort Gilpin to go to some timber near a
point then called Dry Fork, now called Big Dry. I took the lead and
Chambers brought up the rear. Soon I heard a dog barking, saw a dim
light in the distance and in front of us, I concluded at once we were
running into a nest of Indians. I gave Chambers the danger signal (a
smothered whistle sound); this he returned, and, turning around, we
retraced our route back to the hills and then made a circle around the
Indians undiscovered by them, arriving at Fort Gilpin just at daybreak.
While at breakfast, soon afterwards we heard the report of a cannon,
and knew at once that our boat was near by; that the men on board were
attacked by Indians, and that a fight was on. The very Indians that
Chambers and myself avoided were at that time in hiding, waiting to
capture this boatload of goods. As we subsequently learned they got
these goods without much fighting, and, of course, all the blame for
the loss of them was thrown on me, by the owners, just because I did
not do as instructed or as was expected of me, which was to stay with
the goods. It seems the party was attacked while moving along in the
boat and the men ran it to land, took the cannon out and fired one
shot at the redskins, then ran to the brush near by. The Indians,
being satisfied with their capture of the goods, did not follow them,
and they reached the fort unharmed, except a few scratches received
in the scramble to get away from danger. I remember we all stood at
the gate watching eagerly to learn the outcome of the fight, when,
suddenly, a man came out of the willows; he was hatless and his hair
stood pompadour, one foot shoeless and his clothes torn in strips. This
was Colonel Spikes; following him came the six others before mentioned.
They reported that a large party of Indians, probably a hundred and
fifty strong, had attacked them with results as stated above. Our
force was too small to go out and fight them, so we stayed in the fort
until they left. We then went out and found that all there was left of
seventeen thousand dollars’ worth of goods was the cannon. The Indians
had taken away, and otherwise destroyed, everything else. The robes
and furs were thrown into the river and the other goods carried away.
Major Dawson was coming up along the river from Fort Berthold with an
extra wagon train of goods bound for Fort Benton. Chambers and myself
went out and met him, and Chambers informed him of the loss of the
goods. Dawson looked at me and said: “Where in hell were you, John?” I
explained to him that I was compelled to bring the horses, as no one
else would do it. He said: “That accounts for the loss of seventeen
thousand dollars’ worth of goods and not a man killed,” and he added:
“If you had stayed with the goods they would not have been lost.”

We joined the men with the train here and went up the Milk river part
of the way, thence to Fort Benton. This was about the last days of
October, 1864. We had many Indian encounters on our way up to Benton,
but reached there in safety. I stayed here about fifteen days, and then
pulled out for Virginia City. This was a long trip to make, taken in
the winter as it was, and at a time when the road agents were bad, a
description of which would make interesting reading, but this was to be
a short sketch of my first days in Montana, so I must quit.

Your friend,
JOHN LARGENT.
Sun River, May 10, 1899.

* * * * *

There are not many men in the state that I am more familiar with than
John Largent, having been neighbors for nearly thirty years. He is six
feet two inches in height, raw-boned, and of sanguine temperament.
Though he is over sixty years of age, he has a good head of hair and
not a single gray one. He is a Virginian by birth.

It is easy for those that know him to understand why the American Fur
company depended upon and trusted so much to John Largent. It was
because he was always honest, trustworthy, had good judgment to carry
out the part of the work assigned him, and could stand any amount
of fatigue, besides he feared nothing. In his earlier days he was
a remarkably good shot with the rifle; few men equaled him in this
respect. He became versed in the language of most of the northern
tribes of Indians, and was feared and respected by them. It was a fact
that many of the young warriors feared him because he was so remarkably
quick and accurate with his old “Kentucky rifle.”

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Great Falls, May 15, 1899.

A VISIT TO FORT BENTON.

It was in the early seventies I visited Fort Benton, the town at the
head of navigation of the Missouri river. It was a busy place then, for
it was in the summer and during the boating season, and the time the
traders were bringing their collections of robes, pelts and furs, and
shipping them, principally to Sioux City and St. Louis. Fort Benton, no
doubt, is the oldest town in Montana. It was built in 1846 by Alexander
Culbertson, who was at the head of a fur trading company. The buildings
were occupied by this company for many years. It was two hundred and
fifty feet square and built of adobe. At one time since then it was
occupied by the military; parts of the walls still stand (1898).

In the volume for 1876 of the Historical Society of Montana there is
a very interesting sketch of the fur traders and trading posts under
the title of “Adventures on the Upper Missouri,” in which Fort Benton
is spoken of. This sketch was written by the late James Stuart, after
obtaining his information from the best authorities. I cannot think of
anything more interesting or more appropriate at this time than to give
the following extracts from Mr. Stuart’s writings:

“Fort Union was the first fort built on the Missouri river, which is
above the mouth of the Yellowstone. In the summer of 1829 Kenneth
McKenzie, a trader from the upper Mississippi, near where St. Paul,
Minnesota, is now located, with a party of fifty men came across to the
upper Missouri river looking for a good place to establish a trading
post for the American Fur Company. (McKenzie was a member of that
company.) They selected a site a short distance above the mouth of
the Yellowstone river, on the north bank of the Missouri, and built
a stockade two hundred feet square of logs, about twelve inches in
diameter and twelve feet long, set perpendicularly, putting the lower
end two feet in the ground, with two block-house bastions on diagonal
corners of the stockade, twelve feet square and twenty feet high,
pierced with loop holes. The dwelling house, warehouses and store were
built inside, but not joining the stockade, leaving a space of about
four feet between the walls of the buildings and the stockade. All
the buildings were covered with earth, as a protection against fire
by incendiary Indians. There was only one entrance to the stockade--a
large double-leaved gate, about twelve feet from post to post, with a
small gate three and a half by five feet long, in one of the leaves of
the main gate, which was the one mostly used, the large gate being only
opened occasionally when there were no Indians in the vicinity of the
fort. The houses, warehouses and store were all built about the same
height as the stockade. The above description, with the exception of
the area enclosed by the stockade, will describe nearly all the forts
built by traders on the Missouri river from St. Louis to the headwaters.

“The fort was built to trade with the Assinnaboines, who were a large
tribe of Indians ranging from White Earth river, on the north side of
the Missouri, to the mouth of Milk river, and north into the British
possessions.

“In 1832 the first steamboat named the ‘Yellowstone,’ arrived at
Fort Union. From that time, every spring, the goods were brought up
by steamboats, but the robes, peltries, etc., were shipped from the
fort every spring by Mackinaws to St. Louis. In the winter of 1830
McKenzie, desirous of establishing a trade with the Blackfeet and Gros
Ventres (the Minatarees of Lewis and Clarke), sent a party of four
men--Burger, Dacoteau, Morceau, and one other man in search of the
Indians and to see if there was sufficient inducement to establish a
trading post. The party started up the Missouri river with dog sleds
to haul a few presents for the Indians. They followed the Missouri
to the mouth of the Marias river, thence up the Marias to the mouth
of Badger creek, without seeing an Indian, finding plenty of game of
all kinds and plenty of beaver in all the streams running into the
Missouri. Every night when they camped they hoisted the American flag,
so that if they were seen by any Indians during the night they would
know it was a white man’s camp; and it was very fortunate for them
that they had a flag to use in that manner, for the night they camped
at Badger creek they were discovered by a war party of Blackfeet who
surrounded them during the night, and, as they were about firing on
the camp, they discovered the flag and did not fire, but took the
party prisoners. A part of the Indians wanted to kill the whites and
take what the party had, but through the exertions and influence of a
chief named ‘Good Woman,’ they were not molested in person or property,
but went in safety to the Blackfoot camp on Belly river and stayed
with the camp until spring. During the winter they explained their
business, and prevailed upon about one hundred Blackfeet to go with
them to Fort Union to see McKenzie. They arrived at Fort Union about
the 1st of April, 1831, and McKenzie got their consent to build a
trading post at the mouth of the Marias. The Indians stayed about one
month, then started home to tell the news to their people. McKenzie
then started James Kipp, with seventy-five men and an outfit of Indian
goods, to build a fort at the mouth of the Marias river, and he had
the fort completed before the winter of 1831. It was only a temporary
arrangement in winter, in order to find out whether it would pay to
establish a permanent post. Next spring Colonel Mitchell (afterwards
colonel in Doniphan’s expedition to Mexico) built some cabins on Brule
bottom to live in until a good fort could be built. The houses at
the mouth of the Marias were burned after the company moved to Brule
bottom. Alexander Culbertson was sent by McKenzie to relieve Mitchell
and to build a picket stockade two hundred feet square on the north
bank of the Missouri river, which he completed during the summer and
fall of 1832. This fort was occupied for eleven years, until Fort Lewis
was built by Culbertson on the south side of the Missouri river, near
Pablois Island, in the summer of 1844. Fort Brule was then abandoned
and burned. In 1846 Fort Lewis was abandoned, and Fort Benton was built
by Culbertson, about seven miles below Fort Lewis, on the north bank
of the Missouri river. It was 250 feet square, built of adobe laid
upon the ground without any foundation of stone, and is now standing
(1875) and occupied as a military post. The dwellings, warehouses,
stores, etc., were all built of adobes. The Piegans, Blackfeet and
Blood Indians, all talking the same language, claimed and occupied the
country from the Missouri river to the Saskatchewan river. Prior to the
building of the winter quarters at the mouth of the Marias, they had
always traded with the Hudson Bay Company and the American Fur Company.
The Hudson Bay Company often sent men to induce the confederated
Blackfeet to go north and trade, and the Indians said they were offered
large rewards to kill all the traders on the Missouri river and destroy
the trading posts. McKenzie wrote to Governor Bird, the head man of
the Hudson Bay Company in the north, in regard to the matter, and Bird
wrote back to McKenzie, saying: ‘When you know the Blackfeet as well
as I do, you will know that they do not need any inducements to commit
depredations.’

“In 1832 McKenzie sent Tollock, with forty men, to build a fort at the
mouth of the Big Horn river. Tollock built the fort named Van Buren, on
the south side of the Yellowstone, about three miles below the mouth of
the Big Horn river. It was 150 feet square, picket stockade, with two
bastions on diagonal corners. In 1863 I saw the location. The pickets
showed plainly that they had been burned to the ground, and several of
the chimneys were not entirely fallen down. The fort was built to trade
with the Mountain Crows, an insolent, treacherous tribe of Indians.
They wanted the location of their trading post changed nearly every
year, consequently they had four trading posts built from 1832 to
1850, viz.: Fort Cass, built by Pollock on the Yellowstone, below Fort
Buren, in 1836; Fort Alexander, built by Lawender, still lower down
on the Yellowstone river in 1848, and Fort Sarpey, built by Alexander
Culbertson in 1850 at the mouth of the Rose Bud. Fort Sarpey was
abandoned in 1853, and there have not been any trading forts built on
the Yellowstone since up to the present time (1875). Kenneth McKenzie,
after Lewis and Clarke, was the pioneer of the upper Missouri. He
was a native of the Highlands of Scotland. When young he came in the
service of the Hudson Bay Company, and started to explore the country
from Hudson’s Bay to Red river to Lake Winnipeg; thence to the Lake
Superior country; finally concluded to locate on the upper Mississippi.
In 1822 he went to New York and got an outfit of Indian trade goods on
credit and established an Indian trading post on the upper Mississippi
and remained in that part of the country until 1829, when he came
to Missouri and established Fort Union. He was in charge of all the
Northwestern fur trade until 1839, when he resigned to enter the
wholesale liquor trade at St. Louis, Mo. He resided at St. Louis until
his death in 1856 or 1857. Alexander Culbertson assumed his position as
fur trader in 1839.”

The town of Fort Benton was first surveyed by Colonel De Lacy in 1859.
Choteau county was established by the legislature in an act approved
Feb. 2, 1865, with the county seat at Fort Benton. The county was named
in honor of Pierre Choteau, Jr., the president of the American Fur
Company. Major George Steell, now of Dupuyer, Teton county, was one
of its first county commissioners. Fort Benton was named in honor of
Thomas H. Benton, United States Senator from Missouri.

In 1864 the American Fur Company sold their interests to the
Northwestern Fur Company. After that many other traders erected
posts throughout the territory. Those in the northern part had their
headquarters at the town of Fort Benton. Many steamboats loaded with
furs, pelts and robes left the wharf of this old town during the
period from 1860 to 1880. At the time of the visit referred to there
were many representatives of the large fur companies on their annual
visit from the East to inspect the business of their respective
companies. There were also Indian commissioners who had been sent by
the government from Washington to close some deal with the Indians; of
course all the Indian chiefs were there, besides many other Indians,
“ox-drivers” (bull whackers) and steamboat hands. One day, when these
Eastern visitors were in town, a pack train arrived from one of the
trading posts. On the back of one of the mules was a small brass cannon
(mountain howitzer); it was lashed on with the muzzle towards the rear
end of the mule. The government representative seized the opportunity
to show the Indians what a terrible weapon that was on the back of the
mule. The animal, with his burden, was led to Front street, and a crowd
of two or three hundred followed, half of which were Indians. It was
decided to fire a few shots from the cannon while it was on the back
of the mule at a high-cut bank that was half a mile away and across
the river. A certain spot was shown to the Indians where the shot was
supposed to hit, and, to strike the spot designated on the clay bank,
which loomed up like some old castle, an extra heavy load was put in.
Finally the man in charge of the mule stood in front of the quadruped
with the rings of the bit in each hand. Now he has the business end
of the mule where he wants it; another man was adjusting the cannon,
and, taking aim, while the third one took a match from his vest pocket,
scratched it on the hip of his pants and touched the fuse. The hissing
sound of the burning fuse made the mule lay down his ears and began
putting a hump in his back; next thing he whirled round and round, in
spite of his manager trying to get him back to his first position. By
this time everybody was going for dear life, and the mule was making
the circle faster than ever, and the gun was liable to go off at any
moment. There was a perfect stampede; many went over the bank into the
river, others were crawling on their hands and knees, while many laid
flat on the ground, broadcloth and buckskin alike--the man held to the
bridle and the mule held the fort. Luckily, on account of the bend in
the mule’s back, the shot struck the ground but a short distance from
his heels. Many of the Indians never moved, thinking that the maneuvers
of the mule were a part of the performance.

J. J. Healy (now Captain Healy, the manager of the North American
Transportation and Trading Company) was there. Healy had fought
Indians and assisted in arresting some of the worst desperadoes in the
Northwest, who were terrorizing the country about that time. But the
mule was too much for him, as he was seen going for dear life over the
bank into the river. It was the first time anyone ever saw Healy “take
water.”

The same cannon is now owned in Great Falls and was used to celebrate
the Fourth of July, 1898. The mule could not be found.

[Illustration: “THE MULE AND THE MOUNTAIN HOWITZER.”]

It was a common occurrence then at Fort Benton to see from six to eight
steamers tied at the wharf at the same time and loaded for their return
trips with robes, furs and pelts. The principal articles the traders
had for traffic with the Indians were blankets, blue and scarlet cloth,
calico, domestic goods, ticking, tobacco, knives, fire steel, arrow
points, files, brass wire of different sizes, beads, brass tacks,
wide leather belts, silver ornaments for the hair, shells, axes and
hatchets. Many articles were smuggled and traded to the Indians which
the law prohibited. The articles brought by the Indians for trade were
elk, deer, antelope, bear, wolf, beaver, otter, fox, mink, marten, wild
cat, skunk and badger skins, and principally buffalo robes. At the time
when the country was literally covered with buffaloes, and before the
traders were in the country to supply the Indians with guns or even
steel arrow points, the Indians would move from place to place with two
or three hundred lodges or tepees, with from five to seven people to
the lodge. The tepees were made of tanned skins and a few small poles
and so constructed that they could be taken down and put up in a few
minutes.

[Illustration: INDIANS WITH TRAVOIS.]

With the poles, that were about fifteen feet long, they would make
their travois by placing a number of poles on each side of a pony
and tying one end of them to the girth of the saddle from which a
strap reached across the breast of the animal. Then two cross-sticks,
about four feet apart, were tied to each bunch of poles and close
to the horse, and on these sticks a buffalo rawhide was stretched
in a basket-like manner on which a stack of robes, pelts and furs
was lashed. Each family had one or more of these simple conveyances,
arranged as the one to the left in the illustration. In these they
would carry their small trinkets, young pappooses, and the old people
that were too old to ride a pony. In this way they would move from camp
to camp with perfect ease and without delay, following the great herds
of buffalo. When they needed meat the chief would give orders to make
“a round.” Under the direction of the war chief several hundred would
turn out, some on horses, others on foot, and would quietly surround a
herd of the buffaloes, and, closing up the circle, the buffaloes would
run round and round in a circle, and as the outside ones would go by
the Indians killed them with their arrows. The buffalo, the same as
sheep, would follow the leaders, and, after getting them started in one
direction, they would all follow that way. I know a place near where
I used to live on Sun river where the Indians a long time ago used to
surround the buffalo and run them over a precipice, and at a point
where there was but room for one at a time to go in safety. The Indians
would get a few to start, then close up on the big herd and rush them
over the cliffs pell-mell; hundreds would be killed and many crippled,
and those they would kill with the bows and arrows. They called this
manner of hunting “a run.”

There are now on this spot great quantities of decayed bones, and
hundreds of flint arrow points have been picked up by settlers.
Professor Mortson, of this city, has in his cabinet now several
hundreds of these points which he found. There is another place of this
kind near St. Peter’s Mission, where these runs were made.

Now the buffaloes are extinct. Where they used to roam, flocks of sheep
and herds of cattle now graze. And the Indians’ mode of living, since
they are on their reservation, is entirely different. “Now” they live
in houses, and the old Indian tepees made of skins cannot be found.

Until but a few years ago, the “Old Town at the head of navigation”
was a great Indian trading post; her stores and warehouses were filled
with Indian goods and their trade was exclusively with Indians. Today
Fort Benton is a modern city with brick blocks, has a fine courthouse,
public schools and churches, and many attractive homes. She has a
railway depot, water works and many other modern improvements.

At the entrance of one of the main avenues of the city a steel
drawbridge spans the Missouri river. And now her business houses carry
the same kind and as fine goods as Eastern firms; her warehouses are
filled with miners’ tools, machinery, and all kinds of agricultural
implements for the trade of hundreds of thrifty farmers, who are
cultivating the land which was but a short time ago the red man’s
hunting ground.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
July 11, 1898.

[Illustration: THEN.]

[Illustration: NOW.]

[Illustration: THEN.]

[Illustration: NOW.]

JOHN D. BROWN.

A NARRATIVE OF HIS EARLY EXPERIENCE IN THE WEST.

One day last December, when standing on the corner of Central avenue
and Third street, Great Falls, I saw a lame old man coming towards me.
Though his hair was white as snow, his cheeks were as rosy as those of
a schoolboy, and, as he came to me and grasped me by the hand, he said:
“Well, Mr. Vaughn, I came to town to pay my taxes, and as you have
already asked me to come and stay at your house, I shall now accept the
invitation and tell you the story of my early days in the West.” The
old gentleman referred to was John D. Brown, one of the first pioneers
in the part of the country which now comprises the state of Montana.

That evening Mr. Brown related to me the following experiences:

I left St. Paul, Minnesota, in September, 1858, in company with George
Wakefield, William Fairweather and others. We had decided to go to
Colville, Washington territory, crossing the Rocky mountains through
the Kootenai pass in the British possessions. At Sauk Rapids we met
several Frenchmen, among them being the three Mauchoirs boys, the two
Besoits, Shirlepeau and Felix Odell, all Canadian Frenchmen. On the
eighth of October we crossed the Mississippi river at Crow Wing among
floating ice, then we made a big campfire, and slept with our feet to
the fire. Bill Fairweather was my bedfellow. We awoke in the morning to
find a foot of snow on top of us. After breakfast we traveled through
the deep snow and were overtaken by Tom McDonald, a Scotchman, an old
fur trader, and with whom we camped at Otter Tail for a few days in
order to rest our animals. There were but very few settlers at Otter
Tail at that time. The Frenchmen had ox teams and we had horses. We had
with us a year’s supply of provisions.

The first night we camped after leaving Otter Tail the Chippewa
Indians stole everything we had; then we were, of course, unable to
proceed on our journey, and so we returned to McDonald’s place and
remained there a week. There was a government surveying party making
their headquarters there then. McDonald and the surveyors explained
to the Indians that we were on our way to the Pacific coast, and the
consequence was that we recovered our property; also the Indians gave
us the right of way to cross their country the same as the Hudson
Bay people had. Starting out again, one day we met an old half-breed
carrying mail, who misdirected us as to the way we should go and, when
it was time to camp, there was neither water nor fuel to be had, and
a foot of snow was on the ground, and it was several degrees below
zero. It was twelve o’clock at night before we found a place to camp
where there was wood and water. We turned our animals out to eat
rushes, which were plentiful. At daybreak the next morning, the oxen
came running madly out of the timber with three moose after them,
evidently the moose thinking that the oxen were of their own species.
The oxen stampeded and the moose were right behind them, keeping them
going through the deep snow, until all were out of sight. Two of the
Frenchmen followed and were gone the entire day without having first
had their breakfast, and it was about midnight when they returned with
the oxen, after having followed them and the moose for at least thirty
miles, and when they caught up with the outfit the moose were still
with the oxen. On account of this chase it became necessary for us to
stay in camp for a couple of days to allow the men and the oxen to
rest themselves. Finally we arrived at Pembina, where Joe Rolette kept
a trading post. He was pretty well fixed financially. After staying at
Rolette’s place for a few days, we crossed the Red river on the ice,
destined for Fort Geary (now Winnipeg), which was supposed to be about
sixty miles from Pembina, and which place we reached about Christmas.
At Fort Geary everybody spoke French, with the exception of some
English soldiers stationed there.

As by that time winter had set in and the snow was getting deep, we
concluded to stay there until spring. Bill Fairweather and I went to
work cutting logs for a man named McDonald. We hewed the logs on four
sides, for which we received fifty cents for every ten feet, running
measure. We worked there until spring (1859) and made considerable
money.

Early that spring Bill Sweeney, Henry Edgar, Bill Fairweather, George
White, Tom Healy, and others of the party, started on their western
journey by the Kootenai pass. Larry Campbell (who used to keep a
store at Diamond City, in Meagher county), Jack Brash, Sandy Gibson,
Jim Wandel, Bill Smith and I decided to take the Milk river route,
and thence down the Blackfoot river on the Pacific side of the Rocky
mountains. After arriving on the Assiniboine river, we camped there
for a few days. Here we met one of the Catholic fathers, with whom we
signed an agreement to raft logs down the Assiniboine river and deliver
them by the middle of May. As we were all good river men, we did very
well. The logs were to be used to build the Palestine Mission. At that
time there was an American named John Morgan who was a trader for the
American Fur company at Fort Union, and who was married to a daughter
of Chief Firewind of the Assiniboine tribe. Morgan had started another
trading post on the Canada side, he being an American, having come
from the state of Ohio. We bought what goods we needed from him. His
mother-in-law came over frequently on a visit, and, as we stopped at
Morgan’s place during most of the winter, she got to know us very well,
and, owing to the further fact that we were the very best of friends
with Morgan, she naturally took a liking to us.

About the first of April I came to Morgan’s trading post to get a stock
of provisions to use on the rafting trips. Morgan had gone to Fort
Geary and the old lady was left in charge of the goods. Morgan had told
her to let the American boys have anything they wanted. I remained
there until Morgan returned, and during this time the old woman treated
me kindly. Shortly after his return, he said to me, “Now, Mr. Brown,
the old lady is going back home in a couple of days and, as you will
be going that way, she might be of some service to you. It would be a
good idea for you to make her a small present.” I was pretty flush with
money, so I bought her a couple of dresses and a Cree war blanket for
her to give to the chief, and a lot of beads and trinkets, amounting
probably to twenty-five dollars for the whole outfit. In a few days she
left for her home camp on the American side.

About the first of May we got through rafting and started westward.
Some days we would travel but ten miles. Buffalo were plenty and we
killed fat ones and dried the meat to use on our journey. On the 25th
of May we espied an Assiniboine Indian coming towards us; he was on
horseback. Presently we saw another, by and by another, and they kept
on increasing. We had plenty of ammunition, but they were ten to our
one. Well, they captured us, took us to their camp as prisoners and
held a war dance over us and threatened to kill us. They stripped us
of everything we had, clothing and all. Just then it happened that the
old squaw to whom I made those presents was in the Indian camp, and
when she saw me she ran and placed her hands upon my neck and kissed
me and conducted us to the chief’s tent, which was also her own, and
she cooked dinner for us. Then she brought out the articles that I had
given her at Morgan’s trading post, and she held in her hand the Cree
war blanket and the pipe that I gave her to hand to the chief, while
at the same time she was pointing to me and telling him that I was the
man that gave them. After that I was at liberty to go around the camp
and out hunting, and so forth, but my companions were put in a tepee
and a guard kept over them night and day. At that time we did not know
whether we were in the British possessions or on the American side. We
were captured close to what is known as the Widow mountain. We were
kept prisoners for six weeks and shamefully treated during this time.
The poor old squaw worried a great deal on account of the condition we
were in. She could talk a few words of English, and she did all she
could to console us by telling us that we would not be killed, and so
on. I am satisfied that she was the cause of our not being murdered at
the time they stripped us.

When Major Schoonover, who was Indian agent at Fort Union, heard of
our being captured, he sent out his interpreter to tell Firewind and
Antelope, both Assiniboine chiefs, to bring in the white prisoners
to him, and that unless they did so they would get no annuities for
that year. We were about two weeks getting in; we reached Fort Union
on the morning of the 4th of July. We related to Major Schoonover all
the facts in relation to our having been taken prisoners, and where we
were from and where we were going. He took us up-stairs to his room and
said, “Well, boys, this is the 4th of July.” We had lost track of the
day of the month, and did not know that it was the 4th of July until
then. He treated each of us to a good drink of brandy. He asked me
where my home was, and I told him that my parents lived in the city of
Providence, Rhode Island. He asked the others the same question. Well,
Bill Smith was from Baltimore, Jim Wendall from Piclo, Nova Scotia (he
was killed in 1863 by Slade, a desperado, when on a freighting trip
from Cow Island; Slade was afterwards hanged in Virginia City by the
vigilantes). All the others were from Canada. The only true American in
the lot was Bill Smith. I was born in Ireland, being three years old
when my parents came to Providence.

The major sent for all the chiefs and had a council with them, at
which we were present. He told them that we were going across into
Washington territory, and that he wanted them to give us the right to
cross the country and not detain us again; and he further told them to
bring everything that they took from us or he would have to give us
goods out of their annuities. The Indians returned to us all of our
property and promised not to trouble us any more. The old squaw, when
we were leaving, came and shook hands with all of us and expressed
gratification at our being safe. We came up the Milk river valley. At
the big bend, near what is now Fort Browning, I first saw a grizzly
bear. From there we came to Fort Benton and remained there until the
spring of 1860.

Captain Mullan was then constructing the Mullan road from Walla Walla
to Fort Benton. He wanted men to build bridges, and, as we were all
good ax men, we hired out to him. Major Blake had command of several
companies of recruits that came up the river to Fort Benton. They were
on their way to Colville, Washington territory. The only houses I saw
then between Fort Benton and Missoula were those of Johnny Grant, a
half-breed who lived at Deer Lodge, and Bob Dempsey, an old discharged
soldier, who lived between Gold Creek and what is now Radersburg. He
had an Indian woman for a wife. That summer we built a bridge over the
Blackfoot river and another over the Big Blackfoot. There were but
few white people living there then. I remember Captain Higgins, Baron
O’Keefe and old man Moues, who was running a kind of mill and grinding
meal for the Indians, and Lou Brown, a Hudson Bay trader, who took
charge of a ferry that Mullan built. There were few other white men who
lived there then. We went clear through to the Coeur d’Alene; we got
there in the month of September. From there we went to Wolf Lodge and
crossed the St. Joe river and went down by where the city of Spokane
now is; thence to Walla Walla, where we arrived on the 8th of October,
1860. There we separated, John Peterson, who was with me, working for
Mullan, and I went to the Dalles in Oregon.

From there I went to the Cascade Falls on the Columbia river. That fall
I voted for Stephen A. Douglas for president. When at the Cascades,
I worked for the Oregon Navigation company, hewing timber for ship
building, for which I received twenty-five cents per foot. At this
place myself and two other men hewed a remarkable stick of timber, it
being one hundred and thirty feet in length and four feet square. After
the hewing was done, we sawed it lengthways into two pieces. The sawing
was done by hand (whipsawing), there being no sawmills in the country
at that time.

Those two huge timbers were used in the building of a steamboat that
was to be operated on the upper Columbia river. I worked here until
late in the spring of 1861. The following summer I went prospecting
on John Day’s river. Finding nothing that would pay, I went to Walla
Walla, and remained there during the winter of 1861-2. That winter
there was four feet of snow on the level. It was the worst and deepest
snow I ever saw in my life. Mr. Gerald, a gentleman with whom I was
well acquainted, had twenty-three hundred head of beef steers near
Walla Walla; he was furnishing beef for the miners in the Salmon
river and the Kootenay country. At that time you could buy five and
six-year-old steers in Walla Walla for seven dollars per head. Gerald
had several hundred tons of hay put up to feed during the winter; hay
and grass were plentiful everywhere, but, for all that, most of the
live stock in that country perished from cold and deep snows. You would
see those big wild steers coming up the street and eating the cards
that had been thrown out of the gambling houses. Gerald told me that
out of the 2,300 cattle, and after feeding all the hay, he had but
sixty-three cattle in the spring. Wood went up to $80 a cord in Walla
Walla, and flour $30 per hundred pounds. Steamboats could not get up
and there were no animals to haul the freight. Men used to go thirty
miles to Walula to get a sack of flour and packed it on their backs.

In the early part of the winter I furnished a man named Fox with six
months’ provisions to go prospecting with John Peeterson on the North
fork of the John Day river. In the spring of 1862 I received news from
Peeterson stating that they had struck good diggings on Granite creek
and for me to come at once. I went from Walla Walla to where Peeterson
was. We mined there until fall and did very well, when we sold out for
$1,500 to Eph Day, who at one time was the treasurer of the Oregon
Navigation company. I suggested to Peeterson that we had better go next
to the Fort Benton country, and we decided to do so and started on our
journey. Finally we got to Gold Creek. Jack Dunn was there, keeping a
store. Jim and Granville Stuart were there. I remember giving Granville
the Sacramento Union and he was very glad to get it, for newspapers
were very scarce in the camp. They were the men that first found gold
in paying quantities in Gold creek, and, for that matter, in the state
of Montana, although “Gold Tom,” an old trapper, had found a fair
prospect in Gold creek before the Stuarts did. And there I met my old
friend, Bill Fairweather, whom I had not seen since we parted at Fort
Geary over three years before. A few weeks later I met Bill Sweeney at
Bannock.

As I desired to go prospecting east of the Rocky mountain range, I
left Bannock about the latter part of October, 1862, in company with
John Peeterson and Thomas Thomas. On top of the main range, and where
the Mullan road crosses, we met the old frontiersman, John Jacobs. He
told us that Captain Fisk, in company with a lot of immigrants from
Minnesota, were in camp in the Prickly Pear valley. I went to their
camp, which was near to what is now called Montana Bar. James King
and W. C. Gillette were there with a lot of flour; from them I bought
a sack to go prospecting. With the same outfit came Jesse Cox, Jim
Wiley, Albert Agnel, Jim Norton, Charles Cary, Alvin H. Wilcox, A.
McNeal, James Fergus, Bob Ells, old man Olan and old man Dalton. They
and others were in camp and had not decided where to go next. John
Peeterson, Thomas Thomas, Jim and Bill Buchanan, Dick Merrill and I did
some prospecting there that fall and got considerable gold.

Late in the fall, myself, a man named Thebeau, Nickolos Bird, and a
fellow by the name of Gervais, who could talk the Flathead language,
went off with the Flatheads and Pend d’Oreilles Indians to prospect the
country they were going to travel through that winter. The Indians were
on the way to the Musselshell country to hunt buffaloes. At this time
the Flatheads and Piegans were at war with each other.

All the Indians, who numbered from eight to twelve hundred, went
through what is now called Confederate gulch. We found good prospects
there, but the Indians would not let us stay. It appeared that they had
some kind of an understanding with the Crow Indians to go and hunt in
that part of the country, but not to encourage any whites to go there,
consequently we had to move whenever the Indians would move, and, by
this time, they would not let us go back. We camped for several days on
the little prairie at the head of Smith river, near where White Sulphur
Springs, the county seat of Meagher county, now is. There the Indians
had a buffalo hunt and killed many. After that we went down Shields’
river and made three camps there. During all this time the Indians
were killing buffalo and drying the meat. At the mouth of Shields’
river we saw a large war party of Crows trying to capture some of the
Flatheads and Pend d’Oreilles who were out hunting, and who belonged
to the Indians we were with. We camped near where there was a lot of
willows. Moise, the head chief of the Flatheads, came and asked me if
I would fight; I said yes, and he said, “That is good.” I had a good
rifle and two revolvers. Soon our Indians got together and prepared for
a battle, but the Crows did not follow, and it was good for them, for
the Flatheads and Pend d’Oreilles were well armed and mounted on good
horses and were eager for a fight. That night they placed their horses
inside the camp and put pickets out in as good way as I ever saw in my
life, but the enemy did not make an attack. From there we went east of
the Little Snowys. There we met a war party of Piegans coming around
what is called Wolfe mountain; there were about thirty of them. They
came to our camp to stop all night, and were received as friends, and
they played games during the evening with the Pend d’Oreilles. About
midnight the Piegans sneaked out and stampeded many of the best horses
belonging to the Flatheads and Pend d’Oreilles and started away with
them. Chief Moise at once blew a horn and his son beat a kind of drum;
this aroused the whole camp. The Pend d’Oreilles and Flathead warriors
were in an instant on their best horses and went after the Piegans and
captured them all and recovered the stolen horses and brought them to
camp. The Pend d’Oreilles wanted to kill the Piegan thieves, but Chief
Moise said, “No, we will not kill them, though they are dogs. They came
to our tepees as friends, but at the time they were deceiving us. They
are dogs; they came to our camp and we treated them as friends, but
they got up in the dark of the night and stole our horses. No, we will
not kill them, but we will mark them.” Then he ordered his warriors to
bring the Piegans to the front of his tepee. After this was done, he
ordered them to take the younger bucks and cut their hair short, and to
cut a piece off each ear of all the others. During the time this was
being done, the Flatheads and Pend d’Oreilles stood with their bows
strung, and others with rifles in their hands, ready to shoot if anyone
made a move to get away. After the marking was done, the Piegans were
taken outside of the camp and were told to go home as dogs and never
return or they would be killed as dogs. I witnessed all this.

On Christmas eve, 1862, we were in camp at Wolfe mountain. Chief Moise
invited us to his tent to eat a Christmas dinner with him. He knew
that it was Christmas day and respected it as such, for he had been
taught what the meaning of it was by Father De Smet. His wife cooked
dinner for us. She had fried doughnuts as good as any I ever ate, and
excellent yeast powder bread; we had buffalo tongue and all kinds of
meats. In all my life I never enjoyed a Christmas dinner better than I
did that Christmas eve of 1862 in the tepee of the Flathead chief near
Wolfe mountain.

Christmas morning I went on the top of what the Indians called Heart
mountain. My object was to try and look in the direction of Fort
Benton, for I knew we were not far from there, as I could see the Bear
Paw mountains plainly. We decided to leave the Indians and go to Fort
Benton. The Flathead chief sent six Indians to escort us through. It
took us two days and part of a night. The second day out we traveled on
a trail where the sage hens were as thick as I ever saw turkeys in a
barnyard, but the Indians would not allow us to shoot, fearing that it
might draw the attention of other Indians who were hostile to all of us.

Before the Indians started back we gave them tobacco and some matches,
and a fancy pipe for them to take to the chief. It was the 18th of
January, 1863, when we crossed the Missouri river at Fort Benton, and
the river at that time was perfectly free from ice. There were only a
few days of cold weather and but little snow that winter.

About the first of March, 1863, Thebeau and I started for the upper
country and got as far as Sun river the first day. Vail had charge of
the government farm, which was near where we crossed the stream. After
going over the hill in the Prickly Pear canyon, and while we were in
camp at a little spring W. C. Gillette came along with a cayuse pack
train on his way to Fort Benton to get goods for Bannock. Tom Clarey
and Jim Gourley were with him. Gillette had his sacks filled with gold
dust, and as the road agents were very troublesome at that time, he
mistook us for desperadoes; he went by and would not stop to talk with
us. From there we went to Montana Bar. By this time the immigrants had
nearly all left. Albert Agnel, Alvin H. Wilcox and John Peeterson were
there yet, besides a few others. John Peeterson and I sunk a shaft
twenty-five feet deep on the bar and found fifty cents to the pan on
bed rock. After that Peeterson and I went and surveyed a ditch (it is
the same big ditch that now conveys the water from the Prickly Pear
creek onto the bench land.) Our surveying apparatus was a triangle and
a plumb bob which we made ourselves.

Alvin H. Wilcox, Jesse Crooks, Albert Agnel, and Jim Marston were also
interested in the ditch. About the last of May I received word from
Bill Sweeny of the discovery of Alder gulch and that he had staked a
claim for me, and for me to come as quickly as possible, but it was
pretty late in June before I could leave to go to Alder, and when I
got there some one had taken possession of my claim, according to
miners’ rules, and those were if the owner was not there to represent
his claim it could not be held only so many days; consequently I went
to work for Bill Sweeny for $14 per day. After working for Sweeny for
several weeks, I decided to go back to the bar and do more prospecting.
Early in the summer of 1863, I found twenty-five cents to the pan on
a bar where the city of Helena is now. I filled the hole up again
and built a fire on the fresh dirt to conceal the place, with the
intention of going back; that was an old trick which was practiced by
the prospectors. As I was interested with John Peeterson in the ditch
and the mines on the bar (American bar), and as it was necessary for us
to have more sluice boxes, one day I went to cut logs to make lumber.
I was on the side of a mountain, when a log rolled and caught my leg
between it and a stump. It was some time before I could release myself,
and when I did so I found that my leg was broken, and that is why I am
lame now. There was no doctor to be had. I squeezed the broken place
together the best I could and wrapped it up in some bandages I made out
of a pair of overalls I had. That winter (1863-4) I stopped in a little
cabin. I hired a man named Talbot, who was a Baptist preacher, to cook
and stay with me; I paid him twenty dollars a week for his services and
companionship. All this time my leg was troubling me terribly. Knowing
Father Ravalli, in whose honor Ravalli county is named (he is now dead,
and peace be to his memory, for he was a good man), and hearing that he
was at the Mission, near where the Ulm station on the Montana Central
railroad is located, I decided to go and see him, for I knew that he
was a good physician. I gave a man named Merrill all my interest in
the mines to take me as far as Malcolm Clarke’s place at the head of
Prickly Pear canyon; from there a man named Morgan, from Fort Benton,
took me to the Mission, a distance of fifty-five miles, and he charged
me two hundred and fifty dollars, which was all the money I had. Father
Ravalli was not at the Mission, but Father Jurada was, he also being a
good surgeon. He told me that he could break the leg over again, but it
would be shorter. He operated on my leg, and by the summer of 1865 I
was able to work.

In 1867 I located the ranch where I am now, and have been ever since.
It is like a dream to me when I think of the old trails I traveled
over, forty years ago, and, on the other hand, it is a revelation to
listen to the rumbling of the heavy trains that pass to and fro on
the Montana Central railroad only a few miles from my door; while,
looking in another direction, I see clouds of smoke arising and hear
the whistle of the locomotives of the Great Falls and Canada railroad,
and looking in still another direction I see the city of Great Falls
and the towering smokestacks of its great smelters. Where once were
the lone trails I helped to blaze through a wilderness inhabited only
by wild beasts and savage men, I now see a flourishing city, and the
country around me dotted with fine homes and prosperous towns.

While looking back, my imaginary view is tinged with sadness as I
realize that the old days are gone forever; nevertheless my declining
years are made contented and happy by the knowledge that I have done
all that I could to convert this one-time wilderness into an empire, I
now lay down the rifle of the pioneer and the pick and shovel of the
prospector to pass the remainder of my days in the peace and content
that comes from the consciousness of having done my best to help
develop this western country that it might become the abiding place of
an intelligent and prosperous people. And now, in the sunset of life,
as I realize that before many years I shall strike the trail that leads
“over the great divide,” I rejoice that I can leave to my children a
name honored by being enrolled on the scroll of Montana’s pioneers.”

Now Mr. Brown is past seventy-five years of age and lives with his
family on a farm. Sun River is his postoffice. He is a well-preserved
man for his age and has a remarkably good memory. What I have written
here is but a fraction of that which he told me that evening of what
the West was forty-two years ago. The only way to get a true early
history of a country is to get such a narrative from its pioneers, and
surely John D. Brown should be counted as one of the early historians
of the state of Montana.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
January 4, 1900.

A PIONEER MINISTER.

As the following was written for this book by “Brother Van,” it needs
no introduction. The writer tells of the first services that he held
in Montana--when he fought the Nez Perces as well as sin and the whole
host of hell. He said:

“We reached Fort Benton by the steamer “Far West” on Sabbath morning,
June 30, 1872, at 7 a. m. It was in the midst of a heavy rain. In
making inquiries, we were told that we could have the court house in
which to hold service. However, on examination, we found it to have a
roof composed of native soil, in which there were some places where the
water came through in great quantities. We were then told that a room
had been prepared in which Father Van Gorp was to hold service that
morning. In asking him for the use of the same room in the evening,
he replied most courteously that he would use it in the morning, then
we were welcome to use it as often as we might desire, so our first
service in Montana was held that evening.

“There was a large congregation, composed of the business
men, freighters and river men. There was only one lady in the
congregation--Mrs. George Baker--now of St. Louis.

“Here I first met, and they were my first acquaintances in Montana, W.
G. Conrad and C. E. Conrad, young men then full of business and energy.
They, with others, gave us a most hearty welcome. The greater part of
the freight for Montana then came by the Missouri river, and freighting
was a great business from Fort Benton to other points in the territory.

[Illustration: REV. W. W. VAN OLSDEL.]

“Leaving Fort Benton, after a journey of fifty-two miles over bleak
prairie without habitation, except one lonely stage station, I came to
Sun river valley. The first settler I met there was Mr. Robert Vaughn,
a much respected and honored citizen. He was one of the earliest
settlers of this great valley, which, at that time, was a part of
Choteau county. I was indeed a stranger in a strange land, but I can
never forget the hearty welcome accorded me by him. Though a bachelor,
he knew how to give a welcome and make home pleasant to the young
itinerant who had but very little money and whose best mode of travel
was to go afoot.

“No person but he who has experienced it can appreciate what it is
to come from a long journey after being exposed to the elements and
hostile Indians, and then to receive such kind treatment. Among others
who welcomed me at that time to Sun River, were the Largents, Strongs,
Fords, Burchers and Browns--in fact all who resided in the little
settlement treated me with kindness.

“At that time there roamed over those prairies great herds of
buffaloes, antelopes and deer. The Indians were hostile, and great
risks had to be taken to protect life and property. It is said that
more of the early settlers were killed in what was then Choteau county,
than in any other part of the state.

“The first religious service held at Sun River was conducted in the
house of Mr. Charles Bull, who kindly threw open his door and invited
the neighbors in. As we sang the old hymns and preached the gospel,
there were many eyes dimmed with tears as recollections of the old home
and the old home church came to memory. Without any solicitation on the
part of the preacher, the people took up a very liberal offering and
presented the same to him.

“It was at this time a visit was made to the Blackfeet and Piegan
agency on the Teton river, and near where is now located the town of
Choteau. Major Jesse Armitage was agent, and Mr. B. W. Sanders teacher.
A hearty welcome was given and a very interesting service was held at
that time with the employes and Indians.

“I made my first visit to Butte in May, 1874. All but ten of the
population of Butte attended the service; the congregation numbered
about forty. Rev. Hugh Duncan (now of sainted memory), one of the
first pioneer preachers, who came to Alder gulch in 1863, was then
pastor of that large circuit, and met me there. Mr. and Mrs. Reese
Wampler entertained the preachers. A striking contrast between past and
present--then about fifty, now about that many thousand.

“In 1876 the population of the territory was very much decreased, the
Black Hills and Leadville excitements, then at their height, drew away
many of the miners; others went East to see friends and attend the
Centennial, which was held that year. In June of the same year the
Custer massacre took place on the Little Big Horn.

“Those who remember attending Fourth of July celebrations that year can
well call to mind the sorrow that overshadowed the homes of the Montana
frontiersmen, for the war cloud commenced to gather over all the small
and isolated settlements in this then new territory.

“Early in the summer of 1877, after some hard fought battles in Idaho,
Chief Joseph and Looking Glass, with their band of Nez Perces Indians
came over the mountains on the Lo Lo trail passing up the Bitter Root
valley, and were encamped for a few days on the Big Hole river, when
General Gibbon, with his soldiers from Fort Shaw and some citizen
volunteers from the Bitter Root, met them in battle on the Big Hole,
August 9th.

“On the next Sabbath we were at Bannock, where we held service that
evening. Some of the men and nearly all of the women from the
surrounding country were there for safety and others came in that
night. One young man was wounded in the arm; others had escaped almost
miraculously. That night fifteen of us volunteered to go out to Horse
Prairie. Melvin Trask was selected as captain, and before sunrise we
were on the move. We had information that some men were killed and
others severely wounded at the ranches over in that beautiful valley,
especially at the ranches of Montague, Winters and Mr. Hamilton’s. Mrs.
Winters was in town. She said she was going with us; we said no, and
persuaded her to remain, but when we were about twelve miles out she
overtook us. She was a woman of fine form, her long, black hair hanging
down her back, mounted on a very fine horse, and a revolver buckled on,
and she knew how and was not afraid to use it.

“When we arrived at the ranch, about sixteen miles from Bannock, it
was plain to be seen that there had been trouble there. One of their
fine cows was shot in front of the house, feather and straw ticks cut
open and their contents emptied in the front yard. I was selected to
go with Mrs. Winters into the house. Just as we went into the kitchen
there lay a man who had been shot four times. On first sight he had
the appearance of her husband. Some thought at this juncture she would
faint, but she said she could stand it as well as any of us; that she
loved her husband and her home, and the sooner she knew the facts
in the case the more reconciled she would be. From there we passed
into another room where we found the dead form of Mr. Montague, the
partner of Mr. Winters. Everything in the house was upset and broken.
The question then came as to where her husband was, and that was the
particular object of the search just then. A short distance from the
house we found the body of Mr. Smith, pierced with five bullets. He
left a widow and eight children. In another direction from the house
was the body of Mr. Farnsworth, who was killed just before our arrival.
We patched up the harness with some leather and ropes and hitched to a
light wagon that had been left near the ranch, and started to Bannock
with the four bodies, where they were all buried the next day, two of
them by the Masonic order, of which they were worthy members.

“During the time that we were at the ranch, just across the creek
(which was heavily skirted with willows and brush), there was a war
party of Indians, from thirty to forty in number, yet they hesitated
to cross and meet us, for our party had now increased to eighteen men,
well armed. Mr. Winters had a very narrow escape from the Indians,
having reached Bannock just before our party came in, much to the
relief of Mrs. Winters. At the next ranch--Mr. Hamilton’s--he, with
some others, also made narrow escapes. Mr. Cooper was killed close to
his house. The next day General O. O. Howard and his command came into
the prairie and camped at Mr. Martin Barrett’s ranch. W. A. Clark was
captain of the Butte company of volunteers. He, with his company did
good service for Montana at this perilous time.

“I first met the Rev. T. C. Ilif and the Rev. Mr. Riggin at Sheridan
in August, 1873, at the funeral services of Charles Bateman, the only
son of R. C. Bateman, who, at that time, lived at Sheridan. They, in
company with Revs. J. A. Van Anda and Hugh Duncan, had just come by
private conveyance from conference, which was held at Salt Lake City.
The appointments that year were: J. A. Van Anda, presiding elder; W. C.
Shippin, Helena; T. C. Ilif, Bozeman; Hugh Duncan, Missoula and Deer
Lodge; Virginia City and Bannock, F. A. Riggin and the writer.

“At that first meeting we had a typical old-fashioned quarterly
conference. The first conference of the Methodist church held in
Montana was a district conference held in Helena in February, 1874. Two
of the preachers attending this meeting came 150 miles on horseback.

“Some of the popular airs that were used at that time were: ‘Oh, the
Prospect; It Is so Inviting;’ another: ‘The Gospel Train Is Coming, I
Hear It Just At Hand.’

“There were no railroads in Montana at that time. The nearest was at
Ogden, Utah. Many of the people were anxious to see a railroad, and
that made this hymn particularly popular.”

At that time “Brother Van” was Rev. W. W. Van Orsdel of Pennsylvania,
a young man full of faith and heroism. As soon as he landed in the
‘then’ ‘Wild and Woolly West,’ without hesitation he began his faithful
mission by preaching his first sermon at Fort Benton, and this was
the first protestant sermon in that town. He was now a stranger in a
strange country, but he felt, ‘truly the Lord is in this.’ And, as he
journeyed southward to the older settlements, through rude mining camps
and among rough frontiersmen, the people everywhere gave him a cordial
welcome, and every place he went, he was prompt in attending to his
“Master’s business.”

In 1890 he was appointed presiding elder of the new Great Falls
district; in 1892 superintendent of the North Montana Mission; and
“now” (1898) he is presiding elder of the Western district, Montana
conference, with headquarters at Helena.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Jan. 4, 1898.

AN OLD LETTER.

Those who settled in a new country, and located in a new settlement,
will agree with me, as a rule, that every one was ready to assist
another when in his power to do so; no class nor any of the faction
element existed; all were happy and attended to their own affairs.
Whenever a dance or a church social was given, all were invited to
attend, and, invariably, their presence was a proof of their acceptance.

The early settlements in Montana were of this character, and the small
settlement in the valley of the Sun river was no exception. I remember
when the Benton Record and the River Press, both published at Fort
Benton, made their first appearance. Every family and bachelor in the
settlement subscribed for those papers. Your humble servant, who then
lived in the extreme outskirts of the settlement, was a correspondent
for those journals.

When writing about matters of interest I was always careful to get the
facts and sign my name to the article written.

But for the amusement of myself and the people of the little settlement
(who were one and all my friends), sometimes a story of the following
nature would appear in one or the other of those papers, with a
fictitious name attached to it. At the request of an old settler, who
has one of those stories referred to in his scrap-book, I here give a
copy of the same. It was written in the cold winter of 1880, when the
snow was very deep and many cattle starving:

A STRANGER IN THE LAND.

Being a stranger in the valley and anxious to become acquainted with
the people, I saddled my horse to go to the crossing. It was one day
last month, and, not being accustomed to Montana winters, I soon
discovered that I was not wrapped sufficiently to stand such polar
storms. Coming to a house where lived a German family, I asked if I
could borrow a scarf or something to cover my ears; with the heart of a
liberal soul the German told me to come in, and handed me a shawl.

“Rather cold day,” said I.

“Fery cold; it is durty-dree pelow zero, and I have no beer to give a
stranger; des am awful country,” said he.

I made a new start, feeling very comfortable, and determined to speak
to every one I met, and I did not expect to meet many but strangers,
for Mr. H. and family were the only ones I knew in the neighborhood. As
I was passing the next house, near the road there was a man repairing a
gate, with a fur cap pulled over his ears.

“Good morning,” said I, and he nodded. Stopping my horse, I asked:

“Do you think that it is going to storm?”

“Hey,” said the man at the gate.

“Do you think this cold weather is going to last much longer?”

“What you say?” asked he.

I was getting discouraged, but as a last resort I asked in a loud tone:

“Do you think I had better go?”

“I go tomorrow,” he answered.

Giving my horse the spur, I caught up with an old freighter; he said
that he was making regular trips between Sun River and Fort Benton. I
remarked that it was rather cold weather for freighting.

“Oh, this is nothing,” he exclaimed; “in ’63 I wintered on Snake river,
and when I unyoked the cattle I had to drive a wedge between the two
oxen to get them apart, and at the camp fire I had a long stick holding
my coffeepot in the flames to boil, and it turned cold so sudden that
I had to let go of the stick and rub my nose, being afraid I was going
to freeze it. I ran in the wagon and went to bed without any supper,
and when I got up the next morning the smoke stood like the trunk of an
old dead tree, and the coffeepot was still in the flames, frozen stiff
to the ground; breathing the cold blast that very night it froze all
my teeth, and as I was getting up that morning they dropped out of my
mouth like corn from a patent corn sheller.”

When he told of freezing his teeth I believed him, for he had not a
tooth in his head. I thought I would not say a word to anyone about
cold weather again, and I gave my horse the rein.

Arriving near a large white house to the left of the road, I noticed
smoke coming from the chimney, as if there was a good fire. Tying my
horse to the fence, I went to the door and knocked; a man opened it,
and asked me to come in and get warm. He went out to split some wood,
and, while rubbing my hands before the red hot stove, I noticed milk
pans, churn, etc., and this convinced me that it was a milk ranch. Soon
he came in with some dry wood, and his wife came in from the pantry.

“Can I get a glass of milk to drink,” I asked him.

“I don’t know, ask the old woman,” said he.

“Yes,” said she, “of course you can.”

While drinking it, I asked him again:

“Do you think we are going to have another snow storm?”

“Well, I really don’t know. Ask the old woman, she can tell.”

“I think we are going to get one right away,” said she.

“Are you going to the debate tonight?”

“Well, I really don’t know. Ask the old woman, she can tell you.”

“I don’t think we shall,” said she.

Again I asked: “How many of your cattle have died this winter?”

“Well, I really don’t know. Ask the old woman, she knows.”

“About half of what we had,” she replied.

Just then a troop of boys came running into the room. “Are these your
boys?” said I.

“Don’t know. Ask the old woman, she knows.”

I did not wait to hear her reply. I said I wanted to be at the crossing
before the Benton coach arrived and I put on my hat and walked out.
Half a mile further I met two school girls, a big and a bigger one, and
they looked as if they were very cold. I said very politely: “Young
ladies, I will lend you this shawl; and you can return it to Mr.
Steell’s store whenever convenient.”

“Humph!” replied the biggest girl, “I wouldn’t be found dead in the
woods with that shawl on.”

“I wouldn’t either,” said I, and I went on. Soon I was at Mr. H.’s
house, which is near the road, and as I had an invitation from the
hotelkeeper to attend a ball on the 22d, I thought I would call and ask
Miss Annie to go to the ball with me. I met the old gentleman at the
corner of the house.

“Good evening, Mr. H.,” said I.

“Good evening, Mr. S.,” said he.

“Is Miss Annie at home?”

“Yes, I believe she is, sir.”

“Is she engaged?”

“Is it engaged, ye say, sir? Faith, an’ I can’t tell ye, sir, but she
kissed Mr. Maguire last evening as if she had not seen the loikes ov
him, an’ it’s engaged I believed they are, sir.”

Just then there was a man going by on the road, and I said that I
wanted to speak to him, and I ran through the gate, but I did not want
to speak to anyone at that moment.

I came on, and at the bridge I noticed a sign, “Whoop Up.” I could
not imagine what it meant. Thinking it was a menagerie, I entered. A
man with a bloody nose met me at the door, and another stood in the
opposite corner with a black eye, and both were panting as if exhausted.

“Who owns this place,” I asked the man with the bloody nose.

“A man in Fort Benton owns it, but if you want to know who runs it,
just wait a few minutes until we have one more round to decide the
question.”

But I left in about as much of a hurry as ever. I crossed the bridge,
tied my horse to the hitching post back of the store, and went up the
street. It was growing dark and I was getting discouraged. Passing
a saloon, I heard some loud voices. One man was saying that modern
spiritualism was a humbug, while another argued that it was the
greatest wonder of the age. At one end of the counter there was cheese,
crackers, herring, etc. Seeing all the fellows helping themselves, I
came to the conclusion that it was a free lunch. I commenced eating,
and kept on until I almost made out my supper, when the barkeeper
walked up to me, saying:

“See here, stranger; those eating here are expected to take a drink.”

“I eat for my health; I always take a drink after I eat,” I said.

A while afterwards, as the barkeeper leaned on the counter, I said:
“Now I will take a drink.”

“What will you have, sir,” said he.

“Water,” said I.

I saw him reach for something, and as I passed through the door--bang
came a chair at my heels. I ran for my horse (a beautiful chestnut,
with long mane and tail), but alas! he was not to be found. Where I
had hitched mine there was a bob-tailed horse, surrounded by a band of
starving cattle. I hurried to the other side of the store, looking for
my nag, expecting every minute to see the barkeeper after me with a
shotgun. I jumped over two or three poor cows. The second time I came
in front of the bob-tailed horse, and, to my surprise, discovered that
it was mine. The starving cattle had eaten his tail, and as I came upon
my venerable steed they were chewing the saddle, of which nothing was
left but the tree and a few buckles. I mounted the remains and left the
town.

STRANGER.
Sun River, Mont., Feb. 18, 1880.

* * * * *

The River Press has been published ever since, and is one of the
brightest newspapers in the state; its subscription list is now a
thousand fold larger than it was then. Great changes have taken place
in the Sun river valley since “Stranger” made that trip. A few have
left for other parts; many are still on the old camping ground that was
then almost a barren desert, but now highly cultivated and decorated
with trees and shrubs as beautiful as many of the eastern homes. The
old freighter, the man at the gate, the good mother at the milk ranch
and one of the school girls, and my old friend, Mr. H., have left
what was then a new settlement, and have crossed the great divide and
settled in the “New Jerusalem,” where all good people go and live
forever.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
May 20, 1899.

WARREN C. GILLETTE’S EARLY EXPERIENCES IN MONTANA.

“Graig, Montana, April 16, 1900.

“Robert Vaughn, Esq., Great Falls, Montana.

“Dear Sir: Your kind letter asking me to give you some account of what
I saw and did in the early days of Montana is at hand. I accede to
your request with no little diffidence, but trust it will answer your
purpose.

“I was living in New York City in the spring of 1862, when I received
a letter from James King of Galena, Illinois, stating that a number
of our friends had gone to Salmon river mines, Washington territory,
by steamboat from St. Louis to Fort Benton, and thence overland to
the diggings. He asked me if I would be willing to join him and go by
the next boat, which would leave about the 1st of July. I immediately
replied that I would be glad to go, and would meet him in St. Louis in
time to make arrangements for the trip.

On my arrival in St. Louis, we proceeded to buy a span of mules, wagon
and provisions enough to last us a year. We did not get away until
about the 12th of July. Joseph La Barge was the captain until we
arrived at St. Joseph, where we met the boat Emile, returning from Fort
Benton, where his brother, John La Barge, took his place. We learned
from the passengers who came from up the river that mines had been
discovered near Cottonwood, which is now called Deer Lodge, in this
state, and on account of this news we added to our stock more miners’
supplies. At Sioux City La Barge, Harkness & Co., who owned our boat,
the ‘Shreveport’ (and the Emile), had purchased horses to be taken on
the boat, to be used in freighting goods to their destination, should
they be unable to reach that point by water. These horses were to be
loaded at Yankton, that was several miles up the river. Captain La
Barge kindly gave me permission to put my mules with them and to help
drive the animals from Sioux City to that place.

In making this trip we crossed the Vermillion river, and I was then
deeply impressed with its beauty and the great fertility of its valley.
At Yankton we put the stock on board the steamer. The man who helped
me to drive the horses was a French half-breed by the name of Juneau,
a thorough frontiersman. At Fort Pierre we tied up for several hours.
Major Vaughn was one of the passengers. He was formerly an Indian agent
under President Buchanan, and had with him his Indian wife and child.
Her relatives lived in the vicinity of Fort Pierre. It appears that
the major had purchased at St. Joseph for his wife an elegant silk
gown, brocaded with satin figures. She went on shore for a visit with
her relatives, and with them went on a berrying expedition attired in
this gown. When she returned this garment was a sight to behold, and
the major, using language more forcible than polite, declared that
hereafter she should be clad only in the regulation Indian blanket.

“It being rather late in the season of navigation, we made slow
progress, with frequent delays on sand bars and frequent stops for
wood, at which times passengers readily assisted the roustabouts in
gathering and loading; nevertheless, I remember that we enjoyed the
trip. A day or two before we reached the mouth of the Yellowstone, we
came upon an immense herd of buffalo. They approached the river from
our right in one vast army, reaching as far as we could see, and going
out on the other side after swimming across. Our boat pressed through
this living mass, which quickly closed behind us. The passengers shot
down into this huddling herd until the river was red with blood. Three
were secured and landed on board by the crew. We had some Indians on
board, who, when the buffaloes were being dressed for the boat’s use,
procuring the offal, emptied the grass from the first stomach and ate
the warm, raw tripe with evident relish.

“Nothing of more than ordinary interest occurred until after we passed
Fort Union, near the mouth of the Yellowstone river, for up to this
time we had seen only friendly Indians, but now the captain said we
were in the Sioux country, and a stricter watch was kept when we
tied to the bank at night. One morning, before we had left the bank,
we were aroused by the cry of Indians. They were seen in a bend in
the river a couple of miles below. The captain had a barricade of
boxes made upon the shore and sent a runner up the river to a camp of
friendly Indians for assistance. The Sioux made signals by flashing
the sunlight from their little mirrors from the opposite cliffs. When
the friendly Indians came, they were mounted on slick ponies; the men
had on their war paint and war bonnets, and after a harangue from the
chiefs dashed off to where the hostile Indians had been seen. It was a
fine sight, and looked much like war, but in two or three hours they
returned without any scalps, after driving the Sioux into the hills.
In recognition of their valor, the captain gave them a great feast,
consisting of hard bread, coffee and sugar, with buffalo meat ad
libitum.

“We were unable to proceed above this place but a few miles, for the
water seemed to lessen every day. Finally the captain gave orders to
pull ashore where there was an old stockade fort, and we were put
ashore. Here the cargo was discharged and moved to the abandoned
stockade. As soon as the captain ascertained that we could proceed
no further by water, he dispatched an Indian runner to Fort Benton
with an order for teams to help transport the Shreveport’s cargo and
passengers. Some of the passengers returned with him, having had enough
of upper Missouri life. We met many Mackinaw boats coming down from
Fort Benton, carrying from three to five men each. These men had come
from the Pacific coast, and they told us of the rich diggings there,
and also of the prospecting on the Prickly Pear (now American bar, in
Montana), which made us anxious to get along; so, after remaining at
the old stockade about a week, we got Mr. Picotte, in whose charge
the captain had left the passengers and cargo, to take what teams we
had and move on up the river, and not wait for the outfit from Fort
Benton. One time after several days’ travel we made a camp near the
mouth of Milk river, in a very level country, and nearby there was
the largest aggregation of Indian lodges I had ever seen. There were
several thousand Indians of different tribes. I remember the names of
three only--Crows, Gros Ventres and Assiniboines. I have forgotten
what the object of this great council was. Femmisee (Sitting Woman),
who was the head chief of the Gros Ventres, was there. He was very
friendly to us. Here we had our first actual trouble. Some Indians came
into our camp and tried to take our guns away from us and acted in an
ugly manner. It appeared that the Indians were divided as to whether
we should be permitted to go any further through their country or not.
The chief, Femmisee, said that we could go through, but was opposed by
the younger Indians. That evening our party took a vote as to whether
we should move on next day or turn back. A majority voting to return,
in the morning we headed for the old stockade, but after we had gone
only a short distance several warriors rode up to our leading team and
with drawn guns and arrows strung compelled us to turn again in the
direction of Fort Benton.

“Mr. Picotte informed us afterwards that the Indians also had a
council, and it had been decided that we were to go through, and that
Chief Femmisee, in enforcing his authority, had shot and wounded one
of the opposition. Mr. Picotte made many presents to the head men, and
from this time on we had no more trouble, though we met many Indians.
There were fifteen white men in our party and several half-breeds. We
took turns standing guard at night, making two watches--one from dark
till midnight, the other from midnight till morning. After several
days’ of travel, we met the company’s teams from Fort Benton on their
way to the stockade; they were in charge of Robert Lemon. We reached
Fort Benton without other important incident and made our headquarters
at what was then styled Fort La Barge; an aggregation of log houses
situated about three fourths of a mile above the old Fort Benton,
which was occupied by the American Fur Company, and about a quarter of
a mile above Fort Campbell, whose only occupants were Malcolm Clark
and family. A day or two after our arrival we awoke one morning to
the sound of alarm, and saw a war party of Indians circling about in
the bluffs to the west. At Fort La Barge all was excitement, a cannon
was brought and preparations for defense quickly made. This post was
unfortified, while Fort Campbell and Fort Benton had walls of adobe
with bastions and heavy gates. Clark sent up for someone to come to
Fort Campbell to help him to hold the fort, and I was deputized for
that duty; I got my gun and marched down. The heavy gate was opened
and Mr. Clark welcomed me to his little garrison. The Indians, for
most of the day, could be seen among the bluffs, but finally a parley
was secured, presents were given and the war was over. Christopher
L. Payne, who was one of our party and had some goods to go over the
mountains, bought some ponies and broke them to harness and we waited
a few days for him, as we wished to go together. During this time we
heard that good diggings had been found on the Big Prickly Pear, and
we left for that point, following the Capt. J. L. Fisk trail, whose
expedition had preceded us about a month. Near the last of October we
arrived at where now is located Montana City, or East Helena. Here we
found several families who had come through with the Fisk expedition,
among whom was E. M. Dunphy. We made arrangements with Dunphy to go
to Benton with four wagons with oxen for our goods and bring them to
the Prickly Pear camp where we expected to winter. I preceded him
on horseback, and, on reaching Fort Benton, learned that no tidings
of Lemon’s train had been received. I kept on down the river and
fortunately met him below the mouth of the Marias river after one day’s
travel from Fort Benton. Mr. Lemon reported that after leaving Milk
river he encountered a party of Indians who demanded whisky and were
very troublesome, cutting his harness and making threats of murdering
the whole outfit. To escape them he took the heroic measure of rolling
out a barrel of whisky and setting it on end; he knocked in the head
and they were soon all dead drunk. While they were in this condition
he pulled out his train, and, pushing on night and day, he saw them no
more.

“Dunphy’s wagon being loaded, we started back, leading behind one of
the wagons a little black mare. This mare had been purchased of a
half breed at the Fort by Mr. Tingley (the father of R. S. and Clark
Tingley), and he wanted me to take her to the camp on the Prickly
Pear. Reaching Sun river, we found four lodges of Blackfeet. Here was
stationed a government farmer who was teaching the Blackfeet Indians
how to cultivate the soil. His name was Vail, and he had an interpreter
who informed me that the chief of the Blackfeet camp said that the mare
which I was leading belonged to his squaw and he wanted me to give
her up. I told him it was not my mare; that it had been intrusted
to me, and I could not do it. The Indian said that so far as he was
concerned he did not care, but that it was a pet of his wife’s; that
she was crying and nothing but the mare would console her. I finally
settled the matter by his giving me another horse, and I turned over
the animal and one plug of tobacco. In the meantime the wagons had
gone on and I followed an hour or two later on horseback, leading the
new horse. About twelve miles beyond Sun river, as I was riding slowly
up a rocky hill, I heard a sound and, looking back, I saw an Indian
on horseback within twenty feet of me and he was warning me of some
danger; so I hurried on, and overtaking the wagons, I informed the men
of the incident, and when we went into camp, which was opposite the
Bird Tail mountain, we deemed it wise to place the wagons in a square,
and, putting the horses inside, we slept on our guns that night, but
had no trouble. The next night we camped on the Dearborn river. The
days since leaving Fort Benton had been beautiful, and when we retired
to our blankets that evening the weather was mild, but in the morning
we awoke to find ourselves covered with a foot of snow and the Dearborn
river frozen over. We laid there two days and nights, and on the third
day traveled to Wolf Creek, about seventeen miles, when we found that
the snow had all disappeared. The next day we passed over the hill in
Prickly Pear canyon, where there was the grave of a young man named
Lyon, who had accidentally shot himself but a few weeks before. He
was buried where he died and a rough headboard gave an account of his
death. This point was called then and is still known as Lyon’s Hill.
The third day from Wolf Creek at Three-Mile creek, which is three miles
south of Silver City, we met Mr. King, accompanied by ‘Gold Tom.’ It
appears that the camp on the Prickly Pear had been broken up and nearly
all had moved out to go to Gold Creek and Bannock; so Mr. King had come
to tell us to keep our wagons moving and to go over the Mullan Pass.
About the last of November we rolled into Deer Lodge. Here we stored
our goods in one end of a building owned by A. Fall. In the meantime
we purchased an unfinished building owned by C. A. Broadwater, who was
living there then. It was there I first saw Kohn Kohrs. He had come to
Cottonwood to buy some cattle of John Grant to be butchered in Bannock.
For want of funds he was unable to buy more than three head, while now
his herds are counted by thousands. Also Captain Nick Wall came up from
Gold Creek on his way to the states. He had with him Thomas Levatta, a
mountaineer whom he had hired as a guide, and was going by the way of
Bannock and Salt Lake. Mr. King was induced to join him and I was left
to sell our goods and send the dust down the river the coming spring.
As trade was dull in Cottonwood, I hired Dunphy to haul my goods to
Bannock and put me up a cabin. It took about a week to make the trip,
going over the mountains and down the Big Hole river. The weather
was clear, but cold, with no snow except upon the divide. We reached
Bannock about the twentieth of December. At Bannock I saw a rustling
mining camp, with many saloons and gambling houses. Goods commanded
astonishing prices.

I here met the Minnesota contingent, some mining, others keeping
boarding houses, and all seeming to prosper. It took but a short time
to dispose of the major part of the goods at a sound profit in gold
dust. Knowing that I could obtain goods at Fort Benton, which I could
pack over the mountains, and sell at Bannock at a good profit, I left
my place in charge of Warren Whitcher and started about the middle of
February, 1863, on horseback, with James Gourley, for Fort Benton. The
distance from Bannock to Fort Benton is about three hundred miles, and
we made the trip in eight days. Major Dawson was the manager of the
American Fur Company at Fort Benton and Matthew Carroll and George
Steell were his head men and did the trading. This company had a large
herd of horses which were kept up the Missouri river about fifty
miles. They bought many of these horses very cheap, for when a man got
ready to go down the river it was the company’s price or nothing. I
bought fifteen of these horses at from thirty to forty dollars each,
and enough of such goods as were in demand in Bannock to load them.
A good horse would carry easily two hundred pounds. I hired a cook,
for his board and passage, and returned to Bannock without accident.
Tobacco, for which I paid $2.50 per pound, sold for $10 and $12. Seven
by nine window glass brought one dollar per pane; other articles in
proportion. The venture having proved so profitable I was soon on
my way back to Fort Benton. Henry Plummer gave me a letter for Miss
O’Brien, who was the sister of the wife of I. A. Vail, the government
farmer who lived at the crossing of the Sun river, so that when the
pack train reached the river my men camped across from his house, and
I went over to deliver the letter, and on invitation I remained all
night at the farm. In the morning one of my men came over and told me
that all of the horses had been stolen, which proved to be true. And
Mr. Vail had only one horse left. It was a sore-backed sorrel that had
been left in the corral over night, which I bought for thirty dollars,
and started for Fort Benton, sixty miles away, to buy more horses in
order to move my packs. After traveling twelve miles I left the river
and took a trail up the hill, now known as Frozen Hill, and in a little
hollow, I took off the saddle and picketed the horse that had been
all night without food. I laid down, intending to rest about an hour.
As I was very tired I went to sleep. I could not tell how long I had
slept when an Indian aroused me, and, as I looked back down the road,
I saw quite a large party of Indians coming up the trail. I hurried
to my horse, quickly put on the saddle and rode on. The Indians left
the trail on the top of the hill and bore off to the northwest to my
great relief. I did not get into Benton until after daylight. There
they told me that, from my description, the Indians I met were Little
Dog, a Blackfoot chief, and his band, and that Little Dog was a friend
to the white men. I told Major Dawson my trouble and that I wanted
to buy some horses; he gave me a good horse to ride and sent me with
“Buffalo Bill,” whose name was William Keyser, to the horse herd. We
forded the Missouri river where the city of Great Falls is now located,
then went over the hill to where Mr. Paris Gibson’s stock farm is
situated, and found the horses there in charge of the herders. After
the round up of the band I selected the horses I wanted and drove them
up to where my packs were, crossing the Missouri where we forded it the
day before. My men had recovered some of the stolen horses that had
given out and were abandoned. The Indians who stole the horses were
Shoshones or Snakes and had followed me from Bannock. They had killed
one man near Square Butte who was employed by Mr. Vail as a hunter,
and his widow, a Blackfoot squaw, had cut off one of her fingers as an
evidence of sorrow and was bewailing his death in loud cries, sitting
with other women on the side of a hill. Taking another start, I got to
Fort Benton, bought more goods, and returned to Bannock. While I was
in Bannock this time occurred the shooting of Jack Cleveland by Henry
Plummer. He was shot in a saloon which was opposite my place. I heard
the shots, and going to the door I saw Plummer come out of the place
with a pistol in his hand and walk with a friend down the street. I
immediately went across to the saloon and saw Cleveland lying on the
floor with a bullet hole in his cheek and surrounded by a string of
men. He would raise himself on his elbow and mutter some words and then
fall back. Some one in the crowd asked him if he had any friends. He
said, ‘Old Jack has no friends,’ when one of the crowd replied: ‘Yes,
you have; you bet your life.’ He was shortly removed to a butcher shop,
which was near by, and he lingered for a day or so and died. Plummer
was tried and acquitted, as it was proven that Cleveland had said that
‘Plummer was his meat.’ There were frequent rumors of robberies by road
agents, and among trusted friends men would be pointed out as belonging
to such organizations, and that Henry Plummer was their leader. James
Gourley once informed me that he had good reason to know that I was
once followed, when on a trip to Fort Benton to buy goods, by three of
Plummer’s band who intended to rob me in the Sun river country, but
that they were delayed on account of losing their horses and did not
reach that place until I was well on my way to Benton.

“The weather during the whole winter and spring had been wonderfully
fine, with only one or two snow storms. On my last trip to Benton
that spring I carried considerable dust and some mail; letters coming
from the states by the way of Walla Walla often costing from one to
two dollars each. When Oliver’s express was started, letters from
Salt Lake cost one dollar each and newspapers fifty cents. The gold
dust I carried was not all my own. I put the purses (buckskin) in an
old carpet bag which was put on top of the pack on the back of one of
the pack horses and securely lashed it. We proceeded along without
any trouble until one morning at a camp on Willow Creek, near what is
now known as Mitchell’s Station, the horse carrying the dust became
fractious and tried to buck off his pack. The dust, being so heavy,
burst through the lining of the carpet bag and scattered the sacks of
gold. After some little search we found all the purses, and, taking
care that such an occurrence should not happen again, I finally landed
the treasure safely in the American Fur Company’s safe. Owing to the
light snows in the mountains the Missouri river was low and the steamer
Shreveport, which carried the goods that Mr. King had purchased in
the East, did not reach Fort Benton, and had to unload her freight at
Cow Island, where she arrived about the last of June, 1863. Captain
Nick Wall, of I. I. Roe & Co. of St. Louis, also had merchandise on
this boat. Cow Island was inaccessible to wagons on account of the
high bluffs without the construction of a road. So after waiting some
time for La Barge to get the freight up to Benton we made a contract
with Wall to haul his goods to Virginia City in Alder Gulch (a newly
discovered mining camp) for thirty cents per pound. We did not get
this freight through to its destination until the middle of November,
hauling our own goods at the same time. This proved to be a wonderful
camp. The times were good. It was only a question of how much you
should ask for what you had to sell, for gold dust was plentiful. The
next spring, 1864, I opened a new road to go to Fort Benton by the way
of the Jefferson river, White Tail Deer, Boulder and Big Prickly Pear.
Heretofore wagons had to cross the main divide twice. C. A. Broadwater
was the wagon master. I had about twenty-five teams and hired a
hunter who kept the train supplied with game, which was principally
antelope and deer. It took about a month to make a passable road for
freight teams. In the fall of that year, 1864, gold was discovered in
Last Chance gulch, and the goods which we shipped the next spring,
1865, were taken to Helena and Last Chance gulch. We put up a store
house here, and the coming spring, 1866, we bought of Malcolm Clark
and Edward A. Lewis their charter for a toll road through the Little
Prickly Pear canyon. This road was finished in time for the travel
from Fort Benton that season. Owing to the high price of labor and
the rocky character of the canyon this road cost about forty thousand
dollars, but as tolls were high also, it took only about two years
to get it back. The charter of this road expired in 1875, and it now
belongs to Lewis and Clark county. In the summer of 1865 I sold to Mr.
Copeland for I. I. Roe & Co. two freight trains of twenty-four wagons
each and two hundred head of oxen. That year Copeland had much freight
put off near the mouth of Milk river on account of low water. This was
the commencement of the Diamond R. Freight Company. Cattle in those
days varied much in price. Then ox teams brought freight all the way
from Leavenworth, Kan., and St. Joseph, Mo., and the cattle lean, and
with tender feet, would be often sold for thirty or forty dollars per
yoke. A few months of rest and feeding on the native grasses, and they
would treble in value. As far as possible merchants held their dust
until the spring of the year and sent it down the river in preference
to having it go by stage coach by the way of Salt Lake. I remember (I
think it was in 1865) of leaving Helena with $8,000 in dust to take to
Fort Benton. I carried it in canteens on the horn of my saddle. When
I got to the Dearborn crossing, I found among others camped there for
the noon, Malcolm Clark. He was traveling with a light spring wagon and
he kindly consented to carry my canteens and lighten my load as the
gold alone weighed over forty pounds. He said he wanted to give his
horses rest and would not start till late in the afternoon. I saddled
up and went on and had gone about eighteen miles when I saw some person
ahead coming toward me, driving a packed mule. He was going as fast as
possible, whipping the mule continually. When we met I saw it was a
man by the name of Coppick, whom I had known in Virginia City. He was
much excited and told me that a runner (Joseph Kipp) had come to Sun
River in the night, and that he had been sent from Fort Benton to warn
all travelers that there had been an uprising of the Indians, and that
they had killed ten men on the Marias river and were murdering all the
white people they could find. Coppick said he would rather take chances
with the road agents than the Indians, and that he would go back to the
states by the way of Salt Lake. I tried to persuade him to turn and
go on to Sun river with me, that it was only twelve miles away, and
as there were several outfits camped there, would stand the Indians
off. He said he had on his mule about thirty thousand dollars in dust,
and he believed it would be safer to go the other way. I went on to
the crossing of Sun river, but kept a sharp lookout for the redskins
all the while. I found there quite a large party of freighters who by
arranging their wagons, were prepared for any surprise the Indians
might make. During the night who should come into camp but Coppick.
It appears that Mr. Clark had persuaded him to put his gold into his
wagon, and that, as they would travel at night, they could get through
safely. We lay at this place all the next day and at night started for
Fort Benton, getting there in the morning. We found that the story was
true; that Barris, Angevine and eight others, who had been camped at
the mouth of the Marias, were waylaid and all killed.

“Up river freights that had been from ten to eighteen cents per pound
came down in a few years to three, and wagon freights from Benton to
Helena from six cents to one cent. Business conditions changed as
gold and greenbacks were approaching an equality in value, and goods
purchased in the East were sometimes sold at a loss. I virtually went
out of merchandise in 1869.

“When I commenced this narrative I did not think it would be so long,
and to draw it to a close, I will skip the years until 1877, in which
year I first engaged in sheep raising with Gov. B. F. Potts and D. H.
Weston as partners. This was the year of the Nez Perces war, in which
Chief Joseph was captured by General Miles in the Bear Paw mountains.
We located on the Dearborn river, about three miles above the present
bridge, in August, 1877. The following year, as the shearing time
approached, I was going up to one of the sheep camps with some supplies
tied behind me on the saddle for the herder. When I was about four
miles from the home camp I saw two horsemen coming over a hill. At
first I thought they were cowboys, but as they came nearer I could see
the red blankets; then I knew they were Indians. As they approached
one rode opposite me and said, ‘How,’ to which I replied, ‘How.’ The
other stopped his horse about forty or fifty feet away and dismounted,
coming towards me. I thought maybe he wanted tobacco or matches. The
Indian who remained on his horse had his gun across the saddle in front
of him, the other had laid his gun down, and as soon as he came to
the side of my horse he put his hand under my right foot and I landed
on the other side of my horse. I had no coat on, therefore they could
see I was not armed. He then took off my saddle, which was a new one,
and put it on his horse. As I stood holding my horse by the bridle
he came up to me and suddenly grabbed my watch chain with his right
hand, jerking the watch from the vest pocket, but the chain hung to
its fastening at the buttonhole. As the watch was of great value,
being a Jurgensen, and a stop watch for timing horses, and the chain
of heavy gold, I would not let it go, so I grasped his wrist with my
left hand making him let go and shoved him back. He then drew his gun,
a short Henry rifle and threw in a cartridge with the lever and aimed
it at me; by that time I had concluded that I did not want the watch,
and as I made motions to give it up, he lowered the muzzle of his gun
and received the watch and chain. He then mounted his horse and rode
away to the south, carrying the watch and chain in his hand. When this
Indian drew his gun the one on the horse spoke something quickly which
sounded to me as if he had said, ‘Don’t shoot.’ The one that robbed me
was a tall and fine-looking man, twenty-five years old, I should judge,
his face was painted and he wore brass rings in his hair. The other was
older, shorter and not so good looking. I took the old saddle, put it
on my horse with the provision that had not been disturbed and went on
to the camp. I found that these Indians had been there before me and
had taken a gun, some cartridges and food. I learned afterwards that
they were a part of Chief Joseph’s band who had escaped from General
Miles and had been in the British possessions all winter and were at
that time trying to get back across the mountains to their old home. A
few days after two of my neighbors were killed on the Dearborn river by
this same tribe, Cottle and Wareham. They are buried at the Dearborn
Crossing, where Carson also reposes who was previously killed by
Indians.

“I had considerable trouble to keep herders in those days, and I then
decided that the growing of sheep was a great industry in Montana, only
for the Indians.

“WARREN C. GILLETTE.”

* * * * *

Mr. W. C. Gillette is a native of the State of New York, having been
born there in 1832. He has always been an active and useful citizen. He
was a member of the Montana Territorial Legislature three terms--once
in the council--and was a member of the Constitutional convention in
1889. Mr. Gillette now resides in the Dearborn valley, in Lewis and
Clark county, where he owns one of the largest and best stock ranches
in Montana. He has a large herd of cattle and several thousand sheep.
He is considered to be one of the wealthiest men in the state and one
of the most honorable in his dealings with his fellow men.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
May 21, 1900.

A MEAL IN THE INDIAN CAMP.

One of the Diamond R. Company’s men had been down about the falls of
the Missouri river looking for some oxen that had strayed away. He
came up the valley to my house. He told me that there were six Indian
tepees a little ways above the mouth of Sun river and that there were
five horses that he thought belonged to me not far from the tepees. He
gave a description of them and I could see that they were my horses.
I mounted my saddle pony, which I always had at home, and went to the
place where the horses had been seen, but I could not find them. I
went to the Indian camp (now Sun River Park belonging to the city of
Great Falls). A fine old Indian came and met me. I told him that I was
looking for horses, describing them and making my brand, the letter V,
with my finger in the dust on the ground. He said that he had seen them
and that they had galloped away over the hill, at the same time making
signs and pointing his hand in the direction the horses had gone. I
thanked him; then he asked me to come to his tepee. I went with him,
and when we got to the camp he called on a young Indian to come and
take my horses to good grass. He took me to his own tepee and brought
from his wardrobe a very fine buffalo robe, spread it upon the ground
and asked me to sit on the robe. I accepted the invitation. Then he
filled his pipe with dried red willow bark (kin-ni-ki-nic) and after
lighting and smoking it, long enough to get the pipe going in full
blast, he handed it to me. Although I never indulged in smoking a weed
of any kind, at this time, to please the old fellow, I passed the pipe
around with him half a dozen times, and, of course, I had to take a
whiff every time he did; after that I asked to be excused, telling him
that my heart was good and that I knew his heart was good also. In the
meantime he had told his wife to give me some victuals (much-a-muck).
She took about one dozen grains of coffee and put it in a piece of
buckskin and pounded it between two stones and made me some coffee;
she brought it to me in a tin cup, and also some dried antelope meat.
No one could be treated with more respect by an Indian than I was by
them. Bringing the best robe, and presenting the pipe of peace, as this
Indian did, is one of the most courteous acts an Indian can do for a
man. When I told him that I was going to leave and go over the hill to
get the horses, he ordered the young Indian to bring my horse. I gave
the old fellow fifty cents in silver and he was much pleased, and I am
sure I was, for I was treated royally. I found the horses on the other
side of the hill where the Indian told me they had gone. This was in
the summer of 1873.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Jan. 21, 1898.

[Illustration: INDIAN CAMP.]

THE FIRST SETTLEMENT OF WHAT IS NOW MONTANA.

No doubt it will be of interest to many, especially us Montanans, to
know the history of the first settlement of this state and which was
made in the western portion in 1841. Knowing that Hon. Frank H. Woody
of Missoula is one of the old pioneers and among the oldest residents
of the city of Missoula, I wrote asking him to give me a brief history
of western Montana. In reply he sent me a carefully prepared paper
written by himself some two years since, giving a very complete early
history of that part of this state, also a letter containing valuable
information on the same subject and giving me permission to make use
of so much of his writings as I desired. No one is better qualified to
give such a sketch than Judge Woody, for he has been a resident of what
is now Montana for over forty-four years. The following are extracts
from Judge Woody’s letters:

“All that portion of the state of Montana bounded on the north by
the British possessions, on the east by the main range of the Rocky
mountains, on the south and southwest by the Bitter Root mountains,
and on the west by the one hundred and sixteenth degree of longitude,
at one time constituted a portion of the vast domain of the great
Northwest, known as Oregon Territory. When and by what means the
government of the United States obtained possession of the great
Territory of Oregon are facts not generally known. Oregon was for a
great number of years claimed by the United States and Great Britain,
and was held in joint occupation by citizens of both nations. Great
Britain claimed by the right of discovery, and the United States by the
right of discovery and by virtue of the French cession of the Territory
of Louisiana of April 3, 1803, and the treaty of limits with Spain of
Feb. 22, 1829, and also by right of actual occupation of soil for a
great number of years. The ‘Oregon Question’ engrossed the attention
of congress and came near resulting in a war between the United States
and Great Britain, but the matter was amicably adjusted by the treaty
of June 15, 1846, by which the forty-ninth parallel of latitude was
established as a boundary line between the two nations, and the United
States became the sole and undisputed owner of all that portion of
Oregon lying south of that line.

“Oregon was organized as a territory by act of congress, passed in
August, 1848, and included within its limits all that portion of
Montana lying on the west side of the Rocky mountains.

“By act of congress approved March 2, 1853, the Territory of Oregon was
divided, and this portion of it became a part of Washington Territory.
The first legislature of Washington Territory created the county of
Clarke, named in honor of Captain Clarke, of the Lewis and Clarke
expedition. Clarke county extended from a point on the Columbia river,
below Fort Vancouver, to the summit of the Rocky mountains, a distance
of some six hundred miles. This portion of the present State of Montana
was then a portion of Clarke county, and was then for the first time
included within the limits of a county.

“Clarke county was afterwards divided, and the county of Skamania
created, and we became a portion of the last named county. The
legislature then divided Skamania and created Walla Walla county, and
then we became a portion of Walla Walla county, with our county seat
located on the land claim of Lloyd Brooks, on the Walla Walla river,
in the present State of Washington. Walla Walla county was afterwards
divided and we became a part of Spokane county, with the county seat
located at Fort Colville. We remained a part of Spokane county until
December 14, 1860, when the legislature of Washington Territory divided
the county of Spokane and created the county of Missoula, with the
county seat at or near the trading post of Worden & Co., Hell’s Gate
Ronde.

“The county of Missoula, as first established, embraced all those
portions of the present counties of Missoula and Deer Lodge, lying on
the west side of the main range of the Rocky mountains. Missoula county
remained a portion of Washington Territory until Idaho Territory was
organized on the 3d of March, 1863, when it became a portion of that
territory.

“The first legislature of Idaho created Missoula county, and located
the county seat at Wordensville. On the 26th day of May, 1864,
congress created Montana Territory, and the first legislature, which
met at Bannock, created, on the 2d day of February, 1865, the county
of Missoula, and located the county seat at Hell’s Gate. From the
foregoing it will be seen that Missoula county has at different times
comprised a portion of four territories and five counties.

“Probably the first white men who visited this portion of Montana were
Lewis and Clarke, who, with their party, sometime during the summer of
1805, entered the Bitter Root valley from the south, through a pass
known at the present time as the Big Hole mountain, a small valley near
the head of Bitter Root river, where the party of Lewis and Clarke
first met and gave the name of Flatheads to the tribe of Indians now
known by that name.

“A number of years since the writer was well acquainted with Moise,
the second chief of the Flatheads, who was a boy at the time Lewis
and Clarke passed through the Bitter Root valley and well remembered
the event and many circumstances connected therewith, the party being
the first white men ever seen by these Indians. Moise was a warm and
devoted friend of the whites from the time of his first meeting with
them up to the time of his death, which occurred about 1887.

“Western Montana has been occupied from time immemorial by three
different tribes of Indians, to-wit: The Salish--called by Lewis and
Clarke the Flatheads, and by which name they are generally known--the
Kelespelmns, now exclusively known by the French name of Pend
d’Oreilles, and the Kootenais. These tribes speak dialects slightly
different, and most probably constituted at a remote date one tribe or
nation. They have a tradition that they came from the far north, but
this tradition is exceedingly vague and indefinite.

“From the time of Lewis and Clarke’s expedition up to about the year
1835 to 1836, we have no definite knowledge of what transpired in this
portion of Montana. At a very early date a number of Canadian voyagers
and Iroquois Indians from Canada visited this country, and sometime
between 1820 and 1835 the employes of the Hudson’s Bay company visited
it for the purpose of trading with the Indians and extending the power
of dominion of that gigantic company, but these early adventurers left
us no available data from which to write their travels and adventures.

“About the year 1835 to 1836 the Flathead Indians, who inhabited
the Bitter Root valley, had gathered some little knowledge of the
Christian religion from the Canadian voyagers and Iroquois Indians,
who visited the country for the purpose of trapping and trading for
furs. The Flatheads were anxious to gain further knowledge and sent
to St. Louis, Missouri, for a priest, or as they called him a ‘Black
Gown.’ Three different parties of Indians were sent in as many
different years. Of the first party sent but little that is definite is
known, except that none reached St. Louis. The second party, on their
downward trip, were all killed by Indians--probably Blackfeet--near
Fort Hall. The third party started in the spring of 1839, and in the
summer of that year two of the party reached St. Louis. Of the two who
successfully accomplished the journey, one was named Ignace Iroquois
and he died at or near the St. Ignatius Mission, in Missoula county,
sometime during the winter of 1875-76. The other was the father of a
Flathead named Francoise Saxa of Bitter Root valley. The superior of
the Jesuit establishment at St. Louis promised to send them a priest
in the following spring. Ignace remained in St. Louis all winter and
came up with the father in the spring. The other Indian came back the
same fall to tell the news. In the spring of 1840 Father De Smet and
Ignace came across the plains and found a camp of Flatheads and Nez
Perces near the Three Tetons, near the eastern line of the present
state of Idaho. The father baptized a few Indians and came with the
Flatheads to the Gallatin valley, near the place where Gallatin City
now stands, and, finding that he could do little without aid, returned
to St. Louis for assistance. In the spring of 1841 Father De Smet
returned, coming by the way of Fort Hall. He brought with him two other
fathers--Point and Mengarine--and several lay brothers, among whom were
Brothers W. Classens and Joseph Specht, who are eminently entitled to
the appellation of ‘oldest inhabitants,’ having been residents here for
more than a third of a century. The party brought with them wagons and
carts, horses, mules and oxen, and came by the way of the Deer Lodge
valley and down the Hell’s Gate canyon. These were the first wagons and
oxen brought to Montana. In the fall of that year the first settlement
was made in the Bitter Root valley by the establishment of St. Mary’s
mission on the tract of land upon which Fort Owen is now situated.
During the fall and winter of the same year dwelling houses, shops and
a chapel were built, and nearly all the Flatheads and some Nez Perces
and Pend d’Oreilles were baptized.

“Probably the first farming attempted in our state was in the spring of
1842, by the fathers at the mission. This year they raised their first
crop of wheat and potatoes. The same year the first cows were brought
from the Hudson Bay company’s post at Fort Colville on the Columbia
river. About this time or a little later the fathers also erected a saw
and grist mills--the burrs for the latter being brought from Belgium.”

Those same mill stones, which are fifteen inches in diameter, with
other relics of this early settlement, are now in the archives of the
museum at St. Ignatius mission.

“After establishing the St. Mary’s mission, Father De Smet returned
to St. Louis, and thence to Europe, but returned to the Bitter Root
valley in 1844, making his third trip, and bringing with him a number
of fathers and lay brothers. Among the number was the well known and
highly esteemed, the late Father Ravalli. St. Mary’s mission was kept
up until November, 1850, when the improvements were sold by Father
Joset to Major John Owen. The bill of sale--now in possession of the
writer--bears date St. Mary’s mission, Flathead county, November 5,
1850, and is, without doubt, the first written conveyance ever executed
within the limits of Montana.

“In 1847 the Hudson’s Bay company established a trading post on Crow
creek, on the northern portion of the present Flathead reservation,
and the place is still known as the Hudson’s Bay post. Angus McDonald,
Esq., who came to the mountains as early as 1838 or 1839, was probably
the first officer placed in charge of the new post.

“In 1849 Major Owen started from St. Joseph, Missouri, as sutler
for a regiment of United States troops known as the Mounted Rifles,
destined for Oregon. The troops came as far as Snake river, when
winter caught them, and they built winter quarters on the bank of that
river about six miles above Fort Hall, where they spent the winter.
The camp was called Cantonment Loring and the place was long known by
that name. Major Owen remained at Cantonment Loring until the troops
resumed their march in the spring of 1850, when he relinquished his
sutlership, and spent the summer on the emigrant road, trading with the
emigrants bound for California and Oregon. In the fall of 1850 he came
to the Bitter Root valley, and, having bought the improvements of the
Catholic fathers, erected a trading post at that point and christened
it Fort Owen, a name which it still continues to bear. The fort was
constructed of a stockade of logs placed in an upright position with
one end planted in the ground. The stockade was necessary to protect
the inmates and their property from the incursions of the numerous war
parties of the Blackfeet Indians that continued to make raids into
the valley up to 1855. It was the custom to drive the horses into the
stockade each night during the spring, summer and fall of each year
to prevent them from being stolen by the Blackfeet, and even this
precaution did not always save them. One night a party of Blackfeet
came to the fort, and, with knives and sticks, dug up some of the logs
forming the stockade and drove away all of the horses belonging to the
fort.

“In the fall of 1852, while hauling hay, a young man named John F.
Dobson, from Buffalo Grove, Illinois, was killed and scalped by the
Blackfeet in sight of the fort. The writer of this article has in
his possession a diary kept by Dobson from the day that he left
Illinois, in the spring of 1852, up to the day he was killed. The
last entry that he made in it was on the day that he was killed, and
is as follows: ‘Sept. 14, 1852. I have been fixing ox yokes and hay
rigging. Helped haul one load of hay. Weather fair.’ The next entry is
in the handwriting of Major Owen--apparently made the next day, and in
these words: ‘Sept. 15. The poor fellow was killed and scalped by the
Blackfeet in sight of the fort.’ These facts are only cited to show
with what trials, dangers and privations the early settlers had to
contend with in those days.

“In March, 1853, the Territory of Washington was organized, and Isaac
I. Stevens appointed governor of the same. He was also interested in
an expedition fitted out from St. Paul, Minnesota, to make the first
survey to determine the practicability of a route for a Northern
Pacific railroad. This expedition arrived, in what is now Missoula
county, in the fall of 1853, bringing with it a number of men who
afterwards became citizens of Montana, among whom were Captain C. P.
Higgins of Missoula and Thomas Adams and F. H. Burr, who were for a
long time residents of Missoula and Deer Lodge counties.

“In the fall of 1853 Lieutenant John Mullan, a member of the
expedition, was directed to establish winter quarters in the Bitter
Root valley and make certain observations during the winter. In the
fall of 1855 Neil McArthur, an old Hudson bay trader, having retired
from the company’s service, came to the Bitter Root valley, accompanied
by L. R. Maillet and Henry Brooks. McArthur brought with him a band of
horses and cattle and located and occupied the buildings at Cantonment
Stevens, having during the summer of 1855 concluded a treaty with the
Flatheads, Blackfeet, Crows and other mountain tribes of Indians. The
Blackfeet had, in a great measure, ceased making raids into the Bitter
Root valley and lives and property were comparatively safe.

“The treaty between the United States and the Confederated Flathead
nation, consisting of the Flatheads, Pend d’Oreilles and Kootenai
tribes, was concluded in a council held in July, 1855, in a large pine
grove on the river about eight miles below the present town of Missoula
and opposite to the farm of John S. Caldwell. The place was for a
number of years known as Council Grove.

“In 1854 the first white woman came to the country now constituting
Missoula county, and she was probably the first white woman who honored
our state with her presence. In the next year a Mrs. J. Brown came from
the East, and, while crossing the Rocky mountains, gave birth to a male
child, now grown to manhood and a citizen of a neighboring state. She,
with her baby and two little girls, rode alternately a stout, hardy
Manitobian steer and a Canadian pony. She visited the Hudson’s Bay post
in the northern part of our country and remained several days, and then
proceeded the same season to Washington Territory. This was probably
the first white child born within the limits of our present state.

“In the fall of 1856 several parties who had been spending the summer
trading on the ‘Road’ relinquished that business and came to the Bitter
Root valley and took up their residence, among whom were T. W. Harris,
Joseph Lompre and William Rogers. During the winter of 1856-57 the
population of the Bitter Root valley was larger than it again was until
the fall of 1860.

“Up to that time no settlement had been made in the Hell’s Gate Ronde.
Soon after the arrival of Major Pattee he contracted with Major Owen
and commenced the erection of a grist and sawmill at Fort Owen. In
the latter part of December, 1856, McArthur, having determined upon
erecting a trading post in the Hell’s Gate Ronde, dispatched Jackson,
Holt, Madison, ‘Pork’ and the writer to Council Grove to get out the
necessary timbers to erect the buildings the next summer. Our quarters
consisted of an Indian lodge and we fared sumptuously on bread and
beef, with coffee without sugar about once a week. The snow fell deep
during that winter and the weather was quite cold, but we lost but
little time and by spring had gotten out a large quantity of square
timber. In the spring McArthur paid us off for our winter’s work, each
man receiving a Cayuse horse in full of all demands. With the coming
of spring there was a general breaking up of winter quarters and not
many men were left in the country. James Holt and the writer remained
in the employ of McArthur, broke about eight acres of land and sowed
it to wheat and also planted a garden. This was the first attempt made
at farming in the Hell’s Gate Ronde. The potatoes, carrots, beets,
turnips and onions grew well, but the wheat, while in the milk, was
completely killed by a heavy frost on the night of the 14th of August,
1857. McArthur was absent during the entire summer and fall, having
gone to Colville and thence to the Suswap mines in British Columbia. In
those days we did not have our daily papers and telegraphic dispatches
containing the latest news from all parts of the globe, but thought
ourselves fortunate if we got one or two Oregon papers in six months;
Eastern papers we never saw. The following will show our isolated
condition: The presidential election was held in November, 1856, but we
knew nothing of the result until about the middle of April, 1857, when
Abram Finley arrived from Olympia with a government express for the
Indian department, bringing two or three Oregon papers, from which we
learned that Buchanan had been elected and inaugurated president.

“Few events of historical interest occurred from the fall of 1857 to
the fall of 1859. During the spring and summer of 1858 an Indian war
in the Spokane and lower Nez Perces country cut off all communication
with the west and placed the settlers of this county in a dangerous
situation. Congress having made a large appropriation to build a
military wagon road from Fort Walla Walla to Fort Benton, placed
Lieutenant John Mullan in charge of the work. He organized his
expedition at the Dalles, Oregon, in the spring of 1858, but was forced
to disband it on account of the Indian hostilities. He again organized
in the spring of 1859 and constructed the road over the Coeur d’Alene
mountains as far as Cantonment Jordan on the St. Regis Borgia, where he
went into winter quarters, sending his stock to the Bitter Root valley.
During the winter the greater portion of the heavy grades between
Frenchtown and the mouth of Cedar creek was constructed. In the spring
of 1860 he resumed his march and took his expedition through to Fort
Benton, doing but little work, however, between Hell’s Gate and Fort
Benton.

“In June, 1860, Frank L. Worden and C. P. Higgins, under the firm name
of Worden & Co., started from Walla Walla with a stock of general
merchandise for the purpose of trading at the Indian agency, but, upon
their arrival at Hell’s Gate, they determined to locate at that point
and accordingly built a small log house and opened business. This was
the first building erected at that place and formed the nucleus of a
small village that was known far and wide as Hell’s Gate. During this
year four hundred United States troops under the command of Major
Blake passed over the Mullan road from Fort Benton to Fort Walla Walla
and Colville. During the fall of this year a number of settlers came
into the county and new farms were taken up at Frenchtown, Hell’s
Gate and in the Bitter Root valley, and during the winter of 1860-61 a
considerable number of men wintered in the different settlements.

“On the 14th day of December, 1860, the bill creating Missoula county
was passed by the legislative assembly of Washington Territory. The
county extended from the 115th degree of longitude east to the summit
of the Rocky mountains and from the 46th degree to the 49th degree of
latitude, which included all that portion of Deer Lodge county lying
west of the Rocky mountains.

“In the spring of 1861 Lieutenant Mullan organized another party and
started for Fort Benton to finish up the road he had nearly opened
the year before. His expedition was accompanied by an escort of one
hundred men under the command of Lieutenant Marsh. The expedition came
as far as the crossing of the Big Blackfoot river where they erected
winter quarters and named them Cantonment Wright, in honor of Colonel,
afterwards General, Wright who quelled the Indian war of 1858 so
effectively. During that winter the heavy grades in the Hell’s Gate
canyon were constructed.

“On the 5th day of March, 1862, the first marriage of two white persons
in Missoula county was solemnized at Hell’s Gate; that of George P.
White to Mrs. Josephine Mineinger. The ceremony was performed by Henry
Brooks, justice of the peace, and who was afterwards known as ‘Bishop
Brooks.’ This was probably the first marriage of white persons within
the limits of the country that is now Montana.

‘The first lawsuit ever commenced in Missoula county, or in fact in
Montana, was commenced and tried at Hell’s Gate, in the month of March,
1862, before Henry Brooks, justice of the peace. The proceedings were
under the laws of Washington Territory. A Frenchman called ‘Tin Cup
Joe’--other name forgotten--accused Baron O’Keefe with beating one of
his horses with a fork handle and then pushing him into a hole, thereby
causing his death, and claimed damages in the sum of forty dollars and
sued O’Keefe to recover that amount. The place of trial was in Bolte’s
saloon. A jury of six was impaneled and sworn to try the case. W. B. S.
Higgins, A. S. Blake and Bart Henderson were of the jury. As the trial
progressed the proceedings became less harmonious until it ultimately
culminated in a bit of unpleasantness, the friends of the respective
parties lent a hand and it was far from being a select or private
affair. While the unpleasantness was in progress the court and the jury
had fled for dear life, and when harmony was restored they were nowhere
to be found. After considerable search the court and jury were captured
and the trial proceeded. The case was finally given to the jury, and
after a brief time they came into court and rendered a verdict for the
plaintiff for forty dollars damages. The costs swelled the judgment to
about ninety dollars. This was probably the most hotly contested case
ever tried in the state. The defendant endeavored to take an appeal
to the district court, but as that court was held at Colville, three
hundred miles distant, he concluded to settle the judgment, which he
did. Poor Bishop Brooks was, in 1865, killed in Uncle Ben’s gulch near
Blackfoot City, shot through a glass in a door by whom or for what
cause was never known.

“On the 3d day of March, 1863, Idaho Territory was organized and this
county became a part of that Territory and an election was held in the
fall of that year for members of the legislature. The writer has no
knowledge that any county officers were appointed by the governor of
Idaho for this county, and from the fact that Montana was organized on
the 26th of May, 1864, he is of the opinion that none were appointed.
In the fall of 1864, under the proclamation of Governor Edgerton,
an election was held for delegates to congress and members of the
legislature. September 27, 1867, the first district court convened in
Missoula county, Hon. L. P. Williston presiding. The first churches
established in Montana were in Missoula county, the first being at the
old Catholic mission established in the Bitter Root valley, and the
next that of St. Ignatius mission. Prior to 1865 there was scarcely a
protestant minister within the Territory of Montana. Bishop Tuttle of
the Episcopal church visited Missoula in 1870, and the services held by
him were the first by any protestant minister in the town of Missoula.
In 1872 Rev. T. C. Iliff of the Methodist Episcopal church organized a
congregation in Missoula. The first Presbyterian church was organized
in Missoula in 1876.

“The first train over the Northern Pacific railroad reached Missoula
August 7, 1883, and the last spike connecting the east and west
divisions of the road was driven at a point between Garrison and Gold
Creek by Henry Villard, president of the road, on September 8, 1883.”

Judge Woody came to what is now Montana in October, 1856, when the
western portion of the state of Montana was a part of Washington
Territory. He has resided in the country ever since, and nearly all of
this time in Missoula county, thus giving him a residence in Montana
of over forty-four years. During all this time he has, without moving,
been an inhabitant of three territories and one state. The western
portion of Montana was, in 1856, Washington Territory, then became
Idaho Territory, Montana Territory and finally the state of Montana.

Judge Woody was born in Chatham county, North Carolina, on December
10, 1833, and on his paternal side was of Quaker descent, and on his
maternal side of good old revolutionary stock. His early life was that
of a farmer with very limited educational advantages. At the age of
eighteen he entered New Garden Boarding school (now Guilford college),
a Quaker institution of learning near Greensboro, North Carolina.
After remaining at this institution one year, he taught school in the
eastern portion of the state for six months. He then, in the summer of
1853, attended another Quaker school in Indiana, after which he taught
school in that state until April, 1855, when he removed to Kansas. Not
being satisfied with the country, and with a desire to see more of
the West, he joined a merchant wagon train bound for Great Salt Lake,
and remained with the train until it reached a point west of Fort
Laramie. He then joined an emigrant party bound for Shoalwater bay,
in the Territory of Washington, and remained with it until it reached
Independence Rock, a once noted point on the Sweetwater river, near
the South Pass, in the state of Wyoming. At this point he became sick
and was forced to remain several days and eventually fell in with a
party of Mormons bound for Salt Lake and went with them, reaching there
August, 1855.

He remained in Utah until the fall of 1856, when he joined a party of
traders coming to the “Flathead country” (now Missoula and Ravalli
counties), to trade with the Indians, and about the middle of October
arrived on the Hell Gate river, near where the town of Missoula now
stands.

From that time until February, 1866, he followed different pursuits,
engaging in freighting, mining and merchandising, and, on the last date
named was, by the board of county commissioners, appointed county clerk
and recorder of Missoula county, which office he held continuously by
re-election until the fall of 1880, when he refused to again become a
candidate. During a portion of this time he also filled the office of
probate judge, which office had been consolidated with that of county
clerk and recorder. For eight years of this time he also served as
deputy clerk of the second judicial district court of the county of
Missoula. While acting in the latter capacity, he began the study of
law and was admitted to the bar in January, 1877. He soon built up an
extensive clientage and took rank as one of the leading lawyers of
western Montana. In 1869 he was elected a member of the legislative
council for the counties of Missoula and Deer Lodge.

He once edited a weekly newspaper, and at a period when editors labored
under difficulties and disadvantages of which the present generation
can scarcely conceive. Then mails were but weekly and later on
tri-weekly, and often in the winter it was from eight to twelve days
between deliveries, therefore an Eastern or California paper was seldom
to be obtained so that the old-time editors had great difficulty in
making up their editorial columns or securing clippings for the general
news page. But, after all, the infrequent arrival of the mails was
in favor of the Montana editor, for in those days few of the general
readers of the territorial papers ever read an Eastern or a Pacific
coast paper, consequently everything printed in their home paper was
news to them, and the editor, who was supposed to be the writer, was
praised as a smart fellow, when, in fact, it was often copied from
other papers.

At the annual meeting of the Montana Press Association at Anaconda
last fall, Judge Woody was present and was called upon to give his
experiences as an editor. The judge arose, and, in a humorous way, said:

“I remember well when we received the news of the death of Napoleon
III., in 1873. I wanted to write an editorial about him and give a
short sketch of his career, but there was not a work of reference in
town. Fortunately the San Francisco Chronicle, which was received,
contained an account of his death and also an elaborate editorial on
his life and achievements, and from this I constructed an editorial
which would have astonished the editor who wrote the one for the
Chronicle.

“These pilferings were hardly legitimate, but were excusable under the
plea of ‘military necessity.’ In the early days the editors of many
of our weekly papers were not only editors, but ‘local,’ and often
proprietors, and they were required to furnish not only the copy, but
the means to keep the paper running, which was not always easy to do
when we shipped our paper by express from Helena to Missoula at twelve
and one-half cents per pound, cash down, before we could get it out of
the express office. Talk about ‘steamer day!’ No one ever rustled on
steamer day as we were compelled to on the day when the express arrived
with our week’s supply of paper. We never failed to get our paper out
of the express office, but it sometimes made us sweat blood to do it.
In those days there was never a circus in the vicinity. There were no
shows of any kind, and complimentary tickets to such entertainments
were never seen by the editorial ‘staff.’

“In those days, while we did not get any complimentaries, and but
little wedding cake and wine, we received our regular supply of
threatened lickings, and the kickers of those days were more robust,
muscular and dangerous than the kickers of the present time. Most of
them wore six-shooters, which had a decidedly ugly look. It was not
always safe to write what we deemed a complimentary personal, and on
more than one occasion I raised a storm by printing what I deemed an
innocent local. I wrote a harmless item--as I thought--concerning some
school mams who were coming to Missoula to spend their vacation and
incidentally mentioned that a bachelor of the town, hearing of the
intended visit of these school mams, had caused a new picket fence to
be constructed around his bachelor quarters in order to protect himself
from invasion. Now I thought this was exceedingly clever, but just here
I made a mistake. The bachelor friend was highly indignant and did not
speak to me for more than a month, and when I received the next number
of the New Northwest, of Deer Lodge, it contained a letter from one of
the aforesaid school mams, in which she walked all over me with spikes
in her shoes. This was a good opening, and in our next issue I returned
to the fray a little, just vigorously enough to get the lady to go
another bout. She came back sharper than ever in the next issued of the
New Northwest, and thus it went until Captain Mills, the editor, shut
her off, and that ended the fight.

“About this time there was quite a sensation in New York city
concerning the ‘Little Church Around the Corner.’ At the time of which
I write, Dr. T. C. Iliff, now of Salt Lake City, was stationed in
Missoula as a Methodist minister, and was quite a young man. He had
in the summer of 1872 erected the church in Missoula now known as the
Methodist church, and during the winter of 1872-73 he, with some other
preachers, were holding a protracted meeting in the church. They had
quite a revival. One day, during the time the meeting was in progress,
I wrote a short local notice of it, in which I referred to the revival
in the little church around the corner, and said something to the
effect that Brother Iliff had brought into the fold ‘Tapioca’ and some
other tough cases, and that, having succeeded so well with them, there
was hope for ‘Yeast Powder Bill’ and some others in town.

“Be it known that there were then in town two rather hard cases, known
by these titles. ‘Tapioca’ joined the church and became a bright and
shining light--for a short time. Well, Brother Iliff and my other
Methodist friends took great umbrage at my little item and appointed a
committee, headed by Brother Iliff, to wait on me and demand some kind
of a retraction, all of which they did not get.

“However, the storm soon blew over and Brother Iliff and I have ever
since been the warmest kind of friends. Such were a few of the
amenities of early journalism in the Wild and Woolly West.”

Frank H. Woody is now, and has been since his election in 1892, the
district judge for the Fourth judicial district of Montana, which
comprises Missoula and Ravalli counties.

Thus, in brief, is the history of the first settlement in the state of
Montana, and also a short biography of one of her first pioneers.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Dec. 18, 1899.

MONTANA THEN AND NOW.

Montana! The name carries with it the “legend of the aborigines” who
called it “Tay-a-be-shock-up,” or “Country of the Mountain,” a name
appropriate and expressive that its beautiful significance will ever
suggest a synonym as permanent as “The everlasting hills.”

It was created a territory by act of congress approved May 26, 1864,
and admitted as a state into the Union February 22d, 1889. As now
constituted, Montana covers all that vast region lying between the 45th
and 49th parallels of north latitude, and the 104th and 116th meridians
of west longitude, extending 550 miles from east to west, and nearly
300 north to south, a total of about 150,000 square miles, or nearly
100,000,000 acres. We can more fully appreciate the meaning of these
figures when we remember that the six New England states and the great
state of New York would not cover this area, that Minnesota and Iowa
could be turned over upon it and a margin left for Connecticut to rest
upon, or that England and Wales, Ireland and Scotland combined do not
near equal it in size.

In another letter I have spoken of Montana as an infant, and well I
may for she was “then” only a few days old, her population was only a
few hundred gold seekers, her wealth was undeveloped, except a limited
number of gold placer claims; “then” it was thought fit for nothing
else. Her civil courts were but those of the miners’ courts that were
held in the open air or in some miner’s log cabin. No one can give
a description of what Montana was “then” better than Judge Wade in
Joaquin Miller’s “History of Montana.” He said: “History tells the
story of race movements and migrations and the planting of laws and
institutions in new countries, but there is nothing in the history of
the migration of races more interesting or remarkable than the story
of the march and journey of the masses of men, women and families
from the states over plains and mountains to the gold fields of the
Pacific slope--a march more perilous than that of Xenophon and the ten
thousand, and the establishment of law and order in a vast and desolate
region, and such law as would secure individual rights and promote and
protect the mighty industries and enterprises which arise therein.

“These hardy pioneers, these builders of states yet to be, more
venturesome than Columbus or Marco Polo, found themselves in a new
world, full of resources and surrounded by new and strange conditions.
They were beyond the reach of law. They were effectually beyond the
protection or control of the government of the United States. These
mineral lands had not been declared open to exploration or purchase.
There was no means of acquiring title. These immigrants, miners and
prospectors were trespassers upon the public domain, and as between
themselves actual possession was the only evidence of ownership.

“They organized miners’ courts, preserved order, protected life and
property, and adjudicated rights, and commenced the conquest and
reclamation of a vast unexplored country that has since then added so
much to the wealth and power of the United States.

“Montana had a history before it had a name; it enacted laws and
established courts before it had a legislature or judges; it planted
a state before it was born a territory. The period from the discovery
of gold in 1862 to the organization of the territory in May, 1864, was
an era of government and control by the inherent force and majesty of
American citizenship, unaided by executive, legislative or judicial
departments, and as to mines, mining and water rights, this era
continued until July, 1866, and May, 1872, when congress opened the
mineral lands to exploration and purchase, and validated the miners’
rules and regulations theretofore existing. The first courts in what
is now Montana were miners’ courts, presided over by judges elected by
the miners of the districts to enforce miners’ rules and regulations
by and for themselves. Besides providing for themselves a system of
mining law, the people acting together were compelled to exercise their
original criminal jurisdiction, which corresponds to the right of self
defense in the individual.”

At this time new gold discoveries were constantly made, and a rush
would follow, or “stampede,” as it is called in a mining country. This
attracting all classes, and among them the very lowest element, until
criminals and outlaws from other places flooded the country and were
getting so bold that the well disposed people were compelled to get
together and organize for self-defense. At this time comes the work of
the vigilance committee, which will always be a thrilling chapter in
the history of this great state.

The following was written by one of those that were here “then:” “In
the wake of every gold ‘stampede’ follow a horde of thieves, robbers,
desperadoes, criminals of the worst class and refugees from justice.
Too idle and thriftless themselves to take up the pick, shovel and pan,
they prey upon the honest miners and despoil them of their hard-won
treasure. And Montana, during the gold excitement of 1862-3, was no
exception to the rule. Among the later arrivals were some desperadoes
and outlaws from the mines west of the mountains. In this gang were
Henry Plummer, afterwards the sheriff, Charley Reeves, George Ives,
Moore and Skinner, who, as soon as they got ‘the lay of the country,’
commenced their nefarious operations. These ruffians served as a
nucleus around which the desperate and the dishonest gathered, and
quickly organized themselves into a band, with captain, lieutenant,
secretary, road agents, and ‘outsiders.’ They became the terror of
the country. When the stampede in Alder gulch occurred in June, 1863,
and the discovery was made of the rich placer diggings there, many
of the dangerous classes were attracted thither. Between Bannock and
Virginia City a correspondence in cipher was constantly kept up. To
such a system were things reduced that horses, men and coaches were
marked in some manner to designate them as fit objects for plunder. The
headquarters of the marauders was at Rattlesnake ranch, in the upper
Beaverhead country, and a favorite resort was Dempsey’s Cottonwood
ranch. The plan of operations of the road agents was to lie in wait
at some secluded spot on the road for a coach, a party, or a single
individual, of whom information was given by their confederates, and
when near enough, would spring from their cover with shotguns with the
command, ‘Halt! throw up your hands!’ And while a part of the gang
kept their victims covered others would ‘go through’ their effects.
A failure to comply with the order or any hesitancy in obeying it,
was sure to cause the death of the person so disobeying; and, indeed,
if there was probability that any information which a victim might
communicate would result in danger to themselves, he was shot, on the
principle that ‘dead men tell no tales.’

“By the discoveries of the bodies of the victims, the confessions of
the murderers before execution and other information, it was found
that one hundred and two people had within a few months certainly been
killed by these miscreants in various places, and it was believed
that many more had shared the same fate. The whole country became
terrorized, and, although the few ranchmen and dwellers in the mining
camps knew the road agents, they dared not expose them for fear their
lives would pay the penalty. Some action on the part of the honest
portion of the community to check these wholesale murders and robberies
and bring their perpetrators to justice became imperatively necessary.
But what was to be done? It was four hundred miles to the nearest man
who was authorized to administer an oath. Clearly no relief could be
had from the law. The conclusion that something should be done was
hastened by the murder and robbery of Lloyd Magruder and his party, the
sum stolen being over fourteen thousand dollars. They were murdered
by a number of road agents whom they had unknowingly hired to drive
their teams. Magruder was well known and very popular throughout the
whole region. This culminating outrage of the desperadoes led to the
formation of the vigilance committee late in the year 1863. Five men
in Virginia City and one in Nevada City took the initiative in the
matter. Two days had not elapsed before their efforts were united, and
when once a beginning had been made the ramifications of the league of
protection and order extended in a week or two all over the territory.
From the 21st of December, 1863, to the 14th of January, 1864,
twenty-four of the desperadoes, including the leaders, Henry Plummer
and George Ives, were captured and hanged at various places. Every one
confessed, or there was testimony to show, that he had murdered one or
more men. This vigorous action of the Vigilantes brought to an end the
terrible deeds of blood and rapine of the road agents in Montana, and
criminals of all classes and grades fled for their lives.”

Again Judge Wade says: “Life, liberty and property were without any
protection. The situation was desperate and unparalleled. It was
crime against society, criminals against honest men, murder and
robbery against life and property. The people, few in numbers and
scattered over a wide extent of country, were compelled to organize
and confederate together for self-preservation. They acted with
deliberation. The supreme hour had come. They were to test their right
to live. Their calmness was not that of despair or cowardice, but of
self-respect, manhood, American citizenship. They did nothing in the
nature of mob violence or lynch law. Remembering the forms of law in
their distant homes, where judge and jury tried men for crime, they
organized citizens’ courts with the miners’ judge to preside, formed
juries who listened to the evidence, had attorneys to prosecute and
defend, and not until the testimony had excluded every doubt was a
verdict of guilty returned; and when returned, without undue delay,
uninfluenced by petty technicalities, maudlin sympathy, or unholy
passion, it was, in an orderly manner, carried into execution. There
is nothing in history like these trials. They were open and public;
they were attended by the well disposed people and the desperadoes
alike, all being armed and on the alert, some looking for the arrival
of confederates and preparing to rescue the prisoners, and others, with
their lives in their hands, ready to prevent the attempt. It required
supreme courage for a lawyer to prosecute, or for a witness to testify
against, a prisoner at these trials.”

“Now” Montana has its courts of civil and criminal jurisdiction equal
to any state in the Union, and the sturdy stroke of the miner followed
by that of the mechanic, farmer, stockman and manufacturer has brought
out her hidden treasures, until today Montana is the wealthiest state
in the Union in proportion to its population. The total value of
the product of her mines and ranges for the year 1897 amounted to
$69,139,675, or about $324 per capita of her population, which is about
210,000.

To carry on the vast commerce given rise by this great wealth, Montana
has in operation 2,928 miles of railroad, equipped equal to any railway
system in the world.

The yearly lumber product is estimated to be worth $1,500,000. The
coal product, at an average valuation of $2.60 per ton, is counted at
$8,000,000. Nearly all of the lumber and coal are consumed at home.

The towns and mining camps that were “then” propagating crimes and
greed, and filling the air with blasphemy, “now” have well selected
libraries and are lavish in their expenditures to secure the best class
of educational and beneficent institutions. Forty years ago there
were but two places of worship in what is now Montana, and they were
at St. Mary’s and St. Ignatius’ missions, where Fathers Giorda and
Hoecken were teaching Christianity to the red men of the forest. The
four religious denominations--Methodists, Presbyterians, Catholics and
Episcopalians--have in Montana “now” over two hundred churches, and
other denominations will add seventy-five more to the number. There are
social and benevolent organizations, and nearly every secret society
known is represented with well-equipped lodges. “Now” Montana has 709
public schools, 55,473 pupils, and 1,186 teachers, and it has its
normal school and school of mines, state university and agricultural
college. It has 488 postoffices, eighty weekly and fifteen daily
newspapers, besides ten semi-weekly and monthly journals.

An Eastern writer tells of the libraries in some of the cities of the
West and expressed his astonishment at the intellectual character of
the people. The facts are, as far as reading is concerned, that the
people of the West are a long ways ahead of those of the East. The
brightest, most energetic young men and women of the East make up the
leading element of the West. There are more college-educated men in
the Western cities than in cities of the same size in the East. People
in the West are generally more progressive than in the East. Few towns
of the size of this (and none of its age) in the East have the electric
lights, the miles of electric railroads, the telephone exchange, the
churches, the public library, the elegant opera house, the fine public
school buildings, the beautiful parks and, in fact, all the modern
improvements which this city has. As to her resources, no one but
nature herself can lay claim to placing them where they are. The many
precipices, where the mighty Missouri plunges over one and then another
with a force of several hundred thousand horse-power, the mountains of
various minerals that are near by, the extensive coal fields that are
at her doors, the thousands of acres of rich pasture and farming land
that surround her. All these have been placed there by Him who created
all things; and it seems to have been kept in reserve for a permanent
camping ground for the advanced civilization of the West. The great
water power at the falls of the Missouri is “now” largely employed in
operating reduction works and smelters that reduce ore of the Rocky
mountains to the amount of two thousand tons every twenty-four hours
and here is operated one of the largest electric refining plants on the
continent, where all kinds of metals are separated and refined. All
this industrial growth has taken place during the last ten years. This
is only a small portion of the development that has taken place in this
state during the same length of time.

It is not Montana alone that has experienced these changes during the
last thirty-six years. The “Then and Now” has revolutionized things in
many other sections of the West as greatly as it has in this state.
For “then” there was no Southern Pacific railway, no Union nor Central
Pacific, no Great Northern or Northern Pacific, neither a Canadian
Pacific, nor any transcontinental railway in existence. “Now” it is
safe to say that 30,000 miles of railway have been built west of the
Missouri river since “then.” And “now” great cities have sprung up on
the sites that were “then” occupied by Indians and wild game. Verily,
great have been the changes wrought in the mighty West by “Then and
Now.”

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Dec. 2, 1899.

A SAMPLE OF THE PIONEERS OF MONTANA.

Of all the instances in this book giving illustrations of the “then
and now,” not one is more striking than the following sketch of a once
humble Norwegian boy, who, in 1854, landed in the United States with
barely enough money to pay his first night’s lodging, but who is now
one of the millionaires of Montana. The young Norwegian referred to is
A. M. Holter, one of Montana’s first pioneers, and who now resides in
Helena, the capital of the state. A sketch of the frontier life of such
a man is a chapter well worth reading. It shows what a man with push,
pluck and energy can accomplish.

The first place at which Mr. Holter resided after coming to the United
States was Freeport, Iowa, and he remained in that state until 1859,
making Osage his headquarters. In the spring of 1860 he joined the rush
of gold-seekers to Colorado, then called Pike’s Peak. By this time he
had joined his brother Martin. After arriving in Colorado, the brothers
went to mining and farming; in these pursuits they made some money,
but nothing big. In the fall of 1863, in company with his partner,
E. Evensen, A. M. Holter left Denver, Colo., bound for Alder gulch,
bringing with them a small sawmill. It took them about thirty days to
make the trip. After much difficulty, they arrived in Alder gulch. To
give an account of this arrival, I cannot do better than to give the
following which appeared in the Helena Independent Sept. 7, 1899, after
an interview with Mr. Holter concerning his early days in Montana. He
said:

“The fact is that we--my partner and I--didn’t get there until Dec.
1, 1863, and we selected a location on Ramshorn gulch. We managed to
get our outfit as far as the summit between Bevin and Ramshorn gulches
with teams, where we found deep snow and more snow falling. It kept on
snowing; I remember seventeen days in succession that it snowed every
day. We camped there under some spruce trees, with no other shelter,
and the wind blowing all the time. There we made a hand sled to handle
the machinery and built a brush road a distance of a mile and a half
to get the machinery we had down to the creek, where our water power
was to be had. We finally got the stuff down there and had a cabin up
without doors or windows and moved into it the day before Christmas,
1863. We hung up our blankets on the door and window and prepared to
make the best of it on Christmas day. The snow was then four feet deep
and it was still snowing. In fact, we had snow all winter, although I
do not remember that it ever got much deeper than that around us.

“I didn’t know a thing about the sawmill business, and my partner, who
had represented himself to be a millwright, proved that he didn’t know
much about it either. We unpacked our machinery and began to put it
together and found that some of the parts that were necessary for its
use were missing. The feeding apparatus was gone, among other things.
We set to work and invented a new movement, which, by the way, was
afterwards patented--by other parties.

“In the first place, we had to have blacksmithing done, and we had no
tools, so we set out to make some. We had a broadax and we drove it
into a block of wood and used it for an anvil. We had a sledge, and
made a pair of bellows out of some wood and our rubber coats. There
was a nail hammer with the outfit, and with it and the sledge, and the
anvil and a forge we got together, we managed to make the other tools
we absolutely needed. We made our own charcoal, and finally got that
part of the preliminary work done.

“We had no lathe to turn the shafting, and we finally rigged a
contrivance in the cabin wall to thrust one end into. We fixed up a
wheel for the other end and made a belt out of rawhide to turn the
thing by hand until we got the shafting turned. The lathe was even more
primitive than the blacksmith shop, but we got the work done after a
fashion, although it was a slow process.

“After that we whipsawed some lumber, made our water wheel, fitted up
the mill, and got out several thousand feet of lumber before spring set
in. That was my first winter’s work in Montana, and it was a hard one,
too; part of it was all the more trying because I had my face cut up in
a little unpleasantness with the road agents about that time.

“We had no belting, and we made some of rawhide, but there was no way
of keeping it dry, for we had a water mill. We heard of eighty feet
of six-inch belting at Bannock. I went over and tried to buy it. The
man that owned it had no use for it and said so, but he wouldn’t set a
price and I made him several offers, finally telling him that I would
give him $600, all the money I had with me. He wouldn’t sell even then,
and I had to go back without it, and we made a shift to use a canvas
belt that we made ourselves. It was a poor affair, but we got along
somehow.

“Lumber brought high prices, though, and we made some money after all
our trouble. We got $140 a thousand for sluice lumber, and $125 for
common lumber. The sluice lumber was finished on the edges and the
other wasn’t. The second year we started a yard at Nevada City, and I
remember that the demand was so great that whenever we expected a wagon
in there would be a crowd of men waiting for it, who wouldn’t let me
get to it at all. As soon as the binding was taken off the load, they
would make a rush for the wagon and every man would take off what he
could carry. The demand was so keen that they felt justified in taking
it by force, and I wouldn’t even have a chance to keep an account of
what was taken. As far as I know, however, it was always correctly
accounted for and I do not believe that there was ever a stick that
went out that way that I didn’t get my pay for.”

The reader will notice that Mr. Holter spoke of having “a little
unpleasantness with the road agents.” The story of that occurrence is
now fresh in my memory. It was this way:

Mr. Holter was on a return trip from Virginia City, Dec. 11, 1863, when
he came very near being killed by highwaymen, who were then terrorizing
the country with their violence. George Ives, the leader of a gang of
desperadoes, and some of his companions, had met Holter on the way
near the mouth of Big Hole, and had evidently been keeping track of
him, thinking that he might sell some goods which he had in Virginia
City, and that on his return he would have some money. Mr. Holter had
marketed some articles in Virginia City, but, as it happened, he did
not draw the money for them. This time he was returning with the two
yoke of oxen without the wagon, and at the point of the road where the
trail over the hill strikes the gulch, just below Nevada City, Ives and
his companion, Erwin, passed him, and, as they went by, one spoke to
the other, addressing him as George. They went on ahead and took the
lower road by Laurin’s place, but Holter with his oxen took the upper
road. When near the crossing of Brown’s gulch, Ives and Erwin, finding
that Holter had taken the upper road, galloped their horses and met
him. They began business at once; Ives drew and leveled his revolver
on Holter, standing about four feet from him, and ordered him to pass
over his money. Holter said that he did not have any, but Ives said
that he knew better, and made him turn all his pockets inside out.
Holter passed over his empty purse; Ives examined it and then threw it
away; and he gave him his pocketbook, in which there were some papers
and a small amount of postal currency. Ives was angry at not getting
money, as he evidently expected. He ordered Holter to leave the road
and follow their trail. Holter remarked that as they had the drop on
him he supposed he would have to obey. Just then he turned and spoke
to his cattle, turning instantly again only to see Ives deliberately
aiming at his head, and Ives discharged his pistol just as Holter threw
back his head. The bullet entered Holter’s hat just above the band
and grazed his scalp, cutting the hair as smoothly as with a razor
and taking the skin off part of his brow. For a moment Mr. Holter was
stunned, and would have fallen had it not been for the fact that he
was near the oxen and threw his arm over the neck of one of them and
staggered against the animal. On recovering his senses, his first
impulse was to pick up a new ax and a handle that had dropped from
under his arm. Ives at this instant, seeing that his first shot had
not killed, raised his gun and deliberately aimed again at Holter’s
heart, but the gun snapped. Seeing a possibility of escaping, Holter
jumped in front of the cattle and got on the other side of them before
Ives could fire again. The off oxen suddenly started up and crowded
the others onto the mounted desperadoes, diverting their attention and
making them move back. During this commotion, Holter at once thought of
some beaver dams in the creek a few yards away and broke for them. The
road agents, seeing some men with a team coming up the road, went off
in another direction as unconcerned as if nothing had happened. Holter
then made his way to a cabin on the lower road, where “One-Eyed Reilly”
and his associates lived. Here he tried to borrow a rifle or get them
to go back with him, but they refused him any assistance whatever.
From their answers and conduct, Mr. Holter became satisfied that they
were confederates or silent partners with the road agents. As it was
then growing dark, Holter went back to where he had left the oxen.
After having unyoked them, he recovered his hat and went up the gulch
and stayed over night with Stuart, Malcolm Morrow and Charles Olsen,
who were then mining there. It turned out that the reason Ives’ pistol
only snapped the time he tried to shoot Holter the second time was that
at Lauren’s Ives, being already pretty full and being refused any more
liquor, he had amused himself by shooting at the decanters and had but
one shot left.

After getting back to camp, thinking and talking to his partner about
the matter, Mr. Holter made up his mind deliberately that it was his
duty above all things to arm himself and hunt up Ives and kill him or
perish in the attempt. His partner did all he could to persuade him to
give up the idea, but at last said that he would go with him. After
outfitting themselves, they both started out to hunt Ives, when at the
very first place they stopped they were told that Ives had been hanged.
The news made Holter feel very badly, not because Ives was hanged, but
because he was not present to assist with the job.

The first quartz mill Mr. Holter said that he saw in the territory was
on the Monitor lode in Bevin’s gulch, and not far from his sawmill. The
stamps were made of wood with iron bands around the bottom to keep them
from splitting, and spikes were driven thickly into the wooden stamp to
receive the blow when striking the ore.

The next year Holter and his partner started lumber yards at Virginia
City and Nevada City in Alder gulch, and the same summer Holter,
with two other men by the name of Cornelius and Olson, built some
water works in Virginia City. This was rather a hard undertaking, for
everything had to be invented anew from the ordinary way of building
water works. The piping and hydrants had to be made of logs, and
there was no way to procure a manufacturer’s auger with which to bore
the logs. As high as $150 apiece was paid for three augers made by a
blacksmith for the purpose. Mr. Evensen, his partner in the sawmill,
had gone back to Denver to get more machinery and a planing mill. He
purchased a freight outfit, consisting of oxen and wagons, and secured
a second-hand planing mill, but was unable to get any machinery, so he
loaded up with provisions and started back. On his return he was snowed
in on Snake river, where he lost most of his outfit. What remained of
the goods was brought on pack animals into Virginia City in the spring
of 1865 at 10 cents per pound freight. But good prices were obtained
for these remnants, however. Ten-penny nails were sold at Virginia
City for $150 per keg, in gold dust. These were again retailed at $2
per pound. Some flour had arrived in Virginia City, and the price had
dropped from $150 per sack of ninety pounds to $60. Holter reshipped
what flour he had to Helena, where it was disposed of at $100 per sack.

That winter he bought a second-hand portable steam engine and boiler,
and had managed to make a sawmill and move it onto Ten Mile creek,
about eight miles west of Helena. To this was added the planing mill
his partner had bought in Denver, Colo., and which was the first one of
the kind in Montana. Soon afterwards the firm opened a lumber yard in
Helena, at a point which is now the corner of Main and Wall streets.
While the price of lumber at Virginia City had been $125 per thousand
for common and $140 per thousand for sluice or flume lumber, the price
at Helena was only $100 per thousand for common lumber. In the latter
part of June, 1865, Mr. Holter bought out Mr. Evensen and took in his
brother Martin as a partner, and the firm became known as A. M. Holter
& Bro., and the demand for lumber was increasing very fast.

In the autumn of 1866 Mr. Holter went East by the Overland stage. The
price for transportation to Omaha was then $350 in gold dust, or $700
in currency. While nearly a month on the road to Chicago, he said that
after deducting stop-overs it took him but seventeen days and nights
actual travel. It was the quickest trip on record up to that date.

While East he purchased a new steam sawmill; also machinery for a door
and sash factory, and appliances for a distillery and an assortment of
general merchandise, which he shipped by the way of St. Louis and Fort
Benton, but as some of these purchases did not reach St. Louis in time
to go on the first boat it was nearly two years before they reached
Fort Benton. Freight from St. Louis to Fort Benton was then 12 cents
per pound, and from Benton to Helena 10 cents per pound.

Holter had spent most of the winter in Chicago, and, when ready to
return, was married to Miss Loberg on the 6th of April, 1867. Their
wedding trip, as Mr. Holter tells it, was an enjoyable one, the bride
journeying to Montana by way of St. Louis and the Missouri river
route to Fort Benton, then by stage to Helena, while the groom came
by the way of Salina, Kan., then by the Overland stage over the Smoky
Hill route, by the way of Denver and Salt Lake, with sixteen other
passengers. Each passenger was furnished by the stage company with a
rifle and ammunition, for the Indians east of Denver were then on the
warpath. Fortunately, the Indians did not make an attack, but great
inconveniences were met by the burning of stage stations and the
killing and stealing of the stock by the Indians. Mr. Holter said that
at one place all hands lay three days and nights in a haystack, for
there was no stock to draw the coach, and at one time the same mules
had to be driven three drives, aggregating seventy-five miles, on
account of the burning of the stations and the killing of the stock.
He said that one of the stations was on fire and the roof falling in
as they passed it, but he finally reached Helena after “staging it”
twenty-five days and nights.

He said that at Salt Lake City he was informed that the steamer
Gallatin, on which his wife was a passenger, had been captured by the
Indians, and, at different points along the Missouri river, she, in
turn, was told that all the overland stages on the road to Montana had
been captured by the Indians. This unpleasant news caused considerable
uneasiness on both sides at the time. But this remarkable wedding trip
ended by Mr. and Mrs. Holter’s having a happy meeting in Helena.

On his return to Helena, Mr. Holter erected a building on Main street,
where the Pittsburg block now stands, and, after the arrival of the
goods in the fall of 1867, he opened a general merchandise store.
The sawmill, also the sash and door factory and the distillery, were
completed during 1868 and 1869. The sash and door factory and the
distillery were the first of these industries erected in Montana.

In 1869 Mr. Holter sustained a loss of about $40,000 by fire; the
sawmill and planing mill were burned in March, and a month later the
first big fire occurred in Helena, in which he sustained a loss.

The Rumley mine was discovered in 1871, in which Holter purchased an
interest, and started negotiations with Frederick Utch of Cologne,
Germany, for his right in the United States for the then existing
patent on the Utch concentrating jig. He had one of these shipped to
Montana, but it took a long time to get it here, as it was shipped
by way of the Union Pacific railroad, which was then being built;
consequently it laid a year at Rawlins, Wyo., but finally arrived, and
was set up on the Legal Tender mine, east of Helena. Along in the early
70’s he erected the first concentrator in the Rocky mountains on
the Rumley mine. The mechanics were inexperienced, and it soon became
evident that the machinery was not of sufficient strength, and the
venture was a failure, with the exception that it showed what could be
done in the way of concentration by properly erected machinery, and
Montana is today the foremost in concentrating ore by this process.

In the spring of 1877 he purchased a part of the Parrot mines, which
proved to be one of the best investments he ever made. In 1880 this
property was organized into the Parrot Silver and Copper Company.

In 1879, on account of ill health, Mr. Holter took a trip to Europe,
spending most of the time in Norway and Sweden, and returned to Montana
in about eight months.

In 1878 Holter & Bro. built a sawmill on Stickney creek and started
a lumber yard at the mouth of Sun river, with George Wood in charge,
where Great Falls now stands, and erected a planing mill at that city
in 1885.

In 1880 Mr. Holter and others purchased the Elkhorn mine at Ketchum,
Idaho. In 1881 he became interested in the Maginnis, the Kit Carson,
the Stuart, the Silver Bell, Peacock in Idaho, and in the Elkhorn
mine in Montana. In 1882 he became identified with the Helena Mining
and Reduction Company, which was afterwards changed to the Helena and
Livingstone Mining and Reduction Company, which established the East
Helena plant in 1888. In 1884 the same company erected the first street
railway in Helena and also organized a gas company in the same city.

In 1886 he, with others, organized the Helena Concentrating Company.
This company afterwards erected the first concentrator in Idaho, at
Wardner. This, however, has been replaced by a larger and more modern
plant. In 1886 this company purchased an interest in the Helena and
Victor Mining Company, and erected a concentrating plant at Victor. The
same year Mr. Holter and others organized the Livingston Coal and Coke
Company, and opened the mines and built a washing plant at Cokedale in
Park county.

In 1887 the Holter Lumber Company and the A. M. Holter Hardware Company
were incorporated, of each of which companies Mr. Holter is president.
In 1888 Mr. Holter and others purchased the properties at Wardner,
Idaho, now known as the Helena Frisco, and constructed there a large
concentrator, which was destroyed by the riot at Frisco in 1892, but
has been rebuilt. In 1890 he and others organized the Cascade Land
Company.

In 1892, in company with his family, he took another trip to Europe,
being absent about five months. Again, in 1892 and 1893, Holter and
his partners did a large amount of development work in the Trail creek
district, now known as Rossland, B. C.

In 1891 the same parties purchased the Blue Canyon coal mines, and
commenced building the Bellingham Bay & Eastern railway. In 1892
they organized the Coeur d’Alene Hardware Company at Wallace, Idaho.
Mr. Holter was one of the promoters that erected a Peck Montana
concentrating plant at Corbin in 1891, and another at East Helena in
1898. This process promises to revolutionize concentration. In 1898
they organized the Sand Point Lumber Company, at Sand Point, Idaho.

Going back a little, Holter and others organized the Montana Lumber and
Manufacturing Company, in 1888. This company met with a heavy loss in
1895 by the burning of its sash and door factory at Helena. The next
year they bought a half interest in the Capital Lumber Company, and the
two companies were, in 1898, sold to the Washoe Copper Company.

I am personally acquainted with A. M. Holter, and have been since he
located his mill on Ten-Mile creek. Then I kept a butcher shop in
Nelson gulch and furnished him meat for his men.

Mr. Holter is a Republican in politics and the first of that party
who was elected to office in the city of Helena. He has held several
offices, always with credit to himself and satisfaction to his
constituents.

In 1868 he was elected a school trustee and served three terms. He
was elected to the territorial legislature in 1878, and in 1880 was
elected a member of the city council of Helena and was honored with
the presidency of that body. He was elected a member of the house of
representatives of the state of Montana in 1888. He has also held the
office of president of the Helena board of trade. He was president of
the Pioneer Society of Montana, and delivered a very able address at
the annual meeting of the society in 1890.

Mr. Holter’s success in life is due to his own efforts. He has carved
out a liberal competency for himself and family from the rugged forces
of nature, and the struggle has left the impress of vigorous resolution
and tenacity of purpose upon his character. His judgment has been
called into requisition on many occasions of public importance, and he
has always been foremost in every effort for the advancement of the
public weal. He is a man of quiet and unassuming demeanor, recognizing
his old-time friends wherever he meets them--whether poor or rich, it
makes no difference to him. As a far-seeing man of business affairs, he
stands almost without a peer.

Mr. Holter was born June 29, 1831, at Moss, on the eastern shore
of Christiana Fjord, Norway. He came to the United States in 1854.
His wife was a native of Modum, Norway. They have five sons and one
daughter.

And “now” A. M. Holter dwells in one of the finest mansions in the
state and is surrounded by one of the most cultured families in the
city of Helena.

I could name scores of others that came to the territory in the early
days, who endured all kinds of perils and hardship, besides being in
danger of being killed by Indians or highwaymen, and who never flinched
from “putting their shoulder to the wheel” from that time to this.
Always engaged in enterprises that were of benefit to the people as
well as to themselves and to the general progress of the country.

It is because of my familiarity with the subject of this sketch that I
selected Mr. Holter as an example to give the people of today an idea
of the work of the pioneers in the early days of this state.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
October 25, 1899.

THE INDIAN.

Before going any further I will endeavor to give a brief sketch of the
Indians and their behavior in Montana from the time I came into the
country in 1864 to the present time.

The Indian is a born warrior. When an infant pappoose, his first toy
is a bow and arrow. About twenty-five years ago I was in a Piegan
camp just after they had killed an Indian of the Crow tribe, who had
been stealing some of their horses. After mutilating the body beyond
description, the pappooses had the hands that were cut off at the
wrist; they were having great play over them, romping and throwing
the dead Indian’s hands at each other. By such means they cultivated
the savage, warlike disposition in the young Indian minds from the
beginning. Until lately, if they could not have the whites to fight,
they would be at war with some other tribe. They always had their
war paint prepared and their hatchets sharpened, so they could go on
the warpath whenever the evil spirit moved them. They were naturally
treacherous, savage and cruel to those they were not at peace with, be
it the whites or their own race, it made no difference. I do not know
of any better testimony to show the Indian in his element than the
illustration given by Ross Cox, an English gentleman, who, in 1813,
came to what is now called Montana, by the way of Columbia. He was at
the head of a fur trading company, and was a man of responsibility.
He says: “We spent a comparatively happy Christmas, and by the side
of a blazing fire in a warm room forgot the sufferings we endured in
our dreary progress through the woods. There was, however, in the
midst of our festivities a great drawback to the pleasure we should
otherwise have enjoyed. I allude to the unfortunate Blackfeet who had
been captured by the Flatheads. Having been informed that they were
about putting one of their prisoners to death, I went to their camp to
witness the spectacle. The man was tied to a tree, after which they
heated an old barrel of a gun until it became red hot, with which they
burned him on the legs, thighs, neck, cheek and stomach. They then
commenced cutting the flesh from about the nails, which they pulled
out, and next separated the fingers from the hand, joint by joint.
During the performance of these cruelties, the wretched captive never
winced, and instead of suing for mercy he added fresh stimulus to
their barbarous ingenuity by the most irritating reproaches, part of
which our interpreter translated as follows: ‘My heart is strong; you
do not hurt me; you can’t hurt me; you are fools; you do not know how
to torture; try it again; I don’t feel any pain yet; we torture your
relations a great deal better, because we make them cry out loud like
little children; you are not brave; you have small hearts, and you are
always afraid to fight.’

“Then, addressing one in particular, he said: ‘It was by my arrow you
lost your eye,’ upon which the Flathead darted at him and with a knife
scooped out one of his eyes, at the same time cutting the bridge of his
nose almost in two. This did not stop him; with the remaining eye he
looked sternly at another and said: ‘I killed your brother and scalped
your old fool of a father.’ The warrior to whom this was addressed
instantly sprung at him and separated the scalp from his head. He was
then about plunging a knife in his heart, until he was told by the
chief to desist. The raw skull, bloody socket and mutilated nose now
presented a horrible appearance, but by no means changed his tone of
defiance.

“‘It was I,’ said he to the chief, ‘that made your wife a prisoner last
fall; we put out her eyes; we tore out her tongue; we treated her
like a dog. Forty of our young warriors’--the chief became incensed
the moment his wife’s name was mentioned; he seized his gun, and,
before the last sentence was ended, a ball from it passed through the
brave fellow’s heart, terminating his frightful sufferings. Shocking,
however, as this dreadful exhibition was, it was far exceeded by the
atrocious cruelties practiced on the female prisoners. We remonstrated
against the exercise of such horrible cruelties. They replied by saying
the Blackfeet treated their prisoners in the same manner; that it was
the course adopted by all red warriors, and that they could not think
of giving up the gratification of their revenge to the foolish and
womanish feelings of white men.

“Shortly after this we observed a young female led forth, apparently
not more than fourteen or fifteen years of age, surrounded by some
old women, who were conducting her to one end of the village, whither
they were followed by a number of young men. Having learned the
infamous intention of her conquerors, and feeling interested for the
unfortunate victim, we renewed our remonstrance, but received nearly
the same answer as before. Finding them still inflexible, and wishing
to adopt every means in our power consistent with safety, in the cause
of humanity, we ordered our interpreter to acquaint them that, highly
as we valued their friendship and much as we esteemed their furs, we
would quit their country forever unless they discontinued their unmanly
and disgraceful cruelties to their prisoners. This had the desired
effect, and the miserable captive was led back to her sorrowing group
of friends. Our interference was nearly rendered ineffectual by the
furious old priestesses who had been conducting her to the sacrifice.
They told the young warriors they were cowards, fools, and had not the
hearts of fleas, and called on them in the names of their mothers,
sisters and wives to follow the steps of their forefathers and have
their revenge on the dogs of Blackfeet. They began to waver, but we
affected not to understand what the old women had been saying. We
told them that this act of self-denial on their part was peculiarly
grateful to the white men, and by it they would secure our permanent
residence among them, and in return for their furs we would furnish
them with guns and ammunition sufficient to repel the attacks of their
old enemies, and preserve their relations from being made prisoners.
This decided the doubtful and the chief promised faithfully that no
more tortures should be inflicted on the prisoners, which I believe was
rigidly adhered to, at least during the winter of 1813.”

Those tribes Mr. Cox speaks of are still in existence in Montana, and
“now” the most civilized in the state. It is a marvel what civilization
has accomplished since “then.” Some of the young Indians that attended
the Cascade county fair last fall at this place, with the excellent
exhibit from the Fort Shaw Indian school (of which a reference will be
made in another letter), belong to the same tribes.

We will go back to but thirty-one years ago, and see what the Indians
were then. I will not attempt to follow their warpath, for it is too
long; besides, we would be continually delayed by arriving at the
innumerable bloody spots where one or more of the brave pioneers fell
at the hands of the redskins. To give an account of all these unmarked
graves would make volumes. The story of the massacre at Fort Phil
Kearney saddened the hearts of every frontiersman, but aroused their
feelings and made them more desperate against the Indians than ever
when they learned that eighty-one people were killed; not one escaped
the scalping knife in the hands of the redskins.

About that time Fort Buford was attacked by the Indians, but they were
repulsed. The savages returned with a strong reinforcement, renewed
the attack, and, after losing over three hundred of their number,
succeeded in capturing the post and putting to death Colonel Rankin and
his entire command. Colonel Rankin shot his wife himself rather than
have her suffer the cruelty of the savages.

Also the Blackfeet, in the northern part of the territory, disregarded
all treaties that they had heretofore agreed upon, and began their
murderous depredations by killing freighters, prospectors and
immigrants who were then coming into the country in great numbers.

Thomas Francis Meagher, who had been a general in the Civil War, was
secretary of Montana, and, at this time, was governor pro tempore in
the absence of Governor Sidney Edgerton. General Meagher called for six
hundred volunteer cavalry. There was no time to lose; it would take
too long to have communication from Washington, for it was 1,700 miles
to the nearest railway station, and about as many miles of red tape to
go through. So everybody rallied; some gave money, others horses and
saddles; the most difficulty was to equip the men, it was no trouble to
get volunteers. When there were two in a cabin together, one joined the
volunteers while the other one stayed at home and divided the profits,
be it working for wages or otherwise. General Meagher was in command of
the volunteers, and while in the service was drowned in the Missouri
river at Fort Benton by falling off the steamer G. A. Thompson. His
body was never found, although every effort was made to find the
remains.

It was at Fredericksburg, I think, that General Meagher and his gallant
Irish brigade made the daring charge. Leading his men he said, “Come on
boys, let us have more dead Irishmen nearer the mouth of them cannon
than anybody else.” The death of the general was a great loss to the
territory, for all such men were in demand in Montana then.

A proclamation was issued by Governor Smith, dated July 3, 1867. The
proclamation is thus given:

“Helena, M. T., July 3, 1867.--Whereas, it has pleased Almighty God to
take from us by accident our esteemed friend, Secretary (late acting
governor) Thomas Francis Meagher, who was drowned at Fort Benton on the
night of the 1st inst., by falling from the steamer G. A. Thompson;

“Now, therefore, I, Green Clay Smith, governor of the Territory of
Montana, do direct that the headquarters of the military, which were
established under his directions and authority in the various districts
of the territory, be draped in mourning for thirty days.

“I further request that the offices of the federal officers of the
territory be likewise draped in mourning for the same length of time.

“It is but due to the memory of our deceased friend and fellow officer
that we should hold him in fond remembrance.

“He was a man of high social qualities, great urbanity, a high order
of intellect, a brave soldier, a true gentleman and an honor to his
territory and government.”

The year 1867 Fort Shaw was established by the Thirteenth Infantry,
with Colonel Andrews in command. This checked the Indians for a while;
but it was only for a short time before they were back to their
old tricks, murdering people and stealing their stock. In 1869 the
following indictment which was drawn by W. F. Wheeler, then the United
States Marshal of the Territory of Montana, will show to what desperate
resorts the people were driven to. As this instrument of writing was
drawn by an officer of the government and signed by twelve citizens
under oath we must accept it as a truthful statement of the conditions
existing then:

“The Grand Jury of the United States for the Third Judicial District of
Montana, have examined a number of witnesses, and from the evidence
presented to them find that the people of this district have suffered
within the last few months great loss of life and property from
predatory bands of Indians. We have been furnished the names of nine
or ten citizens who have been murdered in cold blood by them. Over
three hundred head of stock have been stolen within two months past,
and we believe that within six months fully one thousand horses have
been stolen, and a number of valuable citizens sacrificed, whose names
we could not learn. The Piegans, Bloods and Blackfeet, who all talk
in the same language and constitute the Blackfeet nation, have moved
their women and children north of Montana, and in that country have
procured ammunition and improved arms. This is a declaration of war on
the whites of Montana, and some measure should be taken to meet the
emergency. The civil authorities have not the means, and the people are
not able to bear the expense of pursuing and punishing these robbers
and murderers, who destroy our property and lives, and come and go like
the wind. Ours is a contest between civilization and barbarism, and we
must risk our lives and sacrifice our hard-earned property to defend
them, unless the general government gives us the means of defense. To
this we are entitled, as we have left homes of comfort in the East
to plant civilization in the wilderness. It is in evidence that the
‘Pend d’Oreilles,’ who make periodical journeys from their homes to
the valleys of the Judith and Yellowstone on hunting expeditions, and
through some of the settled portions of our territory, are guilty of
horse-stealing if not of murder. Their passage through our settled
valleys should be prohibited by the authorities. The River Crows
murdered two white men near Fort Benton about the 20th of July last and
took their horses to their camp.

“In none of these cases of murder and theft have the Indians been
pursued and punished. Our population is necessarily scattered along
the valleys, or isolated in mining camps and gulches, and hence is
exposed to sudden attacks from the Indians. We make this statement,
which is substantiated by truthful evidence, and respectfully request
that it may be sent to such officers of the general government as are
entrusted with the care of the Indians, and our protection by military
force, trusting that they take the necessary steps to give us full
protection, or, if the means in their hands are not adequate, that
they will represent our exposed and dangerous position to the heads of
the government at Washington, who have authority to punish or prevent
Indian outrages.

“Grand Jury Rooms, Helena, M. T., Oct. 9, 1869.

“Signed: G. W. Tubbs, foreman; D. W. Buck, A. A. Green, James P.
Mabbett, John H. Curtis, Moses Morris, Benjamin Stickney, Jr., E.
S. Mansfield, William Simms, D. M. Gillette, E. L. Baker, Felix
Poznainsky, L. Behm, W. F. Richardson, Hugh Glenn.”

It was the winter following that Colonel Baker destroyed the Piegan
camp on the Marias river, an account of which I have already given. To
the different tribes, peace commissioners were sent by the government
to have council with the Indians. They were wise men from the East.
They meant well, but they did not know their business. The first thing
they did was to listen to the Indians telling their cunning stories,
and the conclusion they came to was that the poor red man had been
imposed upon and a kind of treaty was made by giving the Indians nearly
everything they asked for. From this time on the Indians were getting
“heap rich.” As General Sheridan once said: “If a white man steals we
put him in prison; if an Indian steals we give him a blanket; if a
white man kills we hang him; if an Indian kills we give him a horse to
put the blanket on.” And what he said was true. For between the Indian
commissioners and the traders it was not very long before nearly
every Indian had a gun, plenty of ammunition and new blankets. Again,
in 1876, the Indians became so arrogant that they defied the United
States government, and the great Sioux war commenced. And a year later
Chief Joseph, with his desperate band of Nez Perces, passed through
the country terrorizing the small settlements and causing death and
destruction as he went.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Nov. 9, 1898.

THE SIOUX WAR.

In this series of letters I will give a brief history of the war in
Montana between the United States troops and the Indians from 1876 to
the death of Sitting Bull in 1890. Several battles were fought in the
Rosebud and Big Horn country, and near where myself and comrades camped
over night twelve years before the Sioux war commenced. It was no
wonder that McKnight, our guide, wanted “five hundred good, resolute,
determined men” to go with him in 1864, and through this same nest of
savages, as we did them. Here where the never-forgotten battles, where
the gallant General Custer, with his five companies of cavalry were
killed, not one was left to tell how it happened. By the way the dead
lay on the field it was evident that they fought bravely. And now the
government has erected on this bloody spot a substantial monument in
memory of Custer and his brave men. Not wishing to trust altogether
to my own memory--to give the facts and as briefly as possible--I
will give a few extracts from Joaquin Miller’s “History of Montana,”
including official reports, together with what I know and have learned
from eye witnesses:

The Indians that were on the warpath had been reported as numbering
about twenty thousand. Sitting Bull could not be persuaded to stay on
the reservation, neither could he see what right the government had
to interfere, for he claimed that that country belonged to him and
his people, and that he had the right to go wherever he pleased and
to do as he pleased, and his men were continually robbing and killing
white people; their murders and robberies were so frequent that at
last the government took extreme measures and put a stop to their
depredations. Sitting Bull had his forces on the tributaries of the
Big Horn river, in what is now Custer county, Mont. General Crook was
coming from Fort Fetterman, Wyo., leaving March 1, 1876, with a force
of seven hundred men and officers, sixty wagons and four hundred pack
mules. It was not long before he was skirmishing with the Indians, and
the Sioux war commenced. On March 17th, near the mouth of Little Powder
river, a desperate battle occurred lasting five hours, in which an
Indian village was destroyed with much supplies and munitions of war.
Crook’s losses were four men killed and many wounded. One hundred and
twenty-five tepees were burned and several Indians killed. Part of his
letter to the Secretary of War touching on this matter is as follows:

“Fort Reno, March 22d.

“General Reynolds, with part of the command, was pushed forward on
a trail leading to the village of Crazy Horse, near the mouth of
Little Powder river. This he attacked and destroyed on the 17th
inst., finding it a perfect magazine of ammunition, war material
and general supplies. I am satisfied that if Sitting Bull is on
this side of the Yellowstone he is camping at the mouth of Powder
river.

“GEORGE CROOK,
“Brigadier General.”

After this battle Crook returned to Fort Fetterman and remained
there until May. Then he came back, and on June 15th he was near
to the place where he had his battle in March. By this time Terry
and Custer had come from Fort Lincoln, Dakota, and General Gibbon
was on his way from Fort Shaw, Montana. The total forces were three
thousand men and officers. It can be seen that the best part of the
United States army, in charge of four as good generals as ever wore
uniforms, were now heading for Sitting Bull’s camps on the Rosebud
and Big Horn rivers. What settlers there were in Montana then were
few and far between. There was no railroad nearer than Corinne, Utah.
Some apprehension was felt that the soldiers might cause the Indians
to scatter, and that small settlements on the borders would be in
danger of being massacred; consequently they all armed and fortified
themselves the best they could in case such should happen. At this time
in the Sun river valley there were about thirty settlers, including
several families. Besides the Sioux war east of us, the Piegans and
Blackfeet were north of us; they, too, were acting very ugly by
stealing stock and not infrequently killing some one.

[Illustration: GENERAL GEORGE CROOK, U. S. A.]

In addition to the perils and dangers that were already confronting
the settlers of Northern Montana, many of the chiefs of the northern
tribes and of the Sioux were meeting in council at Cypress mountain,
just north of us. The council was called by the Sioux with the object
in view of inducing the Blackfeet, Bloods and Piegans to declare war
against the whites. But fortunately the Piegan chief, Little Plume,
refused to sign the proclamation, thus causing the breaking up of the
council, and probably saving the lives of many settlers.

During this critical time, the Sun river settlers organized a
protective association for protection to ourselves and property, for
nearly all the soldiers that were at Fort Shaw had gone to fight the
Sioux in the eastern part of the territory. Two men were detailed to
go on the outskirts of the settlement once every day, and, if hostile
Indians were seen, they were to go through the settlement as fast as
their horses could carry them, at the same time firing their guns for a
signal; the women and children were to be taken to the village at the
Crossing.

Again on the 17th of June General Crook had a desperate battle with
Sitting Bull on the tributary of the Rosebud and whipped the Indians
badly. After the battle he went back to his base of supplies, for he
needed more rations and ammunition in order to follow up the enemy.
Near this battle ground and but one week later is where Custer fell.
Terry, Custer and Gibbon, at the time of this battle, were about eighty
miles down the Rosebud. Not knowing of Crook’s battle, they had a
consultation and were determined to advance up the Rosebud at once.
Sitting Bull, with all his force, was directly between them and Crook.

As bearing on the movements of the forces, here appear extracts from
Major Reno’s reports: “As we approached a deserted village in which
was standing one tepee, about 11 a. m., Custer motioned me to cross to
him, which I did, and moved nearer to his column, until about 12:30
a. m., when Lieutenant Cook, adjutant, came to me and said the village
was only two miles ahead and moving away; for me to move forward at as
rapid a gait as I thought prudent and to charge afterwards and that the
whole outfit would support me; I think those were his exact words. I
at once took a fast trot and moved down about two miles, when I came
to a ford of the river. I crossed immediately and halted about ten
minutes or less to gather the battalion, sending word to Custer that I
had everything in front of me, and that they were strong. Deployed and
with the Ree scouts on my left we charged down the valley, driving the
Indians with great ease for about two and a half miles. I, however,
soon saw that I was being drawn into some trap, as they certainly would
fight harder, and especially as we were nearing their village which was
still standing; besides I could not see Custer or any other support
and at the same time the very earth seemed to grow Indians and they
were running towards me in swarms and from all directions. I saw I
must defend myself and give up the attack mounted. This I did, taking
possession of a point of woods, and which furnished near its edge a
shelter for the horses; dismounted and fought them on foot, making
headway through the woods. I soon found myself in the near vicinity of
the village, saw that I was fighting odds of nearly five to one, and
that my only hope was to get out of the wood, where I would soon have
been surrounded, and gain some higher ground. I accomplished this by
mounting and charging the Indians between me and the bluffs, on the
opposite side of the river. In this charge First Lieutenant Donald
McIntosh, Second Lieutenant Ben H. Hodgson, Seventh Cavalry, and A. A.
Surg and J. M. De Wolf were killed. I succeeded in reaching the top
of the bluff, with a loss of three officers and twenty-nine enlisted
men killed and seven wounded. Almost at the same time I reached the
top, mounted men were seen running towards me, and it proved to be
Colonel Benteen’s battalion, Companies H, D and K; we joined forces
and in a short time the pack train came up. As senior, my command was
then Companies A, B, C, D, H, G, K and M, about three hundred and
eighty men, and the following officers: Captains Benteen, Weir, French
and McDougall; First Lieutenants Godfrey, Mathey and Gibson; Second
Lieutenants Edgerly, Wallace, Varnum and Hare; A. A. Surg, Porter.
First Lieutenant De Rudio was in the dismounted fight in the woods, but
having some trouble with his horse, did not join the command in the
charge out, and, hiding himself in the woods, joined the command after
nightfall of the 26th.

“Still hearing nothing of Custer, and with this reinforcement I
moved down the river in the direction of the village, keeping on
the bluffs. We had heard firing in that direction, and knew that it
could only be Custer. I moved to the summit of the highest bluff,
but seeing and hearing nothing, sent Captain Weir with his company
to open communication with the other command. He soon sent back word
by Lieutenant Hare that he could go no further and that the Indians
were getting around him; at this time he was keeping up a heavy fire
from the skirmish line. I at once turned everything back to the first
position I had taken on the bluff, and which seemed to me the best. I
dismounted the men, had the mules and horses of the pack train driven
together in a depression, put the men on the crests of the hills making
the depression, and had hardly done so when I was furiously attacked;
this was about 6 p. m.; we held our ground, with the loss of eighteen
enlisted men killed and forty-six wounded, until the attack ceased
about 9 p. m.”

Here is Major Reno’s report, or so much of it as applies to the
approaching battle:

“Headquarters, Seventh Cavalry,
“Camp on Yellowstone River, July 5, 1876.

“Captain E. W. Smith, A. D. C. and A. A. A. G.:

“The command of the regiment having devolved upon me as the senior
surviving officer from the battle of June 25th and 26th, between
the Seventh Cavalry and Sitting Bull’s band of hostile Sioux on the
Little Big Horn river, I have the honor to submit the following
report of its operations from the time of leaving the main column
until the command was united in the vicinity of the Indian village.
The regiment left the camp at the mouth of the Rosebud river, after
passing in review before the department commander, under command
of Brevet Major General G. A. Custer, lieutenant colonel, on the
afternoon of the 22d of June, and marched up the Rosebud twelve
miles and encamped; 23d, marched up the Rosebud, passing many old
Indian camps, and following a very large lodge pole trail, but not
fresh, making thirty-three miles; 24th, the march was continued up
the Rosebud, the trail and signs freshening with every mile until
we had made twenty-eight miles, and we then encamped and waited
for information from the scouts. At 9:25 p. m. Custer called the
officers together and informed us that beyond a doubt the village
was in the valley of the Little Big Horn, and that to reach it, it
was necessary to cross the divide between Rosebud and Little Big
Horn; and it would be impossible to do so in the daytime without
exposing our march to the Indians; that we would prepare to move at
11 p. m. This was done, the line of march turning from the Rosebud
to the right, up one of its branches, which headed near the summit
of the divide.

“About 2 a. m. of the 25th the scouts told him he could not cross
the divide before daylight. We then made coffee and rested for
three hours, at the expiration of which time the march was resumed,
the divide crossed, and about 8 a. m. the command was in the valley
of one of the branches of the Little Big Horn. By this time Indians
had been seen, and it was certain that we could not surprise them,
and it was determined to move at once to the attack. Previous to
this no division of the regiment had been made since the order
was issued, on the Yellowstone, annulling wing and battalion
organizations. General Custer informed me he would assign commands
on the march. I was ordered by Lieutenant W. W. Cook, adjutant,
to assume command of Companies M, A and G; Captain Benteen, of
Companies H, D and K; Custer retaining C, E, F, I and L under his
immediate command, and Company B, Captain McDougall, in rear of
pack train. I assumed command of the companies assigned to me, and
without any definite orders moved forward with the rest of the
column and well to its left. I saw Benteen moving further to the
left, and as they passed, he told me he had orders to move well to
the left, and sweep everything before him.”

[Illustration: GEN. GEORGE A. CUSTER, U. S. A.

The Hero of Little Big Horn]

It is plain that Custer laid his plans to win the fight, and at once.
From the position in which the dead were found it is also clear that,
having found themselves entirely outnumbered and beyond the reach of
help, they took position as best they could in a sort of triangle on
the rough, hot hill side, and there died in battle. Custer’s brother,
Colonel Tom Custer, held one corner of the triangle, and down nearest
the river his brother-in-law, Calhoun, another, while the general held
the higher ground, so as to see and direct the battle to the end. The
men fell almost in line. The officers, Calhoun and Crittenden, fell in
their places, as if on parade.

Two years afterwards Robert E. Strahorne, a particular friend of mine,
who was all through the campaign with General Crook, sent me the
following statement in regard to this Indian war:

“I was, during the trying days of 1876-77, the representative of
an Eastern journal and attached to the expeditions which Brigadier
General George Crook led against the hostile Sioux and Cheyennes, then
commanded by Crazy Horse, Sitting Bull, Dull Knife and Little Wolf.

“In this campaign we were obliged to go without clothing or bedding,
save such as we carried on our backs, and without food, except the
scantiest allowance possible of bacon and coffee. In this one point,
Crook is without a rival in the regular army; he subjects himself
to just the same discomfort and hardships as his men have to endure
and cuts loose from his wagon train for weeks and months at a time.
His wagons are never allowed to become receptacles of luxuries and
toothsome delicacies for himself and officers; they carry only grain,
ammunition and the necessary articles of daily food.

“At the engagement on the Rosebud, Montana, June 17, 1876, Crazy Horse
and Sitting Bull ‘bounced’ Crook with a force of painted and feathered
red devils numbering well up in the thousands. Poor Custer met his
fate at the hands of these same warriors only a week later. Crook’s
forces were not much, if any, superior to Custer’s whole command, but
he was fortunate in keeping them undivided. He withstood the attack
with great skill and courage, although for a while things certainly
looked very blue. On this day, a little company of Montana miners,
who had been out in the Black Hills prospecting and had joined Crook
while on their way back to Montana, did splendid work with their
Sharp’s sporting rifles. Crook and Terry, those grand soldiers, after
poor Custer’s command had been wiped out, united their forces on the
Yellowstone. How Terry then took for his share the task of cleaning out
any hostiles to be found north of the Yellowstone, while Crook, like a
bull-dog, hung to the trail which led to the south; how he followed it
without bedding, without shelter, without food other than horse meat
and berries found in captured villages, and in spite of the pitiless
rain which beat down upon us (for I was one of those who camped on the
trail), day after day, during the entire march from the mouth of Powder
river to the Black Hills.

“I could write a book about our trials and tribulations on those
marches, and sometime in the future the half-formed fancy of the
present moment may take shape. One thing I wish to impress upon
the minds of present and future Montanians, and that is the fact
that the campaigns of General Crook and brother officers and men in
1876 and 1877 had the positive result of opening to their permanent
occupation and use those vast and beautiful regions drained by the
Yellowstone, Big Horn, Rosebud, Tongue, Powder, Musselshell and Judith
rivers--regions which up that time had swarmed with the most powerful,
vindictive and treacherous tribes of savages America has produced.
I went into those campaigns knowing little of the regular army, and
indeed somewhat prejudiced against it; I came out satisfied that
the mass of its officers and men, the ‘youngsters’ especially, were
brave, intelligent, patriotic, ambitious and courteous--men of whom any
country should be proud.

“Closing this reminiscence of an arduous season of toil and danger,
I am glad to say that among the lieutenants with whom I faced the
red foe, and for whom I formed a great attachment, was the witty,
bright and brave Schwatka, whose successes as an Arctic explorer have
since made him world famous; Bourke, who besides being an officer of
exceptional gallantry and good judgment, has devoted himself, with
great patience, to the collection of memoranda upon the manners and
customs of the aborigines; Carpenter, noted as an entomologist, and
dozens of other officers--Eagan, Charles King, Schuyler, Allison,
Chase, Lemley, McKinney (since killed), Delaney, Randall, Sibley,
Nickerson, Henry, as brave and intelligent as any men can be--in the
army or out of it.

“As Sherman’s army had an important element following and surrounding
it--‘the bummers’--so this hard-worked force that Crook commanded
had attached to it a force of correspondents whom I compare, and in
all kindness, to the ‘bummers’ whom Sherman led to the sea. They
were an exceptionally fine lot of men. There was Jack Finerty of the
Chicago Times. I have always had a notion that he stepped out from
some place in Lever’s novels; he was brave to rashness, and devoted to
the interests of his great journal. Joe Wason, of the Alta California
and the New York Tribune, always on the skirmish line after ‘pints.’
His red head shone like the danger signal of a freight train, but in
spite of his red head he was one of the best fellows I ever knew. T.
C. MacMillan of the Chicago Inter Ocean, and J. J. Roche of the New
York Herald, both physically weak, but intellectually strong, and so
on through the list. Readers of the Boston Advertiser, New York
Herald and Tribune, Alta California, Philadelphia Press, Washington
Star, Denver News, Omaha Republican and Herald, Cheyenne Sun, and other
papers represented at various times during that campaign of seventeen
months’ duration, never imagined while they were reading our letters
at their comfortable breakfast table, and growling at the dashed
correspondents because they ‘didn’t make ’em more full,’ that the
‘dashed correspondent,’ dressed in rags, soaked through with rain, and
almost crazed with want of food and rest, was writing his letters on a
cottonwood chip or a piece of flat stone, and often at the risk of his
life from a stray bullet.”

[Illustration: COL. WILLIAM F. CODY (BUFFALO BILL).

The Pony Express Rider, the Noted Scout During the Indian Wars and
Chief Scout of the United States Army.]

There is now in this state one witness of the Custer battles, who is
perhaps the only one living. He is William Jackson, an intelligent and
well educated half-breed, who now lives at the Blackfeet reservation
sixty-five miles from here.

After a long life as government scout, he has turned his attention
to farming and cattle raising, and in this pursuit he has been quite
successful. He was in this city a few days ago on his way from Helena,
where he had been as a witness in a trial which was held in the United
States court. A correspondent of the Anaconda Standard, at this place,
had an important interview with Mr. Jackson, which is as follows. He
says: “Mitch Bouille, William Cross and myself were acting as guides
and scouts for the Custer-Terry expedition against the Sioux and
Cheyennes who were under the leadership of the wily old Sitting Bull.
The battle, as you know, took place on June 25, 1876. On the morning of
that day the troopers had made an early start and we, the scouts, had
gone ahead on a reconnoitering expedition. When we returned to report
we met the command crossing the divide between the Rosebud and Little
Big Horn rivers, General Custer rode at the head of his command, the
Seventh Cavalry, and Captains French and Benteen and Major Reno were
in command of other divisions.

“We had discovered the hostiles camped near the Little Big Horn and
about seven miles straight ahead of the soldiers. We so reported to
General Custer, and he, calling a halt, summoned the officers under
him for a council. The troops were shut out from view on the part of
the hostiles by a ridge of land, and it was at the base of this that
the council of war was held. It lasted but a few minutes, and Custer’s
desire for an immediate engagement carried the day. The soldiers were
divided into three battalions. Major Reno with three companies and all
of the scouts was to advance rapidly and from a commanding ridge make a
charge upon the upper end of the Sioux camp, first gaining a patch of
timber about six hundred yards from the enemy. In the meantime General
Custer, with five companies, would deploy around the edge of the ridge
where they were now halted and attack the lower end of the village and
cut off all retreat on the part of the Sioux. Captain Benteen, with
four companies, would take up a position on the east bank of the Little
Big Horn, overlooking the village and protecting the pack train and
baggage.

“As the officers left the council they quickly gave orders to the men,
and in an instant all were busy inspecting and loading their pistols
and carbines, filling their ammunition belts, tightening saddles and
looking to every detail preparatory to the fight. Soon the bugle
sounded, ‘Prepare to mount; mount, forward!’ Custer and his men went to
the right, Reno to the left, toward the ford of the Little Big Horn.
The horses went forward at a sharp trot, and in the moment of waiting
on the bank of the stream I looked back and saw Custer with his five
companies charging upon the village, Custer fully fifty yards in the
lead. That was the last time I ever looked upon that heroic soldier
alive or his gallant men. We were soon busy in making the ford, which
was somewhat difficult, and then we advanced up the ridge, taking the
position assigned us at the council. Up to that time there had been no
incident of interest. The troops were dismounted and the horses left in
the care of every fourth soldier. Everything was ready for the fight to
begin and the wait was not long.

“The hostiles had discovered us at once and took the initiative by
making a vicious charge up the hill. Their main body gained a vantage
ground behind an elevation sufficient to protect them and just in front
of our position. As they charged they drove in our skirmish line, which
took a position just inside the timber. The fight was furious for a
time, the Indians outnumbering Reno’s command at least ten to one. A
second charge from the hostiles drove us still higher up the ridge, at
least one mile further from the village, and it was in our retreat that
we first heard the sounds of firing in the lower end of the village
where Custer was engaged. It could not have been very heavy, as he met
but few hostiles at the first of the engagement, but it was sufficient
to draw the attention of the Indians away from us and turn it upon the
unfortunates who were attacking them in the rear. This was between 3
and 4 o’clock in the afternoon and from that time the fighting in the
lower end of the Indian camp was hot and heavy. The sound of firing
increased steadily until it became a roar, and then it died gradually
away until there was only the scattered reports of single shots. All
this took place in the space of two hours, and when the June sun set
behind the Little Big Horn mountains the Custer command had been
entirely wiped out.

“Of course we did not know this at the time, but wondered how the fight
had gone. Soon we suspected that something was wrong, for the Indians
again turned their attention to Reno, and from that time there was
no opportunity to think of anything save what we saw going on about
us, and in which we were vitally interested, for the onslaughts of the
painted warriors became desperate. Inflamed by their success in killing
the Custer command, they now determined to sweep away the rest of their
enemies, and time and again they charged up the hill to capture Reno.
Only the strength of our position prevented our meeting a fate like
that of Custer, and it was after dark before the hostiles gave up their
attempt to dislodge and slaughter us. My personal interest in the fray
was strong. I had been in the skirmish line, and when we were driven
back by the hostiles we retreated slowly, protecting the withdrawal of
the main body of Reno’s command. In doing this fourteen of us were cut
off from the command and had to take to the brush and hide. Before we
could conceal ourselves ten of the fourteen had been killed, leaving
only Lieutenant Deridio, F. F. Gerard, Tom O’Neal and myself.

“Fortunately we were not discovered, and at midnight, after all danger
of the enemy was past, we slipped from our covert and made ready to
join our command. We stripped the blankets from the bodies of dead
Indians, which were plentifully strewn through the timber, and wrapping
these about us we filed Indian fashion up the bank of the stream. We
did not know just where Reno was camped and our first desire was to get
outside of the ‘dead circle,’ or picket line, of the Sioux. We advanced
cautiously and making as little noise as possible, but in spite of that
we suddenly ran into a body of fifteen Sioux pickets. To hesitate was
to be suspected, and suspicion on their part just then meant death to
us. We advanced steadily and without exhibiting surprise. We had partly
passed the party when one of them demanded who we were. I could speak
Sioux as well as my own tongue, and without delay replied ‘Us.’

“‘Where are you going?’ was the next question, and my answer to this
was, ‘for our horses.’ This satisfied the interrogators, and we had
escaped the first danger.

“We had succeeded in crossing the stream and following the trail along
the bank, faint in the dim moonlight, when we came to an opening in
the dense cottonwoods, and there we ran into a camp of several hundred
Indians. Gerard immediately took them to be our men and belonging to
Reno’s command. He shouted: ‘Don’t shoot, boys; we are friends.’ The
startled Indians cried out: ‘Lay non; wa-see-cha ah-he-pe ah-lo!’ (It
is the enemy; the evil bad snows are upon us!) At this I dropped my
blanket and ran, getting into the brush and away from the trail. Some
one followed me closely, and I made up my mind that if he ever caught
me there would be a fight to death between us. I could actually feel
the knive thrust between my ribs in my highly excited imagination,
and when I reached the river bank I turned to face my pursuer. Then I
found that it was none other than Gerard, who had chosen the same path
as myself. We waited a minute or two and listened. Then we heard four
shots, and we were sure that our companions were lost.

“We waited no longer but plunged into the stream and gained the
opposite bank, following it as far as we dared. Dawn was breaking and
through the day we lay hidden in the willows, watching the battle
which followed between the Indians and Reno’s command. As the sun
arose we could see the Indians circling about the camp and occupying
every adjacent hill. A scattering fire was maintained until 9 o’clock,
when the Indians made a savage assault upon the east side of Reno’s
position. The soldiers appeared to be very cool and poured in a
murderous fire, which forced the hostiles to fall back with heavy loss.
An hour later they made a second desperate charge, and so fierce was
this that they actually fought with the soldiers over the breastworks,
hand to hand. But again the discipline of the soldiers was more than
a match for the fanatical frenzy of the Sioux, and they were driven
back the second time. The soldiers had lost but few in this conflict,
while their savage foes were strewn all over the side of the hill. From
that time until noon there was only firing at long range. Then came a
third charge, easily repulsed. From that time until 4 o’clock in the
afternoon each side rested on its arms. About that hour, sheltered
by a hill and not more than one thousand yards distant from the
soldiers, the Indians held a council of war. In a few minutes there
were evidences of departure in the Indian village, and it was then that
the strength of the foe appeared. They could be seen by the thousand,
scurrying about through the camp, taking down the lodges, loading the
ponies with packs and with travois, and when the baggage train was
finally completed, hurrying off to the north under a strong escort of
warriors, making for the Big Horn mountains. At sunset all of them had
disappeared and we dared venture out from our hiding place.

“Approaching Reno’s position cautiously, for fear of being shot by the
sentinels in the darkness, we were fortunate in getting inside the
lines in time to meet Major Reno himself with members of his staff.
To them I related what we had seen and heard, including the story of
the loss of our companions, but before I had finished a challenge was
heard, and into the camp came an orderly with Deridio and O’Neal. We
were overjoyed, but there was little time for congratulations. Mounted
on the best horse remaining in the command--for the long range fighting
had killed many of those in the troop--I was sent with dispatches to
Generals Custer and Terry.

“Three miles down the Little Big Horn I came upon the battlefield and
it was a most grievious sight. Scattered or heaped up on the plain were
the bodies of 237 men, every one save that of Custer mutilated in the
most horrible manner known to the Indian mind. Not one had a vestage
of clothing upon it; all had been stripped off and carried away by the
exulting fiends. In Custer’s body there were the marks of two bullet
wounds, and undoubtedly I was the first man to look upon the terrible
sight. It was too much for me and I turned and rode swiftly away down
the river, shortly afterward meeting General Terry and his soldiers.
To him I gave my dispatches and was immediately sent back to Major
Reno with instructions to bury the dead. This was completed about 1
o’clock in the afternoon of the 27th. The wounded in Reno’s command
were taken to the mouth of the Big Horn river, and thence conveyed down
the Yellowstone on the steamer Far West to Bismarck. The next day we
gathered up large quantities of pemmican and other provisions and camp
utensils left by the Sioux in their hurried flight, and burned them.
Although I was but a youth when this occurred, it made an impression
upon my mind that I shall never forget, and the details of those
horrible two or three days are as fresh now as they were at the time
of occurrence. Five years ago I went over ‘The Custer Battlefield,’
where the soldiers are buried, with Mrs. Eustis, whose son Jack, then
a recent graduate from West Point, had been one of the victims under
Custer. She had cherished a hope of recovering his bones, but although
we had with us a number of Sioux and Cheyennes who had taken part in
the fight, and each tried his best to recall all of the fearful scene,
we were unable to help her, and she was obliged to return to her
Eastern home with frustrated hopes. The incident, however, called up in
mind all of the gruesome details of the battlefield as I saw it on that
memorable morning, and I shall never care to repeat the experience.”

General Terry, in his official report dated Camp on Little Big Horn,
June 27, 1876, noticed the military movement in the direction where
Custer and his men had fallen, and submitted for the information of the
war department the following important explanation:

“At the mouth of the Rosebud I informed General Custer that I should
take the supply steamer Far West up the Yellowstone to ferry General
Gibbon’s column over the river; that I should personally accompany
that column, and that it would in all probability reach the mouth of
the Little Big Horn, on the 26th inst. The steamer reached General
Gibbon’s troops, near the mouth of the Big Horn, early on the 24th,
and at 4 o’clock in the afternoon all his men and animals were across
the Yellowstone. At 5 o’clock the column, consisting of five companies
of the Seventh Infantry, four companies of the Seventh Cavalry, and
a battery of three gatling guns, marched out to and across Tullock’s
creek, starting soon after 5 o’clock on the morning of the 25th. The
infantry made a march of twenty-two miles over the most difficult
country I have ever seen. In order that scouts might be sent into
the valley of the Little Big Horn, the cavalry with the battery was
then pushed on thirteen or fourteen miles further, reaching camp at
midnight. The scouts were sent out at 4:30 on the morning of the 26th.
The scouts discovered three Indians, who were at first supposed to be
Sioux, but when overtaken they proved to be Crows, who had been with
General Custer. They brought the first intelligence of the battle.
Their story was not credited. It was supposed that some fighting,
perhaps severe fighting, had taken place, but it was not believed that
disaster could have overtaken so large a force as twelve companies of
cavalry. The infantry, which had broken camp very early, soon came up
and the whole column entered and moved up the valley of the Little Big
Horn. During the afternoon efforts were made to send scouts to what was
supposed to be General Custer’s position, and to obtain information
of the condition of affairs, but those who were sent out were driven
back by parties of Indians, who, in increasing numbers, were seen
hovering on General Gibbon’s front. At twenty minutes before 9 o’clock
in the evening the infantry had marched between twenty-five and thirty
miles; the men were very weary and daylight was falling; the column
was, therefore, halted for the night at a point about eleven miles in a
straight line above the mouth of the stream. Next morning the movement
was resumed, and after a march of nine miles Major Reno’s intrenched
position was reached. The withdrawal of the Indians from around Reno’s
command, and from the valley, was undoubtedly caused by the appearance
of General Gibbon’s troops. Major Reno and Captain Benteen, both of
whom are officers of great experience, accustomed to see large masses
of mounted men, estimated the number of Indians engaged at not less
than twenty-five hundred. Other officers think that the number was
greater than this. The village in the valley was about three miles in
length and about a mile in width. Besides the lodges proper, a great
number of temporary brushwood shelters were found in it, indicating
that many men, besides its proper inhabitants, had gathered together
there.”

William Sellow, who now lives in Teton county, Montana, also one of the
scouts who served under General Custer, contributes the following to
the Dupuyer Acantha, July 15, 1899:

“Quite often, especially of recent years, I have seen articles in
papers and magazines relating to the actions and motives of General
Custer that led up to the massacre of his historic band. Most of these
do grievious wrong to the bravest and best officer the United States
government ever sent out to fight Indians on the frontier. Books, too,
go so far as to call him a suicide and murderer for going at the head
of his men into the battle of Little Big Horn on June 25, 1876.

“At that time I was in Custer’s employ as a civilian scout, and had
known him for a long time. I knew his ways of attacking Indians, and
knew his unbounded confidence in his men. I had known him to win
Indian fights against greater odds than his last one. For instance, at
Wichita, he routed them with a force that numbered ten to one. Had he,
in his last fight been supported as he could and should have been, he
would have won the day, and then the Sitting Bull war would have ended
and not have lasted until it cost much money and many lives. Not until
the buffalo were killed and other game became scarce were the Indians
satisfied to accept government rations and spend their honeymoon at
home. An Indian’s heart is never good until he is hungry and cold.

“Custer has been accused by would-be historians of going contrary to
orders in his last campaign, and to refute these charges I write to
follow him as far, or farther, than anyone else is truthfully capable
of doing. That he did not go contrary to orders in his last movements
the captain acting as General Terry’s adjutant at the time, if he is
alive, will gladly, doubtless, testify. Unfortunately, I have forgotten
his name. He will remember the greater part of the orders.

“After we, the scouts, delivered to Custer his last orders, I know he
had no opportunity to receive any more, and as I recount the events as
nearly as I can remember them at this length of time, it will be seen
that I am correct.

“General Terry started myself and another scout to overtake and join
Custer. After leaving the supply train and headquarters on about June
22, 1876, we reached the camp that night and delivered our message. The
reader will see that in those stirring times when a scout was given
a message it was in duplicate, one for the perusal of the scout and
one for the receiver. These precautions were taken for fear one or
both might be lost en route. In the first case the open one could be
delivered, and in the second the scout might deliver the message from
memory. I have yet in my possession the extra copy of this message, but
unfortunately, it is so old and pocket-worn as to be only partially
decipherable. From this, aided by memory, I give the message:

“‘To Lieutenant Colonel Custer, Seventh United States Cavalry:

“‘The brigadier general commanding desires that you proceed up the
Rosebud in pursuit of the Indians, whose trail was discovered by Major
Reno’s scouts a few days ago. Of course, it is impossible for me to
give definite instructions with regard to this movement, and were it
not impossible to do so, the department commander places too much
confidence in your zeal, energy and ability to wish to impose upon
you orders that would conflict with your own judgment and which might
hamper your actions when nearly in contact with the enemy. I will,
however, indicate to you his ideas of what your movements should be and
he desires you to conform to them unless your own judgment should give
you sufficient reasons for departing from them. He thinks you should
proceed up the Rosebud until you ascertain definitely the direction in
which the trail above spoken of leads. Should it be found that it turns
toward the Little Big Horn he thinks you should still proceed southward
as far as the headwaters of Tongue river and then toward the Rosebud
and the Little Big Horn, keeping scouts out constantly to your left, so
as to prevent the possibility of the escape of the Indians to the south
or southeast by passing around your left flank. The column of Colonel
Gibbons is now in motion for the mouth of the Big Horn. As soon as it
reaches that point it will cross the Yellowstone and move up as far at
least as the forks of the Big Horn and the Little Big Horn. Of course,
its future will be controlled by circumstances as they exist. But it is
hoped that the Indians, if upon the Little Big Horn, may be so nearly
enclosed by the two columns that their escape will be impossible.

“‘The department commander desires that, on your way up the Rosebud,
you should have your scouts thoroughly examine the upper part of
Tullock’s fork, and that you should endeavor to send scouts through to
Colonel Gibbon’s command with the result of your examination. The lower
part of this will be examined by Colonel Gibbon’s scouts.

“‘The supply steamer will be pushed up the Big Horn as far as the forks
of the Big and Little Big Horn, if the river is found navigable that
far.

“‘The department commander, who will accompany the column of Colonel
Gibbons, desires you to report to him there no later than the
expiration of the time for which your troops are rationed, unless in
the meantime you receive further orders.’

“After sleeping about two hours that same night we got fresh horses and
Custer started us with instructions to go to the east of Tullock’s fork
and to follow it down to its mouth at Tullock’s creek and to keep a
sharp lookout for any signs of Indians, and to report to him again that
night if possible. This we did, seeing nothing but the trail of a small
war party going toward the Big Horn.

“We had been rolled up in our blankets but a few hours when Charlie
Reynolds and a half-breed Sioux scout, Bill Cross, came in with a
report which caused Custer to send for us again. After getting fresh
horses we were given a dispatch to carry to Colonel Gibbon’s command.
We reached the river, which we crossed by the aid of our horses’ tails
with our clothes tied so as to keep them as dry as possible. We reached
the command that day. The next morning I was sent back to the supply
train, which was still at Powder river, and my companion was sent to
join Benteen’s command. He was with the latter during his engagement
with the Indians, and he gives Colonel Benteen great credit for
bravery. The colonel, he says, when the men behind the breastworks ran
short of ammunition, with his own hands carried it and threw it over to
them, being all the time exposed to the deadly fire of the enemy.

“In twenty-four hours I reached the supply train and was afforded
another opportunity to fill up and get some sleep. On the 26th we met
a Sioux scout, Bloody Knife, coming in badly scared and he seemed
to think that Custer had been killed, although he had not seen him.
Another scout, George Mulligan, and myself had been sent out to find
Custer.

“We had not gone far when we met Bill Cross and eight Ree Indian
scouts. They had a few Sioux ponies which they said they had captured.
They told us that Custer and his command were killed, but they did
not seem to know much about it. They could not tell us just where the
fight took place, hence we took little stock in their story. We learned
afterward, however, that when Custer made the charge they gathered up
the Sioux horses that had strayed out on the hills, and pulled out
for a more healthy climate. Scout Reynolds had the same privilege,
but chose to go into the battle, and was afterward found in the same
deadly circle with General Custer with many empty shells around them as
evidence of a desperate fight.

“Reynolds well knew of Custer’s ability to deal with the Indians
against fearful odds, for he had previously fought with him. He also
knew the odds he had to face that day, as we spoke of it when we last
met and he proved by his actions that he could not have been aware of
any wrong-doing on the part of the general when he, of his own free
will, followed him that day.

[Illustration: RAIN-IN-THE-FACE (SIOUX WAR CHIEF).]

“After leaving Cross and the Ree scouts we met Curley, the Crow
Indian scout, who was with Custer at the beginning of the fight.
That pock-marked villain and liar, Rain-in-the-Face, says Curley
is a liar, that he was not there, but I know for a fact that
Rain-in-the-Face had never met Curley, nor to the best of my knowledge
has he ever seen him since. I have heard Rain talk and he will never
get into the happy hunting grounds if veracity is to be his passport.

“When we met Curley he was so badly scared that I doubt if he would
have known himself. He had a Sioux medicine or war pony in full paint
and feathers, a Sioux blanket and part of a war bonnet that he wore in
his escape, and which he got from a dead Sioux medicine man who was
killed near him in the first attack. The blanket had some blood on
it. His own horse was killed and he appropriated the medicine man’s
property, and instead of trying to run the gauntlet he moved along with
the enemy, trusting to his disguise to deceive them. When he saw an
opportunity he dropped out of his bad company and escaped. When I last
saw him with Custer he had his Crow clothes on and had his own pony,
and he had no other chance to get the outfit. Had he been a white man
he would not have had any chance of escape even with that rig. He does
not claim to have tried to fight, but only to escape, and his first
account of the affair is no doubt the correct one, as anyone acquainted
with the Indians and their mode of fighting will admit its feasibility.

“I understand that there was an ex-soldier at the World’s Fair in
Chicago, who posed as a soldier in the Seventh cavalry, who escaped
from the fatal field. He was an impostor, for none but Curley left the
ground alive. He may have dreamed it and believes in dreams.

[Illustration: A CROW SCOUT (Winter costume).]

“When the Seventh cavalry rode away from Fort Lincoln with the White
Horse company, the band belonging to it played one of Custer’s
favorites, ‘The Girl I Left Behind Me.’ Ever after that, when I heard
the familiar tune on the plains, my mind was carried back to the
parting scene at the fort, and in the foreground of memory’s picture
stands, with tear-dimmed eyes, a sad, brave woman. Well might her heart
nigh break, for she knew, as no one else did, that her brave husband
was going on an expedition fraught with untold, hidden dangers, and not
upon a summer outing.

“Crazy Horse and Goose, each with a band of Cheyennes, fought against
Custer. In fact, the former was looked upon as the head war chief,
Sitting Bull being more of a medicine man and prophet. The prevalent
belief is that Sitting Bull was the worst Indian and head war
chief. This is a mistake. There were several worse than he and more
treacherous, but as most of them are dead and good Indians, I will not
take the trouble to name them or to recount their good (?) deeds. Gall
was the head man among those who fought Reno and Benteen, and would
have got away with them only for the personal bravery of the latter.

“When General Terry left the field and General Miles took command
all Terry’s and Custer’s scouts who were alive went to work for the
new commander, except George Mulligan and Jimmy-from-Cork. But there
were only five of us left--Bob and Bill Jackson, Vick Smith, Cody and
myself. However, Miles re-enforced us with several others.

“Scout Billy Jackson was with Custer on the morning of the 25th,
but left before the engagement to join Reno, and knew nothing of
the terrible conflict until the next day. On the 27th they came to
the battlefield, and Jackson, with four other scouts, identified
the remains of General Custer and Scout Reynolds. His report of the
battlefield may be vouched for, as he was ever known as a brave, cool,
clear-headed and truthful scout, whom General Miles said he could
always depend upon. He, too, maintains that Custer did not go contrary
to orders.”

Custer had divided his force into three parts. Benteen had orders to
sweep everything before him to the left, and Reno was to drive right
at the enemy. But it seems that neither he nor any other officer who
was in this campaign had an idea that the Indian forces were as strong
as they proved to be. There were at least eight Indian warriors to one
soldier; neither did he know that they were so well supplied with arms
and ammunition. Here is where Custer was deceived, or likely he would
have kept his men together and won the battle.

On the arrival of General Gibbon the dead were buried and the wounded
men of Reno’s and Benteen’s commands were given attention. After Gibbon
and his men returned to Fort Shaw, I had an interview with the general
and with many of the soldiers who were on the battlefield and assisted
in burying the dead. They said that all the men, except Custer, were
horribly mutilated and divested of all their clothing.

Again we return to Sitting Bull. Soon after the death of Custer,
Sheridan, who was at the head of the war department, called out troops
and fought him the balance of the season almost continuously, but
the great chief always avoided open battle. In October General Miles
drove him across the Missouri river, killing some Indians, capturing
two thousand men, women and children, and destroying many of their
supplies. The warriors who remained were scattered and discouraged;
skulked back into the mountains, while Sitting Bull, with his followers
crossed the line into the British possessions. In the meantime Generals
Crook and Terry fought and defeated Chief Crazy Horse on the Rosebud
towards the close of the year.

To give an idea of the vastness of the country where the hostile
Indians had established their camps, I will give the approximate area,
which was 125 by 200 miles, or 25,000 square miles. The Yellowstone
river is about 350 miles long, 200 of which was included in this area.
The length of Powder river is 150 miles; the Tongue river the same,
the Rosebud 125, the Big Horn about of similar length. With all of the
tributaries of these rivers, and with the hills and mountain passes,
the Indians were familiar; in this respect they had the advantage
over the military. To go into details of those campaigns, extending
over this great territory--the fearful severity--the long marching
for months at a time through an untrodden wilderness, and sometimes
a scarcity of food, clothing and bedding--the many battles that were
fought, to which I have made no reference; burying the dead and taking
care of the wounded--to tell all this would make a book in itself. But
one thing I will insert here: That monument in Custer county, which
marks the graves of those who have given their lives for this mountain
land, and are peacefully sleeping at the base of it, will be kept erect
by the Montanians as long as those everlasting peaks which overlook
this sacred spot from the mountain tops near by shall remain.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
July 24, 1899.

GENERAL SHERMAN’S LETTERS.

The following letters were written by General Sherman, then general
of the United States Army, to Secretary McCrary, describing his tour
through the valley of the Yellowstone soon after the Sioux war. They
were published at the time in some newspaper, the clippings of which I
have had in my possession ever since.

Thinking that there are no other records of these interesting letters,
I give them place in this book, for they are a valuable addition to
the history of Eastern Montana, or what was then termed “the Sioux
country,” and of that eventful time when the military had taken
possession after Sitting Bull and his followers had been driven across
the border into Canada.

LETTER I.

“Cantonment on Tongue River, M. T., July 17, 1877.

“_To Hon. Geo. W. McCrary_:

“My Dear Sir: Before leaving Washington I promised to write you from
time to time of matters of public and private interest.

“As originally appointed, I left St. Louis the evening of July 4,
accompanied by my son; reached Chicago on the 5th and St. Paul the
6th. Here I was joined by my aides, Colonels Poe and Bacon; also by
Gen. Terry and his aide, Captain Smith, and the quartermaster of his
department, General Card. Leaving St. Paul by rail the morning of the
7th, we reached Bismarck the evening of the 8th. There were three
steamers there, two of which, the Rosebud and the Ashland, were
loading for the Yellowstone, and we selected the former because she
was smaller and safer, and better adapted to the strong current of
the river. During the day of the 9th we crossed over by ferry to Fort
Abraham Lincoln, and inspected the post. It is composed of two distinct
posts--a small infantry post, perched on a high hill overlooking the
country and valley of the river, and a larger cavalry post on the
river bank below, raised about twenty feet above the bottoms, which
are usually overflowed by the spring freshets. There is but a small
garrison there, because the Seventh Cavalry, its regular garrison, is
detached to this point, and is now out on a scout.

“The Rosebud was boarded by 4 p. m. on the 9th, dropped down from
Bismarck three miles to Fort Lincoln, to take us on board, and began
the ascent of the Missouri, which was full, with a strong current. It
was about as large and of the same character as at Sioux City. In three
days we reached Fort Buford, on the north bank, just below the mouth of
the Yellowstone. We stopped there over the night of the 12th, making as
much of an inspection as the mosquitoes would allow, and at daybreak
on the 13th resumed the trip, entering the Yellowstone, which for a
hundred miles seemed almost as large as the Missouri, with numerous
islands and a wide valley. This valley contracted after about a hundred
miles, and the river changed its character somewhat, being lined on
either side with fantastic hills, known as ‘bad lands,’ making short
bends with a powerful current, against which we made slow headway,
but in four days we reached this post, on the south bank of the
Yellowstone, just above the mouth of Tongue river. The troops, mostly
the Fifth Infantry, occupy the huts made last winter, but a new post is
in process of construction, about a mile higher, and half a mile back
from the Yellowstone, the ground being higher and less in danger of an
overflow.

[Illustration: GEN. WILLIAM TECUMSEH SHERMAN, U. S. A.]

“General Miles is in command here--has about three hundred Indian
prisoners--says none of the boats on the river this year have been
molested--that all the hostiles which swarmed hereabouts last year are
gone, the greater part to the agencies, while Sitting Bull has taken
refuge across the border in Canada, about 250 miles north. When the
new post is finished, which will be before winter, the troops will be
comfortably quartered, and the Indians cannot return. Already a class
of frontiersmen are making ranches and settlements hereabouts, and in
a few years we can make the route to Montana by way of the Yellowstone
as safe as the Platte and Arkansas, thus forcing the hostile Indians to
break up into small and harmless parties. For some years hence we will
have to keep a pretty strong garrison here, because, besides defending
this point, detachments must go out to protect other threatened
points, and to follow any small parties engaged in depredations. In
other words, the forts along this line will not only have to defend
themselves, but be able to send out strong detachments.

“There is a great deal of valuable country along the line of the
Northern Pacific railroad. That road, from Duluth to Bismarck, although
a financial failure, has been and will continue to be of advantage
to the country at large. As far as Bismarck it is done, and well
done. The next link, from Bismarck to the mouth of Powder river, is
very important. It will be a distance of 250 miles, but will cut off
300 miles of the Missouri river and 150 of the Yellowstone, leaving
the Yellowstone from Powder river to the mouth of the Big Horn for
navigation.

“The valleys of the upper Yellowstone afford lands capable of
cultivation in wheat, corn, oats, barley, and all garden vegetables,
with an unlimited range for cattle, horses and sheep, etc. I do
not know a single enterprise in which the United States has more
interest than in the extension of the Northern Pacific railroad
from its present terminus at Bismarck to the mouth of Powder river
on the Yellowstone. After that is done we can safely leave to time
the extension of the road to the head of navigation on the Columbia
river. After a couple of months I can speak with more confidence on
that point. I now regard the Sioux Indian problem as a war question
as solved by the operation of General Miles last winter, and by the
establishment of the two new posts this summer. Boats can come and go
now where a year ago none would venture except with strong guards.
Woodyards are being established to facilitate navigation, and the great
mass of the hostile Indians have been forced to go to the Agencies
for food and protection, or have fled across the border into British
territory. I have driven all about this post, looked into the barracks,
which are as yet mere huts of cottonwood posts, with dirt floors and
dirt roofs, but will soon be replaced by good frame barracks and
quarters. The stores of all kinds on hand are abundant and good, so
that no apprehension is felt on account of the enemy or severity of the
winter. Six small companies of infantry are here, two more are on the
way, and four are mounted on captured ponies and are out on a scout.
The Seventh Cavalry are also near here, scouting to the north, but
discover no marks of an enemy.

“As winter approaches, part of the cavalry will doubtless be sent
back to Fort Lincoln for economy of maintenance. Tomorrow night we
resume our trip up the Yellowstone and Big Horn to the other new post
building, at the forks of the Big and Little Horn. There I expect
to meet General Sheridan. * * * I beg you not to construe this as
official, as I have been constantly interrupted, and must close, as the
steamer is ready to go. With great respect, etc.,

“W. T. SHERMAN, General.”

LETTER II.

“On the Steamer Rosebud, Big Horn River, July 25, 1877.

“My Dear Sir: We left the cantonment at the mouth of the Tongue river
on the evening of July 18, and reached the mouth of the Big Horn in
three days, then entering the Big Horn, we steamed hard for three days
against a powerful current, and reached the new post at the forks
of the Little and Big Horn yesterday morning early. Many boats had
preceded us, all, or nearly all, discharging part of their freight on
the west bank, from which hauling is comparatively easy. Our boat,
which was built especially for the navigation of this and similar
streams, had to land four miles below the post one-third of her cargo.
The difficulty was not the want of water, but by reason of the strong
current, which in the bends must be about eight miles an hour.

“We found at the post the United States steamer General Sherman, which
has a good hull, a good engine, but too much and too fine cabin for
this work. It will be kept in the Big Horn as long as the water lasts,
and will be employed in carrying up to the post the freight dropped
on the river bank by the contract boats. The post already has a good
supply of all essential stores, and there is no doubt that long before
the season closes all invoiced for its use will be on hand and stored.
The day before we reached the post we met General Sheridan and party,
who had come across the country from Fort Stambaugh. We had a long
conference and agree that this new post is well located, and that it
can be supplied with reasonable economy in the future. The new post
will be garrisoned by six companies of the Eleventh Infantry and four
companies of the Second Cavalry, under command of Lieutenant Colonel
Buell, of the Eleventh Infantry, an officer of great energy, and by
profession an engineer. He served under me during the war as colonel
of an engineer regiment, and afterwards as a brigade commander. He has
been on the ground less than a month, but has a steam sawmill at work
and a large mass of cottonwood logs being rapidly sawed up into lumber
for the new barracks. He has about 200 civil mechanics at work and six
buildings in progress, besides temporary shelters for his stores as
received, and he entertains no fear but that he will finish his post
substantially before winter.

“The location of this post is in the very heart of the Sioux country.
With this one and the one at the mouth of the Tongue river, occupied
by strong, enterprising garrisons, these Sioux can never regain this
country, and they will be forced to remain at their agencies or take
refuge in the British possessions. At present there are no Indians here
or hereabouts. I have neither seen nor heard of any. General Sheridan
saw none nor any trace of any, so that the principal end aimed at by
the construction of these posts is already reached, and it is only to
make this end permanent that we should persist in their completion. The
one at Tongue river can be supplied by steamboats. This one, at the
mouth of the Little Big Horn, cannot depend on this river, the current
being too strong to be navigated by ordinary boats with a fair cargo.
General Terry and his quartermaster, General Card, are at this moment
reconnoitering to select some point near the mouth of the Big Horn
whereat to establish a supply depot, at which all freight destined for
this post can be landed and hauled up here.

“We have on board a company of infantry to guard this depot, and we are
nearly agreed that the best place will be a point on the Yellowstone
proper, three miles above the mouth of the Big Horn, where the hauling
will be about thirty miles by ox trains. These can be hired here, and
will do the work more surely and better than the steamboats, for they
have been sometimes two weeks in working up the Big Horn and have left
their loads strung along its banks at points hard to reach by wagons. I
am convinced that this is the wisest course, and thus we can maintain
a strong military post in the very heart of the hostile Sioux country,
with only a haul of twenty miles, which is insignificant as compared
with most of our posts south of this. The country west of this is a
good country and will rapidly fill up with emigrants, who will, within
the next few years, build up a community as strong and as capable of
self-defense as Colorado.

“I have Company L of the Second Cavalry, Captain Norwood, which belongs
at Fort Ellis, M. T., now camped on the west bank of the Yellowstone,
opposite the mouth of the Big Horn, to escort me up to Ellis. As soon
as we have decided on the merits of the point mentioned as a supply
depot for this post, I will land and start for Ellis, leaving Gen.
Terry with this boat to return to Bismarck for a new load. I will
instruct General Terry to report in full all these matters to the
adjutant general, so that this letter is only preliminary.

“Here we have no news from Idaho or Oregon, or the world generally, but
I suppose in Montana there will be need of the four companies of the
Second Cavalry, temporarily taken to Tongue river, and I instructed
General Sheridan to so order when he reached Tongue river. This will
leave General Miles the whole of the Seventh Cavalry available if the
Indian Bureau wishes to escort Sitting Bull from British America to an
agency.

“The weather has been intensely hot--as hot as Texas--but last night we
had a thunder-squall, since which the air has become perfect. General
good health prevails here, and I am impressed with the value of this
country. * * * Truly yours,

“W. T. SHERMAN, General.”

LETTER III.

“Fort Ellis, M. T., August 3, 1877.

“Dear Sir: I wrote you last from the steamboat Rosebud, coming down
the Big Horn in company with General Terry and others on the 25th of
July. We had concluded that the current of the Big Horn was too swift
to be managed economically, and that the garrison at Post No. 2, at the
mouth of the Big Horn, could best be supplied by establishing a depot
on the Yellowstone, just above the mouth of the Big Horn, where stores
could be hauled thirty miles to the new post. A company of the Eleventh
Infantry was left there to establish and guard the depot when the
steamer Rosebud dropped down to the point just below the mouth of the
Big Horn, where Company L, Second Cavalry, Captain Norwood, was camped
with an outfit. This consisted of six Indian horses, two light spring
wagons, and one light baggage wagon. The Rosebud landed us at 2 p. m.,
when she started down the river, leaving us to begin our real journey.
In a few minutes the escort saddled up, and we started on horseback up
the Yellowstone.

“The valley is strongly marked, about three miles wide, flat, with
good grass, the banks of the river and the streams well wooded with
cottonwood trees. In this valley, the Yellowstone, a broad, strong
stream, meanders back and forth, forming on both sides strong,
perpendicular bluffs of rock and clay, forcing the road constantly out
of the flat valley over the points, and causing wide deflections in
the road to head the ravines or ‘coolies,’ which flow to the river.
There is a strongly-marked wagon trail, but no bridge or cuts, a purely
natural road, with steep ascents and descents, and frequent gullies,
about as much as wagons could pass. We sometimes shifted into our light
wagons, to save the fatigue of travel.

“Thus we journeyed for four days, when we sent a courier from Fort
Ellis with a copy of General Townsend’s dispatch to me, saying that the
President desired my immediate return, unless I had information that
the serious riots then in full career had ceased.

“Light wagons can out-travel horses and baggage wagons. Up to that
date we averaged twenty-five miles a day. I therefore turned the
courier back with a fresh horse, and orders to reach Fort Ellis in
two days with answer, to be sent from Bozeman by telegraph, and, with
my immediate party, I followed, taking one more day, being time for
answers. On reaching Fort Ellis the day before yesterday (August 1), I
was delighted to hear that the riots had ceased, and that you and the
President had consented that I should go on as originally intended.

“The escort company came in yesterday, so that we are now all here at
Fort Ellis. When we arrived there was but one company of the Seventh
Infantry here, Captain Benham, thirty men. The arrival of the escort
gives an addition of sixty men.

“There is no seeming danger here or hereabouts, but the Nez Perces
are reported to have entered Montana, from Idaho, and are now in the
valley of the Bitter Root, about 300 miles west of this; they are
reported en route to the buffalo range, east and north of this point.
It seems that for many years these same Nez Perces, along with some
Flatheads from the western part of Montana, have been accustomed to
come to the sources of the Musselshell and Yellowstone to gather meat
for the winter, traversing the whole of Montana, doing little or no
damage. But the buffaloes of the great northern herd, like that of the
southern, are being rapidly slaughtered for their skins, so that now
they are becoming scarce. We only saw four buffaloes, two of which were
killed, in our course, whereas ten years ago we would have encountered
a million.

“The time has come when these restless Indians must cease to look to
buffaloes as a means of maintenance, and they should not be allowed
to traverse the scattered and explored settlements of Montana, where
hunger will sooner or later compel them to kill tame cattle and steal
horses, thus leading to murder and war.

“Besides these the Nez Perces should be made to answer for the murders
they committed in Idaho, and also to be punished as a tribe for going
to war without just cause or provocation.

“Hitherto all danger to Montana has come from the north and the Sioux
to the east, and the few troops stationed in the territory were posted,
as it were, at the eastern doors or passes through the mountains, over
Ellis, Baker, Benton and Shaw, but last year a new post was selected
at or near Missoula, the door of the western frontier. Two small
companies, not over sixty men, of the Seventh Infantry, under Captain
Rawn, were sent to Missoula to build a post there, but he had hardly
arrived when the Nez Perces war began. When it was reported that
General Howard had defeated the hostiles and that they were retreating
to Montana by what is known as the Lo-Lo trail, some of the citizens of
the neighborhood joined the soldiers for the purpose of stopping the
Indians until the troops from Idaho could come up with them. But it
seems the Indians passed around Captain Rawn’s fortified point and then
entered the Bitter Root valley, but in such force (300 armed warriors)
as to claim to be able, if opposed, to force their way through.

“The country is so large and the passes so scattered that concert of
action is most difficult, if not impossible.

“Gen. Gibbon, colonel of the Seventh Infantry, has command of this
district, and General Terry is the department commander. Gibbon is
stationed at Fort Shaw, on Sun river, 200 miles north of this. As
soon as he perceived Captain Rawn’s critical position, he collected
about 100 men, and has gone rapidly toward Missoula to take command
and control them. The governor of the territory, General Potts, has
also gone in the same direction--Deer Lodge--and has organized some
volunteer companies, and these may be able to get ahead of the Indians
somewhere on the Big Hole or Wisdom river, and hold them in check or
turn them back toward Idaho, where General Howard must have a pretty
respectable force, able to destroy them, unless, as I suspect, they
will scatter, when pursuit becomes impossible. I do not propose to
interfere, but leave Howard or Gibbon to fight out this fight.

“Too many heads are worse than one.

“I have sent word to Governor Potts that if the citizens in their own
interest will join the regular troops and act with and under them,
that the commanding officer will loan them arms and ammunition when
possible, and may certify to beef or food taken en route, but that
congress alone can raise troops for any purpose. I have telegraphed
to General McDowell that I expect that his troops now in Idaho will
follow up those Indians to the death, go where they may, regardless of
boundaries. He answered that such are still, and were General Howard’s
orders from the beginning. So I expect soon to hear of the arrival
at or near Missoula of the troops from that quarter. The nearest
point from which troops may come to Montana from the east is by the
route I came. When I parted with General Terry at the Big Horn it was
understood he would detach for General Miles’ command at Tongue river
the companies of the Second Cavalry which belong here. It will be two
weeks before they reach here, but if they arrive in time, and the
troops and volunteers now in the Bitter Root country do not succeed in
stopping this band of Nez Perces, these three companies and the one I
brought will get on their trail, and change their proposed buffalo
hunt into a fight. If, however, they escape, I see no alternative but
to drive them across the British border to join Sitting Bull.

“Tomorrow I will start for the park, taking only five soldiers with
me, so that my presence here will not materially reduce the fighting
force, for I have sent word to General Gibbon that my escort company
is subject to his orders. I do not suppose we run much risk, for we
are all armed, and the hostile Indians rarely resort to the park, a
poor region for game, and to their superstitious mind associated with
hell by reason of the geysers and the hot springs. We expect to be
gone from here about fifteen days, during which we can receive or send
no letters. On our return here, say August 18th, I will go rapidly to
Helena, when I will learn all about the movements of the troops, and
I will be governed somewhat by them. But I still intend in August to
visit Forts Shaw and Benton, and to reach Missoula in the first week of
September.

“It is all important that a route or trail be opened between Missoula
and Walla Walla, but I can better judge of this after I have passed
over the road.

“We found ranches established all along down the Yellowstone, and the
mail contractors have already put on a line of two-horse spring wagons,
so that soon the route we passed over will fill up with passes. The
land is susceptible of cultivation on a small scale, but admirably
adapted to cattle raising.

“Fort Ellis is a small post, built of pine logs, all the mountains
around being covered with pines.

“We are all perfectly well, and enjoy the isolation and freshness of
camp life. Truly yours,

“W. T. SHERMAN, General.”

LETTER IV.

“Fort Ellis, M. T., August 19, 1877.

“The Territory of Montana, though very large, and surrounded on all
sides by Indians liable to become hostile on the slightest provocation,
has for ten years been a district forming a part of the Department of
Dakota, and has usually been garrisoned by a regiment of infantry and
a battalion of cavalry--four companies. The danger usually lay to the
east, toward the Sioux, and therefore the posts were Fort Benton, at
the head of navigation of the Missouri; Fort Shaw, on Sun river; Camp
Baker, at the head of the Musselshell, and Fort Ellis, at the head of
the Gallatin.

“The infantry regiment should be 1,000 men, but the policy of reduction
has gradually reduced it to 300, and early this spring the four
companies of the Second Cavalry, by order of the department commander,
were dispatched to Tongue river to assist General Miles in his active
campaign against the Sioux, and when I passed up the Yellowstone in
July three of these companies had been sent by General Miles to the
east of Tongue river, and one company (L, Captain Norwood) was held to
escort me to this, their proper post.

“On reaching Fort Ellis I found that General Gibbon, colonel of the
Seventh Infantry, commanding this district, had, at the request of
General Howard, hurriedly called for every man that could be spared,
and marched to Missoula to head off the Nez Perces Indians that had
been defeated by him (Howard) in Idaho. Gibbon was absolutely without
cavalry, and his small infantry companies marched with extraordinary
speed, making twenty-six miles a day. * * * General Gibbon got on the
trail, followed it with great earnestness, and overhauled the Indians
at a place known as Big Hole. He got into their camp and fought them
bravely and well a whole day, inflicting heavy loss and sustaining a
corresponding loss himself. Of this you have full reports.

“If General Gibbon could have had 100 more men, there would now be few
hostile Nez Perces left. But his force was inadequate, and he did all
that a man possibly could do.

“The next day Howard got ahead of his command, and he now has taken up
the pursuit, and I hope to hear that he has finished up what General
Gibbon so well began.

“I believe these Indians are afraid to return to Idaho, and think
they will try to escape to the great plains to the east of the Rocky
mountains, by way of the head of Wind river, in which case they will
fall to the charge of General Crook or General Miles, either of whom is
capable of running them down.

“The moment I reached Ellis I caused General Gibbon to be informed that
I had reached the territory, and that I did not wish to interfere with
his legitimate command, but on the contrary I gave him the company of
cavalry which had escorted me up from the Big Horn, and that company is
now with General Howard’s command in pursuit of the Nez Perces.

“Our little army is overworked, and I do not believe the officers and
soldiers of any army on earth, in peace or war, work as hard or take as
many risks of life as this little army of ours. In what we call peace I
am proud of them, and I hope you are also, or soon will be.

“Meantime I suppose you want to hear something of the National Park.”

Having been in the National Park for fifteen days, and giving a
graphic description of its spouting geysers and their performances,
its majestic mountains, lakes and canyons, the extremely beautiful
formation of which neither pen, words nor painting can equal, and that
“Wonderland” must be seen to be appreciated and felt, the general in
closing his sketch, says:

“This is Sunday, a real day of rest, and I have endeavored to give this
wide and rapid sketch in hopes to account for the fifteen days’ absence
from duty at this period of military activity, but I have faith that
there are plenty of good officers on duty at their posts to do all that
is demanded of the army. I now propose to go to work to study closer
the present condition and future prospects of Montana as bearing on the
great military problems, all of which will be duly reported.

“With great respect, etc.,
“WILLIAM T. SHERMAN, General.”

THE NEZ PERCES WAR.

It was in Idaho, in the summer of 1877, that Chief Joseph, of the
Nez Perces tribe, declared war by butchering his defenseless white
neighbors. It may be that the death of Custer and the fame of Sitting
Bull awoke the evil spirit in him by birth. The only excuse he tried
to give was that the government wanted to move some of his people
off a certain tract of land. All of this could have been settled
satisfactorily if he had waited but a few weeks, and to this end
he agreed. But before the time was up he commenced his murderous
deeds. The following is from the Spokesman-Review, Spokane, Wash., in
reference to Chief Joseph:

“By nature he was proud, defiant and warlike. His summer home was in
the Wallowa valley of eastern Oregon, but when not engaged there at
hunting and fishing he roamed at will from the California line to the
Canadian boundary, and from the Blue mountains to the summits of the
Rocky mountains.

“The invasion of this broad realm by miners and settlers forced upon
the government its policy of framing a new treaty with the Indians
for the purpose of confining them to two or three reservations. At a
conference held at Lapwai in 1873, between the various Indian chiefs
and representatives of the government, Joseph refused to go upon either
the Nez Perces reservation in Idaho or the Umatilla reservation in
Oregon. This being reported to the secretary of the interior, an order
was issued that Joseph’s band should be permitted to remain in the
Wallowa valley during the summer and autumn, and later the President
set aside the Wallowa and Imnaha valleys for Joseph and his non-treaty
Indians.

“Thus matters drifted until 1875, when, under pressure from the
settlers, the President rescinded his order, and another commission
was appointed to negotiate with Joseph and his band. Joseph haughtily
replied that he had not come to talk about land; the maker of the
earth had not partitioned it off, and man should not; the earth was
his mother, sacred to his affections, and too precious to be sold. He
did not wish to learn farming, but to live upon such fruits as the
earth produced for him without effort. (From these principles Joseph
has never departed. To this day (1898) he and his little band on the
Colville reservation refuse to take up the arts of peace. They hunt and
fish, and dwell in tepees.)

“The government replied that unless in a reasonable time Joseph
consented to be removed he should be forcibly taken with his people
and given lands on the reservation. He answered this by taking to the
warpath. Joseph, Whitebird and Looking Glass gathered their forces on
Cottonwood creek, sixty-five miles from Lewiston, ostensibly to comply
with the government’s command, but really in preparation for the fierce
war that followed.

“Their first victims were four white men, killed on White Bird creek.
On June 14, 1877, while playing cards, they were surprised by a band of
hostiles.”

Joseph’s fighting force was about five hundred. General O. O. Howard
took the field with seven hundred men and officers. Several skirmishes
were fought, in which Joseph was badly beaten, although about fifty of
Howard’s men were killed. Finally, with his men, followed by many women
and children, he crossed into Montana with Howard in pursuit. General
Gibbon, then located at Fort Shaw, Montana, was notified of Joseph’s
movements, and at once, with about 150 men, crossed the main range
of the Rockies, by going over the “Cadott Pass,” making the march in
two days. His force was infantry and a few were mounted. About thirty
citizens joined him from the Bitter Root valley.

Gibbon attacked Joseph on August 9th in the Big Hole valley in
Beaverhead county, and had a hard fought and bloody engagement, lasting
several hours. When the battle was nearly ended, stray bullets kept
coming and killed several of Gibbon’s men before any one could tell
where they came from. Finally one of the soldiers discovered that a
redskin had climbed and fortified himself in a fork of a large tree and
about thirty feet from the ground. A fatal shot was sent and “he fell
like a dead squirrel,” as one of the men said. The Indians retreated,
leaving eighty-nine dead. Gibbon lost twenty-nine killed and forty
wounded. Bostwick, the interpreter, who was at Gibbon’s office, and
of whom I have made mention in my letter, “The Indians Stealing My
Horses,” was one of the killed.

Gibbon was burying the dead when Howard came up. Joseph knew that
Howard must be near, and perhaps this saved Gibbon from meeting the
same fate as Custer, for the Indians outnumbered him more than three to
one.

A magnificent monument has been erected on this sacred ground in memory
of those who crossed the main range of the Rockies, and, but a few days
later, went down “through the valley of the shadow of death” for the
sake of generations to come.

After the battle Joseph crossed into Idaho, killing many settlers on
the way, for now all the Indians were in a rage. It appears that he
hardly knew where to go; finally he took to the mountains and into the
National Park. Here he met some tourists, and two of them, Charles Kenk
and Richard Detrick, were killed by his warriors, while at the same
time an Indian named Charley was doing all in his power to pacify the
other Indians; at this juncture Joseph interfered and forbade his men
to harm any more of them. But they were all taken as prisoners for
several days. The women who were in the party were treated with the
greatest respect, for which Joseph received great praise through the
Eastern press as well as that of the West. Howard was still on their
path, and Joseph knew it, and knew that his only hope was to get to
Canada. From the National Park he went due north as near as the lay
of the country would permit, killing several settlers and destroying
property as he went. This time he came in contact with Colonel Sturgis,
but made his escape.

In the latter part of September news came to Fort Benton that the Nez
Perces were heading to cross the Missouri river and on to Canada.
Knowing that there were but few people at the several trading posts
further down the river, Major Elges, who was in command at Fort Benton,
sent what men he could spare down the river in a Mackinaw boat, while
he and Colonel J. J. Donnelly, with thirty-five mounted citizens, with
rifles and belts full of cartridges, crossed the country. Many of them
were picked marksmen, “old prairie men,” who would just as soon go
into a fight as eat a Christmas dinner. On their way they learned that
Joseph was heading for Cow island. On their arrival there they found
that the Indians had crossed the river and had a fight with a small
party of men that were guarding some goods that had been taken off a
steamboat and piled on the levee. Joseph took some of the goods and
burned the balance. But this brave little party, who were intrenched,
fought like demons, and, although one was killed and three of them
wounded, they stood off the enemy and held their fort. Judge Foley, now
of the city of Belt, was one of them. About the same time Joseph was
having a fight with O. G. Cooper, Frank Farmer and other freighters,
who were in camp on Cow creek, a few miles further north, when he
had already robbed and was burning their wagons. Without hesitation,
the Benton party took a hand in the fight, in which E. B. Richardson
(Bradley) was killed. Colonel Donnelly, who had been an officer in the
Civil War, borrowed a small boat from Captain McGarry, of the steamer
“Benton,” and sent two men with a dispatch to General Miles, who was
in camp several miles down and on the south side of the river. Runners
were sent by Major Elges on the north side to direct Miles the way the
Indians had gone. The balance of the party were watching the course of
the Indians, which was to the Bear Paw mountains. Miles immediately
crossed to the north side on the steamer that brought his command up
the river. Afterwards Miles met Donnelly, thanked him for the dispatch
and thanked the citizens for what they had done.

The Montana volunteers who served against the Nez Perces in 1877
numbered 442, who were from different localities and were recognized by
the war department as belonging to the Montana militia of that year,
and their names are on the rosters of the court of claims, who drew pay
for their services. In the list I find “Donnelly’s Company, No. 5,”
consisting of the following names:

John J. Donnelly, William Foster, Sol A. Jantis, Charles B. Buckman,
Louis Cobell, Joseph Morrison, J. W. Hanna, W. B. Smith, Samuel Neall,
J. C. Lilly, Ed L. Smith, John Samples, C. E. Deanville, Ed Tingle,
James Dare, G. A. Croff, C. S. Davis, J. H. Evans, Hiram Baker, Crow
Davis, Trev Hale, Murray Nicholson, Powder Bull, William Preston, P.
H. Estes, Wolf’s Head, George Farmer, Jos. Gauty, Isaac N. Clark, Eph
Woolsey, J. W. Tattan, Richard Maloney, Thomas O’Hanlon, John Egan, W.
S. Evans, George C. Smythe, John Kavanaugh, E. B. Richardson, George
Hammond, Martin Moran, William Rowe, William Murphy, Jeff Talbert and
Nicholas Walsh.

I make mention of this little company of citizens because they were
my neighbors and because they were the last volunteers that fought in
the final battle in the last Indian war in Montana. Colonel Donnelly
was then and is now an attorney at law at Fort Benton, and Judge J.
W. Tattan, J. H. Evans, William Rowe, J. C. Lilly, Louis Cobell, John
Kavanaugh and others are citizens of Fort Benton and vicinity at the
present time.

After crossing the river, Miles went right after the Indians. Now,
for the first time, Joseph realized that there was a “Rough Rider” on
his trail, for Miles then was as daring a rider as there was in the
country. After being in the saddle for four days he captured Joseph in
the Bear Paw mountains, and but a few miles from Canada. The day before
the surrender General Howard came up with an escort of twelve men,
remaining with Miles over night, and was present next morning at the
surrender of Joseph and his entire force of 400. And when the conquered
chief with his men came into camp he first offered his arms to General
Howard, who declined to receive them, at the same time waving him
to General Miles. This was considered at the time a generous act on
Howard’s part, for then he was the ranking officer. Now Howard had come
to the end of his long march of nearly two thousand miles, crossing up
and down the Rocky mountains in pursuit of the Indian Chief Joseph and
his desperate band. It was a feat or achievement of personal heroism,
hardihood, persistence and pluck. The extracts below are from a private
letter written by Colonel Corbin, of the “Sitting Bull Commission,” to
a friend in the East. He says:

“Of course, we are feeling glad at the happy close of the Nez Perces
business--it has been the most remarkable of all our Indian wars; and
in a stern chase no troops could have caught them as long as they
did not want to be caught. They left their former homes with at least
three good horses to each warrior and a reserve of at least a thousand
head for families and pack animals. So they were on a fresh horse
every third day. While after a few days’ march Howard’s horses were
worn down, and it required every effort to get them through the most
damnable passes you can imagine, in the highest range of the Rocky
mountains. Howard’s troops have endured hardships seldom, if ever,
known to the American soldier. They have been in the sun and rain so
long that any of them would make a first-rate model for a veteran.
Howard, himself, is looking like a frontier teamster after a long
streak of bad luck.

“When the Nez Perces surrendered to General Miles, they were yet well
provided with provisions. They brought to bear all the cunning of their
race and had the most improved arms; in fact it would seem that they
had taken advantage of all our experience in war. Their camps were
like ours when going to Atlanta, marked by rifle pits thrown up every
night, and the site of their last stand is wonderful in its hastily
constructed fortifications.

“Lieutenant Jerome of our escort was a prisoner two days, and was well,
even kindly, cared for, the women digging a trench for his protection
from the fire of General Miles’ troops. The men wounded in the first
charge of Miles fell into the Indians’ hands. They were disarmed and
assured of their safety. The admiration felt for Joseph’s pluck and
general conduct is very warm among both officers and men. They fought
until nearly three-fourths of their warriors were either killed or
wounded in open battle, and when worn out by Howard, Gibbon, Sturgis,
Norwood and Miles, they hoisted the white flag and came down from their
mountain fastness and each surrendered his rifle to General Miles in
person.”

There is no doubt but that Chiefs Joseph and Looking Glass have proven
themselves to be the greatest leaders, displayed the best generalship
and carried out their plans with more skill than any of the American
Indians that ever waged war against our government.

No one can give a better account of the last battle with Chief Joseph
and his band of Nez Perces than General Nelson A. Miles, himself. The
general says:

“On leaving the Missouri river for the march north, the command was
organized to move with pack trains, leaving the wagons with a strong
escort to follow as best they could. Every precaution was taken to
conceal the command as far as possible, and the march was made with all
the celerity and secrecy practicable. Strict orders were given against
firing a shot or in any way disturbing the vast numbers of buffalo,
deer and elk which we encountered. In this way we moved from early dawn
to dark for four days on the grassy plain and foothills which bordered
the eastern slope of the Little Rockies, and on the 29th tidings
regarding the trail to the left reached us. Captain Maus, commanding
the scouts, had used his sleepless vigilance to good purpose and had
gained the information desired without disclosing his presence or that
of the command.

“Here occurred an excellent illustration of the loyalty of the true
soldier. Captain Maus and his small band, while engaged in their
scouting duties, suddenly came upon a huge bear sometimes called the
‘grizzly,’ but in that region more properly the ‘silver tip,’ who,
evidently conscious of its strength and power, rose upon its hind
feet in an attitude of defiance. Captain Maus, with the instincts of
a thorough sportsman, quickly brought his rifle to his shoulder and
ran his eye along the sight. Just then he remembered the rigid orders
against firing and as quickly brought it down to his side, the spirit
of the soldier overcoming the strong temptation of the hunter. His
small detachment then passed on in search of larger game.

“That night I received dispatches from General Howard stating that he
had turned his cavalry back to Idaho and was going to move his infantry
down the Missouri river, leaving the battalion of Colonel Sturgis, six
troops of the Seventh cavalry, on the Missouri river. This made it
clear that whatever encounters we might have with the Nez Perces we
were entirely beyond support.

“At daylight on the morning of the 30th the command had its light
breakfast and was in the saddle pushing on again in search of the
enemy, everyone realizing the probability that a conflict would soon
occur.

“Our Cheyenne and Sioux Indian scouts had now assumed a more serious
attitude. They were well in front of the command, and began to show
more earnestness and activity than they had heretofore. Suddenly one of
these advance scouts, a young warrior, was seen bounding at full speed
back over the prairie. He said something in Sioux or Cheyenne to the
other Indians as he passed them, and it was evident that he brought
information of the discovery of the Nez Perces camp. Then an almost
instantaneous transformation scene was enacted by these savages. Hats,
coats, leggings, shirts, blankets, saddles and bridles were quickly
thrown into one great heap in a ravine, or ‘cache,’ as the Indians call
it.

“A lariat was placed over the neck of each war pony, and a double knot
around his under jaw. The warrior painted for the fray was bedecked
with the usual gorgeous long and high headdress of eagle feathers, and
wore a buckskin covering about the loins, which was his only clothing
except a pair of buckskin moccasins. Springing upon their war ponies,
with rifle in hand, they looked like game champions prepared for the
fray, or the ideal picturesque warrior arrayed for the fight. They
appeared to be perfectly wild with delight, as unlike what they had
seemed twenty minutes before as two scenes of a drama.

“A similar spirit was manifested among the entire body of troops. ‘The
Nez Perces over the divide’ was the word that was passed quickly in
low tones from mouth to mouth along the entire column. The command
immediately took a trot, with an occasional canter, where the ground
would admit of it, over the rolling prairie and the grass-covered
valleys. Rounding the northeast base of the Bear Paw mountains, the
distance that was supposed to be a few miles proved to be eight, and
the disposition of the troops was made while they were at a trot or
rapid walk, and the pace quickened to a gallop and charge as they
neared the camp.

“Orders were sent by Lieutenant Baird, of my staff, to Captain Tyler’s
command (the Second cavalry) to sweep around to the left and then down
the valley and cut off, if possible, the herd of horses from the camp,
in order, to use the familiar phrase, to ‘set the Indians afoot,’ the
Seventh cavalry was thrown in line of battle while moving at a gallop,
the commanding officer, Captain Hale, riding in advance. He presented
the ideal picture of the cavalier, splendidly mounted on a spirited
gray horse, and he wore a jaunty hat with a light gray cavalry short
coat, while his whole uniform and equipment were in perfect order.
Inspiring his followers to courage by his own example and splendid
heroism, with a smile upon his handsome face he dashed forward to the
cruel death awaiting him. The battalion of the Fifth infantry, under
Captain Snyder, was deployed in the same manner a little in the rear
of the Seventh cavalry at first, and finally extending the line to
the left, charging directly upon the camp, while the battalion of
the Second cavalry was sweeping the valley of the vast herd of 800
horses, mules and ponies there grazing. This gallop forward preceding
the charge was one of the most brilliant and inspiring sights I ever
witnessed on any field. It was the crowning glory of our twelve days’
forced marching.

“The Nez Perces were quietly slumbering in their tents evidently
without a thought of danger, as they had sent out scouts the day
before to see if there were any troops in the vicinity, and the
scouts had reported ‘none discovered,’ but that they had seen vast
herds of buffaloes, deer, elk and antelope quietly grazing on the
prairie undisturbed, and no enemy in sight. When the charge was made
the spirited horses of the Seventh cavalry carried that battalion a
little more rapidly over the plains than the Indian ponies of the
mounted infantry, and it was expected to first strike the enemy with
the Seventh cavalry. The tramp of at least 600 horses over the prairie
fairly shook the ground, and, although a complete surprise to the
Indians in the main, it must have given them a few minutes’ notice, for
as the troops charged against the village, the Indians opened a hot
fire upon them. This momentarily checked the advance of the Seventh
cavalry, which fell back, but only for a short distance, and was
quickly rallied again and charged forward at a gallop, driving that
portion of the camp of the Indians before them.

“At the same time the battalion of the Fifth Mounted infantry, under
Captain Snyder, charged forward up the very edge of the valley in which
the Indian camp was located, threw themselves upon the ground, holding
the lariats of their ponies in their left hands, and opened a deadly
fire with their long-range rifles upon the enemy with telling effect.
The tactics were somewhat in the Indian fashion, but most effective, as
they presented a small target when kneeling or lying upon the ground,
and their ponies were so accustomed to the din and noise of an Indian
camp, the buffalo chase, and the Indian habits generally, that they
stood quietly behind their riders, many of them putting their heads
down to nibble the green grass upon which they were standing. During
the desperate fight the horses and ponies were, of course, exposed. The
infantrymen had become so attached to their strong and handsome ponies
that when one was shot it was a real bereavement to his owner; and in
more than one case it was noticed that tears filled the eyes of the
soldier as his pony fell dead.

“Sergeant McHugh had galloped forward with his Hotchkiss breech-loading
gun, keeping in line with the mounted infantry, and went into action
throwing shells into the camp with decided effect. The infantry swept
around to the left to inclose that portion of the camp and force the
Indians into a deep ravine. The battalion of the Second cavalry had
stampeded nearly every animal in the valley and portions of that
command were used immediately in circling the camp in order to inclose
it entirely.

“As I passed completely around the Indians over the ground occupied
by the mounted infantry and Second cavalry, to the line occupied by
the Seventh cavalry, I was shocked to see the lifeless body of that
accomplished officer and thorough gentleman, Hale, lying upon the crest
of a little knoll with his white charger dead beside him. A little
further on was the body of the young and spirited Biddle. Captains
Moylan and Godfrey were badly wounded, and in fact a great part of the
line encircling the camp was dotted with dead and wounded soldiers and
horses.

“The loss of the Nez Perces was even more severe. The fight had been
sudden, rapid and most desperate on both sides.

“From what was at first a wide circle, the troops gradually closed
their lines, forcing the Indians into a narrow ravine, and charging
them on all sides until the grip of iron had been completed. In
this way the losses on both sides had been serious, considering the
number engaged. Captain Carter, in one charge, had 35 per cent of his
men placed hors de combat, but I felt positive we had secured the
beleaguered Indians in their camp beyond the possibility of escape.
I did not, therefore, order a general assault, as I knew it must
result in the loss of many valuable lives and possibly might end in a
massacre. I, therefore, directed the men to hold their ground, and then
from a high point watched the fight going on further down the valley.

“As the cavalry charged the camp a few of the warriors, including
White Bird, ran out, secured their horses, and fled to the hills. As
the battalion of the Second cavalry swept down the valley the Indian
herd became somewhat separated. Captain Tyler captured some 300 of
the ponies; Lieutenant Gerome another large band, and Lieutenant
McClernand, who had swept on still further, finally secured upwards of
300 more three or four miles down the valley. While driving them back,
the small number of Indians who had escaped, undertook to rescue the
animals and made several counter attacks, which were all successfully
repelled by the judicious and brave action of McClernand and his men.
The ponies were all finally gathered up in a secluded valley in rear of
the command and proved to be 800 in number.

“That afternoon our train came up under the escort of Captain
Brotherton, and this escort, together with the Napoleon gun, was used
in strengthening the line then encircling the Indian camp, making the
escape of the Indians doubly difficult. As a result of the desperate
encounter, I found that the two officers before mentioned and twenty
soldiers had been killed. My assistant, Adjutant General George W.
Baird, while carrying orders and inspiring the command with his own
bravery, was severely wounded, his right arm being broken and part
of one ear shot away. Besides Captains Moylan and Godfrey, Lieutenant
Romeyn was also injured while leading a charge, together with
thirty-eight soldiers.

“The Indians occupied a crescent-shaped ravine, and it was apparent
that their position could only be forced by a charge or a siege. The
first could not be accomplished without too great sacrifice, while the
latter, in my judgment, would be almost sure to result satisfactorily.
My one concern then was whether the Sioux Indians, whom I knew to be
encamped under Sitting Bull north of the Canadian boundary line, some
fifty miles distant, and to whom the few Indians who had been able to
escape from the village had fled, might not come to the assistance of
the Nez Perces. During the last eight months numbers of disaffected
Indians, who had been driven out of the valley of the Yellowstone and
its tributaries had sought refuge on Canadian soil and joined the large
camp of Sitting Bull, thus greatly increasing his force. I afterwards
learned, however, that when the Nez Perces’ messengers reached the
camp of Sitting Bull, instead of coming to the assistance of the
besieged, the whole camp, numbering between 1,000 and 2,000 Indians,
who evidently had not forgotten their experience during the autumn and
winter, immediately moved forty miles further back into the interior of
the Canadian territory. But as I did not know this fact until several
weeks later, I was bound to make provision for this large body of
Indians should they advance to the assistance of the Nez Perces.

“I, therefore, desired that the military authorities should have some
intimation of my position, and to that end sent word to General Terry,
commanding the department, who was then at Fort Benton, nearly 100
miles to the west, apprising him of our movements and success. I also
sent orders to General Sturgis to move up and join us without delay.
He was then eighty miles to the south and separated from us by the
Missouri river. I likewise informed General Howard of our position.

“As we were besieging this camp of Indians and holding their large
herds of stock in the valley, with our large number of wounded to be
cared for, I did not relish the idea of being besieged in our turn
by the hostile Sioux, and, therefore, took every precaution possible
to meet such an emergency. We had no interpreters who could talk Nez
Perces well enough to be of any use; some of the scouts could speak
Chinook and they called out to the Indians to surrender. Joseph came
up under the flag of truce, and from him we learned that the principal
chief, Looking Glass, and four other chiefs had been killed, besides
a large number of others killed and wounded. Joseph was informed that
they must surrender by bringing up their arms and laying them on the
ground. They pretended to do so and brought up a few, which amounted to
nothing, but hesitated greatly about surrendering the balance.

“While this was going on I directed Lieutenant Gerome to ascertain
what they were doing in the village, supposing that he would go to the
edge of the bluff and look down into the camp. But misunderstanding my
instructions, he went down into the ravine, whereupon he was seized and
held until he was exchanged for Chief Joseph.

“It continued to snow during the day, but the siege was pressed
continuously and a sharp lookout kept for any force that might come to
the assistance of the Nez Perces. On the morning of the third day the
ground was well covered with snow, and the scouts reported a large body
of black objects on the distant hills, moving in our direction. This
occasioned much excitement among the troops, and every eye was turned
to the north, whence it was feared that Sitting Bull’s hostile Sioux
and possibly the Assinaboines and Gros Ventres (both of whom were
known to be to the north of us) might be moving to the assistance of
the Nez Perces.

“It had been reported that the moving column was a large body of
Indians. Every officer’s field-glass was turned in that direction,
and as the long, dark column moved through the midst of light snow,
slowly developing its strength as it made its way towards us over
the distant hills and rolling prairie, I watched it with very great
anxiety. Considering our condition, the large herd of captured stock we
were holding, and the hostile camp we were besieging, and the number
of our wounded, such a formidable reinforcement would, of course, be
a very serious matter and the thoughts ran quickly through my mind as
to the best dispositions to make in order to hold what we had gained
and repel any effort, no matter how strong, to rescue the besieged or
overcome our small but very efficient force. We could use our artillery
and quite a large portion of our troops against any additional enemy
and still keep the fruits of victory already gained. The mysterious and
apparently formidable force drew nearer, when some of the scouts on
the extreme outposts shouted ‘buffaloes!’ and it was a most gratifying
cry. The relief occasioned by this announcement was like that afforded
to the marines by the appearance of a beacon light or like sunlight
bursting through the dark and angry clouds of a storm.

“The snow and cold caused great suffering to our wounded, although they
were made as comfortable as possible, and while the siege continued
detachments were sent some five miles distant up into the Bear Paw
mountains to get poles with which to make travois and stretchers,
knowing that the wounded must soon be transported to the nearest
hospital.

“On the evening of the 4th of October Howard came up with an escort
of twelve men, remaining in our camp over night, and was present next
morning at the surrender of Chief Joseph and the entire Indian camp.
As Chief Joseph was about to hand his rifle to me, he raised his eyes
to the sun, which then stood about 10 o’clock, and said: ‘From where
the sun now stands, I fight no more against the white man.’ From that
time to this he has kept his word. Those who surrendered with Chief
Joseph and those taken outside the camp numbered 400. There were killed
twenty-six in all, and forty-six wounded. The work of securing the arms
of the Indians, burying the dead, and preparing the wounded for their
long journey occupied the entire day; but on the following morning we
commenced our slow and difficult march back to the Missouri river.”

Immediately after the surrender of Chief Joseph, a runner was sent to
Fort Benton with a message to be forwarded to the war department, and
General Terry, on his return from Northwest Territory, who was at Fort
Benton at the time, received the following dispatch:

“Chicago, October 11, 1877.

“_To General A. H. Terry, Fort Benton, M. T._:

“The honorable secretary of war expresses to me his congratulations
to General Miles and yourself, upon the important success achieved
by the capture of Joseph’s band of Nez Perces on October 5th. The
general of the army also desires me to offer his congratulations to
General Miles and his command, and to assure them that the capture
of Joseph’s band is exceedingly important especially on account of
the influence on other Indians in Oregon who have been watching
the result of Joseph’s movements with intense interest. To these
well-merited commendations I again offer my own to General Miles
and the officers and men who have brought about this exceedingly
desirable result.

“(Signed.)

P. H. SHERIDAN,
“Lieutenant General.”

[Illustration: NELSON A. MILES, LIEUTENANT GENERAL COMMANDING U. S. A.]

[Illustration:

(Photograph taken in 1898.)

CHIEF JOSEPH.]

This was the last Indian battle fought in Montana; and the “straw”
which broke the Indians’ back was when Miles captured Chief Joseph.
This brave soldier, who is now the commanding general of the United
States army, is still on the trail of the enemy, for it was but
yesterday, July 25, 1898, that, after a skirmish with the Spanish
troops, General Miles successfully landed the American expedition on
the island of Porto Rico. Those who surrendered with Chief Joseph
numbered 413 by actual count; about 100 escaped into Canada, Chief
White Bird among the number. The killed numbered twenty-six and
forty-six wounded. Among the killed were Chief Looking Glass and
Joseph’s brother. Miles had forty-three wounded and twenty-two killed,
who are now peacefully sleeping safe from battles, pain or sorrow, in a
little dell overlooked by cliffs and ancient mountain pines.

Although those mothers’ sons never had a monument to mark their beds
of clay, nevertheless the high peaks of the Bear Paws, touching the
sky, can be seen from hundreds of miles on all sides and are pointed
out by the passer-by, saying: “There’s where lie twenty-two of American
patriots.”

Most of the Indians were taken to the Indian Territory, but Joseph was
taken to Washington, D. C., to give an account of his wicked ways.

Howard followed Joseph for two months and a distance of nearly two
thousand miles. It cost the regular army one hundred and seventy-nine
lives, and the Northwest half that many of its citizens.

When writing the above article I wrote to General Miles asking him for
permission to quote his letter, or if he would kindly write me another
one on the same subject. In reply, he sent me the following:

“Headquarters of the Army,
“Washington, Jan. 26, 1899.

“_Mr. Robert Vaughn, Great Falls, Montana_:

“Dear Sir: I have your letter of the 9th instant. So far as I know,
you are at liberty to copy the letter referred to in your letter,
but I do not at present recall it and would like to know what it
is, if convenient for you to give me the information.

Very truly yours,
“NELSON A. MILES,
“Major General Commanding.”

After finishing the Nez Perces campaign letter, I sent to General Miles
a copy of it, and in reply received the following communication from
Lieutenant Colonel Maus:

“Headquarters of the Army,
“Washington, March 4, 1899.

“_Mr. Robert Vaughn, Great Falls, Montana_:

“My Dear Sir: Some time ago you kindly sent to General Miles an
excellent article on the Nez Perces campaign, in which you quote
from General Miles’ book. The article is certainly very good. The
general has been too much occupied to write anything further at
this time, but it is believed his book stated very clearly the main
facts regarding this campaign. He says that he does not see any
reason why you should not quote from his book, if you so wish.

“I am sure you are right about the service that was done by the
Montana people. A number of scouts from Montana were under my
charge, as I had command of both the white and Cheyenne Indian
scouts in the location of the Indians after they crossed the river.
By the aid of these scouts word was sent to General Miles regarding
Chief Joseph’s band, as well as the direction in which they were
going, etc., and in time to be of assistance to him in locating
their camp, where we joined him about the commencement of the fight.

“The men of those days were a brave and hardy race, inured to
all kinds of hardships, excellent shots, and made a class of
fighters of which we have no equal for the kind of warfare in which
they were engaged. As civilization advances this type is fast
disappearing.

“I should think it would be very interesting for you to write
the history of those times, in which your state is especially
interested.

“With the kindest regards and the thanks of the general for your
kind wishes, believe me,

“Very truly yours,
“MARION P. MAUS,
“Lieutenant Colonel, Inspector General.”

At the time, Joseph was looked upon as a great general, and, no doubt,
if it had not been for the Benton parties and other citizens aiding
Miles to locate the Indians, Joseph would have carried out his plan and
escaped into Canada.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Great Falls, Montana, July 26, 1899.

AN ENGLISH TRIBUTE TO THE AMERICAN SCOUT.

The Western pioneer will appreciate the following tribute to the
American scout by that gallant English soldier, General Baden-Powell,
the hero of Mafeking, at one time, the chief scout and “rough rider” in
the British army:

GENERAL BADEN-POWELL

Scouting as a fine art had its origin in America, when the pioneer
settled first upon the shores of the new country which stretched away,
away, to the westward, how far they knew not. What wonders, what
dangers, what secrets were held by that unknown country by the forest
primeval they likewise knew not.

They were surrounded by hostile savages, who came and went like
shadows, who found their way as straight as the flight of a carrier
pigeon through countless miles of trackless forest; who appeared
and disappeared as quickly and completely as the elfs of the fabled
fairy-lands. But the instinct of self-preservation sharpened their
wits; no man sleeps soundly when danger threatens.

They learned first the secrets by which the Indian made his way from
place to place, and tracked his foe for vengeance or his game for
sustenance.

They quickly discovered how by training and vigilance the eye became
quick, the ear alert, and the touch sensitive.

A crushed blade of grass or a weed, a broken twig, a bent bough,
all these things were to the Indian as they are to Sherlock Holmes,
sufficient to construct a theory as to the character and numbers of
those he pursued.

[Illustration: ROBERT S. S. BADEN-POWELL, MAJOR GENERAL ENGLISH ARMY.]

From him the white man quickly learned his lore, but he could add to
it something which instantly made him the superior of the red man, and
that was, a higher order of intelligence and reason, and that conquered
the aborigine and drove him farther and still farther from the lands of
his fathers.

As time passed, some striking figures emerged from the people, as all
history demonstrates men have done in all ages.

Daniel Boone crossed the Alleghanies, behind which the Indians made
their first stand, thinking the white man would not cross that great
breastwork thrown up by nature, and discovered Kentucky.

Then, following Boone, came Crockett, Bridger, Kit Carson and Cody, as
the men who were the acknowledged leaders and chiefs of these wise men
of the mountains, woods and prairies, during successive epochs.

Since these men and their kind made scouting a fine art, the great
soldiers of Europe have acknowledged that they are matchless for the
purposes of fighting in an enemy’s country.

RETURNING OF SITTING BULL FROM CANADA.

It was but a few months after Sitting Bull had established his camp in
the Northwest Territory in the British possessions that the Canadian
government requested the government of the United States to send a
commission to have a council with Sitting Bull and induce him to return
to the United States. Pursuant to this request, a commission was sent
to Fort Walsh, N. W. T., and met Oct. 17, 1877, with General Terry at
the head. Colonel Macleod, who was in command of the Canadian mounted
police, with four officers and forty policemen, were present. The
council was held in the quarters of the commanding officers of the
police force, commencing at 2 o’clock p. m., and lasted one hour and
a half. Sitting Bull desired to have the meeting take place in the
open air, but it was thought judicious by the policemen in charge of
the ceremony to have the council held in a convenient room, where the
act of every participant could be held under strict surveillance and
control. All were seated, and General Terry proceeded to state his
mission. The following account of this remarkable meeting was published
in the Benton Record, October 21, 1877, and was communicated by Captain
J. J. Healy (now of Alaska), who was present at the council. Captain
Healy describes Sitting Bull as follows:

“He is a short, thick-set man, about forty-five years of age, and
weighs, probably, 175 pounds. He is undoubtedly a full-blooded Sioux
Indian, and not a remarkably intelligent looking one at that. He is
minus one toe, having at some time or other had his feet frozen. He
does not speak and apparently does not understand a word of the
English language, and his conversations with the whites are always
conducted through an interpreter.”

GENERAL TERRY’S SPEECH TO THE SIOUX.

“We are sent here as commissioners of the United States, at the request
of the Canadian government, to meet you (interrupted by Sitting
Bull, who objected to a table in front of the speaker. The table was
removed). The president has instructed us to say to you that he desires
to make a lasting peace with you and your people, and that all the
people of the United States may live in harmony. He wishes it for your
sake as well as that of the whites, and if you will return to your
country and leave your hostile life, a full pardon will be given you
for any wrong you may have done in the past. You, or any man among
you, shall be forgiven and permitted to enjoy all the liberties of any
other Indians at the different agencies. We will not tell you what the
president means by saying he will give you a full pardon. Of all the
bands of Indians, yours among them, who were at war about a year ago,
yours is the only one that has not come into the agency. Of those bands
that have come in, not one has been punished, and every man, woman and
child has been furnished food and clothing. It is true these Indians
have been required to give up their arms and ammunition, which were
all sold and the money applied for their benefit. We have already sent
650 cows to one of the agencies, for the use of the Indians. This has
been done to get you to leave your wild life and to help you to support
yourselves. The president will not consent to have you return unless
you give your consent to give up your arms and horses, but he invites
you to come to your and his country, give up your arms when you cross
the line, thence go to any agency he may assign you to, and there give
up your horses (except such as you need for use in civil life), which
will be sold and the money applied to buy cows, which will support you
after the game has left the country. You will also receive clothes the
same as other Indians. We have come many hundred miles to bring this
message. Too much blood has already been shed. It is time war should
cease. You cannot return to your country and your friends unless you
accept these conditions; otherwise you will be treated as enemies of
the United States. Think well of these things, and when you have made
up your minds we are ready to hear your reply.”

The Indians were asked if they wanted to retire and hold a council
among themselves, but they said their minds were already made up and
they were ready to reply.

SITTING BULL’S SPEECH TO THE UNITED STATES COMMISSION.

“For sixty-four years you have kept us and treated us bad. What have
we done? Your people are the whole cause of the trouble; we could
go no place but to this country. Here is where I learned to shoot,
and that is why I came here. What did you come for? I did not give
you the country, but you followed me and I had to leave. You took my
country from me. I was born and raised with the Red River half-breeds,
and wanted to come back. (Sitting Bull here shook hands with Colonel
Macleod and said he would live with him.) You may think I am a fool,
but you are a bigger fool than I am. This house is a medicine house.
You come and tell us lies in it. We don’t like it. Don’t say two words
more, but go back where you came from. I shake hands with these people
(shakes hands with Colonel Macleod); so say no more. You gave that part
of the country and then took it back. I want you to go home and take it
easy as you go.”

[Illustration: SITTING BULL (SIOUX CHIEF).]

THE REE’S SPEECH.

“Look at me. Seven years in the country. For the last sixty-four years
you have treated us bad. I don’t like you. You tell lies. I will keep
peace with these people as long as I live. I shake hands with them. You
come over and tell us lies. Go home, and take it easy as you go.”

SPEECH BY A YANKTON SIOUX WHO WAS IN THE MINNESOTA MASSACRE.

“I don’t wear the same clothes as you do. You come to tell us lies.
You have treated us bad for sixty-four years and have been fighting us
all the time. There were seven different tribes of us. You promised to
take care of us when we were over there, but you did not do it. We like
these people and intend to live with them. I don’t intend to kill any
one.” (Shook hands with Generals Terry and Lawrence.)

SPEECH BY A SQUAW.

“You would not give me time to raise children, so I came over here to
raise children and live in peace.”

(To allow a squaw to speak in council is one of the worst insults that
an Indian can offer.)

CROW’S SPEECH.

After kissing all the English officers, he said: “What do you mean by
coming over here and talking this way to us? We were driven out of your
country and came to this one. I am afraid of God and don’t want to
do anything bad. For sixty-four years you have treated us bad. These
people give us plenty to eat. You can go back, and go easy. I come to
this country, and my grandmother knows it, and is glad I came to live
in peace and raise children.”

After the Crow had spoken, Sitting Bull sat down and said they were
done. General Terry then stated that the commissioners had nothing
further to say. The Indians then left, after shaking hands with the
English officers.

The commission left the following day, and a few days later arrived
at Fort Benton. No disappointment was expressed by the citizens of
Montana that the commission did not succeed. The average citizen was
glad rather than sorry that the old savage, imbued with the blood
of Custer and his companions, decided to remain on British soil. To
live in peace on their reservation--receiving no punishment for what
they had done--board and clothes free--to help to lead them from
savage life, were some of the inducements proffered for the return of
these hostiles. All offers were not only scornfully rejected, but the
commission was treated to studied and offensively displayed insults.

After remaining in Canada nearly three years, and finding that the
Canadian government had no use for him and that his people were
starving, the old fugitive chieftain now sings a different tune and is
anxious to return.

On February 4, 1880, he sent a commission to the agent at Pine
Ridge Agency, indicating that he and his followers wanted to make
arrangements with the United States government so that they could come
back and live in peace, and, as a token of friendship, he sent a pipe
hatchet; in case terms could not be had, it was to be returned. But, to
his disappointment, the government did not wish to make any terms with
him then. His followers kept coming, however, in small parties, and in
a destitute and starving condition, to Fort Peck Agency, in northern
Montana, turning over their guns and what ponies they had left; the
other ponies they had eaten to keep from starving. By May 1st, 1,116 of
the refugees had returned.

Again Sitting Bull made an application to the government, through
the war department, for permission to return, and all the property
he wanted was his horse and gun. After both the Canadian and United
States governments had several communications in regard to the matter,
and after Sitting Bull had been in Canada five years, he was permitted
to return to the United States. He stood his trial and was taken to
Standing Rock agency and kept there as a kind of prisoner of war. Now,
he was not looked upon as a warrior, even by his own people. But it was
not long before he began to gain influence, and many of them looked
upon him as a kind of high priest and dreamer. It appears that he was
determined to be a leader, if not in one thing he would be in another.
The next letter will show him up in his new profession, or whatever you
may call it, for he was one of the prime movers in the Indian Messiah
craze and the floor manager of the ghost dance, which was finally the
cause of his death.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
July 15, 1898.

THE INDIAN MESSIAH AND THE GHOST DANCE.

To give a true history of this phenomenal influence that had taken
possession of the Indians at that time, I will here give the Indian
commissioner’s report, which gives a very correct account of this
remarkable occurrence, also of the establishing at various agencies of
an Indian police system which has been in force since 1877 and now is a
perfect success. It will be seen hereafter that this police force made
the arrest of Sitting Bull at the time of his death:

“The one best thing that marked the vigorous policy and the giving
place to sense for sentiment, was the appointment of Indians to take
care of Indians. Some of them had long since served in the regular
army, indifferently well, but it was not until 1877 that the experiment
of appointing Indian policemen to guard Indians and watch ill-disposed
whites was seriously considered. From the report of the United States
commissioner of Indian affairs in 1880 it appears to have been a
success from the very first. The practicability of employing an Indian
police to maintain order upon an Indian reservation is no longer a
matter of question. In less than three years the system has been
put in operation at forty agencies, and the total force now numbers
one hundred and sixty-two officers and six hundred and fifty-three
privates. Special reports as to the character and efficiency of the
service rendered by the police have recently been called for from its
agents by this bureau, and those reports bear uniform testimony to the
value and reliability of the police service, and to the fact that its
maintenance, which was at first undertaken as an experiment, is now
looked upon as a necessity.

“The discipline of the force is excellent, failure to obey an order
being followed by immediate dismissal. It is made up of the best young
men of the tribes, many of them being members of the native soldier
organization. There are also enlisted two chiefs--White Bird and
Little Big Man, the latter being a northern Indian, and having taken
a prominent part with Sitting Bull in the Big Horn campaign of 1876,
afterwards surrendering at the agency with Crazy Horse.

“A member of the force is on duty all night at the guard house, making
the rounds of the government buildings at intervals of fifteen or
thirty minutes, which precluded the possibility of government supplies
being surreptitiously made away with.”

Says the Sioux agent, 1880: “The Indian police force at this agency
consists of fifty members, all Indians: one captain, two lieutenants,
ten sergeants and corporals, and the balance privates. The force
is in charge of one of the white employes, who also acts as deputy
United States marshal. There is also attached to the force one special
detective and one special interpreter. The members are all armed with
the Springfield and Sharp’s army carbine.

“In the autumn of 1890 we find the once famous disturber of the peace
in Montana, Sitting Bull, established at Standing Rock agency on the
Dakota side of the Missouri. He was now nearly sixty years of age, and
had been fully half that time a formidable leader of wild red men. He
lived in two little cabins in comfort and indolence, but was no longer
rich in property or influence. As observed in his return from the
British possessions he was still a true aborigine and superstitious as
a child. Still he was dauntless in spirit, reckless of results, and
fearless as a lion in the face of danger. It is something to know that
this remarkable figure in the history of Montana fell not by the hands
of those whom he had always counted as his enemies, but at the hands of
his own people. For, gainsay it who will, as time goes forward he will
grow taller, grander in the estimation of men, especially in the minds
of imaginative red men, and it is very well for all, especially the
Indians, to know that his following was not great in the end, and that
he was slain by his own people.

“During the summer and fall of 1890 reports reaching this office from
various sources showed that a growing excitement existed among the
Indian tribes over the announcement of the advent of a so-called Indian
Messiah or Christ, or Great Medicine Man of the North. The delusion
finally became so widespread and well defined as to be generally known
as the ‘Messiah Craze.’

“In June, 1890, through the war department, came the account of a
‘Cheyenne Medicine Man, Porcupine,’ who claimed to have left his
reservation in November, 1889, and to have traveled by command and
under divine guidance in search of the Messiah to the Shoshone agency,
Salt Lake City, and the Fort Hall agency, and thence--with others
who joined him at Fort Hall--to Walker River reservation, Nevada.
There ‘the Christ,’ who was scarred on wrist and face, told them of
his crucifixion, taught them a certain dance, counseled love and
kindness for each other, and foretold that the Indian dead were to be
resurrected, the youth of the good people to be renewed, the earth
enlarged, etc.

“From the Tongue River agency in Montana came a report, made by the
special agent in charge, dated August 20, 1890, that Porcupine, an
Indian of that agency, had declared himself to be the new Messiah, and
had found a large following ready to believe in his doctrine. Those who
doubted were fearful lest their unbelief should call down upon them
the curse of the ‘Mighty Porcupine.’ The order went forth that, in
order to please the Great Spirit, a six days’ and nights’ dance must
be held every new moon, with the understanding that at the expiration
of a certain period the Great Spirit would restore the buffalo, elk,
and other game, resurrect all dead Indians, endow his believers with
perpetual youth, and perform many other wonders well calculated to
inflame Indian superstition. Dances, afterward known as ‘ghost dances,’
were enthusiastically attended. About the same time the Cheyenne and
Arrapaho agent in Oklahoma reported that during the autumn of 1889 and
the ensuing winter rumors had reached that agency from the Shoshones of
Wyoming that an Indian Messiah was located in the mountains about two
hundred miles north.

“In August, 1890, Agent Gallagher stated that many at the Pine Ridge
agency were crediting the report made to them in the spring that a
great medicine man had appeared in Wyoming, whose mission was to
resurrect and rehabilitate all the departed heroes of the tribe,
restore to the Indians herds of buffaloes, which were to make them
entirely independent of aid from the whites, and bring such confusion
upon their enemies (the whites) that they would flee the country,
leaving the Indians in possession of the entire Northwest for all time
to come. Indians fainted during the performances which attended the
recital of the wondrous things soon to come to pass, and one man died
from the excitement.

“The effect of such meetings or dances was so demoralizing that on
August 22, 1890, when about two thousand Indians were gathered on
White Clay creek, about eighteen miles from the agency, to hold what
they called a religious dance connected with the appearance of this
supernatural being, the agent instructed his Indian police to disperse
them. This they were unable to do. Accompanied by about twenty police,
the agent himself visited the place, and, on hearing of his approach,
most of the Indians dispersed. Several men, however, with Winchester
rifles in their hands and a good storing of cartridges belted around
their waists, stood stripped for fight, prepared to die in defense of
the new faith. They were finally quieted, but the dances continued,
and October 12, 1890, Agent Royer, who had just taken charge of the
agency, reported that more than half the Indians had already joined the
dancing, and when requested to stop, would strip themselves ready for
fight; that the police had lost control, and if his endeavors to induce
the chiefs to suppress the craze should be unavailing, he hoped for a
hearty co-operation in invoking military aid to maintain order.

“About the same time the Cheyenne river agent reported that Big Foot’s
band were much excited about the coming of a ‘Messiah,’ and, armed with
Winchester rifles and of very threatening temper, were beyond police
control. A similar condition of affairs existed among the Rosebud Sioux.

“Agent McLaughlin also reported from Standing Rock October 17th, as
follows: ‘I feel it my duty to report the present craze and nature of
the excitement existing among the Sitting Bull faction of the Indians
over the expected Indian millennium, the annihilation of the white men
and supremacy of the Indian, which is looked for in the near future and
promised by the Indian medicine men as no later than next spring, when
the new grass begins to appear, and is known among the Sioux as the
‘return of the ghosts.’ They are promised by some members of the Sioux
tribe, who have lately developed into medicine men, that the Great
Spirit has promised them that their punishment by the dominant race has
been sufficient, and that their numbers having now become so decimated
will be reinforced by all Indians who are dead; that the dead are all
returning to reinhabit this earth, which belongs to the Indians; that
they are driving back with them, as they return, immense herds of
buffaloes, and elegant wild horses to have for the catching; that the
Great Spirit promises them that the white men will be unable to make
gunpowder in the future, and all attempts at such will be a failure,
and that the gunpowder now on hand will be useless as against Indians,
as it will not throw a bullet with sufficient force to pass through the
skin of an Indian; that the Great Spirit had deserted the Indians for
a long period, but is now with them, and against the whites, and will
cover the earth over with thirty feet of additional soil, well sodded
and timbered, under which the whites will all be smothered; and any
whites who may escape these great phenomena will become small fishes
in the rivers of the country; but to bring about this happy result
the Indians must do their part and become deliverers and thoroughly
organize.

“Sitting Bull is high priest and leading apostle of this latest Indian
absurdity; in a word, he is the chief mischief maker at this agency,
and if he were not here, this craze, so general among the Sioux, would
never have gotten a foothold at this agency.

“On Thursday, the 9th inst., upon an invitation from Sitting Bull, an
Indian named Kicking Bear, belonging to the Cheyenne River agency,
the chief medicine man of the ghost dance among the Sioux, arrived at
Sitting Bull’s camp on Grand river, forty miles south of this agency,
to inaugurate a ghost dance and initiate the members. Upon learning of
his arrival there I sent a detachment of thirteen Indian policemen,
including the captain and second lieutenant, to arrest and escort him
from the reservation, but they returned without executing the order,
both officers being in a dazed condition and fearing the powers of
Kicking Bear’s medicine. Several members of the force tried to induce
the officers to permit them to make the arrest, but the latter would
not allow it, but simply told Sitting Bull that it was the agent’s
orders that Kicking Bear and his six companions should leave the
reservation and return to their agency. Sitting Bull was very insolent
to the officers, and made some threats against some members of the
force, but said that the visitors would leave the following day.
Upon return of the detachment to the agency on Tuesday, the 14th, I
immediately sent the lieutenant and one man back to see whether the
party had left or not, and to notify Sitting Bull that his insolence
and bad behavior would not be tolerated longer, and that the ghost
dance must not be continued. The lieutenant returned yesterday and
reported that the party had not started back to Cheyenne before his
arrival there on the 15th, but left immediately upon his ordering
them to do so, and that Sitting Bull told him that he was determined
to continue the ghost dance, as the Great Spirit had sent a direct
message by Kicking Bear that to live they must do so, but that he would
not have any more dancing until after he had come to the agency and
talked the matter over with me; but the news comes in this morning
that they are dancing again, and it is participated in by a great many
Indians who become silly and intoxicated over the excitement. The dance
is demoralizing, indecent and disgusting. Desiring to exhaust all
reasonable means before resorting to extremes, I have sent a message
to Sitting Bull by his nephew, One Bull, that I want to see him at the
agency, and I feel quite confident that I shall succeed in allaying the
present excitement and put a stop to this absurd ‘craze.’

“Agent Royer, of the Pine Ridge agency, was especially advised October
18th, that Major General Miles, commander of the military division in
which the agency was situated, also chairman of the commission recently
appointed to negotiate with the Northern Cheyennes, would shortly visit
the agency, and that he would have opportunity to explain the situation
to him and ask his advice as to the wisdom of calling for troops.
October 24, 1890, this office recommended that the war department be
requested to cause Sitting Bull, Circling Hawk, Black Bird and Kicking
Bear to be confined in some military prison and to instruct the proper
military authorities to be on the alert to discover any suspicious
movements of the Indians of the Sioux agencies:

“Early in November reports received from the agents at Pine Ridge,
Rosebud and Cheyenne River showed that the Indians of those agencies,
especially Pine Ridge, were arming themselves and taking a defiant
attitude toward the government and its representatives, committing
depredations and likely to go to other excesses; and November 13th this
office recommended that the matter be submitted to the war department,
with request that such prompt action be taken to avert an outbreak
as the emergency might be found by them to demand. On that day the
president of the United States addressed the following communication to
the secretary of the interior:

“‘Replying to your several communications in regard to the condition
of the Indians at the Sioux and Cheyenne agencies, I beg to say that
some days ago I directed the war department to send an officer of high
rank to investigate the situation and to report upon it from a military
standpoint. General Ruger, I understand, has been assigned to that
duty and is now probably at or on his way to these agencies. I have
directed the secretary of war to assume a military responsibility for
any threatened outbreak, and to take such steps as may be necessary to
that end. In the meantime, I suggest that you advise your agents to
separate the well-disposed from the ill-disposed Indians, and while
maintaining their control and discipline, so far as may be possible, to
avoid forcing any issue that will result in an outbreak, until suitable
military preparations can be made.’

“November 15th Agent Royer sent to this office the following telegram
from Pine Ridge: ‘Indians are dancing in the snow and are wild and
crazy. I have fully informed you that employes and government property
at this agency have no protection and are at the mercy of these
dancers. Why delay by further investigation? We need protection, and
we need it now. The leaders should be arrested and confined in some
military post until the matter is quieted, and this should be done at
once.’

“A military force under General John R. Brooke, consisting of five
companies of infantry, three troops of cavalry, and one hotchkiss and
one gatling gun, arrived at Pine Ridge November 20, 1890. Two troops of
cavalry and six companies of infantry were stationed at Rosebud. Troops
were ordered to all agencies that were on the Sioux reservation. When
the troops reached the Rosebud agency, about one thousand and eight
hundred Indians--men, women and children--stampeded toward Pine Ridge
and the bad lands, destroying all of their property before leaving and
that of others en route.

“On December 1, 1890, in accordance with department instructions, the
following order was sent to the Sioux agents: ‘During the present
Indian troubles you are instructed that, while you shall continue all
the business and carry into effect the educational and other pursuits
of your agency, you will, as to all operations intended to suppress any
outbreak by force, co-operate with and obey the orders of the military
officers commanding on the reservation in your charge.’

“Sitting Bull’s camp, where the dancing had been going on, was on Grand
river, forty miles from the agency. The number of Indian policemen
in that vicinity was increased and Sitting Bull was kept under close
surveillance. December 12 the commanding officer at Fort Yates was
instructed by General Ruger, commanding the Department of Dakota, to
make it his special duty to secure the person of Sitting Bull, and to
call on Agent McLaughlin for such co-operation and assistance as would
best promote the object in view. December 14th the police notified
the agent that Sitting Bull was preparing to leave the reservation.
Accordingly, after consultation with the post commander, it was decided
that the arrest should be made the following morning by the police
under command of Lieutenant Bullhead, with United States troops within
supporting distance.

“At daybreak, December 15th, thirty-nine Indian police and four
volunteers went to Sitting Bull’s cabin and arrested him. He agreed
to accompany them to the agency, but while preparing to get ready he
caused considerable delay, and during this time his followers began
to congregate to the number of one hundred and fifty, so that when he
was brought out of the house they had the police entirely surrounded.
Then Sitting Bull refused to go and called on his friends, the ghost
dancers, to rescue him. At this juncture one of them shot Lieutenant
Bullhead. The Lieutenant then shot Sitting Bull, who also received
another shot and was killed outright. Another shot struck Sergeant
Shavehead and then the firing became general. In about two hours the
police had secured possession of Sitting Bull’s house and driven their
assailants into the woods. Shortly after, when one hundred United
States troops under command of Captain Fechet, reached the spot, the
police drew up in line and saluted. Their bravery and discipline
received highest praise from Captain Fechet. The ghost dancers fled
from their hiding places to the Cheyenne River reservation, leaving
their families and dead behind them. Their women who had taken part in
the fight had been disarmed by the police and placed under guard and
were turned over to the troops when they arrived. The losses were six
policemen killed (including Bullhead and Shavehead, who soon died at
the agency hospital) and one wounded. The attacking party lost eight
killed and three wounded.” Report of Indian Commission for 1891.

Sergeant Joe Thompson, who was with the United States troops at the
time, is at present employed at the Boston and Montana smelter at this
place, and is the drum major of the Black Eagle band. Mr. Thompson had
been in many battles during the campaign of 1876-77, of which I have
not given an account. In one of those battles “twenty-seven saddles
were emptied,” as he said, by one volley from the Indians; and Mr.
Thompson is now carrying with him a scar which he received by a bullet
from the enemy during one of these engagements.

A wonderful change has taken place since then. Now the Northern Pacific
railway runs through the center of the Sioux country, and also the
Burlington railroad passes in sight of the Custer battlefield, and
settlers from the Eastern and Middle states have come and turned
the old battle grounds into productive farms and pasture lands. The
Indian villages have disappeared and thriving towns and incorporated
cities have taken their places. The Indians have been compelled by the
government to stay on their reservations where there are agencies.

[Illustration: AGENCY INDIANS HAVING THEIR PICTURES TAKEN.]

According to the statistics in 1891 there were 32,286 of the Sioux
nation alone, who are gathered at eleven agencies, where there are
schools, mechanical and agricultural institutions, established to teach
the young Indians the arts and customs of the white man. And they are
fast becoming civilized. They are engaged in raising cattle, sheep and
horses, and growing grain and vegetables.

Charles A. Smith, county commissioner of Choteau county, Montana,
stated a few days ago that Indians at Fort Belknap have supplied about
350,000 pounds of beef to the agency this year at $3.87 per hundred,
from which they derived a revenue of about $13,000.

Major Luke C. Hays, agent of the Fort Belknap Indian reservation, said:

“My Indians will, and do work.” That was demonstrated to my
satisfaction some time ago. I have about 1,300 Assinaboine and Gros
Ventres Indians on my reservation, and they are good Indians, although
very much alive.

“This promises to be an unusually busy year on the Belknap reservation.
Last summer the government started to build a canal, tapping the Milk
river at Belknap, where a dam is to be built. Only one mile of this
canal was completed, but work on the remainder will be commenced as
early as practicable this spring. Indians have been hauling rock all
winter for the dam. The canal, when completed, will be ten or fifteen
miles long and will irrigate about 5,000 acres of the Milk river valley
lands south of the river. These lands will grow excellent crops of
grain and hay.

“A new enterprise that will be commenced this summer (1899) is a big
reservoir on Warm Springs creek in the Little Rockies. This reservoir
will cover 160 acres of land and will have an average depth of eighteen
feet. It is designed to furnish a supply of water for irrigating
purposes in the southern part of the reservation.

“These two irrigating systems will cost in the neighborhood of $70,000,
but that money is available. It is not government money in the sense
that the government would not expend it unless appropriated for that
use, for it belongs to the Indians themselves, having been appropriated
for their benefit and in lieu of lands turned over to them by the
government.

“Seeing the success of these Indians, others are endeavoring to go
into the stock-raising business--on a small scale, to be sure--but in
time the stock interests of these two tribes will be considerable.
I have no doubt that in a few years the Indians will become almost
self-supporting.”

The same can be said of other tribes that are in the northern part
of the state of which I have personal knowledge. There is one
non-reservation boarding school for Indians in Montana. It is located
off the reservation at the old Fort Shaw military post in the Sun
River valley and in the center of a well-to-do settlement, and but
twenty-four miles from the city of Great Falls. This school was opened
December 27, 1892; its enrollment in 1898 was 305, average attendance
283. The pupils are recruited from reservation schools, the policy
being to place therein pupils who, by reason of sound physical health
and natural aptitude, are capable of receiving further advantages,
with facilities for special instructions in agriculture, stock
breeding, the mechanical and domestic arts, for normal and commercial
training, and for taking up other subjects as occasion requires. Modern
facilities for instruction have been introduced. The industrial and
literary progress this school has made is wonderful. The report of
the commissioner of Indian affairs will bear out my assertion. Manual
training and industrial education has gone hand in hand with the
intellectual development of the untrained young Indian mind, and has
given good results. The exhibit by the Fort Shaw Indian school at the
Cascade county fair held at Great Falls last October in the way of
carving on woods, shoemaking, plain and fancy needle work, embroidery,
drawing and penmanship was excellent, and would do credit to young
pupils of the same age of any race. There were about thirty of the
young Indian boys and girls accompanying the exhibit, with Dr. Winslow,
the superintendent, in charge. Among the number there was a brass band
of sixteen pieces; they marched through the city dressed in uniform and
playing national airs with as much grace and skill as if they belonged
to some military post.

According to statistics there are 234 schools in all for Indians under
exclusive control of the government. The average attendance during the
year 1897 was 18,676 pupils.

The other day a young Cree Indian by the name of Young Boy, with whom
I was acquainted, and who could speak fair English, came to my office,
sat by a table and began writing in a small account book that he had.
Seeing it was a peculiar looking manuscript, I asked him what he was
writing. He told me that he was writing down what he had been buying
that day, and he read it to me, first in Cree and afterwards translated
into English, and handed it to me. The following is a photograph from
the original writing in the Cree language:

[Illustration: A CREE MANUSCRIPT.]

[Illustration: MO-SEE-MA-MA-MOS (YOUNG BOY). A CREE INDIAN.]

The translation into English is as follows: “To day I paid three
dollars and twenty-five cents for a blanket and three dollars for a
bridle, in all six dollars and twenty-five cents.

YOUNG BOY.”

Again he wrote the Cree alphabet, and, after speaking the letters, he
handed me the manuscript of which the following is a photograph:

[Illustration: THE CREE ALPHABET.]

The Cree Indians are from the Northwest Territory in Canada. Part of
the tribe are in Montana at the present time selling polished buffalo
horns and other trinkets to the citizens.

Recently they held their sun dance near the town of Havre, in the
northern part of this state. To those who have never witnessed this
ancient performance, the following may be of interest: For four days
preceding the dance the tribe gathered about the chief’s tepee, and
at sundown of each day they sang the Indian songs which told of the
past glories of the tribe and listened to the words of the chief
concerning their welfare and exhorting them to eschew the use of whisky
(firewater), extolling the beauties of the ancient sun dance and
discussing other topics.

[Illustration: LITTLE BEAR (CREE CHIEF).]

All their songs were accompanied by the beating of tom-toms,
the blowing of whistles and performing on various other musical
instruments. The preliminary singing and speechmaking continued all
night on the fourth day. The dance began the next night and continued
for three days, during which time no Indian ate or drank anything. The
dancing was done in a huge circular tent, or pavilion, on the crest of
a hill. The dancers performed in stalls that were arranged around the
pavilion, with the band of musicians seated on their haunches in the
center. The ceremonies closed with a grand feast. Chiefs Little Bear
and Little Bird conducted the ceremony. After all was over the Indians
dispersed to their several camps.

The younger Indians of this tribe are considerably advanced in
civilization. The intelligence which Young Boy displayed to me is an
evidence that the Indians are fast becoming civilized in the British
possessions as well as in the United States. For several years peace
and good order have prevailed among all the northern tribes. It will
not be long before the Indians will be self-supporting. The effect of
the march of civilization on the most warlike tribes even indicates
that Indian wars are a thing of the past. And to the West, the nation’s
pleasure ground, with its extensive plains, carpeted with luxuriant
grasses, with valleys unsurpassed in fertility, many of them overlooked
and sheltered by pine-covered mountains in which lies hidden a wealth
of nations, can come millions more of our people and live in peace.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Feb. 21, 1899.

AN INDIAN LEGEND.

While on my recent visit to the home of Edward A. Lewis a pleasant
evening was passed listening to the family telling old Indian stories
which were told to them by Black Bear (Sikey-kio), an old Indian woman
who lived with them for many years. One of those stories is here given.
It is a legend passed from father to son in the tribes of the Blackfeet
from time immemorial. The early residents of Northern Montana will
remember this old Indian woman. Though time had left its imprints in
countless wrinkles, and had bent her once lithe figure with a burden of
one hundred and sixteen winters, it could not dim the brightness of her
black eyes nor dull the vigor of her remarkable intelligence.

When the century was young, while she was in camp with her people
at the mouth of the Sun river, where now the city of Great Falls is
located, she saw several members of the Lewis and Clarke expedition,
who were the first white men she ever saw.

As time passed Black Bear (as she was called in memory of her father,
a Piegan chief), left the Indians and lived more and more with the
whites. She was at Malcolm Clarke’s house the time he was murdered and
was the means of preventing the Indians from killing Mrs. Clarke, and,
by doing so, she came near losing her own life.

Finally Black Bear became a nurse in the family of Mr. Lewis, at whose
house she died some twenty years ago. Like the ‘old woman who lived in
a shoe,’ she was very fond of children and to them she told many of
her Indian stories. One of the children to whom she told these weird
tales of Indian folklore was Isabell, the oldest daughter of the Lewis
family, now Mrs. John Taber. At my request Mrs. Taber, with the aid
of her mother interpreted and reduced to writing the Indian legend
referred to for publication in this book. It is as follows:

“Listen,” said Black Bear to the little ones who crowded expectant
around her knee. “Listen and I will tell you how the Great Spirit gave
horses to the Indians.

“It was long, long ago and the Piegans were camped on a large flat.
The two daughters of the chief one evening were looking at the stars.
One star was so bright that it attracted the attention of the younger
daughter. As she looked a strange feeling came over her and she
murmured half to herself:

“‘Were that star a young man I would marry him.’

“And she looked long at the star, marveling at its brightness. The next
day the chief gave orders to hitch the dogs to the travois and move
camp. On the trail the daughter, who had charge of one of the travois,
had fallen behind on account of a broken travois. The rest of her
people had passed out of sight, and, as she was about to start again,
she looked up and, behold, before her stood a young man, beautiful in
form and features. As she knelt frightened before him he said:

“‘Do not be alarmed, maiden. I am he thou wished to marry. Close your
eyes and I will take you to the happy hunting grounds far away.’

“She did as she was told, and when she opened her eyes she was in her
husband’s lodge, far above the stars. It was a happy life she led in
that distant land. Her husband’s father was the great chief of many
lodges and every one was kind to her and her people looked after her
every want and desire. Her life was one of idleness and happiness until
one day came a longing she could not conquer. In the wide fields of
this great land grew many delicious roots, but of one of these it was
forbidden to eat.

“‘Of all other roots thou mayest dig and eat, but of this root thou
must neither dig nor eat.’

“And as she thought of it the desire grew and one day, being alone in
the fields, she took her sharpened stick and, finding the great root
on the little mound, the temptation became greater and greater. Then,
after many hesitations, she began to dig. (Just as the secret longing
conquered Eve and Pandora.) And as she dug, the little mound yielded
and rolled away, leaving a great hole. Kneeling down she looked, and
lo! she could see her father and her sister and her people coming and
going in their camp far below. And as she looked she became sad and her
heart ached with homesickness and she wept.

“Thus they found her--her husband and his father. And they were sad at
heart, for they knew that she must leave them. In the morning they made
a long rope of buffalo hides and gently lowered her through the hole
in the sky to her old home. All her people were happy and made great
rejoicing at the return of the long lost daughter of their chief. Soon
after she gave birth to a son, and when the boy was five years old a
great plague broke out and his mother died and also many of her people.
The child was left to the care of his uncle, who now had become chief
of the tribe. But they were very poor, for there was no one now to
make moccasins or to dress buffalo hides for them, and hunger stalked
through the camp and the lodges were without food and there were no
dogs for the travois.

“The father of the little boy and the Great Chief and his wife, far up
in the sky, saw the suffering and it made their hearts sad, and they
took thought to see what they could do. Finally the Great Chief and
his wife came to the earth and, finding the boy alone, told him their
mission and wept with him.

“‘Now, then, my son,’ said the Great Chief, seating himself on the
grass, ‘bring me some mud.’

“And the boy did as he was told and the Great Chief fashioned it in his
hands, and as he did so he made strong medicine and muttered strange
words as the wet clay took form under his fingers. Then the Great Chief
put the thing on the grass, and as the boy looked at it he saw it grow
and grow until it was large and moved with life at a word from the
Great Chief.

“Then he looked at his work and was pleased and called a great council
of the trees of the forest and the birds of the air and of all the
beasts that roamed the plains. They all came as he called, for he ruled
over them. And as they gathered around he said to them:

“‘I have made a horse for my son; an animal for him to ride and one
that will carry his burdens. Now give me of your wisdom to make this
horse perfect.’

“And the pine tree said: ‘Oh, Great Chief, thy work is good. But the
horse has no tail. From my plenty I will give it.’

“And the pine tree did as it said and the Great Chief murmured, ‘It is
good.’

“Then the fir tree said: ‘Oh, Great Chief, thy work is good. But the
horse has no mane. From my plenty I will give it.’

“And it was so and the Great Chief murmured, ‘It is good.’

“Then the turtle said: ‘Oh, Great Chief, thy work is good, but the
horse has no hoofs. Out of my plenty I will give it.’

“And it was so and the Great Chief murmured: ‘It is good.’

“Then the elk said: ‘Oh, Great Chief, thy work is good, but the horse
is too small; I am too large. Of my plenty I will give.’