ELKLAND. 



37i 



was said to be one of Beckwourth's chil- 

 dren. 



Taswell Woody, the well known guide, 

 whose portrait I give, is a Missourian by 

 birth and is one of the few remaining 

 49ers. He went with the great rush to 

 California, in '49; then with the stampede 

 to Australia, later to British Columbia and 

 is now going to Alaska. He is well known 

 to many Easterners, not as a gold hunter, 

 but as one of the best hunter-guides in the 

 West. 



Away back in 1865 2 mountaineers, named 



J. H. Moore and Miller, better known 



as " Old Pike " and " Horn Miller " came 

 into Montana to make their fortunes. They 

 have made them, or have been within one 



:■>■■". ' ' ., 



TOM DUFFY. 

 Ex-Deadwood stage driver. 



jump of making them, many times since 

 then; and they are still pegging away, 

 hopefully, together. They came through 

 and stopped at Yancey's the other day. I 

 got a sketch of " Pike," but " Horn," who 

 gave the name to Miller's creek, escaped 

 me for the present. When these men first 

 saw the Yellowstone, in 1870, the slopes of 

 the valley were darkened with buffalo; and 

 the great broad-fronted skulls strewn about 

 every hollow, abundantly attest the truth of 

 their accounts to-day. 



Tom Duffy, whose portrait appears on 

 this page, is a good type of the straightfor- 

 ward, frank plainsman. For 4 years prior 

 to 1882 he drove the Deadwood coach, 

 from Laramie, and was secured by Buffalo 

 Bill to drive the old coach when the " Wild 

 West Show " went to Europe. 



During March, 1882, the great Dakota 

 blizzard took place. I remember it only 

 too well; for it occurred as I entered the 

 West for the first time, and I was snowed 

 up 19 days, South of Pembina. Away 

 down at the other end of the storm 

 Duffy was driving his 6 horses and had one 

 of his many narrow escapes from death. 

 It was of course impossible to keep the 

 trail. All he could do was to keep the 

 horses moving. Next morning he was 12 

 miles off his road but he reached a place 

 of safety. One half his face was so severely 

 frozen that it was 2 years before he fully 

 recovered; but he was lucky. Duffy had 

 no passengers this trip, but the other coach 

 had 3, all of whom were frozen to death. 



* * * 



Here by the camp fire we sit, my wife 

 and I, amid the historical scenes, in this 

 ancient land of the Crows, surrounded by 

 land-marks that to the Old-timers, tell 

 endless tales of joy and sorrow, human suf- 

 fering and human heroism. Here I am 

 gathering the fragments of their past his- 

 tory, recalling my own early days in the 

 Northwest, and while hearkening to the 

 wild tales of the mountains and of the past 

 there comes over me a strange feeling of 

 sadness, that almost shapes itself" into the 

 question, "Why was I born too late?" 

 Then common sense reminds me that the 

 glamour of memory and romance is over 

 it all; that 20 years from now the present 

 will wear the same charm for younger men, 

 and that, after all, the best, the very best of 

 all times, is the living present. 



* * * 



A SONG OF THE WEST. 



A meadow lark sang as the sun went down, 



He, sang in the dying glow. 

 He stirred up my heart with his artless art, 



And his song of the long ago. 



Refrain. 

 He sang me a song of the West, the West. 



He set all my feeling aglow. 

 He brought back the days of my youth 

 with his song, 

 His song of the long ago. 



A coyote howled when the light was gone, 

 A voice on the wind from the East; 



My horse turned his head from the place 

 where he fed, 

 He heard but a hated beast. 



Refrain. 

 But he sang me a song of the West, the 

 West, etc. 



A Sioux in his teepee away in the night 



Drummed a chant of the " Buffalo dav«? " 

 Till the men with me swore at the savage 

 uproar. 

 And cursed him, his drum and his race. 

 Refrain. 

 But he sang me a song, etc. 



