22 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Aug. 2, 1888. 



Secretary of War to detail troops for that purpose. Accordingly 

 a company of cavalry was ordered to the Park, under command 

 of Capt. Moses Harris, who acts as superintendent of the Park, 

 under instructions of the Secretary of the Interior. While in 

 time it may be found more advisable to have the Park entirely 

 under civil authority, we think the present condition of affairs 

 meets the essentia! requirements of the Park. 



If this bill should come tip before the House we may 

 may expect to hear from the Public Lands Committee 

 their reasons for taking from the bill its good provisions 

 and for their efforts to hand over the National Park to a 

 railroad corporation. They must have had reasons for 

 permitting the railroad lobby to twist them about its fin- 

 ger in this way, and these reasons will perhaps be dis- 

 closed in debate. We shall see. 



"A BIT OF KENNEL HISTORY." 

 /^\XJR relation of certain pertinent facts, under this 

 heading, last week has called out two communica- 

 tions which are printed elsewhere. 



One is from Mr. August Belmont, Jr. As we never 

 accused Mr. Belmont of knowing anything about this 

 matter, his denial is as superfluous and irrelevant as it is 

 empty and valueless. Our candid advice to the Ameri- 

 can Kennel Club is to restrain the. impetuosity and persis- 

 tency with which its president precipitates himself into 

 print. He can be made better use of by the No. 44 com- 

 bination if permitted simply to "put up" for the projected 

 organ. 



The other communication comes from Mr. C. J. Pesh- 

 all. He professes to have no recollection of having 

 taken the course, which we alleged ho did, with respect 

 to securing Mr. Chas. H. Mason as editor of the American 

 Kennel Club Stud Book. We hope that he will jog his 

 memory, for we have no doubt that if he tries very hard 

 he may find it possible to recall the facts as we stated 

 them. The reason of our withholding the "English 

 Gentleman" letter is immaterial, but as a matter of record, 

 we say again that the letter was withheld at the per- 

 sonal solicitation of Mr. C. J. Peshall. Until we read it 

 in the communication from Mr. Peshall printed to-day, 

 we never knew that Mr. Hammond had given him his 

 friendly advice not to print the "English Gentleman 

 letter. 



SNAP SHOTS. 

 "VTUCH solicitation was felt by some people about the 

 quail and other game in the blizzard of last March, 

 but later observation has demonstrated that the birds 

 came through it. The storm was not of so destructive a 

 nature as some other forms of winter storms, when in- 

 stead of a tremendous fall of snow there is a heavy coat- 

 ing of ice. Snow covers the birds up, and they can 

 "make out to live." A Connecticut gentleman, whose 

 statements we accept without question, reports that in 

 the blizzard a number of his domestic fowl disappeared, 

 and they were found alive, but thin, two weeks after- 

 ward, when the drifts melted from the branches of the 

 quince trees where the hens had gone to roost the night 

 before the snowfall. If domestic fowl could survive the 

 storm in this way it is reasonable to infer that the more 

 hardy wild creatures would fare no less well. 



A man to whom perhaps more than any one else we 

 owe the existence of the Yellowstone Park as a 

 national reservation, has just died. That man was Col. 

 James Stevenson. He was one of the first scientific men 

 to penetrate that hitherto mysterious region, and he came 

 back from it to Washington full of enthusiasm for its 

 wonders and its beauties. It is to his enthusiasm, to his 

 appreciation of the importance of preserving this wonder- 

 ful region as a possession of the whole people, and to the 

 clear and forcible way in which he presented this im- 

 portance to Congress that we owe the National Park 

 to-day. Those who are familiar with the history of legis- 

 lation in Washington in 1871 and '72 will be sure to give 

 full credit to Col. Stevenson for his farseeing wisdom. 



The papers descriptive of "Early Days on the Mis- 

 souri," of which the second is printed to-day are worthy 

 of special attention, for they are vivid and truthful pic- 

 tures of wild scenes in that region in the time of the 

 pioneers. He who took part in border life in those days 

 must needs have an iron frame and a stout heart to do 

 and dare. These chapters portray phases of American 

 life which have already passed into history; they have 

 no counterpart to-day on this continent, and Mr. Macdon- 

 ald's papers therefore have a double value because of then- 

 historical accuracy. 



It has come to our knowledge that most extraordinary 

 measures of bulldozing and threatened boycotting are 

 being employed to induce the Buffalo managers to change 

 then* bench show rules, even at this late date, when such 

 a change would in all probability prove disastrous. 



One hears a great amount of fish talk in the street cars 

 and on the ferries and railroad trains in these days; and if 

 one may believe all that he casually overhears unusually 

 large strings of fish have been taken by the talkers. 

 Talk is cheap, but it takes tackle to catch fish. 



She Styortmtimi jgaumi 



EARLY DAYS ON THE MISSOURI. 



II. — A VISION OP MASSACRE. 



VISIONS and presentiments have accomplished won- 

 ders. The visions of a St. Francis or a Catherine 

 of Sienna have been apparently able to impress the stig- 

 mata on their living bodies; the visions of a shepherd girl 

 drove the English out of France, and the visions of a 

 Mohamed have changed the whole current of the stream 

 of history. Though psychology has names for these aber- 

 rations, and the physiologist may be able to place his 

 finger on the very nerve that occasions them, still the fact 

 of their influence remains the same. They can nerve the 

 weakest or appal the firmest mind. 



1 have had such an experience, which I will relate, and 

 in order that the situation may be understood I will give 

 a short history of the events which led up to it. 



In the fall of 1868 I had, together with a party of four 

 others, and afterward with a single partner, been killing 

 wolves in the country tributary to the mouth of the Mus- 

 selshell River. So many of us together attracted too 

 much notice, as we were obliged to have horses or a team 

 of some kind, and were consequently subject to constant 

 attacks from hostile Indians. After several skirmishes 

 and losing two horses, I determined to go it alone that 

 winter. I took plenty of ammunition, coffee and salt, 

 which I cached in different places. I had an overcoat for 

 bedding, and followed the buffalo and lived and slept on 

 the prairie like the other animals. In the worst storms I 

 sought the shelter of the brush or some washed out cav- 

 ern, common in the bad lands. 



In March I met Joe Bushaway, a gigantic Frenchman, 

 as gallant and brave a man as ever fired a rifle, and 

 formed a partnership with him to cut wood and put up 

 ice on the Missouri River, to sell to the passing steam- 

 boats. He had with him Dan Fitzgerald, w ell known in 

 Benton, a stalwart, rollicking, jolly Irishman, but so 

 awkward that he could scarcely run a hundred yards 

 without falling, or cock a revolver without using both his 

 huge hands. 



We camped just below the mouth of the Fourchette. on 

 the Missouri, and built a cabin and a stockade well sup- 

 plied with portholes. There was a wrecked steamboat a 

 short distance from us; we took the smokestack and 

 formed a fireplace and chimney out of it, and of the lum- 

 ber we floored our cabin and otherwise furnished it accord- 

 ing to our notions in palatial style. We went up to Mus- 

 selshell and hired three men, Long, Foster and Jordan, 

 and returned to our camp, 



A few days afterward we were almost out of meat and 

 I went out to kill a buffalo. A band was in sight two or 

 three miles off, and as I went toward them I noticed some- 

 thing running them, so I went back to camp and told 

 the men I thought there was a war party close to us, and 

 we had better stay in camp a day or two. We stayed in 

 camp the next day, and as we saw nothing, we concluded 

 they had passed. The others went out to chop; I took 

 my rifle and started across the river to kill some meat. 

 About two miles from our camp I saw a band of buffalo 

 grazing and I approached them and killed one. I had 

 barely fired when I heard a scattering volley in the 

 direction of camp. I thought at first a band of buffalo or 

 elk had come near our canrp, and that Joe and the men 

 had opened fire on them, but the more I thought of it 

 the more it troubled me, and I determined to make for 

 the brush on the river; follow it down to opposite our 

 stockade, and from there watch our camp. I knew that 

 if everything was all right I should see some one. 



I waited all that day and did not see a living soul. 

 When night came I determined to cross the river and 

 find out the fate of my companions. The cabin fornieel 

 a bastion on one corner of the stockade, and as I cau- 

 tiously approached, I could perceive a faint glimmer of 

 light through one of the portholes. I crept silently up 

 to it but could discern nothing; presently I heard Joe's 

 voice. I then spoke and told Joe to let me in. After 

 what appeared to me an unusually long time he un- 

 barred the stockade gate and I saw he was crippled. As 

 I went into the cabin I saw Big Dan lying on the bed, 

 and I asked Joe what had happened. He told me that 

 after I had gone hunting, he had taken his axe and had 

 started to chop. He was probably the best chopper in 

 Montana, but that morning he had not been chopping 

 more than twenty minutes when his axe glanced and cut 

 into almost one-third of his foot. He went into the 

 in, wrapped up his foot, and had scarcely laid himself 

 down on his bed when he heard the firing. The men 

 were chopping not over a hundred yards from the stock- 

 ade and had already stacked up quite a number of cribs 

 of wood. Joe's Henry rifle was hanging directly over 

 his bed; he grasped it and hurried to the gate of the 

 stockade. He saw at a glance several Indians: two were 

 running after Big Dan and not more than a dozen steps 

 behind him. The Indians fired, but in the nick of time 

 Dan stumbled and fell, and his awkwardness saved his 

 life. Two more Indians made a rush at Dan, but just 

 then they caught sight of Joe with his leveled rifle. Joe 

 was a dead shot, but unfortunately he had forgotten to 

 work the lever of his Henry. The chamber was empty; 

 his deadly aim produced only a dull snap and the Indians 

 jumped behind the shelter of the wood cribs. Big Dan, 

 in the meantime, had by means of running and stumb- 

 ling reached the stockade gate, but not before two bul- 

 lets had struck him — one in the arm, the other in the 

 hip. Neither Joe nor Dan knew what had become of the 

 other man. Joe had seen Long, and when he last saw 

 him he was pursued by several Indian, but as he was a 

 powerful runner and apparently unhurt, we had strong 

 hopes that he had escaped and would bring us assistance". 



The next morning Dan was unable to move, but Joe 

 mounted on top of the cabin to watch the surrounding 

 brush, and I went out to search for our missing compan- 

 ions. Not two hundred yards from the stockade I found 

 the bodies of Jordan and Foster, lying beside the log they 

 had been chopping on, stripped naked, but not mutilated'. 

 I searched for but could not find Long, and as the under- 

 growth of brash was dense, I did not care to ran the 

 chance of taking a very wide circuit, as we were almost 

 sure he had escaped. I wrapped Foster and Jordan in 

 blankets, dug a hole and put them in it. 



Jordan had come on the river the preceding fall, and 

 f on his trip down from Benton had been attacked by In- 

 I dians, one of his companions was killed, and he had only 



saved his own life by his expertness as a swimmer and 

 diver. 



Foster had several letters of introduction to prominent 

 gentlemen of Denver; he was a born mathematician, his 

 sole recreation was the working of problems in Algebra. 

 I preserved the one he was working on the evening before 

 he was killed: 



Given X" -12= X, to find X. 

 6 



Poor fellow ! In a few short hours he had solved the 

 final problem. 



We sat in the cabin for three days and nights, expect- 

 ing a renewal of the attack at any time. How long and 

 dreary it was, the strained waiting for either relief or 

 attack ! The excitement produced by the rustle of a deer 

 or the tramp of a stray buffalo, followed by the reaction 

 of a monotonous deadly silence only broken by the occa- 

 sional ejaculations of the wounded Dan addressed to some 

 favorite saint. 



The fourth day, no assistance reaching us, we concluded 

 Long must also have been killed. Again Joe mounted 

 the cabin and I searched the surrounding brash, and this 

 time found the dead body of Long. In my former search 

 I had passed within a few feet of him, but owing to a 

 large log that he laid beside had not seen him . He was 

 shot through twice, but the Indians had apparently not 

 found him, as he had not been stripped nor mutilated. 

 He was a magnificent specimen of manhood, over six feet 

 four inches; he had a daughter in the States, who was 

 notified of his tragic fate. 



Our last hope was now gone. Neither Joe nor Dan 

 could travel, and I determined to go and get some help. 

 Between our place and the Musselshell River three other 

 men had a cabin and were engaged in chopping wood. 

 I reached these men's place (I can't recall their names), 

 and they accompanied me back. Joe had a yoke of oxen 

 and wagon. The oxen generally fed among the dense 

 willows and the Indians had not seen them. Our only 

 means to get the wounded men away was to haul them, 

 but the side of the river we were on was almost impass- 

 able for a man on horseback, and we were obliged to cross 

 it. The ice on the river was too rotten to bear up the 

 cattle, so we were compelled to wait until the river broke 

 up, which it did in about a week. We then swam the 

 cattle and rafted ourselves and the wagon across, and 

 went up the river about fifty miles to a small settlement 

 at the mouth of the Musselshell. We had only reached 

 there when James Brewer and Capt. Andrews had a race 

 for fife across the Musselshell bottom, and a white 

 woman — old miners will remember her — Jenny (of watery 

 fame) and a young Crow squaw were walking a short 

 distance from the houses, when a few Indians, who had 

 crawled through the sage brush, commenced firing upon 

 them. The squaw was shot through the lower part of the 

 body: Jenny could have escaped had she abandoned the 

 squaw; she clung to her and endeavored to drag her 

 toward the houses, when a bullet creased her neck and 

 stretched her on the ground. An Indian dashed toward 

 her and tore two scalps from her head as she lay sense- 

 less. With the first shriek of the women several men 

 rushed out of the houses and opened fire at the Indians. 

 The whole thing scarcely occupied a minute. The 

 women were carried in, the squaw making loud lamen- 

 tations, but the white woman was supposed to be dead. 

 The squaw I afterward saw in the, Crow camp, dirtier 

 than ever, but apparently none the worse for her experi- 

 ences. Jenny had a horror of having it known that she 

 had been scalped. She was afterward in Thompson 

 Gulch. The ladies there once invited her to one of their 

 houses, and when she came they wished her to show them 

 where she had been scalped. She denied the whole affair 

 point black, and when she afterward saw me, she said to 

 me earnestly, "Mack, don't tell them pilgrims that that 

 red devil took my hair." Poor Jenny! Many women 

 may have excelled her in rigid virtue, but few in gener- 

 osity, hospitality and womanly sympathy. She has been 

 twice married since her scalping adventure, and may be 

 now alive. May she flourish forever! 



These little skirmishes continued almost every day, 

 until they finally culminated in a 'battle, in which the 

 Indians fell into their own trap, and the whites were pos- 

 sessed of thirteen of their scalps and only one. out of 

 ninety odd, according to their own account, reached 

 camp without a wound. James Wells and myself re- 

 ceived the war bonnets of their chiefs, but it would occupy 

 tpo much space to enter into the details of this fight here, 

 and I will reserve it for some other time. 



The constant strain and excitement commenced to tell 

 on me, and I determined to leave the river. I sold my 

 interest to Cash Veits, a young man of as consummate 

 coolness in the face of danger as I have ever seen, a dead 

 shot and a magnificent oarsman. J oe Bushaway and Cash 

 wished me to go with them down to our stockade, the 

 place where Jordan, Foster and Long had been killed, for 

 the purpose of putting up a sign notifying the steamboats 

 to take wood and ice and settle for it at Musselshell. It 

 was a frightfully dangerous trip, and I had a strong pre- 

 sentiment that I should never come through another In- 

 dian fight. I hesitated, but at last consented to go, and 

 endeavored to shake off my gloomy forebodings. We 

 started in the middle of the afternoon, so that we could 

 travel the most dangerous part during the night. Out of 

 bravado we stuck a mast up and hung my war bonnet on 

 top of it, and lower down on a crosstree we Strang some 

 scalps we had. 



Night fell, and we had now the most dangerous part of 

 our route to traverse. The moon came up full and clear; 

 the air was still and it was bright as day. Any one who 

 has traveled up or down the Missouri River must have 

 observed that the lower end of a point is always heavily 

 timbered, the opposite bank being a bar or high bench. 

 Joe was steering our light skiff, Cash was helping the 

 force of the current with occasional oaring; it was chilly, 

 and I sat wrapped in a buffalo robe in the bow of the 

 skiff to look out for snags. There was a good stage of 

 water, and we were floating on the timbered side of the 

 river. The full moon made the opposite side as light as day; 

 ours, owing to the shade of the timber, black as night. 

 The dismal presentiment of my fate depressed me; the 

 deadly silence, save the monotonous ripple of the water 

 against our speeding skiff; the thoughts of the bloody 

 horrors I had lately passed through, and may be thoughts 

 of that flaunting war bonnet and those bloody scalps 

 threw me into a reverie. I was not really awake, but I 

 was not asleep, and the vision I saw was as plain to me as 

 anything I ever had happen to me in my waking hours. 

 I thought we had been attacked and killed, and I could 



