62 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Aug. 16, 1888. 



EARLY DAYS ON THE MISSOURI. 



IV. — HELD AT BAY. 



THE emotions excited in a battle with savages are 

 totally different in kind and intensity from those 

 produced in a battle with civilized people.' The soldier 

 is encouraged by emulation and sympathy. The cheering 

 columns, the music of boisterous drums, the silver voices 

 of heroic bugles, the grand wild music of war, the boom- 

 ing cannon, the rattle of the musketry, the flaunting 

 flags, and all the "pride, pomp and circumstance of glo- 

 rious war," swell, and almost burst the brave soul with 

 warlike courage. Indian war is pitiless as famine, mer- 

 ciless as lire. Savages never attack unless they have 

 overwhelming advantages. The odds are usually at 

 least a dozen to one. There are no thrilling sounds to 

 silence the sense of danger, no such thing as quarter, and 

 a wound means capture, and a horrible death. Under 

 such circumstances, the hunted man is a wild beast, 

 turned at bay. and grim despair nerves him to sell his life 

 as dearly as possible. 



In February, 18G8, a man named Bent and myself left 

 the mouth of Milk River for Helena. That winter we 

 had lived on *« meat straight," so that when we started 

 from there we were not burdened with a large commis- 

 sariat, but depended on our rifles for our subsistence. A 

 week's travel brought us to Fort Hawley, a Northwest 

 Fur Company's post on the Missouri. A large camp of 

 G-ros Ventres had just arrived there, and every Indian 

 we met asked us who we had killed. I only understood 

 when it was explained to me that the Indian who ac- 

 tually kills an enemy blackens his face in honor of the 

 event. To avoid becoming snow blind we had blackened 

 outfaces. Two Frenchmen had been killed just outside 

 the fort a week before our arrival by Sioux. 



After a few days' rest we continued our journey, and 

 were caught in a succession of terrible snowstorms." The 

 storms had driven all the game out of the country we 

 were traversing, and the only living thing we saw on the 

 trip was an old, scabbv, blind buffalo bull, which we 

 killed. He did not even have marrow in his bones. His 

 tongue, liver and tripe were the only parts of him possible 

 to eat, and they were not the luxuries of the season. For 

 ten days we traveled through deep snow, living on rose- 

 buds and water— a diet more poetic than substantial — 

 when we met a party of miners who relieved our wants. 



When I reached Helena, I met Mr. S. S. Huntly, who 

 employed me to take a despatch to his division agent, A. 

 Bradbury, who was at the mouth of the Musselshell 

 River. He had started six men some time before, to 

 carry the same despatch, but they had been driven back 

 by Indians. 



I had left behind me the last white settlement more 

 than one hundred miles, when, riding leisurely along, I 

 noticed a commotion among the buffalo, about three 

 miles off to my left. I looked with my glasses and could 

 see Indians rapidly riding toward me. Knowing of no 

 Indians in that country who were not hostile I cinched 

 my saddle, examined my rifle, and prepared for a race. 

 I thought I had such a start I could easily outrun them, 

 but I reckoned without my host. I had the base of the 

 Snowy Mountains on my right hand, the lay of the coun- 

 try held me to my course, and the angle they were run- 

 ning on shortened the distance for them at every bound. 

 On, on we swept over that trackless prairie, and at every 

 glance I took over my shoulder the distance between us 

 was rapidly decreasing. I came to Beaver Creek, and, 

 O horror! where I struck it the beaver dams made it 

 impassable for man or horse. I turned and had to run a 

 mile before I found a place to cross. The Indians under- 

 stood my predicament, and altered their course, and 

 gained that mile on me. On, on we ran, the distance 

 between us rapidly decreasing, and I realized to the full 

 the sensations of the limited fox. My only hope now 

 was for a good position. I came to a little butte with a 

 washed out ravine on one side, and there I turned at bay, 

 more than one hundred miles from the nearest white 

 man. What thoughts will come into a man's mind at 

 such a moment! Should I ever see the golden beams of a 

 rising sun? Was not it almost certain my quivering flesh 

 would be munched, my bones picked and gnawed by 

 wild animals; my fate unknown to every one except my 

 merciless destroyers? On they came, their horses without 

 saddle or bridle," stark naked; their copper-colored bodies 

 ■with their brass ornaments glistening in the gun, their 

 faces painted with black and red stripes, their liideous 

 mouths filled with feathered arrows, which they held 

 with their teeth. When about three hundred yards off I 

 stopped them. One made, the Nez Perces sign (a friendly 

 tribe). I let him come up. He said he had captured a 

 band of horses from the Blackfeet, and when they saw 

 me they thought I was a Blackfoot hunting then trail. 

 The main party he said had staid with the horses, the 

 others stripped and ran me down; that when they had 

 come close enough to see that I was a white man, they 

 had run me so far they were determined to catch me. 

 After various explanations he left with his party, and I 

 resumed my journey to the mouth of the Musselshell, 

 where I found Mr. Bradbury, and delivered my dispatch! 



I had no intention of returning to Helena for some 

 time, but a few men were going to Milk River, and I was 

 induced to lend my Henry rifle to one of the party, who 

 promised faithfully to return it in ten days; instead I 

 heard the scoundrel had continued on to Benton, and 

 was going from there to Helena. We started — H. Brad- 

 bury, Pomp Dennis, Martin, a man whom we called 

 Seven Up, and myself. The afternoon of the third day 

 we came to water and camped. After we had eaten we 

 resolved to push on as far as we could and make a dry 

 camp. Next morning, as soon as we could see, we 

 saddled up and resumed our journey. About 9 A. M. 

 Pomp Dennis and myself were riding some distance 

 ahead when we noticed about three miles off something 

 that looked like a buffalo; it started to run, and was soon 

 out of sight, as we were in broken ground. We were 

 then convinced it must be an Indian lying down on his 

 horse. We called to our party to come up, and while we 

 were deliberating what to do, we heard the thunder of 

 the horses' hoofs. We were close to a small hill, and had 

 hardly gained it when a war party of over fifty mounted 

 Indians dashed on our startled view. No disciplined 

 cavalry ever presented a better line. Their well condi- , 

 tioned horses, gay trappings, varied, brilliant-colored | 



blankets, and gleaming, ornamented lances presented a 

 terribly picturesque scene of savage war. 



I could speak some Sioux and Crow, and was a fair 

 sign talker, and when about two hundred yards off I threw 

 up my hand and made tho sign to halt. 'They stopped as 

 one man. I asked them in Sioux: "Who are "you?" The 

 chief answered in Crow: "Absaraka" (Crow name for 

 Crow). I then asked them in Crow what they wanted . 

 and where were their lodges, but they could not reply! 

 They had not supposed any of us could speak Crow. They 

 wished us to think they were Crows (who were friendly), 

 but they knew only the one word. The chief, when 

 he perceived they could not pass for Crows, said in Sioux: 

 "We are Sioux, but we love the whites, we will come 

 and smoke together." The Indian to whom I. was speak- 

 ing was slightly in advance of his party; I stood on the 

 brow of the hill, slightly apart from my companions, 

 holding my horse with my arm passed through the bridle. 

 I noticed the Indians appeared to be gathering for a rush, 

 and called out, " Dismount or we will fire." I had barely 

 said it when three Indians, who had. unobserved by my 

 companions, who were intently watching the one I was 

 speaking to, crawled up a coulee to within thirty steps of 

 me, flred directly at me. The position of my head 

 was about the middle of my horse's neck; one bullet hit 

 his neck each side of me, the other in the saddle. We 

 answered with a volley. The Indians took shelter, and 

 shot down our horses. At the first lull in the firing we 

 commenced to form breastworks with our dead horses, 

 and dug holes with our knives and cups in the soft ground 

 behind them to lie in. But now a horrible discovery was 

 made. All our ammunition was in one sack, and it had 

 been left in our last night's camp. Surrounded by the 

 most hostile Indians in the world, without the hope of 

 escape, all our horses killed, and not a drop of water 

 since the day before, a burning sun, and disarmed. It 

 was horrible! The Indians soon discovered our woeful 

 plight. They did everything to draw our fire. Young 

 warriors dashed by us in full career. Sometimes with 

 only a foot, hand and lance visible; sometimes in scorn, 

 with the whole body. O for some ammunition! Had we 

 been armed as we should have been, and Ihey armed as 

 they were with a few revolvers, bows and arrows, and 

 lances, we could have slaughtered them. 



Our butte had a slight elevation about thirty steps be- 

 hind us. In the afternoon three Indians crawled around 

 behind it, and without exposing themselves, ricochetted 

 arrows on us from the rear, Martin, Seven and myself 

 charged them and took possession of the hill, which Mar- 

 tin and Seven held and fortified with a breastwork of 

 earth and rock. Bradbury, Pomp and myself held the 

 face of the hill the Indians were attacking; the two 

 others with their breastworks held the rear. Metius 

 never aggravated Titus Manlius more than those Indians 

 did us to draw our fire. Toward evening a young buck, 

 who had been very conspicuous, made a most aggravat- 

 ingly close run by us, and Pomp, although it left him 

 but one more shot, fired and killed him, but he was tied 

 to his horse and we could not get him. 



The Indians drew off a short distance; some were cook- 

 in- supper, others appeared to hold a cou oil. Among 

 our party no one had more than three shots left; I had 

 but two, and one of these I would not have fired at an 

 Indian under the direst necessity. I had mentally re- 

 served it for myself, and I suppose each one thought the 

 same. Dark night was coming on. Wolves had never 

 been hunted in that country, and were gathering in large 

 numbers, attracted by the blood of the sUin horses. 

 Their snaps and snarls were suggestive, and their dismal 

 melancholy howls wailed the sad requiem of our hopes. 



It was very dark; the moon would be up in about two 

 hours. Pomp, Biadbury and myself were discussing the 

 advisability of making a run for it, but we could not see, 

 and were afraid of running into the Indians posted 

 around us. We were lying about twenty feet apart on 

 the brow of the hill in our hole3 behind the dead horses. 

 I had thrown a buffalo robe across my pit, and as it was 

 chilly I threw half of the robe across my back, while I 

 lay on the other half, and watched intently across my 

 dead horse for sign of the Indians. It was at its darkest; 

 everything deathly still, save the long-drawn howls of 

 the wolves, when suddenly such a ghastly, horrible ad- 

 mixture of yells, as of pandemonium broken loose, arose 

 in our front about ten steps off. Immediately after the 

 yells came the revolver shots and a storm of arrows. At 

 the sound of the yells we jumped to our feet to ran back 

 to where the other two men held their position in the 

 rear. I had neglected to take off my spurs, and as I 

 jumped, one of them caught in the robe that covered me. 

 It did not stop me more than two seconds, but it seemed 

 an age. I felt like a man with a nightmare. It was not 

 more than thirty steps to where our rear guard was, 

 and as we reached it we turned and could just distin- 

 guish in the dark what looked like a black wall. We fired 

 one volley info it, and then ran down the other side of 

 the hill into the black night and the sage brush. Not a 

 word was spoken as we strained every nerve; but on 

 through sage brush and bad lands, running for life. We 

 kept together, and after awhile becoming breathless, had 

 to come to a walk. Pomp told us he was shot through 

 the arm with an arrow. I broke it in two and pulled it 

 out. We continued all that night, running as long as we 

 could stand it. and then walking. When the moon 

 came up, we could see a trail that looked like that of 

 horses. We gathered around to keep the light from 

 showing, and lit matches to examine the trail, but could 

 not tell if it was the trail of the war party, who might 

 have gotten ahead of us, or of buffalo. We were al- 

 most dying from thirst, but were keeping in the worst of 

 the bad lands so as to have that advantage over their 

 horses and could expect to find no water. 



Those horrible badlands! How shall! describe them? 

 Imagine an ocean of ashes and sage brush, torn and 

 convulsed by a cyclone and gazed at by a Medusa — an 

 alkali hell with the lire out! 



Morning came; the sun shone out bright and hot; the 

 thirst became unbearable. We left the precipitous bad 

 lands and struck for where they formed a valley in the 

 hope of finding Vater. In a hole we found some alkali 

 water. Pomp and Bradbury drank first and as they 

 came to the top of the bank, after drinking, they called 

 to us below: "Here they are again!" and dashed toward 

 the high bluffs. We three were exhausted; we drank 

 the fetid water and slowly pursued our way up a coulee. 

 We had done our best; we had but one shot apiece left, 

 and that was for ourselves in the last extremity. After 

 awhile we overtook Bradbury. Pomp, crazed with thirst. 



fever and wound, had bounded away with superhuman 

 speed into the unknown bad lands. Bradbury was a cool 

 brave man and when asked if he were certain he had 

 seen the Indians, replied there was no possible doubt of 

 it. He had seen them about two miles off, their gleam- 

 ing lances and their horses. We continued our weary 

 march all that day and part of the next night; the rest 

 of the night we lay in a bad land, coulee, our famished 

 bodies pressed together to keep ourselves warm. The 

 next morning about 10 A.M., after a battle, ninety miles 

 of foot travel, and sixty-six hours without food and but 

 little water, four of us reached the mouth of the Mus- 

 selshell, where we were well cared for. 



Henry Macdotmai/d. 



HUCKLEBERRIES. 



OF all the wild fruits found in Washington Territory 

 the huckleberry deservedly holds the first place in 

 the estimation of all people, both white and red. Three 

 kinds of these delicious berries are found here; two of 

 them on the lower foothills of the mountains, at an ele- 

 vation of from 200 to fiOOf t. above the valleys. These are 

 very email, and, as they grow on bushes less than a foot 

 in height, nothing but the dexterity and patience of the 

 Indian women can solve the problem of their picking. 

 When ripe they are distinguishable only by their color, 

 one variety being white and the other black. On the 

 tops and sides of our highest mountains, growing on 

 bushes % or 8ft. high, the third variety is found, black in 

 color, and with a size and flavor unmatched by anything 

 to be found "in the States." During the latter part of 

 every summer, caravans of ponies laden with these 

 berries, and driven by mounted Indian women, file down 

 the mountain sides, the delicious fruit loading the air 

 with perfume as they advance, and offer the berries for 

 sale at the door of every settler. 



A well-grounded prejudice against the Indian idea of 

 cleanliness prevents many a sale, even though the aroma 

 of the splendid fruit tempts the neat housewife to forget- 

 fulness, and fills the mouths of children with entreaty, 

 clamorous to urge on the trade. 



This naturally prompts the white people to expeditions 

 of their own after berries, and the hardships and discom- 

 forts of the Indian trails and mountain sides are braved, 

 even by delicate women and little children, who e brown 

 cheeks and sparkling eyes tell, on their return, the story 

 of rough but kindly contact with nature. My wife had 

 long been eager to make a trip, but as she is something 

 of an invalid, and as the chase of the mule deer had 

 many times led me along the trails and taught me the 

 difficulties of this mountain journey, all her pleadings of 

 the previous summer had been in vain. Finally her en- 

 treaties overcame my fears, and on a fine morning in 

 August last we started for Huckleberry Mountain, which 

 stands between the Columbia and Colvitle rivers, and dis- 

 tant about twenty miles. 



Our eldest son, aged nineteen years, with another 

 young man of the ne ghborhood, accompanied us, 

 although business al'owed them to stay only one night 

 in the hills. All the party were mounted on ponies, my 

 wife's mount being an old brown cayuse familiar with 

 all the Indian trails in the country, and whose steady jog 

 trot was easy as the motion of a cradle. 



After following the trail for a few miles, brushing 

 aside the overhanging bushes, climbiug over logs, rocks 

 and fallen trees, my wife's courage aro>e, and she freely 

 asserted her aoility to climb mountains m search of 

 huckleberries any day in the week. 



Soon afterward we came to a place where the trail 

 crept around the steep side of a hill. Here a very large 

 upturned tree completely blocked the path; and its roots, 

 in falling, had torn up the hillside, leaving avast pit that 

 yawned threateningly in front of us. Ciose to the upper 

 edge of this pit, along the foot of a ledge of rock, led the 

 new trail made since the tree fell, and although I knew a 

 way to avoid the bad place altogether by another path 

 far down the mountain side, still, as I had the most per- 

 fect confidence in the surefootedness of the old brown 

 pony, the spirit of mischief prompted me to take the 

 upper trail, and as my pony slowly picked his way among 

 the loose rocks of the rather difficult place and brought 

 me out on the further side, I glanced back to see the 

 courage all fade from the face of my brave Lttle wife, 

 and a stare of blank amazement take its place. "Oh, 

 Orin! 1 never can do that!" "Yes you can," I replied, 

 '•sit; perfectly still, give him the reins and he will carry 

 you around all right." Safely past, I indulged in a smile 

 at her expense, and on the return we took the lower trail. 



About twelve miles from home we came to a little 

 brook, the ice-cold water of which was very welcome. 

 Dismounting, we took a late dinner in the shade of a fir 

 tree, when again we journeyed on up the mountain. 

 About 4 P. M. we reached a favorite camping ground of 

 the Indians, where, on the banks of a little brook, good 

 grass and wriod were found, and having secured berries 

 enough for supper and breakfast, the ponies were hobbled, 

 a tent was formed with two pieces of canvas, and a bed 

 was made of fine bushes, soft and springy— the woven 

 wire mattress of the woods. The boys spread their 

 blankets in the open air a few rods distant. A hearty 

 supper was enjoyed around the camp-fre, after which all 

 slept the sleep found only in the open air, while through 

 all the silent hours the tiny brook sang in our ears its 

 little song of melody and peace, the sweetest lullaby that 

 ever soothed the weary lover of the wilderness to rest. 



In the morning my boy, who had gone out about 200yds. 

 from the camp-fire, came hurrying back, calling in a low 

 tone for me to come quickly with the big "Sharps" (that 

 being the only gun in camp) and kill a mule deer that 

 had just trotted over the hill. Taking the rifle I hurried 

 along the trail about a quarter of a mile, when I saw the 

 deer just going into a thicket. Yelling sharply to attract 

 her attention, she stopped to look, when an express ball 

 dropped her in her tracks. As the boys were obliged to 

 return that morning, we sent back most of the meat 

 packed on one of the ponies. The pony was new to this 

 work and quite scared at his new burden, and, as the 

 rather awkwardly lashed pack turned on the saddle, and 

 swung round under his belly, he grew frantic, and a 

 circus performance of the most exciting character quickly 

 followed. He was at length quieted, the pack readjusted, 

 and he carried the meat home in safety. 



Up to this time we were quite disappointed in not find- 

 ing berries very plentiful, but now quite a procession of 

 neighbors, whites and half-breeds, on the same errand as 

 ourselves, and guided by an old half-breed woman, sud- 



