424 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Nov. 17, 1894 
CHICAGO AND THE WEST. 
The West of the Present and the Past. 
[From a Staff Correspondent.] 
HELENA, MONTANA. 
Chicago, III., Oct. 8.— The "West of to-day is a land of 
contrasts, and in it the present is intimately and oddly 
mingled with the past. Take, for instance, the city of 
Helena. Its lofty and well constructed buildings are 
provided with every modern convenience. Its city trans- 
portation facilities are up to date in every respect. Each 
feature of its municipal government is modern and ad- 
vanced, and quite as one would find it in a town of equal 
size in the East, even I suppose, to the extent of the feat- 
ures of political humbug and political corruption. Look 
at Helena from the outside, or live in Helena on the in- 
side, and I doubt not one would find it extremely similar 
to any city of its size in any portion of the country, with 
perhaps the exception that he would discover Helena, to 
be unduly rich in its proportion of educated and culti- 
vated persons, and also materially rich beyond the usual 
city of its size. Helena is probably the richest city of its 
population in the world. 
As one passes along the busy streets of this thriving 
commercial town, and notices the energy, thrift and 
industry of its citizens, he cannot realize that the history 
of this town is different from that of any other whose 
features are the same. In a present so prosperous he 
cannot suppose a past so boisterous, and from his look at 
the ordinary spectacle of quiet and steady commercial 
activity he cannot picture to himself the fact that the 
city's past was once a fever of the wildest speculation, 
that the city itself rests on ground from which the most 
fabulous wealth was once taken out. Yet it is a fact that 
the whole plain on which Helena rests, or rather the foot- 
slope upon which the greater part of the city is built, has 
been turned over and over in the search of gold, and has 
yielded untold fortunes. The main street of Helena looks 
like any other city street, with its street car tracks and 
its long lines of substantial buildings. Yet under that 
same street more than $1,000,000 of gold were taken out. 
Many and many is the cellar dug in Helena whose dirt 
has been washed, out and yielded gold enough to give the 
house itself a substantial start. As to the total amount 
of gold taken from the Grizzly Gulch and its companion 
gulch, which makes off up into the mountains to the 
right, no man on earth can tell with any exactness, but 
that it was millions and millions of dollars is known 
very well. It is an unique experience to go to the top of 
some lofty building in Helena, and look out over what 
was once the greatest placer belt of the world. You can 
see now small traces of the early days, but here and there 
you can see the smoke of the stately residence of some 
man who made his millions almost by the turn of the 
spade in those glorious, golden days of a past which still 
is young. The wealth which lay under the grass roots has 
been transformed into more tangible and useful shape. 
Those early days of Helena were wild times enough, 
but the Helena of to-day does not boast of them, though 
many of her leading citizens figured prominently therein. 
Helena has cut down the famous Hangman's Tree, which 
used to have a fresh corpse every morning in the vigi- 
lante days, and refers to the subject deprecatingly even 
when it is first broached by a visitor. But buy a book 
describing the incidents of those vigilante days, and you 
will get some notion of the stirring times of '63 in Mon- 
tana. Certainly those days of action, and the recountal 
of their happenings furnishes a tale which it would puz- 
zle one to call whether a chapter of horrors, or a chapter 
of heroism. But that is in the past, the very extreme 
and remote past of 20 or 30 years ago. Helena has out- 
grown all that. She is the capital of the State. The head 
fountain of law and order rests to-day exactly on the 
scene of what was once the most supreme example of 
lawlessness and disorder ever known even in the wild- 
est days of the West. To day you walk through the 
corridors of a lofty stone building, which is the home of 
justice, instead of through tent or cabin where once sat 
impromptu courts which passed on fife or death. You do 
not now partake of the hospitality of the miner's hut, but 
are offered with equal freedom the elegant courtesies of 
a luxurious modern club house. All this within a couple 
of decades. "Where else but in America, and where but 
in Montana shall you find contrast so striking? 
A City of Contrasts. 
Montana, and her capital city of Helena, are very proud 
of their years, and refer to the past as though it had all 
happened hundreds of years ago instead of a few months, 
so to speak. Indeed, this reluctance to admit a youth, 
which no longer remains in evidence, has led Montana to 
feign forgetfulness of the past, and to claim a need for 
proper reminders of it. Hence the extensive and elabor- 
ate collections of the Montana Historical Society, whose 
well filled rooms are as interesting an attraction to the 
visitor within the walls of Helena as any offered by the 
city. There you can see the contrast of the present and 
the past still more vividly portrayed. You can see books 
telling of the old days. You can see specimens of the 
miners' tools mingled in close juxtaposition with the 
weapons of the Indian who so stubbornly fought the 
miner. You can see all kinds of Indian implements and 
Indian trophies, and all kinds of white men's makeshifts, 
born of the necessities of the early days. You can look, 
read and think, ponder on the past and easily imagine 
yourself back there in the midst of it rather than in the 
halls of an elaborate edifice of to-day. 
The Historical Society has published one volume of the 
earlier records of Montana and will soon put out a second 
volume, embodying some papers of the most thrilling and 
graphic interest, describing as they do the exploits of the 
first settlers of this wild part of the mountains. These 
volumes, and the book descriptive of the vigilante days, 
of which I have made earlier reference, constitute almost 
the entire available fund of literature on Montana, and a 
subject so unique and intensely interesting certainly de- 
serves more than this scanty treatment affords. The prin- 
cipal of the local schools, Prof. R. J. Young, is endeavor- 
ing to get together some of the stories of the early days, 
mostly by way of the personal recollections of Mr. James 
A. Oldham, one of the very few '63 men available for 
such a purpose. Certainly if the book tells all that Mr. 
Oldham can tell of simple fact and actual occurrence, it 
will in interest rival the wildest romance of border days. 
I saw and talked with Mr. Oldham myself for a time, 
finding him a very quiet and pleasant man, betraying in 
his speech and dress none of what are supposed to be the 
border characteristics. Yet certainly he has tasted all the 
spice of life as seen in the days of Indians and gold. I 
asked him to tell me what he considered one of the most 
exciting episodes of his experience, and he made answer 
in the following story: 
4 'I don't know that I can think of anything so very ex- 
citing," said he, "but I remember something which always 
seemed to me a. littl e bit amusing. I will tell it as though 
it happened to myself; the other party who had a hand in 
it I would rather not name, but he is one of the leading 
citizens of Helena to-day, and I saw him on the street not 
long ago. "We were the only two parties concerned in 
the matter except a lot of Indians, and there are none of 
those Indians now any more who are concerned in it at 
all. 
"My partner and I were out prospecting in the moun- 
tains; I won't tell you just where it was, but it was a long 
way northeast of Helena, in a country which at that time 
no one knew anything about. In those days men made 
long trips all over the mountains in search of paying dig- 
gings, and they took all kinds of chances in doing it. My 
partner and I were afraid of meeting Indians in there, 
but we concluded to chance it. We had three horses and 
the usual prospectors' supplies, including flour, a little 
salt, etc. We had our rifles, of course, and a trap or two, 
and about an ounce of strychnine, which we had along for 
the purpose of poisoning wolves. You may depend there 
was nothing in our outfit which we did not need in our 
business, and nothing with which we were willing to 
part. 
""We were pretty well through our trip, and thinking 
of coming back home, if we could be said to have a home, 
when one day we were held up by a party of Indians, of 
what tribe it will not be necessary to tell. It happened 
that our horses were hid up in a little willow thicket, but 
such supplies as we had were at our camp when we were 
jumped by the Indians. There were sixteen of them and 
only two us, so we didn't have much show. They pulled 
down on us and made all kinds of threats of killing us. 
We stood them off with our rifles and they knew very 
well that if they actually came to the scratch of firing on 
us, some of them would get killed, although of course the 
next minute it would be all over with us. Time and 
again I thought the shooting would have to begin, for 
they crowded around us, and put their guns and arrows 
right at our breasts. It isn't a pleasant sensation to have 
an iron-pointed arrow drawn to the head in a stiff bow 
and shoved up against you by an Indian who is calling 
you all the tough names he can think of in his language. 
We were pretty mad, but it didn't do us any good, though 
we told their head man that if he didn't get away pretty 
soon we would begin to shoot. At length he offered to 
compromise, saying that he would take away his men if 
we would give him all our supplies. To this we finally 
agreed, seeing we could do no better, and they took all 
our flour, not leaving us a mouthful, and took every bit 
of salt we had, and you know salt was valuable to us in 
those days and in our situation. My partner tried to hold 
out a lump of salt from the bag, but the chief made him 
put it back, under the threat of killing him if he didn't. 
So they just turned us loose on foot, so far as they knew 
with not a morsel of food, and not evea an ounce of salt 
to use on any fresh meat we might kill. 
"They took everything we had, even down to the 
strychnine. I never could tell just how it happened, but 
somehow or other they got the strychnine in combina- 
tion with the tiour. We had about half a sack of flour, 
and I suppose the strychnine must have got spilled into 
the flour in some way. We didn't mind losing the strych- 
nine so very much, but thought if we were going to lose 
everything else we might as well let that go too, so we 
didn't say anything about it to the Indians. 
"Yon know Indians are mighty fond of good flour, and 
as quick as these fellows got hold of our flour they pulled 
off down the valley about a half a mile and built a fire 
and went to cooking bread for themselves. Their method 
of doing this was to pour water into the sack of flour and 
mix up the dough in the sack; then each one of them 
took a stick and rolled it around in the dough until he got 
a wad of it on the end of the stick. This wad he would 
hold in the flame until it was cooked, when he would 
break it off and eat it. 
' 'My partner and I crawled around back of their camp 
and watched their method of cooking for a while. About 
ten of the Indians were cooking and the others had gone 
down the valley a little further with the horses. The ones 
around the fire were having a great time, talking and 
laughing and enjoying our flour. At least they en- 
joyed it for a while. Each fellow of them had made 
himself up a couple of balls or so of the dough and I sup- 
pose they all thought they had struck about the biggest 
picnic they had ever had In their lives. 
"All at once we saw one of the Indians drop his dough 
stick and sit still, looking rather thoughtful like. Then 
he clapped his hand on his stomach. Then he turned his 
head around and said something to the other Indians. 
About a minute after that he gave a whoop and jumped 
up straight into the air, and came down flat on his back. 
"In ten minutes or so after the first Indian went over 
there wasn't an Indian left sitting up around the fire, and 
of all the wriggling and kicking you ever saw, I expect 
that was the worst. By the time the Indians who had 
the horses had come back up the valley, three or four of 
the Indians at the fire were dead. We slipped up close to 
the camp and turned loose with our rifles on the Indians 
who came back with the horses and killed every one of 
them. Then we went down to the fire where the bread 
makers were and tried to see if we could do anything to 
help them along. They had a piece of old broken iron 
skillet at the fire, and we took this and went and got them 
some water at the creek. Of course, after they drank the 
water they very quick lay still, as water and strychnine 
don't seem to work very well for an Indian. 
"We killed the entire sixteen of them, and then got to 
our horses and rifles and left the country as fast as we 
could. At that time our consciences never troubled us 
very much over what we had done, though I cannot say 
that I would do it over again now. I am telling you the 
story to show what kind of days those were, and not by 
way of boasting. It is a fact, however, and it is a further 
fact that from that time to this the Indians of that tribe 
have held that little valley in awe, as being an accursed 
place, and they never go through it or pass near to it, but 
nave given it a wide berth ever since the time their 
brethren robbed us of our flour. I have heard that later 
on that there was something found out and said about this 
matter by Government officials, but I reckon it is too far 
in the past now to bother about a few Indians more or 
less." 
They Were Hard Men to Kill. 
Oldham has no particular reason to be fond of Indians, 
for they more than once evinced a perfect willingness 
to put an end to him. He thinks the nearest call he ever 
had was at the hands of Chief Joseph's Nez Perces. Old- 
ham and a man by name of Cowan were on a sort of 
pleasure trip through the Yellowstone Park at the time 
old Joseph crossed the Bitter Roots and made for the east 
over the mountains of the Park. There were ladies in the 
party, one of them Cowan's wife, 'and the story of their 
later escape is known through reports of the Nez Perce 
campaign. Of the assault made upon the party it will be 
best to let Oldham tell the story. It shows well enough 
of what stern stuff some of these old-time mountain men 
were made. 
"We had gone about twelve miles from our last camp," 
said he, "at the time we were stood up by the Indians, 
who were the advance guard of the main band. They 
whaled away and shot us both. I was shot through the 
head — you can see the scar where the ball came out 
through the jaw. It knocked me down, but I got up and 
ran, holding on to my rifle and got into a thicket, where 
the Indians concluded to let me alone and not come in 
after me, though they tried to shoot me again in there. 
Cowan was hit in the thigh and it knocked him off his 
horse and numbed him. He lay on the ground, and his 
wife took his head in her lap, and the Indians thought he 
was dead at first. One of the Indians came up to him, 
and made signs to his wife to ask her if the man was shot 
through the breast. This was the same Indian who shot 
me, and he was a short, mean fellow, with his hair cut 
square across his forehead — I know him, because a long 
time ago I hadjlent that same Indian a jack-knife, and he 
never brought it back. I saw him have it while we were 
talking to them before they shot us. This Indian came 
up to where Cowan was lying, and looked over his wife's 
shoulder, and saw he wasn't dead. He pushed- his gun 
over the woman's shoulder and shot Cowan again, this 
time square in the forehead. That was rather a hard 
situation for a woman, wasn't it? After they shot him 
that time, this party of Indians left him lying for dead, 
and they took the woman and went on. I didn't know 
how my friend was, but supposed of course he was dead. 
Really, the second bullet had glanced and only cut his 
forehead open without going into the skull. 
"There was another little party of Indians just back of 
the ones that shot us, and as these came up they saw 
Cowan sort of move. One of them got off his horse and 
came up to him, and seeing him all bloody and shot in 
the head concluded, I suppose, that it wasn't worth while 
to waste another shot on him, so he picked up a big rock 
and smashed Cowan in the head with it two or three 
times, fairly driving his head down into the ground with 
it. He then went on and left him for dead again. 
"It must have been some little time after this when the 
next bunch of the Nez Perces came along, for by that 
time Cowan had made up his mind not to die after all, 
and he was sitting up in the trail, and I don't know but 
what he had crawled a little way on up' the trail. When 
he was seen by this last outfit one of the Indians drew on 
him with a .50cal. needle gun and mowed him down, 
almost cutting him in two, I might say, for the bullet cut 
an awful gash clear across the abdomen, although it so 
chanced that it did not go quite deep enough to prove 
mortal. 
"When he got this last shot Cowan fell over again, and 
as he was now looking bad enough for any Head man, this 
last lot of Joseph braves went on and left him lying on 
the trail, once more abandoned for dead. 
"Cowan was not really dead, at least he says he wasn't, 
though he certainly had had enough to kill any man. 
Shot up as he was, he actually crawled back twelve miles 
over the trail to our last camp, and here he stayed two 
days. He found some coffee that we had spilled on the 
ground when we were there, and he scratched around 
and got up enough to make himself some coffee in a tin 
can we had left there. That was all he had to live on, but 
he lived. He was found by Howard's men when they 
came across after Joseph. 
"As for myself, I had no picnic— to my notion. My 
jaw was broken and I couldn't eat, and I didn't have 
anything much to eat anyhow. I lived till Howard found 
me, entirely on crickets — these big black fellows, as big 
as the end of your thumb. I can't say I like them as a 
regular diet. They have a flat, sweetish, milky taste. But 
they were better than nothing, and kept me alive. I have 
eaten coyote, too, in my time, but I never did learn to 
like it.". (Tom Laforge said he rather came to like coyote; 
I suppose it is a matter of taste.) 
Both the men who passed through the above experience 
are alive and well to-day. Old Bill Hamilton told me the 
sequel of Oldham's story about the women of this party. 
He says that the older heads among the Indians did not 
want to kill these women, as the young men did when 
they found they could not be taken along. Chief Joseph 
sent some of these young men back up the trail on some 
excuse, and while they were gone he put the women on 
horses, showed them the way out through the mountains 
to the north and told them to hurry. They made their 
way out all right and finally turned up at Bozeman. 
A Heroic Suicide. 
"But if you are talking of hard places and trying situ- 
ations," said Oldham, continuing in his reminiscent vein, 
"I think there was one thing happened in the old days 
which deserved to be called a piece of true heroism, if 
ever there was such a thing. That was the suicide of 
Henry Geery, which happened on the big expedition 
made up at Virginia City to go over and explore the Little 
Big Horn country for gold. This was a large party, led 
by Jim Stuart, and they had all kinds of trouble with the 
Indians. It was one continual fight with the Indians all 
the time, and the party was followed for day after day, 
and had to keep up a running fire for mile after mile of 
their retreat. Geery had the misfortune to shoot himself 
accidentally with his own revolver. He was shot in the 
breast and knew the wound was mortal. That was right 
in the morning, while the party was getting ready to 
leave that spot as fast as their horses could take them, for 
they knew that if they stopped the Indians would soon 
get them all, as the Indians were close up in large num- 
bers. Geery knew he couldn't live, and knew he couldn't 
travel horseback, and he wouldn't hold the others back 
