Air, 19, 1895. 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
47 
rations, and all the horses he could steal from the In- 
dians. These articles of war were not to be found in 
the military regulations, hut nevertheless many and 
many a one of the best scouts worked on just this basis, 
stipulating that they should own all Indian ponies cap- 
tured by themselves. The army thus protected the scout 
and the Indian was the loser. 
"I didn't go into that business for my health, "^said 
Bill, ' ' but for horses. You may well suppose that when 
I was on ahead of the troops and spied out an Indian 
village, the first thing I did was to run off the horses 
aud^then to go back and inform the troops that I found 
the Injuns. ' ' Here the old man fell into a fit of musing. 
'Tell me about the Slim Butte fight, Uncle Bill," 
said his friend Lovekanip. (We were talking out at 
Billings. ) A faint gleam came into Uncle Bill's eye. 
"Eh?" said he, in feigned ignorance. But we made 
him talk. 
"Well, in that fight, " said he, "T^was scouting ahead, 
and I found the camp of the Indians in a little valley. 
I saw a mighty fine big black horse, tied in front ot a 
lodge which had a chief's shield hanging in front of it. 
I wanted that liorse pretty bad, and I waited all night, 
and before daybreak I crawled into the village and cut 
the horse loose and led him out of camp. I got a nice 
big mule out of the herd, too, and was nearly out of 
danger before any alarm was given. Then I got away 
and got back to the troops, and in the morning I led 
them on to the village. We were walking in company 
down over the rough country, expecting every moment 
to jump the Indians, when just over a low ridge we ran 
square into an ambush they had laid for us. There 
were twelve men abreast and I was in the front rank, 
walking, and leading my new black horse. They rose 
right up against us and seemed to shoot a blaze of fire 
rigbt into our faces. Out of the twelve men in the 
front rank two officers, fine young fellows they were, 
brave as lions, were killed and six men were killed or 
wounded besides. I don't know why I wasn't killed, 
I'm sure. I didn't think my black horse was a lucky 
find, though. When the Indians fired into us the troops 
dashed right on in and the Indians ran, of course. 
"I musn't 'tell stories about the army, of course, for 
that wouldn't be right," continued Uncle Bill, "but 
there was one thing happened at that Slim Butte fight, 
or we will say it happened there, though may be it 
didn't, which i have always remembered. About all 
the U. S. Army officers are brave men, as brave as any 
in the world, bat at this fight the commanding officer, 
Colonel M. , was a coward. He just stayed back of the 
troops, behind a bank, and when the firing began he 
hugged the ground as close as he could, and every time 
a bullet came over he would butt his head into the bank 
till he could get his head clear into it. He was the 
only one. who wasn't forward in the firing line before 
the fight was over. Those soldiers used to love a fight 
mostly. 
' ' It was quite another man, Colonel McKenzie, who 
was in charge at the Tongue River fight, ' ' continued 
the old man, now that he had started in this reminis- 
cent mood, and going on to tell of one of the most dan- 
gerous exploits of his whole life. ' ' Colonel McKenzie 
was brave enough, but he was always waiting to 'form 
fours. ' Now, you can't always count fours when you're 
fighting Indians. 
' ' I was on ahead in that action, too, and I found it 
the village, and I saw there was a big pony herd. I 
thought there were about 350 head of horses, some 
good ones. This seemed to me a chance to make a big 
strike, and I determined to run off the whole herd for 
myself, before the troops came up, or else get killed 
a-trying to do it, because I knew I had the best sort of 
a chance there to make a lot of money. We had a lot of 
Snake Indian scouts along, but, as usual, they were a 
good ways off from the hostiles — they knew enough for 
that. 
"I made a bold rush, in plain daylight (it was early 
morning), and I stampeded the whole herd. I got them 
headed for a little sort of box canyon, and I kept right 
af x er them, yelling and riding hard as I could, and there 
wasn't a head of their horses left except what they had 
tied by their lodges. The whole camp of them got out 
after me, over a dozen of them on horseback, and they 
rode right up with me, all of us mixing up in making 
the running horses. They shot at me all the time, and 
I shot at them, but I kept on running the herd, and the 
shooting only helped scare the horses on more. I had 
Indians ride right up along and grab at my bridle, and 
at the last I threw my empty pistol into the face of one 
who was trying to reach me with a knife. But I kept 
on a-running them horses off all the time, you see. 
' There was a sort of pile of rocks near the mouth of 
"his little canyon, and It brew myself off my horse there 
and he went on back of me up the canyon. I had the 
herd back of me, and the whole Indian village right up 
against me in front. I didn't know whether I could 
hold them horses or not, and I knew it was a close 
corner. I had .nothing but my rifle, but I lay close and 
waited till they came up near me and then I shot as 
straight as I could. (His friends say he killed 10 
Indians there in a few moments, but 1 could never get 
Uncle Bill to say about that. ) Whenever I shot they 
would fall back, and that was the way it went. None 
of them happened to hit me. 
' ' When the troops, back a couple of miles or so, heard 
the firing, they came forward, or at least the first com- 
pany did. Colonel McKenzie kept the others back, 
forming company front or something or other. From 
where I was lying I saw the first company, a few men, 
coming down into the little valley to one side, all regu- 
lar and steady and at a trot, mind you, at a tim ! 
Lieutenant McKinney was at their head, as fine and 
brave a man as was ever on earth. I tried to get them 
to hear me, and called loud as I could to thein to charge 
but they were too brave, those fine fellows. They came 
on at their steady trot and the Indians rose up and 
mowed them down. Lieutenant McKinney was shot 
down not far from me, and I ran out and dragged him 
in with me, behind my little pile of rocks, and took 
eare of him, but he was dead. Then the second troop 
came forward and they came down that hill just a-boil- 
ing, and of course the Indians broke and run ; but out 
of 60 men who went into that valloy, 36 were killed, 
and the Indians hardly lost a manjulled^ by the troops. 
That was a brave lot of men in that troop. One sergeant 
of that troop was the coolest man I ever saw in a fight. 
His commanding officer rebuked him for not going into 
skirmish line. 'I don't know anything about skirmish- 
ing, ' said the sergeant, ' all I know about is shooting, 
and I wanted to get where the shooting is good. ' 
' ' After that fight was over I was mad all through at 
the thought of the poor fellows who had been killed 
before the second troop got up, and for once in my life 
I felt like cursing a commanding officer. 'Why, in 
didn't the second troop get up?' I couldn't help 
saying. 
' ' We were forming fours, ' said Colonel McKenzie. 
" 'Yes,' said I, 'and while you were forming fours 
you were letting some of the finest men in the United 
States Army get killed!' I couldn't help saying that, 
with the thought of Lieutenant McKinney and all those 
other brave fellows, who wouldn't have been killed at 
all if one good swift charge had been made. 
1 ' That was how I ran off the herd at Tongue River. 
And I never got a head out of all the herd, which I had 
risked so much for, thinking I would quit the trail after 
that, perhaps. Captain Bgan took all my horses and 
gave them to the Snake Indian scouts, who did nothing 
whatever in the fight or before it. I have never for- 
given Egan for that, and I think that to-day the United 
States Government owes for those horses, which were 
taken from me directly contrary to the agreement made 
with me by General Crook himself I have always felt 
a little sore over that ever since. ' ' 
Stories like the above may read a trifle oddly in army 
circles, but I have no reason to doubt the accuracy of. 
Uncle Bill's statements, subject to the lapse of years in 
memory and subject to any unintentional inaccuracy in 
reporting. Many other such stories of the old days I 
could tell as they came from the lips of this remarkable 
and really lovable old timer, perhaps the worthiest man 
alive to-day to speak to us about the West of the Past. 
But these will do for now. Later I wish to speak of 
the causes of the sudden disappearance of the buffalo, 
as Uncle Bill Hamilton describes that. Then we must 
bid him goodby for awhile, though he has invited me to 
come and join him on ' 'one last hunt, " as he calls it, and 
promises that if I will come he will take me into that 
very comer of all the Rocky Mountains least explored 
and least known to-day. As that is his secret by choice, 
it must also be ours, for a time at least. 
From Utahi 
Mr. John F. Cowan of Butte, Mont., spent Christmas in 
Salt Lake City, Utah, and writes me from there very 
entertainingly about shooting matters. He describes 
that section as a great one for shooting, but says, "there 
is a fine opening for missionary work such as your paper 
is carrying on. ' ' Any reader who notes the destruction 
of ducks mentioned by Mr. Cowan will agree with the 
above. How long will it go on, this absurd, unreason- 
able, ungentlemanly practice of butchering the last bird 
possible? It isn't sport. There can only be one conse- 
quence upon it. The game will soon be all destroyed, so 
that respectable shooters will have no shooting. Mr. 
Cowan says that the shooters mentioned were two men 
who once shot in the Kansas City Gun Club. They were 
so called sportsmen. If Mr. Cowan will give me the 
names supported by witnesses of those who saw the bags 
mentioned I shall take pleasure in making the full 
details public, as I would in the case of any man, 
"sportsman," or not, wealthy man, distinguished 
citizen or what not. Forest and Stream may get itself 
disliked by certain short -headea individuals who want 
to kill all they can, but it will not be disliked by the 
long-headed man, who are in at the end of an enter- 
prise. Mr. Cowan says : "At Salt Lake City fine duck 
shooting can be secured within a few miles of the city, 
or if that is not satisfactory an hour's run on the cars 
to the north or south will place one on as fine ducking 
grounds as there is in the United States. 
"I am tempted to tell of some of the bags made at the 
mouth of Bear River, where it runs into Salt Lake. 
I say tempted because I am really ashamed to tell of the 
number which some of the shooters, I won't say sports- 
men, claim to, have killed. I am ashamed because I 
know that every true sportsman will say those fellows 
are either champion liars or the greatest game hogs on 
earth. Think of two men in less than two days shoot- 
ing and killing 700 ducks, and this is what I was 
assured was done there last year. And the same two 
men this year killed 600; one of them killing 183 
mallards between 3 and 6 o'clock one afternoon. I was 
assured by one man that last year he and six or seven 
others killed over 3,000 ducks. I wonder if it ever 
occurred to such shooters that possibly at this rate the 
supply might soon oe exhausted. I wonder, too, that if 
they would stop and think about in k the right way if 
they wouldn't feel just as well after it was all over if 
they had stopped shooting when half that number were 
killed. Try it once and see, and my word for it you 
will feel more enjoyment than to go killing as long as 
there, is a duck in sight. ' ' 
I know of no better way to stop such slaughter than 
to print the facts in a journal which goes into the 
hands of the reputable sportsmen of the country. There 
are few men who will approve of such killing. Indeed, 
the change of sentiment in such matters is one of the 
most distinctive features of modern sportsmanship. 
An Old-Timer Now. 
I have recently come into possession of oue of the old- 
time "Old Reliable" Sharps' which were the joy of the 
old timers' hearts long years ago, and which are still 
sworn by in the mountains by the old timers, who will 
not hear to a repeater. By means of this gun I hope 
now to be able to pose as an old timer myself before 
long. I think I will cut the notches for lujuns along 
the lower edge of the stock, and those for bears and 
\ other large game along the top. If I run out of wood I 
can go out on the fore end. I feel that a man with a 
buckskin shirt and a Sharp's Old Reliable is somewhat 
of a figure hisself, and I want to post people about this. 
Wants Pointers on Skunks. 
Mr. Sam. D. McMillan of West Salem, Wis., writes 
me as follows : 
"Did yon ever hear tell of b a skunk farm? Where can 
I get some pointers on the subject?" 
If this were submitted to the Information Wanted 
editor he would probably reply in his cold, heartless 
way: "Ans.— (1). Yes. (2)— Get about 400 yards to 
leeward of the f arm. " 1 wouldn't do a thing like that, 
because I am naturally polite. Really, I can't tell Mr. 
McMillan much about the skunk industry, but I know 
there is such a farm, if not more than one, somewhere, 
and I have no doubt that some one will come forward 
in Forest and Stream before long and give the informa- 
tion about it. I don't think the habits of the skunks 
would be any^bar to the industry, nor do I think the 
scent glands L need be removed. I have seen a captive 
skunk handled with ^impunity by his keeper (at San 
Pedro Spring gardens, San Antonio), who picked it up 
and touzled it about as hejlked. "They seem to have 
no scent when they are tame," said he, "or at least 
they never use it. ' ' E. Hough. 
909 Security Building-, Chicago. 
NOTES FROM THE PLAINS. 
Omaha, Neb., Jan. 10.— The lack of wild fowl shoot- 
ing m this vicinity during the past fall season was in a 
great measure counterbalanced by the excellent quail 
shooting. There were more of these birds, all the regu- 
lar shooters agree, than there has been for a period of 
ten or fifteen years. In fact, it is doubtful whether they 
were ever so plentiful before. With no backset this 
winter the crop next fall should be larger than ever. Of 
course, there were many birds killed. They retailed at 
$1 per dozen part of the season in the open market, but 
a great abundance has been left over for seed. Stockton 
Hith and Fred Montmorency were up at Honeycreek on 
the last day of the open season and say that they flushed 
covey after covey that had evidently never been shot 
into. However, it is not the gunner who decimates the 
ranks of Bob White out this way, but old Crimp and 
the hawks. The mercury drops as low as 28 degrees 
below out here, and hawks are no more plentiful any- 
where in the country. 
^ My old duck hunting host, Anse Newberry, of the 
Sugarbeet marshes writes me that big gray wolves are 
very numerous and very aggressive throughout the north 
part of Cherry County. These fierce brutes are very 
destructive on the stock and seem to have an 
especial appetite for horse flesh. When once they select 
a victim he rarely escapes. A sneak, a sudden sprine 
and the horse is hamstrung and at their mercy. A Mr> 
Bridgeman, near Newberry's, lost two fine colts Nev 
Year's night. 
Lou May, a very energetic member of our k State Fisl 
Commission, has just returned from a couole of months' 
sojourn in the Gulf States. He had some great sport 
with the sea bass at Pass Christian, and can spin about 
as many and about as good piscatorial yarns as the next 
one. There is only one man whom I know who can 
beat him, and that is Charlie Richards of Rochester, N. 
Y. Mr. May says the commission has a great campaign 
mapped out for the coming season— that over thirty 
lakes and streams in the sand hill country are to be 
stocked with bass, croppie, pike and pickerel fry. 
As usual, the wild fowl shooters are all predicting great 
sport the coming season, but just what they base their 
prognostications on I fail to see. There never has been 
such a woeful scarcity of rain in this country, and the 
outside world is pretty familiar with the calamitous 
drouth out this way during the past summer. The truth 
is I cannot recall such a thing as a hard, rushing fall of 
rain, of any considerable continuance, within the past 
year, and last fall there was little or no water on any of 
our famous ducking grounds. So far this winter, how- 
ever, there has been a goodly fall of snow in the moun- 
tains, and when the usual thaw comes this will be 
sufficient, in all probability, to swell our streams and fill 
our lakes in a way that will delight both hunter and 
fowl. Last fall was the poorest season I ever experienced 
out this way. There were scarcely any ducks at all, 
save blue and green wing teal, and they never fail, and 
the geese came in along the Platte and the Loup in thin 
and spasmodic flocks. In fact, the honkers have been 
much more plentiful since the first of December than at 
any other time and tolerable bags have been made off 
and on, so far, all through the winter. Last spring it 
was just the opposite. Birds have not been known as 
plentiful in ten years, and canvasback were particularly 
numerous. Lawyer Simeral, Ed. W. Hamilton and I 
bagged 169 in a single afternoon's shooting— all canvas- 
back! 
CAMP NINE AGAIN. 
Sand Lake, Mich., Nov. 26.— Pursuant to a previous 
letter, this writing finds us home, after a two weeks' 
outing, not exactly upon our own grounds, as we found 
them already occupied, so we moved a half mile up the 
road, the boys protesting against trespassers, but good 
naturedly making the best of it. Two days of work 
were necessary to make our new site habitable ; but we 
were in it to stay, and soon had fine quarters with dxy 
jack pine wood in the woodshed and were ready for 
business. 
The first day I spent in visiting a section (640 acres 
of pine forest. ) Here, with the singing sea of resinous 
boughs overhead, their delicate odor imparting new life 
with each inspiration, the earth a carpet of pine needles 
with acres and acres of winter green with berries so 
dense that yonder hillside seems painted red-brown and 
beautiful beyond description, we forget all else in our 
admiration of "God's first temple," and our dav's 
pleasure is marred only by the thought thao the once 
magnificent forest of Queen Michigan will soon be gone 
forever. 15 
On Tuesday, Nov. 6, Nine Powell, the father of the 
camp, scored the first venison, a 150 pound buck and a 
beauty. On the 9th one of the boys brought in a fint 
doe, and three more were added on the 18tfi and 19th, 
making ^five deer, one led fox, four partridges, one 
mallard, seven fox squirrels, numerous adventures and 
several narrow escapes, two we think worth recording. 
I he principal actors in the first were Gil. Reynolds of 
the Big Rapids National Bank, and a 200 pound buck, 
which had been startled by others of the party ani was 
accompaniedjby three small deer. Gil tells it: "I was 
standing ih, a very thick growth of scrub oak when a 
crackling of .brush caused me to look behind me, and 
suddenly the air was full of deer tails. Bounaing 
