FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Jtrara 26, 1897. 
ADVENTURES ALONG THE MISSOURI. 
In the latter part of the '60s large herds of buffalo were 
rarely found close to the Missouri Eiver below the Yellow- 
stone. 
The Eees, Gros Ventres and Mandans were so harassed 
by the Sioux that they were obliged to keep pretty close 
to the Missouri; consequently, the herds of large game 
were kept moving whenever thej' approached the large 
rivers. Small game, such as deer and antelope, were fairly 
plentiful, but shy, from persistent hunting. 
In the early spring of 1867 I was with a military com- 
mand that marched from Fort Wadsworth, Dakota (near 
the Minnesota line, west of Big Stone Lake), to the big 
bend of the Cheyenne River near Bear's Den Hill. The 
previous winter had been a very severe one, with deep 
snow. The rolling prairies that we traversed were the 
dreariest within my recollection. They had been burned 
over in the fall, and were then covered with ice. There 
was absolutely no feed for two or three days' journey. As 
far as the eye could see the prairie was spotted with the 
dead carcasses of buffalo that had evidently died from ex- 
haustion. I remember that we were much impressed with 
the fact that along our line of march hundreds of these 
hardy animals had perished from lack of sustenance. 
How far the mortality extended on either side I cannot 
say. Not a living thing was to be seen — ^not an antelope, 
for nothing could live there except crows and ravens. 
I have killed buffalo on the Yellowstone when the cold 
reached 40 and 50° below zero, and I have noticed that 
they are quite stupid in extremely cold weather, and are 
then easily approached. 
They were massed in considerable numbers in the val- 
leys near the mouth of the Powder River, having drifted 
down from the North. 
In looking back to that period, it seems like a mystery 
land, the odorous sage-covered prairies, the sentinel-like 
antelope that hung on the outskirts of bands of buffalo 
and guarded them very faithfully; and the great herds as 
they rushed over the prairies and hills to escape the 
hunter — all are gone, and the wild Indian, too, and the 
fear of him. 
When I traveled across the country in 1868 from the 
Red River of the North to the Missouri River, I got in the 
track of the Red River half-breeds, who came out every 
summer from the settlements to make pemmican. Mouse 
River heads within a mile of the Missouri and its waters 
finally empty into Hudson's Bay. In that great stretch of 
country the buffalo had been driven west toward Milk 
River, a region where timber began, and the paradise 
that hunters dream of had a real existence for many years 
thereafter. 
South of the Missouri to the Black Hills and west nearly 
to the foot of the Rocky Mountains the country was little 
known, and was given over to hostile bands of the Sioux, 
who made it very interesting for people along the river by 
frequent raids. Going to war was the pastime of these 
Indians untU gold was discovered in the Black Hills, when 
the Government took very decided measures, and after 
some fierce fighting the hostiles were subdued and a vast 
tract opened to civilizing influences. 
One day in the early fall of 1869 I stood on a point of 
the bluff overlooking the Missouri River, a few miles above 
the big, muddy creek that enters the river about thirty- 
five or forty miles west of the Yellowstone. My rifle and 
the buck antelope that I had wearily packed up hill and 
down lay at my feet, while I serenely surveyed the pros- 
pect spread before me. 
Below lay the valley, with a mile of Cottonwood forest to 
camp, while beyond, the gray, rugged hills reached out to 
yellow prairie land and the distant divide — the coteau des 
■prairies of the Missouri. Winding in and out of this pros- 
pect flowed the same old, placid Minne-shu-shu, a mighty 
river in the time of flood; but now clear and cool as it 
swept around sandy bars and along willow banks. 
After a while I was aroused from the pleasant reverie 
that had fastened upon me, and in which fancy had con- 
jured Lewis and Clarke's little fleet of perioques stemming 
the current into unknown and hostUe regions in the early 
days of the century. My day dream was brought to an 
abrupt termination by the strange and frantic actions of a 
buffalo cow which was dashing into view over the little 
ridge opposite and not over lOOyds. away, tore down the 
hill at full tilt, scattering stones, earth and dust in her pas- 
sage, as with open mouth and lolling tongue, spent, but ter- 
ror pressed, she stayed for a moment at the sight of me 
with the startled look of a wild animal brought to bay, then 
disappeared into the forest. 
I looked around to see what had caused this commotion, 
but nothing in the line of pursuit presented itself. 
Down the river, however, I saw something that caused 
me to pick up my gun and antelope and make preparation 
to take to "tall timber" in the direction of camp. A thin 
spiral thread of bluish smoke appeared against the line of 
Cottonwood forest that encroached upon the grassy bottom 
land, along which a band of ponies, apparently just turned 
loose, were rolling and feeding. 
I knew there were no friendly Indians on that side of 
the river, and consequently if this was a war party of 
Sioux, they had- made camp in ignorance of their proxim- 
ity to a cabin of the hated "wa-sit-yu." 
For several days' journey south and west the country 
was infested by the various bands of Teton, Ogalahla and 
Sans-arcs of Dakota tribes, and the country was as wild as 
when Lewis and Clarke traveled up the Missouri, and 
perhaps more unsafe than then. 
Fort Buford, forty miles east on the river, was the near- 
est post, and about 100 miles west was a small trading post 
called Fort Peck. 
No Indians were in sight yet, and I did not want to see 
any just then; so swinging my antelope across my shoul- 
der, Indian fashion, I proceeded to pick my way down 
the hill to where a faint deer trail entered the timber. 
Pushing my way through the willows and rose brush that 
is found growing in Cottonwood forests along the Missouri, 
I reached at length the edge of a clearing, in which stood 
our little log cabin. 
' - It was close enough to the river bank to hear the beaver 
of still evenings strike the water mth their broad tails in 
sport or alarm, or the elk as they waded from the shallow 
gravelly bar opposite into deep water. 
As i stepped into the clearing, after taking a good look 
at its surroundings, one of my partners came out of the 
cabin and waited my approach. While assisting me to 
hang the antelope on the corner of the house, he suddenly 
exclaimed: "What do you know?" 
"Frank," I said, "we have some visitors out on the prai- 
rie that will need watching." 
"Could you tell what they were?" 
"No," I replied, "in fact, I only saw the smoke of their 
fire and their ponies feeding." 
"Oh, is that all?" said he. "Well, I was close enough to 
get a good look at them before they went into camp, I 
was starting out at the lower end of the point wh^n I 
heard the tinkling of the bells on their ponies. I made 
for some thick willows to the left of the trail that borders 
the slough, and from that point had a good look at them, 
as they had stopped and seemed disposed to go into camp. 
It's a war party right enough, for I saw the par-fleche 
cases that held their war bonnets and fixin's, but I could 
not make them out. They are neither Sioux nor Crows. 
They started again in my direction, and I thought it was 
time to pike out of that, and here I am." 
Ed, the other member of our little coterie, was inside 
like a sensible fellow making coffee and frying meat, and 
after washing the blood and sweat from my hands and 
face, I joined my companions in discussing a hearty meal 
of buffalo meat, coffee and home-made bread, which means 
plain bread without any frills. 
Little was said until pipes were lighted. Then the sub- 
ject of the war party obtruded itself and we gave expres- 
sion to the thoughts in our minds and wondered who they 
were, and the quest that brought them into our neighbor- 
hood. 
"I waxit to know who these Indians are," said Frank, 
"and I propose to reconnoiter to-night." 
It was soon agreed that one should remain at the cabin 
while the other two started out under cover of night and 
tried to get as near to the Indians as possible and spy out 
their intentions. 
Ed remarked that he "hadn't lost any Indians and didn't 
want to hunt any Indian camps." This was said while 
Frank and I were putting on our cartridge belts and ad- 
justing our knife scabbards. 
Picking up our rifles we stepped out into the clearing 
and took our way-silently by a detour through the timber. 
It was a clear night without any moon, and as we drew 
near the river we could hear the beaver at play. They 
would puff along through the water like a toy steamboat, 
and at sudden noise would flap their broad tails on the 
water with a report like a pistol and drop out of sight. 
There were several openings in the point of timber that 
lay in the direction in which we were going that made our 
progress easy. As may be supposed, we made little noise 
ourselves; but the timber was full of game and animals 
which we disturbed, for we could hear them jumping and 
breaking through the brush when we stopped to listen to 
the noises of the night. 
In half an hour or more we had arrived at the strip of 
willows that Frank had mentioned in the account of the 
discovery of the war party early in the evening. Muffled 
sounds came to us as we cautiously threaded our way. The 
willows were very thick and tall. Along the further edge 
was a slough, and beyond this the prairie. Soon the tink- 
ling of bells on the Indian ponies picketed or hoppled 
near the camp was heard, and then arose on the still air a 
chant or war hymn, that sounded exquisitely weird and 
wild, and has impressed itself vividly in my memory along 
with one or two other songs and scenes.* 
As the clear but low notes of the Indian hymn rose or 
fell in cadence, a mad whim seized me to fire a shot over 
the camp. The frantic but silent efforts of my companion 
to restrain this impulse nearly made me explode with 
mirth. We crept cautiously hearer through the willows 
to where the outlines of men and ponies could be dimly 
seen. The camp-fire burned fitfully, and a glow from the 
coals served to lighten the wild faces seated in a circle 
around it. 
The singing might have been a prelude to a feast, for 
when it ceased slabs of meat that had been roasting over 
the fire were handed around the circle. I remember well 
the smell of roasted marrow-bones and burning sage 
brush. It was a delicious smell, and made me hungry. I 
saw one strapping fellow, who had a black cloth twisted 
around his head and fringed lesather leggings that came 
up to his breech clout, but was otherwise bare to his belt, 
lift a stick from out the ground, on which was stuck a lot 
of smoking ribs, reach for his sheath knife, and whack off 
great chunks, which he distributed to those on each side 
of him in a very ceremonious manner. He then called to 
some one who was off toward the ponies, and seating him- 
self began to eat. Though we heard them talking very 
plainly, we were unable to tell what tribe they belonged 
to. One or two wore their hair dressed in the manner of 
the Tetons, but we conjectured they might be Cheyennes, 
a tribe we were not acquainted with, and who rarely came 
so far up the country then, although allies of the Sioux. 
Suddenly right behind us in a cottonwood tree the low 
hoot of an owl startled ns. Was it a real owl, or an Indian 
signal? The Indians stopped eating at once and listened. 
One or two looked steadily in our direction, and it seemed 
as though we must be discovered in our retreat. Motion- 
less we crouched, scarcely breathing, and again came the 
"hoo-hoo-ah! hoo-hoo!" more mournful than before. 
Then, to our great relief, there was a sudden swish of wings 
above us and a dark form sailed out and into the 
night. As there seemed no prospect of satisfying our curi- 
osity further by remaining in such a trying position, and 
having no desire to arouse the attention of the keen and 
subtle red men intent on filling their bellies, we retired 
silently if not gracefully into the shadows of the forest and 
made our way back to the cabin. 
Ed was on the lookout for us and had some hot coffee 
ready, which we disposed of while relating our adventures. 
"Well," said Ed, "I don't know what we are to do with 
* Once in Virginia, at the close of the war, the battalion in wh ch 
I served camped one night near Amelia Court HouBe. Wood was 
scarce, and few of us had any extra baggage. I had a rubber blanket 
hefiide my mxisket and its accoutrements. In the night there came a 
heavy storm of rain,' which soon routed me out. A short distance 
away, but within hearing, was a sputtering camp-fire; and ranged 
around it were five or six soldiers in the same forlorn plight as my- 
self, and singing for all they were worth. The force and energy with 
which they sang were calculated, I presume, to enhance the comfort 
of the fire, and dispel the universal gloom. Joining them, Igratefully 
accepted the smoky side of the fire, and wore out the night; and to 
this day I never hear the old familiar melodies, "Babylon is Fallen," 
"Gideon's Band" and '-Massa's in the cole, cole ground," but the 
Bcene reeurg to mind, 
these pesky fellows hanging around here; liable to come 
in any day to decimate us. The uncertainty is killing." 
Frank mildly expressed himself to the effect that as 
there were only three of us, "decimate" was hardly the 
word to use in that connection. "What is the proper 
word?" exclaimed Ed, testily. "Obsquatulate is more to 
the point, Ed," I remarked." "Obsquatulate be hanged," 
said he. "Nice distinctions don't count when a redskin has 
hold of your scalp." 
Our cabin, built of green cottonwood logs, had an even 
foot of earth on the pinned pole roof and offered a snug 
"retreat — cool in summer and warm in winter. The floor 
was hard clay. In one corner was an open fire-place and 
chimney. Three rough bunks, with a buffalo robe and a 
blanket apiece, a gun rack, a few traps, skins and furs 
constituted all the property in sight. 
We did not look for any attack upon the cabin, such as 
had resulted in disaster to a party of tenderfeet a year or 
two previously further down the river. One day a steamer 
had landed four men at the place, who had high hopes of 
making a fortune trading with the Indians and incident- 
ally hunting and trapping along the river. A cabin was 
built and roofed loosely with split logs. All went well 
until one night a party of Sioux camped in the vicinity. 
One of the Indians stole away from the party, probably to 
reconnoiter, but mustered courage to conceal himself at a 
corner of the cabin near the door, where, with drawn bow 
and arrow he waited, patiently hours for a chance to strike 
the enemy. 
In the night one of the white men opened the door, 
stepped out unconscious of danger, and was suddenly 
transfixed by an arrow, quickly followed by another. The 
Indian whooped and disappeared. At daylight an attack 
"Was made on one side of the cabin, which engaged the 
attention of the three men inside, while part of the Indians 
approached from the other side, seized and held the muz- 
zles of the rifles protruding from the port-holes, and 
tumbled the heavy poles of the roof down on the occu- 
pants, who were soon dispatched. 
When the steamer returned from its trip to Fort Benton 
nothing remained but blackened ruins and the mtatilated 
bodies of the men. Healthy men, who lived amid the ex- 
citements and vicissitudes of the extreme frontier of that 
period, did not allow such little details to disturb their 
natural rest; and prosaic as it may appear, when we turned 
in to our bunks that night Morpheus owned us until 
morning. 
On that morning a dugout appeared upon the river, and 
landed to our shore an esteemed trapper friend named 
Missouri. Missouri was a character in his way. He al- 
lowed that two were a crowd. He never had a row with 
himself about beaver traps or skins, "consequently," said 
he, "I hunt alone." He was always welcome, but rarely 
joined our party. Another thing, which to our opulent 
minds excited mild scorn, he drank gruel or thin porridge 
in place of coffee. Otherwise he was a good fellow, and 
full of the personality we chose to associate with "Pike 
County." 
"What do you know?" was his greeting, and without 
waiting for an answer asked: "How's grub?'' 
We supplied him with provender in the shape of some 
fried ribs and some cold boiled beaver tail, with black cof- 
fee, and also with information. Enough to relate that after 
some deliberation, we made ready for the war-path. Life 
did not seem worth while living while these mysterious 
natives prowled our neighborhood. 
Missouri borrowed forty rounds of ammunition from me, 
cleaned out his gun and patched his moccasins. Our pre- 
parations were soon made, and we sallied forth into the 
woods, taking the nearest trail leading to the open. 
When we cautiously emerged from the timber no sign of 
a camp was visible. The Indians had disappeared. Noth- 
ing remained but a smoldering camp-fire, bones of the 
feast we had witnessed the evening before, and pony 
tracks leading to the bluff. And on this trail was a solitary 
coyote who trotted off at our approach. It seemed a good 
riddance, but we decided to go upon the bluffs which com- 
manded a view of the broken country that extended back 
from the river. 
As we mounted the hill the country expanded before us 
in familiar outline of low ridges, and buttes fringed here and 
there with clumps of low black cedars that at a distance 
gave the aspect of a rough prairie with buffaloes scattered 
about it. To our eager gaze nothing appeared, howevet, 
and we sat down on the grass for a rest and smoke before 
proceeding further. 
Suddenly an Indian rode into view about 500 or 600yds. 
away and circled about as though he had just discovered 
us. Raising the sight on my rifle the proper distance, I 
drew a bead on him and let fly. Before the smoke cleared 
away the ground around the horseman seemed to be alive 
with Indians lashing their ponies in our direction. 
In our itinerary no provision had been made for a sud- 
den change of base, but we were certainly of one mind 
when we dropped behind the hill out of sight and made 
for the timber line. Prairie strategy in Indian « arfare is 
developed usually under stress of surprise, and is governed 
by the emergency. 
In our case the charge of the Indians was not unexpected 
after the appearance of the horseman, and was further 
hastened by my shot, which was intended to develop thefr 
intentions, for they started for us at the puff of smoke, 
and before the bullet had time to reach its destination. 
On they came in wild disorder, their bright ornaments 
of metal and trappings flashing in the sun amid waving 
feathers and lances. But we did not pause to admire. 
We dropped behind the hUl and struck out tor the tim- 
ber as fast as our legs would carry us. There is no doubt 
that we were very anxious to reach that timber in advance 
of the Indians, and a snap-shot with a camera would prob- 
ably have detected a rapid calculation on our faces as to 
the chances in that respect. But we did not have snap- 
shot cameras in 1869 — at least, not on the Missouri River- — 
and we tore across that little stretch of bottom land in a 
manner that would have been very diverting to some of 
our friiends if they could have seen us, and must have been 
satisfactory to the Indians, who had divided their force 
and now came sailing out of coulees on either side of the 
bluff and spread out along the foothill as we came to a stop 
near the edge of the timber and turned loose om- guns at 
them. At the first shot they scattered, then charged by 
our position in a thin line, delivering their fire as they 
passed. The bullets swept over and around us in close 
proximity, but as we kept moving in the short sage brush 
and offered a poor mark, no damage was done. 
