122 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Feb. is, igot. 
Floating on the Missouri. — L 
At last our dreams were about to be realized. We "had 
long planned a trip down the Misscmri from Fort Ben- 
ton, the head of navigation, to — well, some point to be 
determined upon later, and here we were, boat loaded, 
ready to embark. The boat we had named the "Good 
Shield," which is the English of our better half's Indian 
name, was just a plain, sharp-bowed, flat-bottom skiff, 
some nineteen feet long and of five feet beam. Not ex- 
actly a thing of beauty, but staunch, light of draft, and 
serviceable. It held our tent, stove, bedding, clothing, 
guns and ammunition, provisions for a month or so, and 
still there was room for more. So impatient were we to 
be off that we had loaded up by the light of a lantern. 
But now the eastern sky was streaked with crimson, and 
it was quite light enough to see the channel. The swift 
current was gently tossing and swaying our craft, as if 
to say: "Come, why tarry? Cast loose and I will bear 
you swiftly into the land of your dreams." Well, then, 
the river should haA'e its way. "Get aboard and take the 
stern seat," I said to Sah-ne-to, and as soon as she had 
done so, I pushed out into the stream. Splash! Sah- 
ne-to dropped a little beaded buckskin sack into the 
water. What it contained I know not, nor did I ask. 
But I heard her low prayer: "Spirits of the water, 
people of the depths, accept my poor sacrifice. Pity us, 
I entreat yo.u; draw us not down to our death in your 
cold, dark realm; cast us not upon the rock hidden by the 
foaming current. Pity, pity. Accept my offering, I pray 
3 r ou, and harm us not." 
Sah-ne-to has not forgotten the gods and devils of 
her people if she has been married to a pale-face these 
twenty years and more. M issionaries and their creeds 
are as nothing to her; the sun, the glorious, dazzling, 
resplendent orb, is the kind and living ruler of the world. 
By his aid, and through sacrifice, the evil spirits may be 
kept from working harm. 
I set the oars and pulled a few long, steady strokes; 
aided by the swift current we sped down stream at a rate 
of five miles an hour at least. It seemed only a moment 
or two since we had cast off, and here we were already 
at the lower end of the town and opposite the old adobe 
fort — that is, what is left of it. Of the great thick walled 
fortress nothing now remains but the southeast bastion, 
and that, too, would have long since fallen had not a 
generous and public spirited one of the old-timers roofed 
it over, and shored up its crumbling walls. Cannon no 
longer point from its deep port holes read}' to discharge 
a hail of trade balls into some party of murderous red- 
skins. That day has long since passed. Built in 1856 
by the American Fur Company, this fort was for years 
the center of a vast and far-reaching fur trade. Hun- 
dreds of thousands of buffalo robes, like numbers of 
wolf and beaver skins, and pelts of the deer and elk were 
brought to it by Indian and white from the far North, 
from the South, from the Rockies and the vast extent 
of plains surrounding it, and were later shipped down the 
river to St. Louis. 
Sah-ne-to gazed long and sadly at the solitary bastion. 
"How well I remember," she said, "coming to the great 
fort with my father and mother to trade. When spring 
came "and the horses had become strong from eating the 
new green grass, the whole camp came here to trade the 
winter's take of robes and furs. No matter how great the 
distance — maybe from the Red Deer River of the North, 
perhaps from the Yellowstone, or the foothills of the 
Rockies, or from some point far down the river — here 
we always came in the early spring. When the men of 
the fort saw us coming down the hills in to the valley, 
they raised a great flag and fired cannon to greet us. 
We were many in those days, and when we moved, 
people on horseback, and horses packed and drawing 
travois and lodge poles, with herds of hundreds and 
thousands of loose horses, made a wide, dark streak 011 
the plains miles long. The great chiefs, the proud war- 
riors, rode in the lead when we neared the fort, all dressed 
in their war costumes. And when the flag was raised 
and the cannon boomed, they fired their guns and 
charged up to the gates singing the song of joy and 
friendship. Then the great white chief came out and 
shook hands with them, and invited them in to feast and 
smoke, and tell of the experiences of the winter. And 
while they sat in the room with the great white chief, 
outfit after outfit came hurrying down the hill, the women 
shouting and whipping up their horses, lodge poles rat- 
tling and clashing, travois jouncing and bouncing as they 
were hurriedly dragged along. And then one by one and 
by twos and threes and fives the lodges were put up on 
the plain near the river, fires were built, and soon hun- 
dreds of columns of smoke were rising to join the clouds. 
When the feast and the talk were over the chiefs came 
home to their lodges, each carrying a present of some 
kind. My father always brought something away from 
the white man's table for me and I would watch for him 
and run to meet him. Sometimes he brought me a hard- 
tack, sometimes a lump of sugar, and taking it from him 
I would run on ahead to our lodge and show my mother 
what he had given me. Such little things were highly 
prized in those days, especially by the children; only 
once or twice a year did they become the fortunate pos- 
sessors of a cracker or bit of brown sugar. But no; we 
were never hungry. Always the lodge was provided with 
meat; meat of the buffalo, the elk, the deer and antelope: 
and we had berries, quantities of the various kinds, dried 
for winter use." 
On we went past the fort, and down over the Shonkii^ 
bar at the mouth of the stream of that name which puts 
in here from the Highwood Mountains to the south. It 
is a stream no longer. Once it was a good sized creek 
of pure mountain water. Schools of trout lived in its 
clear depths, and the beavers bridged it with their dams. 
Then came the white man and used the water to irrigate 
vast tracts of the barren plain, so nothing now runs in 
the old channel but a little seepage of brown alkaline 
water. The trout are dead, the beavers have vanished 
never to return. 
A little further down we passed the "Groscondune.z,'' 
Here the Teton River makes an elbow to the south at the 
apex of which it is divided from the Missouri only by 
a narrow, sharp, high ridge. Along its crest runs an 
old Indian trail, a short cut from the fort to the mouth 
of the Marias. It was here, in 1865, that the.( Piegan chief. 
Little Dog, met his death, murdered by his own people. 
The Piegans then were bitter enemies of the whites. 
They would come to the fort professing peace and trade 
their robes, but parties of the warriors were out at all 
times of the year traveling even as far South as the Cali- 
fornia Overland trail in search of scalps and plunder. 
Of the whole tribe Little Dog alone was the white man's 
friend, and by every means in his power he tried to keep 
his people at peace with them, even shooting one or two 
of the most obstinate and bloodthirsty. He was the 
especial favorite of the factor of the American Fur Com- 
pany, Major Daw 7 son, who gave him many valuable 
presents from time to time, and often sent him down the 
Missouri on the company's boats that he might see some- 
thing of the w r orld. His warriors feared him, for he 
ruled them with an iron hand, and they were jealous of 
the favors showered on him. No one had such fine 
guns, such brilliantly colored blankets, such durable sad- 
dles and bridles as he. One day four or five of the more 
hot-headed warriors held a secret council and determined 
that, if the tribe was to keep up its record of scalps and 
plunder taken, their chief must die. The camp was then 
at the mouth of the Marias, some twelve miles below the 
fort, and they knew that Little Dog was up there visiting 
the Factor, and would return home that afternoon. So 
they went up to the Groscondunez and lay in wait for 
him, At dusk he came riding leisurely along, humming 
his favorite war song. As one man they leveled their 
rifles and fired at him, and he fell from his horse without 
a cry or groan, stone dead. 
Strange to relate, every one of his murderers died 
w ithin a year; some in battle, some by disease, and one 
by a fall while running buffalo. The people said it was 
because the sun was angry at their foul deed and had for- 
saken them. It was an unlucky day for the tribe when 
their chief was killed. Relieved from the restraint his 
unbending will had imposed, the braves began a system- 
atic warfare against the whites. Lone trappers and hun- 
ters — "woodhawks" — along the river, travelers on the 
Oregon trail, and the trail between Fort Benton and 
the mines to the west are waylaid and murdered by 
scores and scores. And then came that January morning 
in '70 when Col. Baker and his two companies of infan- 
try crept up the edge of the bluff on the Marias over- 
looking a part of the Piegan camp, some eighty lodges. 
There was a massacre! There the whites avenged the 
death of many an unfortunate pioneer, of many a helpless 
wife and child. Of all the inmates of those eighty lodges, 
but three escaped. Men, women and children were indis- 
criminately shot and then burned in piles of their lodges 
and household effects. It was a severe lesson, but in no 
other way could the Piegans have been taught to cease 
their murderous ways; from that day they took no more 
white scalps. 
Little Dog was Sah-ne-to's uncle. No wonder, then, 
that as we passed the scene of his untimely death, she 
was for a time somewhat depressed in spirits. But on 
such a lovely morning no one could long have sad 
thoughts. The sun shone from a clear sky; the river 
flowed swiftly by narrow strips of timber fringing the 
shore, yellow and red painted by the early frosts. Here 
we passed a sheer cut bank reaching from the water's 
edge up to the level of the plain. On the opposite side 
there would be» a gentle slope of gray sage brush and 
buffalo grass. Magpies flew back and forth i across the 
stream with discordant tries. Ducks were a-wing seeking 
some muddy slough where a rich breakfast might be 
found. Here, and there a flock of chickens were lined 
up on the shore taking their morning drink of water. 
The sharptail grouse are interesting birds. Have you 
ever approached a flock on a cool, frosty morning and 
seen them running about chasing each other, and all the 
time keeping up their peculiar and inimitable gabble? 
The Blackfeet say that they have a language, and talk 
with each other as well as human beings do. 
It was too pleasant a morning to row, and after the sun 
was an hour high too warm for much exertion; so we let 
the boat float with the current, dipping a blade now and 
then to keep it in the channel. It was ten o'clock when 
we arrived at the Brule Bar, and gliding down over the 
riffles we went ashore to stretch our legs and gather a 
few bullberries. It was here, in 1833. that Mr. James 
Kipp established a trading post for the American Fur 
Company. It will be remembered that when George 
Catlin. the Indian artist and philanthropist, visited the 
Upper Missouri in 1832, Mr. Kipp was in charge of the 
company's post in the Mandan village, and that the two 
became great friends. The fort built here did not last 
lon£; the Blackfeet finally succeeding in burning it, with 
all its contents, and murdering a part of its inmates. 
After some search, we found the site of the fort — just 
some long, low. grass-grown mounds of dirt and a few 
fire-cracked rocks where the chimney had stood. While 
Sah-ne-to was gathering the berries. I flushed a covey of 
chickens and got three of them with my repeating shot- 
gun before they could fly out of range. Then we got 
aboard once more and continued our journey. At noon 
we arrived at the mouth of the Marias River, twenty-two 
miles from Fort Benton. This is the stream which Lewis 
and Clark thought was the main fork of the Missouri, 
and which they followed up for some distance until con- 
vinced of their mistake. It is a large stream, draining 
an immense scope of mountain country, its principal 
tributaries being the Cutbank. Two Medicine, Badger. 
Birch and Dupuyer Creeks. All of them rise in the fast- 
nesses of the Rockies, and are fed by the perpetual ice 
and snows of the higher ranges. We landed on a dry. 
sandy bar at the mouth of the river and had lunch, wash- 
ing i't down with long draughts of the cool but slightly 
muddy water. "It is the water of the Two Medicine 
also "" said Sah-ne-to. '.1 wonder when this cupful 
passed by our ranch up there in the foothills. Perhaps 
our son saw these very drops dancing down over the 
riffles at the ford." . 
We rested an hour and then went oil. Passing the 
Spanish Islands Sah-ne-to discovered a flock of green 
wing teal asleep on a bar. I stopped rowing and picked 
up the gun, while she guided tfte boat Straight toward 
them. When within thirty or forty yards of them they 
began to stretch their necks uneasily and waddle down 
to the water's edge. There they took wing, but at the 
crack of the gun five of them dropped into the water and 
were presently picked up. 
At four thirty we came in sight of the "Coal Banks," 
so named on account of some deposits of inferior lignite 
in the bluffs at the lower end of the big bottom. We had 
made forty-two miles since daylight. I remembered that 
on my last trip down the river in April, 1882, we had 
camped for the night in a narrow strip of cottonwood and 
willows, and thither I directed Sah-ne-to to steer the 
boat. We found on landing that we were within the 
bounds of an accursed sheep ranch; but in memory of 
old times I decided to camp there anyhow, and in a few 
minutes the tent was up, a fire going in the sheet iron 
stove, and preparations for a good dinner under way. 
The winter of 1881-2 was the last good season of the 
buffalo robe trade on the Upper Missouri. I had been 
employed by Mr. Joseph Kipp for several years at his 
Carroll trading post. In March of '82 we ran out of 
whisky, and there were thousands of Crees, Blackfeet 
and Bloods camped about us. Every lodge had numbers 
of prime robes .to trade, but our stock of drygoods, 
provisions, red paint and brass jewelry was not what 
they wanted. "Give us fire water," they said, "and you 
get the robes." So 1 went up to Fort Benton overland, 
built a large flat boat, loaded it with twenty barrels of 
cheap whisky, and got it down to Carroll as quickly as 
I could. In" less than two weeks after I landed at the 
port we had the robes, all of them. As I remember it, 
there wasn't a single fatal quarrel in the camp during that 
grand spree. It was a sight never to be forgotten, that 
of several thousand Indians, men and women, drinking, 
dancing, singing, and cutting all sorts of queer capers. 
One day some young Crees and Blackfeet did get into 
dispute over the ownership of a bottle of the precious 
spirits and guns and knives were drawn. Then Crow- 
foot, the chief of the Blackfeet, and Big Bear, chief of 
the Crees jumped into the excited circle with rifles 
rocked. "Whoever fights," said Crowfoot, "be it Cree 
or Blackfoot. fights us." "Ai," said Big Bear, he tells 
our minds. Back to your lodges, foolish youths, and be 
ashamed of your hot and idle words." 
They slunk away at once. 
While I sat and mused over those good old times, 
Sah-ne-to had been busy with the dinner, and now she 
announced that it was ready. Broiled breast of chicken, 
baked potatoes, hot biscuits, stewed bullberries, a cup 
of black coffee. I did the meal full justice. Darkness 
had long since settled down over the valley. The stars 
came out, the owls began their nightly concert, a coyote 
ki-yied and yelped on the opposite side of the river. 
There was nothing to disturb our contentment except the 
distant bleating of the accursed sheep. And so, after 
a smoke or two, we went to bed with pleasant anticipa- 
tions oi the wonderful scenery we were to pass through 
on the morrow. Appekunny. 
The Cedars of Lebanon. 
BY EDGAR TVIAGNESS. 
One naturallv imagines the mountains of Lebanon cov- 
ered with the famous cedars, but one does not have to 
travel far in the lonely mountain wastes of Syria to 
realize how improbable this is. Very little of the once 
luxuriant foliage of these fine hills now remains, and ot 
the cedars only a few groups are left, and they are found 
at an altitude of from 5,200 to 6,200 feet above the sea. 
We have only to read in Ezekiel 31 :3 and Psalms xcn.. 
12 and civ., 16, to know how much valued these orna- 
ments of the mountains were in ancient times. There ( 
were no cedars in Israel or Solomon would not have 
brought them from Lebanon (I. Kings v., 6), He was 
supplied also from here for a second temple (Ezra 3:7). 
Earlier David built a palace of cedar (II. Samuel v., 11). 
Cedar was used in shipbuilding (Ezekiel 27:5), and for 
idols (Isaiah xliv.. 14). Theophrastus speaks of it as 
"admirable cedar," Pliny as "cedrus magna." This variety 
belongs to the conifers and resembles larch, but is dis- 
tinguished from it by evergreen leaves, which do not fall 
in winter, and by spreading branches. The cones are as 
large as goose eggs; the wood is white and soft, and 
inferior to the cypress of the Kadisha Valley. _ The only 
place where these cedars grow in any quantity at this 
time is the Cilician Taurus— beyond Mercina and Taurus. 
Here, as at Lebanon, there are two varieties — one dark 
green, with bright green leaves, the other silvery white, 
with leaves of bluish bloom. The cedar of Lebanon is a 
local form of a wider species — that of Himalayah (Cedrus 
deodora) and that of Atlas (Cedrus atlantica) belonging 
to the same family, merely differing in size and habits to 
correspond to locality. The Indian cedar, called in San- 
scrit, wood of the gods, is one of the finest trees in the 
world. It reaches a height of 250 feet and a circumfer- 
ence of 39 feet, about double the size of the Lebanon 
variety. That of Atlas is smaller, its leaves are short and 
cones smaller. The cedar of Lebanon has been intro- 
duced in Europe and does well in the climate of England. 
The specimens in the Jardin des Plantes in Paris came 
from seeds planted by Turnefort at the beginning of the 
eighteenth century. They are the oldest trees in Europe, 
but not so tall as the one near Geneva, which is 120 feet 
high. , , 
The group of cedars of Lebanon generally visited covers 
an estimated area of ten acres, and they are located at 
the foot of Dahr el Kodib — a snowy peak of about 6,360 
feet elevation. To the west and opposite rises the peak of 
Fum el Mizab. The group has 300 trees, and the tallest 
is not more than 80 feet high. They grow in white lime- 
stone rock. The oldest trees, nine in number, are on the 
southeast point. In the midst of the northwest group is a 
Maronite chapel, and to the north of this stands the 
largest cedar. The group is now surrounded by a wall as 
I a protection against the goats and also against the peasants 
: who were accustomed to hold a great festival here in 
' \ August. 
1 * c 
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