142 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Feb, 22, TQ02. 
Floating on the Missouri. — II. 
We were brought back from the land of dreams by the 
keen whistle and beat of wings. Numerous flocks of 
water fowl were faring up and down the river — ducks 
principally, yet not a few gray geese were also passing, 
and their honking was most pleasant to hear. It was 
half-past four. I arose and lit the lantern, and then 
stuffing the stove with cottonwood bark had its top and 
sides glowing hot in no time. It did not take . Sah-ne-to 
long to prepare breakfast. Broiled teal, fried potatoes, 
hot biscuits and strong, fragrant coffee furnished us an 
ample and satisfying meal. 
We had everything packed and stowed away in the 
Good Shield at daybreak. There had been a heavy 
frost during the night, and thin wisps of fog were rising 
from the water. There was not enough, however, to 
obscure a glimpse now and then of the channel, so we 
pushed out into the stream and bent to the oars. From 
the Coal Banks to the mouth of Little Sandy Creek, about 
five miles, the course of the river is almost due north; 
then it turns to the east again. As we were passing 
the creek Sah-ne-to sighted a flock of geese sitting on 
the lower point of an island opposite it "Stop rowing," 
she said. "There are some whitenecks." 
But even as she spoke they began to honk and rose from 
the shore, flying away down the river. Then they turned 
and came back, mounting higher and higher as they ap- 
proached. They were probably eighty yards distant when 
directly over us, but I chanced a shot and was somewhat 
surprised to see one come tumbling and whirling down 
and strike the water with a splash that sent it high in 
fine spray. We held the boat back and waited for the 
fowl to drift down to us, and then drew it aboard. It 
was a young one and extremely plump. 
Five miles below the Little Sandy we came to the first 
of the remarkable formations which the old river during 
countless years has gradually exposed to view. Here in 
the center of a wide level bottom stands the Haystack 
Butte, round, jagged, of dark volcanic rock and several 
hundred feet in height. Its sides are perpendicular for a 
part of the way, and then slope up to a sharp point. It is 
an odd sight, the lone butte standing there on the level 
plain. Away to the north of it and across the river to 
the south the bluffs are of white sandstone and blue 
clay; no rock of its character being anywhere in sight. 
As seen from the river, it is doubtful if it could be 
climbed. The eagles seem to think it a safe place to 
rear their young and nest upon it every season. As we 
passed we saw a couple of the birds soaring above it. 
Not far below Haystack Butte the valley becomes much 
narrower. The wide bottoms disappear and from either 
shore there is a steep ascent to the foot of the bluffs or 
cliffs. These are of sandstone of varying degrees of 
density, and in color passing from brown to dazzling 
white. Some of it is so soft that the rains and melted 
snow have fluted and carved it with all the precision of a 
sculptors' chisel. Here and there along these cliffs, some- 
times in groups of from dozens to hundreds, and of vari- 
ous heights, stand slender columns of sandstone, capped 
by circular pieces of a dark and harder variety, giant 
mushrooms of stone. And again all sorts of fantastic 
shapes come in view, which my poor pen is utterly unable 
to describe. With the camera I tried to catch some of the 
remarkable features of the valley, but the distances were 
too great. Nothing but canvas and colors, the touch of 
a great artist, could faithfully portray them. 
Along through the canon, as it may aptly be termed, 
the river flows very swiftly. In a short time we arrived 
at the mouth of Eagle Creek, fourteen miles from our 
starting point in the morning. Just below" here stands 
a thin wall of rock, rising from the water's edge straight 
up for several hundred feet and running back north- 
ward until merged in sandstone bluff. The wall is built 
up, layer upon layer, of blocks of the stone of unvarying 
width and thickness, but of different lengths, which, singu- 
larly enough, always overlap, so that no interstice is 
more than the height of the block. On the opposite 
side of the river the continuation of the wall can be seen, 
jutting from the southern bluff. How long has it taken 
the old river to teaj: the half -mile" gap in it? 
Sah-ne-to said that this great wall was built by Old 
Man when he. made the world. I objected to her theory 
on the ground that no man could have lifted the massive 
blocks. 
"Just by jumping," she replied, "he made the backbone 
of the world (the Rockies). Why, then, had he not 
the power to lift those rocks?" 
I answered not. Surely it was no more of a fable than 
certain others we wot of: the rock, for instance, that 
gushed water upon the blow of a certain ancient in- 
dividual's staff. 
The river flows by the great wall with a sullen roar, 
battling with and wearing against some great bowlders 
which impede its course. It is a deceptive stream, this 
old Missouri, generally so silent in its flowing toward 
the sea that one would think it had no life. But where a 
"ock or snag impedes its course there is a hissing and 
roaring and foaming of water which tell of its power and 
haste. And then on its bosom there is a constant up- 
heaving and sucking swirling which explains only too 
well the reason why the best of swimmers fear to breast 
its tide; the undertow seizes them and claims them for 
its own. The drowning man in this stream does not rise 
twice or thrice before he finally succumbs. Once drawn 
beneath the surface his body will only reappear long after 
death and miles and miles below the scene of the accident, 
where it may be found cast up on a bar and half-buried 
in sand. Years ago, one such victim of the river we 
found, left by the receding waters on a shelving bank, a 
swollen and shapeless form. We fastened some rocks 
about its waist with willow withes and consigned it to 
the depths. Who he was, how he met his fate, we 
never learned. 
For some miles below Eagle Creek there are many 
narrow walls of the volcanic rock protruding from the 
clay and sandstone formation, some of them rising from 
the water's edge. Nearly all of them run due north and 
south, but in one ^place a double wall nearly encircles 
a hill, for all the world Hke the walls of an ancient city. 
Another hour of lazy drifting brought us to Kipp's 
Rapids, named after that intrepid successor of Lewis 
V. Clark, who established the American Fur Company's 
post at the mouth of the Marias in 1833- Here on his 
voyage up the river with his long, deep "keel" boat, he 
found the water so shallow that he was obliged to make 
a portage of the cargoes. The water could not have been 
lower then than it was when we went over the riffles, for 
we bumped the gravel several times, and the boat drew 
only eleven inches. I fancied I could see those sturdy 
cordelliers bending, straining, tugging on the long rope 
with which they drew their heavily laden boat against the 
swift current. Here, waist and even neck deep in the cold 
water, there wading over a bed of quicksand or mud, and 
again forcing their way through a. tangle of willows and 
prickly rose brush, they toiled early and late. The 
rough rope chafed sores on their shoulders, which formed 
into hard calluses and cracked and bled every morning. 
Their feet were blistered by the water and sand. At 
night they gathered around the fire and dried their clothes 
while they eat their simple meal of meat and tea. Then, re- 
treating into the Avillows or sage brush away from the 
decaying flames of the fire, they lay down to sleep, their 
freshly primed flintlocks by their side, hoping no sneaking 
war party would disturb them. But there was a bright 
side to their life ; It was not always a battle against 
the swift current* of the river. There were the happy 
days in the winter; the excitement of the chase, the 
pleasant evenings in their warm quarters in the post. 
And then in the spring the long, delightful sail of 3,000 
miles down to St. Louis, the meeting with friends and 
sweethearts, and the grand carouse. What would we 
dilettanti hunters of to-day not give to see the valley of 
the Missouri, teeming with game as it did, countless 
herds of buffalo, elk and deer; bands of antelope and 
sheep, droves of wolves and everywhere the grizzlies, 
singlv, in twos and threes and dozens. Oh, theirs was 
the life! 
Just below Kipp's Rapids, on the north side, is a dark 
cliff jutting out from the river of "the valley, named 
Eagle Rock, At the very top of it Sah-ne-to discovered 
something which she was sure she saw move slightly. I 
got out the glass and found that it was a lone bighorn, a 
ram, standing at the verge of the precipice watching us 
and occasionally stamping with..his forefeet. And there 
he stood until we passed out of sight. Two miles from 
the rapids we passed Citadel Bluff, also on the north 
side of the river. It is at least a quarter of a mile long, 
and its summit looks for all the world like the pictures 
one sees of fortresses of the Middle Ages. One could 
well imagine it swarming with armored men, bristling 
with gleaming pikes and spears. We drifted along by 
with the current enjoying the view of it from different 
points, and meanwhile I told Sah-ne-to of the ancient 
fortresses it resembled, and of the men of those times 
who were shirts of mail, helmets of steel and whose 
weapons were the bow and arrow, spears and swords. 
"How silly they were," she said. "Men cannot fight 
weighted down with a mass of iron; the battle belongs 
to the agile and swift of foot." 
Rounding a bend we came in sight of Cathedral Rock, 
a dark upheaval of volcanic rock on the south side, rising 
straight up from the water to the height of several hun- 
dred feet. The side facing the river terminates in a slen- 
der spire, and from the base of this the formation runs 
back toward the bluff, like the roof of a church. We 
passed close under its ice-scarred wall, the slow eddy- 
ing and swirling of the water there indicating great 
depth. 
"Surely," said Sah-ne-to, "some of the water people 
must live down there; they love the deep, still places." 
Half a mile further on we came to a thin strip of cot- 
tonwood and willow, service and bullberry brush fring- 
ing the shore; just back of it there was a narrow, level 
strip of grass land at the foot of the steep rise of the 
hills. "Why not camp?" Sah-ne-to asked. And nothing 
loth, although the sun was still an hour high, I pulled 
in to the shelving bank. We soon had the tent up on the 
level strip of grass, and everything made snug for the 
night. Then, taking my rifle I struck up an old game 
trail, which ran along the comb of a ridge up toward 
the far-away level of the plain. It was a deep old trail, 
sunk far below the level of the ground by the countless- 
feet of buffalo, elk, and deer which had traversed it in 
years gone by. I was not a little pleased to find that it 
was still used by the wild creatures of the valley. Here 
were numerous tracks of the coyote and wolf, and among 
them the fresh footprints of some mountain sheep — ewes 
and their young — and the long, tapering impressions of a 
buck mule deer's hoofs. If I could only get you, old 
fellow, I thought, how pleased Sah-ne-to would be. Ever 
since leaving home she had been wishing for some ni-tap- 
i-wak-sin. which, in plain English, means real food. 
Birds and such like she could eat, but meat, real fresh, 
was Avhat she wanted. So I sprinted up the steep ridge 
after that deer, stopping now and then to get my breath 
and at the same time admire the wonderful view of val- 
ley, and winding river, sculptured cliffs and pinnacles 
spread out on either hand. Up and up, past deep cut 
barren coulees, past clumps of juniper and groves of 
stunted pine, and ever the tracks of the Ibig buck were 
before me, enticing me on into the sunset and descending 
shades of the night. At last I was obliged to turn back, 
for the waning light no longer afforded a clear view of 
the rifle sights. How I ran down that ridge. The ground 
was soft, and jump as I would, I felt no jar. It seemed 
but a few moments until I came in sight of the tent, glow- 
ing like a pale opal from the light within. And then I 
caught the appetizing odor of fried chicken, coffee and 
other good things. As I sat down on the edge of our 
couch, Indian fashion, and the good cook set them before 
me. I thanked my stars that yet, even in this late day, 
there was a place left where one could get away from the 
discordant sounds of civilization — even the lowing of 
cattle — where nature had ever reigned supreme. And 
then, after the satisfying smoke, we lay down on the rest- 
ful couch and went to sleep, serenaded by the coyotes and 
wolves far up in the breaks. Long may they escape the 
deadly poisons and traps of men. 
Again we were afloat at daybreak. A warm west wind 
had blown during the night, and there was no fog. When 
the sun arose above the horizon, gilding the white bluffs 
and time-worn sandstones^ of the valley's rim, we thought 
we had never beheld a fairer or more weird piece of na- 
ture's handiwork. Sah-ne-to was moved to tears, I 
know not what was her simple prayer to the rising king 
of day — yes, I know ; but why repeat her earnest supplica- 
tions to her god ? Who knows but what they were of as 
much avail as those of the Christian to his unseen God? 
The Hole in the Wall ! Never a traveler on the upper 
Missouri but remembers that wonderfully thin, high wall 
of sandstone. From the top of a high ridge it juts 
straight out over the valley and then drops straight down, 
hundreds of feet, to the level of the plain. Some fifty feet 
back from its fall, and perhaps twenty from its crest, 
some blocks of the stone have dropped out, leaving an 
oblong, jagged hole.- When we came in sight of it, for 
a moment the sun shone through it, illuminating a bit of 
hill and river with an intense light, and leaving all the 
rest of the valley in dark shadows. No travelers were 
more careful to record the physical aspect of the country 
they passed through, than were Lewis and Clark, yet I find 
no mention of this remarkable freak of nature" in their 
journal. Perhaps in their time it was a solid wall. 
There were numerous flocks of Canada geese along 
the river this morning. From every bar and island point 
they arose ahead of us with a din of honks that echoed 
from bluff to bluff in the still morning air. I had many 
opportunities to go ashore and creep upon them, sheltered 
by high banks and growth of willow, but we had one fat 
one in the boat, and that was sufficient for our needs. 
For an hour or more after starting, we saw many flocks 
of chickens — sharptails, of course — coming to the river's 
edge for their morning drink. Once there there were a 
number of them running about among a flock of geese, 
the two species apparently paying no attention to each 
other. As a rule, the chickens came to water but once a 
day at this season, spending the rest of the day far back 
at the heads of the coulees. Earlier, in August, Septem- 
ber and October, while the weather is warm, they can 
always be found near the river. I would not dare to 
estimate the number of those birds on the upper river 
from the Coal Banks, say, to old Fort Peck, Along this 
stretch of nearly 300 miles by water, they have never 
been disturbed, and are as plentiful as they were a hun- 
dred, or, for that matter, a thousand years ago. 
From Cathedral Rock the river runs northeast for five 
miles, and then turns sharply to the southeast. Rounding 
the bend, we found a moderate breeze blowing in our 
favor, so I pulled in the oars and hoisted a small, square 
sail of muslin I had brought for just such an occasion. 
Aided by the current, we sped rapidly along through 
a continuation of the wonderful scenery of the day be- 
fore. Here were the Pinnacles, a succession of needle 
points of sandstone, varying from a foot to fifty in 
height. And then we came to Steamboat Rock, a high, 
long, massive butte lying a mile north of the river. 
I never could see its resemblance to a steamer. On both 
sides of it and beyond, far to the north, are a succession 
of odd-shaped buttes and hills typical of this weird coun- 
try. In another hour we came to the Dark Butte, a sharo. 
high mass of brown conglomerate, pumice and clay, rising 
from the river's edge to a height of at least 500 feet. 
Passing here on the steamer Red Cloud in 1880 we espied 
a big mountain ram almost at its summit, curiously look- 
ing down at the boat. One of our party, Eli Guardipee 
knelt down on the deck, and resting his rifle on the rail, 
took a careful aim at the animal before he fired. At the 
report of the gun the ram made one bound straight up in 
the air, fell on its side and then rolling, tumbling, sliding, 
splashed into the river. The steamer was stopped at 
once and the great stern wheel held it back until the ram 
floated alongside, when the deck hands drew it aboard. 
That was a splendid and difficult shot, as the boat was 
making at least twenty miles an hour. If almost any 
other man had made it, I would have thought it a scratch, 
but Eh— well, more of him and his marksmanship later. 
Down past the Dark Butte and around a bend we came 
to Pablos Island, named after an old employe of the 
American Fur Company. The upper part of it is a long, 
wide sand bar, but the lower end has a fine growth of 
tall, slender cottonwoods. Just below it are Pablos 
Rapids. As we came into them I was so absorbed in the 
scenery to the north that I forgot to point out the channel 
to Sah-ne-to, and with a rude bump the Good Shield ran 
hard aground. I put on my waders and finally got her 
out into deeper water, although it was hard work against 
the swift current. From the rapids we had a run of fast 
water to Wolf Island, why and when so named I never 
learned. And then a couple of miles further on we came 
to the mouth of Arrow Creek and landed for lunch, hav- 
ing made sixteen miles since daybreak. 
Arrow Creek rises in the Judith Mountains, and for 
part of its course flows through a deep and narrow val- 
ley, in places a walled canon. At its confluence with the 
Missouri it has formed a wide and beautiful plain, ever 
pushing the old river further and further northward 
against the hills. There is a beautiful grove of timber 
along the edge of the plain skirting the river. Just back 
of it we found the ruins of an old "woodhawk's" and 
hunter's home, half-cabin and half-dugout. Nothing was 
standing except the fireplace and chimney of uncut rock 
At one side of it was a great heap of bones, skulls and 
horns of the buffalo, elk, deer and mountain sheep. It 
was not all work for the old-time "woodhawks." the 
men who supplied the steamers with fuel. Betimes they 
hunted and trapped, and took life easy. Many a pleasant 
evening they spent in front of the old fireplace after a 
long day's work or tramp. Many a tale of adventure they 
told as they watched a great side of fat ribs brown and 
crisp before the glowing coals. 
After lunch Sah-ne-to remarked with rather an ap- 
pealing look, I thought, that she had found some heavily 
laden bushes of bullberries back in the brush. "And vou 
want to gather them?" I asked. "Very well, then, we will 
camp. We will take our time on this trip, even if we get 
frozen in somewhere below." Appekunny 
Ticonderoga Gun Club. 
The second annual dinner of the Ticonderoga Gun 
Club, motto, K. W. Y. A. A. (Know What You Aim 
At), will be held at the New Yale Club, 30 West Forty- 
fourth street. New York city, Friday evening, March 7 
(first week of Sportsman's Show). Hunters will meet in 
the colonial dining hall at 8 o'clock sharp, informally at- 
tired, and will be assigned to their "stands" by the head 
forester. About fifty brethren of the woods and streams 
have promised to attend., Peter Funt^ Secretary 
