6 
wofids and clean sport, "Here's to you and all your 
family ; may you live long and prosper !" 
Horace Kephart. 
_ [Prettily said ; but meager consolation for the New 
York contingent, to whom the annual meeting of the Mis- 
sissippi River Commission means by virtue of established 
precedent the coming of Coahoma to the Borough of 
Manhattan.] 
— ^ — 
Montana's Buffalo. 
The Pablo-AIIajfd Hctd, 
The Origin of the Herd, 
Browning^ Mont., April 30. — Editor Forest and Stream: 
In the year 1877 1 was located on the Marias River and 
engaged in the Indian trade. 
A few miles above me, at Willow Rounds, Col. Ctilbert- 
son, of the American Fur Company, had a winter trad- 
ing post; below me a wandering trader was located. 
This part of the river was a favorite winter hunting 
ground for the Blackfeet, There was good grass and a 
variety of we.eds for buffalo horses. The river bottom 
was well timbered, which furnished plenty of fuel and 
shelter. The high, level prairie to the north was a favor- 
ite winter range of the buffalo. The Marias was the 
main watering ground for all game between it and Milk 
River, one hundred miles to the northward. 
Close by, and on the north side of the river, some three 
miles below me, was the great medicine rock of the 
Blackfeet. All war parties paid tribute to it as they 
passed. They placed articles of value upon it, and painted 
it, praying that they might be successful in war. The 
mothers of families here made offerings of valuables, with 
prayers to this medicine rock for the recovery of their 
children in case of sickness, or asked that the unborn 
child might be a man. Here, in the .spring after the win- 
ter's hunt was over, was the general point of gathering; 
here passed the summer route of travel. At that time the 
soldier lodge was held, and laws and rules laid down 
for governing the summer's hunt, for friendly visits, and 
for war also ; to protect their range and country from 
invasion by other tribes. Here they jpurncyed on their 
way to the summer hunting ground' in the Cypress Hill 
far to the north. The historian of the future, when writ- 
ing of the Blackfeet, with an abler pen than mine, will 
find interesting material in this country. 
There were three trading posts in this favorably located 
country. I was called by the Indians The Man in the 
Middle, for the reason that I was between the other two. 
My post was called Ft. Custer, All foreign Indians gave 
mc the preference in trade, for the reason I gave them 
the same tail and trade I gave my own people. 
Among the Indians who traded with me that winter 
were the Sarcees and Stonies, from the far north; the 
Blackfeet proper, the Kootenais and Klamaths, from_ to- 
ward the Coast; the Nez Perces, Gros Ventres, Assina- 
boines, Pend d'Oreilles and one family of Crows. All 
tribes were in sympathv with each other, through the 
effects of the Nez Perce war. This was what brought 
these strange trade conditions about. I sold one Klamath 
twelve dozen buffalo tongues at $4 per dozen, as well as 
a number of fine robes. In his country there were no 
buffalo. 
Among the Pend d'Oreille Indians who made up the 
bunting party from across the mountains, was an ambi- 
tious, bright, middle-aged man— of the warrior class, but 
not a chief — whose Christian name was Sam. He was 
known to the Blackfeet as Short Coyote. He was a typical 
Pend d'Oreille, with the economical turn of those Indians 
as gathered from their early Chri.stian instructors. Fathers 
De Smet and Ravalli. I often met Sam in the way of 
trade, and he indicated more than ordinary friendship for 
me, caused perhaps by my fairness in trade. My inter- 
preter for the Blackfeet was a three-quarter blood Black- 
foot, Baptiste Champaigne. His father was the noted 
Michel Champaigne, trader and interpreter for the Amer- 
ican Fur Company. 
Baptiste's wife was a sister of Yellow Wolf, a Blackfoot 
warrif r, still living here. She had a niece whose name 
was Mi-sum-mi-mo-na, and who being rather a comely 
girl, had attracted the attention of Sam. The Pend 
d'Oreille Sam made propositions to her kinsfolk. Yellow 
Wolf, Champaigne and his wife that he be permitted to 
marry Mi-sum-mi-mo-na, and offered for her sixteen head 
of good horses. The offer being very tempting, she be- 
came his wife. A short time afterward Baptiste gave me 
the story of the affair. I told him very frankly that he 
had made a mistake. He asked my reasons. I said to 
him : "You are a strong Catholic and j'^our Church does 
not permit polygamous marriages." 
By the rules and laws regulating marriage among the 
Pend d'Oreilles, Sam was punishable by both fine and 
flogging. This punishment is carried out by the soldier 
band of the Pend d'Oreilles. Bapti-Ste was worried over 
my view of the marriage. Sam's Pend d'Oreille wife 
was very much opposed to his second marriage, and ap- 
pealed to me to talk with him and tell him that he must 
not go crazy, that the P^nd d'Oreilles were taught to 
have but one wife, while the Blackfeet could have any 
number they could buy and support. " 
In course of time Sam's first wife made so many ob- 
jections, and so continually quarreled with him over his 
•second marriage, that there was no peace in the family. 
By early spring (1878) feeling had rifen to such a condi- 
tion that Sam shot and wounded his first Avife. It was a 
flesh wound in the shoulder. She was still assertmg the 
rights of Christian marriage. She showed great love and 
affection for Sam. which he did not appreciate or recipro- 
cate. Conditions were such that the Blackfoot wife, 
thou<^h fond of excitement and war, could not endure the 
continual strife, and found life in Sam's lodge unbear- 
When Baptiste spoke to me about his niece's troubles, I 
informed him that from an Indian point of view she was 
simply a piece of merchandise, sold for value received, 
and his interference woyld not be permitted. To Baptiste 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
affairs now assumed a serious turn, as he feared for the 
life of his niece. 
In the course of a few days, Sam, whom I had not seen 
for some time, called on me. I found him in the condi- 
tion called by the Indians, "my heart is bad." He had 
his gun out of its cover and his blanket off. This in an 
Indian means war. I noted at once that there was a 
crisis in his affairs, and I signed him to sit down. I sat 
down beside him, knowing that if he wanted to make a 
gun play, which I apprehended from his actions, I would 
be close to him, and could close with him and give him an 
even showdown for the gun. I reasoned with him in the 
sign language, reminding him that he was alone among 
the Blackfeet, his people all having gone back home 
across the mountains. I told him he had made a mis- 
take, but there was time yet for him to make it right, and 
advised him to come back in two days and I would tell 
him what I thought best. What I wanted was time, for a 
M'ild Indian in his war paint, mad and wanting to kill 
some one, is a bad customer to argue with. Sam departed 
without ceremony. He was faithful to my request and re- 
turned in two . days' time. 
In the meantime I had a talk with my interpreter, 
Champaigne. I found he had counseled with his wife and 
had advocated a separation of his niece and Sam. This 
fact had been communicated to Sam, and led him, in his 
now desperate frame of mind, tO' desire to kill Cham- 
paigne, and this was the object of his visit to my store. 
When Sam returned I found him in a somewhat bet- 
ter frame of mind. I said to him, "When do you cross 
t*he mountains to your people?" He informed me that he 
was lonesome, and wanted to go, but he feared he would 
be ptxnished by the fathers of St. Ignatius Mission. He 
had been married at this mission in the Flathead Valley. 
I carefully went over his affairs and impressed en him 
the fact that he had violated the law of his people. Niiw 
he must be careful and keep out of farther tremble. I 
thought there was still a chance to make i)oacc with llic 
soldier band of his tribe by getting a pardon through (he 
fathers. To that end I would assist him by giving him 
a letter to Father Ravalli, stating that he (Sam) was 
not a drunken or lazy Indian. I also suggested that in 
connection with my letter he make a peace offering to the 
fathers, in the hope it would lighten the punishment for 
marrying the Blackfoot woman. He told me he had 
nothing to give, and he could not stop the punishment, 
which I found he dreaded very much. I then suggested 
that as he was a good hunter, an expert horseman, and 
could handle a lasso well, he rope some buffalo calves 
— now nearly a year old — hobble them and keep them with 
my milch cows. He could use my corrals until they were 
gentle, he could then drive them across the mountains 
by the Cadotte Pass, and give them as a peace offering 
to the fathers at the mission. He looked at me in sur- 
prise and doubt. I then showed him that as there were 
no buffalo in the Flathead country, I thought the fathers 
would appreciate the gift. He at once said he would 
try my plan. I encouraged him to go to work at once, 
and soon saw him arranging for a hunting trip. 
Next day I made a visit to his lodge and found him 
and his Pend d'Oreille wife hard at work, and both in 
r> very pleasant humor. I asked in the sign language of 
the wife, "Where is the Blackfoot woman?" She in- 
formed me in a very serious manner that when the Black- 
feet had broken camp, her people had taken her away. I 
then asked her to help Sam all she could. She smiled 
and said she would. I asked Sam, "When will you be 
ready for your trip?" He answered, "In two sleeps." 
In answer to my inquiries as to how he proposed to 
handle the buffalo, he told me he would catch the young 
buffalo ; he would then picket each by one leg at the place 
where he caught it. He would then take a blanket,_ peg 
it down at the ground at the outer limit of the picket 
line. I asked him why he did this. He replied it would 
attract the buffalo's attention and keep him quiet; by 
smelling the blanket it would become accustomed to the 
smell of man, and would not be alarmed at his approach. 
He would catch and handle two at one time on the prairie. 
They woidd then be driven in and kept wijth the inilch 
cows, 
Sam was successful on his first hunt and soon drove in 
two fine calves, then, April, 1878, nearly yearling buffalo— 
a heifer and a bull. The heifer was loose, the bull side- 
hobbled. The milch cows did not take kindly to the 
buffalo, but the buffalo persisted in being friendly. They 
finally made friends, for after a while the cows ceased to 
regard them as a curiositj', and seemed to enjoy their 
presence. Sam rested a fcAV days after his first trip, his 
Avife joining him in telling me the story of the wild chase 
and the fierce struggles with their captives. The hunt was 
far away, as the buffalo were already working to the 
summer range on the Saskatchewan. This would now 
cause some change in his plans. Being alone, he was 
afraid of the enemy— the Indians of the North. He 
would only risk one more hunt, and informed me I could 
look for him in eight sleeps. If he did not return then, he 
had been attacked by some war party. In that event he 
hoped I would make some effort to look him up. When 
I got up the next morning Sam was gone. 
True to his promise, he returned at the end of eight 
days with five young buffalo — two bulls and three heifers. 
Each buffalo was head and foot hobbled; the head and 
front foot tied together, with a skin strap two feet long. 
Each bull was dragging a long lariat, so as to be easily 
caught for night picketing. Sam was well pleased to find 
the first two buffalo so contented with the domestic' cows. 
The milch cows objected as before, but the new arrivals 
took kindly to their new-found friends. Sam told me 
they had met with no accident. He had worked hard- 
like a white man, as he expressed it— the rope skinning 
his hands many times. One could never tell when a 
buffalo would jump for liberty. He told me of killing 
one heifer, which he would have liked to save. She had 
a very fine, bright coat. In a hard chase along the side of 
a steep coulee, he singled her out of a bunch of cows. He 
threw his rope, and the noose settled on her neck. His 
horse, a powerful roan, settled for the shock. In snub- 
bing, he gave her too miich rope, and in the fall, which 
came an instant later, this fine heifer's neck was broken. 
His wife advised him to quit now. They already had 
fi.ve on the last hunt, and she did not like the signs brought 
out by the death of this fine animal. She said to him, 
"This means we must stop." 
Satn herded his buffalo with the milk Stock for live 
tSvvr s, 1902. 
m t 
days, resting and making arrangements for his trip across 
the mountains. He was feeling satisfied with his work, 
and hopeful that his peace offering would be accepted. He i 
told me of his route of travel, and that he would be fifteen ' 
sleeps on the way home. Taking a small memorandum | 
book from a parfleche, he showed me where he had six; ■ 
straight marks and then a cross for Sunday. He told me 
he did not want to start on his trip home on Sunday, and j 
wished to know the day of the week, as he had lost his 
reckoning. I put him right, and he said he would start 
on the following Monday. 
His bttffalo were doing well, and were becoming quite I 
docile. All preparations were made for his departure, and 
he talked hopefully of getting safely across the mountains. 
He always impressed me as being an Indian of marked 
determination, and at no time did it occur to me that he 
would not succeed in his effort. 1 
On Monday he bade me a cordial good-bye, passing out, 
his wife and pack horses in the lead. They had discarded 
the travois with which they usually traveled, saying they 
could handle the buffalo better with her as a rider. Sam 
brought up the rear, the buft'alo following the pack horses. 
The three bulls were head and foot hobbled, the four 
heifers loose; seven head in all is my recollection of the 
bunch. 
Of the trip to the Teton River, to the Sun River, to ■ 
the Dearborn and up that stream to the Cadotte Pass I have 
heard no word; of the crossing of these streams at this 
season, of the trip over the main range, down the Black- 
foot River, all trace is probably forever lost. Through 
Indian sources I afterward learned that on the way over 
by some accident one bull became disabled and died. Sam 
arrived safely in the Flathead without further accident to , 
the other buffalo. I also afterward" learned, through In- 
dian sources, that immediately upon his arrival upon the ' 
i cscrvation he was arrested and severely flogged, by order ' 
of the soldier band of his own tribe of Indians. As I 
understand the story, Sam had no time or opportunity to 
meet the fathers and tender his peace offering. 
In course of time I heard of Sam's death, not in battle 
as a warrior, but passing away peacefully in. his lodge 
ur cabin. His wife followed him some time after. 
Chas. Aubrey. ^ 
Samuelt the Pend d'Oreille. , 
From Pablo and his wife I learned that Sam returned; 
to the Flathead about 1878. He brought with him five or 
six buffalo. They knew nothing of the flogging that Mr;. 
Aubrey tells of, or perhaps had not noticed it in those 
busy times, as they have always been workers, rather tham 
gossipers and visitors. 
Sam ranged his buffalo ten miles below the St. Ignatius: 
Mission, between Crow and Post Creek. Little is knowtn 
of his life by Pablo. 
In 1882 or '83 Michel Pablo and Chas. Allarcl bought: 
the buffalo of Sam. There were fourteen head', but the.' 
number of bulls and females could not be remerfibered.. 
There was still a considerable number of buffalo on the 
plains, and they did not possess the interest they now 
have, Sam lived on Crow Creek until 1886, and died iim 
that year. He left a few head of horses and vevf little 
property. His wife, who made so much trouble on the 
plains, afterward married a mixed blood named Alex 
Finlay. Sam died a good Christian, and his regard for 
Christian teachings saved the buffalo. The widow died 
last year. If she had been living 1 should have found 
her at all cost. 
It is to be hoped that some one else may find out some- 
thing about Sam's life. I am done. 
J, B. Monroe, 
Dick's Fatal Fourth. 
This same Dick has already been honored with con- 
siderable space in Forest and Stream on three separate 
occasions, namely — May 9, 1896; Jan. 22, 1898, and July 
7, 1900; a final word regarding him seems, therefore, 
not out of place, after a brief allusion to his career. 
While yet a fledgling, this sparrow was saved from a 
cat's maw, carried to a place of safety and "brought up 
by hand." He soon manifested interesting traits and 
became a source of study and amusement. Among 
other accomplishments he learned to sing from hearing 
a guitar; he also used a vocabulary of his own tribe, 
comprising about a dozen distinct sounds, each having 
dift'erent meaning. When Dick was rather more than' 
a year old, his Loulou appeared upon the scene, she 
Iseing nearly a year younger than he was. Thenceforth, 
the two shared a very spacious cage provided with 
three apartments, also having the freedom of a good- 
sized room. 
Loulou became a better singer than Dick, who coitrted 
her assiduously for two years before she condescended: 
to reciprocate. During four springs Loulou made an 
attempt at having a family, but Dick broke the first 
three eggs, laid on consecutive mornings, and all the 
others lacked hard shells. Loulou's final endeavor to' 
raise a family resulted in her death, over which Dick, 
grieved immoderately for more than a year, in spite of^ 
a change of cage and other measures adopted to en-| 
able him to forget. Every ddy he grew worse and 
worse in temper, until his presence became a trial, and 
it was impossible to make him happy or even good- 
natured. At last this feathered foundling met his fate 
on the, for him, disastrous Jtily 4> 1901; and it was part- 
ly due to fire-crackers; not that these set his feathers 
ablaze, for he was nowhere near them, but because the 
noise of the fireworks brought his., friends to the verge 
of frenzy, which made them less tolerant Avith the bird 
and resulted in his being set at liberty, and, it is sup- 
posed, perishing in consequence, he having, had no ex- 
perience in earning a living out in the Avide Avorld. A 
dozen sparrow pensioners were playing about Dick's' 
cage, and as he ceaselessly repeated his monotone of 
discontent, the cage was opened for him to come forth 
and join the other birds, the hope being that he might 
feel happier; but he did not even come out._ I there- 
fore took him in 'my hand and talked to him, telling 
him he might go if he liked to do so. He pecked my 
finger very spitefully and I set him down on the window- 
sill. Instead of going among the birds Avho were al- 
ways around his cage and with whom he was familiar,' 
he flew upward and to the northwest, and was out ol 
