'Dec. 6, 1902.] 
FOftfiSt AMD SfH£:AM, 
448 
ake him about six hours ; meanwhile you are left to com- 
pose yourself among your furs in the vehicle, and listen 
0 the moaning winds, and an occasional uncanny, stealthy 
;rceping in the black forests, which will make you ask 
v'ourself with a shudder, "What can it be?" Verily, when 
he isvochik thus goes off, you feel, as never before in 
v'our life, that "he leaves the world to darkness and to 
nie." 
Of your own language, kith or kin, you will meet with 
very few in Russiadom. During the two years of travel 
between the Pacific and Polonia, I only accidentally met 
two such travelers. One was Dun, a mining placerist 
from the Golden Gate; the other, Alexander, a London 
mechanic. Both were rush-across-the-country tourists. 
The Britisher wrote a couple of papers for the London 
Field, entitled "Two Thousand Miles in a Sledge." They 
were stuff — replete with ludicrous errors ! 
The impressions of the rush tourist are naturally un- 
reliable. The most recent errorist is H. Norman, whose 
book, "All the Russias," smacks very much as if the 
author had joined Fontanka kanal's big army of subsi- 
dized foreign official excusists. The publisher thereof 
(Heinman, London) was, it will be remembered, the same 
who marketed and exploited the Landor imposture. 
Sporting Footwear ia Cibiria. 
The Cibiriaks have copied and adopted permanently for 
winter use the Tatar felted camel wool boots. On the dry 
winter snows, they are superb: the soles are also of the 
same felted material, double thick. They are the best in- 
sulators known against cold. But of course they are not 
waterproof, and with the disappearance of winter, they 
disappear too, and are replaced by leather top boots. Rub- 
jers or gum boots are seldom seen in Cibiria, because, 
while keeping out wet, they also keep it in — in the form of 
perspiration, and are icily cold in winter and distressingly 
warm in summer. Rubber, in fact, is such a poor non- 
conductor, that, profiting by experience, I have entirely 
rejected it from present and future outfits for footwear. 
In summer, the Cibiriak sallies forth in leather top 
)00ts, which are provided with extension tops. The poor- 
est of mujiks provide themselves with itchigi (spelt as 
pronounced) — ^a grotesque-looking top boot, dreadfully 
elownish-looking, made of rawhide, painted with tar. For 
a sock, they stuff dried grass inside. For light wear, they 
use bark sandals, but these have no stability — the soles 
going to shreds after a couple of weeks. 
I have run the whole gamut of Cibirian boots — and 
more: had pure cork-sole boots specially made (although 
cautioned not to), and split them like sealing wax within 
ten minutes of putting to a practical test. 
In summer time, the best boot in the world is — no boot 
at all ; in wet and wintry weather, the waterproof leather 
boot "can't be beat" ; but for dry weather lise, the Cibirian 
coarse camel-wool boot is unexcelled. 
The Penns of Cibiria. 
For the projected book of travel in Cibiria, I had penned 
down data on the Penns of Cibiria. As the work, how- 
ever, promises never to juaterialize, unless issued as a suc- 
cessful failure, or economic loss, I might as well condense 
the matter into this paragraph. It will interest Americans, 
and especially Keystone Staters. 
In April, '97, I ran across at Cipoctan (pronounced 
CiroQtan), on the topmost Asiatic slope of the Ural 
divide, a family whose name was spelt in Russian let- 
ters — neiiH. This is pronounced like our own Penn. In- 
quisitive, I began to investigate, and followed up the 
theme till I located the source of the Penns in the town 
of Ekatepinbypr (pronounced Ekaterinburg). From there 
there is a jump of 3,000 miles further into the heart of 
Cibiria — to the stancia of Kokyi, on the za-Baikal, where 
another Penn branch is located. They came to Cibiria 
from Russia less than a hundred years ago, and to Russia 
from the south of Britain, from the old William Penn 
stock of Buckinghamshire. As a boy, in some of my 
earliest vagrant travels, I visited the grave of Quaker 
Penn at Jordans, near Chalfont, in the shire of Bucks— it 
is almost as remote to-day from the madding crowd as it 
was when Penn was interred there nearly 200 years ago. 
The Cibirian Penns are naturally by this time completely 
Russianized. A few speak the French language, as is 
common with all Russians of culture ; only one has a 
definite knowledge of the American language. It is a very 
limited, but sympathetic and laborious family; they do not 
call themselves Christians, but prabo-Qlahni, meaning, lit- 
erally, "verity-faithists" — or "true-faithists." 
Roads a Quarter of a Mile Wide. 
. There are some portions of the S,ooo-mile highway that 
stretches from theAmur to the Vistula that average a quar- 
ter-mile in width. These expansive tracks are only found 
hereabouts, on the za-Baikal. The abnormal width came 
about in this way : Stretches of country are a hard gravel 
soil — so hard, that the road makers made little or no at- 
tempt to even define a made road over it. It was con- 
sidered "good enough." So, not even a track being de- 
fined, the myriads of caravans and coaches which have 
passed over the route every month for a half-century, have 
chosen any part of the hard expanse, and (having broad 
road-making tires) have cut out what must be the broad- 
est natural -made roads known. A dozen tarantases could 
easily race abreast, yet have the amplest latitude. 
Safety of Travel in Cibiria. 
During two years' journeying across Cibiria and 
Russia, never a single molestation from man or beast 
(two minor exceptions). I never once saw a wolf or a 
bear, although some mornings their tracks were visible 
on the fresh snow across the highway where they had 
crossed it from one forest to another. I always had my 
.45 five-shooter ready for an emergency, however; and 
twice had to use it on tlireatening starving wolf dogs. 
1 would let them come near enough, to test their be- 
havior, watch them narrowly, and just as they intended 
to spring, would shoot the foremost point-blank in the 
breast. Thej' fell over without a sound or struggle — 
dead. A fine death! The others, jumping at the report 
and seeing die result, would hurriedly skulk off into the 
forest. 
I had been told some Aveird stories by Russians them- 
selves of escaped criminals, who were ever and anon 
"murdering isolated wayfarers" for their money, especially 
jiear villages. Now, although I traveled, as stated above, 
two years alone — some in the loiiesomest parts of Cibiria 
and Russia — I was never once interrupted. I have seen 
strange characters disappear in the woods, or wait till I 
had passed, but maybe they thought I was myself a 
dangerous brigand, since being alone. Fot it appears 
that among the desperate classes all over the globe, the 
isolated criminal is feared as the most redoubtable, just 
as in tlie animal world the rogue elephant is, in its soli- 
tary life, reckoned the toughest by sportsmen. 
L. LODIAN. 
[to be continued.] 
In Nez Perce Days. 
Kipp, Mont, — Mr. E. W. Buckwalter, or Buck, as he is 
familiarly called, is one of Montana's old timers. He 
crossed the plains in 1803, and since then has had a most 
varied experience, having been at different times a type- 
setter, a miner, a bull-whacker, a merchant, a wood-hawk; , 
he is now a prosperous rancher. 
One evening recently we were talking about the Nez 
Perce war of 1S77, when Buck came in, and some pil- 
grim asked him where he was during that exciting time, 
"Where was I? Well, I'll tell you," he replied. "It 
has always been my luck to get mixed up in any row go- 
ing on ; I walked twenty miles to stumble into that one, 
and for a little while those Indians made things pretty 
lively for us. During the '70s, when steamboating on the 
upper Missouri was at its height, I had a wood yard a 
couple of hundred miles below Fort Benton, at Two Calf 
Island. I was right at the foot of a long stretch of shal- 
low, rapid water, and every steamboat passing up bought 
all the wood of me that could be loaded on, for there was 
never any telling how many hours, or even days, it would 
take to get over the frequent bars. In the fall of the 
year, when the water reached its lowest stage, the bog-ts 
went no further than Cow Island, twenty miles above 
my place, from whence their cargoes were hauled over- 
land hy bull and mule train to Fort Benton. 
"In the month of October, 1877, the river \yas unusually 
low ; I did not think there would be any njore boats up 
that season, so one day, feeling rather lonesome, I thought 
I would >valk up to Cod Island and visit the little de- 
tachment of soldiers and the citizen or two who were in 
charge of the freight left there by the last boats. I sluijg 
my r.ifle over my shoulder and started off on a game trail 
which led along through the bottoms and over the hills. 
It was a pretty wild country in those days and we wood- 
hawks were exposed to no little danger from the war 
parties of different tribes who were continually prowling 
along the river in search of scalps and plunder. So I 
kept my ej'es open as I went, and not a deer moved in 
the brush, npr living thing of any kind came intp view 
but what I stopped and made up my mind just what it 
was. Along jn the afternoon I came in sight of Cow 
Island, and \vas surprised to see a large party pf Indians, 
men, women and children, fording the river to the north 
side, and driving a large number pf loose horses before 
them.. I couldn't imagine what tribe it was ; I had heard 
of no movements of the Indians, and so far as I knew 
there were none at open war with the whites. But I had 
long since learned by dear experience that discretion is 
the better part of valor, and I turned to go back. I only 
went a few yg-rds, however, when I saw some Indians 
coming down the ridge on my trail ; there was no alterna- 
tive but to go on, and on I went, walking as fast as I 
could and yet not show indecent haste. All the same 
I was scared. However, I arrived safely at the landing, 
where I found my friend, Mike Foley, who had charge of 
the freight, and Sergeant Briggs and ten soldiers, who 
were guarding it. There were also five tenderfeet, pas- 
sengers on the last boat, who were bound for Helena and 
were waiting for a chance to go on with the next freight 
train. Of course, I couldn't tell them who the Indians 
were. They had begun a small intrenchment when the 
first of the outfit appeared, and by the time I arrived it 
was about complete. I was standing looking at it, when 
we saw a couple of the Indians sneaking up toward the 
freight pile under cover of the river bank. Foley and I 
went out to interview them, and when they saw us com- 
ing they stopped and held their guns ready, half raised, a 
mighty bad sign. When we asked them who they were, 
one of them replied: "'No kum-tux.' a Chinook word 
meaning : I don't understand. 
''Then we knew that they were from the west side of 
the Rockies, for the plains tribes do not speak that jargon 
invented by the Hudson Bay Co. We asked no more 
questions, iDut simply stood and looked them steadily in 
the eyes, and presently they turned and walked slowly 
back down the river. 
"There happened to be a case of Winchester rifles and 
some cartridges among the freight, and under the cir- 
cumstances the sergeant thought he was justified in using 
them ; we carried the boxes into the intrenchment and 
pried off the covers. 
" 'Here,' said the sergeant, 'you tenderfeet may just as 
well understand right now that there's going to be trouble 
in this camp to-night; you've got to put up a good fight 
or die, and the chances are you'll die, anyhow. Everyone 
of you take one of these rifles and a box of cartridges and 
do your best when the time comes.' 
"One big, strapping Irishman, a carpenter by trade, re- 
fused. 'Be jabers," he said, "Oi niver handled wan av 
thim things in me life, an' oim too auld to larn new 
thricks. Jist give me an ax or a good shilalah, an' I'll do 
me share if they do be for makin' a charge.' " 
"About five o'clock a party of the warriors came riding 
toward us; they all had their guns resting handy across 
their saddles. ' When only twenty-five or thirty yards dis- 
tant the sergeant called out that we would fire if they tried 
to come nearer, and they stopped. A fellow who looked 
like a half-breed, who was with the three chiefs, a little 
in front of the rest of the party, called out in broken Eng- 
lish that they wanted to talk, so Foley and I went over 
to hear what they had to s^y. I looked closely at the 
three chiefs while face to face with them, and afterward, 
when I saw their pictures in Harper's Weekly, I knew 
that I had met Chief Joseph, the noted and cunning Nez 
Perce leader, and his bloodthirsty aids. White Bird and 
Looking Glass. First they wanted to know if we had any 
whiskey, and we replied that there wasn't a drop in the 
outfit. Then they wanted some bacon ; we said there was 
none of that either, but that if they were hungry they 
would find thousands of buffalo only three or four miles 
furtlier north, which latter w^as the truth. That news 
seemed to please them and they turned and rode away. 
"The freight pile, some sixty tons of miscellaneous 
goods, including about twenty tons of bacon, was near 
the river bank and directly under a high rocky ridge. The 
earthworks so hastil^r thrown up were some little distance 
from it, but were also overlooked by the ridge. The de- 
fense should have been constructed out in the middle of 
the flat, but when the boys began it they didn't really be- 
lieve that there would be any attack, seeing there were 
women and children in the outfit, and, again, it was their 
duty to remain near the goods they had been sent to pro- 
tect. But shortly after the talk with the Indians, we 
knew for certain what we had begun to suspect, that we 
were in for a fight, for a wood-hawk sneaked in from up 
the river, and told us that a soldier carrying dispatches 
to the Cow Island detachment, had been killed by them 
near his cabin that morning, the Indians taking hi§ hor§e, 
gun, and accoutrements. 
" 'Well, fellows," said the sergeant, 'night is coming on 
and there's no doubt we're in for it. Let's have a bite 
to eat, for fear we never get another chance at the grub 
pile.' " 
"He was a brave man, that soldier, and would have his 
joke no matter what was going on. 
"We all pitched in, when all at once the Indians opened 
fire on us from the ridge, and dropping our meat and hard 
tack, we rushed into the trench. Before we got there one 
of the tenderfeet was shot ; the bullet first tore away one 
of his thumbs, and then striking a rib, glanced along tl^e 
bone for several inches, making a painful but not danger- 
ous wound. He gave an awful screech when he fell, and 
one of his comrades was so badly scared that he droppec} 
his gun, jumped the breastworks, and fled into the wil- 
lows bordering the river. The bullets \yere plucking 
about us like hail, but we ran back to the wounded man 
and carried him into the trench. It's a wonder none qi 
us were hit then. The breastworks were so low, and so 
near the ridge from whence the Indians were shooting, 
tliat it was with the greatest difficulty we kept from ex- 
posing ourselves to the terrible fire. 
"As soon as it was dark the enemy broke into the 
freight pile. They found a few gallons of whiskey, bare- 
ly enough for a drink around, but no ammunition, as yve 
had taken that. There was lots of plunder, howeyer, 
which they carried away, and then they set fire to the 
rest. The burning bacon gave out such a bright flame 
that the whole fiat and the ridge were illuminated, en- 
abling us to see what was going on, as well as affording 
the Indians plenty of light to keep up their accurate fire 
at our breastworks. They kept at it all night long, and 
charged us twice, but each time we drove them back with- 
out any loss on ou.r side. We never knew whether we 
actually killed any of them or not, for each time they car- 
ried their wounded back with them. If we did, the bodies 
were so carefully concealed that they were never found. 
Perhaps they were weighted and cast in the river. 
".A.bout three o'clock in the morning, when the Indians 
made their last charge, I got a bullet through the shoul- 
der which paralyzed my left arm for the time being, and 
as I was of no further use as a fighter, I crawled into a 
hole and covered up with some buffalo robes owned by 
the soldiers. At the edge of the hole, near my head, stood 
a large army mess-box; all the rest of the night I could 
hear the bullets plugging into it, making sieves of the 
tin dishes and cups it contained. After the fight was over 
Ave found that it had been pierced more than two hundred 
times ! It was fully eight o'clock when the Indians ceased 
firing at us and moved away up the flat. Soon after they 
had gone our deserter appeared and said that they had 
been all through the willows during the night, and sev- 
eral times nearly stepped on him. He was awful hungry, 
he said, and would like something to eat. The sergeant 
cursed him roundly for being such a rank coward, and 
then gaA-e him a piece of raw bacon and some hard tack. 
As .soon as he got them safely in his hands, he leaped the 
barrier again and ran toward the river. Just to help him 
along the boys fired a few shots, the bullets plowing up 
the ground on each side and in front of him. Well, 'twas 
laughable to see his antics ; he hollered and srieked, fell 
down and rolled a way, got up and ran, and then rolled 
some more; but all the time held on to his hardtack like 
grim death ; and so he went until he finally disappeared 
in the wiIIov»rs. 
"About an hour after the Indians left us we heard some 
heavy firing up Cow Creek, aind pretty soon Cooper and 
Farmer, with their teamsters, came into camp and said 
that the Indians had captured and burned their wagon 
trains with all the valuable freight they contained, they 
barely escaping with their lives. About the same time a 
\yoodhawk, who had a yard below mine, arrived ; the out- 
fit had burned his cabin and he only got away by taking 
to the willows. He reported a steamboat aground at 
Grand Island, only ten miles below. 
■'As the tenderfoot and I were both suffering from our 
painful \younds, it was decided to take us down to the 
steamer in a skiff owned by Foley. We were about to 
push out into the .stream when some more of the enemy 
appeared on the opposite side of the river, traveling east, 
and we thought it best to remain where we were until 
dark. As soon as night came we started again, and after 
going about a mile heard some horsemen talking English 
on the south shore. They were some Fort Benton volun- 
teers led by Col. Tlges, and were after the Nez Perces. 
Among them were Charlie Rowe, Col. Donnelly, Judge 
Tattan, George Croft, Murray Nicholson and a number 
of others whose names I do not now recall. Louis Cobell 
was their guide. They told us of the awful bloody trail 
the Indians had left behind, of the battle of the Big Hole 
where so many of our soldiers were killed, and we in 
turn gave them what information Ave had, and showed 
them the ford, Avhich they Avere looking for. 
"A little further doAvn the stream Ave were hailed again, 
and Avho should it be but the tenderfoot who had twice 
jumped the breastAvorks. He was still so badly scared that 
he could scarcely speak, and when Ave told him he could get 
aboard he came over the side in such a hurry that the skiff 
nearly capsized. Some one gave him a thump on the head 
Avith an oar and told him to keep still or we A\rould drown 
him. 
"We arrived at fhdt steamboat Avithout further incident. 
The next morning she got off the bar, but the Avater was 
so loAv it took us four days to make the ten miles up to 
Cow Island. Then Ave learned that the Fort Benton men 
had followed the Indians up Cow Creek until they found 
