2 
rOREST AND STREAM. 
TJan. 7, 1905. 
The Swength of the Hills. 
There's a bird in the loom to-day, 
And a song in the shuttle, too; 
There's a glimmering scene in the bales of wool 
Of the sheep on the slopes, and the heart is full, 
But the rosy days are the few. 
There's a cast in the breeze to-day 
Of the violets sweet in the bloom ; 
And the yearning heart feels the strength of the hills, 
But turns with a will to the door of the mills. 
For another day at the loom.' 
There's a bond to the woods to-day, 
And a call to the meadows anew; 
But another bond there is that binds 
The willing hand to its work, and finds 
That the drones in the hive are the few. 
There's a joy in the work to-day, 
A delight in the labor to do. 
So the woods and the birds, and the bricks in the wall, 
And the clattering loom agree after all 
That the mouldy daj's are the few. 
J. S. S. 
A Buffalo Hunt with the Comanches 
Each spring and fall up to the year 1879, by which 
tinie the white skin-hunters had killed off the last of the 
buffalo, it was the general custom to send out the Indians 
in a hunt for them. They went out in charge of their 
chiefs, and always had an escort of cavalry with them. 
The size of the escort would be regulated by the Indians 
they went with; if they were Indians who were likely to 
stray up into Kansas or elsewhere and go to raiding 
ranches instead of hunting buffalo, then a troop of 
cavalry, or sometimes half a troop, would be sent with 
them. If they were pretty good Indians, then they might 
get off with a detail of a sergeant and a few men ; but up 
to the time when I went it alone, never less than that. 
The band I had out for two winters could get along 
without being watched at all. This band was never badly 
hurt by the amount of watching that I gave them. I 
knew, if our officers did not, that they needed no watch- 
ing, and "governed myself accordingly," as our officers 
used to tell us, when they started to grind out a_ lot of 
special and general orders for us, the most of which or- 
ders we only paid attention to about as long as the officer 
giving them happened to be around. 
In 1875 I belonged to a troop of the Tenth Cavalry 
that was stationed at Fort Sill in what was at that time 
the Indian Territory; it is part of Oklahoma now. 
General R. S. Mackenzie, the colonel of our regiment, 
told me, "I want you to go along with a band of Indians 
in their winter hunt. I mean to send you with them by 
yourself." 
"What tribe are they, sir?" 
"The Comanches." 
"Oh, then I'll go anywhere with Comanches, sir._ I 
should not care to go with some of these other tribes 
alone, though." 
"No, I should not care to send you alone with other 
tribes; but I think you can get along with these 
Comanches.' 
Then he told me to take eighteen days' rations and 
plenty of ammunition for hunting purposes. "It will be 
for all winter," he said, "and if you can't get all the 
amunition you want, come to me and report so; I'll see 
that you do get it. And then report to the agent at the 
Wichita agency. Get in there to-day, if you can." 
Going to my first sergeant, I called for a hundred 
rounds of carbine and a hundred of pistol cartridges, "by 
order of General Mackenzie." He told me to get them 
out of the storeroom myself. While at it, as I was issu- 
ing them to myself, I took 150 rounds of pistol car- 
tridges ; I had 50 already ; I would need them all to kill 
buffalo. I carried two Colt's pistols, one of them being 
my own property, the other belonging- to the United 
States. Then going to the quartermaster sergeant I got 
my rations, and he was as liberal with them as I had 
been with ammunition. I needed all of both before I 
got back. Next going to the corral, I got a quiet pack 
mule, one that would follow m/ horse and not have to be 
led. Then putting my saddles on, I was on my way to 
the Wichita in less than an hour. It was thirty-five miles 
away, but I got in there at dark and reported to the 
agent, who told me that my Indians would be down there 
to-morrow to get their rations and a hunting pass. 
' They came in next day, and after a talk got their pass 
g,nd all the rations the agent would issue to the chief or 
sell to him, to be paid for in robes next spring.. Most 
of his rations were got this way. Next we arranged as 
to the length of time we could remain put, I telling the 
Chief to make it five or six months if we could find 
plenty qi buffalo. , ^ ^ , 
"Now' I don't want you to take these Indians out and 
keep them out until l' have to send a troop of cavalry 
after you to bring you in,'? the agent told me. "I don't 
exactly understand the idea of you going with them alone. 
How do you expect to get theia in when you want them 
to come in?" ' . . , 1, t 
"Oh I'll bring them m, sir; don't you worry about 
that The General knows what he is about He sent me, 
■^nt we want to remain out long enough to get plenty of 
meat, and I should suppose that the longer we stayed 
out the better you would be suited. You won't have us 
to feed while we are out, you know." This was one 
reason why the Indians were sent out; their rations 
\vouId never last them the year around, and it would be 
either kill buffalo or starve; and besides if the Indians 
were let hunt a part of the time then they would rest 
contented in the reservation the rest of the time. This 
band was the Penne-Theka — that is, the sugar-eating 
Comanches, when it is boiled down into English. There 
were two bands of them, the one I had now, whose chief 
was named Asa-Hab-Bit, and another band under a sub- 
chief named Tush- Away. He and his band hunted this 
year by themselves. There were nearly a dozen different 
bands of the Comanches. I knew these Indians, and had 
I been given my choice of all the Indians on the reser- 
vation, they were the ones I .should have taken. 
We started for camp, ten miles above on the river, 
but did not get to it until about dark. At daylight next 
morning we began to get ready for the buffalo hunt. 
While one squaw in each lodge cooked breakfast, another 
one took the lodge down, rolled it up and made it ready 
to pack on a pony; then got her packs ready. 
The band had plenty of ponies; the chief had about 
one hundred himself, besides a number of large mules 
and several American horses that he seldom used. At 
eight o'clock we were off, going up along the Wichita 
River. When on the march each squaw drives her ponies 
in a herd by themselves, the families following each other 
in the order in which they first start out each morning. 
The packs are continually coming off, and when they do 
the squaw has to ride the pony down, catch him, then 
fix his pack again, then run the pony in until he over- 
takes his herd; and by this time this or some other pack 
will likely need fixing. The lodge poles are carried on a 
saddle, one end of them tied to it, while the. other end 
trails behind him; and they often get loose and are scat- 
tered all over the country, for the squaws to 
gather up again. ' A pony will run up and step on the 
poles; then the buckskin thong that ■ holds them to the 
saddle gives way, and the squaw, now has another job on 
hand. If this squaw has a baby under two years of age, 
it goes with her strapped in its cradle to her back; if it 
is older, then it is set on a pony, tied there, and let go 
to ride among the pack ponies. When a boy baby is five 
years old, he is given a bow and arrows, and then set 
on a pony, but not tied now, and let go where he pleases.. 
If it is a girl, she follows her mother and helps her. She 
will ride down a pony, catch him, and hold him for her 
mother to pack. The squaw rides astride of the pony, 
and the pony does not live that could throw one of them 
off him. The boys never think of helping their 
mothers or sisters ; all they want to do is to hunt. I have 
known boys of eight or ten years of age who could send 
an arrow through me at fifty yards if they aimed it at 
me; but I was never afraid of being hit whh an arrow 
that was fired by a Comanche boy after they had got to 
know me. On the march this way the chief rides in the 
rear of his whole camp; but if there is danger ahead, 
then he is always to be found out on the flank or away 
ahead of his train. 
When we had marched to-day about twenty miles, still 
along the river, the chief and I started on ahead to look 
for a good camp, and when he had found one to suit him, 
he got off his pony, took off his saddle, threw it down, 
and let the pony go. Then his mules were driven in here, 
and the packs taken off, and his lodge put up just at this 
saddle, the other families camping all around him. As 
soon as the ponies get their packs off, the boys drive 
them a short distance away from camp, and let them go 
to grazing. They will round them up and_ bring them 
in when wanted again, but this is all they will do; or at 
least all they would do then. They did more than this 
for the squaws later on after I had charge of them for a 
while. The squaws now put up their lodges, two of them 
working at each lodge, and they can put up one of the 
big round lodges in ten minutes. Three of the long poles 
are tied together at the upper end, then set up and the 
lower ends drawn out to where the bottom of the lodge 
will come. Then all but one of these other poles are 
set up, their tops leaning against the tops of the first 
three; then the remaining pole is fastened to an upper 
corner of the cloth and the cloth raised up to the top, 
then spread out and pinned down at the bottom all 
around; then this last pole, still fast to the cloth, is 
pinned back so as to open the cloth at the top and leave 
a hole for the smoke to come out at. One squaw now 
takes her short-handled hoe and digs a fire-place in the 
center of the lodge; first she digs out a circle three feet 
across and nearly a foot deep, then digs a smaller one 
inside of it still deeper. Only dry wood is burned here, 
and what smoke is made goes out at this hole at the top. 
While she is doing this, another squaw makes the beds. 
Collecting small brush, she spreads it down, then piles 
the robes and blankets on top of it. If it is the chief's 
lodge, a stake is driven in at the head of his bed, then 
his arms are brought in and hung on it. Another stake 
is driven down in front of his lodge and his shield is 
hung on it. This shield is his flag, and it tells any 
stranger who comes here that this is the chief's lodge. 
There is always an extra bed made in the chief's lodge, 
and it is alwavs at the far side of the lodge, exactly op- 
posite to the door. It is for any guest that the chief may 
have, and is put opposite to the door so that the man 
who may be occupying it can see anyone who may come 
Ip; an4 if §mw eomes, j;Ji^n he c?in 4^end himself, 
No member of the band will ever use this bed, even to sit 
on it, unless the man who is sleeping in it tells him to do 
so._ I occupied it all this winter, and the boys, when the 
chief was not about, would come in and tumble down on 
it alongside of me. Then when the chief would see them 
he would grab a bow to thrash them for it, but I always 
interfered about that time and stopped the whipping. 
No one but the chief ever struck these boys. Their 
fathers_ never corrected them. They did not need much 
correcting, and it would be rather dangerous for a 
stranger to strike them. They ali carried knives, and 
would not be slow about using them, either. A boy was 
never struck with anything but a bow ; it is a disgrace 
to_ be struck with anything else; but a squaw can be hit 
with anything that comes handy- except a bow. She is 
never hit with that ; it would disgrace the bow then. 
After supper to-night I took a walk out to the pony 
herd, and found that these ponies were herding them- 
.selves; there was no guard on. "No," the chief said, "it 
is not needed here now; there are no Cheyennes around. 
When they come, then I will put a guard on. The 
Cheyennes are dogs; they would steal my ponies if I let 
them, but I won't." 
The Comanches hate the Cheyennes, and never mention 
them without adding "the Cheyennes are dogs;" and 
they are about half right; that is about what they are. 
The next morning I saddled up an Indian pony to ride, 
and rode my horse no more this winter, but turned him 
out to be driven along with the ponies and to pick up his 
living among them, and he did it. This horse would get 
his 12 pounds of corn a day at the post if he could eat 
it, and he could, and generally ate some more that I 
stole for him, while out here he would have to live on 
grass ; but I brought him home the following spring look- 
ing about as well as though he had stood in a stable all 
winter. 
I organized a bodyguard for myself this morning, tak- 
ing all the boys that were between ten and sixteen years 
old, and told the chief that we would ride off on his 
flank and watch the country for him. "It is good," he 
said. "You take my boys and make soldiers of them; 
I give them to you." 
We would ride all over the country, shoot everything 
that needed shooting, and once in a while scare up an 
old bachelor buffalo bull that the young bulls had driven 
out of the herd, worry him half to death shooting blunt 
arrows at him, and then let him go. 'I"he Indians would 
not want him ; his hide would be of little use and a dog 
could not eat his meat. We found the wrong bull, though, 
one day, and he started in to do some worrying himself, 
and charged us, and I had finally to shoot him to keep 
him from killing some of us. 
Late this afternoon I and the boys, who were miles 
ahead of the band, came to the north fork of the Red 
River, and here saw our first buffalo, but they were rather 
scarce. There were but few of them here, and I soon 
saw the reason why. The river here is the boundary line 
between Texas and the Territory, and a party of white 
hunters were in camp here with four wagons on the 
Territory side of the river. It was forbidden then for any- 
one but Indians to hunt in the Territory, and 1 rode 
into the camp and told the men that they would have to 
cross to Texas right away. They thought, I suppose, 
that as I had nothing but boys we were not dangerous, 
and told me they were not going to cross, as all the 
buffalo were over here now, and they did not mean to 
leave them here for a party of thieving Indians to shoot. 
"Well, I could take these boys of mine and soon drive 
you across," I told them, "but I don't want to hurt you. 
I thought my telling you would be sufficient." 
Oh, I could bring my boys on, they told me; they 
would risk my hurting them. "If you stop here an hour 
or so longer," I said, "I will see who gets hurt, and it won't 
be me." 
Then calling my boys out (they were prowling around 
among the wagons looking for a chance to lift some- 
thing), I started back toward the camp that was coming 
on here. When 1 met it I went to the chief and telling 
him that white men were in his country, asked him for 
some of his men with their guns. He called up six and 
asked if they were enoufrh. 
"Yes," I tcld him. "Now tell them to do as I say." 
"Thev do what you tell them," he said, "just the same 
as I tefl them." 
Taking my men I went back on the gallop. "Now," 
I said, "I'll just give you ten minutes to get across that 
river. If you are here at the end of that time I'll take 
you in to Fort Gill under guard. There are no boys 
here now, are there?" 
At the end of ten minutes they had hooked up and 
were crossing. They knew what would happen if I took 
them to Sill, as I would have done had they not left in a 
hurry. The Indians came up now and went into camp, 
while the men and boys and I went after what buffalo the 
white men had left us, but these were very few. These 
men had shot a few and scared off a good many more 
than they shot. That was why I did not want them here 
nor where they were now, either; but they were in Texas 
now and beyond my jurisdiction. 
The chief said to-night that the buffalo were not plenty 
enough here; he wanted to go into the white man's 
country. "It is the white man's country new ; it was 
mine once," he said. I had been told before I had left 
Sill that the Governor of Texas had given permission 
for the Indians to hunt in Texas this winter; he gave 
this permission every winter then ; there were no setllef 1 
