THE COUNCIL AT FORT BENTON 
A Bit of Montana’s Unwritten History—II. 
BY WILLIAM T. HAMILTON 
Veteran Trapper, Trader, Scout 
and Sign Talker; Author of 
“My Sixty Years on the Plains.’’ 
From our camp in the Judith Mountains the 
big bend of the Musselshell River and the Bull 
Mountains were fifty miles to the southeast. 
There we expected to find the Crow village, un¬ 
less prevented by hostile war parties. 
We traveled on at a five-mile gait, carefully 
watching the trail for fresh tracks, either of men 
or horses. If either should be discovered, we 
should have to act according to circumstances. 
In front of us and on either flank a few scattered 
buffalo and antelope were feeding quietly. 
About 2 P. M. we reached Flat Willow Creek, 
just above where Box Elder Creek flows into 
it. Jack mounted his best horse and made a 
circle three-quarters of a mile in diameter, to 
see if he could discover any Indian signs. I 
went to the crest of a high ridge, and with my 
glasses thoroughly swept the surrounding conn- 
try without seeing any sign of a village smoke, 
then returned to where I had left the horses. 
When Jack returned I could see by his look 
that he had discovered something that troubled 
him. When I asked him what he had found 
he pointed up the creek and said, “South of 
that butte are the pony tracks of a mounted 
party of twenty-five going toward the south end 
of the Bull Mountains.” If this party was 
hostile it was a scouting part from some larger 
one, or it might be a scouting party of Crows. 
We had no means of knowing which In any 
case we had to do one thing first of all, and that 
was to let our animals refresh themselves. One 
of us kept a good lookout, while the other un¬ 
saddled one horse at a time, gave h.m a bath 
from the stream, dried and resaddled him; re¬ 
peating this until all the horses had had their 
bath. Such treatment refreshes a horse more 
than anything that you can do for him. All 
mountain men and many Indian tribes under¬ 
stand the secret. 
We were now in the most dangerous part of 
the country from the Pan Handle of Texas to 
the British line. As an expert scout would 
say, “You must see all around you; must have 
eyes in every part of your head.” 
Dick, my best horse, was possessed of al¬ 
most human intelligence. I had trained him to 
come to me on a run at a whistle, as almost any 
horse can be trained with a little patience. I 
mounted Dick, leaving Jack with the outfit. I 
went up the stream and picked up the trail that 
he had described and followed it. As Jack had 
said, it led toward the south end of Bull Moun¬ 
tains. When I reached a ridge on which were 
some trees, a plateau lay before me about one 
mile in extent and ending in a broken country 
with scattering trees. I copld see that the 
trail led directly through a cluster of pines. I 
got into a draw, or low place, which ran down 
toward the Musselshell River and followed it 
down, hoping or expecting to come across the 
trail of the village. I followed the draw to 
within half a mile of the river, and then rode 
back across the country to Jack without dis¬ 
covering anything. 
Flat Willow Creek rises in the southeast end 
of the Big Snowy Mountains. A large war 
party could rendezvous there and send out 
small scouting parties, learn if any enemies 
were in the vicinity, return and report. To a 
war party all human beings are considered 
enemies, except the members of their party. 
I asked Jack what he thought of this party, 
whose trail we had found. The trail was not 
over a day old. He replied it was either a scout¬ 
ing war party, or a scouting party sent out by 
the Crow Chief to find out if any enenres were 
in the country. I had come to this same con¬ 
clusion, for in years past I had been out with 
many such parties on different occasions. At 
all events, . if this party were enemies of the 
Crows, they had not as yet struck either the 
village or the lodge-pole trail, where the vil¬ 
lage had passed along. One thing was notice¬ 
able in this section. It was in the center of 
the buffalo grazing ground at this season of 
the year, and yet as far as a powerful glass could 
view the surrounding country no buffalo were 
to be seen; yet there was abundant sign where 
they had been there not many days before. On 
the other hand, we could discover no signs 
where a run had been made. If anybody had 
been chasing the buffalo many carcasses would 
be in evidence on every side. A few antelope 
were to be seen, but they were shy and con¬ 
stantly on the watch, a sure sign that Indians 
had passed over the country. 
It would be very instructive to writers of 
Indian lore if they could travel with an expert 
scout or with an Indian war party and observe 
their actions—their caution and the care taken 
to avoid being seen by their enemies and to cir¬ 
cumvent them. They learn by the actions of 
animals and by the flight of birds if enemies are 
near, or of the people who have passed through 
or who may yet be hidden in, some section o 
the country. Jack was an expert in observations 
of this kind. Not the flight of a bird escapee 
his eagle eye. 
We remained here about two and a half hours 
The horses had eaten, and were refreshed am 
in prime condition. When we started, we fol 
lowed the trail and crossed the creek, the trai 
leading down the creek on the south side to the 
forks of the Musselshell River. Here the Crow 
village had remained only one night. They had 
made a long drive the day they got to this 
camp. Jack said that the Crows were frightened 
and were getting out of the country. It had 
been several days since they were in this camp 
As it was sundown when we reached there, we 
camped, and the night passed without our be¬ 
ing disturbed. Breakfast was over before day¬ 
light next morning. We expected that the trai 
would follow up the river, but instead of tha; 
it went southeast, toward the divide of the Y el 
lowstone River, and when we reached the divide 
the trail turned east. Jack was well acquaintec 
with this section of the country, having beet' 
here with Piegan war parties many times. The 
east end of the Bull Mountains was now some 
five miles south of us. Like the Big Snowies 
this is a great rendezvous for war parties. We 
followed the trail, and about one o’clock in the 
day Jack turned north half a mile to a sprins, 
of water of which he knew at the head of the 
draw. 
That night we remained there, keeping a care 
ful lookout. Nothing happened in the night 
and by daylight we were off again. Jack an 
nounced that he thought that the Crows woulc 
be camped either on uppey or lower Porcupine 
Creek. As we went along we saw a few buffakj 
and antelope feeding quietly, good evidence 
that they had not been disturbed recently. A; 
Jack was a most expert trailer, I placed him it 
the lead, directing him to keep his eye on the 
trail, while I would keep a general lookout ovei 
the country for any sign of danger. 
We had traveled some five miles when, like 
a flash, Jack dismounted. He followed on tht 
trail on foot for a short distance, and returning 
held up five fingers and made the sign for the 
Blackfeet Indian. They had come up from tin, 
Musselshell River. We looked at the track. 1 
carefully and found them fresh. The ground 
