
FOREST AND STREAM. 



[JUNE 16, 19906. 


In the Lodges of “the Blackfeet. 

XXIX.—An Incident in a ‘Century of Dishonor.”’ 
WE made another run the next day. It was 
an auspicious morning. The sun shone bright 
and warm, there was a big herd of buffalo near- 
by, every one rode out from camp in the best 
of spirits. I had changed horses with Nat- 
ah’-ki; while mine liked to run as well as hers, 
it had a tender mouth, and she could easily con- 
trol it. Once into the herd, I paid no attention 
to any one else, but did my best to single out 
the fat cows, overtake and kill them. I did not 
need the meat nor robes, but there were those 
with us who had poor mounts, and what I killed 
I intended to give them. So I urged the little 
mare on, even after she had begun to show 
fatigue, and managed to kill seven head. When 
I stopped at last, no one was near me; looking 
back IJ saw the people gathered in two groups, 
and from the largest and nearest one arose the 
distressing wailing of the women for the dead. 
I soon learned the cause of it all; Young Arrow 
Maker had been killed, his horse disembowled; 
Two Bows had been thrown and his leg was 
broken. A huge old bull wounded and mad 
with pain had lunged into Arrow Maker’s horse, 
tearing out its flank and knocking the rider off 
on to the backs of its close pursuing mates, 
whence he had fallen to the ground and been 
literally trampled to death by the frantic running 
herd. Two Bows’ horse had stepped into a 
badger hole and he had been hurled to the 
ground with such force that he lay senseless, 
his right leg broken above the knee. Some of 
the women’s horses were dragging travois, and 
we laid the dead and the injured on them and 
they were taken to camp by their 
We hurried to skin the dead buffalo, 
the hunters 
relatives. 
some of 
taking no more of the meat than 
the tongue and boss ribs, and then we also went 
back to the lodges, very silently and quietly you 
may be sure. There was no feasting and visiting 
and singing that night. Instead, women wailing, 
men sitting solemnly by the fire, smoking and 
thinking upon the uncertainties of life, oc- 
casionally speaking praises of their dead com- 
rade and regretting his untimely end. 
They buried Arrow Maker in the morning, 
placing the body in the forks of a big cotton- 
wood, and then we prepared to move camp, 
which took all the rest of the day, as meat was 
cut and dried to reduce weight, and the many 
hides had to be trimmed, the frozen ones thawed 
and folded for packing. There was not a man in 
camp who knew anything about mending a 
broken leg, but we splinted and bound Two 
Bows’ fracture as best we could. On the suc- 
ceeding morning we broke camp early and 
started homeward, every one being fairly frantic 
to get away from the unlucky place, to end the 
hunt before more misfortune should 
The injured man was made as com- 
fortable as possible on a couch lashed to a 
travol. 
unlucky 
happen. 
In the afternoon a blizzard set in, a bitterly 
cold one, which drifted and whirled the fine 
snow in clouds around us. A few decided to 
make camp in the first patch of timber we should 
come to, but the rest declared that they would 
not stop for anything, but keep on through the 
night until they arrived home. They were 
afraid to stop; more afraid of some dread mis- 
fortune overtaking them than they were of Cold 
Maker’s blinding snow and intense cold. Evil 
spirits, they reasoned, hovered near them, had 
already caused death and suffering, and none 
would be safe until the hunt was ended and 
sacrifices made to the gods. Red Bird’s Tail 
was one of those who elected to keep on. We 
could have stopped and found shelter with some 
family which turned off into a timbered coulée 
to camp until the storm would be over; but 
Nat-ah’-ki. declared that she wasn’t in the least 
cold and was anxious to get back to our com- 
fortable shack and warm fire-place. ‘‘We can 
make it by midnight,” she-said, “and just think 
how pleasant it will be to eat before our little 
fire, and then sleep in our big, soft, warm bed. 
Don't be afraid for me, I can stand it.” 
That was a terrible night. There was a moon, 
but most of the time it was hidden by the low 
flying snow-spitting clouds. We simply hung 
on to our saddles and gave our horses the reins, 
trusting them to keep in the trail which Red 
Bird’s Tail broke for us. We could not have 
guided them had we wished to, for our hands 
became so numb we were obliged to fold them 
in the robes and blankets which enveloped us. 
I rode directly behind Nat-ah’-ki, she next after 
our leader,. whose family followed us. Looking 
back I could see them sometimes, but more 
often they were hidden in the blinding snow. 
Red Bird’s Tail and many of the other men 
frequently sprang from their horses and walked, 
even ran, in vain effort to keep warm, but the 
women remained in the saddle and shivered, and 
some froze hands and faces. While still some 
six or eight miles from home, Red Bird’s Tail, 
walking ahead of his horse, dropped into a 
spring, over which the snow had drifted. The 
water was waist-deep and froze on his leggins 
the instant he climbed out of the hole; but he 
made no complaint, walking sturdily on through 
the deepening drifts until we finally arrived 
home. It was all I could do to dismount. I 
was so stiff and cramped, and cold, and I had 
to lift Nat-ah’-ki from her saddle and carry her 
inside. It was past one o’clock, and we had 
been on the road something like seventeen 
hours! I aroused one of the men to care for 
our horses, and we crawled into bed, under a 
half dozen robes and blankets, shivering sa 
hard that our teeth chattered. But if you ever 
get really numb with cold, try our way. You 
will get warm much sooner than if sitting be- 
fore the fire and swallowing hot drinks. 
When we awoke in the morning it was nearly 
noon, we learned that a woman of our party 
was missing somehow—somewhere in the fear- 
ful night she had dropped from her horse and 
Cold Maker had claimed her for his own. Her 
body was never found. I related the experiences 
of the trip to Berry. “Well,” he said, “I warned 
you not to go. A man who can stay close to the 
fire in the winter, but leaves it for a hunt out 
on the plains, is sure locoed. Yes, sir, he’s a 
blankety blank, plumb fool.” 
In September a man named _ Charles 
Walmsby, en route from Fort MacLeod to Fort 
Benton, was found murdered on Cut Bank 
Creek, midway between the two places. His 
wagon, harness and other effects had been partly 
burned and thrown into the stream. Suspicion 
finally fell upon one, Turtle, and his companion, 
The Rider, Blood Indians, who had spent 
several hundred dollars Canadian money in Fort 
Benton for guns and various things dear to the 
Indian’s heart. They were in the Blood sec- 
tion of camp, and learning their whereabouts, 
the sheriff of our county came out to arrest 
them, bringing with him only the under sheriff, 
Jeff Talbot. There may have been braver men 
on the frontier than Sheriff John J. Healy, but 
I never met them. He held the office for I 
know not how many terms, and owned the Fort 
Benton Record, the first newspaper to be 
printed on the plains of Montana. Previous 
to this he had been an Indian trader, and was 
one of the leading men of Whoop Up and the 
northern trade, one of the “thieves, murderers, 
criminals of every stripe,” as Miss Lant calls us. 
He and Talbot drove in at our place about 
sundown one evening, and as soon as they had 
cared for their horses, he told why they had 
come. 
Berry shook his head. “I wouldn’t attempt to 
arrest him here if I were you,” he said. “These 
Bloods are pretty mean, and Turtle has a whole 
lot of relatives and friends among them. I be- 
l-eve they'll fight. Old man, you’d better go 
back and get some of the soldiers. at the fort 
to help you.” 
“T don’t care a continental d—— if he has a 
thousand friends and relatives!” Healy ex- 
claimed. “I’ve come out here after those In- 
dians, and they’re going back with me, dead or 
alive.”’ 
“Well,” said Berry, “if you are bound to try 
it, of course we'll stay with you; but I don’t like 
it a bit.” ; 
“No, sir,’ said Healy. “This is my funeral. 
On account of your trade you can’t afford to 
mix up in it. They’d have it in for you and 
move away. Come on, Jeff.” 
