JUNE 16, 1906.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 

They went, and we passed about fifteen 
minutes of pretty acute suspense. We armed 
our men and ourselves, and stood waiting to go 
to their aid, although we knew that if anything 
happened, we would be too late; and again, what 
could we few do against a big camp of angry 
Indians. But while we were talking, and you 
may be sure keeping a good watch on the camp, 
here came Healy and Talbot with their men, 
both securely handcuffed. One they chained to 
the center post of our trade room, the other to 
a log wall of the kitchen. “There!” Healy ex- 
claimed, “that is done and I’m tired. Haven't 
you anything to give a hungry man? I’m just 
starving.”’. 
Healy spoke good Blackfoot. When he and 
Talbot went into the camp he inquired for 
Running Rabbit, the Blood chief, and they were 
shown into his lodge, where he quickly stated 
his business. The old chief said that he would 
send for them, and they could have a_ talk. 
“But,” he concluded, “I can’t be answerable for 
what may happen if you try to put your hands 
on them and take them away. My young men 
are wild. I can’t control them.” 
The women sent to ask Turtle and The Rider 
to the chief's lodge had been cautioned to say 
nothing, to give no reason why they. were 
wanted, and they came in and sat down quite 
unsuspicious, following them a number of other 
men, curious to learn the cause of the white 
men’s visit. Healy soon explained it. 
“T don’t know anything about it,” said Turtle, 
“and I’m not going with you. I will not go; 
Tl fight; I’ve got lots of friends here who will 
help me.” : 
He had no sooner spoken than Healy, who 
was a very powerful man, seized him and 
snapped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists, 
Talbot doing the same with The Rider. Both 
of the Indians were furious, and those sitting 
with them became greatly excited, some crying 
out, “You shall not take them.” ‘‘We will not 
let them go.” “Take off those iron things, or 
we will do you harm.” 
“Listen!” said Healy, holding up his hand 
warningly. “You all know me; I guess you 
know I am not afraid. I have got to take these 
two men with me. I am going to take them. 
If any of you interfere, I will not be the only 
one to die. You know how I can shoot—well, 
some of you will die before I do.” 
He had not pulled his gun; he stared them 
coldly in the eyes, and when he was aroused 
those eyes fairly made an evildoer shiver. 
“Come!” he said to Turtle, and as if dazed, 
the Indian mechanically arose and followed him 
out, Talbot and the other following. 
None of us slept much that night. Late in 
the evening a Piegan youth came in and told 
us that the Bloods were planning to rescue their 
friends, some proposing to attack the trading 
post, others saying that it would be better to 
waylay the officers on the trail next day. “You 
go back and tell them that I hope they’ll try it,” 
said Healy. ‘‘We’ve got some big Winchesters 
and six-shooters and plenty of cartridges, and 
we'll have a real good time. Turtle and The 
Rider here will get our first two bullets.” 
The prisoners were taken safely to Helena, 
and when the trial came off, The Rider turned 
States evidence; Turtle had shot Walmsley in 
the back while he was cooking supper. He got 
imprisonment for life, and died two years later 
in the penitentiary in Detroit. No white man 
has since been killed by any Indians of the 
Blackfeet tribes. 
The winter had been pretty hard, and the In- 
dians did not kill so many buffalo as they would 
had the herds been nearer camp. Still, they 
were tanning a good number of robes, and had 
a large number of rawhides on hand, when, one 
evening, a detachment of soldiers under com- 
mand of Lieutenant Crouse arrived from Fort 
Benton. It was pitiful to see the women and 
children run to hide in the brush, their eyes wide 
with fear. They had not forgotten the Baker 
massacre. The men said nothing, but they 
seized their weapons and stood about outside 
of their lodges, ready to fight if need be, until 
they saw the detachment halt and prepare to 
camp. It was not to be war then, they con- 
cluded, and called in their wives and little ones. 
But the soldiers’ errand was only a degree or 
two less serious than would have been a battle. 
They had come to escort the Piegans back to 
their reservation, where there were no buffalo, 
nor game of any kind, and to fight them if they 
refused to go. A council was held. “Why, 
why,” asked White Calf, his face ashen with 
suppressed anger, “is this to be done? By what 
right? We are on our own ground. It was 
always ours, who shall say that we must leave 
ied 
Lieutenant Crouse told them that he was but 
an unwilling instrument, carrying out the order 
of his superiors, who in turn had been told, by 
the Great Father himself that they must move 
the Piegans back to their Agency. Complaint 
had been made of them. The cattlemen claimed 
that they were killing their cattle and had re- 
quested that they be sent home. The Great 
Father had listened to their demand. The 
lieutenant was a gentle, kindly man, and did not 
like the mission on which he had been sent. 
“Listen!” said White Calf. “Years ago there 
came some of the Great Father’s men on a 
steamboat to the mouth of the Judith River, 
and there they made a treaty with our people. 
It was made on paper, which they and our chiefs 
put their names on. I was a young man then, 
but I had understanding and I well remember 
what was put on that paper in the white man’s 
writing. It said that all the land lying north of 
the Musselshell River and the Missouri as far 
as the mouth of Milk River, up to the Canadian 
Ine, from the Rockies eastward to a line running 
north from the mouth of Milk River, all that 
country, it said, was ours. Since that time the 
whites have never bought any of it, nor even 
asked us for any. How then, can they say that 
we shall not hunt here?” 
“We are accused of killing cattle! We have 
not done so. Why should we when we have 
fat buffalo and deer and elk and other game, 
fat animals, all whose hides are useful! We do 
not wish to return to our Agency. The man 
there has nothing for us. There is no game in 
that region. If we go, we must starve. It is a 
dreadful thing to suffer for want of food. Pity 
ovr little children, our women and our aged 
ones. Go you back to your fort and leave us 
in peace.” 
Others arose and talked, and their pleas to 
be allowed to rema:n in the game country were 
truly pathetic. I believe they brought moisture 
to the eyes of many of us. I am sure that there 
was a catch in the lieutenant’s voice when he 
replied that he was powerless to do as they 
wished, and he asked them not to make it any 
harder for him by refusing to go. He then 
arose and left the council, asking to be in- 
formed soon what they concluded to do. 
It did not take long to decide. “Of course,” 
said White Calt, “we could kill off the soldiers 
here} but others, many more; replace 
them. They would kill off our women and 
children, even the new-born babies, as they did 
before on the Marias. No, we cannot fight 
them. Let us go back to the Agency and try 
in some way to procure food.” 
A couple of days later the lodges came down, 
we packed our robes and various impedimenta 
into wagons and abandoned the post, and all 
took the trail for the north, escorted by the 
This was in March, and the Indians’ 
would 
soldiers. 
stock was so worn and poor that they could 
travel only twelve or fifteen miles a day, and 
hundreds of horses died along the trail. Heavily 
loaded as were our wagons, we made even bet- 
ter time than they, and arrived in Fort Benton 
ahead of them. Our total trade amounted to 
eight hundred robes, three thousand deer, elk 
and tntelope hides, and I forget how many 
beaver and wolf skins. 
From Fort Benton the Indians journeyed 
slowly out to our place, Fort Conrad, and thence 
straggled on up to their Agency, where the 
women tanned their raw hides, and from the 
sale of the robes they kept from actual starva- 
tion for a time. 
And now, here is the true explanation of this 
unjust and cruel treatment of the Piegans: As 
before stated, the that lone cattle 
ranch on Big Spring Creek also owned the 
traders’ post at the Agency, and they wanted 
to have the Indians back there, well knowing 
that they would get some hundreds of robes 
from them. So they trumped up the charge 
that the Piegans were slaughtering their cattle, 
and having powerful influence in Washington, 
their complaint was listened to, and_ believed, 
They got the robes all right, and, seeing the 
successful trade they were doing, they induced 
an innocent pilgrim to purchase the tradership 
from them. He got an empty bag, for by mid- 
summer the Piegans hadn’t a single robe to sell, 
nor anything else with which to purchase a 
owners of 
pound of tea. 
By right that vast tract of country lying between 
the Missouri and Musselshell rivers and from 
the Missouri to the Marias still belongs to the 
Blackfeet. The treaty of 1855 guaranteed it to 
them, but it was taken away by two executive 
orders of July 2, 1873, and Aug. 19, 1874. If 
some good lawyer would take up the case, he 
could undoubtedly get redress for them, and a 
very handsome fee for himself. 
WALTER B. ANDERSON. 
[To BE CONTINUED. | 

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