MOVING INTO THE BIG HORN COUNTRY IN WINTER—THE HERD STAMPEDED—A NIGHT
ATTACK—“JEFF’S” OOZING COURAGE—THE GRAVE-YARD AT OLD FORT RENO—IN A
MONTANA BLIZZARD—THE MERCURY FROZEN IN THE BULB—KILLING
BUFFALO—INDIAN GRAVES—HOW CROOK LOOKED WHILE ON THIS
CAMPAIGN—FINDING A DEAD INDIAN’S ARM—INDIAN PICTURES.
The march from Fort Fetterman to old Fort Reno, a distance of ninety
miles, led us through a country of which the less said the better; it is
suited for grazing and may appeal to the eyes of a cow-boy, but for the
ordinary observer, especially during the winter season, it presents
nothing to charm any sense; the landscape is monotonous and uninviting,
and the vision is bounded by swell after swell of rolling prairie,
yellow with a thick growth of winter-killed buffalo or bunch grass, with
a liberal sprinkling of that most uninteresting of all vegetation—the
sage-brush. The water is uniformly and consistently bad—being both
brackish and alkaline, and when it freezes into ice the ice is nearly
always rotten and dangerous, for a passage at least by mounted troops or
wagons. Wood is not to be had for the first fifty miles, and has to be
carried along in wagons for commands of any size. Across this charming
expanse the wind howled and did its best to freeze us all to death, but
we were too well prepared.
The first night out from Fetterman the presence of hostile Indians was
indicated by the wounding of our herder, shot in the lungs, and by the
stampeding of our herd of cattle—forty-five head—which were not,
however, run off by the attacking party, but headed for the post and
could not be turned and brought back. There was very little to record of
this part of the march: a night attack or two, the firing by our pickets
at anything and everything which looked like a man, the killing of
several buffaloes by the guides in front—old bulls which would pull all
the teeth out of one’s head were they to be chewed; better success with
antelope, whose meat was tender and palatable; the sight of a column of
dust in the remote distance, occasioned, probably, by the movement of an
Indian village, and the flashing of looking-glass signals by hostiles on
our right flank, made the sum total of events worthy of insertion in the
journals kept at the time. Lodge-pole trails and pony tracks increased
in numbers, and a signal smoke curled upwards from one of the distant
buttes in our front. On our left, the snow-clad masses of the “Big Horn”
range rose slowly above the horizon, and on the right the sullen,
inhospitable outline of the “Pumpkin Buttes.” General Crook ordered that
the greatest care should be taken in the manner of posting sentinels,
and in enjoining vigilance upon them; he directed that no attempt should
be made to catch any of the small parties of the enemy’s videttes, which
began to show themselves and to retreat when followed; he explained that
all they wanted was to entice us into a pursuit which could have no
effect beyond breaking down twenty or thirty of our horses each time.
We were out of camp, and following the old Montana road by daylight of
the 5th of March, 1876, going down the “Dry Fork” of the Powder. There
was no delay on any account, and affairs began to move like clock-work.
The scenery was dreary; the weather bitter cold; the bluffs on either
side bare and sombre prominences of yellow clay, slate, and sandstone.
The leaden sky overhead promised no respite from the storm of cold snow
and wind beating into our faces from the northwest. A stranger would not
have suspected at first glance that the command passing along the defile
of this miserable little sand-bed had any connection with the military
organization of the United States; shrouded from head to foot in huge
wrappings of wool and fur, what small amount of uniform officers or men
wore was almost entirely concealed from sight; but a keener inspection
would have convinced the observer that it was an expedition of soldiers,
and good ones at that. The promptness, ease, and lack of noise with
which all evolutions were performed, the compactness of the columns, the
good condition of arms and horses, and the care displayed in looking
after the trains, betokened the discipline of veteran soldiery.
That evening a party of picked scouts, under Frank Gruard, was sent to
scour the country in our front and on our right flank; there was no need
of examining the country on the left, as the Big Horn range was so
close, and there was no likelihood of the savages going up on its cold
flanks to live during winter while such better and more comfortable
localities were at hand in the river and creek bottoms. The sun was just
descending behind the summits of the Big Horn, having emerged from
behind a bank of leaden clouds long enough to assure us that he was
still in existence, and Major Coates was putting his pickets in position
and giving them their final instructions, when a bold attack was made by
a small detachment of the Sioux; their advance was detected as they were
creeping upon us through a grove of cottonwoods close to camp, and
although there was a brisk interchange of leaden compliments, no damage
was done to our people beyond the wounding slightly of Corporal Slavey,
of Coates’s company. Crook ordered a large force to march promptly to
the other side of camp, thinking that the enemy was merely making a
“bluff” on one extremity, but would select a few bold warriors to rush
through at the other end, and, by waving blankets, shrieking, firing
guns, and all other tricks of that sort, stampede our stock and set us
afoot. The entire command kept under arms for half an hour and was then
withdrawn. From this on we had the companies formed each morning at
daybreak, ready for the attack which might come at any moment. The early
hour set for breaking camp no doubt operated to frustrate plans of doing
damage to the column entertained by wandering bodies of the Sioux and
Cheyennes.
Colonel Stanton was accompanied by a colored cook, Mr. Jefferson Clark,
a faithful henchman who had followed the fortunes of his chief for many
years. Jeff wasn’t a bad cook, and he was, according to his own story,
one of the most bloodthirsty enemies the Sioux ever had; it was a matter
of difficulty to restrain him from leaving the command and wandering out
alone in quest of aboriginal blood. This night-attack seemed to freeze
all the fight out of Jeff, and he never again expressed the remotest
desire to shoot anything, not even a jack-rabbit. But the soldiers had
no end of fun with him, and many and many a trick was played, and many
and many a lie told, to make his hair stiffen, and his eyes to glaze in
terror.
When we reached the “Crazy Woman’s Fork” of the Powder River, camp was
established, with an abundance of excellent water and any amount of dry
cottonwood fuel; but grass was not very plentiful, although there had
been a steady improvement in that respect ever since leaving the South
Cheyenne. We had that day passed through the ruins of old Fort Reno, one
of the military cantonments abandoned by the Government at the demand of
the Sioux in 1867. Nothing remained except a few chimneys, a part of the
bake-house, and some fragments of the adobe walls of the quarters or
offices. The grave-yard had a half dozen or a dozen of broken,
dilapidated head-boards to mark the last resting-places of brave
soldiers who had fallen in desperate wars with savage tribes that
civilization might extend her boundaries. Our wagon-train was sent back
under escort of the infantry to Fort Reno, there to await our return.
All the officers were summoned to hear from General Crook’s own lips
what he wanted them to do. He said that we should now leave our wagons
behind and strike out with the pack-trains; all superfluous baggage must
be left in camp; every officer and every soldier should be allowed the
clothes on his back and no more; for bedding each soldier could carry
along one buffalo robe or two blankets; to economize transportation,
company officers should mess with their men, and staff officers or those
“unattached” with the pack-trains; officers to have the same amount of
bedding as the men; each man could take one piece of shelter tent, and
each officer one piece of canvas, or every two officers one tent fly. We
were to start out on a trip to last fifteen days unless the enemy should
be sooner found, and were to take along half rations of bacon, hard
tack, coffee, and sugar.
About seven o’clock on the night of March 7, 1876, the light of a
three-quarters moon, we began our march to the north and west, and made
thirty-five miles. At first the country had the undulating contour of
that near old Fort Reno, but the prairie “swells” were soon superseded
by bluffs of bolder and bolder outline until, as we approached the
summit of the “divide” where “Clear Fork” heads, we found ourselves in a
region deserving the title mountainous. In the bright light of the moon
and stars, our column of cavalry wound up the steep hill-sides like an
enormous snake, whose scales were glittering revolvers and carbines. The
view was certainly very exhilarating, backed as it was by the majestic
landscape of moonlight on the Big Horn Mountains. Cynthia’s silvery
beams never lit up a mass of mountain crests more worthy of delineation
upon an artist’s canvas. Above the frozen apex of “Cloud Peak” the
evening star cast its declining rays. Other prominences rivalling this
one in altitude thrust themselves out against the midnight sky.
Exclamations of admiration and surprise were extorted from the most
stolid as the horses rapidly passed from bluff to bluff, pausing at
times to give every one an opportunity to study some of Nature’s noble
handiwork.
But at last even the gorgeous vista failed to alleviate the cold and
pain in benumbed limbs, or to dispel the drowsiness which Morpheus was
placing upon exhausted eyelids. With no small degree of satisfaction we
noticed the signal which at five o’clock in the morning of March 8th
bade us make camp on the Clear Fork of the Powder. The site was dreary
enough; scarcely any timber in sight, plenty of water, but frozen solid,
and only a bare picking of grass for our tired animals. However, what we
most needed was sleep, and that we sought as soon as horses had been
unsaddled and mules unpacked. Wrapped up in our heavy overcoats and furs
we threw ourselves on the bleak and frozen ground, and were soon deep in
slumber. After lying down in the bright, calm, and cheerful moonlight,
we were awakened about eight o’clock by a bitter, pelting storm of snow
which blew in our teeth whichever way we turned, and almost extinguished
the petty fires near which the cooks were trying to arrange breakfast,
if we may dignify by such a lofty title the frozen bacon, frozen beans,
and frozen coffee which constituted the repast. It is no part of a
soldier’s business to repine, but if there are circumstances to justify
complaint they are the absence of warmth and good food after a wearisome
night march and during the prevalence of a cold winter storm. After
coffee had been swallowed General Crook moved the command down the
“Clear Fork” five miles, to a pleasant cove where we remained all the
rest of that day. Our situation was not enviable. It is true we
experienced nothing we could call privation or hardship, but we had to
endure much positive discomfort. The storm continued all day, the wind
blowing with keenness and at intervals with much power. Being without
tents, there was nothing to do but grin and bear it. Some of our people
stretched blankets to the branches of trees, others found a questionable
shelter under the bluffs, one or two constructed nondescript habitations
of twigs and grass, while General Crook and Colonel Stanton seized upon
the abandoned den of a family of beavers which a sudden change in the
bed of the stream had deprived of their home. To obtain water for men
and animals holes were cut in the ice, which was by actual measurement
eighteen inches thick, clear in color and vitreous in texture. We hugged
the fires as closely as we dared, ashes and cinders being cast into our
faces with every turn in the hurricane. The narrow thread of the stream,
with its opaque and glassy surface of ice, covered with snow, here
drifted into petty hillocks, here again carried away before the gale,
looked the picture of all that could be imagined cheerless and drear. We
tried hard to find pleasure in watching the trouble of our
fellow-soldiers obliged for any reason to attempt a crossing of the
treacherous surface. Commencing with an air of boldness and
confidence—with some, even of indifference—a few steps forward would
serve to intimidate the unfortunate wight, doubly timid now that he saw
himself the butt of all gibes and jeers. Now one foot slips, now
another, but still he struggles manfully on, and has almost gained the
opposite bank, when—slap! bang! both feet go from under him, and a dint
in the solid ice commemorates his inglorious fall. In watching such
episodes we tried to dispel the wearisomeness of the day. Every one
welcomed the advent of night, which enabled us to seek such rest as
could be found, and, clad as we were last night, in the garments of the
day, officers and men huddled close together to keep from freezing to
death. Each officer and man had placed one of his blankets upon his
horse, and, seeing that there was a grave necessity of doing something
to prevent loss of life, General Crook ordered that as many blankets as
could be spared from the pack-trains should be spread over the sleepers.
It snowed fiercely all night, and was still snowing and blustering
savagely when we were aroused in the morning; but we pushed out over a
high ridge which we took to be part of the chain laid down on the map as
the “Wolf” or “Panther” mountains. The storm continued all day, and the
fierce north wind still blew in our teeth, making us imagine old Boreas
to be in league with the Indians to prevent our occupancy of the
country. Mustaches and beards coated with pendent icicles several inches
long and bodies swathed in raiment of furs and hides made this
expedition of cavalry resemble a long column of Santa Clauses on their
way to the polar regions to lay in a new supply of Christmas gifts. We
saw some very fresh buffalo manure and also some new Indian sign. Scouts
were pushed ahead to scour the country while the command went into
bivouac in a secluded ravine which afforded a sufficiency of water,
cottonwood fuel, and good grass, and sheltered us from the observation
of roving Indians, although the prevailing inclement weather rendered it
highly improbable that many hunters or spies would be far away from
their villages. The temperature became lower and lower, and the regular
indications upon our thermometer after sundown were -6° and -10° of the
Fahrenheit scale. Men and animals had not yet suffered owing to the good
fortune in always finding ravines in which to bivouac, and where the
vertical clay banks screened from the howling winds. The snow continued
all through the night of the 9th and the day of the 10th of March, but
we succeeded in making pretty good marches, following down the course of
Prairie Dog Creek for twenty-two miles in the teeth of a blast which was
laden with minute crystals of snow frozen to the sharpness of razors and
cutting the skin wherever it touched. Prairie Dog Creek at first flows
through a narrow gorge, but this widens into a flat valley filled with
the burrows of the dainty little animals which give the stream its name
and which could be seen in numbers during every lull in the storm
running around in the snow to and from their holes and making tracks in
every direction. Before seeing this I had been under the impression that
the prairie dog hibernated.
While the severity of the weather had had but slight effect upon the
command directly, the slippery trail, frozen like glass, imposed an
unusual amount of hard labor upon both human and equine members, and it
was only by the greatest exertion that serious accidents were averted in
the crossing of the little ravines which intersected the trail every two
or three hundred yards. One of the corporals of “D” Company, Third
Cavalry, was internally injured, to what extent could not be told at the
moment, by his horse falling upon him while walking by his side. A
“travois” was made of two long saplings and a blanket, in which the
sufferer was dragged along behind a mule. The detachment of guides, sent
out several nights previously, returned this evening, reporting having
found a recently abandoned village of sixty “tepis,” and every
indication of long habitancy. The Indians belonging thereto had plenty
of meat—buffalo, deer, and elk—some of which was left behind upon
departure. A young puppy, strangled to death, was found hanging to a
tree. This is one of the greatest delicacies of every well-regulated
Sioux feast—choked pup. It also figures in their sacrifices, especially
all those in any manner connected with war. The guides had brought back
with them a supply of venison, which was roasted on the embers and
pronounced delicious by hungry palates. The storm abated during the
night, and there were glimpses of the moon behind fleeting clouds, but
the cold became much more intense, and we began to suffer. The next
morning our thermometer failed to register. It did not mark below -22°
Fahrenheit, and the mercury had passed down into the bulb and congealed
into a solid button, showing that at least -39° had been reached. The
wind, however, had gone down, for which we were all thankful. The sun
shone out bright and clear, the frost on the grass glistened like
diamonds, and our poor horses were coated with ice and snow.
We marched north eight or nine miles down the Tongue River, which had to
be crossed six times on the ice. This was a fine stream, between thirty
and forty yards wide, its banks thickly fringed with box-elder,
cottonwood, and willow. Grama grass was abundant in the foot-hills close
by, and in all respects except cold this was the finest camp yet made.
The main command halted and bivouacked at this point, to enable the
guides to explore to the west, to the Rosebud, and beyond. On the night
of March 11th we had a lovely moonlight, but the cold was still hard to
bear, and the mercury was again congealed. Fortunately no one was
frozen, for which fact some credit is due to the precautions taken in
the matter of clothing, and to the great care manifested by our medical
officer, Surgeon Munn. The exemption of the command from frost-bite was
not more remarkable than the total absence of all ailments of a
pneumonitic type; thus far, there had not been a single instance of
pneumonia, influenza, or even simple cold. I have no hesitancy in saying
that the climate of Wyoming or Montana is better suited for invalids
suffering from lung disorders, not of an aggravated nature, than is that
of Florida; I have some personal acquaintance with the two sections, and
the above is my deliberate conviction.
Despite the hyperborean temperature, the genial good-humor and
cheerfulness of the whole command was remarkable and deserving of
honorable mention. Nothing tries the spirit and temper of the old
veteran, not to mention the young recruit, as does campaigning under
unusual climatic vicissitudes, at a time when no trace of the enemy is
to be seen. To march into battle with banners flying, drums beating, and
the pulse throbbing high with the promptings of honorable ambition and
enthusiasm, in unison with the roar of artillery, does not call for half
the nerve and determination that must be daily exercised to pursue mile
after mile in such terrible weather, over rugged mountains and through
unknown cañons, a foe whose habits of warfare are repugnant to every
principle of humanity, and whose presence can be determined solely by
the flash of the rifle which lays some poor sentry low, or the whoop and
yell which stampede our stock from the grazing-grounds. The life of a
soldier, in time of war, has scarcely a compensating feature; but he
ordinarily expects palatable food whenever obtainable, and good warm
quarters during the winter season. In campaigning against Indians, if
anxious to gain success, he must lay aside every idea of good food and
comfortable lodgings, and make up his mind to undergo with cheerfulness
privations from which other soldiers would shrink back dismayed. His
sole object should be to strike the enemy and to strike him hard, and
this accomplished should be full compensation for all privations
undergone. With all its disadvantages this system of Indian warfare is a
grand school for the cavalrymen of the future, teaching them fortitude,
vigilance, self-reliance, and dexterity, besides that instruction in
handling, marching, feeding, and fighting troops which no school can
impart in text-books.
This manner of theorizing upon the subject answered excellently well,
except at breakfast, when it strained the nervous system immensely to
admit that soldiers should under any circumstances be sent out on winter
campaigns in this latitude. Our cook had first to chop with an axe the
bacon which over night had frozen hard as marble; frequently the hatchet
or axe was broken in the contest. Then if he had made any “soft bread,”
that is, bread made of flour and baked in a frying-pan, he had to place
that before a strong fire for several minutes to thaw it so it could be
eaten, and all the forks, spoons, and knives had to be run through hot
water or hot ashes to prevent them from taking the skin off the tongue.
The same rule had to be observed with the bits when our horses were
bridled. I have seen loaves of bread divided into two zones—the one
nearer the blazing fire soft and eatable, the other still frozen hard as
flint and cold as charity. The same thing was to be noticed in the pans
of beans and other food served up for consumption.
For several days we had similar experiences which need not be repeated.
Our line of march still continued northward, going down the Tongue
River, whose valley for a long distance narrowed to a little gorge
bordered by bluffs of red and yellow sandstone, between one hundred and
fifty and two hundred feet high—in some places much higher—well fringed
with scrub pine and juniper. Coal measures of a quality not definitely
determined cropped out in all parts of the country. By this time we were
pretty far advanced across the borders of the Territory of Montana, and
in a region well grassed with grama and the “black sage,” a plant almost
as nutritious as oats. The land in the stream bottoms seemed to be
adapted for cultivation. Again the scouts crossed over to the Rosebud,
finding no signs of the hostiles, but bringing back the meat of two
buffalo bulls which they had killed. This was a welcome addition to the
food of men without fresh meat of any kind; our efforts to coax some of
the fish in the stream to bite did not meet with success; the weather
was too cold for them to come out of the deep pools in which they were
passing the winter. The ice was not far from two feet in thickness, and
the trout were torpid. The scouts could not explain why they had not
been able to place the villages of the hostiles, and some of our people
were beginning to believe that there were none out from the
reservations, and that all had gone in upon hearing that the troops had
moved out after them; in this view neither Frank Gruard, “Big Bat,” nor
the others of the older heads concurred.
“We’ll find them pretty soon” was all that Frank would say. As we
approached the Yellowstone we came upon abandoned villages, with the
frame-work of branches upon which the squaws had been drying meat; one
or two, or it may have been three, of these villages had been palisaded
as a protection against the incursions of the Absaroka or Crows of
Montana, who raided upon the villages of the Sioux when the latter were
not raiding upon theirs. Cottonwood by the hundreds of cords lay
scattered about the villages, felled by the Sioux as a food for their
ponies, which derive a small amount of nourishment from the inner bark.
There were Indian graves in numbers: the corpse, wrapped in its best
blankets and buffalo robes, was placed upon a scaffold in the branches
of trees, and there allowed to dry and to decay. The cottonwood trees
here attained a great size: four, five, and six feet in diameter; and
all the conditions for making good camps were satisfied: the water was
excellent, after the ice had been broken; a great sufficiency of
succulent grass was to be found in the nooks sheltered from the wind;
and as for wood, there was more than we could properly use in a
generation. One of the cooks, by mistake, made a fire at the foot of a
great hollow cottonwood stump; in a few moments the combustible interior
was a mass of flame, which hissed and roared through that strange
chimney until it had reached an apparent height of a hundred feet above
the astonished packers seated at its base. Buffalo could be seen every
day, and the meat appeared at every meal to the satisfaction of all,
notwithstanding its stringiness and exceeding toughness, because we
could hit nothing but the old bulls. A party of scouts was sent on in
front to examine the country as far as the valley of the Yellowstone,
the bluffs on whose northern bank were in plain sight.
There was a great and unexpected mildness of temperature for one or two
days, and the thermometer indicated for several hours as high as 20°
above zero, very warm in comparison with what we had had. General Crook
and the half-breeds adopted a plan of making themselves comfortable
which was generally imitated by their comrades. As soon as possible
after coming into camp, they would sweep clear of snow the piece of
ground upon which they intended making down their blankets for the
night; a fire would next be built and allowed to burn fiercely for an
hour, or as much longer as possible. When the embers had been brushed
away and the canvas and blankets spread out, the warmth under the
sleeper was astonishingly comfortable. Our pack-mules, too, showed an
amazing amount of intelligence. I have alluded to the great trouble and
danger experienced in getting them and our horses across the different
“draws” or “coulées” impeding the march. The pack-mules, of their own
motion, decided that they would get down without being a source of
solicitude to those in charge of them; nothing was more amusing than to
see some old patriarch of the train approach the glassy ramp leading to
the bottom of the ravine, adjust his hind feet close together and slide
in triumph with his load secure on his back. This came near raising a
terrible row among the packers, who, in the absence of other topics of
conversation, began to dispute concerning the amount of sense or “savey”
exhibited by their respective pets. One cold afternoon it looked as if
the enthusiastic champions of the respective claims of “Pinto Jim” and
“Keno” would draw their knives on each other, but the affair quieted
down without bloodshed. Only one mule had been injured during this kind
of marching and sliding—one broke its back while descending an icy
ravine leading to the “Clear Fork” of the Powder.
Not many moments were lost after getting into bivouac before all would
be in what sailors call “ship shape.” Companies would take the positions
assigned them, mounted vedettes would be at once thrown out on the
nearest commanding hills, horses unsaddled and led to the
grazing-grounds, mules unpacked and driven after, and wood and water
collected in quantities for the cooks, whose enormous pots of beans and
coffee would exhale a most tempting aroma. After eating dinner or
supper, as you please, soldiers, packers, and officers would gather
around the fires, and in groups discuss the happenings of the day and
the probabilities of the future. The Spaniards have a proverb which may
be translated—“A man with a good dinner inside of him looks upon the
world through rosy spectacles”:
“Barriga llena,
Corazon contento.”
There was less doubt expressed of our catching Indians; the evidences of
their presence were too tangible to admit of any ambiguity, and all felt
now that we should run in upon a party of considerable size unless they
had all withdrawn to the north of the Yellowstone. These opinions were
confirmed by the return of Frank Gruard with a fine young mule which had
been left behind by the Sioux in one of the many villages occupied by
them along this stream-bed; the animal was in fine condition, and its
abandonment was very good proof of the abundance of stock with which the
savages must be blessed.
This is how General Crook appeared on this occasion, as I find recorded
in my notes: boots, of Government pattern, number 7; trousers, of brown
corduroy, badly burned at the ends; shirt, of brown, heavy woollen;
blouse, of the old army style; hat, a brown Kossuth of felt, ventilated
at top. An old army overcoat, lined with red flannel, and provided with
a high collar made of the skin of a wolf shot by the general himself,
completed his costume, excepting a leather belt with forty or fifty
copper cartridges, held to the shoulders by two leather straps. His
horse and saddle were alike good, and with his rifle were well cared
for.
The General in height was about six feet—even, perhaps, a trifle taller;
weight, one hundred and seventy pounds; build, spare and straight;
limbs, long and sinewy; complexion, nervo-sanguine; hair, light-brown;
cheeks, ruddy, without being florid; features, delicately and firmly
chiselled; eyes, blue-gray; nose, a pronounced Roman and quite large;
mouth, mild but firm, and showing with the chin much resolution and
tenacity of purpose.
As we halted for the night, a small covey of pin-tailed grouse flew
across the trail. Crook, with seven shots of his rifle, laid six of them
low, all but one hit in neck or head. This shooting was very good,
considering the rapidity with which it had to be done, and also the fact
that the shooter’s hands were numb from a long march in the saddle and
in the cold. These birds figured in an appetizing stew at our next
breakfast. We remained in bivouac for a day at the mouth of a little
stream which we took to be Pumpkin Creek, but were not certain, the maps
being unreliable; here was another abandoned village of the Sioux in
which we came across a ghastly token of human habitancy, in the
half-decomposed arm of an Indian, amputated at the elbow-joint, two
fingers missing, and five buckshot fired into it. The guides conjectured
that it was part of the anatomy of a Crow warrior who had been caught by
the Sioux in some raid upon their herds and cut limb from limb.
The forest of cottonwoods at this place was very dense, and the trees of
enormous size. Upon the inner bark of a number, the Sioux had delineated
in colors many scenes which were not comprehensible to us. There were
acres of fuel lying around us, and we made liberal use of the cottonwood
ashes to boil a pot of hominy with corn from the pack train. Half a
dozen old buffaloes were seen close to camp during the day, one of which
animals was shot by General Crook. When our guides returned from the
Yellowstone, they brought with them the carcasses of six deer, five
white-tailed and one black-tailed, which were most acceptable to the
soldiers. All the trails seen by this reconnoitring party had led over
towards the Powder River, none being found in the open valley of the
Yellowstone. The Sioux and Cheyennes would naturally prefer to make
their winter habitations in the deeper and therefore warmer cañons of
the Rosebud, Tongue, and Powder, where the winds could not reach them
and their stock. The country hereabouts was extremely rough, and the
bluffs were in many places not less than seven hundred and fifty feet in
height above the surface of the stream. It had again become cold and
stormy, and snow was falling, with gusts of wind from the north. The
mercury during the night indicated 10° below zero, but the sky with the
coquetry of a witch had resumed its toilet of blue pinned with golden
stars. Our course led north and east to look for some of the trails of
recent date; the valleys of the creeks seemed to be adapted for
agriculture, and our horses did very well on the rich herbage of the
lower foothills. The mountains between the Tongue and the Powder, and
those between the Tongue and the Rosebud as well, are covered with
forests of pine and juniper, and the country resembles in not a little
the beautiful Black Hills of Dakota.
This was the 16th of March, and we had not proceeded many miles before
our advance, under Colonel Stanton, had sighted and pursued two young
bucks who had been out hunting for game, and, seeing our column
advancing, had stationed themselves upon the summit of a ridge, and were
watching our movements. Crook ordered the command to halt and bivouac at
that point on the creek which we had reached. Coffee was made for all
hands, and then the purposes of the general commanding made themselves
known. He wanted the young Indians to think that we were a column making
its way down towards the Yellowstone with no intention of following
their trail; then, with the setting of the sun, or a trifle sooner, we
were to start out and march all night in the hope of striking the band
to which the young men belonged, and which must be over on the Powder as
there was no water nearer in quantity sufficient for ponies and
families. The day had been very blustering and chilly, with snow clouds
lowering over us.