THE BLACKFOOT AGENCY
The next morning they were early on their way, and by noon reached the
home of a Canadian Frenchman, formerly in the service of the American
Fur Company, but now living on his little ranch on the Teton with his
Indian wife and a numerous brood of half-breed children.
From here they kept on up-stream, until just before night they came to
another ranch, on the Pend d’Oreille coulée, where lived a man whom Hugh
and Joe both addressed as Froggy, also married to an Indian woman.
Just before dark Jack was greatly interested in seeing a procession of
five pin-tailed ducks walking solemnly from a little slough to the
house. When they reached it the woman drove them into a little coop
built of short logs, and closing the door, fastened it with a pin.
“Where did you get your ducks, Froggy?” asked Joe.
“Oh,” answered Froggy, “I found a nest out on the prairie at the edge of
the slough and watched it until the young ones hatched and then got them
and brought them in and raised them. I did have nine, but the coyotes
and foxes got away with all but these five. Now I’ve got ’em trained so
that they come up every night, and I shut them up in the house where
they’ll be safe.”
Shortly after they had started next morning Jack asked Hugh some
questions about Froggy. It appeared that he had come into the country
twelve or fifteen years before and had worked first as a laborer and
afterward as a clerk for small individual traders.
“They say,” put in Joe, “that he has killed two or three men for their
money.”
“Yes,” said Hugh, “I heard something about that, but nobody that ever
talked to me about it really seemed to know anything.”
“No,” said Joe, “I reckon they never could prove anything against him.
Twice men who were traveling through the country and were supposed to
have money disappeared on this road and nobody ever knew what became of
them. Each time Froggy said that they stopped at his house over night
and then started on in the morning, but they never were seen again.”
“Well,” said Hugh, “we don’t know anything about that.”
“Hugh,” said Jack, “I’ve been a good deal in the Western country and I’m
not a pilgrim any longer, but isn’t something going to happen to Froggy
some of these days?”
“Why, yes, son,” said Hugh, “I reckon some day that somebody will up and
kill Froggy, and then the country will be better off; but it isn’t your
funeral nor yet mine, and we don’t want to mix up with things that don’t
concern us at all.”
“No, Hugh, of course, you’re right, but it does seem as if the world and
the territory would be better off if Froggy did not live here.”
“Maybe, maybe,” said Hugh, “but, as I say, it isn’t your business nor
yet mine.”
That night they camped on Dupuyer Creek, and Hugh and Joe said that
to-morrow they would be at the agency.
“Well,” said Jack, “I’ll be glad to get there. It’s queer, isn’t it, the
number of times I’ve been up here and camped with these Piegans that
I’ve never seen their agency, the place which is really their home?”
“Well,” said Hugh, “it really has not been their home very long, only
since the buffalo gave out. Before that they only came in once in a
while, but not long before they saw the last of the buffalo the
Government sent out troops to bring them in and tell them that they must
stay at the agency.
“That’s one reason, I reckon, that they starved, as Joe was telling us
the other night. If it hadn’t been that the troops kept them there, I
believe they’d all have gone up north into Canada and have tried to make
the two other tribes, the Blackfeet and the Bloods, give them help. I
don’t know what help they could have given them, because those people up
there must be just as poor as these down here. They all depended on the
buffalo and they had nothing else. None of them have any idea of
farming, and of course none of them have any cattle.”
“But, Hugh,” said Jack, “what are they going to do now? The buffalo
won’t come back; how are they going to live?”
“Why,” said Hugh, “the only way they can live is for the Government to
support them, to send them out beef and flour and bacon. They’ve got to
be fed until they learn to do something for themselves, either to raise
crops or raise cattle, or get jobs as hands on the steamboats or as
hands for the ranchmen; but, of course, there are not enough ranchmen
in the country to hire even a small part of the able-bodied men among
the Piegans.”
“Well,” said Jack, “they have a pretty melancholy outlook, haven’t
they?”
“They have, it’s true,” Hugh answered. “At the same time,” he went on,
“some of those men are pretty industrious and have a pretty good idea of
work, if they only knew how, but as yet they don’t know anything. Joe
says though--you heard him the other night--that they were trying to
learn to farm, but this country up here is so cold that I don’t think
they can ever do anything with crops. There are a few warm spots where
crops might ripen, but they are very few.”
About noon the next day they drove down into the valley of a little
stream running from the west, and Joe stopped his horses so that they
might drink.
“Well, friend,” he said to Jack, “when we cross this creek we shall be
on the reservation. The Indians have their camps and their cabins up and
down this stream, and from here on, wherever there is a creek, there we
will see the Indians camped. It is only about eight miles from here to
the Agency.”
Most of the way was uphill, however, and it was well on in the afternoon
before the road passed over the high bluff, and at a distance they saw
the agency buildings. These looked gray and inconspicuous, set down in
the midst of a wide flat, through which flowed a stream bordered by
willows, with a few tall cottonwood trees. As they drew nearer, the
buildings seemed to Jack to increase in size, and presently they stopped
at the little one-story trading post, a hundred yards below the Agency,
that now looked like rather an imposing edifice. From here Jack could
see only the stockade, about sixteen feet in height and built of
cottonwood logs, which concealed all the Agency buildings behind its
walls.
At the store they were warmly welcomed by Joe Bruce and his assistant,
Mr. McGonigle. Bruce was, and long had been, one of the characters of
the upper Missouri country. He was then only about thirty-six years old,
smooth-shaven, keen-eyed, thin and wiry. Hugh had often spoken to Jack
about him and Jack looked at him with great interest. He was the son of
James Bruce, who was an important figure in the fur trade of the Upper
Missouri and long in charge of Fort Union at the junction of the
Missouri and Yellowstone Rivers, and later of Fort McKenzie and Fort
Brulé, not far from where Fort Benton was built later.
Bruce’s mother was a Mandan, and, as Jack learned a little later, lived
with her son at the Piegan agency.
Mr. McGonigle was a Georgian, an old Confederate soldier who had come
West “with the left wing of Price’s army,” as the saying used to be in
Montana. Of the great number of Southerners that came into Montana in
1862 and ’63 it was said in joke that when Price’s army was defeated in
Missouri in the early part of the war, the left wing got separated from
the others and started westward, and never stopped until it reached the
Rocky Mountains. Mr. McGonigle had spent some years as a prospector, but
after having made and lost several small fortunes, at last became a
trader’s clerk, which he had now been for many years.
After a brief chat with Joe Bruce, arrangements were made to spread
their beds for a night or two in one of his empty buildings, and to live
at his mess until they started on their way again. Joe, whose people
were camped on another creek further to the northward, was to remain at
the Agency for two or three days, and then the whole party would start
for St. Mary’s Lakes.
While Hugh was talking with Bruce, Jack chatted for a while with Mr.
McGonigle, but he was anxious to go up to the Agency and to get inside
that gray barrier of logs behind which were hidden many interesting
people and things.
Presently Hugh filled his pipe, and after lighting it, rose and said,
“Well, son, let’s go on up to the Agency and see the agent, and look
around and see if we can meet any of our friends.”
“All right, Hugh, come on,” said Jack, and they set out.
They soon reached the stockade and entered the wide plank gate, which
was still in good condition and bore signs of being frequently used. On
either side of the gate there were small log buildings, each with a
small window, which looked as if they had been built there for purposes
of defense; probably, however, they were built only in imitation of the
store and warehouse buildings that formerly flanked the gates of all old
fur-trading posts. Once within the stockade, they could see the quarters
for the employees, a warehouse, a schoolhouse in which were gathered ten
or fifteen children, and some other buildings; while in the center of
the stockade stood the house occupied by the agent.
In this house they found Major Allen, who welcomed them cordially, and
in response to inquiries by Hugh told them something of the terrible
conditions that he had found when he had reached there a year or more
before and had first met his starving people. He talked with much
feeling about their sufferings and the heroic way in which they had
borne them, and while he said nothing in definite terms about his
predecessor, what his words suggested made Jack’s blood boil with
indignation. Major Allen asked Hugh and the boys to stay at the Agency
as long as they liked, and said that he would like to have them see the
Indians at work.
When Hugh and Jack went up to the Agency the next morning they saw in
the field just below the stockade a number of Indians standing about a
team of horses, and as they drew nearer they could see that Major Allen
was giving instructions in the art of plowing to some of the people.
When they reached the group, they were busy for some time shaking hands
with old friends, whom they had known under far different circumstances,
but after the first salutations all turned to watch the work.
A half breed was driving the team hitched to a plow, and the agent was
trying to teach the Indians to hold the plow so as to turn a straight
furrow. It was new and not easy work for the red men. The handles of the
plow jerked from side to side, the point either coming out of the ground
or plunging so deeply into it that the man holding the handles was in
danger of being thrown forward on his head. Then Major Allen would take
the plow and holding it steadily would cut a smooth furrow of even
depth.
Old White Calf, the chief, was anxious to learn plowing. He took hold
of the handles and, although at first the plow wobbled from side to side
and more than once one of the handles struck him viciously in the ribs,
he cut a fair furrow for six or eight feet. Then, however, the point ran
deep into the ground, and the old man was thrown forward and nearly fell
down. Meanwhile, the Indians who were looking on were making jocular
remarks and poking fun at the man who happened to be plowing, but
he--after he had performed his small stint--had his revenge by making
fun of the next victim.
After he had watched them for a little while and enjoyed the fun, Jack
had a chance to look on a scene picturesque and beautiful. The wide
valley stretched before him with bluffs rising in terraces one after
another, the bright green of the willows and cottonwoods marking the
course of the stream; to the west the mountains with their clear-cut
outlines sharply defined against the blue sky; the gray stockade stood
near at hand, and farther off the conical white lodges of the Piegans up
and down the creek, with here and there a low log cabin. Outside the
fence Indians passed to and fro, some of them on foot, others on
horseback, and their bright-colored blankets, beaded belts and knife
sheaths gave life and color to the picture.
For some time the work went on, and then the Major asked Hugh and Jack
to come up to his house, where they talked over the Indians and the new
problems which they had to face.
“It’s interesting work looking after these people, but it’s
discouraging, too,” said Major Allen. “The Indians are willing to work,
but they haven’t any idea how to perform the tasks we set them, so that
their efforts are ineffective, and they easily become discouraged. They
have never been used to handling horses hitched to wagons, and they
don’t know at all what horses can do. They hitch these little riding
ponies of theirs to a big wagon and then pile it up with much more of a
load than the horses can haul, and whip up the team, which strains and
tugs along for a short distance, but presently gives out, and the wagon
has to be unloaded or else another pair or two of horses must be
attached to it.
“The Indians are as willing as can be and they are not afraid of work,
but they don’t like to keep at it for a long time. They are absolutely
ignorant of all farming matters and it will take them some time to
learn. Last summer some of them planted little gardens, but they treated
them as children would. For example, they often dug up their potatoes to
see how fast they were growing, and as soon as they grew large enough to
eat they tried to sell them, although if they had left them in the
ground they would have continued to grow for a month longer. Now that
the Indians have teams and are beginning to learn something about how to
use them, they drive up to the mountains and cut wood and haul it down,
either to sell or to use themselves in winter. Some of them have built
good log cabins in which they pass the winter, but of course in summer
they prefer to live in their lodges.”
“Well, Major,” said Hugh, “you can hardly expect these Indians, who all
their lives have been chasing buffalo, to take hold of work at once.”
“No,” said the Major, “that can’t be expected, and I don’t look for it.
I am very well satisfied with the way they have taken hold. They’re
willing and they seem honest.”
“Yes, I think so,” said Hugh, “and from what I can hear they’ve had such
a hard time that I think they’re really in earnest in their wish to
learn how to work.”
“Their loyalty,” said the Major, “is one of the things that has struck
me the most. The policemen are absolutely faithful. When I enlist them,
I make them take an oath, explaining that everybody who serves the
Government has to be sworn in, and that they must do as all the other
public servants. They take an oath which I like, though perhaps not a
very ceremonial one; still they take it as if they meant it, and I
believe they do. Have you ever heard them make this oath, Mr. Johnson?”
“No,” said Hugh, “I don’t reckon I have. I would like to hear it, and so
would son here. What is it?”
“When they are sworn,” said Major Allen, “they lift up the right hand
and, stretching it toward the sky, say, ‘The sun is good,’ and then,
‘The earth is good,’ and bending down they touch the ground with the
hand; and as they stand up again they say, ‘I will obey the orders of my
chief, that I may live long with my family.’
“Now these policemen get only eight dollars a month; they’re likely to
be called on at any time to ride any distance; they have to furnish
their own horses, and yet they never, so far as I have heard, complain.
They’re a good lot of people, and I ask for nothing better than to stay
here and work with them, but I hope that I shall never have as bad a
time as I had when they were starving during the first two or three
months that I was here.”
“Yes,” said Jack, “that must have been a terrible time.”
As they were walking down to the trader’s store, Jack, who had been much
impressed by Major Allen’s talk about the Indians, said to Hugh, “Now,
Hugh, what do you think will become of these Indians? Of course, the
buffalo never can come back, so hunting days must be nearly over. How
are the people to support themselves, or are they to be looked after in
future by the Government?”
“Why, son,” said Hugh, “I guess that question is puzzling, and it’s
going to puzzle a lot of smarter men than you and I will ever be. It’s a
sure thing that these Indians can never make a living in this country by
farming. They might make a living by cattle if they had any, or had any
means of getting them, but of course the Indians have no money and no
means of earning any money to buy cattle with. They certainly can’t hire
out to work, because there is no one in this country that will hire them
and pay wages. If they had cattle and would take care of them they might
do well, because this is one of the finest grazing ranges in the world,
but you know very well that if the Government were to give each one of
these Indians a cow to-morrow, a week hence very few of them would still
have his cow. They would kill them and eat them, and then sit around and
hope that the Government would give them another. They have got to have
a lot of instruction before they will look out for the future.”
“Well,” said Jack, “you can’t blame them. In the past when they wanted
food they went out and killed something, and they can’t be expected to
understand that things are changing.”
“No,” said Hugh, “I don’t expect it of them, but if they don’t come to
understand it very soon they will have to suffer again just what they
suffered two years ago.”
“Well,” said Jack, “it’s mighty hard lines; it’s heartbreaking to think
of.”
“So it is,” said Hugh. “I feel mighty badly whenever I think of it, but
I reckon it’s the law. I expect the white people had to go through an
awful lot of suffering before they got to the point where ‘most every
man realized that he had to work hard for a living, and I reckon if you
look around back where you live you’ll find that there are a good many
people in those big cities there that don’t realize this yet.”
“Yes,” said Jack, “I suppose there are, but these Indians are so kindly
and generous and hospitable that I feel a personal sympathy for each one
of them that, of course, I don’t feel for the inefficient people back
East.”
“Well,” said Hugh, “that’s natural, of course. You know these people and
you don’t know the others.”
Soon after they got back to the trader’s store dinner was ready, and
after dinner they lounged about the store talking with Bruce.