see these most beautiful of all our Northern Rockies lakes; with the
Piegan Blackfeet he camped at them in 1816, and long afterward, with
his growing family of hardy sons and daughters, this became his
favorite hunting and trapping ground. When, in the 1830's, that
valiant and much beloved missionary, Father De Smet, S.J., was
visiting the various tribes of this Northwest country, Monroe was
engaged to take him to a conference with the North Blackfeet, then
camping on the Saskatchewan River. _En route_ they camped at the foot
of the lower of these lakes, and there erected a large wooden cross,
and named the two sheets of water, St. Mary's Lakes. Later on, the
Stevens expedition named them Chief Mountain Lakes, but that name did
not last. Monroe and his brother trappers were all Catholics, and they
continued to use the name that the great priest had given them, and on
the maps they are St. Mary's Lakes to-day.
During my long friendship with him, Monroe told me many stories of his
adventures here in early days. This was his favorite mountain resort
on account of the great numbers of moose that inhabited the heavily
timbered valley and mountain slopes, and of the great variety and
numbers of fur animals that were found here. The valley swarmed with
elk and deer; there were countless flocks of bighorn and goats on the
mountains, and herds of buffalo everywhere along the lower lake, and
below it; but Monroe liked best of all the flesh of moose, and killed
large numbers of them every season that he camped here.
His method of catching wolves was simple and unique. He would build an
oblong, pyramidal log pen about eight by sixteen feet at the base, and
eight feet in height, the last layer of logs being placed about
eighteen inches apart. Easily climbing the slope of this, the wolves
would jump down through the narrow aperture at the top to feed upon
the quantities of meat that had been placed inside to decoy them, but
they could not jump out. Often, of a morning, the trapper and his sons
would find ten or more big wolves imprisoned in the trap, and, powder
and ball being very costly, they would kill them with bow and arrows,
skin them, and drag the carcasses to the river and cast them into it,
then take the hides home and peg them on the ground to dry. In this
manner they would often, in the spring, have several hundred wolf
pelts to pack in to Fort Benton for sale, and prime pelts sold at five
dollars each, in trade. Their catch of beaver, otter, mink, martin,
and fisher was also large.
Monroe always camped at the foot of the lower lake, near the outlet,
and was there more than once attacked by roving war parties of
Assiniboines, Crows, and even the Yanktonais. The horses were kept at
night in a strong corral just back of the lodge, and in the daytime
were watched by some member of the family while they grazed on the
rich prairie grasses. All the family--John and François, the sons,
Millie and Lizzie, the daughters--and even the mother had guns,
flintlocks, and a good supply of powder and ball. Early one morning a
large war party was discovered approaching the camp, sneaking from
bush to bush, some crawling on all fours through the high grass.
Lizzie opened fire upon them and killed her man, and then the fire
became general on both sides. But the Monroes, in their trenches
surrounding the lodge, had the best of it from the start, and
eventually made the enemy retreat with a loss of five of their
number. Late the following night the Assiniboines crept in to make
another attack, but the Monroes were expecting them, waiting for them,
and in the bright moonlight could take fairly accurate aim. They again
drove them off, with a loss of two more of their number, and that time
they kept going. Nothing more was seen of them. But for some days the
Monroes did not venture far from their camp.
I first saw the St. Mary's Lakes in October, 1882, in company with
Charles Phemmister, James Rutherford, Charles Carter, and Oliver
Sanderville, all old plainsmen, good company, and best of hunters. We
outfitted for the trip at the Old Agency, on Badger Creek, Blackfeet
Reservation, and started northward. There was no trail after leaving
the crossing of Little or Milk River, and we struck up country toward
the big gap in the mountains, in which we knew the lakes must lie, and
that evening camped on the shore of a large prairie lake that was
black with ducks. I shot a dozen or more of them as they flew over a
long point, and to my surprise and delight found that they were all
canvasbacks and redheads, and very fat from feeding upon the wild
celery beds of the lake. I named the sheet of water Duck Lake.
The next day we made a trail down the long hill, and camped at the
foot of the lower lake, close to the outlet. Then began two weeks of
most glorious sport. We shot elk, deer, and several grizzlies in the
valley, and bighorn on a mountain that I named Flat Top, and combed
that mountain from one end to another and on all sides for an animal
known to us as the Rocky Mountain ibex. We had seen several skins of
them, bought from the Stony Indians by Captain John Healy, of Fort
Whoopup and Fort Benton fame, but none of us nor any man of our
acquaintance--and we knew every trapper and trader in the country--had
ever seen one of the animals alive. Of course we found none, as this
sub-Arctic animal, which we later learned is a true antelope, and not
an ibex or goat, seldom leaves the high cliff mountains for the outer
and lower ones of the range. When, later, we did find them, we in our
ignorance named them Rocky Mountain goats, and that is the common name
for them to-day, despite the fact that they are antelopes.
On this first visit to the St. Mary's Lakes country I was so impressed
by the grandeur of its mountains, the beauty of its many lakes, and
its plenitude of game, that thereafter for many years it was, more
than anywhere else, my home. In 1883 I brought out to the lakes a good
boat that I had had built for me at Fort Conrad, and with it learned
that both lakes were alive with whitefish and Mackinaw, Dolly Varden,
and cutthroat trout. During the summer of this year I named Red Eagle
Mountain and Red Eagle Lake, after my uncle-in-law, Red Eagle, owner
of the Thunder medicine pipe, and one of the most high-minded,
gentle-hearted Indians that I ever knew. In the autumn of this year
Dr. George Bird Grinnell joined me, and we hunted around the lower
lake, and went up Swift Current far enough to see what we thought
would possibly prove to be a glacier. We had not then time to learn
if our surmise was correct. During our hunt Dr. Grinnell killed a
large ram at long range, offhand, with one shot from his old Sharp's
rifle, on the mountain next above Flat Top, and I therefore named it
Single-Shot Mountain.
[Illustration: AT THE NARROWS. UPPER ST. MARY'S LAKE]
In the summer of this year I also named Divide Mountain, because it is
the outermost mountain on the Atlantic-Arctic watershed. At the same
time I named Kootenai Mountain, also for a very good reason. Some
members of that tribe were encamped beside me at the foot of the upper
lake. I noticed often that they would ride out of camp at daylight and
return at noon or a little later with all the bighorn or goat meat
that their horses could carry, and finally I asked them where they
went to make their killings so quickly.
"Come with me to-morrow and I will show you something," one of them
answered. And the next morning I rode with him up Red Eagle Valley and
part way up a mountain, where we tied our horses and went on afoot for
a couple of hundred yards. Then, looking down into a _coulée_, we saw
a dozen or more bighorn in the bottom of it and killed four of them.
They had been eating salty clay and drinking from a salt spring that
oozes from the ground there, so I named the place Kootenai Lick, and
also gave the mountain the name Kootenai. Thereafter I knew where to
go for bighorn when I wanted one.
In 1884 I named Almost-a-Dog Mountain, after one of the few survivors
of the Baker massacre, which took place on the Marias River, January
1, 1870. At that time Colonel E. M. Baker, with a couple of companies
of cavalry from Fort Shaw, Montana, was trying to find the camp of Owl
Child, a Piegan Blackfoot, and murderer of a settler named Malcolm
Clark, and arrest him. By mistake he struck the camp of Heavy Runner
and his band of friendly Indians, and, although the chief came running
toward him waving his letters of recommendation and his Washington
medals, Baker ordered his men to begin firing, and a terrible massacre
ensued, the Indians firing not one shot in defense, as about all the
able-bodied men were at the time on a buffalo hunt. When the firing
was over, two hundred and seventeen old men and women and children lay
dead and dying in their lodges and in the camp. The soldiers then shot
the wounded, collected the lodges and property of the Indians in great
piles, and set fire to them and departed.[9]
[9] The above is an extract from an affidavit by the late Joseph
Kipp, who was Baker's scout and guide at the time.
In the autumn of 1885 Dr. Grinnell, J. B. Monroe, and I made a trip up
Swift Current River, and discovered and roughly measured the big
glacier at the head of its middle fork, Dr. Grinnell killing a big ram
on the ice while we were traversing it and avoiding its deep
crevasses. That evening Monroe and I named the glacier in honor of Dr.
Grinnell, and also named the mountain to the north of it after him. On
the following day we were joined by Lieutenant--now Major--J. H.
Beacom, Third Infantry, and he gave my Indian name, Apikuni, to the
high mountain between Swift Current and the South Fork of Kennedy
Creek. Upon our return to Upper St. Mary's Lake, Dr. Grinnell named
Little Chief Mountain, Monroe gave Citadel Mountain its name, and I
named Yellow Fish, Goat, Going-to-the-Sun, and Four Bears Mountains.
Yellow Fish (O-to-ko´-mi) was an Indian who often hunted with us, and
Four Bears (Nis-su´-kyai-yo) was the Blackfeet camp crier, and a most
amusing man.
It was in 1886, I believe, that we three, and my old-time friend,
William Jackson, one-time scout for General Custer and General Miles,
cut a trail to the head of the St. Mary's Valley and discovered the
great sheet of ice which we named the Blackfeet Glacier. We at the
same time named Gun-Sight Pass, and named the peak just west of the
glacier, Mount Jackson. It should be Sik-si-kai´-kwan (Blackfeet Man),
Jackson's Indian name. He was a grandson of Hugh Monroe, a real
plainsman, and one of the bravest men I ever knew.
[Illustration: GOING-TO-THE-SUN MOUNTAIN]
Going-to-the-Sun has been climbed this day, and a flag has been
planted upon its summit, by Paul E. Walker, Esq., of Topeka, Kansas.
Owing to a high cliff upon its upper shoulder, the mountain has always
been considered unclimbable. But after long search, and with no little
risk, Mr. Walker finally worked out a way up the wall, and out upon
the extreme crest, and was undoubtedly the first man, white or red,
ever to stand there. He reports that a magnificent view of the
mountains and plains is to be had from the great height.
_August 12._
We have more real meat in camp. Yesterday Black Bull went up under the
north point of Flat Top Mountain, which is on the Indian Reservation,
and killed two fat young rams. I went fishing, and in the first pool
of the river below the upper lake, caught several two- and three-pound
cutthroat trout. We had a great feast in the evening--roast bighorn
ribs, broiled trout, a quantity of blueberries, and so on.
After the feast was over came story-telling time, and we heard this
man's and that man's experiences in hunting in this vicinity in other
days, Tail-Feathers-Coming-over-the-Hill relating a hard experience
that befell him when once wintering here with me. He was chasing a
wounded elk on the slope of Single-Shot Mountain, and stepped upon a
sharp, snow-covered knot that pierced his foot through and through,
and kept him laid up for two months. Yellow Wolf then related an
old-time tale, which incidentally gave the reason for naming these two
sheets of water the Inside Lakes. He called it, he said,--
"THE STORY OF THE FIRST HORSES
"In that long-ago time when the people had only their great, wolf-like
dogs for carrying their belongings, there were two very poor orphans,
a brother and sister, in the camp. The boy was very deaf, and because
he seemed not to understand what was shouted at him, he was believed
to be crazy, and not even the relatives of his dead father and mother
cared to have him in their lodges. One would keep him for a time and
tell him to go, and then another relative would take him in for a
short time, and, getting tired of him, send him on to another lodge.
And wherever he went, his beautiful young sister went with him. Often,
in good weather, when camp was moved, the two would stay at the old
camp-ground, living on cast-away meat so long as it lasted, and then
they would overtake the camp and go into the nearest lodge, and at
least be sure of a meal. They were generally barefooted and always
shabbily dressed. It was a hard life that they led. And because he was
so deaf, and believed to be crazy, the boy had not even one playmate
in all the camp, nor had his sister, for she knew that it was her duty
to be always at his side. There came a time, however, when a childless
woman, wife of a great and rich chief, wanted the girl to raise as her
own daughter, and after many days the boy persuaded her to be adopted,
and he was left alone and more lonely than ever.
"Not long after this separation, the camp moved one day, and the boy,
Long Arrow, remained at the old camp-ground to live there as long as
he could on the leavings of the people. At last he finished the last
scrap of thrown away or forgotten meat and started to overtake the
camp. The day was hot, terribly hot, but despite that the boy traveled
as fast as he could, often running, and perspiration streamed from his
body and his breath came short and fast in loud wheezes. Suddenly,
while running, he felt something give way with a snap in his left ear,
felt something moving out from it, and reaching up he pulled from it a
long, round, waxy object that looked like a worm. He held it in his
hand and ran on, and noted that with the left ear he could plainly
hear his footsteps upon the trail. A little later something snapped in
his right ear, and began to move out of it, and he took from it
another worm-like substance, and keeping both in his hand, ran on. He
could now hear plainly with both ears, and so happy was he that he
felt almost as though he could fly.
"But that was not all the good that was to come to him that day. Early
in the morning a hunter had left camp with his pack dogs, and had
taken the back trail in search of buffalo, and just before the boy
appeared he had killed one, and was butchering it when he saw the boy
approaching him. This hunter, Heavy Runner, was a chief, and one of
the kindest men in the whole camp. He had long thought to do something
for this boy, and now, when he saw him coming, he said to himself:
'The time has come. I shall do something for him!'
"The boy came to him and his kill, and he shouted to him, at the same
time making signs: 'Sit you down, my boy, and rest. You are wet with
sweat, and covered with dust. You must be very tired. Take this piece
of tripe and eat it. And now let me tell you something: from this day
you are to be my boy. I adopt you. You shall have a place in my lodge;
good clothes; a good bed. Try to be good, and deserve it all. I am
going to try to make a man of you.'
"'Heavy Runner, your kind words make me want to cry,' said the boy,
his voice trembling, tears dropping from his eyes. He swallowed
painfully, brushed away the tears, sat up straight, and went on: 'I
shall be glad to be your son. I will do all that I can to deserve what
you give me. And now, let me tell you something. As I was running away
back there on the trail, and breathing hard, first in one ear, and
then in the other, something broke with a snapping noise and out came
these two worm-like things, and at once hearing came to me. I believe
that I could hear a mouse walking if he were away out there beyond
your kill.'
"'Now, that is good news, and a good sign!' Heavy Runner shouted. He
was not yet used to the fact that the boy could hear. Then,
remembering, he said more gently: 'You take a good rest while I finish
butchering this animal and packing the dogs, and then we will each
take what meat we can carry and go home. Yes, boy, you have a home
now, and a good one.'
"That evening, when Heavy Runner told his woman that he had adopted
Long Arrow, she made a great outcry: 'How could you, and without
asking me, adopt that deaf, crazy boy?' she asked. And then, she
cried, and said that she would not have him for a son, and ran from
the lodge. People gathered around and pitied her and said that she was
right; that the boy was crazy and deaf and worthless, and would not
mind, and as soon as he got good clothes he would run off and again
live at old campgrounds.
"After a time she went back to her lodge, and as soon as she entered
it Heavy Runner said to her: 'Now, at once, cease your crying, and
take the anger from your heart. I have adopted this boy, and he is my
boy. He is no longer deaf; he was never crazy. He is a good boy and I
shall make a man, a chief of him. See that you treat him well, even if
you cannot love him. And believe this: if you do not treat him well,
you shall be the one to suffer. To-morrow morning, begin making some
good moccasins for him. I, myself, shall cut out his clothes, and he
can sew them.'
"So began a new life for Long Arrow. If the woman did not love him,
she at least treated him well. He did everything that he could think
of to please Heavy Runner. He went hunting with him, and brought home
heavy loads of the meat that he killed, and in every possible way was
of use to him. And yet he was not satisfied; he kept saying to
himself: 'I want to do something great for this man who is so good to
me!'
"Time passed. The boy grew up to be a fine young man; good of heart
and of fine appearance; and at last Heavy Runner's woman loved him as
though he were her own son. But in one thing he was very different
from the other young men of the camp: he made no close friends, and
when not needed by Heavy Runner he wandered much by himself. Excepting
his sister, whom he frequently took for long walks, he had little to
say to any one, and so the people, all but she and his foster parents,
continued to believe him crazy.
"One evening he said to Heavy Runner: 'Tell me. What must one do to
become a chief?'
"'One must be very brave, must be fearless when facing the enemy, and
of very kind heart; full of pity for the poor and the old and the
sick, and always anxious to help them,' the chief replied.
"'Well, I want to become a chief. What is the first thing for me to
do?' he asked.
"'The first thing to do is to go to some far and dangerous place, and
get your medicine. That is, something that will make you favored by
the gods, and bring you good luck in battle, and in all matters of
life,' Heavy Runner told him.
"'That I shall do,' said the young man, 'but, first, will you not call
in the chiefs, and the medicine men and braves, and let me hear from
them where they went, and what they did to get their medicine? I shall
then have a better idea of what I am to do.'
"'We will have in our lodge full of them,' Heavy Runner said. And the
next morning he shouted out invitations for a smoke, asking only the
great of the tribe to come to it. They came, filling the lodge, and
then, when the pipe was going the round of the circle, he told why he
had invited them to the smoke; asked them to give their experiences in
their search for medicines.
"One after another they told their adventures; where they went; what
they did; what they saw; what narrow escapes from death they had. And
at last it came Spotted Bear's turn. But he refused to give his
experience.
"'What,' he cried, 'tell that crazy youth about my adventure? Why, I
wouldn't waste my breath on him!'
"'But he is a poor boy; he wants to know; you might tell it him in a
short way,' pleaded Heavy Runner.
"'Well, I will tell it; not for his benefit, for he is crazy, and
would not understand; but I will tell it so that you all may know what
I did,' the surly one answered.
"'From this very place I traveled southward along the foot of the
mountains. Seven days and seven nights I traveled, stopping only now
and then for a short rest and sleeping very little, and on the morning
after the seventh night I arrived at the shore of a small lake. There
I met a stranger man who asked me what I sought, and I told him that I
was wandering in search of a strong, a powerful medicine. "Ah!" said
he, "in such a matter I cannot help you. Go on south for three days
and three nights, and you will find a man who will give you what you
seek."
"'I went on. Stopping only for short rests, and rarely sleeping, I
traveled south for three days and three nights from that place, and in
the morning after the third night arrived at a long, wide lake running
away back in the mountains. I looked at it, looked at the mountains,
turning this way, that way, and when I turned a last time, lo! there
in front of me stood a man, fierce of face, dressed in beautiful
strange clothing, wrapped in a robe such as I had never seen before,
and carrying a spear with a big, flint point.
"'"What do you here?" he asked. "Are you not afraid to come to this,
the home of us gods of the deep waters?"
"'I answered that I was not afraid; that I feared neither gods nor
men, nor any animal of the earth, the sky, or the deep waters. And at
that he cried out: "You are brave! The brave shall be rewarded! Come
with me!"
"'I went with him to his lodge. I am promised to secrecy; I dare not
tell you where it was. He took me in and fed me, and gave me this robe
that I am wearing, this medicine robe, and taught me the prayers and
ceremony that goes with it. I asked him what kind of a robe it was,
and he answered that it was the skin of an elk-dog;[10] an animal as
large as an elk, and, like the dog, useful for carrying burdens. The
gods, he said, rode them, guided them wherever they wanted to go.
[10] Po-no-ka-mi-ta (elk-dog). The horse.
"'Said I: "May I have one of those elk-dogs to ride home?"
"'"No! They are only for the gods to use," he answered, and told me to
go. I came home. I have the robe. Here it is, proof of all that I have
told you. Ah! And this crazy youth would know where I went, what I
did! It is to laugh to think of his going there!'
"The pipe went a last round, and then the chiefs and medicine men and
braves went home. As soon as they were gone Long Arrow said to Heavy
Runner: 'My chief, you know that I am not crazy. I feel that I must go
on adventure, and I want to go where Spotted Bear went, and prove to
him that I can go as far and face as many dangers as he did. Will you
let me go, and keep secret from every one whither I have gone and for
what purpose?'
"'What you propose is just what I want you to do,' Heavy Runner
answered. 'You shall start to-morrow, taking with you all the
moccasins and other things you will need, and your foster mother and I
will tell no one anything about you.'
"At break of day the next morning, while all the people of the great
camp still slept, Long Arrow started on his journey of discovery.
Straight south he went, by day and by night, resting and sleeping at
long intervals, and then only for a very short time. On the third day
he arrived at the small lake that Spotted Bear had mentioned, and
there met the man of that place, even as he had done.
"'What seek you?' the man asked.
"'Knowledge! Medicine! The way to become a chief!' Long Arrow
answered.
"'I cannot help you. Go on south for seven days and seven nights, and
you will come to a great lake, and there you will meet a man who can
help you if he cares to do so. It may be that he will not even show
himself to you, but anyhow it is worth your while to go there and try
to meet him.'