The "Dull Knife" Raid; The Indian's Motive for the Same, etc.
The summer of 1877 found the Indians as active as they had been for some
years prior to that date. They had long since come to the realization that
if the buffalo hunter continued his destructive work upon their base of
supplies, the time would soon come when they would be brought to the verge
of want. They had so long considered the buffalo their natural source of
sustenance that they could not behold the plains depopulated of the vast
herds without offering some kind of protest, and the only one that
appealed to him was the rifle, and the tomahawk. Prior to '77 they had
levied a heavy toll upon the settlers in varied shapes of depredations.
They murdered wantonly, they carried into captivity many wives and
daughters of the settlers, they ran off the stock and what they did not
take away they destroyed. Things had come to such a pass that the settler
had to be protected if the vast plains were to be opened up to
agriculture, or ranching. With the removal of the buffalo, the cattle man
would have an opportunity of stocking the vast territory with marketable
beef, or the farmer would be able to convert the boundless acres of the
plains to the production of much needed cereals. Hence it came to pass
that the U. S. soldier took a very active part in affording protection not
only to the scattering settlers who were brave enough to risk the dangers
of Indian incursion, but also, to the cattlemen who were rapidly filling
the plains with herds to replace the once numberless buffalo. Miners and
freighters also came in for their share of protection from the lawless
incursions of the marauding natives of the plains. As a consequence of
the activity of the army, several bands of hostile Indians were captured
and placed on reservations. Amongst the contingents brought in was Dull
Knife with his followers. They were held under surveillance at Red Cloud
Agency, Nebraska, until an order was issued by the Department to Capt.
Lawton, telling him to take charge of the Dull Knife Band, and take them
under military escort to Ft. Reno Reservation, Indian Territory. This
order was promptly complied with, and he started southwards and located
them on the above mentioned Reservation without any trouble or annoyance
on the part of Dull Knife.
It might be well to interpolate here an assertion of Dull Knife, as it
will explain some of his future conduct. He made the claim that he
surrendered under a promise, or form of agreement that in case he should
become dissatisfied with the Darlington agency at Ft. Reno, he would be
allowed return to his northern hunting grounds again. I cannot vouch for
the truthfulness of the statement, but will let it pass for what it is
worth. The fact of the matter is that he was only a very short time at the
Darlington agency before he began fomenting trouble. He managed to render
himself obnoxious as possible to every one with whom he had any dealings.
John D. Miles was in charge of the Darlington Agency at the time, and
Major Misner was in command of Ft. Reno. They each of them kept a close
scrutiny on every movement of their distinguished? guest, as his
reputation for being a disturber among the Indians as well as amongst the
whites had preceded him, and they soon discovered that his change of base
did not change his disposition for the better, in fact, it seemed to have
the contrary effect upon him. When he was brought into the reservation,
the agent located him about nine miles above Reno, close by what was known
as Dutch Jake's ranch, and not far from where the present town of Calumet
is situated, in the valley of the North Canadian. He was not there very
long until he discovered that the whole scheme of creation seemed to be
out of harmony with his needs and comfort. He made the startling discovery
that the water was no good, that the grass lacked the nutritive qualities
necessary to keep his ponies in good condition, and last, but not least,
that the agent was stealing his chuckaway and that he, his family and all
that was near and dear to him were fast becoming mere shadows of their
former selves owing to such scantiness of rations. I do not know whether
there was any truth in the claim that the agent, John D. Miles was guilty
of the crime charged against him, but this I feel very safe in saying,
that a great many of the troubles with the Western Indians had their
origin in just such practices, as has often been shown upon investigation.
There are usually two sides to every question, but, in the case in
discussion, whether there was any truth in the charge, or not, I am safe
in remarking that Dull Knife with less provocation, in fact, with only an
excuse for provocation, could stir up more strife with less raw material
to start on than any Indian I ever knew or heard of, and certainly lived
up to the description the Irishman gave of his wife, when he was carried
away by his feelings of resentment, "Bad luck to your ould head, ye're
never at home only when ye are abroad, and never at peace but when ye are
at war."
The condition of which Dull Knife complained with so much petulancy and
bitterness continued to exist during the winter. However, when the day
arrived for the Indians to draw their rations, he appeared with the rest
and took his share. The manner in which the cattle were turned over to
them was rather peculiar, but filled the bill to a nicety. At the time
appointed, they all adjourned to what was called the "issue" pen where the
cattle were turned over to them to kill after their own fashion. As soon
as the steer was turned loose the Indians set out in pursuit of him, armed
with bows and arrows, with which they endeavored to despatch him. They
rode alongside of him, often times the distance of more than a mile, all
the while trying to sink their arrows into some vital spot. Many a wild
race they had after some refractory steer goaded to desperation by the
wounds inflicted upon him by the arrows. As soon as the beast fell in his
track, the pursuers work was done. The attention required to convert the
fallen steer into food was given by the squaws who followed the pursuit,
some on foot and others on ponies. Arrived at the death scene they
immediately set to work with their skinning knives and soon had the steer
divested of his hide. That done, they made short work of cutting up the
carcass into the portions allotted to each family. Those to whom the meat
was distributed looked after the conveyance of it to their quarters in
whatever manner suited their taste or convenience. Some wrapped it up in
blankets, others hung it from their saddles, others brought into service a
gunny sack or any other article that would suit the purpose of
transporting their share to their dwellings. In the work of disposing of a
steer, they were very economical, as there was very little left of it when
they had finished the work of dismembering him. Even the entrails came in
for their attention. The smaller intestines they usually relieved of their
contents by squeezing between their fingers. When they had them
sufficiently cleansed of all foreign matter, they braided them carefully
and hung them around the necks of their ponies. If the work happened to
take place in warm weather, by the time the work was completed there was
usually a halo of flies encircling each squaw to accompany her on her
homeward journey. The bucks seldom, if ever, took a hand in the butchering
as they considered that work beneath the dignity of a warrior. A few years
later this system of disposing of the cattle was abolished by an order
issued from the Indian Department at Washington, as the officials
considered that manner of killing a beast too barbarious and cruel. To
accomplish the end desired, they had the Agent select a good marksman to
go into the issue, pen and shoot the animal selected for each family.
Then the beast was dragged outside and the family to whom it was
apportioned, dressed it and made the division of it that suited their
fancy. On the day of "issue," I have frequently sat for hours watching the
aborigines at their work, and I must say that outside of a few little
things, the scene had a certain amount of fascination for me. Here I had
an opportunity to study the Indian at close range, and I found it far from
uninteresting. However, education and environment has wrought considerable
change in the habits and customs of the natives of the plains, though it
was a somewhat difficult matter to break away from the mode of life
founded upon years of existance under a species of wild and untrammeled
freedom such as they enjoyed before they came under the dominion of the
white man. I have oftentimes, in my travels over the plains and visits to
the different agencies, come upon a family of Indians at their meal. All
were seated upon the ground in a circle around the food, each one devoting
careful attention to the work of demolishing some choice morsel with a
gusto that would make Lucullus envious. Frequently, upon encountering them
in such circumstances I discovered young men and young women who had been
at Carlyle, or some other institution in the East, I could tell at a
glance that they had had the advantage of an educational training, as,
upon my arrival they would turn their faces away from me, much embarrassed
and somewhat ashamed to be seen in their old habits of life when they had
been permitted to enjoy the elevating influences and advantages of higher
life. They had not been back from school perhaps, for more than a couple
of weeks; perhaps, they were only making a short visit to the old folks on
the plains, but they could not conceal their training, and they sought to
avoid embarrassment by turning away from the visitor who happened to call
upon them. They were wearing the blanket just to please the old people. It
was the custom of the early days, and still the mode of life of their
parents, and they found it rather difficult to live in a manner different
from their people when they were in the midst of them. One who suffered no
embarrassment from the visitor was the old buck himself. There he sat
munching a piece of raw beef as unconcerned as if no visitor had ever
appeared before him. He was apparently oblivious of his surroundings, and
it seemed as if the sole purpose in life, just then, was to give his whole
time and attention to a quantity of meat, oftentimes of such size that a
section of it would be protruding from the corner of his mouth. There he
sat and just chewed, like a work ox munching his quid, or a mountain goat
contentedly masticating some tough but savory morsel of food.
I have digressed considerably from the subject of Dull Knife's doings, but
I hope that matter just mentioned has not been uninteresting to the reader
as it gives some idea of the manner of life the old rascal led while at
the Darlington Agency. To continue the narrative, the Agent kept up his
mode of procedure in dealing with Dull Knife, and the latter continued to
raise objections. He kept the trail between his abode and the Agency in a
well worn condition owing to his numerous visits to the presiding
official. In this manner he managed to put in the whole winter. In other
words, he kept the kettle boiling, and one could see that there was
something brewing.
If there is anything that an Indian dislikes, it is to get into any
trouble that would force him to leave his camp in the winter time,
especially when there is much snow on the ground. Gen. Phil. Sheridan was
aware of this fact when he made his winter campaign on the Washita after
Black Kettle, Satanta, and Lone Wolf, and forever settled the outbreaks of
the Indians in that section of the country.
When the grass began to spring up along the valley, and his ponies seemed
to be putting on some of the much needed flesh, Dull Knife felt the blood
pulsing through his heart with greater vigor, and he began to make
preparations for war. He made no secret of his intentions to depart at the
earliest opportunity from the restraining influences of the Reservation.
It was quite manifest to all the employees at the Agency, and to a great
many of the soldiers, that Dull Knife was making his arrangements to part
company with his surroundings. News of the intentions of Dull Knife was
brought to the Agent by an educated half-breed, George Bent. Any rumor
that he had of the matter previously was now sufficiently confirmed to
warrant his taking what precautionary measures he deemed proper to
restrain the war-like ardor of the distinguished guest within his gates.
He summoned Dull Knife to his presence and gave peremptory orders to
remove his camp from its present location down the river to a position
about eight miles east of where the present city of El Reno now stands. It
was a good location as there was plenty of water, timber, and grazing, and
should have satisfied the demands of Dull Knife for improved conditions,
but he immediately put forth all manner of objections to which the Agent
turned a deaf ear. Reluctantly Dull Knife agreed that the conditions in
the new location were much better than where he had been living, but he
did not see his way clear just then to make a change in his habitation.
The reason he gave for his unwillingness to comply with the wishes of the
agent was that there was sickness in his family and consequently it would
be extremely dangerous to expose them to the necessity of submitting
themselves to a change when it was not absolutely necessary. He promised,
however, that as soon as his family was restored to health, he would move
them to the new location down the river. The Agent permitted the delay
suggested by the wily Indian, but as a precautionary measure, had the
Commanding Officer at the fort send a troupe of the fourth cavalry to
where he was then camped, to stand guard over him until such time as he
would make up his mind to remove to the new site selected for his
encampment. The placing of a guard over him, gave Dull Knife another
opportunity to raise objections to the general scheme of things, and like
a spoiled child who cries because it cannot have the rainbow, he commenced
to whine once more. No sooner had the troops taken up their position to
guard his actions than he came to the Agent to have them removed entirely,
or if that was impossible, to have them removed to some distance from his
teepee. He asserted strongly that the presence of the soldiers so near to
him had a tendency to keep his squaws in a state of terror and that, as a
consequence, they would not be able to regain their health, at least, as
long as the soldiers remained in the neighborhood. The Agent, to put an
end to his continual whining, consented to remove the soldiers to a
position somewhat removed from Dull Knife's teepee, but still near enough
to keep some sort of guard over him if they were at all careful in the
fulfillment of their duty. The soldiers were rollicking, jolly good
fellows, not at all bloodthirsty, and whenever an opportunity presented
itself for merriment they entered into the spirit of the occasion with all
kinds of ardor. Needless to say, they found the task of acting as guard
over one redskin a rather tedious affair, and were compelled to break the
monotony of existence by means originating with themselves. They managed
to pass the time in running horses, playing cards, and with other
diversions. In the meantime the Indians passed back and forth among them
with as much freedom as if there had never existed anything like a guard.
In the meantime the summer was passing away, and Dull Knife had not yet
changed his residence. The Agent was beginning to get somewhat nervous
over the matter. He even went so far as to declare that he would leave the
agency, but that was a matter that could not be attended to without
considerable red tape, and in the meantime he was receiving a good salary
where he was. He could not throw up his position without consulting Uncle
Sam, as Samuel is rather a harsh task-master when it comes to seeing that
his officials fulfill the duties of their position. It was quite evident
that Dull Knife was getting on his nerves.
During all this time, Dull Knife was tearing around like a loose cyclone
that has recently broken away from its moorings, and his lieutenant, Wild
Hog, was not far behind him in activity. He made no secret of what he was
doing. Here and there, all over the Reservation the wily old villian was
meandering for the purpose of getting possession of fire-arms. Anything he
had in his possession he was willing to barter for anything in the shape
of the utensils of war. Cowboys and soldiers, all were requested to barter
something in the nature of guns or ammunition for whatever he could
produce. Anything he had was on the market. At times he succeeded in
trading a couple of ponies for an old, rusty, six-shooter, but in the
general run he was not very successful. As an instance of what he was
willing to do, I shall mention one case. James Smith, a teamster for the
government at the time, was hauling posts to erect a stockade at the fort.
In one of his trips he met Dull Knife. The latter immediately proposed a
swap. He saw Smith had his belt full of cartridges, and these seemed to
take his fancy. He made a trade with the teamster, giving him a new
government overcoat for ten cartridges. This penchant for trading became
an obsession with him, and there were times when he rendered himself a
nuisance to everyone in the neighborhood by his continual proposals to
make a trade.
Finally, this state of things became very monotonous. They had long since
become aware of the fact that Dull Knife had no good intentions in his
desire to become possessed of firearms and ammunition. They began to be
fearful of him, as they did not know the time he would break out and take
the war-path and leave behind him a trail of smoking ruins, with a long
list of murdered victims.
On the first of September, 1878, the Agent was called up by a family of
Indians who informed him that Dull Knife had gone. They said that they had
gone with him a short distance, but changed their minds and came back to
the reservation. The thing that all had been looking for had come to pass,
and they all became anxious for what the near future would make known to
them. Something had to be done without delay. The Agent immediately
summoned Johnny Murphy who had been Gen. Sheridan's confidential ambulance
driver during the campaign on the Washita, during the winter of 1868,
against the Kiowas, Comanches, and Arpahoes, and who was afterwards a
reliable despatch bearer between the different posts in that section of
the country. The Agent explained the situation to Mr. Murphy, and handed
him a despatch to forward immediately to the Commander at Ft. Reno,
telling him of the departure of Dull Knife. When the despatch was handed
to the Commander, he read it attentively, and asked Mr. Murphy, as a
special favor to take it up the river where the troops were still guarding
the Dull Knife camp. Murphy again mounted his faithful old steed, Pegasus,
and proceeded to bore a hole in the darkness until he arrived at the camp.
There he found every one of the soldiers sound asleep while the object of
their tender care was on his way to the hunting grounds in the North. It
is difficult to account for the somnolent tendencies of the soldiers on
this occasion. It does not seem possible that their amusements of the
preceding day would have the effect of producing such a lethargic
condition. In any case, even the sentinel, whose duty it was, at the
expiration of each hour, to shout at the top of his voice and proclaim to
the troops in particular and to the whole world in general that "All is
well," had surrendered to Morpheus, and was so tightly wrapped in his
embrace that Murphy was compelled to roll him out of his blankets and
inform him that the Commander at the fort, and his country was calling him
to duty, and it would be a better procedure to saddle up at once and go to
headquarters as soon as possible.
To the average man, the escape of Dull Knife from under the very eyes of
his guards, may seem increditable, but this is a case where truth is
stranger than fiction. It seems as if Dull Knife's medicine had hypnotized
the guardians of Uncle Sam's peace and dignity. If such were the case, he
must have exercised the same powerful influence over the military until he
was killed close to the Wyoming line. I cannot blame the reader if he
shows a little hesitancy in accepting the statement as a fact, as I myself
would have an inclination to question the matter, and begin to look for
proof if I were in the same conditions as he, were it not that I am
writing this account within a few miles of the locality in which the drama
was enacted. I have been over the trail and visited the scenes of some of
his brutal massacres.
When Dull Knife left the reservation, he had less than one hundred
warriors, but had his full complement of squaws and papooses, which, all
told, would raise the number of the departing contingent to about two
hundred and fifty. The fact that he took down his teepee, packed all his
belongings, and marched off undisturbed by the guard set to watch his
every move, would be enough to stagger the mind of any one except some
dime-novelist who has the happy faculty of accomplishing marvelous deeds
with little or no implements to produce such wonderful results. But,
nevertheless, that is what occurred. He had departed unmolested from the
midst of his guards, and was on his way to his far off land of promise.
When he left the reservation, he continued his march to the Cimmaron river
without much inconvenience from the military men who were supposed to
forestall any such movement on his part. Being that he was poorly provided
with munitions of war, or supplies to maintain his command on their
journey, he was compelled to seek subsistence by raiding ranches, or
killing what stock he met on his way. He did not have much trouble in
providing for his future wants, once he came into possession of some beef.
This he dried and "jerked," a very easy proceeding, for as soon as the
meat was salted and hung out in the sun, it readily cured, and would
remain fit for use for a year or more without any further attention.
The day after the departure of Dull Knife and his followers, the soldiers
under the command of an old German officer, who had seen service in the
army of the Fatherland, Major Randerbrook, set out to arrest the fugitives
and bring them back to the reservation. It was manifest to the observer
that the Major did not relish coming in contact with the rough edges of
army life. Here I may pardonably make mention of the fact that this same
Major, and Captain Gunther, of whom I shall speak later on, were members
of the Slumber Squad who were supposed to keep a wakeful eye upon Dull
Knife's camp. The old Major, when notified by Johnnie Murphy that his
captive had vanished, became indignant to think that Murphy, a mere
messenger, would have the audacity to disturb his sweet repose. However,
realizing that the courier had not acted on his own volition, he summoned
up sufficient courage to leave his comfortable bed, and saddle up for the
purpose of making a journey to the fort. When he arrived there, he
received orders to take charge of the Fourth Cavalry, or that portion of
it that was then at the fort, and set out in pursuit. There were several
troops of the Fourth Cavalry in that section of the country at the time,
as they had been sent down from Fort Sill to keep an eye upon the Kiowas
and Comanches if they should show any disposition to foment disturbances.
Hence it happened that there was only one troop of the Fourth at the fort
at the time of the disappearance of Dull Knife and band. The Commander of
the fort also sent a courier to Fort Sill telling the Commander there
that Dull Knife had gone north, and asked him to intercept the Indians if
possible.
The fugitive had gone northwards only a short distance when he went into
camp in the sand hills which lay north of Dutch Jake's ranch. From his
actions it was plainly evident that he was not at all uneasy about the
presence of the soldiers, nor did he manifest any fear of them. When he
was ready to proceed on his journey, he set out with the same nonchalance
as characterized his encamping so near to the scene of his late restraint.
He advanced on his route until he arrived at the Antelope Hills, north of
the Cimmaron river. There he made another encampment. The soldiers had not
yet overtaken him, a thing which he seemed anxious for them to do. In fact
he became so anxious that they should overtake him that he sent a small
band of warriors back to meet them to make inquiries as to the reason of
their following him. They were informed by Major Randerbrook that he had
been sent out to arrest them and restore them to the reservation. They
positively refused to return with the Major, and stated plainly that they
intended to return to their chief and lay the matter before him. Dull
Knife, as might be expected of him, positively refused to consider the
return to the reservation, in any light. In order that there might be no
mistake about his intentions he began to daub on the war paint in greater
abundance than he was decorated with before. He was simply living up to
his assertion made previously that he would return to the hunting grounds
of the northern territory if the conditions around the reservation did not
suit his fancy, and in his present attitude he was fulfilling up to his
declarations, and would continue to do so, come what might.
The first evening of the march, Major Randerbrook made the startling
discovery that, in the haste and bustle of preparation consequent upon the
order to pursue the fleeing Indians, they had forgotten to pack up his
feather bed, his davenport, also his writing stand and wall tent. He felt
that he could not make a successful journey without these necessary
accessories to his personal comfort, and therefore, he detailed Peter F.
Weasel, a member of the 16th Infantry, who was acting as teamster at the
time, to return to the fort and bring all his belongings (the Major's) and
overtake the troops the next day. This solemn duty Peter set out to
fulfill with proper feelings of submission, but I have never found any
evidence to show that the said Peter ever appeared in the presence of the
Major, laden with his precious feather bed or any of his other belongings.
Do not permit the idea to find lodgment in your head, my reader, that the
Major was a coward. Far from it, as his later actions showed. Later on,
when the Indians refused to surrender when he met them at the Antelope
Hills, he ordered the troops to charge upon them in the camp, which they
did. After a short skirmish with them, he found that he had lost three
soldiers who were killed, and among the injured was the company blacksmith
who was crippled by being shot through the hips. After this skirmish the
soldiers withdrew from the fray and went into camp. There they buried
their dead companions, but when they came to look for the injured
blacksmith he was no where to be found. In fact, they never saw him again.
The loss on the part of the Indians is unknown, but from what I can learn
about the fray, to use the language of the prize ring, that battle might
be considered a "draw." Some years afterwards, acting under orders from
the Department at Washington that all soldiers killed in battle with the
Indians on the plains, where their graves were known, their bodies should
be exhumed and given a military funeral. This order was complied with in
the case of the three soldiers killed in the Antelope Hill fight, and they
were later on removed to the fort where they belonged and properly
interred. The Major himself bore himself in a courageous manner, but he
was suffering from the handicap of age. Brave as any man that ever
straddled a horse, he wanted to be in the thickest of the fray, but owing
to his eyesight being greatly impaired it was not a safe move to permit
him to enter so ardently into an engagement, as he could not distinguish
friend from foe at even a short range, and the difference between an
Indian and any other object at a distance he could by no means make out.
The Major was thoroughly discouraged with the outcome of the affray, and
disgusted with the conduct of his troops on the occasion. He resolved to
give up his commission and turn over his command to a younger man. He
determined to make his resignation at Camp Supply, but before taking his
departure he placed Captain Gunther in charge of the command. This man
proved his unfitness for the position of trust confided to him later on at
Sand Creek where he displayed the cowardice and worthlessness of his
character, which stamped him as one of the most despicable characters who
ever disgraced the uniform of an officer since the days of Benedict
Arnold. The old Major in due time arrived at Camp Supply accompanied by an
escort, whilst Dull Knife after carrying off and secreting his dead
warriors, started northwards across the Cimmaron river, and began a series
of depredations on the ranches and cattle in Clarke county, Kansas.
Once he had crossed the river, he did not confine his band to any definite
route of travel. In place of an orderly line of march, such as
characterizes the trained soldier, his followers scattered out each day in
different directions to perpetrate whatever devilment might offer, with
the purpose of meeting at night at some appointed rendezvous to plot and
plan further rascality to be put in operation on the following day.
There were few stock ranches in the country at the time, and when they had
heard that the Indians were on the warpath, and were in the neighborhood,
they began to make preparations to protect themselves and their stock
against an expected incursion of the marauding band. They rounded up
their horses and kept them under close herd, but that was impossible as
regarded the cattle, as they were scattered far and wide, and consequently
would afford the Indians an opportunity for obtaining possession of what
meat they wanted for their journey. It would have been flying into the
teeth of danger to endeavor to round them up just then, as the ranchmen
would, in all likelihood, have encountered some of the roving bands of
cut-throats in their way, and the result would have been disastrous.
However, it was not the nature of the cowboys to remain supinely inactive
and permit the Indians to work havoc on the herds at will. They determined
to have a hand in the fray, and decided that it was time to give the
Indians their first lesson in civilization if they had not received it
before. They let the cattle take care of themselves, and set out to
deliver their instructions in the only manner that would appeal to the
natives of the plains. The cowboys from Doc Day's ranch, and those from
the Driskill ranch, with those of several other outfits, all turned out to
take a hand in the fray that was sure to come. They set to work with
enthusiasm, and continued it with so much zeal and ardor, that Dull Knife
began to fortify himself against their unremitting attention. He selected
for this purpose a location on what is called Gypsum Creek. The squaws set
to work to dig rifle pits upon the side of the bluffs that overlooks the
stream, where the warriors could fire down upon the persistent cowboys if
they should have the audacity to follow them into their hiding place.
Everybody was, by this time, on the lookout for the invaders and prepared
to give them a warm reception should they appear in the neighborhood,
excepting one man named Sam Kiger. He lived on what is now known as Kiger
Creek, so named in his honor. Sam had a little ranch. He lived in a
dugout, and had a small herd of cattle, and was busy looking after his own
interests. He was so far removed from everybody else, that he did not
hear of the danger that was threatening the neighborhood. It is easy to
understand how he was unaware of the menace of the Indians when it is
stated that he seldom saw any one, seldom went abroad except when
necessity compelled him to do so, and then went to Dodge City which was 45
miles distant, for supplies. He remained in ignorance of his danger until
two weeks after the Indians had left that part of the country. That was
one case where ignorance was bliss. But another man, Sam Williams, was not
so fortunate. He was a sheepman and maintained his flocks on another
creek, and had a very close call, in fact, just escaped being murdered by
the savages by the narrowest margin. He was herding his sheep all alone at
the time. Sam, among the other adornments of nature, was upholstered with
a luxuriant crop of whiskers. They were his pride and he spent his spare
time in combing them. Never did beauteous maiden bestow so much time and
attention upon her personal adornment as Sam spent upon his hirsute
appendage. In fact, the care and attention of those whiskers became a sort
of obsession with him. Well, the first notice that the aforesaid Sam had
of the presence of Indians was when a bullet came singing through the air
from behind a sand hill and ploughed a furrow through his highly
cultivated whiskers. It did not require any very rapid calculation on his
part to tell him that he was living in the midst of alarms, and that he
ought to seek the protection of his dugout so as to be secure from further
manifestations of hostility on the part of the invisible riflemen. To
think was to act, and Sam made the distance between where he was shot at
and the dug-out in record breaking time. In fact, he might have shattered
the record considerably, had he been timed, but there was no time to look
for an official timekeeper then, so his efforts in speed must go
unrecorded. Once inside the dug-out he felt comparatively safe, as an
Indian would be very careful about approaching it as it was virtually
impregnable. There was no mode of assaulting it except from in front, and
no wise Indian, with a view to saving his skin from being perforated,
would care to approach from that direction, as he would be compelled to
take that direction if he wished to create any impression on the occupant
of the dug-out. In the meantime, the proprietor of the place, acting on
the law of self-preservation, would likely be cutting the dust from around
the said Indian's moccasins, if not making a more successful effort to
convert his assailant into what is called a "good Indian." Usually, as the
besieging party came to realize that he could not set fire to the place,
nor make any success of shooting into it, he would abandon his undertaking
for some other more tractable victim. But, the fact that he could not kill
his victim, did not prevent his turning his attention to some other mode
of deviltry at which the Indian was usually adept. In this case, they
rounded up the sheep belonging to Williams and drove them into a
water-hole where six hundred of them were drowned.
While prowling among the Sand Hills, the Indians chanced upon and, after a
running fight, killed a man, named La Force, a brother of Perry La Force
who was foreman on the Diamond F. ranch, owned by the Franklin Land and
Cattle Co., and managed by B. B. Groom, part owner of the stock. He was a
fine type of Kentucky gentleman, actuated by the highest ideals, and one
who ran true to the standard of the highest kind of hospitality. When the
ranchman became aware of the absence of La Force, as he had not returned
from his tour of inspection, or whatever duty took him away from the
remainder of the party for the day, they organized a search party to
discover his whereabouts. They probably had more than a suspicion that he
had met with something more than an accident, as they were aware of the
fact that the Indians were on the rampage, but it would not be according
to the ethics of their mode of life to abandon him unless they were
positive that he had met death. For weeks they maintained the search, but
with no success. Finally, in one of their excursions, they came across a
skeleton, or what was left of it, as the bones had been disjointed and
scattered in all directions. They were not yet positive that it was the
remains of their friend. However, they were not long left in their
uncertainty for they discovered La Force's six-shooter. Every chamber of
it was empty, which went to show that he had not yielded tamely to his
fate, but fought manfully against whatever odds he had encountered. How
many there were opposed to him, the searching party had no idea of
calculating, but there was no doubt in their minds that he had accounted
for more than one of his foes. The condition of his remains was due to the
fact that they had left his body where he had fallen, and the coyotes had
gnawed every particle of flesh from the bones. They gathered up what bones
they could find and bore them to the ranch and buried them with all the
tributes of respect that could be shown to one who had been not only a
friend, but who had held a very exalted place in their regard. They then
notified his brother Perry La Force, of the untimely death of his brother,
giving him what information they could of his tragic end. He came from the
Panhandle where he was living at the time and had the remains exhumed and
took them to Mobeetie, Texas, where he laid them in their last resting
place.
Whilst these acts of thievery, murder, and other rascality were being
perpetrated on the Cimmaron, and Big, and Little Sand creeks, a small
contingent paid a visit to a personal friend of mine, named Charles Coe.
He, at the time, was holding a herd of beef cattle in the southwestern
part of Ford county, awaiting an opportunity to ship them from Dodge City.
The herd was owned by Tuttle and Chapman. In his employment he had a negro
who performed the duties of cook, as well as acting as chore boy around
the outfit. This same Charlie Coe was afterwards book-keeper for the
George S. Emerson Mercantile Co. in Dodge City, Kan. At the time I
mention he was what was termed a tenderfoot, and along with being
inexperienced in the ways of the west, had little or no knowledge of the
Indians mode of existence, especially on the warpath. Anything he happened
to know of them, he had gleaned from rumor and reading. His tent was
located not far from Crooked Creek. When the Indians came upon him, decked
out in their war regalia, he was in a quandry what to do. It would have
been useless for him to endeavor to seek shelter behind the bank of the
creek, as the distance was rather far just then, and his tent would offer
no protection from the bullets of the enemy. Plainly he was confronting a
proposition the like of which he had never encountered before. It did not
take him long to realize the danger of the situation, and he saw at a
glance that it was death or glory for him, no matter which horn of the
dilemma he chose to take. Instead of seeking safety in flight, he
preferred to break a long established precedent of running away, and faced
the danger unflinchingly. He seized his gun and stepped outside and waited
the coming of his foes. As soon as they came within range, he took careful
aim and fired. His first shot brought to earth the horse of the leader of
the band. Indications showed that he wrought some damage upon the rider
also, as he had to be assisted by his comrades in rascality. They picked
him off the ground where he lay, and placed him on a pony behind another
redskin. The bold front shown by the white man had the effect of halting
the marauders in their mad career, and at the same time had a stimulating
effect upon young Coe. He continued to fire at them as long as they
remained within range. The reception they had received was wholly
unexpected by the Indians, and after firing several random shots at him,
without inflicting any damage, turned their horses around and withdrew to
the Sand Hills about a mile distant. As soon as they had departed the
young tenderfoot entered his tent to take stock of his means of defense. A
brief glance at his small supply of ammunition showed him that he was not
in a position to stand much of the siege. In fact he had very few
cartridges left, and considering prudence the better part of valor decided
to make an improvement in his conditions by seeking safety in flight. He
gave orders to his stable attendant to hitch up the horses and they would
set out for Dodge, which was about thirty miles away. He told the negro
the condition of affairs and showed him that they would likely lose their
scalps and their lives if the Indians should make another descent upon
their camp. To the proposal to abandon the place, the negro made reply,
"No, sah, I ain't agwine to leave Marse Tuttle's mules heah for dem
pestificatin red debils to get. Ise agwine to take dem along." Having
delivered himself of this proclamation of loyalty, he started to hitch up.
Coe could not persuade him that he was exposing himself to unnecessary
danger, and while Mr. Tuttle would appreciate his feelings of loyalty to
his interests, at the same time he was not cruel enough to wish to expose
him to the danger of losing his life. This and all other arguments that
Coe could urge, were of no avail. He had determined to follow his own
course in the matter, and nothing could move him from that determination.
He had a strong liking for that team of mules, and a very strong affection
for Mr. Tuttle, and in less than an hour later he lost his life through
his fidelity to his master's interests. Reluctantly Coe started off for
Dodge City. Sharp eyes were watching every move he made. From the Sand
Hills they had noticed the preparations made at the tent, and saw the
paleface ride away in the direction of the city. They felt that it was
useless to follow him, as they knew he was well armed, and they remembered
too well the manner of reception he tendered them but an hour before, and
knew that he would be prompt to repeat it if they offered him another
opportunity. They had no desire to lose any members of their band, and
they felt that it would be a certainty that they would suffer some loss
if they pursued him, so they let him proceed on his way. Not so did they
show any consideration for the negro. When they saw him set out they
started in pursuit. They rode down from the Hills, gradually converging to
a point in which the darky and the team of mules was the center of
attraction. When the negro saw them coming with the evident intention of
intercepting him, he put the mules to a gallop, but it was impossible for
the team dragging the heavy wagon to outrun the war ponies of the Indians.
When they were drawing down upon him they began to shout and shoot at the
same time. The poor darkey was terrified. The mules were stampeded and ran
away. They overturned the wagon in their flight. In their mad career, the
driver had been shot in the back several times and was killed outright.
They overtook the mules and unhitching them, led them back to the Sand
Hills where Dull Knife had now established his temporary headquarters.
They did not scalp the negro, nor burn the wagon as was their custom.
Evidently they must have come to the conclusion that the team of mules and
the plunder of the tent was sufficient for one day. The darkey was later
found and buried by some cowmen, and his grave for a long time was used as
a landmark for travelers along the Jones and Plummer trail. Mr. Tuttle was
in Dodge City at the time his faithful attendant gave up his life for his
interests. Naturally he felt the loss of his servant rather keenly. When
the news was brought to him that his wagon was still out there along the
trail where it had been upset, he hired Hoodoo Brown, an old scout, to go
out and bring it into Dodge, for repairs. The old scout often told me of
his experience upon that dangerous journey.
It was late in the afternoon when he had the wagon fixed up in such a
fashion that he could haul it into the city. He made the return trip the
same night as he did not care to expose himself to the danger of meeting
the same or worse fate than the negro. He said that he imagined he could
see an Indian hiding behind every sage brush, or cactus in the country.
But as it proved to be nothing more real than a fancy of the imagination,
he had no difficulty in making the journey, for which Mr. Tuttle paid him
handsomely.
This band that had just perpetrated the deviltry, had returned to Sand
Creek just in time to avoid a possee of cowboys who were in pursuit of
them. They had but recently run the rest of the Dull Knife band into the
canyon which they had fortified, and it would have gone hard with the
battle contingent that had just come from murdering the negro if the
cowboys had a chance to meet them before they sought shelter in the rifle
pits the squaws had recently dug.
By this time, the whole country was well aware that Captain Gunther and
Dull Knife had been playing a game of "hide and seek" for the past ten
days. The cowmen became weary of such dilatory tactics, and determined to
go into the canyon and fight it out with the Indians. At this time Captain
Gunther had arrived on the scene with the 4th Cavalry, and demanded that
the cowmen withdraw from the sight as he was going to take that matter
into his own hands. He said that the Indians were well fortified and that
he would have considerable trouble in dislodging them. He stated that he
intended to place sentinels around the canyon so that none of them could
escape, and intended to hold a conference with Dull Knife in the morning.
He assured the cowmen that he was well acquainted with the old warrior and
felt certain that he would have no difficulty in persuading him to return
to the reservation with all his followers.
After the captain had arranged his guards around the canyon in such a
manner as he thought would preclude the possibility of the Indians making
their escape, he busied himself with preparations for encamping down the
creek. While he was thus engaged, he was approached by Ben Jackson, the
noted scout and buffalo hunter, who saluted him in military fashion, as
far as his knowledge of that accomplishment would permit, and proposed
that he, the captain, give him a despatch to be delivered to the commander
at Fort Dodge requesting him to send more troops to aid in capturing the
Indians. This despatch he promised to deliver within a few hours. The
captain, not knowing the resourcefulness of the man making the request,
replied that he could not spare an escort for the undertaking. To which
the scout replied that he did not need an escort as he was well acquainted
with the country and did not have any fears about the prompt delivery of
the message. The captain answered that such a course of proceedings was
unnecessary, as he was well acquainted with Dull Knife personally. He said
that he intended to hold the conference with him the next morning, and
that when matters were set before him in the proper light, there would be
no further trouble in the case, as he was positive the Indians would be
perfectly satisfied and return to the agency without any further
difficulty. When this short interview had been completed, the captain
proceeded down the creek and went into camp. In the meantime the pickets
were on duty around the canyon, or rather were supposed to be, but, in
some manner or other, Dull Knife's medicine hypnotized them as it did on
the former occasion when he escaped from the North Canadian. I am not
going to make any remarks about the private soldiers of this campaign, as
they were ever ready and willing to do their duty if they had a proper
officer to lead them; nor am I going to make any comments, nor pretend to
fix the blame where it belongs, but will state the facts and let the
reader judge for himself who was culpable in the matter; but it seems
incredible that 250 Indians could come out of that canyon, supposedly well
guarded, and pass through a cordon of pickets without a gun being fired.
Incredible it is, but, nevertheless, that is the unvarnished truth of the
matter. When dawn appeared the following morning, the Indians had
vanished, as if they had been swallowed up by the earth. Their trail
indicated that they had gone northward. They pursued their line of flight
to Crooked Creek, in Meade County, Kansas, and after crossing that stream
near what is called the "Three Bends," they came to a hay camp that was
conducted by G. S. Emerson. Here they did not give themselves up to their
usual depredations, but contented themselves with taking some provisions
and cutting up a pair of calf skin boots belonging to the proprietor. That
they did not commit any murders, was due to the fact that the men of the
outfit were absent. From there they proceeded to what was intended to be
the county seat of Meade county, which development did not extend further
than the erection of a story-and-a-half frame building, with an unfinished
well nearby, at which the city fathers were working when the Indians
arrived. They immediately set out to explore the contents of the house and
surroundings. Their efforts were not rewarded very highly, but one thing
attracted their attention, a grindstone standing near at hand. The sole
occupant of the dwelling, Captain French, was compelled to perform the
task of turning the grindstone while they were sharpening their knives. To
test the acuteness of the finish they had put on their weapons, they
contented themselves with drawing them across the captain's throat. To
show him further that they were not at all unselfish in their attentions
to him, the squaws lent a hand in pulling and hauling him around and
inflicting all manners of abuse upon him, but they did not attempt to kill
him. I asked the captain shortly afterwards why they did not take his
life, and he replied that they knew better than try that. He stated that
he had a picture of George Washington hanging on the wall of his dwelling,
and they knew that if they killed him the government would soon be in
pursuit of them. Poor old Cap! He did not know that the government was on
their trail at the time.
Although there were four or five men working at the well at the time the
Indians devoted their attention to the captain. They did not molest them
but continued on their way northward. On their route they encountered a
man, Wash Connors, who had been to Dodge City to do some trading. He had
spent the previous night with a friend of mine, C. M. Rice, and set out
early in the morning so as to reach his destination in good time, as he
had some material for those who were digging the well at the new
town-site. Mr. Rice urged him to remain and have breakfast with him, but
he said that he was in a hurry and would attend to that duly when he
reached his destination. With a good team of mules hitched to his lumber
wagon, he started off in good spirits, little thinking he would never
reach the end of his journey. He was proceeding on his way in a brisk
fashion and had come in sight of the town-site when the members of Dull
Knife's band met him. They stopped him without any ceremony and attacked
him before he could get out of his wagon. They cut his throat, tore the
harness off his mules and went their way taking his team. The well-diggers
saw the whole proceedings, but were unable to render assistance as they
were not in a position to do so.
Leaving the victim of their murderous assault dying in his wagon, they set
out toward the north again. Between the scene of their latest crime and
the Arkansas they committed no further depredation. They crossed the river
west of Dodge City, not far from where the present station of Cimmaron is
located on the Santa Fe railroad. Their depredations after crossing the
river were few, as there was little to attract their attention, excepting
some wild cattle and the accompanying cowboys. They did not molest the
latter as they had a wholesome respect for that individual by reason of
the fact that he was generally armed with a brace of six-shooters and a
Winchester rifle, and was an expert in the use of both. Meeting a
cow-puncher under such conditions was a hazardous thing, as the Indian
knew the cowboy would not trade even. They had no doubt about their
ability to eventually kill him, but the price to be paid was too great,
as he usually sent three or four of the wily redskins across the Great
Divide before succumbing to their prowess, and they did not usually care
to pay the price.
[Illustration]
By this time the whole country was aroused. The news was heralded abroad
on the wings of the wind. The newspapers, as is their custom, in glaring
headlines, magnified the extent of the depredations, and gave alarming
accounts of the atrocities committed by the Indians. Everybody was on the
lookout, those in the neighborhood fearing a visitation of the marauders,
and those far away living in expectation of the next savage depredation.
The excitement reached such a high degree of intensity that the department
ordered Lieutenant-Colonel Lewis to take charge of the field of action,
which for some time had been a field of inaction as the gentleman who was
supposed to be at the head of the movement against the Indians was but a
poor apology for a successful military commander. It may be well to remark
that this man was soon relegated to the military scrap-heap in disgrace.
When Lieut-Col. Lewis was notified of the appointment, he responded with
alacrity. He set out at once from Dodge City with his command. He soon was
on the trail of the Indians. A short journey westward brought him to the
point where the band had crossed the Arkansas on their way northward.
In the meantime the Indians were pursuing their way with considerable
speed. They may have realized that another expedition would be organized
to follow on their trail, or another commander would be put in charge of
the one they had left so unceremoniously on the night of their escape, but
whatever their conclusions were, they did not stop to commit any more
outrages until they reached the North Beaver, or Sand Creek. On their
arrival there, they saw they were about to have a fight on their hands, as
the lieutenant-colonel had followed their trail with such speed that he
was almost upon them. Escape for the time being was out of the question,
and they resolved to fight. Lewis did not want to kill them, but
preferred to have them surrender and return to the reservation. Such idea
did not enter into Dull Knife's calculations, and he decided to fight
rather than return to the place of his recent abode.
It was now getting late in the afternoon. Considerable sharp-shooting had
been done on both sides for some time, and then a skirmish took place.
Each party was doing what execution it could without exposing itself to
any more danger than was necessary. The Indians endeavored to make every
shot count as their ammunition was getting scarce, and the soldiers were
employing the same mode of warfare as their opponents, though it was not
the scarcity of powder, but rather the desire to preserve their anatomy
from the missiles of the enemy that induced them to seek shelter behind
every bush and hillock. The lieutenant-colonel was a busy man, directing
the operations of his troops, and looking after things in general. The
battle lagged along until evening, without much evidence of success for
either party. Towards evening Lewis rode out to the firing line to get a
closer view of things and to lend his men the encouragement of his
presence. When he reached the zone of fire, one of the Indian scouts
approached him and advised him to dismount from his horse as he would very
probably be shot if he remained exposed in such a manner to the fire of
the enemy. The lieutenant-colonel did not heed the advice so freely given
by his scout, and in less than ten minutes he received a bullet in the
thigh. The missile struck an artery, and as a result, the
lieutenant-colonel died a few hours later from loss of blood, (My
authority for the above statement is G. W. Brown, who was lying not twenty
feet away when the scout gave the warning of danger. This gentleman, is
now living at Cushion Oil Field). He piloted the ambulance bearing the
lieutenant colonel under the command of Lieutenant Gardner and escort to
Fort Wallace that same night, as he was familiar with that part of the
country owing to the fact that he had hunted buffalo all through that
section of the country in the early days. After the escort had proceeded
on its journey for about six miles, a rider returned to the lieutenant and
told him that the lieutenant-colonel had died. This sad news was a shock
to the company, as he was a man of the highest type of bravery, and his
demise was regretted by every man in the command. When the news was first
broken to the troops a look of grim determination settled upon the
countenance of every man, which meant that at the first opportunity they
would avenge the death of him who they loved so well. The fortunes of war
averted the blow for the present, for, during the night, Dull Knife and
his followers fled, leaving nothing behind but the embers of his camp
fires to show where he had taken his stand. The soldiers started in hot
pursuit, as they did not want their enemies to go unpunished. They had not
followed the trail very far when they learned that the Indians had divided
their forces and gone in different directions. Wild Hog, the chief adviser
of Dull Knife went towards the north-east, over to Sappa Creek, where he
and his followers murdered over forty persons, pillaged their stock and
burned what they could not conveniently carry off. Dull Knife with the
rest of the band headed due north. This division of the Indians compelled
the soldiers to adopt the same method of procedure. They were accordingly
organized into two divisions and set off in hot pursuit of their wily
foes. From this time onward the expedition assumed the character of a
running fight. This system of pillage, and plunder, on the part of the
Indians, with the pursuit on the part of the soldiers, was maintained
until the 7th Cavalry, under General Samuel D. Sturgis succeeded in
capturing both bands on the Niobrara River in the vicinity of the place in
which Camp Niobrara was built, and about 15 miles east of Camp Sheridan.
This event occured in the month of October, 1878, but I cannot give the
exact date of the occurrence. The captives were then taken as prisoners
of war to Fort Robinson, Neb., or, as it was then called, Camp Robinson.
They were placed in the guard house and held there until New Year's night,
1879, when they broke out, killed the guards and made their escape through
the sand hills until they had almost reached the Wyoming line.
When the news was brought that Dull Knife had killed his guards and made
his escape, everything was in a flutter of excitement. Preparations were
immediately made for pursuit. At dawn, as soon as it was possible to
observe the direction of the trail, the bugle sounded and the Third
Cavalry mounted their horses and set out in pursuit of the wily old
villain who had so often eluded them. They followed hastily all forenoon
and the further they advanced, the clearer the signs manifested to them
the fact that they were close upon the fleeing Indians. In the afternoon
they overtook the band in the said hills close to the border line of
Wyoming. When Captain Wessels rode up to them, he immediately ordered them
to surrender. Dull Knife's reply to this was a rifle shot that killed an
Indian scout belonging to the cavalry. He repeated with another shot at
Captain Wessels. The bullet struck the captain but did not inflict a
mortal wound. The action of Dull Knife was a sufficient guarantee that he
did not intend to surrender, and immediately the troops poured a
succession of volleys into the foe. When the smoke of battle cleared away,
and the few who remained alive surrendered, it was discovered that Dull
Knife himself, his daughter who was present, and about two thirds of his
followers had all gone to the Happy Hunting Grounds together. After giving
the proper attention to the wounded, and burying the dead, the troops with
the prisoners returned to Camp Robinson. Among the number returning to the
fort were Wild Hog and many other leading spirits of the movement. They
were held there until the spring of 1879, when the leaders were sent to
Dodge City, Ford county, Kansas to be tried for murder and other crimes.
I called upon those notable characters while they were supposed to be in
durance vile, and found them the most conspicuous and best entertained men
in prison. The representatives of different illustrated newspapers were
there, sketching their pictures, and treating them to cigars. It was
certainly a very novel sight to me, and I thought it strange that the
citizens of Dodge City had not formed a necktie party for the
entertainment of the whole party of savages, for they were well aware of
the characters of their guests and well acquainted with the amount of
crime and rascality they had perpetrated almost within view of the town
itself. However, everything seemed to be following along the even tenor of
its way, and I came to the conclusion that Dodge City was a very law
abiding city, and was a good town to live in (especially when one is
acquainted with the early history of the place). I cannot refrain from
remarking that, if a white man, or a body of white men, had been guilty of
one-tenth of the crimes perpetrated by the Indians who were then
sojourning in their town, they would have been hanged as high as they
could be raised on a lariat rope, or shot to pieces in the streets.
Strange are the dealings of man with man.