came, and it came quick. Behind them on the trail the men on the outside
saw a war party--some say there were five hundred Indians in it. Even if
they hadn’t been painted the fact that they were without women
or children would have told the story. The train made the usual
preparations for an Indian attack, throwing the wagons into a circle, or
more of an ellipse, and unhooking the five lead yokes to each wagon. A
front wheel of each wagon touched a hind wheel of the one in front and
the tongues were turned to the outside. At the front end of the corral
an opening about fifteen feet wide was left, but at the rear the opening
into the corral was about fifty feet wide. That, also, was according to
the freighters’ methods; after a night camp the cattle would be driven
into the corral through the big end to be yoked for the day.
“Harney didn’t have time to drive his oxen into the corral, or else he
didn’t want to. Only the five yoke of leaders were unhooked and they
were then chained to the front wheel of their wagon. The space in the
corral was all clear for the Indians, whose method of attacking a wagon
train was to rush into the corral and do their shooting. They were a
happy lot of braves this day; the war band started for the train when
the corral was forming; they spread out like a fan and then came
together again and started for the big opening as hard as their war
ponies could carry them. A whooping, variegated mob with no more clothes
than the paint gave it fell into the corral and then real fun began.
“Those soldiers, who had been sweating under canvas for a few weeks
wanted excitement and revenge. The tarpaulins went up and they shot down
into that mess of braves as fast as they could load. The two mountain
guns completed the surprise and the bucks hardly fired a shot before
their ponies were climbing over one another to get out the way they
came. It was the only real Indian panic. When the last Sioux brave able
to ride disappeared across the prairie there was a big mess to clean up.
In those days the Indians needed school all the year around. However,
one old buck, a little chief, seemed to be impressed. He was near a
mountain gun when the fire opened. ‘Harney is the man who shot wagons at
us,’ is the way he told about it years later.
* * * * *
Charles S. Stroble, “Mountain Charley,” known as the cowboy painter, was
adopted by the Ute Indians at the age of nineteen. I have often heard
him tell the following experience:
“It was the most marvelous instance of daredevil bravery I ever
witnessed. It happened in 1866 when I was living with the Utes west of
the range in Middle Park, Colorado. They had adopted me a year or so
before when I was twenty years of age. My name in Ute was Paghaghet,
which means ‘long-haired.’
“It was at this time that the old feud between the Utes and Arapahoes
was at its height. Our scouts found the Arapahoes coming in from North
Park in the endeavor to surprise some of the Utes’ hunting parties. Our
runners having come in and informed us, we soon collected a war party
and started north to intercept our enemies.
“I was with the scouting party which went in advance, and I was the only
white man in the entire tribe. We found the sign left by their scouts,
and then concealed ourselves until our war party could come up. As soon
as reinforcements arrived we deployed on either side of a gulch or
canon, with our horses hidden away among the rocks and timber in charge
of horse-holders.
“We had not waited long when we sighted the advance of the Arapahoes
down below us in the gulch. We were unnoticed, because we left no tracks
in the gulch and had deployed some distance below.
“When the main body of the enemy had passed our place of concealment we
opened fire on them from each side of the gulch, and they, not knowing
our numbers, were panic-stricken. They wheeled and came tumbling back up
the gulch in great confusion, and all the time subjected to our fire. To
be sure, they were returning the fire wherever they caught sight of us,
but we had by far the best of them and peppered them hotly.
“The Utes got about eight scalps, as the Arapahoes, although they
carried their wounded with them in their flight, were in too big a hurry
to look after the dead.
“My Indian brother, Paah, or ‘Black Tailed Deer,” and Wangbich, the
‘Antelope,’ were with me behind some sheltering rocks, and on each side
of me. As the Arapahoes were scurrying away through the canon below we
noticed particularly one fine-looking young buck, wearing a splendid
war bonnet, which flaunted bravely in the breeze. This fellow was
singled out by Paah. At the crack of his rifle the Arapahoe threw out
his arms and fell backward from his pony and the pony galloped away.
“Paah, elated at the success of his shot, dropped his rifle and plunged
down the steep side of the canon, which ran up here at an angle of about
forty-five degrees, the other Indians passing all the time and letting
loose at him a fusillade of rifle shots and flights of arrows. At length
Paah got to his dead Arapahoe, planted his foot on the back of the man’s
neck, grasped both scalplock and side braids, gave them a turn on his
wrist and with the aid of his knife secured the full scalp.
“Then seizing the war bonnet, he came tearing up the side of the gulch,
his trophies in one hand and his knife held dagger wise in the other, to
assist him in making the steep ascent.
“The arrows and bullets flew thickly about him, but, marvelous to tell,
he arrived on the little flat space back of us without a scratch. Waving
his bloody spoils above his head he essayed to give the Ute yell of
victory, but he was so exhausted that he was only able to let out a
funny squeak as he fell prostrate to avoid the shots that were now
pouring in our direction. Wangbich and I covered him the best we could
by emptying our six-shooters at the Arapahoes, and he finally succeeded
in crawling to shelter.
“On the return of our war expedition to the principal village we
celebrated our victory in royal style. The Utes from other villages kept
pouring in, and there was dancing afternoon and night for many days.
This chief village was located under some high rocks on the Grand river,
near a hot spring. The principal feature of the celebration was a scalp
parade, a gorgeous affair in which all kinds of silvered ornaments,
feathered and beaded costumes were worn. I afterward painted this
splendid scene as it appeared to me and the picture is now hanging in
the Iroquois club in Chicago.”
* * * * *
“Possibly my experience in the bullwhacking days across the plains,”
says George P. Marvin, “does not materially differ from that of other
men who piloted six yoke of cattle hitched to eighty hundred of freight
across the desert. Yet there were many incidents connected with life
upon the plains that have never been written.
“There was scarcely a day passed but something occurred that would
furnish material upon which the writer of romance could build an
interesting book of adventures.
“In the freighting days of the early ’60’s, the overland trail up the
Platte River was a broad road 200 or more feet in width. This was
reached from various Missouri River points, as a great trunk line of
railroad is now supplied by feeders. From Leavenworth, Atchison and St.
Joe, those freighters who went the northern route crossed the Blue River
at Marysville, Kansas, Oketo and other points, and traveled up the
Little Blue, crossing over the divide and striking the big road at
Dogtown, ten miles east of Fort Kearney. From Nebraska City, which was
the principal freighting point upon the river from ’64 until the
construction of the Union Pacific railroad. What was known as the Steam
Wagon road was the great trail. This feeder struck the Platte at a point
about forty miles east of Kearney. It derived its name from an attempt
to draw freight wagons over it by the use of steam, after the manner of
the traction engine of today.
“My first trip across the plains was over this route, which crossed the
Big Blue a few miles above the present town of Crete, Nebraska. At the
Blue crossing we were ‘organized,’ a detachment of soldiers being there
for that purpose, and no party of less than thirty men was permitted to
pass. Under this organization, which was military in its character, we
were required to remain together, to obey the orders of our ‘captain,’
and to use all possible precaution against the loss of our scalps and
the freight and cattle in our care.
“The daily routine of the freighter’s life was to get up at the first
peep of dawn, yoke up and if possible get ‘strung out’ ahead of other
trains, for there was a continuous stretch of white covered wagons as
far as the eye could reach.
“With the first approach of day, the night herder would come to camp and
call the wagon boss. He would get up, pound upon each wagon and call the
men to ‘turn out,’ and would then mount his saddle mule and go out and
assist in driving in the cattle.
“The corral was made by arranging the wagons in a circular form, the
front wheel of one wagon interlocking with the hind wheel of the one in
front of it. Thus two half circles were formed with a gap at either end.
Into this corral the cattle were driven and the night herder watched one
gap and the wagon boss the other, while the men yoked up.
“The first step in the direction of yoking up was to take your lead yoke
upon your shoulder and hunt up your off leader. Having found your steer
you put the bow around his neck and with the yoke fastened to him, lead
him to the wagon, where he was fastened to the wheel by a chain. You
then took the other bow and led your near leader with it to his place
under the yoke. Your lead chain was then hooked to the yoke and laid
over the back of the near leader, and the other cattle were hunted up
and yoked in the same manner until the wheelers were reached. Having the
cattle all yoked, you drove them all out, chained together, and hitched
them to the wagon.
“The first drive in the morning would probably be to 10 o’clock, or
later, owing to the weather and distance between favorable camping
grounds. Cattle were then unyoked and the men got their first meal of
the day. The cattle were driven in and yoked for the second drive any
time from 2 to 4 o’clock, the time of starting being governed by the
heat, two drives of about five to seven hours each being made each day.
The rate of travel was about two miles an hour, or from 20 to 25 miles a
day, the condition of the roads and the heat governing.
“This, then, was the regular daily routine, though the yoking up of
cattle was often attended with difficulty. Many freighting trains
started from the Missouri river with not more than two yoke of cattle in
the six that comprised each team, that had ever worn a yoke before. Many
had to be ‘roped,’ and not a few of the wildest, as the Texas and
Cherokee varieties, were permitted to wear their yokes continually, for
weeks.
“While the bull-whacker’s life was full of that adventure and romance
that possessed its fascination, there were some very rough sides to it,
though taking it all in all, it afforded an experience that few indeed
would part with, and in after years there is nothing that I recall with
more genuine pleasure than life in the camps upon the plains during the
freighting days.
“In an aggregation of men such as manned the prairie schooners of thirty
odd years ago there were some very peculiar characters. This was
especially true of those old ‘Desert Tars,’ who for the time made
bullwacking a profession and who were never so happy as when swinging a
twenty-foot whip over a string of steers.
“These droll people bore nicknames suggested by characteristics or
conditions, and there were few indeed who responded to any other name,
in fact, I have been intimately associated with men about the camp fire
for months and never knew their real name.
“A tall, slender person might be known as ‘Lengthy’ or ‘Slim’; a short,
stout one as ‘Shorty’ or ‘Stub-and-Twist.’ We had in one of our trains
‘Kentuck,’ who happened to hail from the Blue Grass State, also ‘Sucker
Ike,’ who was from Illinois; ‘Buckeye Bill’ was from Ohio, while
‘Hawkeye Hank’ was from Iowa. ‘Hoosier Dave’ was from Posey County,
while ‘Yank’ hailed from the far east; ‘Mormon Jack’ was an old-time
bullwhacker who used to pass himself off for a Mormon when it suited his
convenience; ‘Bishop Lee’ also played Mormon when we were over in the
Salt Lake Valley; the man with red or auburn hair was invariably called
‘Reddy,’ ‘Sandy’ or ‘Pinky,’ while another whose facial architecture was
of the Romanesque style would be called ‘Nosey.’
“These quaint characters would place a ‘Wild West’ comedy upon the
boards without much acting. The costumes varied as much as their names.
Some wore flannel shirts, some cotton of any and all colors, while
others dressed in drilling jumpers. Their pants or overalls were held up
by a belt, as suspenders were unknown. One character that was with us
for a year or more, was a man called ‘Scotty,’ a native of Scotland, and
a sailmaker by trade. He used to mend and patch his clothes and the
clothes of the other boys, until it was difficult to tell the original
goods. His strong point was ‘foxing’ clothes with canvas which he always
carried for that purpose. He would take a new pair of pants and ‘fox’
them with white canvas, putting large patches over the knees, around
the knees, around the pockets, in the seat and crotch, until they
looked real artistic. He usually ‘pinked’ the edges of his patches or
‘foxing,’ and I have known the boys to pay his as much as $5 for
‘foxing’ a pair of heavy wool pants with duck.
“By way of entertainment, every man could play a part. One could tell a
good yarn, while another could sing a song, and all could play
‘freeze-out.’
“The songs sang about the campfires were not such as are rendered by
opera companies of the present day. In fact, they have gone into disuse
since the men who sang them and the occasion that gave them birth, have
passed into history.
“Among the popular melodies of the time was ‘Betsey from Pike.’ The
first verse ran like this:
“‘Oh, do you remember sweet Betsey, from Pike,
Who traveled the mountains with her lover, Ike;
With one yoke of cattle, a large yellow dog,
One full shanghai rooster and one spotted hog.’
Chorus--
“‘Sing a Tu-ral Li-ural, Li-ural Li-a,
Sing a Tu-ral Li-ural, Li-ural, Li-a,
Sing a Tu-ral Li-ural, Li-ural, Li-a,
Why don’t you sing Tu-ral, Li-ural Li-a.’
“The chorus, when joined by twenty or more bullwhackers who always
carried their lungs with them, was indeed thrilling, as was the last
stanza, in fact every stanza from the first to the last.
“The last verse ran like this:
“‘The wagon broke down and the cattle all died,
That morning the last piece of bacon was fried.
Ike looked discouraged, and Betsey was mad,
The dog dropped his tail and looked wonderfully sad.’
“Another popular air of the day was:
“‘My name is Joe Bowers,
I had a brother Ike;
We came from old Missouri,
All the way from Pike,
Etc., Etc.’
“A song sang by a California miner who went by the euphonious sobriquet
of “Sluice Box,” never failed to elicit encore. It was descriptive of
his adversities and trials through the sluice mining country, and the
last lines that I remember were:
“‘I stole a dog, got whipped like hell,
And away I went for Marysville.
Then leave, ye miners, leave,
Oh, leave, ye miners, leave.’
“Then the boys used to sandwich in Irish, German and negro melodies,
besides drawing upon national and war songs. Among the latter, ‘John
Brown’ and ‘Dixie’ were quite popular, but any song with a good, stiff
chorus was the proper thing.
“A parody on the ‘Texas Ranger’ was also a popular song, though not so
lively and inspiring as the others, being lacking in a chorus. It was a
sort of lament of a boy who at the age of eighteen ran away, ‘joined Old
Major’s train,’ and started for Laramie. They had a fight at Plum Creek,
in which six of their men were killed by the Indians and buried in one
grave. In his description of the fight he says:
“‘We saw the Indians coming,
They came up with a yell,
My feeling that moment
No human tongue can tell.
“‘I thought of my old mother,
In tears she said to me:
“To you they’re all strangers;
You’d better stay with me.”
“‘I thought her old and childish,
Perhaps she did not know
My mind was fixed on driving,
And I was bound to go.’
“‘We fought them full one hour
Before the fight was o’er,
And the like of dead Indians
I never saw before;’
“‘And six as brave fellows
As ever came out West,
Were buried up at Plum-Creek,
Their souls in peace to rest.”
“In this connection I may say that less than thirty rods from the place
where those six brave bullwhackers are buried, eleven others lie in one
grave, killed by Indians.
“The last time that I passed over the road at Plum Creek was in the
spring of 1867. The railroad had been built beyond that point on the
north side of the river, and the stage line had just been pulled off.
“Bands of Indians were quite troublesome and as the little troop of
soldiers stationed at Plum Creek had been removed, the station keeper
had been frightened away, and the sole occupant of the place was a
telegraph operator. I talked with him as we watched the Indians over on
the hill and there was a picture of despair written upon his every
feature. We told him that he ought not to stay and insisted upon his
taking his traps and going with us. He wanted to, but felt it his duty
to remain in charge of the telegraph office. I will never forget the
parting with that man. He was a perfect stranger. I never saw him
before, didn’t even know his name, and our acquaintance only covered a
few hours, but there was something terrible in the look of anxiety that
he gave us as he refused to leave his post.
“We were the last white men that that poor fellow ever looked upon. Even
as our train pulled out the Indians were in sight upon the hills south
of the station, and that evening they burned the station, and nothing
was ever heard of the Plum Creek operator, who, knowing the fate that
awaited him, remained at his post and was massacred by the merciless
Sioux.”
* * * * *
The frontier preacher had his share alike with others in hardship and
adventure, as will be seen by the experience of the Rev. H. T. Davis.
“We said to the authorities of our church: ‘We would like to go west and
spend our lives in laying the foundations and building up the church on
the frontier.’ The way was at once opened, and in July, 1858, we landed
at Bellevue, Nebraska. This was our first field of labor. We had no
church organization here at that time, so everything had to be made from
the raw material. Notwithstanding this was the case, we really enjoyed
the work.
“We shall never forget the first Nebraska blizzard we encountered. The
day before was beautiful almost like a summer day. Mrs. Davis had washed
and hung out her clothes. We retired to rest, the soft balmy air, like a
zephyr, was blowing from the south. About midnight the wind shifted to
the north and it began to snow. In the morning the weather was freezing
cold and the snow was piled in drifts many feet high around the house.
We looked out and saw the clothes line but no clothes. We tried to find
them, but in vain. They were gone. Not a shred was left save one or two
small pieces. And we never saw or heard of them again. Our neighbors who
were acquainted with Nebraska blizzards said: ‘Your clothes were in
Kansas long before morning.’ Our wardrobe was not the most extensive,
and we felt keenly the loss. Since then we have encountered many a
blizzard, and we are never surprised at the awful havoc and devastation
that follow in their wake.
“Another thing that occurred that same winter we shall never forget.
Although forty-one years have passed away since it took place, it stands
out as vividly before us now as though it had happened but yesterday.
The thought of that thrilling event even now causes our blood to tingle,
our nerves to quiver, our heart to throb, and a lump to come into our
throat, that produces anything but a pleasing sensation.
“It was a race for life. We had friends in Omaha and we determined to
go to visit them. The Missouri river is frozen over in the winter, and
of course, is unnavigable. The whistle of the locomotive had never been
heard on the prairies of Nebraska. The only way left for us to reach
Omaha was by private conveyance. We procured a horse and sleigh for the
purpose. After visiting a few days in Omaha we started home.
“The day selected for our return was bright and clear. The snow was
deep, and the weather bitter cold. The brilliant rays of the sun caused
the snow in the road, on plain and hillside, to sparkle and glitter, and
the whole country as far as the eye could extend shone like burnished
silver. By my side, in the sleigh, sat my wife. It was our first winter
in the territory. Everything was new and strange and wild, altogether
different from anything we had ever seen before. The absence of timber
made the snow-covered hills and plains appear dreary in the extreme, and
created a feeling of loneliness that cannot be easily described.
“After we had gone a few miles, looking back, my wife saw away in the
distance an animal.
“‘What is that?’ said she, somewhat agitated. I turned and looked. It
was so far away I could not for the life of me distinguish just what it
was. I replied: ‘Oh, nothing but a dog from one of the farms by the
wayside.’
“But if it were only a dog I feared it. I never had any particular love
for the canine race. And if that were only a dog my wife saw away in the
distance I was extremely anxious to keep out of his way. So I urged my
horse a little.
“Reaching the top of the next hill my wife again looked back. Then she
tucked the robe more closely about her. I looked into her face. She
looked troubled and seemed quite nervous, but said nothing. I turned my
head, and there in the road, away in the distance, I saw the same
object. It seemed to be gaining on us. Again I urged my horse,
encouraging him all I possibly could. A peculiar feeling instantly crept
all over me. It was a strange sensation. My hand trembled and the whip
quivered as I held it.
“The fact had flashed over me that the object seen in the road behind us
was not a dog but a buffalo wolf. The buffalo wolf of Nebraska was the
same as the giant wolf of Oregon. It was the largest species of the gray
wolf, and often attacked and killed buffaloes and on that account was
called by trappers, Indian traders and the early pioneers of the west
the ‘buffalo wolf.’ These wolves, when hungry, did not hesitate to
attack man. They were large, strong, savage and dangerous in the
extreme. I knew very well if it were one of these that had scented us
out, and was on our trail, and should overtake us, there would be no
hope whatever for our escape. The only hope of saving our lives was to
reach the village before we were overtaken. Knowing how fleet of foot
the wolf was, the hope seemed a forlorn one. I knew that not one
moment’s time could be lost--that my horse must be pushed to the last
extremity of his strength. I tried to keep cool and not become
frightened, but in vain. No one under such circumstances can keep from
being frightened.
“Silently we breathed a prayer to God for help. How natural it is to
pray when in danger. Under such circumstances all men pray, believers in
the Christian religion and unbelievers. All alike at times feel the
need of supernatural help, and at such times call upon God for
assistance. If at no other time, when in great danger, we pray--pray
earnestly.
“Seeing the wolf was rapidly gaining on us, I spoke sharply to my horse,
and plied the whip anew. Faster and faster he flew over the hardened
snow, and faster and faster our hearts beat with fear. The snow clods
flew thick and fast from the hoofs of our flying steed. To these,
however, we paid but little attention. Reaching the next rise, again we
looked back, and to our surprise the wolf was nearer than ever. I felt
that the only thing to do was to urge the horse until every nerve and
muscle were taxed to their utmost tension. Our panting steed seemed to
take in the situation, and if ever an animal made fast time it was our
noble horse on that cold December day. Again my wife turned her anxious
eyes toward our rapidly approaching foe and every time she looked back
the trouble on her face deepened. She said nothing. Not a word was
spoken. Her look, however, spoke volumes. My heart leaped into my
throat, and I was too much frightened to speak.