fun and enjoyment to a man, than a buffalo hunt, or, as some call it,
a chase, especially the first. I well remember my first experience
along that line. It was on the lake’s flat, between Sun river and Fort
Benton. John Argue and James Armstrong were with me. We could see for
several days buffaloes in the coulees on the Muddy. The weather had
been cold and snowing for some time. The first clear day we mounted our
horses and prepared for a chase.
After we arrived on top of Frozen Hill we could see that the Lake flat
and the region beyond was entirely covered with buffaloes. It was a
sight to behold. Without exaggeration there were a quarter of a million
buffaloes in sight; the main herd covered eight miles by three miles,
and they were so numerous that they ate every spear of grass as they
went. We rode slowly until we got near the herd, for they were quietly
feeding. Soon we could see that the outside ones discovered us, and we
made the charge with guns in hand. I had a dragoon revolver, the kind
that the cavalry used the time of the war. I was riding a very fine
horse. Soon we commenced shooting. It was not long before every buffalo
was on the move. And now the fun began. Tens of thousands of these
ponderous animals were running at a furious pace; the earth trembled,
and the clicking of their hoofs could be heard for miles away. By this
time my horse had me in the midst of the herd, for he could run like
a racer, and I had two big buffaloes badly crippled and they fell to
the rear. Now I had gone all of two miles and fired a dozen shots,
with buffaloes in front of me and buffaloes behind me and buffaloes on
each side of me; in fact I could see nothing but buffaloes. It takes
some practice to load a gun while on horseback and on full speed.
However, I was doing this with considerable accuracy. Now I had my old
dragoon loaded the third time, and I took after a fat young cow. The
chase began to tell on my horse for it was as much as he could do to
keep up with this particular buffalo. Soon I had two bullets in her
and one more in my gun; I was determined to make a sure shot with it.
I now could see that the pace of the buffalo was slower. I spurred
my horse and with a spurt he was at her side. As quick as lightening
the buffalo whirled around and caught my foot with her crooked horn
and came very near throwing me out of the saddle and as near goring
the horse. This warned me to be more cautious. The buffalo started in
another direction, but very slowly. I followed it; finally it stopped
and turned, looking directly at me. I was fifty yards off. I took a
deliberate aim at it and down she came. I shot it directly between the
eyes. This cow buffalo netted nearly nine hundred pounds and it was
as fine meat as I ever tasted. I was now in the center of the buffalo
herd and all running like mad and going in one direction; the clouds of
fine snow and dust making it very dangerous for a man, being liable to
be run over by the buffaloes. At this juncture I had to stand in one
place, hat in hand, yelling at the top of my voice to keep them from
running over me and my horse. Once a big bull, coming on a terrific
speed directly towards me, was in ten feet before he saw me, but made
a dodge and at the same time gave a snort and passed me, brushing his
shaggy coat against my buckskin suit. It was not long before the big
rush had gone by and I had had my first buffalo hunt. A few miles west
of me some Indians were chasing another herd. On my way back I found
the first two buffaloes that I crippled; one was dead and the other
could not get up. Armstrong and Argue had good luck. Next day we went
back and brought home a wagon load of as good meat as anyone could wish.
[Illustration: From Painting by C. M. Russell.
INDIANS HUNTING BUFFALO.]
The buffaloes are the most watchful animals that I ever saw. At the
least disturbance in the herd they are all at once on the watch as if
they had some way of telegraphing to each other; and their scent is
remarkably keen. When getting away from the hunter they all run one way
and invariably go north. They have remarkable lung power; it takes more
than an ordinary horse to keep up with the average buffalo for a mile,
and, if not in a mile, good bye horse, for about this time the buffalo
begins to warm up and is getting ready for a race. This was in the
winter of 1872.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
Jan. 23, 1898.
TOM CAMPBELL RUNNING THE GAUNTLET.
All of the old-timers of Northern Montana remember Tom Campbell (now
dead). He was always jolly and a good fellow in general. Tom told me
of what happened to him one time when out in the hills and alone. At
the time referred to he was employed at one of the trading posts down
the Missouri river. One day he was sent to get a deer for meat at the
post. When he was about six miles from the camp he came in contact
with four Indians. They at once captured him and wanted to know what
business he had to hunt in their country. One Indian leveled his gun at
Tom’s head, while another one took his horse and gun from him. One of
the Indians had seen Tom before at the trading store. This Indian told
his comrade, who was threatening to shoot, to lay down his gun. And the
four then held a kind of council to consider and decide what to do with
their captive. Tom understood their language and overheard what they
were saying. One wanted to tie him to a tree and all take a shot at
him; another one wanted to scalp him first and then kill him; the other
two were undecided. Finally, one of them, a strapping big fellow, said
that he knew this man and that he did not want to kill him, but that he
would take away everything he had and then let him go. Tom said that
this Indian had a great deal of influence over the others. After having
considerable talk about the matter with the other three, he turned to
Tom and said: “I want that coat.” “You can have it,” said Tom. Again
the Indian said: “I want that vest and shirt.” “All right,” said Tom.
“And I want them pants and shoes you have on,” said the lordly red
man. “You can have them, too,” said Tom. Tom was speedily divested of
all his clothing. The Indian who made the demand had a rawhide lariat
in his hand, and, with it, gave Tom a whack across the shoulders and
a kick where his coat-tail used to be, and told him to go home. Tom,
naked and barefooted, made a bee line towards the post. After he had
gone a certain distance the Indians began shooting at him, and at the
same time running after him, but, as Tom was in good condition and
stripped for a foot race, he outran them; though the bullets whistled
about him, he got home without being hit.
Tom said that it took him but a few minutes to cover the distance, and
that when he arrived his feet were bleeding terribly.
About two years afterwards, on Front street, in Fort Benton, Campbell
met the Indian who struck and kicked him and divested him of all his
clothing. He seized the Indian by the arm and demanded that he should
come with him. The Indian appeared greatly frightened and asked Tom
what he was going to do with him. “Come with me and ask no questions,”
said Tom. The Indian obeyed, and in a few minutes they were in I. G.
Baker’s store. “Now,” said Tom, “I want you to pick out the best shirt
and the best pair of blankets in this store and I will pay for them.”
The Indian was greatly surprised at this and it was evident that it was
the first time in his life that he ever was whipped with a golden rule,
for all this time he thought that Tom was taking him to some place to
receive punishment, or that he was going to be killed for what he and
his companions had done to Tom when out hunting two years before. Tom
said to the Indian: “You stole my clothing, you struck me, and the kick
you gave me was a hard one, but all that, I owe you my life and I am
glad to have the opportunity to return you this compliment.” The Indian
was much pleased and promised Tom his friendship as long as he lived.
This Indian was prominent in his tribe, and this “golden rule” act of
Tom Campbell’s was made known to every Indian in that tribe, and not
a hair of his head they allowed to be injured. And from that time he
was always treated with the greatest kindness, and many trophies he
received as a token of friendship from those Indians.
Mr. Campbell was well educated. For a long time he was in the
employment of the American Fur company, and always occupied a post
of trust. At the time I had the above conversation he was doing a
prosperous business for himself.
ROBERT VAUGHN.
April 7, 1899.
EDWARD A. LEWIS’ EARLY DAYS IN MONTANA.
Having been acquainted with Mr. Edward A. Lewis, who lives on a
thousand-acre farm in the foot hills near St. Peter’s Mission,
twenty-five miles southwest from this place, and, knowing that he is
one of the earliest settlers in Northern Montana, one day last week I
took a drive and had a very interesting interview with him in regard
to his early days in the West. In the year 1869 he was married to a
daughter of a Piegan war chief named Meek-i-appy (Heavy Shield). Father
Imoda officiated. Mrs. Lewis had been baptized in the Christian faith
previous to her marriage. She is an intelligent woman and speaks fair
English; she is a splendid housekeeper, and, above all, a true wife
and loving mother. They have three daughters who are well educated;
the oldest is married to Mr. John Taber, a well-to-do farmer and stock
raiser. When I arrived at the house Mr. Lewis, with his hired man, was
in a field near by stacking grain. I asked him how many crops he had
harvested off that field; he said: “This is the twenty-ninth crop.” I
should judge that forty bushels to the acre would be a fair estimate of
the present one.
This beautiful mountain home is but a natural park, of a horseshoe
shape, surrounded by high hills crowned with perpendicular cliffs to
the height of several hundred feet, with here and there a low divide
beyond which nothing is visible but the blue sky. One of the hills
east of the house is called Skull mountain. When Mrs. Lewis’ mother
was a young woman, the Flatheads and Piegans had a fight in the little
valley below, in which the Flatheads came out victorious. Eight of
the Piegans fled to the top of this mountain, and there fortified
themselves by building breastworks with stones and pitch pine logs.
They held the fort for one day and a night, but the Flatheads greatly
outnumbered them, and they were overpowered and killed; not one
escaped. Many years afterwards Mr. Lewis and Mr. Morgan, his neighbor,
found the skull of one of those Indians and brought it home. From this
“Skull Mountain” received its name. The little fort was standing until
a few years, when some school children tore it down, and now nothing
remains but the ruins.
Mr. Lewis, calling my attention to a clump of pine near the summit of
Skull Mountain, said: “There is where there is a bed of oyster shells
that are as perfect as those on the seashore.” Pointing his hand at
another high hill, he said: “And there is where there is another bed
of the same kind of shells.” On entering the house, and after I had
asked him a few questions in regard to his early adventures in the
West, Mr. Lewis said: “It was always my desire to go West. When but
eighteen years of age, at St. Louis, Missouri, I hired to the American
Fur company to go and work at Fort Benton on the upper Missouri
river. I left St. Louis the eighth day of May, 1857, on the steamboat
“Star of the West.” I arrived at Fort Benton the twenty-second day of
September of the same year. The boat was loaded with goods to pay the
Indians their annuities for the treaty they had made with Governor
Stevens in behalf of the government for the right of way for a wagon
road through their country. The American Fur company had taken the
contract to deliver the Indian goods. The boat came as far as about
five miles below the place now called Culberson on the Great Northern
railroad. There the goods were taken off the steamer and some of them
were issued to the Indians at that place. We had brought with us from
St. Louis enough lumber to build two Mackinaw boats, and we whipsawed
dry cottonwood logs into enough lumber to build the third one. With
these boats we took the balance of the goods up to Fort Benton. We
had to tow them all the way. There were seventeen men to the boat;
sometimes we had to cross the river on account of the high banks and
other obstacles. It was hard work, besides sometimes we were in the
water up to our waists. It took us sixty-five days to come to Fort
Benton from the place where the steamboat landed. In the fall of the
same year I, with others, was sent to Fort Union with Mackinaw boats
loaded with furs. For several years all the robes and furs belonging
to the company were taken from Fort Benton to Fort Union in this way.
The distance overland between the two places is three hundred and
seventy-four miles, but much greater by the river route. When on these
trips we often had to travel at night for the purpose of passing the
many hostile Indian camps that were along the river. Notwithstanding
all our precautions, many times we had narrow escapes from being robbed
and killed by those Indians. Immediately after arriving from the trip
referred to, I returned to Fort Benton overland in company with Bill
Atkinson, a Frenchman named Rinober, and Henry Bosdwike, who, for
several years afterwards, was an interpreter for the government. In
1877 he was killed in the Gibbon fight with the Nez Perces Indians at
Big Hole. We had in our charge two carts that were loaded with Indian
goods and were drawn by oxen, two to a cart. Then it was difficult to
get enough goods to Fort Benton to supply the Indian trade. In the
following spring I was sent down the river to Fort Union on the same
kind of a trip. When we got there the agent wanted volunteers to take
a dispatch boat to Omaha. Mr. Armel, Bill Fatherland and myself took
the job. We went down the Missouri in a small cottonwood boat twelve
feet long. For our provisions we had nothing but dried buffalo meat.
We were happy and contented until we got to a Mandan Indian village;
there we were informed that the Sioux chief, “Bighead,” who was a
bitter enemy of the whites, was in camp with five hundred lodges on the
bank of the Missouri river near the mouth of Cannonball river. This
was gloomy news to us, for we knew that Chief Bighead was one of the
worst Indians on the river. However, there was nothing for us to do
but take the chance and to pass the village in the dead of the night.
We glided along, stopping now and then to look for Indian signs in the
sand on the shores. After coming near Grand Prairie we decided to cache
our boat in the willows day times, and from there on run at night.
One evening after an hour of hard rowing, we came where we could see
the reflections in the sky from the fires in the Sioux camp, as from
a good-sized town lighted by electricity nowadays. As we were getting
near the village we stopped for a short time to lay our plans. It was
decided that we would wait until the Indians were asleep, and then let
the boat drift close to the high, steep bank next to the Indian’s camp,
for it would not do to use the oars for fear of making a noise. As we
floated close to the bank, we could hear the Indians talking to each
other. After we got past, one of the guards discovered us and gave the
alarm, but as the lay of the land and the thick brush along the bank of
the river were in our favor, and the way we worked the oars and made
the little craft fly, we were soon out of danger. We hid ourselves and
the boat in the willows on an island the next day, and the day after
in a similar place, but after that we traveled day and night until we
got to Omaha. There the company’s agent paid our fare to St. Louis, and
soon afterwards we returned back to the mountains.
It was in the year 1858 an agency was established in the Sun River
valley where now Mr. H. B. Strong’s ranch is. Here is where the annuity
of Governor Stevens’ treaty was issued to the Blackfeet Indians. Major
Vaughn was agent to issue the goods.
In December, 1859, the company sent nine of us to the Highwood
mountains, about twenty miles from Fort Benton to cut logs to make
lumber to build Mackinaw boats, for the fur trade was doubling every
winter, consequently a great many more boats were required to take the
goods, consisting of fur robes and pelts, to Fort Union. After being
in camp a few days we had everything running smoothly. Phil Barnes and
I drove the ox teams. Some of the men were new hands who had come from
St. Louis that summer and could not speak a word of Indian and did not
understand their sign talk. One day when Barnes and I were about half
a mile from camp we could hear from behind us the clatter of horses
and the cracking of whips; on looking back we discovered thirty Crow
Indians coming as fast as their horses could carry them, and were
coming right towards us, all having their bows strung and their hands
full of arrows, and as they approached us, they rent the air with their
Indian yells. One pressed an arrow against Barnes’ breast and demanded
where our camp was; we told them and pointed in that direction.
Twenty-seven of them left at once for our camp; the other three stayed
to pilot us the same way the others went. The Indians soon could tell
who the new men were and they stripped some of them, and then used the
ramrods of their guns on them. They made us cook for the whole gang,
and when night came they put us all together and stood guard over us
all night, and until the evening of the next day, when one Indian named
Red Bear, and who was the chief, told Barnes and I to get the oxen and
go to Benton after more goods; and that they were going to take all we
had, and he further said: “We have got all the horses your people had.”
Barnes and I took an ox team, as Chief Red Bear had told us, and left
for Fort Benton on that evening. We traveled all night, and when we
arrived at Fort Benton, we were told that the night previous the
Indians had stolen two hundred and fifty head of the company’s horses.
At the time they were holding us as prisoners the others of the party
were stealing the horses that were on Pablow Island, near Fort Benton.
It was Chief Red Bear and his gang that robbed and plundered the James
Stuart party on the Yellowstone four years later.
In 1860 Major Blake, with a detachment of troops, came up the Missouri
river to Fort Benton and was bound to Fort Colville in the then
Territory of Washington. Blake and his troops came on the steamboat
named “Chippewa,” and this was the first time a steamboat ever landed
at Fort Benton. The same year Captain John Mullan was building a
wagon road from Walla Walla to Fort Benton, which was afterwards
known as the Mullan road. Major Blake, when on his way up the river,
was very anxious to know the whereabouts of Captain Mullan, who was
then somewhere west of the main range of the Rocky mountains. Malcolm
Clarke, who had been in St. Louis attending to some business concerning
the American Fur company, was on the same boat. When at Fort Union
Clark volunteered to take a message overland to Fort Benton and from
there forward it to Captain Mullan, saying that he would get to Fort
Benton several days ahead of the steamer.
Clark mounted one of Major Blake’s government mules and arrived at Fort
Benton six days from the time he left Fort Union and five days ahead of
the “Chippewa.” From Fort Benton I was sent with the message to Captain
Mullan, whom I met on the Hell Gate river. I traveled on the old Indian
trail up the Prickly Pear canyon and crossed the main divide where now
the Northern Pacific Railway crosses.
At the mouth of the Deer Lodge river I met a Flathead Indian who could
talk a little English. I asked him where those soldiers were. He told
me that they were a little ways down the river and on the other side.
It was in the month of June, the snow was melting off the mountains,
and the streams were very high.
The Indian came with me to show where Mullan was, and we followed down
the banks of the Hell Gate river for a few miles until we came opposite
where Captain Mullan’s camp was. I told the Indian that I had a letter
for Mullan and he said he would swim the river and take it to him. I
gave the Indian the letter and he swam the swift current of that great
river with the letter between his teeth and landed, after going down
the stream nearly a mile. I was then a good swimmer, but I would not
undertake to swim that river then for any consideration. Mullan, after
reading the letter, wrote one to Major Blake, which I delivered on my
return to Fort Benton, where I met Blake. It took me seven days and a
half to make the trip. At the Benton Lake I met Captain W. H. Reynolds’
United States engineer corps expedition, which was in camp there at the
time. They had been viewing the Missouri Falls.