water seemed to lessen every day. Finally the captain gave orders to
pull ashore where there was an old stockade fort, and we were put
ashore. Here the cargo was discharged and moved to the abandoned
stockade. As soon as the captain ascertained that we could proceed
no further by water, he dispatched an Indian runner to Fort Benton
with an order for teams to help transport the Shreveport’s cargo and
passengers. Some of the passengers returned with him, having had enough
of upper Missouri life. We met many Mackinaw boats coming down from
Fort Benton, carrying from three to five men each. These men had come
from the Pacific coast, and they told us of the rich diggings there,
and also of the prospecting on the Prickly Pear (now American bar, in
Montana), which made us anxious to get along; so, after remaining at
the old stockade about a week, we got Mr. Picotte, in whose charge
the captain had left the passengers and cargo, to take what teams we
had and move on up the river, and not wait for the outfit from Fort
Benton. One time after several days’ travel we made a camp near the
mouth of Milk river, in a very level country, and nearby there was
the largest aggregation of Indian lodges I had ever seen. There were
several thousand Indians of different tribes. I remember the names of
three only--Crows, Gros Ventres and Assiniboines. I have forgotten
what the object of this great council was. Femmisee (Sitting Woman),
who was the head chief of the Gros Ventres, was there. He was very
friendly to us. Here we had our first actual trouble. Some Indians came
into our camp and tried to take our guns away from us and acted in an
ugly manner. It appeared that the Indians were divided as to whether
we should be permitted to go any further through their country or not.
The chief, Femmisee, said that we could go through, but was opposed by
the younger Indians. That evening our party took a vote as to whether
we should move on next day or turn back. A majority voting to return,
in the morning we headed for the old stockade, but after we had gone
only a short distance several warriors rode up to our leading team and
with drawn guns and arrows strung compelled us to turn again in the
direction of Fort Benton.
“Mr. Picotte informed us afterwards that the Indians also had a
council, and it had been decided that we were to go through, and that
Chief Femmisee, in enforcing his authority, had shot and wounded one
of the opposition. Mr. Picotte made many presents to the head men, and
from this time on we had no more trouble, though we met many Indians.
There were fifteen white men in our party and several half-breeds. We
took turns standing guard at night, making two watches--one from dark
till midnight, the other from midnight till morning. After several
days’ of travel, we met the company’s teams from Fort Benton on their
way to the stockade; they were in charge of Robert Lemon. We reached
Fort Benton without other important incident and made our headquarters
at what was then styled Fort La Barge; an aggregation of log houses
situated about three fourths of a mile above the old Fort Benton,
which was occupied by the American Fur Company, and about a quarter of
a mile above Fort Campbell, whose only occupants were Malcolm Clark
and family. A day or two after our arrival we awoke one morning to
the sound of alarm, and saw a war party of Indians circling about in
the bluffs to the west. At Fort La Barge all was excitement, a cannon
was brought and preparations for defense quickly made. This post was
unfortified, while Fort Campbell and Fort Benton had walls of adobe
with bastions and heavy gates. Clark sent up for someone to come to
Fort Campbell to help him to hold the fort, and I was deputized for
that duty; I got my gun and marched down. The heavy gate was opened
and Mr. Clark welcomed me to his little garrison. The Indians, for
most of the day, could be seen among the bluffs, but finally a parley
was secured, presents were given and the war was over. Christopher
L. Payne, who was one of our party and had some goods to go over the
mountains, bought some ponies and broke them to harness and we waited
a few days for him, as we wished to go together. During this time we
heard that good diggings had been found on the Big Prickly Pear, and
we left for that point, following the Capt. J. L. Fisk trail, whose
expedition had preceded us about a month. Near the last of October we
arrived at where now is located Montana City, or East Helena. Here we
found several families who had come through with the Fisk expedition,
among whom was E. M. Dunphy. We made arrangements with Dunphy to go
to Benton with four wagons with oxen for our goods and bring them to
the Prickly Pear camp where we expected to winter. I preceded him
on horseback, and, on reaching Fort Benton, learned that no tidings
of Lemon’s train had been received. I kept on down the river and
fortunately met him below the mouth of the Marias river after one day’s
travel from Fort Benton. Mr. Lemon reported that after leaving Milk
river he encountered a party of Indians who demanded whisky and were
very troublesome, cutting his harness and making threats of murdering
the whole outfit. To escape them he took the heroic measure of rolling
out a barrel of whisky and setting it on end; he knocked in the head
and they were soon all dead drunk. While they were in this condition
he pulled out his train, and, pushing on night and day, he saw them no
more.
“Dunphy’s wagon being loaded, we started back, leading behind one of
the wagons a little black mare. This mare had been purchased of a
half breed at the Fort by Mr. Tingley (the father of R. S. and Clark
Tingley), and he wanted me to take her to the camp on the Prickly
Pear. Reaching Sun river, we found four lodges of Blackfeet. Here was
stationed a government farmer who was teaching the Blackfeet Indians
how to cultivate the soil. His name was Vail, and he had an interpreter
who informed me that the chief of the Blackfeet camp said that the mare
which I was leading belonged to his squaw and he wanted me to give
her up. I told him it was not my mare; that it had been intrusted
to me, and I could not do it. The Indian said that so far as he was
concerned he did not care, but that it was a pet of his wife’s; that
she was crying and nothing but the mare would console her. I finally
settled the matter by his giving me another horse, and I turned over
the animal and one plug of tobacco. In the meantime the wagons had
gone on and I followed an hour or two later on horseback, leading the
new horse. About twelve miles beyond Sun river, as I was riding slowly
up a rocky hill, I heard a sound and, looking back, I saw an Indian
on horseback within twenty feet of me and he was warning me of some
danger; so I hurried on, and overtaking the wagons, I informed the men
of the incident, and when we went into camp, which was opposite the
Bird Tail mountain, we deemed it wise to place the wagons in a square,
and, putting the horses inside, we slept on our guns that night, but
had no trouble. The next night we camped on the Dearborn river. The
days since leaving Fort Benton had been beautiful, and when we retired
to our blankets that evening the weather was mild, but in the morning
we awoke to find ourselves covered with a foot of snow and the Dearborn
river frozen over. We laid there two days and nights, and on the third
day traveled to Wolf Creek, about seventeen miles, when we found that
the snow had all disappeared. The next day we passed over the hill in
Prickly Pear canyon, where there was the grave of a young man named
Lyon, who had accidentally shot himself but a few weeks before. He
was buried where he died and a rough headboard gave an account of his
death. This point was called then and is still known as Lyon’s Hill.
The third day from Wolf Creek at Three-Mile creek, which is three miles
south of Silver City, we met Mr. King, accompanied by ‘Gold Tom.’ It
appears that the camp on the Prickly Pear had been broken up and nearly
all had moved out to go to Gold Creek and Bannock; so Mr. King had come
to tell us to keep our wagons moving and to go over the Mullan Pass.
About the last of November we rolled into Deer Lodge. Here we stored
our goods in one end of a building owned by A. Fall. In the meantime
we purchased an unfinished building owned by C. A. Broadwater, who was
living there then. It was there I first saw Kohn Kohrs. He had come to
Cottonwood to buy some cattle of John Grant to be butchered in Bannock.
For want of funds he was unable to buy more than three head, while now
his herds are counted by thousands. Also Captain Nick Wall came up from
Gold Creek on his way to the states. He had with him Thomas Levatta, a
mountaineer whom he had hired as a guide, and was going by the way of
Bannock and Salt Lake. Mr. King was induced to join him and I was left
to sell our goods and send the dust down the river the coming spring.
As trade was dull in Cottonwood, I hired Dunphy to haul my goods to
Bannock and put me up a cabin. It took about a week to make the trip,
going over the mountains and down the Big Hole river. The weather
was clear, but cold, with no snow except upon the divide. We reached
Bannock about the twentieth of December. At Bannock I saw a rustling
mining camp, with many saloons and gambling houses. Goods commanded
astonishing prices.
I here met the Minnesota contingent, some mining, others keeping
boarding houses, and all seeming to prosper. It took but a short time
to dispose of the major part of the goods at a sound profit in gold
dust. Knowing that I could obtain goods at Fort Benton, which I could
pack over the mountains, and sell at Bannock at a good profit, I left
my place in charge of Warren Whitcher and started about the middle of
February, 1863, on horseback, with James Gourley, for Fort Benton. The
distance from Bannock to Fort Benton is about three hundred miles, and
we made the trip in eight days. Major Dawson was the manager of the
American Fur Company at Fort Benton and Matthew Carroll and George
Steell were his head men and did the trading. This company had a large
herd of horses which were kept up the Missouri river about fifty
miles. They bought many of these horses very cheap, for when a man got
ready to go down the river it was the company’s price or nothing. I
bought fifteen of these horses at from thirty to forty dollars each,
and enough of such goods as were in demand in Bannock to load them.
A good horse would carry easily two hundred pounds. I hired a cook,
for his board and passage, and returned to Bannock without accident.
Tobacco, for which I paid $2.50 per pound, sold for $10 and $12. Seven
by nine window glass brought one dollar per pane; other articles in
proportion. The venture having proved so profitable I was soon on
my way back to Fort Benton. Henry Plummer gave me a letter for Miss
O’Brien, who was the sister of the wife of I. A. Vail, the government
farmer who lived at the crossing of the Sun river, so that when the
pack train reached the river my men camped across from his house, and
I went over to deliver the letter, and on invitation I remained all
night at the farm. In the morning one of my men came over and told me
that all of the horses had been stolen, which proved to be true. And
Mr. Vail had only one horse left. It was a sore-backed sorrel that had
been left in the corral over night, which I bought for thirty dollars,
and started for Fort Benton, sixty miles away, to buy more horses in
order to move my packs. After traveling twelve miles I left the river
and took a trail up the hill, now known as Frozen Hill, and in a little
hollow, I took off the saddle and picketed the horse that had been
all night without food. I laid down, intending to rest about an hour.
As I was very tired I went to sleep. I could not tell how long I had
slept when an Indian aroused me, and, as I looked back down the road,
I saw quite a large party of Indians coming up the trail. I hurried
to my horse, quickly put on the saddle and rode on. The Indians left
the trail on the top of the hill and bore off to the northwest to my
great relief. I did not get into Benton until after daylight. There
they told me that, from my description, the Indians I met were Little
Dog, a Blackfoot chief, and his band, and that Little Dog was a friend
to the white men. I told Major Dawson my trouble and that I wanted
to buy some horses; he gave me a good horse to ride and sent me with
“Buffalo Bill,” whose name was William Keyser, to the horse herd. We
forded the Missouri river where the city of Great Falls is now located,
then went over the hill to where Mr. Paris Gibson’s stock farm is
situated, and found the horses there in charge of the herders. After
the round up of the band I selected the horses I wanted and drove them
up to where my packs were, crossing the Missouri where we forded it the
day before. My men had recovered some of the stolen horses that had
given out and were abandoned. The Indians who stole the horses were
Shoshones or Snakes and had followed me from Bannock. They had killed
one man near Square Butte who was employed by Mr. Vail as a hunter,
and his widow, a Blackfoot squaw, had cut off one of her fingers as an
evidence of sorrow and was bewailing his death in loud cries, sitting
with other women on the side of a hill. Taking another start, I got to
Fort Benton, bought more goods, and returned to Bannock. While I was
in Bannock this time occurred the shooting of Jack Cleveland by Henry
Plummer. He was shot in a saloon which was opposite my place. I heard
the shots, and going to the door I saw Plummer come out of the place
with a pistol in his hand and walk with a friend down the street. I
immediately went across to the saloon and saw Cleveland lying on the
floor with a bullet hole in his cheek and surrounded by a string of
men. He would raise himself on his elbow and mutter some words and then
fall back. Some one in the crowd asked him if he had any friends. He
said, ‘Old Jack has no friends,’ when one of the crowd replied: ‘Yes,
you have; you bet your life.’ He was shortly removed to a butcher shop,
which was near by, and he lingered for a day or so and died. Plummer
was tried and acquitted, as it was proven that Cleveland had said that
‘Plummer was his meat.’ There were frequent rumors of robberies by road
agents, and among trusted friends men would be pointed out as belonging
to such organizations, and that Henry Plummer was their leader. James
Gourley once informed me that he had good reason to know that I was
once followed, when on a trip to Fort Benton to buy goods, by three of
Plummer’s band who intended to rob me in the Sun river country, but
that they were delayed on account of losing their horses and did not
reach that place until I was well on my way to Benton.
“The weather during the whole winter and spring had been wonderfully
fine, with only one or two snow storms. On my last trip to Benton
that spring I carried considerable dust and some mail; letters coming
from the states by the way of Walla Walla often costing from one to
two dollars each. When Oliver’s express was started, letters from
Salt Lake cost one dollar each and newspapers fifty cents. The gold
dust I carried was not all my own. I put the purses (buckskin) in an
old carpet bag which was put on top of the pack on the back of one of
the pack horses and securely lashed it. We proceeded along without
any trouble until one morning at a camp on Willow Creek, near what is
now known as Mitchell’s Station, the horse carrying the dust became
fractious and tried to buck off his pack. The dust, being so heavy,
burst through the lining of the carpet bag and scattered the sacks of
gold. After some little search we found all the purses, and, taking
care that such an occurrence should not happen again, I finally landed
the treasure safely in the American Fur Company’s safe. Owing to the
light snows in the mountains the Missouri river was low and the steamer
Shreveport, which carried the goods that Mr. King had purchased in
the East, did not reach Fort Benton, and had to unload her freight at
Cow Island, where she arrived about the last of June, 1863. Captain
Nick Wall, of I. I. Roe & Co. of St. Louis, also had merchandise on
this boat. Cow Island was inaccessible to wagons on account of the
high bluffs without the construction of a road. So after waiting some
time for La Barge to get the freight up to Benton we made a contract
with Wall to haul his goods to Virginia City in Alder Gulch (a newly
discovered mining camp) for thirty cents per pound. We did not get
this freight through to its destination until the middle of November,
hauling our own goods at the same time. This proved to be a wonderful
camp. The times were good. It was only a question of how much you
should ask for what you had to sell, for gold dust was plentiful. The
next spring, 1864, I opened a new road to go to Fort Benton by the way
of the Jefferson river, White Tail Deer, Boulder and Big Prickly Pear.
Heretofore wagons had to cross the main divide twice. C. A. Broadwater
was the wagon master. I had about twenty-five teams and hired a
hunter who kept the train supplied with game, which was principally
antelope and deer. It took about a month to make a passable road for
freight teams. In the fall of that year, 1864, gold was discovered in
Last Chance gulch, and the goods which we shipped the next spring,
1865, were taken to Helena and Last Chance gulch. We put up a store
house here, and the coming spring, 1866, we bought of Malcolm Clark
and Edward A. Lewis their charter for a toll road through the Little
Prickly Pear canyon. This road was finished in time for the travel
from Fort Benton that season. Owing to the high price of labor and
the rocky character of the canyon this road cost about forty thousand
dollars, but as tolls were high also, it took only about two years
to get it back. The charter of this road expired in 1875, and it now
belongs to Lewis and Clark county. In the summer of 1865 I sold to Mr.
Copeland for I. I. Roe & Co. two freight trains of twenty-four wagons
each and two hundred head of oxen. That year Copeland had much freight
put off near the mouth of Milk river on account of low water. This was
the commencement of the Diamond R. Freight Company. Cattle in those
days varied much in price. Then ox teams brought freight all the way
from Leavenworth, Kan., and St. Joseph, Mo., and the cattle lean, and
with tender feet, would be often sold for thirty or forty dollars per
yoke. A few months of rest and feeding on the native grasses, and they
would treble in value. As far as possible merchants held their dust
until the spring of the year and sent it down the river in preference
to having it go by stage coach by the way of Salt Lake. I remember (I
think it was in 1865) of leaving Helena with $8,000 in dust to take to
Fort Benton. I carried it in canteens on the horn of my saddle. When
I got to the Dearborn crossing, I found among others camped there for
the noon, Malcolm Clark. He was traveling with a light spring wagon and
he kindly consented to carry my canteens and lighten my load as the
gold alone weighed over forty pounds. He said he wanted to give his
horses rest and would not start till late in the afternoon. I saddled
up and went on and had gone about eighteen miles when I saw some person
ahead coming toward me, driving a packed mule. He was going as fast as
possible, whipping the mule continually. When we met I saw it was a
man by the name of Coppick, whom I had known in Virginia City. He was
much excited and told me that a runner (Joseph Kipp) had come to Sun
River in the night, and that he had been sent from Fort Benton to warn
all travelers that there had been an uprising of the Indians, and that
they had killed ten men on the Marias river and were murdering all the
white people they could find. Coppick said he would rather take chances
with the road agents than the Indians, and that he would go back to the
states by the way of Salt Lake. I tried to persuade him to turn and
go on to Sun river with me, that it was only twelve miles away, and
as there were several outfits camped there, would stand the Indians
off. He said he had on his mule about thirty thousand dollars in dust,
and he believed it would be safer to go the other way. I went on to
the crossing of Sun river, but kept a sharp lookout for the redskins
all the while. I found there quite a large party of freighters who by
arranging their wagons, were prepared for any surprise the Indians
might make. During the night who should come into camp but Coppick.
It appears that Mr. Clark had persuaded him to put his gold into his
wagon, and that, as they would travel at night, they could get through
safely. We lay at this place all the next day and at night started for
Fort Benton, getting there in the morning. We found that the story was
true; that Barris, Angevine and eight others, who had been camped at
the mouth of the Marias, were waylaid and all killed.
“Up river freights that had been from ten to eighteen cents per pound
came down in a few years to three, and wagon freights from Benton to
Helena from six cents to one cent. Business conditions changed as
gold and greenbacks were approaching an equality in value, and goods
purchased in the East were sometimes sold at a loss. I virtually went
out of merchandise in 1869.
“When I commenced this narrative I did not think it would be so long,
and to draw it to a close, I will skip the years until 1877, in which
year I first engaged in sheep raising with Gov. B. F. Potts and D. H.
Weston as partners. This was the year of the Nez Perces war, in which
Chief Joseph was captured by General Miles in the Bear Paw mountains.
We located on the Dearborn river, about three miles above the present
bridge, in August, 1877. The following year, as the shearing time
approached, I was going up to one of the sheep camps with some supplies
tied behind me on the saddle for the herder. When I was about four
miles from the home camp I saw two horsemen coming over a hill. At
first I thought they were cowboys, but as they came nearer I could see
the red blankets; then I knew they were Indians. As they approached
one rode opposite me and said, ‘How,’ to which I replied, ‘How.’ The
other stopped his horse about forty or fifty feet away and dismounted,
coming towards me. I thought maybe he wanted tobacco or matches. The
Indian who remained on his horse had his gun across the saddle in front
of him, the other had laid his gun down, and as soon as he came to
the side of my horse he put his hand under my right foot and I landed
on the other side of my horse. I had no coat on, therefore they could
see I was not armed. He then took off my saddle, which was a new one,
and put it on his horse. As I stood holding my horse by the bridle
he came up to me and suddenly grabbed my watch chain with his right
hand, jerking the watch from the vest pocket, but the chain hung to
its fastening at the buttonhole. As the watch was of great value,
being a Jurgensen, and a stop watch for timing horses, and the chain
of heavy gold, I would not let it go, so I grasped his wrist with my
left hand making him let go and shoved him back. He then drew his gun,
a short Henry rifle and threw in a cartridge with the lever and aimed
it at me; by that time I had concluded that I did not want the watch,
and as I made motions to give it up, he lowered the muzzle of his gun
and received the watch and chain. He then mounted his horse and rode
away to the south, carrying the watch and chain in his hand. When this
Indian drew his gun the one on the horse spoke something quickly which
sounded to me as if he had said, ‘Don’t shoot.’ The one that robbed me
was a tall and fine-looking man, twenty-five years old, I should judge,
his face was painted and he wore brass rings in his hair. The other was
older, shorter and not so good looking. I took the old saddle, put it
on my horse with the provision that had not been disturbed and went on
to the camp. I found that these Indians had been there before me and
had taken a gun, some cartridges and food. I learned afterwards that
they were a part of Chief Joseph’s band who had escaped from General
Miles and had been in the British possessions all winter and were at
that time trying to get back across the mountains to their old home. A
few days after two of my neighbors were killed on the Dearborn river by
this same tribe, Cottle and Wareham. They are buried at the Dearborn
Crossing, where Carson also reposes who was previously killed by
Indians.
“I had considerable trouble to keep herders in those days, and I then
decided that the growing of sheep was a great industry in Montana, only
for the Indians.
“WARREN C. GILLETTE.”
* * * * *