THE SCOUT VISITS SITTING BULL.
The Indian band--what was left of it--was gone, not to return. The
braves had good cause to believe that the settler had a small army of
men hidden behind every hillock and every clump of sage brush.
The settler came out to thank the scout and his pards and to express
his wonder at their presence. It seemed to him almost as if they had
dropped from the sky to his assistance. He said it was the largest band
of Indians he had ever seen in the valley and he had lived there six
years, and had twice before been attacked by red marauders.
That he was watchful and prepared for them, the scout had seen, but
he cautioned the settler to be doubly careful in future, for the
Sioux were on the warpath and were centring in the Big Horn country.
This valley was out of the natural course, but some tribes might send
delegations this way.
The settler had made a trip to Fort Phil Kearney the previous year
and was well supplied with the latest in arms and ammunition. He was
prospering, he said; his herd was increasing, and he easily provided
vegetables for his family by cultivating along the bank of the creek.
Buffalo and antelope were plentiful and fish and fowl an everyday
dish. He would not be driven out; he had come here to live and rear
his family, and only death would drive him out. He and his wife and
children loved the wild, free life.
Of such were the builders of the West--hardy and brave, and
determined. They blocked out the frame of the vast and rich country
that can feed nations.
Buffalo Bill made himself known and introduced his pards and the
boy. He also told the settler of the miners in the mountains to the
east--his neighbors. An invitation was sent to them to call at the
settler’s cabin and partake of an old-fashioned Eastern dinner.
The scout assured the settler and his wife that he would gladly bear
the message and could promise an early visit from the miners, who
appeared like honest and respectable men.
Letters were hastily prepared to send to friends in the East, and then
the pards were persuaded to remain at the cabin till daylight, when
they could make much easier progress across the mountains.
At the first streak of day a bounteous repast was spread by the
settler’s wife, and all did honor to it.
Good-bys were said, and the pards left the settler guarding his herd
with rifle across his knees, and keen eyes constantly scanning the
plain.
The scout determined to return directly to the mountain retreat of the
miners and hear the reports of the other parties before continuing the
hunt.
He was anxious to capture Price and Ike, and he was just as desirous of
getting in touch with White-man-runs-him, who had promised to guide him
to the headquarters of Sitting Bull himself, somewhere along the Big
Horn Cañon.
The scout had little fear of the red trailer disappointing him, for he
knew Indian traits so well. He also knew that it would be useless to
hunt for White-man-runs-him, and felt quite confident the trailer would
show up by the allotted day on the next moon, but he wondered where
the Indian could be spending the time, meanwhile.
Several days passed and the search for Price and Ike was still
unrewarded. The scout and his pards had scoured the mountains for miles
in every direction unavailingly. If the outlaws were there they had a
safe hiding place and food supply.
But the search had brought its reward in one way, for the miners had
discovered gold and a lead that promised fortune. They were happy, in
consequence, and already were talking of the joys of returning East
with money to pay off mortgages, buy homes, educate children, etc.
It was such as these who blazed the trail--men driven to face with grim
determination the hardships of such a life, by the necessities of loved
ones--wives or aged parents, who needed homes; children who deserved
opportunities in the future.
One morning very early an Indian stalked into camp, much to the
surprise and alarm of the miners, at first.
“How?” he said, and sat by the fire without another word.
Buffalo Bill had not arisen from his blanket, but came out, extended
his hand, said “how,” and sat beside the Indian.
Neither spoke until breakfast had been prepared and eaten and the pipes
had been lighted, then the Indian asked:
“Is Pa-e-has-ka ready?”
“He is, White-man-runs-him,” the scout answered.
“It is good,” said the Indian, pulling steadily at his pipe.
At last the Indian arose and said:
“Come.”
“How far?” asked the scout.
“Two suns.”
“With ponies?”
“One sun.”
“We will go with ponies,” said the scout.
“Good.”
Cayuse saddled Bear Paw and brought out the pony that had followed from
the plain, for the Indian.
White-man-runs-him examined the pony carefully and expressed himself
with:
“Heap good pony.”
“Yes,” answered the scout; “he is a very good pony; he is yours.”
“Ugh!” grunted the Indian, once more going over the handsome little
animal, and then swinging upon his back with evident satisfaction.
Buffalo Bill’s pards were left in the hills and continued to prosecute
the search for Price and Ike, while the scout rode off to visit Sitting
Bull, near Big Horn Cañon.
That Buffalo Bill’s interview with the powerful chief of the Dakota
nation was fruitless is a matter of history. The Napoleon of the Sioux
would hear to no terms. He was defiant. He said his people had been
robbed, and now the Great Father at Washington had demanded the land
on which they lived. The white man with the pick and shovel, and with
traps and gun were killing off and driving the game and fur from the
red man’s hunting grounds. They would move no more. If the red man was
to be driven from the face of the earth it must be done with bullet and
steel.
The Indian chief would listen to no argument or appeal. Crazy Horse,
who had combined forces with Sitting Bull, held the same views
and determination. Both recognized and proclaimed the friendship
of Pa-e-has-ka, the Long Hair, to their followers, but they were
obdurate. Pa-e-has-ka’s tongue was straight, and he did not know of all
the crooked tongues of his people. If the Sioux were to be moved let
the white soldiers come and move them.
Such were the replies to the scout’s entreaties for the red man and
the white brothers. He would have averted war, but they would fight,
and such must be the report of Buffalo Bill to the Great Father at
Washington.
The scout shook hands with Sitting Bull sadly, and the immobile
countenance of the chief expressed less of his emotions than did the
warm pressure of Pa-e-has-ka’s hand.
The return to the heavy hills along what is now known as Pryor Creek,
or rather to the range lying between that river and Beauvais Creek,
was without incident, and nothing but the most friendly feeling was
expressed by the Indians met. These parties frequently asked for
information concerning the whereabouts of the headquarters of Sitting
Bull, Crazy Horse, Spotted Tail, Red Cloud, and others. They were
little bands of braves contributed by tribes far and near going to the
aid of the uprising organized by Sitting Bull.
The bloody war which followed in the next few months is well within the
memory of the present generation, and it behooves all well-regulated
boyish minds to familiarize themselves with that important part of our
nation’s history, but which it is not my province to relate.