OLD FRIENDS AND NEW
Of course there were no known hostiles in the country, but at the
same time he recalled Hugh's advice, not to let any Indians come
too close to him. These men were galloping along and would soon
overtake him; and if, by any chance they should happen to be Sioux,
from Sitting Bull's camp, or worthless Indians of any tribe that
he did not know, they might take his horse and gun, even if they
did nothing worse. He decided then that he would find out who they
were, and drawing up his horse on a little rise of ground, he
dismounted and stood behind it, facing them with his rifle barrel
resting in the saddle. The Indians were now only three or four
hundred yards off, but when Jack did this they at once halted, and
turning toward each other, seemed to consult. Then, one of them,
raising his hands high in the air, held his gun above his head, and
after handing it over to his companion, struck his horse with his
quirt and galloped toward Jack, while the other man remained where
he was.
The swift little pony was soon within easy rifle shot, and as its
rider drew nearer and nearer, Jack seemed to recognize something
familiar in the look of the man, yet he could hardly tell what it
was; but when he was within speaking distance the man called out;
"Why, don't you know me, Master Jack? I'm Hezekiah;" and instantly
Jack recognized his negro friend of the Blackfoot camp. He called
back to him; "Hello, Hezekiah! come on; I didn't know who you
were." And Hezekiah, turning about, waved to his companion, who
started toward them.
Jack and Hezekiah shook hands, and Hezekiah said; "You done mighty
well to stop us, Master Jack; you're making a good prairie man all
right, and I'm glad to see it. Plenty Indians traveling through
this country, back and forth, that would be willing to kill you for
your horse and gun; and it ain't far off to the line, and they'd
skip across and go to Sitting Bull's camp, and nobody'd ever know
who done it. It's just like what all the Piegans said last year,
after the Medicine Lodge, that you was sure goin' to make a good
warrior."
"Well Hezekiah," said Jack, "I don't know as I'd have stopped you
if Hugh hadn't spoken to me about that only this morning. He said
that there were Sioux traveling back and forth, and that I had
better not let any Indians come up close to me until I knew who
they were. That's the reason I stopped you." At this moment the
other Indian rode up, and handing his gun to Hezekiah, shook hands
cordially with Jack. It was Bull Calf, one of his companions on
the trip to the Grassy Lakes, where Jack had shot the Assinaboine
who was trying to steal horses from the camp; a young man of good
family whom he knew very well, and with whom he had been on several
hunting excursions.
"Where's the camp Hezekiah?" asked Jack. "Hugh and Joe have gone
on ahead with the pack train, and I stopped behind to kill a deer.
We're looking for your camp, and going to stay a little while with
you, and then we're going off south into the mountains."
"The camp isn't far off Master Jack," said Hezekiah. "I expect it's
right over there on Muddy Creek; somewhere in that timber. Some
days ago they left Carroll, and are moving south now after buffalo;
but Bull Calf, here, and me, we came 'round by the mountains here,
to see if we couldn't kill some sheep. I want to get a couple of
shirts made, and my woman says she'd rather make 'em of sheep than
of antelope.
"I expect we'll strike the camp this afternoon somewhere and maybe
we'd better be starting right along now." They mounted, and rode
on over the prairie. Jack had many questions to ask about what had
happened in the Piegan camp during the winter, for though Joe had
told him much, there were still plenty of matters to be discussed.
Hezekiah and Bull Calf wanted to ride fast, but Jack did not feel
like doing so with his load, so he put the two shoulders of the
deer on Bull Calf's horse, and tied down what he carried so that
it would not shake, and they went on at a good pace. An hour or
two of brisk riding brought them close to the stream; but before
they reached it they saw the trail where the camp had passed. There
were tracks of a great band of horses, and many scratches left by
travois poles; and in the trail there were a number of fresher
horse tracks, which showed where Hugh and Joe and the pack animals
had passed along after the camp.
Jack had a feeling as if he were almost home. It seemed funny to
him to think how eager he was to meet all the brown-skinned friends
that he had left so many months before, and how much pleasure he
felt in having come across these two on the prairie. Two hours
before sundown they began to see horses dotted over the hills ahead
of them; and a little later they rode out into a broad open space
in the river bottom, where stood a circle of white lodges, which
they knew was the Piegan camp.
"Where do you suppose Hugh will camp, Hezekiah?" said Jack, as
he ran his eye over the lodges, each one of which looked like
every other lodge. It was evident that he could tell nothing by
looking at the lodges, and he must look for the horses; and just as
Hezekiah replied, he thought he saw old Baldy tied in front of a
lodge on the opposite side of the circle.
"Why, I reckon he'll camp with Joe's people, Master Jack," said
Hezekiah. "That's the Fat Roasters, you know, and they're over
there across the circle. I reckon that's the old man now, drivin'
pins for the lodge."
"Yes, that's it, Hezekiah," said Jack: "I see him now. I'll ride
over there and get rid of my meat, and sometime to-night or
to-morrow I hope to come to your lodge."
"Please do, Master Jack, and we'll be mighty glad to see you. I
want to have you see the childern, too; they've grown a heap since
you was here last."
As Jack stopped in front of the lodge, Hugh looked up from his task
and said, "Well, you've got here all right, son. Killed somethin'
too, I reckon."
"Yes," said Jack, "I killed a barren doe, and I reckon we've got
meat enough to keep us going for a few days. I gave the shoulders
to Bull Calf and Hezekiah, whom I met out here on the prairie, but
I've got the hams here. Shall I turn Pawnee loose, or shall I tie
him up here by old Baldy?"
"Better tie him up here," said Hugh. "I want to make arrangements
with some young fellow to herd our horses; Joe's gone off now to
try to do that. We've got the lodge up, and now pretty quick we'll
have a fire and cook supper."
The news of the arrival of the strangers had already spread through
the camp, and that night Hugh and Jack and Joe were invited to
feasts at several lodges. They saw many of their friends: old John
Monroe, Little Plume, Last Bull, and of course Fox Eye, and many
others. Old Iron Shirt came around to their lodge, and shook hands
cordially with Jack, from whom he accepted a plug of tobacco and
a red silk handkerchief. It was late before the festivities were
over, and when they turned into their blankets they were soon
asleep.
While they were at breakfast next morning, Jack told Hugh about the
sheep that he had seen on the prairie the day before, and how he
had been about to kill the old ewe, and then had thought it better
not to do so.
"You did just right, son," said Hugh; "I've said to you a good many
times never to kill anything that you don't want, and can't use,
and I believe that's the way to do. You were right not to kill the
old ewe also because she wouldn't have been good for anything;
she'd have been poor from suckling her lamb, and you'd have just
killed her without getting any good out of it. Besides that, the
lamb would have starved to death if you hadn't killed it, and if
you had killed it it would'nt have been no good. No, you did right;
you used good sense, and I like men, or boys either, to use sense."
"Well, Hugh, I'm glad I didn't shoot. Of course, maybe I wouldn't
have killed the ewe anyhow, but I'd have tried. But what I wanted
to ask you about was what those sheep were doing down there on the
prairie. I supposed that sheep only lived on high mountains, or
else in the very roughest kind of bad-lands. They're called Rocky
Mountain sheep; that ought to mean that they live in the Rocky
Mountains."
"Well now, son, you're like a good many people that think that
sheep ain't found anywhere except in the mountains, but that's a
big mistake. In old times sheep were found on the prairie just
about as much as they were found in the mountains. I expect they
were always in the mountains, and in old times they were always
on the prairie too. It has got so now that they're pretty scarce
on the prairie, because so many people traveling around all the
time shoot at them; but in old times it was no uncommon sight to
see sheep feeding right in among the buffalo, and we often used
to see them all mixed up with the antelope, on the flat prairie.
Of course, sheep always like to be somewhere within reach of the
buttes or mountains, or rough bad-lands, that they can run to if
they get scared, but as for them not being on the prairie, the
way some people think, that's all a mistake. Up here in Montana,
and in Dakota and Nebraska and Wyoming, I have seen them on the
prairie, a long way from any hills. Why, I've even seen them out in
the sand-hills, up not very far from the head of the Dismal River,
and south of the Loup, but I suppose they came from up the Platte,
where there are bad-lands and buttes, like Scott's Bluffs and
Chimney Rock. But if ever people tell you that sheep are found only
among the rocks, don't you believe them. I know you won't after
to-day, because you saw them on the prairie yourself."
"Yes, Hugh, that's so; but just as you say, they started to run
back to the rocks when they were scared."
"Why son, there's no better sheep country in America to-day, I
believe, than within a day's ride of here. You take the Missouri
River bad-lands, and the Little Rockies, the Judith Mountains, the
Little Belts, the Moccasins, and the Bear's Paw; they're all good
sheep countries, and always have been ever since I've been in the
country; and I reckon if you ask any of the old Indians they'll
tell you just the same thing. Why, years and years ago, before the
Indians got bad, there was no place where there were more mountain
sheep than right along the Yellowstone, where the bluffs don't run
more than a couple of hundred feet high, and there's a flat bottom
below them, and just rolling prairie above."
"Well, I didn't know this at all, Hugh," said Jack, "and yesterday
when I saw those animals on that little ridge, I could not believe
that they were sheep. I thought I must be mistaken, that they must
be queer colored antelope, but then of course I saw the sheep horns
and I knew that I wasn't mistaken."
"There's lots to learn about sheep yet, son; and you and I are not
the only people that don't know much about them. The fact is, I
don't believe anybody knows much about them.
"I expect there's more than one kind of sheep in the country, too.
I have heard about a white sheep that they find away up north; and
then a great many years ago, once when I went up north to Peace
River, I killed a sheep that was pretty nearly black, and had black
horns. I never saw but one little bunch of them, and killed one out
of it, a yearling ewe; she was not like any other animal I ever saw
before."
Not long after breakfast Hugh and Jack started out to make a round
of the camp, and to call upon their friends. As they were passing a
nice new lodge, a tall, slender, straight young man came out from
it, and after hesitating a moment as he looked at them, walked up
to Hugh, and extending his hand, said, "How d'ye do, Mr. Johnson. I
guess you don't know me, but I've heard of you pretty near all my
life. I'm Billy Jackson, a son of old Thomas Jackson, whom you may
have known a long way back, and the nephew of John Monroe."
"Why yes, sure," said Hugh, "I've heard of you, and I used to know
your mother right well. I'm glad to see you. Ain't you the young
man that was with General Custer in the Black Hills, and afterwards
scouted for Miles, down on the Yellowstone? or was it your brother?
I think you're the man."
"Yes, I'm the man" said Jackson. "Bob scouted for Miles, too, and
we both did a good deal of riding down there during the last of the
wars, and now I've come up here to live in the Piegan camp."
"I'm glad to see you," said Hugh. "Let me make you acquainted with
Jack Danvers; he and I've traveled together now for two or three
years, and we spent last summer here in Piegan camp."
Jack and Billy Jackson shook hands together, and they parted; but
Hugh asked Jackson to come round and eat with them that night,
which the young man said he would do. He was a handsome fellow,
lean and active; and after they had left him Hugh said to Jack,
"Take notice of that young man, and if you've occasion to go on the
prairie with him, do as he says. I've heard of him; he's a good
man, brave, and knows the prairie well, and, at the same time, he
has good sense, and isn't likely to get himself or his friends into
any trouble."
At Little Plume's lodge they were made very welcome. His wife
had apparently thought that they would come around that day, and
as soon as they sat down in the lodge, food was set before them:
boiled buffalo heart and back fat, and berry pemmican, with stewed
service-berries, made a tempting feast, and Jack ate heartily of it.
Little Plume told them that the next day the camp would move south,
and they hoped that before they got to the Musselshell, or if not,
soon after crossing it, they would find buffalo. Hereabouts near
the Missouri, there were but few, chiefly bulls. Further south,
between the Musselshell and the Yellowstone, scouts had reported
great numbers of buffalo. That evening, Last Bull, Iron Shirt,
and Fox Eye, Jackson and Little Plume, all came to the lodge, and
they had a feast; and after all had eaten, there was much general
conversation, but no formal speeches. Much of the conversation was
in the Piegan tongue, which Jack as yet could hardly understand,
but Jackson talked much to him in English, and told some
entertaining stories. Among them was one of an adventure that he
had had a year or two before, only a short distance from where they
were now, and which had in it something of humor, and a little of
danger. Jackson said:
"In the fall of 1879, Paul Sandusky, Jo Hamilton and I built our
winter quarters on Flat Willow Creek, about twenty miles east of
the Snowy Mountains. The country was then still infested with
roving war parties from the different tribes, some coming from
Sitting Bull's camp on the Big Bend of Milk River.
"As we intended to do some trading with the friendly tribes,
especially the Crows and Blackfeet, we built commodious quarters,
consisting of two buildings facing each other and about forty feet
apart, and containing altogether five rooms. Joining on to the
'Fort'--as we called it--we constructed a high stockade corral for
the horses.
"Game of all kinds was very plenty, and bands of elk and antelope
could be seen almost daily within a mile or so of our place. Glad
to have company, we gave free quarters to all hunters and trappers
who cared to stop with us, and by March 1 we numbered eleven men,
including our cook, 'Nigger Andy.'
"A few hundred yards below our fort a little creek, which we named
Beaver Castor, joined the Flat Willow. For some miles above its
mouth it flowed through a deep cut in the prairie, bordered with
sage brush and willows. At its junction with the Flat Willow, in
the V formed by the two creeks, was quite a high butte. It sloped
up very gently from the Flat Willow side, but was almost a cut bank
on the Beaver Castor side.
"This butte was our watch tower. From its summit we could see miles
and miles of the surrounding country.
"One morning in March most of the men went out antelope hunting,
leaving four of us in camp--Jo Healy, laid up with rheumatism;
Harry Morgan, the herder; the cook and myself. About ten o'clock
this morning I concluded to take a hunt, and before catching up a
horse I climbed the butte to see if I could spy a band of elk or
antelope near by. As soon as I reached the summit I saw some moving
forms on the prairie not far off, near Beaver Castor, and adjusting
my glass, I found that they were a large war party of Indians
afoot. They also saw me, for I saw several of them stop and level
their telescope at me. I took pains to let them know I was not an
Indian, for I strutted about with long strides and faced them with
arms akimbo. Finally, as they came close, I backed down from the
summit, very slowly, and placing a buffalo chip on top of a bush,
so as to make them think I was still watching them, I dashed for
the fort.
"I found that the horse-herder had caught up an animal and gone
out hunting; so grabbing a lariat I ran out to drive in the band,
which was grazing nearly a mile from the house. I went down as
fast as I could run, but found that I couldn't get within roping
distance of a single animal. They had been in the corral all night
as usual, and in spite of my efforts they kept straggling and
feeding along, and every minute I expected the war party to swoop
down on me. However, I finally got them home and into the corral,
and, my clothing wet with perspiration, I sat down to get my wind.
"In the meantime Andy had not been idle. He had placed all our
spare arms and ammunition by the loopholes, had dragged Healy,
bed and all, to a place of vantage, where he could shoot without
hurting his rheumatic legs, and had then gone on preparing our
dinner. So we waited and watched, expecting every minute to be
attacked. But no Indians came. We had our dinner, and as the
afternoon passed the boys kept straggling in by ones and twos,
until by five all were home. None of them had seen any Indians.
"Finally I proposed that two or three of us get our horses and make
a reconnoissance.
"'We don't want no horses,' said Sagebrush Charlie, 'just you and
me go up on the butte and take a look from there.'
"I didn't like the proposition, for I surmised that the war party
were concealed in the brush on Beaver Castor, probably near the
butte. But on the other hand I didn't care to be bluffed, so I went
with him.
"As we neared the top of the butte we proceeded very cautiously,
moving only a step at a time. Only a few yards more and we would
have reached the summit, when we saw that an Indian on the
opposite side of the butte was looking at us. We could see nothing
of him but his head, and of course he could see only our heads.
Thus we stood facing each other for what to me seemed a long
time. 'Shall we shoot?' asked Sagebrush. 'No,' I replied. 'If we
advance to shoot he will have the best of it, and if he advances
we will have the edge on him.' So we continued to stare at him.
After a while I saw that the Indian was beginning to back down
out of sight, so I did the same. I made only a step and he had
disappeared, but I kept backing away, watching the top of the
butte, with rifle cocked ready to shoot in an instant. When half
way down I turned to run and saw Sagebrush just disappearing around
the corner of the fort. Until then I had supposed that he was at
my side. So calling him some names I fairly flew down the hill,
expecting every minute to have a shower of bullets about my ears.
But I too reached the fort without any sign from the enemy.
"When I got inside I found the boys joking Sagebrush about leaving
me, and seeing that he was ashamed of himself I said nothing to
him, although I was quite angry.
"As soon as it was dark we put on a double guard, and kept
ourselves in readiness for an attack. Late in the evening we
concluded that the Indians would make a daylight raid on us, so we
arranged about guard duty and slept by turns. However, we heard
nothing of our dusky friends, and at six o'clock the cook called
breakfast as usual. The horses had now been in the corral nearly
twenty-four hours and were very hungry, so four of us saddled up
and went out to make a big circle and find out if our friends had
left us. We went down Flat Willow a mile or more, then swung up
onto the prairie, crossed Beaver Castor and headed home, but could
see no Indian signs. Finally we went up on top of the butte, where
Sagebrush and I had seen the Indian the night before. There in the
loose shale we found his tracks, and saw that after backing down
a little ways he had, like us, turned and run by mighty leaps to
the bottom. There we found a great number of tracks and a lot of
moccasins, some meat, etc., and following the trail we found that
the Indians had crossed Beaver Castor and gone up on the prairie,
where in the thick dry grass we lost all traces of them, and
concluding that they had left we went home and turned the horses
out to feed, with a herder and one other man to herd them.
"After dinner, perhaps two or three o'clock, we saw a person on
foot come down to the creek from the prairie, about half a mile
below the house. I went down to see who it was, and found to my
surprise that it was a lone Indian woman, and as soon as I came
up to her she began to talk to me in a language which I at once
knew to be Nez Percés, but which I could not understand. I replied
to her in Sioux, and found that she understood and could speak a
little of that tongue, and by piecing it out with signs we got
along very well. I told her to go up to the fort with me and get
something to eat, and afterward she could tell us her story. When
we reached the place the boys all crowded around and stared at her,
and asked all sorts of questions, but I told them to wait, and we
would hear what she had to say.
"The woman didn't seem to be at all embarrassed. She sat at the
table and calmly and slowly ate the food the cook set before her,
not heeding the ten or eleven pairs of eyes that were intently
watching her. After she had finished eating I asked her to tell us
where she had come from, where she was going and all about herself,
and I interpreted her tale, sentence by sentence, to the boys. She
said: 'I came from Sitting Bull's camp on Milk River, where some
of my people, Nez Percés, are living with the Sioux. Two years
ago, my son went with some Sioux and Nez Percés to war against the
Crows. They had a big fight on the Yellowstone, and it was supposed
that my son was killed. But not long ago I heard that the Crows
had captured my boy, and that he is still living and in the Crow
camp. Having no relatives and no husband, I made up my mind to go
and live with my son, and started out; this is the twenty-third day
since I left Milk River. I have been starved most of the time and
am very tired.'
"'Hush!' said one of the boys, 'That's too durned thin. I move that
we hang her right now.'
"At this, every one began to talk at once. Some said she was a spy,
others that she was all right.
"Finally I said to her, 'The boys, some of them, think you are not
telling the truth. Yesterday a big war party was here, and they
think you belong to that outfit.'
"'How they lie,' she interposed. 'I haven't seen an Indian since I
left Milk River.'
"'That may be,' I replied, 'you cannot blame the boys for being
a little suspicious. However, they will not harm you. You are as
safe here as you would be among your own people. Just as soon as
this snow goes, one of our men will start for the Yellowstone with
a four-horse team after some provisions, and you can go with him.
From there it is only a short distance to the Crow camp. In the
meantime you can stay with us here and rest up. Throw off your robe
and make yourself at home.'
"'I like what you say,' she replied, 'but I am afraid of all these
men. Let me stay close by you.'
"Wherever I went that afternoon she followed me, and when it came
time to turn in I made her a bed of buffalo robes behind the
counter. Some of the boys spread down in the room and others in the
cook house.
"'I don't like this,' the woman said to me. 'I am afraid to sleep
there; let me make my bed down beside yours.'
"'Don't fear,' I replied, 'no harm will come to you. No one in this
place cares for you or wishes to harm you.'
"'Well, then,' she said, 'if that is so I will step out a minute
and then go to bed.'
"Now the door to this room was fastened from the inside, when we
wished it, by two wooden bars; outside we closed it merely by a
rawhide thong and pin. Some of us were always at home, and when
we all left this room we fastened the door with the thong to keep
the dogs and the cold air out. As the woman started to go out I
went up to the counter and took my six-shooter, intending to
follow her out, but quicker than a flash she darted through the
door, and closed and fastened it with the thong and pin. Of course
all the boys in the room made a rush, and two of us getting our
fingers between the door and the jamb gave a strong jerk, snapped
the fastening and we all ran out. The woman had disappeared in the
darkness, but we could still hear her footsteps as she ran toward
the brush. Suddenly she gave a peculiar kind of a whistle and from
all around in the brush she was answered by the hooting of owls. We
all rushed back into the fort, put out the lights and made ready
for an attack.
"After an hour or so the boys began to talk. 'I knowed,' said one,
'that she was a spy.'
"'Didn't I say to hang her,' exclaimed another. 'You fellers that
thought she was all right are sure soft.'
"We all sat up until long after daylight, and not until eight or
nine o'clock did any one turn in. But we were not attacked, nor did
we see the woman again.
"Several weeks afterward, when Hamilton went to the Yellowstone
after supplies, he learned that this woman had stopped at the
'Circle N' ranch and that they had lost one hundred and forty
horses."