Chapter XXI (1)

There being many dangers to encounter on his contemplated voyage down the Yellowstone and Missouri, every precaution was taken that might possibly lessen them. General Terry kindly sent information to all the military posts and Indian agents along the rivers of Boyton's voyage and requested them to tell the Indians so that they would not shoot him in mistake for some strange water animal.

On the 15th of September, 1881, Boyton arrived at the terminus of the railroad at Glendive, Montana, then a little town made up of rough board houses and tents, which was the highest point on the Yellowstone he could reach. He went to a hotel and asked if he could be accommodated with a room. "I reckon you can," said the landlord, "there's only sixty in there now."

He was not compelled to occupy that general sleeping room, however, as the superintendent of a construction train provided a place for him in one of the cars. He remained two days in Glendive, completing preparations for his journey. Besides his usual equipments in the Baby Mine, he added an ax, a double barreled gun which could be taken apart and made to occupy a very small space. This was a necessary weapon, as he knew he would have to depend largely on his own exertions for provisions through a greater part of the country he was to traverse. These with signal lights, rockets, compass, maps, etc., completed the Baby's cargo. As he knew he had three-thousand five-hundred and eighty miles of river to haul under him, he determined to put into practice a theory he had long maintained, that hardship can better be endured without the use of alcoholic liquors. As a substitute, he reduced two pounds of strong black tea to liquid form, to be used as a stimulant when one was necessary, and his subsequent experience proved that his theory was correct.

General Merritt was in command of the post at Glendive and did everything in his power to assist Paul in his preparations. During the last evening spent at the post, the General asked him what time he would start in the morning.

"At five o'clock," was the answer.

"For goodness sake," facetiously replied the General, "don't start so early. At that time our sentries sleep the soundest."

The river at Glendive is narrow and quite shoal, the channel not being more than eighteen inches deep. The bottom is composed of gravel, but having been solidified by the alkali, is like a solid rock. The channel runs in every direction and is at times diverted by great sandbars strewn with the most beautiful agates, on which no human foot had ever trod before Paul touched them.

In deference to General Merritt's wishes and a fellow feeling for the sleepy sentinels, Paul did not start until seven o'clock on the morning of the 17th. All the inhabitants of the town went to the river bank, among them, the General's handsome daughter, who presented Paul with a set of colors, which he flew on the Baby throughout the trip. A cannon salute was fired and he began his lonely and dangerous journey.

In an incredibly short space of time he was away from all signs of civilization and running very fast on the lonely river. He had been warned at the start to look out for hostile bands of Crow Indians who were hunting in that vicinity, so he made fast time all day. Now and again he struck rapids and had to exercise the utmost care to keep his suit from being cut on the rocks. He saw any quantity of game along the route, particularly black tailed deer that frequently came to the water's edge. He amused himself by blowing blasts on the bugle and watch them dash up the banks and disappear in the timber. That evening he decided to camp on a bar across which a cottonwood tree was lying, that promised an excellent back log for a fire. Either shore was heavily wooded. Taking off his suit, he gathered a quantity of brush; but was careful not to create too much smoke for fear of guiding Indians to his resting place. He cooked supper and leaving a little fire smoldering, put on the rubber pantaloons, using the tunic as a pillow and laid down, the hooting of owls furnishing music to soothe his slumbers. Being somewhat anxious about Indians, he slept lightly and about two o'clock, he was startled by what seemed to be a canoe landing on the bank near by. He rose cautiously from behind the cottonwood log. Instead of a canoe full of hostile Indians, he saw a magnificent elk sharply defined against the dark background of the shore, his sides glistening like silver, being wet from his swim across the river. The huge animal was uneasy, throwing his splendidly antlered head back, sniffing the air and pawing the ground. Boyton raised his revolver and fired. The great head swayed from side to side and the noble animal dropped to his knees. Thinking the shot was fatal, Paul seized the hunting knife and sprang forward to silt its throat, having first flung a lot of brush on the smoldering fire. As the flames shot up, the elk rose to his feet and commenced to retreat slowly across the bar. Fully expecting to see him fall at every step, Paul followed as fast as the cumbersome rubber pants would permit. Instead of weakening, as Boyton thought he would, the elk gained strength and speed and went crashing through the timber out of all possibility of pursuit. Boyton returned disappointedly to the camp, where the blaze of the fire was casting a reflection almost across the river. Excited and blown after his chase, he sat down to rest, when to his surprise he saw the paddle in the fire, nearly burned in two. Hastily snatching it out, he found one blade utterly ruined and it was anything but cheerful to contemplate his helplessness in those wilds without the means of propelling himself; like a steamer without her wheel. He was not a man to be easily overcome by trifles, however, and he did not helplessly contemplate the situation for long; but seizing a hatchet, he chopped down a small sapling and with his knife, began whittling out another. He worked steadily until ten o'clock next morning before it was completed and then pulled away to make up for lost time. If anything, the river was rougher and wilder than it had been the day before; running between high buttes which formed the upper edge of the Bad Lands. Late that afternoon, just as he had noticed a break in the hills, a tremendous roaring sound struck his ear. The river seemed to quiver and dance. He thought there was an earthquake; but he soon discovered the cause of the unusual commotion. A herd of buffalo was approaching the river. They came down the slope as thick as ants, waded out as far as they could and swam across. The river was perfectly brown with them and they were fully three-quarters of an hour in passing. The last to cross were the calves and a few stragglers. They paid no attention whatever to Paul, who was hanging to the root of a tree for safety; he pushed ahead as soon as he could get by. The river for miles was churned to foam by their passage. It was the last great drove of buffalo to cross the river, as they were nearly all killed off in a very short time after.

About sundown he decided to camp under some high buttes. He built a fire, removed his dress and then, in his stocking feet, climbed to the heights in the hope of seeing some habitation; but as far as the eye could reach, there was no sign of anything human. The only living thing in sight was a herd of antelope, crossing an opposite hill, and far to the southward he could see the mysterious buttes of the Bad Lands. Returning to camp, he partook of supper and slept soundly all night, pulling away before daylight next morning. For two days he was utterly lonely. Not a thing in sight except wild game; but nearing the Missouri river, he was suddenly informed that there was something else around. A bullet struck the water just below him. He stood upright, placing the Baby between himself and the near 'shore and blew a blast on the bugle, discovering the Indian who had fired the shot as he did so, with the smoking gun still in his hand. Paul yelled lustily at him but he did not stop to investigate; he sprang away through the woods.

Late that afternoon, Paul saw a number of buildings ahead, with a pole on which a flag hung at half mast. He had reached Fort Buford. He sent a rocket whizzing in the direction of the fort and in a moment the bank was lined with soldiers who received him hospitably. On inquiring the cause of the flag being at half mast, he was informed that they had just received the news of President Garfield's death.

He remained at Buford two days, a soldier making him a splendid paddle during that time. He also visited the settlement of Ree and Mandan Indians near by, and it was by them he was given the name of Minnewachatcha, meaning spirit of the water. The Indians exhibited great curiosity and asked all manner of questions. When he started again, the entire garrison as well as the Indians assembled on the bank of the Big Muddy, shouting a good bye as he was borne away. The officers of the fort had warned him about a party of Indians that had gone out hunting before they had received word from General Terry, and Paul did not fail to keep a careful eye on the banks until he reached Fort Stevenson.

The currents and whirls on the Missouri were more savage than on the Yellowstone and the bends were something indescribable, as he took every point of the compass within the space of a couple of hours. If the Yellowstone was lonesome, the Missouri, after leaving Buford, was doubly so. The scenery was wild beyond expression. Great buttes towered darkly on either shore and they were being continually undermined by the swift and erratic current, causing avalanches of yellow soil to slide into the water, so that it was necessary to keep well out in the stream in order to avoid the dangerous banks. There was not a sight nor a sound of human presence in all the vast territory through which the river wound. To see a pile of wood or a stump which the crew of some boat that had wandered up that far when the river was higher, had cut, was cheering amid that awful loneliness. A blast from the bugle was echoed from butte to butte, caught in the recesses of one hill to be thrown back with double force into the solitude of another; until, from far below, the blast was returned with such distinctness, that Paul would strain his cars to catch the sound again, sure that his call had been answered by some being down the stream.

He began to make thirty-six hour runs, camping every second night. His program was to make an early start, run all that day and night until sundown next day, when he would land. His manner of camping and except on a few occasions, always the same, was to pick out the lee of a bank where there was plenty of driftwood, Just before leaving the water, the gun would be put together and one or two ducks knocked over without difficulty as they were so thick everywhere that it required no hunting to get them. These were put on the Baby and hauled ashore at the place selected for camp. Landing, the suit was removed and a fire built. Two stakes across which a stout pole was laid, were driven in the ground and the suit hung up to dry. He then skinned the ducks, drew some thin strips of bacon from the stores of the Baby with which he fried the most tender parts of the fowls, cooking enough for breakfast so there would be no necessity of delaying the start next morning. Supper was usually eaten with a little hot beef tea. After the evening meal, as soon as the dress was thoroughly dry, it was reversed and a pile of wood gathered for the purpose of replenishing the fire during the night. The softest place to the windward of the fire was selected for a bed, the suit donned, his alarm clock wound, hatchet and arms placed on the deck of the Baby near at hand in case of danger. Then as night closed in on the lonely buttes, the pipe was filled and he would lie down to the full enjoyment of a most delicious smoke, soon to be lulled into sound sleep by the melodious gurgle of the swift flowing river. Often during the night he was awakened by the "honk," "honk" of immense flocks of wild geese on their way to the southward, or by the whistling of wild ducks that flew closer to the water. Whenever awakened, he replenished the fire and consulted the clock. He became possessed with an unaccountable desire to push ahead and was jealous of every moment that detained him. This was a feeling he had never before experienced. He knew that winter was following him closely and the river would soon be freezing behind him; yet that could scarcely account for the unusual desire for haste. The moment he heard the whirr of the little alarm clock, he was up. Hurriedly swallowing breakfast, he slipped into the river for another thirty-six hours run.

Driving along one afternoon, he thought he saw a man in a tree and spurted ahead in the hope of obtaining some information as to his location, to say nothing of the pleasure of hearing A human voice. The man proved to be a cinnamon bear standing with its face toward the trunk of the tree, reaching for some kind of nuts or berries. The bear looked gravely at Paul as he passed; but paid no more attention to him, though he yelled, blew the bugle and splashed the water. A shot from the revolver, however, caused the big fellow to skin down the tree in a hurry.

Whenever the wind blew up stream, which in the northern part of Dakota was very often, the current turned to a choppy, yellow sea that was trying. While beating against a head wind of that kind one morning, half blinded, he saw a covered boat fastened to the shore, from which a man was emerging, gun in hand. Looking up the river he discovered Paul and raised the gun to his shoulder. The voyager blew his bugle in a hurry and waved his hand in sign of amity.

"Wall, stranger," said the man as Paul drew up to the boat, "thet er's a lucky horn for you. I took yer fur a bar on er log."

Paul was invited in and learned that the man was a hunter and trapper. He was exceedingly hospitable and insisted on his guest partaking of a breakfast of beaver tail which is considered a great delicacy, but which the voyager found rather too fat to agree with his palate. Noticing that his guest was not particularly fond of the beaver tail, the trapper wanted to go out and get a deer. He said he could get one in an hour without the least trouble, as he would only have to go over the hill and shoot one. The huntsman was as highly pleased to have some one to talk to as Paul was and wanted him to remain on the boat for a few days; but the necessity for haste was too pressing, and Paul could spare but an hour.

According to program, that was the regular camping night. Heavy clouds began rolling up before sundown. The high, caving banks on either side were dangerous to approach, as the least touch of the treacherous soil might loosen an avalanche that would bury him. Seeing no suitable place to land, he pulled ahead extemporizing songs to cheer himself into the belief that he was not tired. His idea was to run until nearly morning when the chances of finding a suitable place to rest would be more favorable. After nightfall as he was moving rapidly along, singing at the top of his voice, the glow of a fire ahead claimed his attention and stilled his vocal efforts. He was debating whether friend or foe was nears when a gruff voice called from the bank:

"Hello, there. Who are you?"

"Hello; I'm Paul Boyton. Who are you?"

"Pull in, pull in."

"Can't see where you are."

"Come just around this point, you can get in all right."

Paul pulled around as directed and saw the fire plainly. Three or four men approached the bank, heavily armed and carrying torches made of knots. He heard a whispered conversation, betraying astonishment at his appearance; but he was greeted kindly and invited to the camp. Nearing the fire through the woods, his nostrils were assailed by a horrible smell which one of the men explained by saying he had just shot a skunk. There were eighteen in the party, comfortably fixed with two good sized tents and an abundance of buffalo robes. After he had removed his suit the cook prepared an excellent meal and urged him to eat heartily which he was not loth to do. They also had a large supply of liquor, but he refused to touch it and they did not insist. Refreshed by the warm meal, he lit his pipe and began to talk. He told the men his object in making voyages and described some of the rivers he had navigated. When he told about crossing the English Channel, one of them jumped up, exclaiming:

"Great snakes! I know you now. I've just been tryin' to place you. Why, I read all about you in an almanac."

"Well," said another, "when I first heard you out there, I thought you was a deserter from the fort. The're about the only people we see comin' down the river this time of the year."

The same man also volunteered the information that they were traders, and Paul afterward saw that the woods were full of cattle. Seeing he was growing weary, the men insisted that he should turn in under the buffalo robes and take a good sleep, though he told them he could stretch out anywhere by the fire and not deprive them of their robes. He did as they desired and the moment he was snugged under the warm covering, the men showed their thoughtfulness by lowering their conversation to whispers so as not to disturb him.

At daylight they called him up as he had requested, and after a splendid breakfast he started, with the Baby loaded almost to the water's edge with provisions. All the cattle dealers accompanied him to the bank, cordially shook his hand and wished him God speed.

About ten days after the above adventure, Paul learned that his hospitable friends were notorious "rustlers" the western name for cattle thieves, and that on the very day he left their camp, they had been rounded up by a party of ranchers and every one of them shot to death.

During the forenoon after leaving the camp of the rustlers, Paul was hurled violently against a snag and his dress began leaking. Though not more than twenty yards from the shore, he was filled to the neck with the icy water before he could land. Fortunately there was plenty of driftwood near and he soon had a roaring fire. He dried and warmed himself while repairing the damaged suit, which he completed just in time to escape a violent rain storm that followed him all day. Toward evening, as he was entering a narrow passage between the buttes, he felt as though he was leaking again and landed on a bar to investigate. He found that though slightly wet, the leak was not occasioned by another rent; but owing to the improper adjustment of the belt. As his matches were too damp to light a fire, he gathered a pile of driftwood and placed one of his signal lights in the barrel of a twelve caliber pistol, made for the purpose; the signal light fitted the barrel like a cartridge and threw out a strong, steady blaze when exploded. He shoved the pistol into the center of the pile of wood and pulled the trigger. Instead of lighting the fire he was hurled several feet away, and righted himself with a numb feeling in his arm and only the pistol stock in his hand. It was several minutes before he recovered sufficiently from the shock to discover that he had received no serious injury. He found the pistol barrel had exploded into countless fragments and the wonder was that he had not been wounded by some of the flying pieces. The thought of the horrible predicament he would have been in had some of those fragments struck his eyes and left him blinded in those lonely wilds, almost sickened him. It was a providential escape and he kneeled on the bar and earnestly thanked the Almighty.

The incident so weighed on his mind, that he concluded not to build a fire, but to push right along. Seeing that the belt was properly fastened, he resumed the journey. That seemed to be his unlucky day, however. As night was coming on he was driving along at double speed trying to get up temperature enough to dry his underclothing. Between eleven and twelve o'clock, he found himself in a place where there was no current and realized that he had lost the channel. He tried to stand upright to see where he was; but his feet struck the slimy, working mud at the bottom. It appeared to grasp his legs and he immediately threw himself on his back again, putting forth extra exertions to extricate himself. He could make no headway and the mud seemed to get thicker all around and he could feel it touching the under side of the band of his dress. He then realized that he was in one of the dreaded mud sucks that are numerous on the Missouri. They are something in the nature of quicksand or quagmire and it is seldom anything escapes from their slimy embrace. Seeing no way out, he grew exceedingly nervous. He beat around in every direction without success. Now and then he put his hand down and could feel the deadly suction right under him. He had turned and twisted so much that he had no idea where the channel was. The shore seemed near at hand but impossible to reach. A cold perspiration started from every pore as he began to realize the frightful situation. Then he thought of the tactics he had employed in the quicksands of the Loire and he inflated every chamber of his dress to its utmost capacity. That raised him higher, but he could not get out. Then he thought he would remain perfectly still until daylight, when he might see his way clear and get the direction of the channel. And in his helplessness he begged for aid from Heaven. While lying there half exhausted, he was startled by a brilliant light. It looked like the blaze of an enormous lamp. He could see it rise as if from the ground below him, and sail silently and solemnly over to the side of a butte where it lodged. The thought occurred to him that perhaps God had sent the light to guide him to the channel, and pointing his feet toward the spot where it was shining with great brilliancy, he made an almost superhuman effort to break through the suction in that direction. To his intense joy, he found that after a little while, he was slipping off the slime and getting into deeper water. When he felt the current under him and knew he had struck the channel, he stood up and gazed in awe at the light which was still glowing against the butte, and he uttered a heartfelt prayer of thanks.

Boyton is in no way superstitious; but that incident is so strongly impressed on his mind that he often speaks of it. He understands that he saw only an ignis fatuus, a phenomenon easily explained; but he believes that it was sent that night by the great Pilot to guide a helpless human being out of danger.

Two days later he saw the Indian agency of Fort Berthold on a bluff overlooking the river. He sounded the bugle and soldiers and Indians swarmed to the water's edge. The latter covered the sloping bank, standing like statues, watching for the water spirit whom they had been told was coming down the river. Each one wore a blanket of bright red or blue and they formed a picturesque foreground to the high bluff and sullen fort. As Boyton came opposite, he stood up in the water and lighted a detonating rocket. Not a breath of air was stirring and the thick white smoke from the rocket hung on the surface of the water, hiding him from sight. Indeed, it looked to the Indians as though he had disappeared entirely, and when the rocket exploded over their heads with the roar of a cannon, their superstitious hearts could stand it no longer and they rushed up the slope like a flock of frightened sheep, tumbling over one another in their anxiety to get out of the way.

That night he stopped with the Agent who informed him that the tribe had pronounced him good medicine, (lucky) at one of their pow wows. This opinion of the red men was a source of much annoyance to Paul, for they stole every little thing belonging to him they could put their hands on for their medicine bags. The Indians belonged to the Ree and Mandan tribes and have been peaceful for many years. They have one stubborn custom which all the talk of the agents and assurances of the military officials, will not remove. In the early days the Sioux were their deadly enemies and made frequent disastrous raids on their villages. Though years have passed since they have been disturbed, a lookout is constantly kept. Every warrior in the village takes his turn at stated times, to mount an elevation where he stands, like a statue, watching the distant hills for their ancient foes.

Next day, prior to Paul's departure, all the chiefs shook hands with him exclaiming, "how;" which, by the way is a most elastic word. It means good-bye, how-do-you-do, expresses anger, friendship, pleasure, sorrow, hate, insult, and in fact, almost every feeling of the human heart, all depending on the intonation given the voice and the manner of uttering it.

About twenty miles below the fort, Paul was again shot at, this time by an Indian boy whose aim, luckily, was bad. He scampered away when the voyager stood up and shouted: "How, how, cola."

That night Boyton ran into Fort Stevenson, where he was kindly entertained, and next morning started on another thirty-six hours' run, beating against head winds and heavy weather through another wild stretch of country. The next camping place was in a sort of circular basin that had been cut out of the prairie by the floods, and was surrounded by high mud banks. He found plenty of drift in the eddy and picked out the driest; but experienced great difficulty in starting a fire with it. He only succeeded in getting sufficient heat to cook his supper; he was not able to coax enough blaze to warm himself. Night came down black as ink and he heard the distant yell of a coyote which was answered from all directions by others. In less than half an hour the top of the bank was covered with a horde of the dirty little beasts, snapping and snarling at one another, their eyes shining like balls of fire through the black night. They were frightened away by a shot or two from the revolver; but soon returned, to set up such howls as would freeze one's blood, though they are arrant cowards. Paul concluded that the river was more pleasant than their company and he started away, making a two days and two nights' run. He had hard work to keep his eyes open during the night and possibly would have dropped off to sleep but he heard the water swashing against an occasional snag of which he had a wholesome dread.

Day broke cold and chilly with the same threatening sky as had darkened the heavens the night before. Head winds fretted him and he felt cold and miserable. Toward evening, utterly tired out, he began looking for a camping place. There was no sound of life. Below he saw a belt of timber which looked promising and just as he struck out for it, he was surprised to discover on his right, at the edge of a small bit of prairie, a log cabin. He immediately sounded the bugle, but there was no response. Note after note failed to stir up any signs of life, so he headed for the place pulling vigorously to clear the swift current which he was compelled to cross. He reached a muddy shore scantily mixed with sand, which extended a considerable distance from the bank. He landed and on testing the soil with his foot found it unstable. Fearing another mud suck, he put the Baby down and made his way with quick steps to the cabin, the soil bending under him like rotten ice. He then saw that the hut had long been deserted. Grass grew high and rank all around it, while elk and deer antlers, bleached white by the sun, were strewn everywhere and strips of blackened deer skin were nailed over the chinks in the door. Pushing his way in he stood in a single room with a big fire place at one side and two rude bunks covered with old hay.

Paul was delighted with his find. Here was a royal shelter from the threatening storm and a famous place to take much needed rest. He felt himself a king in his palace. Going outside, he gathered several pieces of wood which he placed one after another on the treacherous soil making a series of steps to the water's edge, on which he could walk without so much danger of sinking. Shouldering the Baby, he soon had her safely deposited in the cabin and then removing his suit, gathered a big supply of wood which he stowed on one side of the fire place, closed and fastened the door securely, just as the storm broke with considerable fury. Over a blazing fire he cooked an excellent supper, which was eaten with a keen appetite, filled his pipe and threw himself on a pile of hay which covered a portion of the floor between the fireplace and bunks, that was boarded. There he reposed, toasting his feet, watching the fragrant smoke from his pipe curling to the browned rafters, smiling at the battling elements outside and congratulating himself on the good fortune that had directed his eyes toward such a castle. He was dozing off into a comfortable sleep, when he felt a movement in the hay under his back. Thinking it was a field mouse or a mole, he paid no attention to it; but when the pressure against his back became stronger, he leaped to his feet and was horrified to see the shining, hissing head of a snake rise out of the hay. The reptile elevated its head two feet or more from the floor, swaying from side to side in an angry fashion as though indignant at the unusual intrusion. As it continued to uncoil its hideous length, Paul seized a piece of wood and aimed a blow at its head. It quickly disappeared and he could hear it drop somewhere underneath, hissing as it went. Removing a portion of the litter, Paul found a kind of pit covered with boards, apparently six feet deep, made, no doubt, for storing provisions during the winter. Not caring to investigate further, he dropped the board in its place and covered it again. He determined not to be driven from his rest by the snakes, as he had been by the coyotes, so he put on the dress and laid on the floor away from the pit, covering his face as that was the only part of his body exposed, and was soon sound asleep.

It was almost sunrise when he awoke. He replenished the fire and cooked breakfast. The storm had passed and the sun was rising in a cloudless sky, promising a fine day. After breakfast, when everything was prepared for a hasty departure, he concluded to find out what had become of his friend, the snake. Removing a few boards from the mouth of the pit, he took up a burning brand from the fire and thrust it into the dark hole. The sight sent a chill through every vein. Had he looked upon it the night before, he would have trusted himself to the mercy of the storm rather than sleep where he did. The place was alive with a squirming mass of hideous reptiles, hissing and gliding about at being disturbed. They were probably in their winter quarters and the fire had roused them from their torpor. Quickly throwing the burning wood amongst them, he dropped the planks and seizing the Baby, quitted the den and was in the water like a flash. Many miles below, in a sharp bend that headed him toward the northwest again, he saw a column of smoke standing straight up in the sky and knew it was the burning Cabin of the Snakes. He had not intended to fire the house, but on the whole, was not sorry.

During the afternoon of the following day, a lazily moving flat boat attracted Paul's attention as it drifted with the current at some distance ahead. It was desirable to see and talk to any human being and he increased his speed. As the flat boat with its unwieldy load was in no particular hurry, he soon overhauled it and a blast from the bugle caused the navigator of the craft to cast his eyes up stream. He gazed curiously at Paul for a moment and exclaimed:

"Wall, drat my buttons, I never thought I would see a human critter goin' down the Missouri in sich a rig as thet."

He leaned back and awaited the "critter's" approach. He was a tall, raw boned man with a shock of reddish grey hair and tangled beard; a pair of keen grey eyes shown from behind deep, overhanging brows. Though he had the appearance of a farmer, he might have been anything from a deacon to a rustler, so far as could be judged by his appearance. The craft he was piloting down was loaded with a miscellaneous collection of household effects and a couple of sad eyed hounds were the man's only companions.

Paul quickly observed all this as he pulled up and heard the boatman's remark. Reaching the side of the boat, he asked:

"How far are you going down, stranger?"

"Ain't pertic'lar how fur so as I git outen this country. I had a farm on this river once; but she's gone now, stranger, gone slick an' clean. River cut under and rounded me out an' I reckon the feller on the other side owns my land now."

It is a fact that the constantly changing currents of the Missouri, frequently cut into and swallow up acres upon acres on one side only to leave exposed as much land on the other and the owner of the land next to that left exposed, becomes richer by so many acres, while the man on the other side becomes impoverished to that extent. Thus the expression is common in the Upper Missouri country that "a man may go to bed owning a fine farm on one bank and wake up in the morning to find it owned by the fellow on the opposite side."

"Well, where do you propose going to now?" inquired Boyton.

"I don't propose goin' anywhare. I only want to git outen this country. She's a holy terror an' I stood it jest as long as I could. All thets left of my farm is on this ere boat an' I don't reckon its goin' to cost me much trouble to take care of it an' locate anywhare outside of this country. This ere cantankerous river has done me up, done me up brown, straanger."

"It is a curious sort of river."

"Cur'ous! Wall, I should snicker, Cur'ous ain't no name for it. I think God Almighty built her all right enough, but I don't think He's made up His mind whar to locate her yit. She's running wild, straanger; she's runnin' wild."

He leaned back against a worn mattress with a melancholy sigh and his boat dropped astern.

The next day was dark and gloomy and Paul felt an unaccountable falling of spirits. The atmosphere was oppressive and he could not overcome a premonition of evil that effected him all day. About the middle of the afternoon, he was startled by a peculiar noise above him. Black, heavy clouds hung low on the prairie lands. An ominous roar caused him to look up stream and he beheld a funnel shaped cloud driving to the eastward across the river. In less than half an hour, another one bore down from the buttes and swept across with a terrible roar, about one mile below. While congratulating himself on having been sandwiched between these fearful whirlwinds and thus escaping them, he was horrified to see another bearing directly on him from the west. He made all possible speed to reach the willows on the windward shore; but before he could grasp them, the outer circle of the cyclone struck him and he was enveloped in a whirling mass of buffalo grass, twigs and dust. He grasped the Baby close to his sides fearing to be separated and the next moment felt himself lifted with a great volume of water and borne away as if he was of no more weight than a feather. When he recovered from the shock, he found himself stuck in the mud on the opposite shore. It was some minutes before he recovered sufficiently to proceed on the journey, fortunately uninjured.

Paul was favored with fairly good weather after the cyclone and in a few days ran into Bismarck, where he was welcomed and entertained on board the Northern Pacific transfer boat, by Captain Wolfolk. He was joined there by the correspondent of the New York Herald, Mr. James Creelman, who was sent out by that paper to accompany him the rest of the way and write up the Indian country.

After a brief rest at Bismarck, Boyton continued his course down the muddy river followed by Mr. Creelman in a canvas canoe. Contrary to his usual custom, he did not start until afternoon, in deference to friends in the town, and they had not proceeded many miles until night came on and camp was struck on a muddy bar. They were under way at sunrise next morning, and all day the river ran through a lonely country. Ranges of buttes stretched away from the banks until they were lost in the distance and from every gully, purling streams flashed their clear waters into the yellow of the river. The banks were blushing with the glory of autumn and vines hung among the trees like curtains of the richest pattern. Game was utterly fearless until frightened away from the water's edge by a blast from the bugle or a shot. A bar was utilized for a camp that night and at ten o'clock next morning, the white tepees of an Indian village were seen, and piles of wood along the river indicated the approach to some settlement. On rounding a great bend, Fort Yates and the Standing Rock Agency were sighted. Paul was warmly received by the officers of the Fort and entertained in the most hospitable manner. Among the notorious Indian chiefs whom Boyton met at Standing Rock, were Rain-in-the-Face, Gaul, Low Dog, Long Soldier, the young chief Flying-By and others.

On the morning of October 5th, they resumed the journey, the banks being crowded with soldiers and Indians to see them start. After passing an Indian village a few miles below Fort Yates, the country through which the river twisted and turned, again assumed a lonely aspect. Mile after mile was passed without the faintest sign of civilization. Sand bars divided the river into five or six different channels and it required careful paddling to avoid the countless snags which stuck out of the water, sullen and threatening. The shores were strewn with driftwood,--logs that had floated from far up the river; red willow and cottonwood trees that had been gnawed from their roots by beavers; horns and bones of wild animals and the countless ingredients of drift piles were heaped on all sides. Amid all this desolation the Big Muddy flowed, making fresh ruins at every turn. That night camp was pitched on the bank and a wild goose was the leading feature on the supper bill of fare. The next day proved another lonesome one. Not a single habitation on the rusty hills that rose on either side and hid the fertile country beyond. Toward evening a ranch was sighted and they landed to test the hospitality of its proprietor, who proved to be a squaw man, the name applied to white men who marry Indian women. The travelers were cautiously received and finally invited to remain over night, on condition that they furnished their own provisions. Several comely half breed children sat around the room while supper was being prepared by a good-looking Indian squaw. Noting the inquiring looks of Boyton and his companion, the rancher said:

"Yes, them's my children and that's my wife. She cost me a tidy bit, too. I gave up a durned good horse fur that squaw."

"How long have you been married to her?" inquired Paul.

"Wall, I ain't been married very long to this 'un. I had another almighty good lookin' one, that I lived with some years; but she got tired workin' an' run away to the tribe. This un's a good cook an a hard worker."

Supper was announced by the woman, who spoke to her husband in the Indian tongue, as she had not acquired English. The travelers and the master of the ranch sat at a small table, while the woman and the children retreated to a dark corner near the fire, where they ate.

"Will not your wife eat with us?" politely inquired Boyton.

"Eat with us!" exclaimed the rancher in breathless astonishment, "I shud say not. Do you think I'd eat with a durned Indian?"

After breakfast next morning, the travelers again took to the river, the squaw man extending an invitation to drop in on him again if they ever chanced up that way. As they passed below the mouth of Grand river, the scenery began to change. Instead of grassy buttes, the prairies were crowned with clay hills, riven as though by volcanic action and the river flowed under huge cliffs of a peculiar slate color. Wild vines twined their tendrils over shores ancient and fossilized, that were trod by tribes whose camp fires had burned out before Columbus ever dreamed of the new world. About four miles below Grand river, on a bluish cliff that shot out in the water almost at right angles, they landed and found many beautiful specimens of petrifaction--fish retaining their prismatic beauty of exterior. The mother of pear-like shells of the extinct anomite lay about as though the place had once been the bed of a mighty ocean. The shore was covered with agates and looked gray and instead of mud sucks, there were pebbly beaches for some distance. Sometimes a bank that had been eaten away by the water, would exhibit strata of clay and soil so variegated in color that they resembled vast cameos. At many places the soil was rich and black for six or seven feet deep, showing its wonderful agricultural properties, while here and there the alkali deposits seemed like frost work. The storms had eaten some of the massive cliffs into forms of castles and there were galleries of arches and columns sculptured by the rain, stretching for miles on either side. At nightfall the scene was ghostly and imagination easily peopled the dark galleries with strange images.

At midnight the sky began to threaten rain. Paul sounded the bugle again and again in hope of reaching the ears of some hospitable rancher; but only the musical echoes were returned, until he was about to land and camp on the shore when he was hailed by a voice which proved to belong to another squaw man and the weary travelers slept on the floor of his house until morning. The ranchman had several grown up half breed sons who could not speak a word of English. One of them had just returned from a hunt on which he had slaughtered two-hundred buffalos, taking their hides and leaving their carcasses to fester on the plains.

The start next day was the beginning of a long and tiresome run to Fort Bennett. During the afternoon, several geese and ducks were shot and a number of deer were seen in the timber points. When the sun went down, the country was lit up by remarkably beautiful hues, which died away as the moon rose clear and bright, and when it shone high above, the spectacle was magnificent. In some bends of the river the voyagers seemed completely landlocked and allowed the current to carry them safely through the quagmires and sand bars. They floated among a number of white swans and the whole flock flew upward with shrill cries, startling the cranes that stalked in the shadows and sending clouds of cackling geese and ducks whirling up from every gloomy nook and ravine.

Toward morning a heavy head wind sprang up that was very trying and just as dawn was approaching they entered a bend which was twenty-five miles in length, while the distance across by land, was but four miles. By hard pulling Fort Bennett was reached at four o'clock in the afternoon and Paul and Creelman were conveyed to the house of Major Love, the Indian agent, in an army ambulance after twenty-eight hours of incessant pulling. They determined to rest next day and were shown everything of interest at the Cheyenne Agency, where there were over two-thousand Indians. The principle chief was Little-no-Heart and among the others were Rattling Rib, White Swan, The Charger and Four Bears. These men were all peaceably disposed and belonged to the tribes that farm and raise stock on the reservation. They were driven about two miles from the fort to a tree in which a number of Indians, according to the custom of their tribe, had been buried. It was a goodly sized elm that had grown straight out of the ground to a height of twenty five feet, at which point the trunk forked into a dozen gnarled and twisted limbs, the peculiar black bark of which, gave them an unnatural appearance. Everywhere among the yellow leaves were perched heaps of decaying garments and bones. In some places, storms had torn away the gaudy funeral paraphernalia and whole skeletons were exposed. All the implements which the dead are supposed to need in the Happy Hunting Grounds, were placed at the side of the corpse and in one branch there was a trunk belonging to the skeleton just underneath it. So many Indians had been placed in the branches of this ancient elm, that it was said to have had a more vigorous growth than any other tree in its neighborhood in consequence of the fertilization afforded by the bodies. Since the establishment of the agency, however, the Indians have not been permitted to keep up this disgusting practice.

There was an Indian school on the reservation, which was also visited. The officials have a hard time of it to get the children to attend the school. The older ones are opposed to educating the youngsters and do not want them to learn to speak English. Some of the boys who were able to speak it fluently were ashamed to do so. They are apt pupils and can comprehend ideas with wonderful accuracy; the Government hopes that time will remove their prejudices and so they will become more civilized.

The journey was resumed next day at noon, pulling against a head wind; but their long rest gave them strength to contend with it, and the storm died out with the setting sun. Some of the buttes below Fort Sully are shaped wonderfully like pyramids; walls and cones loomed up against the sky and one could easily imagine himself on the Nile floating past the sphinxes and temples of Egypt. Occasionally the voyagers would be startled by the splash of a gigantic catfish as it leaped out of the water, and the loons driven southward by the approaching winter, filled the air with their melancholy cries. Shortly after midnight a gale sprang up which quickly churned the water into heavy waves and before daylight a regular hurricane was blowing. Acres of fine sand eddied and swirled about in the air, making it impossible to see more than a yard or two ahead and almost suffocating them. By daylight the fury of the storm was so great that the voyagers laid down on the bank to take a much needed rest. When they started again, they found the town of Pierre only one mile below where they had camped.

A halt was made at Pierre for a brief rest, the travelers stopping at a comfortable little hotel. Paul had no more than arranged himself to enjoy his pipe before sleeping, than he was called on by the editor, a bustling, little man who was warmly enthusiastic on the resources of the country about Pierre. He flitted into the room, introducing himself in a breezy manner, and immediately produced a bottle from his hip pocket and two glasses from the recesses of his coat tails; they were a recent purchase for the straw had not yet been removed from them. His astonishment at Paul's refusal to drink was so great that it quieted him for a moment; but he soon broke forth again on the resources of the country, depositing divers samples of what appeared to be black mud on the table, which he called gumbo.

After a restful sleep, Paul and Creelman visited some of the sights of the town, among which was the grave of "Arkansaw." He was a desperado whose crimes were said to throw the exploits of Rocky Mountain ruffians into the shade. Something over one year before, "Arkansaw," who was then living at Fort Pierre, expressed a determination to visit Pierre, on the other side of the river and "clean out the town." With this philanthropic purpose in view, he crossed the river one bitter cold night on the ice; but found a party of gentlemen, called vigilantes, awaiting him and while he was loading in some liquid courage at the principal bar of the place, some one called him to the door and he was shot full of holes. They buried him next day and the funeral was a very enthusiastic affair. One of the chief executioners, who was also principal mourner at the burial, made the following characteristic speech which was heartily endorsed by the citizens present:

"Arkansaw was a good feller, boys, and no mistake. He on'y got off his bearin's w'en ther idee struck him thet he cud clean out this ere town. But he were clear game. Three cheers fur the corpse."

The cheers were given with a will and another vigilante cried:

"A tiger fur Arkansaw."

With that the hero was lowered into the grave which is one of the sights of the town.