Chapter V: Preface (5)

Clark mounted one of Major Blake’s government mules and arrived at Fort Benton six days from the time he left Fort Union and five days ahead of the “Chippewa.” From Fort Benton I was sent with the message to Captain Mullan, whom I met on the Hell Gate river. I traveled on the old Indian trail up the Prickly Pear canyon and crossed the main divide where now the Northern Pacific Railway crosses.

At the mouth of the Deer Lodge river I met a Flathead Indian who could talk a little English. I asked him where those soldiers were. He told me that they were a little ways down the river and on the other side. It was in the month of June, the snow was melting off the mountains, and the streams were very high.

The Indian came with me to show where Mullan was, and we followed down the banks of the Hell Gate river for a few miles until we came opposite where Captain Mullan’s camp was. I told the Indian that I had a letter for Mullan and he said he would swim the river and take it to him. I gave the Indian the letter and he swam the swift current of that great river with the letter between his teeth and landed, after going down the stream nearly a mile. I was then a good swimmer, but I would not undertake to swim that river then for any consideration. Mullan, after reading the letter, wrote one to Major Blake, which I delivered on my return to Fort Benton, where I met Blake. It took me seven days and a half to make the trip. At the Benton Lake I met Captain W. H. Reynolds’ United States engineer corps expedition, which was in camp there at the time. They had been viewing the Missouri Falls.

In the summer of 1861 the same steamer (Chippewa), when loaded with goods for the company, blew up somewhere near Fort Union, when on her trip up to Fort Benton. Mr. Sam Ford, who now lives at the city of Great Falls, was on the boat at the time of the accident. The cargo was lost, consequently they had to get another supply from Fort Union. The goods had to be hauled overland to Fort Benton. I, with others, was sent to bring the goods. We left Fort Union with several wagons and carts drawn by oxen and horses. Mr. Andrew Dawson, who was connected with the company, had charge of the outfit. One morning, when we were traveling, a war party of Crows came to us. They at once demanded some goods. Mr. Dawson gave them all, a small gift, but, for all that, they kept troubling us by trying to stop our teams and they would get on the back of the horses that were pulling the wagons and climb on the wagon tongues and ride the wheel oxen. In this way they kept following and tormenting us. Sometimes they would go away, but only to return, and no doubt they intended to rob us when the first night came. One time they surrounded and stopped us and demanded more goods; some of them attempting to get into the wagons. Again Mr. Dawson gave them several blankets, a box of tobacco, a box of hardtack crackers, and other small trinkets; this satisfied them then, but it was not long before they came again and acted meaner than ever. One Indian, while trying to get on the wagon tongue, was kicked by the wheel ox and he fell, the wagon wheel going over and killing him. The other Indians carried him away and we went on for several miles unmolested. But soon there came a large band of the savage devils, with nothing on in the way of clothing except a breech clout; they had their hands full of arrows and their bows strung ready to send an arrow on a moment’s signal, and, in an angry manner, forbade us to go any further or there would be trouble, and with violent threats demanded pay for the killing of their man. Mr. Dawson reasoned with them, saying that it was the Indian’s own fault that he was killed, but this would not satisfy them; they were bound to have goods and plenty of them, or scalps. Just then a Gros Ventres chief, with about fifty warriors, arrived, and, no doubt, was the cause of saving us from being massacred by the savage Crows. At this time a large camp of Gros Ventres was at Wolfe Point, about twenty-five miles up the river. Through some source they were informed that the Crows were interfering with our wagon train and came to see about it. It appears that about twelve months previous the Gros Ventres and Crows had made peace with each other, and, at this time, they were on friendly terms. It was but a few minutes after the arrival of the Gros Ventres that their chief, whose name was “Sitting Woman,” called the Crows and whites together and had a council. Addressing the Crows, he said: “The Crows and the Gros Ventres have made peace with each other. That is good. The Crows and Gros Ventres smoke together. That is good. The Crows and Gros Ventres make presents to each other. That is good. The Crows and Gros Ventres trade horses with one another, and that is good. But these white men are our white men; the goods that are in their wagons are goods that they are bringing to trade with us. If you are going to fight these white men you must fight us.” Not a word was spoken by the Crows, and they left in small groups of three or four at a time, badly disappointed and without a cent’s worth of goods. The Gros Ventres escorted our train the balance of the day and camped with us that night, and traveled with us until we reached their camp the next day at Wolfe Point. And, after that, the whole camp came with us for over one hundred miles up the valley of the Milk river. Mr. Dawson paid them well for their kindness by giving them goods.

Between Milk river and Fort Benton we met many of the Piegans, Bloods and Blackfeet Indians; many of them followed us to Fort Benton, for they were anxious to trade with us. From this time on the Indian trade increased very rapidly, and new steamers were built to operate on the upper Missouri, consequently the company established several trading posts at different points, and more employes were sent from St. Louis.

I well remember when the steamer “Gray Eagle” made her first trip with my friend John Largent on board, who now lives at the town of Sun River. He, too, left St. Louis after having hired to the American Fur company to work at Fort Benton. At this time I was in charge of several men repairing the outside wall of the fort, which was built with sun-dried bricks, or “adobes.” One day Largent was on top of the wall laying brick; suddenly he came down, saying that someone was shooting at him. I asked him if he was not mistaken; he said he was not, but that he would go and try it again. He was not there but a few seconds before he came down again saying that a bullet whistled by his head. As I was anxious to have the wall finished that day, I went up myself, but I was not there more than a minute before a rifle shot struck the brick that was in my hand, and I also came down on the double quick. Some Indians were doing the shooting from under the bank of the river, about two hundred yards off. In 1864 I went to the mines. In 1865 I formed a partnership with Malcolm Clark and obtained a charter to build a toll-wagon road through the Prickly Pear canyon, which charter we afterwards sold to James King and W. C. Gillette.

In 1868 I located this place where I now live, and where I intend to stay the balance of my life.

Mr. Lewis told me of many adventures he had during the time he was in the employ of the American Fur company, of which I have made no mention. Fort Benton at one time was the greatest fur trading point in the Northwest, but, as the whites came and settled the country, the buffaloes and all fur-bearing animals disappeared like chaff before a hurricane, and now the fur trade at Fort Benton amounts to but a trifle.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Sept. 12, 1899.

A BRAVE PIEGAN WAR CHIEF.

At the time of my visit to the home of Mr. Edward A. Lewis, an account of which is given in the foregoing letter, Mr. Lewis asked his wife, who was at the time busy with her house work, to come to the room in which we were sitting and tell me of the fight that occurred between the Piegans and a party of Pend d’Oreilles Indians in 1868, and in which her father was engaged. She said that the Piegans were in camp on the Teton river, about eight miles above where now stands the town of Choteau, when the Pend d’Oreilles came and made a sudden attack on the Piegans and stole several of their horses. A desperate fight followed, both parties using guns, bows and arrows, and war clubs; many were killed on both sides. She said that her father was struck with a war club by a Pend d’Oreille; thinking he was dead, the Pend d’Oreille in a hurry undertook to take the rings her father had on three of his fingers. Failing to slip the rings off, he jerked a large bowie knife out of a scabbard and chopped off the fingers. During all this time her father was unconscious, and it was after the fingers were cut off that he came to his senses. Many of the Indians believed that the cutting of the fingers was the cause of his coming to life again. The women dressed his wounds and the next day the plucky war chief, Meek-i-appy, with a party of his warriors, followed the Pend d’Oreilles and the following night recaptured the horses and returned home without firing a gun or a shot from a bow.

THE PIEGANS LAYING THEIR PLANS TO STEAL HORSES FROM THE CROWS.]

Meek-i-appy has been dead for several years. I knew him well. He was known among the whites as Cut-Hand, but I was never aware how it came about that he lost his fingers until this narrative was told by his daughter. She told me of another instance in which her father was one of the principal actors. This time--I relate the story as it was told to me--the Crows had been stealing some of the Piegan horses. Determined to play even, a war party of Piegans, of which Mrs. Lewis’ father was the chief, prepared themselves to go to the Crow country. Each warrior was equipped with all that was necessary for a horse-stealing expedition. Those who did not have guns had perfect bows, and their quivers were filled with well-pointed arrows, and the chief had with him his medicine bag, which was a weasel skin stuffed with some herbs and the bark of a certain tree; to this medicine bag two small bells were attached; it was carried on the breast and tied to a string of beads worn around the neck. It was sometime after entering the Crow country before they could locate an enemy. Finally a camp of about ten lodges was discovered in a small valley between high hills in the Little Snowy mountains, the slopes of which were covered with pine. The Piegans worked their way cautiously through the woods until within a short distance of the Crow camp and there lay hidden the balance of the day, making their plans to get away with the horses that were grazing near the tepees. When night came they again began approaching nearer and nearer the camp of the Crows. After getting to the proper distance, which was about three hundred yards from the tepees, they halted and waited until they were satisfied that all the Crows were asleep. The Crows had their horses close to their tepees and many of them were picketed. The chief was to do the stealing and mount all of his warriors with the stolen horses, for he was considered the bravest and most expert performer in the party. The chief placed his warriors behind a small grove of willows that were thick with underbrush. Then he tied several long strings of rawhide together; this he attached to a bush in the center of the grove and on the same bush he hung his medicine pouch; then he stretched the rawhide, which was about sixty yards long, to the extreme edge of the grove and most remote from the Crow camp. Now everything was ready, and the time for the fray had arrived. The warriors stood behind the bushes to receive the stolen horses, and the chief sneaked towards the horses with the lariats in his hands. The first haul that was made he brought three horses, and repeated this until he had a horse for each of his warriors, who mounted and drove away the balance of the herd. Not satisfied with all the horses, Meek-i-appy determined to steal the Crow chief’s medicine pouch (to steal the medicine pouch from the chief of the enemy is considered the bravest act a warrior can perform). Knowing the chief’s tepee, and knowing that, according to Indian custom, all chiefs hang their medicine pouches above their heads before going to sleep, again the Piegan leader crawled slowly but surely toward the tepee of the head man of the Crow camp and stole his way inside. The Crow chief was sound asleep. When retiring only a few hours before, and when wrapping himself in his gorgeous robes, he never thought or dreamed that there was an enemy anywhere near. The Piegan reached out his hand and took the trophy that hung on a tripoon and near the sleeping chief’s head; he placed it under his belt and was quietly retreating when he stumbled and fell as he was getting out at the door of the lodge. This waked the Crow and he gave the signal war whoop, “enemy in the camp.” All the Crow warriors were out in an instant and came very near capturing the Piegan, but he got into the brush, where he had placed his medicine pouch, only by a scratch. In a few minutes the willow grove was surrounded by the Crows and they all began shooting into the brush. It may be well to state here that an Indian never follows an enemy into a thick brush, especially in the night time.

GOING HOME WITH THE STOLEN HORSES.]

The Piegan by this time had hold of the rawhide string; he gave it a few jerks and the bells that were attached to the medicine pouch rang. This drew the attention of the Crows that way, and thinking that the Piegan must be there, they all began shooting in the direction of the bells, and the more they shot the oftener the bells would ring. The firing was so rapid and the flashing of the old flint-lock guns was so blinding to the Crows that the Piegan killed three of them. They could not tell the direction the shots came from, still, after they ceased firing, the Piegan, who was at the other end of the string, would occasionally ring the bells. Finally all the Crows stood together near the brush, and opposite to where the bells were ringing, and asked several questions as to who was ringing the bells. One asked in a loud voice: “Are you a man or are you a ghost?” In reply the bells rang three times. Finally the Crows, who are a very superstitious people as a tribe, went away convinced that they had killed the Piegan, and that his ghost was ringing the bells. And Meek-i-appy came out of the willows without harm, and, with the medicine bag, which proved to be good medicine, also with that of the Crow chief which was a bad medicine to its first possessor. Soon the Piegan war chief was with his warriors, who were waiting for him in a coulee that was not far off. He was mounted on the best horse and the one the Crow chief was riding the day before. After a ride of over one hundred miles in one day and a night, Meek-i-appy and his warriors arrived home safe with all their spoils.

The warrior who displayed the greatest strength, good generalship and bravery, was elected or appointed by the head chief to the honor of war chief. On account of the prudence, bravery and good generalship Meek-i-appy had always displayed, he was elected war chief and was such at the time of his death, which was about 1878.

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Sept. 22, 1899.

BLOODY BATTLES AND TRAGEDIES IN THE SUN RIVER VALLEY.

The first printed records of the Sun river we find in the travels of Lewis and Clark, who, on June 14, 1805, viewed the lower part of this fertile valley, from the bluffs near the upper falls of the Missouri river. And Captain Lewis, on his way back from the Pacific slope, came down the Medicine river valley and praised its beauty and the purity of the waters in its streams.

The Sun river was then termed by the Indians the Medicine river. The valley is sixty-five miles long. Its course is nearly east and west, extending from the Missouri river to the base of the Rocky mountains, while the river itself is twice that many miles, extending far into the mountains. On the south side the bench and tablelands, that are carpeted with luxurious grasses, extend for many miles; while on the north the same kind of landscape reaches to the British possessions, a distance of nearly 150 miles. The few old Indians that are now living admit that the Rosebud and the Sun river regions have always been their favorite hunting grounds; where game of all kinds was plentiful, summer and winter alike. And today the same ranges are the most favored by the herdsmen to graze their flocks and herds of domestic animals. It was no wonder that the Indians fought desperately before giving up this, “their favorite hunting grounds.”

The first thirty years of the last half century the Sun river, Teton and Marias valleys were a great field for trappers and traders belonging to the various fur trading companies, who, to a certain extent, like our traveling men now-a-days, were soliciting trade for their respective companies; consequently, many Indians would collect at the same locality, bringing with them skins of different kinds, buffalo robes, and other trinkets; these articles they exchanged for Indian goods from the traders. These valleys had always been the home of the Blackfeet nation, of which the Piegan tribe was one of the most powerful.

The beautiful and fertile valley of the Sun river has been the scene of many tragedies and bloody battles between Indians of different tribes. On account of the shallow ford on the Missouri river, on the east, giving the Crows easy access to the lower end of the valley, and the Cadotte and Priest passes, in the main range of the Rockies on the west, through which the Flatheads, Pend d’Oreilles and other warlike tribes of the Pacific slope entered the upper end, the Blackfeet tribes were always prepared for war.

The following story was written by Father De Smet, the great Indian missionary, and who, I think, was the first to preach christianity in what is now the state of Montana. Besides showing his success as a missionary, it also shows the warlike character of the Blackfeet. Father De Smet says:

The first man who preached Christianity in what is now Montana.]

“In 1840 I visited the Blackfeet Indians, who, though they are a very warlike tribe, received me with a kind welcome. On this occasion I gave them a crucifix, merely explaining to them who Christ is, and how He died on the cross for them, to bring them to heaven with Himself. Again I paid them a visit in 1855, when I was still more warmly received and welcomed; in fact, with every mark of affection. This greatly surprised me, and I was going to ask the cause of it, when I was invited to a council of all the warriors of the tribe. I went and soon found myself in the presence of their great men, and of the chieftain himself, who wore on his breast the crucifix I had given him years before. When I was seated, you may guess my surprise and delight when he began his harangue to me by begging me to send them black-gowns to teach them the way to heaven. ‘Black-gown,’ said he, ‘we know that what you teach us is true;’ and when I asked what had brought this conviction to their minds, he told the following fact: ‘Three snows ago, Black-gown,’ said he, ‘I and my warriors, thirty in all, went on the warpath against the Crow Indians, our enemies, and we entered their territory. We knew that the moment we entered their land we were beset with dangers, and therefore we took every precaution to prevent our track being discovered. Besides, when we camped for the night we built up a kind of fortress of dead wood to protect us, in case of a surprise, from their shots and arrows. Spite of all our care, the Crow Indians discovered our trail, and during the dead of night surrounded us with a body very much larger than ours, and then raised their wild warcry. We who were within the enclosure, giving ourselves up for lost, began to sing our death song, when I bethought myself of the crucifix which you, Black-gown, gave me, and of the words you said. I saw there was no hope but in it. Then I addressed my fellow warriors, and I said to them: ‘Trust in Him who died on the cross for us!’ and taking the crucifix I held it aloft in my hands and prayed to the Great Spirit to save us. I then kissed the crucifix and placed it on my head, and rubbed it over my arms and breast, and gave it to my companions. They all did the same. I took the crucifix in my hand and held it before me and told them all to follow. I burst through the palisade, right in the midst of the enemy, followed by all. Shots and arrows flew about us in every direction, yet, Black-gown, owing to the power of Him whom we invoked, we passed through unscathed, not even one of us being hurt. From that moment we all longed to see the black-gown again.’”

Some time in the early fifties a bloody and desperate battle was fought between the Blackfeet and Crows which decimated both tribes, nearly half of the braves on each side being killed. Some of the fortifications that were built by the Crows then are still visible.

An account of this bloody encounter was given by Little Plume, a Piegan chief, to three old frontiersmen of the Sun river valley, James Gibson, Judge Burcher and S. M. Carson, who at the time was on the staff of the _Sun River Sun_, and in which paper the story was published December 25, 1884.

The chief says: “When I was a boy and had not yet gained a name for myself in the annals of war, I was a witness to one of the hardest fought battles ever waged in this valley. The chief of the Piegans and a small party of his followers were encamped on the river near the mountains, when one morning a deputation of Crows came in, praying that a council be made, saying that they were tired of war and wished to make a treaty that would insure peace between them for all time to come. To the council the chief readily consented, and stated that on the morrow everything would be in readiness to receive the Crow chief, as their head men were not so far away but that they could be summoned by that time. When the morrow came, the Crows and Piegans feasted together for the first, and, as it proved to be, for the last time. The council had proceeded without even so much as a sign of hostility in the past, and as to the course to be pursued in the future, it was to be one that would make the Crows and Blackfeet as one nation. Everything had progressed to the satisfaction of all. The council had adjourned to give place to feasting and dancing during the night, and to give time so that Skoon-a-taps-e-guan, a medicine man who had not arrived, might be present at the final agreement. The feasting had been one round of pleasure from the first, and much good will had been shown by both parties. Still the feast went on and “The Strong Man” had not arrived. A few more stragglers from the Crow camp farther down the valley now and then dropped in.

“With the assistance of a dog, the prying eyes of a Piegan woman found among a bundle of moccasins that had been hidden in the snow a fresh scalp, which, on closer inspection, proved to be that of a Piegan. Fearing to cry out, lest they should but give the signal for a general massacre, they quietly informed their chief of what they had found, and the chief as wisely said nothing, but after a little he quietly went out from the lodge, and, to his astonishment, he saw dangling from the neck of a Crow the identical burning glass (sun glass) with which the ‘Strong Man’ was wont to light his pipe. He knew then that Skoon-a-taps-e-guan would never give his consent to a treaty of peace with the Crows. Going back to the council, he told the Crows that it would be impossible for him or his people to sign the treaty of peace until the “Strong Man” had given his consent, and further, that until such consent was given they would be considered enemies. Having thus delivered himself, he walked out, being followed by several of the leading men of both tribes, who inquired his reason for thus breaking up the council. His only answer was to the Crows, whom he told to go to their camp and prepare for war. The council having been thus suddenly broken up by the Piegan chief, it was deemed by the Crows necessary to put as great a distance between the two camps as possible. They therefore hastily moved their camp down to the breaks, some fifteen miles above where the village of Sun River now stands. Here they threw up fortifications and prepared to meet the Piegans if pursued. The Piegans, on the other hand, sent runners to the different camps, informing them of the murder of their medicine man and of the turn affairs had taken. By the time night came on the peaceful camp was broken by the hurrying tramp of over a thousand war horses, each carrying upon his back the sworn enemy of the Crows. The particulars of the murder of Skoon-a-taps-e-guan had been learned by several of the outside camps about the same time the chief discovered it. It seemed that the “Strong Man” had received the summons and had immediately set forth, accompanied by his assistant, and when within a few miles of their destination they were suddenly attacked from behind whilst in the act of lighting their pipes. The “Strong Man” received his death wound from the first blow, but his companion was only stunned, from which he recovered in time to see the murderous Crows hastily making off with the scalp of his leader dangling from the saddle bow of a young brave. Knowing that to stir or show any signs of life would be to bring sudden death, he lay quiet for a long time, not even daring to raise his hand to his aching head, from which the scalp had just been torn. After lying in this position for a considerable time, he raised himself to a sitting posture, from which he cautiously took in the situation, and seeing no signs of the Crows, he immediately made off as fast as his legs could carry him. Having arrived at the camp from which he and his companion had so hopefully started in the morning, he told of the tragedy in as few words as possible, and then fell exhausted on the floor of the lodge. Runners were immediately sent to all the outlying camps, informing them of what had happened, and ordering them to at once repair to the camp of their chief. So rapidly does news travel in an Indian country, that before darkness came on, several hundred warriors were with their chief, as before stated.

“On the morrow the Piegan forces were largely augmented by these new arrivals and the chief deemed it best to immediately move against the Crows, who were reported by the scouts as being intrenched at what were then called the “Breaks.” Every preparation having been made, the whole force moved forward in one vast column. Soon they fell in with the Crows and drove their outposts into their trenches, and then commenced one of the most bloody battles ever fought between two nations having a red skin. The Piegans, after fighting all that day and night, finally succeeded in dislodging the enemy, who, early in the morning, began to move off down the valley. After resting until evening, they again started in pursuit, and overtook the Crows at what the white men now call the “Middle Bridge,” which is about two miles below the town of Sun River. Here, if you remember, a high point of bluff puts in close to the river, affording great defensive advantages. This is where the Crows made their second stand. Bright and early on the morning of the third day, the Piegans moved forward, and, against the most fearful odds, succeeded, just as night was coming on, in driving the Crows out of their intrenchments; but, owing to the peculiar formation of the bluffs at this point, it was of no great advantage, as the ground immediately beyond was as well adapted to defense as that just lost.

“The Crows had again intrenched themselves, and when morning came, yells of defiance answered the taunts of the Blackfeet. Both parties had received such reinforcements that the combatants numbered 5,000 on either side, each bent on the extermination of the other; and so near did they accomplish this, that when the fight was over five hundred Piegan warriors marked the spot where the fight was made. For two days the fight continued, the Crows yielding but a little at a time. They seemed to still have some hope of victory, but fate was against them. Just across the river from where is now Robert Vaughn’s place, they made their last stand. Here the hardest fighting was done, and when the last charge was made by the Blackfeet the ground was literally piled with killed and wounded of both tribes. The Piegans were so crippled by the continuous battle that when the Crows broke from their cover and retreated down the river and across the Missouri, they were satisfied and made no effort at further pursuit. Although,” said Little Plume, “it took the Blackfeet nation over twenty years to recover their strength, Skoon-a-taps-e-guan was only partially avenged. As long as there remains a Crow and Piegan, so long will there be war. When the last Crow shall have been killed, then, and not till then, will the ‘Strong Man’ be avenged.”

Little Plume was one of the chiefs who were friendly to the whites.

In the fore part of July, 1876, when the Sioux war was going on, and soon after the Custer massacre, the chiefs of the Piegans, Bloods and Blackfeet were invited by the head men of the Sioux to an Indian council held at Cypress mountain. Among the attendants was Chief Little Plume. When the Yanktons and Santees, of the Sioux nation, proclaimed a war of extermination against the whites, Little Plume would not consent, thereby breaking up the council, thus saving the lives of many settlers. Judge Burcher and Mr. John Largent, of Sun River, who have lived in northern Montana since the early sixties, always speak highly of Chief Little Plume, and at the time of his last visit he was treated kindly by those gentlemen. Little Plume is now living on the Blackfoot reservation, in this state, and holds the honorable post of lieutenant of Indian police. He is about seventy-five years of age.

Several years later a great battle was fought where is now located the Floweree ranch. I am not able to state who were the forces, except that the Blackfeet and Piegans were on one side.

Some of the old employes of the fur trading companies, who are now living, state that the old Indians who were living when they came here about fifty years ago were telling them then that the Flatheads and Blackfeet were often having great battles in the valley of the Sun river. One of these long-ago encounters took place near where is now Allick Pambron’s ranch; no one can tell who were the participants. All that the oldest Indians who are now living can say as to the time this battle was fought is that it was “heap long ago.” It must have been in prehistoric times, for the arrows they used then had flint points, for many of this kind of arrow points have been gathered on this old battlefield. Mrs. McKalvy, who is one of Mr. Pambron’s daughters, told me a few days ago that she and her little brothers used to pick up these points off this historic spot, filling several tobacco sacks for General Gibbon at Fort Shaw.

In 1858, and near where the Sun river irrigation channel is taken from the river, an agency for the Blackfeet Indians was built. In 1866 the same Indians killed its occupants and burned the agency.

In June, 1869, a party of Piegans had come to the Healy and Hamilton trading store at Sun river crossing, with buffalo robes, pelts and furs to trade. They had with them a great many horses. At the same time there was a party of Pend d’Oreilles, whose home was west of the main range, and who were on their way back from the Judith country, where they had been hunting buffalo during the previous winter, and at this time were in camp several miles down the river. One day many of the Pend d’Oreilles were at the trading store. The Piegans suspected that there would be trouble that night. They placed their horses in a corral that was near J. J. Healy’s house. Sure enough, late in the night, the Pend d’Oreilles made an attack, and, when breaking down the corral where the horses were, a desperate battle was fought, lasting about twenty minutes or more. Next morning seven dead Indians were found. One, after he was shot, fell into the well. The Pend d’Oreilles stole all the horses. The bullet holes in Healy’s old house can be seen at the present time. The following night, while the Pend d’Oreilles were in camp on Flat creek, the Piegans recaptured their own horses and many more besides.

Another time a white man named Clark was killed near the Middle bridge by two Indians; one of them was hung to a tree by the citizens, and the other was shot while trying to escape. Not later than one week ago Judge Burcher, of Sun River, stated to me that he and D. H. Churchill, in 1874, were across the Missouri river, opposite the mouth of Sun river, and on the slope of the hill near where now stands the south side school house in the city of Great Falls. There they found four dead Indians, lying not far from each other. By the beadwork designs on their moccasins, the judge recognized that they were Piegans. Likely they had been killed by the Crows.

A Frenchman was murdered by Indians on the Sun river, south of Presly Rowles’ house.

“Little Dog,” a Piegan chief, who was friendly to the whites and lived most of the time (up to his death in 1869) in the Sun river valley, had built a low log cabin for himself and family where now is located the Birkenbuell ranch. He was a man gifted with good sense and considerable intelligence for an Indian, and was as brave as a lion. But at last he was murdered by his own people.

The following was written by J. J. Healy and appeared in the Benton _Record_ in regard to this noted warrior:

“It so rarely happens that an Indian is gifted with good, solid sense that when one of this kind is born into the world he soon becomes a prominent member of his tribe. Not that Indians as a race are wanting in intelligence, but there are few whose intellect is sufficient to overcome their brutish instincts or to understand that their habits and mode of life are slowly but surely wiping them from the face of the earth.

“Little Dog, the soldier chief of the Piegans, was one of the noted exceptions to this rule. He was braver than the bravest member of his tribe, a terror to his enemies, but always a devoted friend of the whites. No doubt he inherited the universal feeling of his race that the whites were his natural enemies and oppressors, but he had the good sense to understand and acknowledge that they were the superior of his people in all things and that entire submission to their rule could only be a question of time. And these truths he endeavored to impress upon the minds of his tribe, using arguments when his great oratorical powers were likely to prevail, but adopting force when, in opposition to his commands, the warriors committed the slightest depredation upon the surrounding settlements.

“Little Dog had a son who was the father’s counterpart in personal appearance, and also possessed the reckless courage and remarkable intelligence of his parent. It is said, and I have personal knowledge of more than one instance in proof of the assertion, that these two men were, in deadly encounter, more than a match for ten of the best warriors of the tribe, and such was the confidence felt in their skill and prowess that a war party under their command would follow them into the very jaws of death. I will relate one instance to show the sort of stuff these two Indians were made of.

“A war party of Piegans, consisting of twenty well armed and mounted men, had encountered six Assinaboines. The latter had taken shelter in an Indian war house, a structure built of logs and affording a strong and safe defense to those within. After fighting hard all day, the Piegans were unable to take the fortifications, and would probably have withdrawn from the contest after the sun went down. But towards evening Little Dog and his son, attracted by the firing, came up, and learning that the war house was defended by only six men, they laughed at their own warriors, the Piegans, calling them cowards and squaws, and without a moment’s hesitation dashed up to the fort in the face of a deadly fire from those within, leaped over the logs, killed four of the defenders, and dragged the remaining two by the hair out of the fort and turned them over to the squaws to be put to death.

“It was no uncommon thing when a war party returned to camp with horses or other property stolen from the whites for Little Dog and his son to turn out with pistols and tomahawks in hand, and kill every one of the thieves and then return the property to its rightful owners; but when the offenders were too numerous to be punished, the two men would leave the tribe and live together with the whites until the time the improved conduct of the tribe appeased their anger.

“But the depredations of the Piegans gradually became more frequent, in spite of the efforts of the chief to prevent them, and finding at last that his threats and punishments failed to have the desired effect, he came to Fort Benton to consult with the agent as to the best course to be pursued. Gad E. Upson was then agent for the Piegans and the agency was located on Front street. The chief told his story and was advised by the agent not to kill the offenders, but to arrest them and bring them to Fort Benton and that he would punish them.

“In compliance with this advice, Little Dog and his son arrived in town one day with a prisoner who had stolen some horses from the whites. ‘Hang him, shoot him; do anything you please with him,’ said the chief. ‘I can do nothing with him.’

“But however much the tribe feared the great chief and his son, they were not willing to submit to this sort of treatment, and no sooner had the prisoner been turned over to the whites than they concocted a scheme to rid themselves of these dreaded men.

“While returning to camp, after delivering up the prisoner, the party, who had provided themselves with a good supply of whisky, halted near the river bank to rest and have a social time. The plotters, headed by a half-breed named Isadore, suggested that as they were liable to get drunk, they had better put away their arms to provide against accidents. Little Dog and his son gave up their weapons without hesitation, and the boy left the party to indulge in a bath in the river.

“The spree then began. After the cowardly plotters had nerved themselves sufficiently for the bloody work, they secretly recovered their weapons and then began to quarrel with the chief. The latter, with his usual intrepidity, replied to their sneers and insults with contemptuous epithets, and finally brought the quarrel to a climax by kicking three of them over the river bank. The cowards then opened fire upon the defenseless chief and he fell riddled with bullets. Meanwhile the son, attracted by the noise, left the water and came to the assistance of his father. He was shot down four times, but reached the spot where his father laid and fell dead upon his body.”

Many other skirmishes have taken place between Indians of different tribes in this vicinity, of which I shall make no mention, and, as Chief Little Plume said: “As long as there remains a Crow and Piegan, so long will there be war.”

One more instance to confirm this statement I wish to refer to. It was in 1874. There were six of us working on an irrigation ditch near the bank of the Sun river, two miles from Fort Shaw, and on the opposite side of the river. One day, when we were eating our dinner that was spread on the sod, and near to the edge of the woods which grew thick on both sides of the stream, suddenly twelve Crow warriors rode up on us. They wanted to know how far up the valley the Piegan camp was. It appeared that the Piegans had been stealing some of their horses. Not satisfied with the information they sought for, they dismounted and began to take possession of our dinner. One of the Indians reached for my coffee, which was in a tin cup; just then I gave him a shove which landed him on his back on the ground, but he took it in good humor. Another one grabbed Tom Cristy’s tin plate which contained his dinner. Tom, being always a daring fellow, jumped to his feet and slapped the Indian in the face; it was no fun for this Indian. He gave a savage look, ground his teeth and tried to swear in English. His face, which was already red with war paint, began to get still redder. By this time indications were that there was going to be a general fight. At this juncture I invited the leader of the party to come with me, and told him I would direct him to where the Piegan camp was. He followed me up a steep hill, to the elevation of about two hundred feet, and in plain view of Fort Shaw, and, as it happened, a small squadron of soldiers were preparing for target practice. There, said I, pointing at the fort, is the Piegan camp. The Indian stared for a moment, then his jaw dropped like the lower half of a bellows, and I fancy that his complexion became nearer like that of a pale face than it ever was before. They spared no time in going down the valley as fast as their horses could carry them, and crossed the Missouri river at the ford near the place now spanned by the Great Northern railway bridge. They did not get any dinner either.

Evidently they did not know of the close proximity of Fort Shaw, for at this time they were away from their home and in the Blackfeet country.

All this goes to show that the Blackfeet nation and Crows were always enemies. Of course, “now” they are on their respective reservations, and are taught the principle of “Love thy neighbor as thyself.”

ROBERT VAUGHN.
Oct. 20, 1898.

CHARLES CHOQUETTE COMING TO MONTANA IN 1843.

The following sketch, from Charles Choquette, appeared in the New York Sun in the summer of 1899. Mr. Choquette says:

“My home was in the state of Missouri, near St. Louis. One day in 1843, when I was twenty years old, I went to St. Louis, and, against the will of my parents, hired to Pierre Choteau, who was the head man of a fur trading company that operated on the upper Missouri river. A few days after signing articles with the company I was put in charge of a crew to take Mackinaw boats loaded with goods to trade with the Indians. Our destination was Fort Union, which was a trading post belonging to the company to whom I hired. The distance from St. Louis to Fort Union is about two thousand miles. As oars were of little service, the big boat had to be towed nearly all the way. First on one side and then on the other, tugging on a rope, at times up to our waists in chilly water, and at other times forcing our way through brush that grew thick on the banks of the stream. After seventy-two days of hardships and dangers, we arrived safely at Fort Union, which was near the mouth of the Yellowstone river.

“It was not long before I and others were sent out along the various streams and into the mountains to trap fur-bearing animals that were very plentiful then. Many trappers had been killed by Indians, and others were continually robbed by them. It was not until I finally married a Blackfoot woman and traveled about with the tribe that I felt reasonably safe of getting my season’s catch of furs to the company posts. For several years after I arrived at Fort Union I went with one or two companions each season up the Milk river to the Snowys or the Little Rockies, and about half of the time the Indians stole our furs. The first big catch I made was the time I met Jim Bridger, the great trapper, hunter and scout, and one of the bravest men that ever lived. Now I will tell how it happened that we met.

“In the spring of 1848 we returned to Fort Union and we had only the few beaver we caught coming down the river. We had wintered up on the Fourchette, and the Assinaboines had raised our cache. We worked around the fort all summer, hunting for the company, and finally the time came for us to start out for another season’s trapping. There were three of us--Antoine Busette, Louis La Breche and myself. All summer we had been trying to decide on the best place to go, where there would be plenty of beaver and where we would be likely to be safe from the Indians. We concluded to try the country of the Yellowstone. There were many Indians to pass--Cheyennes and Crows and Snakes--besides the chance of war parties of other tribes, but once in the mountains beyond these people who always hunted on the plains, we felt we would be safe. We played Indian ourselves and traveled nights, hiding in some good place during the daytime.

“We left the fort late in August. Each of us had a saddle horse and two pack horses. Our outfit was simple; a couple of skillets and pots, a little bedding, an Indian lodge for shelter, a couple of axes, three dozen traps, and plenty of ammunition and tobacco. Having crossed the Missouri just below the mouth of the Yellowstone, we struck out over the rolling prairie, keeping far enough back from the latter stream to head its long coulees and breaks. None of us had ever been up the Yellowstone, but we had obtained a general idea of the country from the Indians who visited the fort. On every side there were buffalo and antelopes in countless thousands, from which we could have selected a fat one for our breakfast, but there was no water, and we were as thirsty as we were hungry; so we kept wearily on towards some wooded breaks a long ways ahead, where water as well as game was sure to be found. When we got within a mile of our destination, a dozen or more horsemen suddenly rose up out of the valley and came straight at us. Our hearts sunk; it seemed as if we had jumped out of the frying pan into the fire. Our horses were played out; we could not retreat, and were preparing to dismount and fight the best we knew how when we discovered that the strangers were white men. We had never expected to meet anything but Indians in that wild country. On they came, a big, strong, broad shouldered, flaxened-haired, and blue-eyed man in the lead, riding as fine a saddle animal as I ever saw. They were now quite close; they came within a few paces and stopped.

“‘How?’ exclaimed the big man.

“‘How, how,’ we exclaimed, shaking hands with him in turn.

“‘Who are you?’ he asked, ‘free trappers?’

“‘No,’ I replied, ‘we belong to the Company. And you?’

“‘My name is Bridger,’ he said, ‘Jim Bridger. Maybe you’ve heard of me.’

“We had. There wasn’t a man west of the Mississippi river who did not know him or know of him, for he was the greatest hunter, trapper, and Indian fighter of us all. As we rode along with him and his men to their camp, we told of Indians we had seen the day before, and advised Bridger to move at once, as there was a big camp in the vicinity. He laughed, and just then we came to the edge of the valley, and, with a sweep of his hand, he said: ‘Does that look much like running?’

“It didn’t; around a number of small fires his band of white men--eighty in all, as we afterwards learned--were whiling away the time, smoking, cooking, cleaning guns, and mending clothes.

“‘No,’ said Bridger, as he noticed our astonishment, ‘we only move when we get ready to, and God help the Indian outfit that tries to stop us. We’ve fought our way out here and we can fight some more.’