Part 13

In the fall of 1872 I made a contract with Gov. Pollinger, the manager of the Wells-Fargo stage line between Fort Benton and Helena, to furnish firewood to the Leaving and the Twenty-Eight-Mile Spring Stations. It was in the month of November that I delivered the wood to the latter place. My teams were six yoke of oxen and two wagons coupled together. The days were getting short, therefore I had to leave the ranch very early in the morning to get through in one day, for the oxen were very slow. Besides I had on the two wagons five cords of wood, which made a heavy load, and I had to travel through unsettled country all the way. I left home about two hours before daylight. The air was cold and frosty; I was watching anxiously for the sun to rise. Before long the eastern sky was colored by the beautiful Montana sunrise, soon the top of the mountains was the color of gold, and by the time I was crossing the first ridge the bright sunshine was at my feet. It was on this morning that I first saw the sun, moon and stars at the same time, for there was not a cloud in the sky. I stopped at the lakes for two hours to rest and graze the cattle, and to eat my lunch; then I yoked the oxen and started on my journey. After I had gone about two miles I discovered some Indians peeping over a small hill and apparently watching me, and as I came nearer they made their appearance for the second time and made a rush for the road a few hundred yards ahead of me. There were sixteen of them, all on foot; they had ropes and were well armed with bow and arrows and five had guns; apparently they were equipped for a horse-stealing expedition. Likely it was good for me that I had cattle and not horses. One Indian started towards me. I quickly got my gun ready and this one lifted up his hand and gave the sign that they were good Indians. He came and met me and offered his hand, at the same time saying, “Me good Indian,” I shook hands with him, while at the same time I had my gun in the other hand. I did not stop the oxen, but kept them going and at the same time speaking to the Indian. He walked close to my side, and as we came to the other Indians he ordered them one by one to shake hands with me; after we got through shaking hands they all followed me. The first Indian still kept walking close to my left, as the cattle were on my right. I became suspicious of him that he might be waiting for an opportunity to grab my gun, which I had in my right hand; I kept an eye on this Indian and a firm grip on the gun. I had the whip in my other hand and now and then made a ringing crack at the oxen, for then I could use the “bull whip” to perfection. And as I was driving the oxen and calling them by their names the other Indians were walking promiscuously, some behind the wagons and others opposite to me and on the other side of the cattle. They would repeat the names of the oxen after me. It was not long before they knew the names of them all, especially Tom and Jerry, the leaders, and would laugh every time I would speak the name of the off wheeler, which was “Chief.” I could not get them to tell why they were following me, but would make signs that they were going to cross the Missouri river to the Crow country. Some of them inclined to be ugly and spiteful, acting as if they wanted to make me angry. At one time one of them came from behind and gave me a shove and then ran; as he was getting away I gave him a crack with the whip; then the others would laugh and wanted me to run after him, but I stayed with the outfit, for I could see that they had some bad motive in view. Already they had traveled five or six miles with me, and by this time it was dark and I had several miles yet to go. It is true that I had lots of company to make the time short, but somehow at that time of the night, considering the complexion of my companions, I would rather have been left alone with but the cattle. When on top of the hill two miles from the station I stopped the oxen and told the Indians to get on top of the loads, for the balance of the way was down grade; in an instant they were on, and this was the first time that my left-hand bower deserted me; he was the first one to get on. When I spoke to the oxen and called on Tom and Jerry and the wagons began to move, all the Indians began to sing, and they kept up the concert until I stopped to unyoke the oxen at the station. It was fun for me to listen to their singing. Some of them humming, others barked like a fox or wolf, but they managed to keep good time and the chords were excellent; the ones that were humming would be half an octave or an octave lower than the barkers, or vice versa. I really enjoyed their singing as well they enjoyed the ride. By the time I had the yokes off the cattle I could not see an Indian. Now it was 9 o’clock and very dark, for the moon was not yet up. I had to drive the oxen to a spring, which was about a quarter of a mile off, for I knew they were very thirsty. In about half an hour I was back and got my roll of bedding off the wagon and went to the stable. Here I found the Indians peeping through the windows and cracks to see if any one was in. The stableman was there alone; the room where he cooked and slept joined the stable. He was scared nearly to death, for he had not been there long and had not seen many Indians; beside I was a stranger to him. It was some time before I could persuade him to let me in to spread down my blankets. Dutch Jake, the man who kept the station, was on the Teton, hunting buffaloes. The Indians were hungry, tired and cold. I took them to an empty cabin which was near by; the door was locked, but I took the window out. I went in and the Indians after me. Inside of the cabin we found six quarters of fresh buffalo meat with the hide on. The cabin had a good fireplace, and they soon had a fire. I told them to take a quarter of the meat; that it belonged to my friend, and that I would settle for it. I went back to the stable; the hostler had hot coffee, good bread, and plenty of fried buffalo steak for me, and I ate a hearty supper.

[Illustration: A FRONTIERSMAN IN HIS BUCKSKIN SUNDAY SUIT.]

After supper we both went to see how the Indians were getting along, and they, too, were eating broiled buffalo meat and having a good time. I got up very early the next morning, but the Indians were not to be seen. Several years afterwards I met some of those Indians, and they always remembered me.

ROBERT VAUGHN. Jan. 28, 1898.

JOHN LARGENT’S EARLY DAYS IN MONTANA.

Friend Vaughn: As per your request I give you the following sketch of my early days in what is now the State of Montana:

I hired out to the American Fur Company in the spring of 1862 at St. Louis, Mo., to go to Fort Benton at the head of navigation on the Missouri river. My pay was to be $19.50 per month, including board. I had a friend and companion by the name of Thomas Mitchell, who concluded to undergo the dangers and hardships of the three-thousand-mile trip and go with me. We took passage on a steamboat called the Spread Eagle and landed in Fort Benton ninety days afterwards; and I assure you these days were not spent in picnicking. The adventures had, the trials encountered, the hardships endured cannot be detailed in the limited space alloted for this sketch. I can only say that, while we took passage on the boat named above, it did not carry us all the way to Fort Benton by any means; in fact, the reverse happened; we tugged and carried it much of the distance. We stayed in Fort Benton during the remainder of the summer. There were no buildings in Benton at that time except the fort. Our time was occupied principally in repairing adobe buildings about the post. Andrew Dawson was chief in charge of affairs. Major Culbertson, who held some interest in the company, and who, with his wife, had made the trip from St. Louis with us, was here. About twenty-four white men comprised the entire force at the fort, and, as far as I could learn, it was fully half the white population of what is now known as Northern Montana. Matters and things had changed very materially since I had quit civilization in the “states,” but I soon adjusted myself to the situation.

The Indian tribes who came here to trade were North Bloods, Mountain Crows, Blackfeet and Piegans. Coffee and tea were sold to them at one dollar per pint in trade; tobacco, five to eight dollars per pound. Major George Steell, now so well known throughout Montana, and who was for several years the agent at the Blackfeet Agency, was then one of the trusted employes of the company. In the fall of 1862 he was sent to the mouth of the Musselshell river to build and superintendent afterwards a new trading post to be called Fort Andrews. Steell took me with him and was the means of having my wages raised from the before stated salary of $19.50 to $40 per month. I said Mr. Steell took me with him; this is incorrect, inasmuch as he sent me and my friend Mitchell overland with the horses while he himself and eight other men went down the river in a Mackinaw boat, carrying the goods and provisions. I remember the names of some of the men were as follows: W. R. Teasdale (Col. Spikes), James Chambers, William Oliver, Unica and John Wren; the three others I have forgotten.

In order that you may understand the hardships and privations endured by Mitchell and myself on this overland trip I will state that we were provided with a gun each. I had a muzzle-loading rifle; Mitchell had an old flintlock. In the way of provisions we had a few hardtacks and a small quantity of salt. There were no matches at that time to be had here. In place of them we used “flint rock,” a piece of steel and gun powder. We reached our destination after being out four days and five nights. A detailed description of this trip would make an interesting sketch, but let us pass on to scenes more familiar to me.

After arriving we at once went to work building the post and other winter quarters. A house was first erected to live in, then a stockade surrounding it. Our provisions and ammunition ran short during the winter, and after that we subsisted partly on wolf meat; these animals we caught with traps; other diet I think of now was corn. A lot of this had been brought there to trade with the Indians; it was all disposed of, but the mice had carried some of it into their burroughs. This we found and dug out and ground it in a coffee mill into meal and made bread of it. The mice had eaten the kernel or heart out of this corn and it was strongly impregnated with mice pepper, but the bread fitted pretty well in our hollow stomachs. The Indians were very troublesome, and great care had to be taken to preserve our lives and property. Much of my time was engaged as hunter to secure meat for the men at the post. The post was enclosed with a stockade made of logs. At one corner there was a large gate. From the time I would be sent out to hunt, a man was placed on the outside of this gate to open it at once in case I should be run in by the Indians. I have had some close calls for my life on these occasions. One day I went out in the hills to slay some buffaloes, for we needed meat. I saw a large herd feeding and started to approach them when suddenly I heard and saw the whole herd stampeding. I rode up on a hill to better view the situation. I discovered that Indians were on both sides of me and buffaloes in front of me, and all running towards me. I saw that my only chance for life was to flee ahead of the buffaloes, and spurring my horse ahead of them, I went. The Indians discovered my intentions and tried to head me off, but by this time the herd had me surrounded and the Indians could not reach me. Finally I reached a descending bluff that separated the herd and over which myself and horse tumbled, but, again with myself in the saddle and the horse on his feet I kept going, the dust that was created had the effect of hiding me from view of the Indians long enough to reach the fort and get behind the gate. The horse that I rode on this occasion was the property of Charles Carson, one of the famous Kit Carson’s family. Charles was killed some time afterwards by the Indians at Dearborn river.

I had another close call for my life by the Indians while at this fort. Bill Oliver (known as “Canada Bill”) and myself went out one day to rustle for meat. Elk and deer were plentiful at that time. We had reached a point ten miles from the fort, and were on the lookout for game, also Indians. We saw Indians first and lost our interest in game. The Indians were on foot and we could easily have escaped from them on our horses, but Oliver mistook them for “friendlies” and would not run away. The Indians were coming towards us, running and yelling, when I said to Oliver “turn your horse and run!” He replied: “No, I shall not do it; these are friendly Piegans.” I said: “Go to the devil, then; I am going to get out of this sage brush.” I had an unbroken colt, and when I tried to move him I found he would not leave Oliver’s horse. I struck at him with a small hatchet I had in my hand at the time; missing the horse my left hand caught the blow and it nearly severed one of my fingers. The Indians soon reached us, but they proved to be Bloods, a savage band, and out skirmishing for easy prey. Bill shook hands with the red devils and said, “how! how!” but he was deceived, for they were on the war path and we were in imminent danger of being murdered by them at any moment. After taking my horse, gun and knife they held council for a few minutes, during which time they kept looking at me. I could understand by the signs they made that I was considered to be an important capture, while my partner Bill was not in it, so to speak. I well remember of ruminating on my chances of ever again being set at liberty. I observed upon counting that there were twenty-seven Indians of the party.

A movement forward was finally made. Three of the ugly devils had gotten astride my colt, and two on Bill’s horse, he being allowed to ride with them, while I was made to walk. The party marched single file and kept me near the center of the column. My anxiety as to the object of our capture was quieted somewhat when I discovered we were moving up the river and towards the fort.

The Indians soon after got tired of packing my gun, fired the charge out and made me pack it. Night soon came on and they camped near some dead timber and made a series of fires in one grand circle and one in the center. I was told that the center one was for me. I took a seat on the ground, and to all outward appearances was at home; but there was an inward awkward feeling that belied it. My friend Oliver was allowed certain freedom to move about, but I was carefully guarded; however, I was not roasted, as they threatened. During the evening no supper was eaten; and I must confess I did not sleep very well that night. The next morning an Indian brought me a small piece of raw meat and gave me a pointed stick to reach out over the fire and cook my meat on. My wounded finger was paining me some now, the excitement having subsided somewhat. Soon after daylight we started on the move again, the imps still keeping a close watch on me. During all this journey we were heading towards the fort; this action was a query to me, and I marveled much what it meant. We finally halted within about two miles of the fort, and there I learned that I was being held for ransom, and that the object in going there was to offer the American Fur Company my freedom for a certain consideration. The Indians sent Oliver with two of the party to the fort to state the terms, which were a quantity of blankets, coffee, tea and tobacco. George Steell soon came out and paid them what they asked and I was again at liberty. I thus became indebted to the company for quite a sum of money, for it must be remembered that these goods were very expensive here at that time. However, I was glad to get back to the fort once more; but I was mad at those Indians and have not yet forgiven them for the manner in which they treated me.

A PECULIAR INCIDENT.

In connection with this story, and while held here in the hands of the Indians, and about the time Steell arrived with my value in goods, another white man was captured and brought into the Indian camp. This man was none other than Nels Kies, the prospector, who is known to have discovered and worked a gold mine somewhere in the lower country, and but a short time after this occurrence, and who, to the disappointment of many, was killed by the Indians before the location of his mines was made known. Our honored citizen, John Leply, and others were interested in this discovery, but on account of Kies being killed the mines never have been found. It may be that the “Nels Kies lost mines” are in the vicinity of Fort Andrews. Kies was allowed to go to the fort with us, but remained only a short time when he departed alone, stating that he was going to his camp.

We had a number of scraps with the Indians at this post. They came in once ostensibly to trade, but in reality to clean us out. George Steell, who was in the trading house, discovered their intentions and calling the boys to arms checked them before they started to murder us.

At the time of which I speak the Gros Ventres and Mountain Crows were at war with each other, and their battle grounds were near Fort Andrews. In one battle fought here it was estimated that one-fourth of the warriors on each side were killed. One morning, just at daylight, an alarm was given, and someone shouted: “Hostile Indians in the corral!” All rushed out at once and discovered a party of Indians and one of them leading away my favorite saddle horse. I forced my way forward and took hold of the rope attached to the animal’s neck and made a sign to the Indian that I loved that horse and would not part with him without trouble. He said that he was going to keep him and motioned me to let go of the rope. I refused. He then strung his bow and pointed the arrow at my breast. I still held on to the rope and told him that he might kill me, for I would not give up my horse. He then struck me in the breast with an arrow, cutting me quite freely, so much so that I felt the blood running down my body. I then let go of the rope, mentally resolved that if I ever got an opportunity I would make a good Indian out of that fellow. He was killed about two years after this by one of a party of white men out hunting for Crows.

A BEAR STORY.

My friend Mitchell, having made up his mind to return to his home in Illinois, desired to kill a bear before leaving the West, and I was very anxious that his wish should be gratified and sought every means to aid him to get his bear. One morning a splendid opportunity came for this. I discovered a bear passing down a trail close to the fort. I hustled my friend outside the enclosure. A tree had fallen near the trail mentioned, and to it I piloted Mitchell, who, while in hiding there, was instructed to shoot the bear at close range and in a vital part which I pointed out was directly behind the shoulder. Watching Mitchell, I gave the word to fire and at the same time shot at the bear myself, fearing his shot might not be a deadly one. The bear fell, growling and roaring in the underbrush. I then asked Mitchell where he hit him, and he said in the heart. I then proceeded to reload my gun and requested him to do the same, and when he did so, he discovered his gun cocked and still charged--he had not fired it off at all. I was mortified over this because I wanted the boy to at least think he had killed a bear and be able to tell the story when he arrived home. The following sketch will show, however, that this was all useless, for he never again met the loved ones at home:

About the first day of August, 1863, there came a Mackinaw boat down the river from Fort Benton with a party composed of fourteen men, one woman and her two children. These people had come overland from the Frazier river mines, by the way of Bannock, and had in their possession a considerable quantity of gold. At Benton they built their boat. The party stayed with us for several days making some repairs. The men built breastworks on the boat for protection against Indian attacks. During this time the lady and her children stayed in the fort. My friend Mitchell, who, as before mentioned, being homesick, determined to return with the party. He used much persuasion to induce me to return with him. The risk of losing one’s life in going or remaining was equally great, and I chose to stay where I was. So we separated.