The stream near which we had halted afforded the last opportunity to obtain water until we should complete the long drive across the sands. Our horses were fed with fine wheat flour, the only nourishment which we could secure to stay them through the day. After having filled the water kegs and canteens from the stream, the difficult march was continued. The day was so intensely hot that nearly all members of the party walked to relieve the perspiring horses. The country we were traversing was an area of loose, dry sand. Its surface was marked by small mounds and ridges of sand, the ridges all trending in one direction and evidently drifted with the prevailing wind behind a clump of stunted grease wood, a small shrub which grows on alkaline soils and, like other desert growths, is stiff and stubby,—possibly a provision of nature to preserve its scant foliage from being browsed; shrubs so protected remained, a survival of the fittest. Some such provision is certainly necessary to protect the plant life of the desert in its struggle for existence. The surface of the sand was slightly hardened by a thin scale, possibly due to solidification in drying, after a passing shower had moistened the salts in the sand. The scale in many places prevented the wheels from sinking deeply. The wagons were, therefore, scattered along side by side, because a track once followed was deeply cut in the ruts. Numerous lizards (swifts) glided along the parched surface of the Sahara and were the only specimens of animal life that I observed there with any interest.
An experience on this grease wood desert may have prompted the inquiry ascribed to one of our statesmen, who is alleged to have asked in 1843 concerning this western territory, "What do we want with the vast worthless area, this region of savages and wild beasts, of deserts of shifting sands and whirlwinds of dust, of cactus and prairie dogs?"
In spite of the oppressive heat of the day and the long tramp still before us, Ben, who was tough and untiring, proposed a little side tramp by way of diversion. For many miles we had observed the majestic outlines of the conspicuous landmark well known as Court House Rock. As our course finally approached within two miles of its cliffs, Ben and I determined to secure a view from its summit. That remarkable monument stands in solitary grandeur upon the barren plain; it has, however, a worthy associate not far away, another prominence known as the Jail; these high bluffs are appropriately named. From a distance Court House Rock has the appearance of some vast, ancient ruin. The grandeur and beauty of its outlines and the majesty of its proportions have made it a notable landmark for all travelers who pass that way. We found its ascent comparatively easy, but the descent was somewhat difficult because of the projecting terraces which, though of hard material, were cracked, leaving projections that could not be depended upon for support. Although we might well have saved our energies for the hot tramp through the sands which lay before us, we obtained views of the "bad lands" to the west, which were very impressive.
It seemed as if in the Creation there had been a vast amount of crude material left over, which had been dumped into that waste, but the essential elements of life were wholly absent. As far as could be seen through the clear, hot, and quivering air of noonday everything was silent and dead. On reaching the trail Ben and I followed the track of our wagons in the white sand, which glowed like a furnace, and finally overtook our party, which was slowly dragging along with occasional pauses for rest.
We had seen no person during the day except members of our own party. Beyond the border of the sandy waste I dropped back again, but this time with Noah, who was also wearily trudging along now over a more hilly and broken country toward the north Platte. We were surprised to see approaching us from the north, as if about to cross our course, a long-haired individual, rather tough in appearance, with whom we exchanged a few commonplace words, with the usual question as to what he was "driving at" in that country, but obtained no definite information. Having been informed that there were numerous rattlesnakes in the hilly country, I aimed a question concerning snakes at the presence that stood before us. Something in his appearance led me to believe that he, if anyone, would be informed on the subject. "Yes," he replied, "there's right smart of rattlesnakes around here." Simply to continue the conversation, we asked if he had killed many. Before making any reply he slowly hauled from deep down in his "pants" pocket a plug of tobacco, and inserting it between his big teeth chewed off a section that proved to be large enough to interfere somewhat with his articulation. He then stood silent for a moment, while he transferred the tobacco from one cheek to another. The cynical expression upon his face impressed us with the idea that he had all the qualities required to make a first class stranger. He then related an alleged experience with a rattlesnake. Although not inclined to accept it as exactly true in all particulars, we offer it here not quite in ipsissimis verbis but substantially as given, simply for what it may be worth as a problematic contribution to natural history. His thesis at the outset was, that if one gains the affection of a rattlesnake through some special act of kindness the serpent may on some occasions afterward express its profound gratitude.
He said that his "pardner" Jim, once upon a time, discovered a six-foot rattler lying fastened under a rock which had rolled upon it while it was lying torpid in the sun. Instead of taking advantage of the reptile while it was in this helpless condition, he carefully released it, and thereafter the snake on many occasions manifested indications of its gratitude, and became a veritable pet, following the man wherever it was permitted to go, and guarding him faithfully. Jim, therefore, called it Annie, because he came from Indiana.
On being awakened one night, Jim, observing that Annie was missing from her usual place near his bed, hastily arose to discover the cause of her absence. Lighting a candle, he opened an outside door of the ranch house and soon heard Annie rattling her tail. He then discovered that the snake had run a skulking Indian into the other room, and was holding him there a prisoner, while her tail, which was sticking out of the window, was rattling like a dinner bell, calling Jim to come in and help kill the "cuss."
We asked the red-headed, pink-eyed, big-mustached rancher if this was really a true story, and if his own personal reputation would give credit to his statements. He replied that he had lived in those parts for seven years and had never yet been lynched. This was surely to be accepted in that elementary waste as an evidence of good moral character. He admitted that he had a few horses off in the hills which he could part with in case a prospective buyer was anxious to get some fresh ones, but we did not ask him to produce any evidence of his title to the animals. The conclusion of this instructive and interesting incident afforded the narrator a much needed opportunity to discharge from his mouth a large quantity of tobacco juice, which for a considerable time had interfered with his enunciation.
His reference to the Indian led us to ask if many Sioux were now in that country. In reply to this question he hesitated a few moments, while with a hand in each of his pockets he turned his eyes in various directions as if the subjects of which he was to speak might be concealed in some of the gullies near-by. He finally said there were right smart of 'em along the North Platte here a while ago, "but I guess most of them have gone up to Laramie. They don't bother me very much, but the other day my pardner was out and I was all alone in the shanty and my horse was hitched in front. I went out the door for something and there were six Indians a-coming up in a hurry. When they saw me three of 'em shot at me but didn't fetch me. I ain't no sucker with a gun, but I only had one six-shooter in my belt and knowed it was no time for fooling." Accompanying his words with action showing how he did it, he added, "I jerked out my gun jest so, and give it to 'em, and there was jest enough cartridges in it to go around, but they went around."
"Do you mean to say that you didn't miss a shot?" asked Noah. "Oh, I'm all right with a gun; them Injuns won't bother me any more." Astounded at the man's coolness and bravery, I asked if the Indians had guns. He replied that they had bows, but they started in at pretty long range for bows and arrows.
At that moment we heard three or four rifle shots which attracted our attention toward the direction which our train had taken. The train was now out of our sight. We both concluded that some of the boys had discovered game. Turning again toward the spot where a minute before had stood the daring hero of Grease Wood Desert, we discovered that he had vanished and no sign or trace of him was visible. The only possible avenue by which he could disappear and still remain in the flesh was by a narrow, crooked ravine near the ill-defined trail. We hastened to its margin, but no sight or sound that came to our senses gave us the slightest clue to the manner of his transformation or disappearance. His abiding place may have been either in Avernus or down the ravine, for, although possibly not dark enough, the latter was certainly hot enough that day for the former in climate.
Noah and I had been so much delayed that we hastened on our course walking side by side, overtaking our wagons before they reached the valley of the North Platte near Brown's ranch, where we camped. We were there informed that our teams, which were much fagged, had traveled forty miles during the day. The rifle shots that we heard had been directed at jack rabbits.
On our side trip I suffered not so much from fatigue as from an acute headache, which developed toward the close of the day as a result of the intense heat and of the miserable food we had eaten. Fred had brought with him a few simple drugs from a store in which he was interested at home. Among them was tincture of camphor. He administered a dose of the stuff, which immediately caused all the mechanism of my stomach to assert its rights in the most vehement manner. It expelled everything except the camphor, which, being no longer held in solution, solidified into a chunk. At times it rose into my throat for an instant and then gradually settled down again to resume its activities. The stomach being unable to expel the camphor gum then endeavored to expel itself in its entirety, but as the organ was fastened down in some mysterious fashion, it could only turn itself wrong side out and twist itself in the most unsatisfactory manner. The remainder of the drug supply was then placed at my disposal, but I declined longer to permit my stomach to be used as a chemical laboratory in which to test drugs of unknown qualities. Not until the solidified gum had been expelled was there any domestic peace.
Near the course that we had followed to this camp is the battle field where in 1855 General William S. Harney slaughtered the Brule Sioux Indians in a terrific fight in which 500 savages are said to have perished at what is known as Ash Hollow. Harney had served in the Black Hawk war and also in our war with Mexico.
On the following day we passed Chimney Rock, visible for a great distance and a striking feature of the landscape. It is about 260 feet in height. Captain Howard Stansbury, an early traveler wrote of it: "This singular formation has been undoubtedly at one time a projecting shoulder of the main chain of bluffs bounding the valley of the Platte and has been separated from it by the action of water. That the shaft has been very much higher than at present is evident from the corresponding formation of the bluff, as well as from the testimony of all our voyagers, for whom it was for years a beacon visible for forty or fifty miles both up and down the river."
It was the opinion of Mr. James Bridger that this eminence had been reduced to its present height by lightning or some other energy of nature, from the change he observed in it on his return from one of his trips to St. Louis, for when he had passed it on his way down, it was uninjured.
After still another long day's drive up the valley of the swift flowing North Platte, through patches of stunted sage brush and grease wood, we paused for the night. The terraced height of Scott's Bluffs loomed in the distance. Almost behind them, the glowing sun sank beneath the sharply defined horizon, and the shadows of night brought welcome relief after another day of intense heat.
AS is well known, a wonderful story may be enfolded in the mute testimony of the hills and rocks, and far more enduring than ever written by human hands. Some of these interesting records, open to any observer, are as plainly written in the exposed cliffs of Scott's Bluffs as in any spot that I have known. Their location was noted upon the old maps partly perhaps because they had received a name in memory of the tragic death from starvation of a man who was deserted by his companions on Laramie Fork. Scott was too ill to continue his journey, and the entire party was destitute of provisions. He lived, however, to make his way alone to these Bluffs, where his remains were eventually found. The altitude of the Bluffs as given in the Government survey is 4,662 feet above sea level, a fact in no way remarkable except as fixing the highest elevation attained in Nebraska.
The isolated position of this vast pile makes it a conspicuous object when viewed from no matter what direction. It rises abruptly from a comparatively level plain upon which it was once believed no vegetable life could ever grow, for the surface of the surrounding country was as barren and bare as a brick pavement. The rock at once arouses interest by virtue of its beautifully terraced formation, and picturesque outlines embellished with towers and castles, the handiwork of Nature. There it stands, in majestic solitude, guarding its silent chambers, innumerable records of a remote antiquity,—an ancient ruin compared with which the storied monuments in the valley of the Nile are modern and insignificant.
It was not, however, because of its hoary age and unfathomable mystery, but because of its beauty as it appealed to the eye, and because of the promise of a wide outlook from its summit, that I determined to make the ascent. When our train had reached the point at which our pathway approached nearest the bluff, I relieved myself of all impedimenta except a revolver and a field glass, and started alone for the climb.
From a distance along some of the channels that scarred the sides of the bluffs, could be seen a line of small cedars and a few shrubs that had fastened themselves in some way in the fissures of that inhospitable heap of indurated clay. Discovering on the north side of the southern bluff what appeared to be a continuous ravine intersecting the numerous level terraces, I concluded that the ascent along that course would not be difficult. To that ravine my steps were directed.
The ascent was indeed not difficult as that term would be used of mountain climbing. Terrace after terrace was passed, each capped or protected by a stratum slightly harder than the main body of the bluff, which is the true formation of the Bad Lands and is now known by geologists as Brule clay. These thin, hard layers yielding more slowly to the action of the elements than does the intervening hard clay, there results the formation of terraces with level tops and perpendicular sides, as the general face of the bluffs disintegrates. The summit, being reached, was found to be comparatively level, with a number of prominences upon it a few feet in height, but each also with a level surface, the remains of a still higher terrace. Upon one of these I observed a thin, hard stratum in which numerous shells were tightly imbedded. Ascending one of those small level areas upon the highest summit, from which the best view of the country toward the south could be obtained, I enjoyed through the field glasses a superb panorama of the surrounding landscape. Far in the distance towards the south, other bluffs of similar formation, and separated one from another by many miles of lowland, rise to nearly the same level. Among them is Dome Rock, not far away. I was not then aware of the fact that among the prominences visible far away in the distance were Court House Rock, which we had climbed several days previous and Castle Rock, a striking elevation of the same type, far to the east.
It was my immediate conclusion, and one that would be promptly formed by any other superficial observer, that this shell-bearing stratum had some time been the bed of a prehistoric body of water, which existed there previous to the upheaval of all that territory, covering all of what is now known as the Bad Lands. I observed also that the level strata in the distant bluffs were each a duplicate of the strata in all the others. It suggested at once the age when they were continuous, and the fact that I was now standing, not on a mountain summit, but on what was once the common level of that country. Surely the continuous action of the elements, beginning perhaps with the wearing out of the gullies near the river, had worn back into the high plain and gradually widened out in all directions until nothing remained of the original level, except these few high elevations. Scott's Bluff, Chimney Rock, Castle Rock, and other notable peaks alone remain to tell their tale of the ages that have passed since this work of erosion began. This, however, is but part of the story discovered in the descent.
The perpendicular faces of the bluff present three or four varieties of clay formation, slight differences in color and texture being noticeable. One series of strata, called Mortar beds in Darton's geological reports, is called the Ogalalla formation, the strata being merged into a light colored, sandy clay. Beneath this is a formation sufficiently lithyfied to be fairly classed as soft sandstone, and beneath it all, as late examination shows, the Pierre clay, now supposed to be at least 2,000 feet in thickness at this point.
Here also is seen at a glance one of the great sources of the enormous volume of sediment continually borne along in the waters of the Platte and down the great Missouri River, which have transported many cubic miles of earth and have deposited it to form the alluvial lands now forming the great states along the waters of the lower Mississippi. The suggestion seems overpowering, but true it is, that by these slow processes extending through ages, immeasurable even by the most learned geologist, the surface of this part of our continent has been transformed without limit.
I had carefully inspected the surfaces of the bluffs and the interesting panorama that surrounded them; the next problem was to descend. This would have been simple enough if I had been content to retrace my steps and return by the ravine I had followed in ascending, but I had crossed to the southern rim of the summit, and I desired to explore that side of the eminence. On the southwest corner, however, there appeared to be a dry run which from my point of observation seemed to afford a safe and comparatively unbroken descent to the foot of the cliffs on that side. Although the view looking down this newly discovered ravine was not so comprehensive in all its details as would have been obtained below at a distance, I nevertheless determined to risk it.
Following it down for a hundred feet or more I encountered a terrace with the usual perpendicular face, but not intersected by the ravine along which I was descending. As the footing seemed to be good further along, I dropped myself over the edge of the terrace and comfortably alighted upon the level gallery that was next beneath. These narrow and level galleries surmounted each of the many upright-faced terraces, the latter varying somewhat in height. This mode of descent seemed fairly easy, and was indeed exhilarating. The process was repeated three or four times as other terraces were encountered, until I found myself upon a level gallery twelve to eighteen feet in width and possibly a hundred feet long.
Walking the length of this gallery back and forth, I found no point where below it there was not a sheer, perpendicular precipice of more than a hundred feet in height. At each of its ends the gallery narrowed to a point against the cliff which extended far down beneath. Nature had here failed to carry out the general architectural plan of the bluff's structure. I felt earnestly that the terraces should have been constructed with more rigid uniformity. The discovery was now made that the branch ravine which my eyes had been following bore off in its upward course round this cliff and was lower than I had supposed.
To return was impossible, for the smooth cliffs down which I had dropped, being absolutely vertical, afforded no better footing than would the side of a perpendicular brick wall. I was on the opposite side of the bluffs from the road which our train had followed, and miles from it. The last glimpse of our wagons showed them moving far away in the distance to the westward. A shot from my revolver would not be heard a tenth of the distance. Even though I should be searched for, it would be practically impossible for friends to follow my tortuous course down those cliffs over which probably no idiot before had dropt himself, and I should not be hunted until missed at night, for we often left the train for long side trips. The bluffs had already been named from one starving unfortunate, but I had no desire to add my own name to its history. As I walked back and forth along that gallery, looking upward and downward for some line of escape, the prospect was not cheerful. I suddenly became both hungry and thirsty.
A long, dry, cedar log lay upon the hard floor of the gallery, and I wearily sat upon it for a brief period of silent meditation. The broad landscape to the south stood out clear and beautiful in the sunlight, and far beneath, at the foot of the cliffs, the dark cedars in the shade were in mild contrast with the dull gray of the steep, clayey cliffs to which they clung on either side; but the landscape seemed at that time to have lost much of its interest, although it produced a lasting impression. The cedar log was a straight, slender, tapering shaft possibly fifty feet in length. It was hardly more than eight inches in diameter at its butt. Being without bark, it had doubtless rested there for many years, and was thoroughly dried out as was nearly everything else in that climate, which was arid the greater part of the year. Taking hold of one end of the log, and without any definite idea why I did it, I was surprised to discover how light it had become through seasoning. Either end of it could be lifted without great effort.
At the western end of the gallery upon which I stood, and far below it, was the ravine, which from that point seemed to be continuous, and made a rapid descent to the foot of the mountain. It was comparatively narrow, and two or three tall cedars on its opposite side sprang out from a little ledge in the cliff. Some limbs in one of the cedars were hardly more than thirty or thirty-five feet distant from the wall of the rock upon which I stood, and on a lower level. A practical thought finally came into my mind. Carefully breaking from the log the stubs of limbs and twigs which remained upon it all of which were found to be very brittle, I planned to slide this log over the edge of the gallery, so that the smaller end, which happened to be in the right direction, would find a lodgement somewhere in the limbs of the live cedars across the ravine, leaving the larger end supported on the gallery, thereby constructing a bridge.
I spent considerable time in calculating this problem, for I certainly believed that my life depended upon the success of the plan. I slowly moved the log along so that it projected beyond the gallery, and then carefully considered the proper direction for pushing it further. Laying aside revolver and field glass, I prepared for the one supreme effort. All the strength at my command was put behind the log as I balanced and then vigorously pushed it onward beyond the brink. Surveying the result, I was gratified after the first effort to discover that it had not fallen into the depths below and that the end had caught upon a small limb, which proved strong enough temporarily to support it. Another push and a careful turn of the log left its end apparently secure near the junction of a small limb and the main trunk of the tree near its top.
The bridge, such as it was, being completed, I again strapped on my revolver, and taking the field glasses, sat astride the log and carefully crept along it to avoid any unnecessary jarring, my only doubt in accomplishing the task being in the strength of the old log and of the small limb which supported it. The distance beneath me had no more terrors than forty feet would naturally have, but when I laid my hands upon the slender trunk of the live cedar I breathed a sigh of relief. "Shinning" down a tree was a simple matter, with which any youth would be familiar. After reaching the base of the tree I found other trees and shrubs that aided in the further descent, although there were a few other terraces or perpendicular cliffs twelve or fifteen feet in height over which I dropped with ease and safety.
This course led me into a ravine, which, like nearly all such erosions in that country, had abrupt sides, averaging thirty or forty feet in depth, which I discovered later led to the Platte River, gradually increasing in width and depth as it descended. Some miles distant it was crossed by a bridge over which the traffic by that trail passed. Following the bottom of this ravine, or dry run, until I reached a point slightly outside the higher walls of the bluffs, I there came upon a huge pile of fossil bones. Skeletons, half exposed, projected from the steep sides of the deep run in great numbers. Many lay strewn upon the bottom of the ravines where they had been left stranded since the last rains in quantities enough to load many wagons. My knowledge of osteology was very limited, but it was sufficiently definite to enable me to determine that none of them were the bones of creatures like any with which I was then acquainted. It was a strange, weird sight.
Being somewhat weary I dropped down in the shady side of the ravine to rest and gazed up and down at the mute records of the past which were scattered around me. It seemed as if the monsters whose bones lay there were suddenly reincarnated. A group of Titanotheria seemed to be assembled in a vast body; the Rhinoceros, Oreodon, and diminutive horse such as lived in those parts, were gathered around, each apparently ready to tell its tale of events which no man ever had heard before. A Titanotherium Robustum, smacking its huge jaws, turned its dull eyes upward to the summit of the great bluff 700 feet above where I was resting, and then turning its gaze toward me, said, "What are you? You are the first specimen of your genus that has ever passed this way. How old are you?" "A score or two of years," I replied. There was a roar of grunts doubtless intended for laughter which echoed up and down the ravine, and the pachyderm looked at the oreodon and smiled. Continuing, the Titanotherium said, "Do you see the top of that lofty bluff?" I nodded yes. "Well, that is young, and it is not more than three or four decillion years since this country was pushed up and has been washing down the river. Before that, it was under water for nearly as long a period, because it was mighty slow work filling in all that 1,500 perpendicular feet of clay out of which all the layers of these bluffs are made."
The Rhinoceros then grunted out his reminiscences, to the effect that all that occurred long after his day, because he was doing business before the beginning of that vast cycle when the country was so deep under water, and before these deposits were made. Continuing, he added, "Away back in those times a very bad spell of wet weather and floods occurred, when we all were caught and stuck in this swamp which finally dried up on all this great crowd of companions of a bygone age. Since we were washed out by the last winter and spring rains which swept down this gully we have seen nothing, and you are the first two-legged creature we ever saw, except a few dinosaurs, and but very few of them lived in these parts."
After this dreamy colloquy I woke up from my little rest, and the shadows of the prehistoric pachyderms vanished, but the thousands of bones were still protruding from the walls of the deep ravine.
I picked up a massive femur, and put it upon my shoulder to show to the boys as a trophy, but it soon became too heavy, and I dropped it behind me, perhaps to be moved along a little further toward the Platte River by the next spring flood. In time it doubtless found another resting place in those soft river sands, possibly to be exhumed in some future geological period, to lead the finder into some wild chain of reasoning concerning its history. I reached the train, which was camped six miles west, and told my story to the boys, and after supper fell asleep.
The year after the discovery of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado, it was my pleasure personally to furnish Professor Powell with a careful description of the location of these remarkable deposits of fossils in Scott's Bluffs, which he and others investigated later. At that time I believe no investigation of those fossil beds had been made by scholars qualified to classify them.
Amid all the intricacies of the ravines that run down the bluff sides, it would be difficult to indicate any locations there with exactness, but certain landmarks make this one to which I now refer comparatively easy to describe. A professor and students from one of our universities made later investigations of this particular deposit on information given as to its nature. The recent marvelous agricultural development of this country as the result of an irrigating ditch cut near these bluffs is a revelation to those who first saw it as a barren area, a part of what was well named the Bad Lands. These once barren clay lands near the foot of Scott's Bluffs are now, strange to relate, highly productive. If any one of the young ranchers now engaged in the development of that country would care to follow the ravine crossed by the bridge over the old trail and with a ladder would ascend a few cliffs that will be encountered as he proceeds along the ravine, and then climb up until he reaches the high precipice, he will find the old cedar log still lying across the chasm and resting on the tree top, for no one would have made the effort to remove it, and nothing decays in that pure air.
Leaving the fossil beds, a six-mile tramp was made to a point beyond Fort Mitchell, where the train was reached. The course lay across a dry clay land which, though in appearance hopelessly sterile, was dotted with small clumps of sage brush, that ubiquitous bush which grows almost everywhere in those western alkaline soils both on the plains and on the mountain slopes. Useless as that gnarly, stubby, stunted shrub may seem to be, it has been the salvation of thousands of travelers for whom it furnished the exclusive fuel along hundreds of miles of their pilgrimage. The scant foliage of this species of Artemisia has a color, taste, and odor similar to that of the ordinary sage, and all of these qualities especially the flavor, were imparted in some degree to the sage hens, which fed in numbers upon the plant.
At Fort Mitchell there was stationed a company of soldiers to impress upon the Indians the idea that the strong military arm of the U. S. Government extended over the West. As we learned later, three score soldiers were but a feeble menace to the thousands of dissatisfied warriors, who were then roaming over the plains, awaiting some assurance from our authorities that the last of their ancient hunting grounds would not be invaded and traversed by the whites.
Eight miles further on we camped for the night on the banks of the North Platte River, where, finding clear water and good forage for stock, we planned a day of rest. Near that point first loomed upon our view in the west the dark summits of Laramie Peak and the serrated line of jagged pinnacles in the less prominent range beyond. No snow was visible upon them, and the somber mountain pines presented but little contrast to the shadowy gorges, while the peaks like "splinters of the mountain chain stood black against the sky."
Crossing Horse-Shoe Creek, our trail led us at once into what was then Dakota Territory, but which in 1868 became Wyoming Territory, and in July, 1890, the State of Wyoming. This state has now become renowned as a grand museum of Nature's wonders, and possibly presents the most numerous and remarkable varieties of interesting scenery and freaks of Nature, known to exist anywhere.
Its lofty mountain chains and matchless canyons; its spectacular geysers and fountains of unending diversity in quality, and every degree of temperature from boiling springs to those which are said to produce ice by chemical processes; its beautiful mountain lakes and magnificent cataracts, all combine to make it a land of marvels. All these forms of Nature's works I have seen in camp life in Wyoming.
Possibly because of its location and the abundance of its game, it became the final stronghold of the Indians. Its entire white population, at the time of my first visit, was probably exceeded by thousands of western villages, and but a small percentage of the number were women. There were enough of the latter, however, to secure the adoption of woman's suffrage by the first legislative assembly of the state, and social conditions then gave rise to the oft-repeated couplet,
As indicating that the spirit of woman's freedom was in the very atmosphere of that country long before her rights were established by legislative enactment, I state it as a fact that our first camp in that territory was made near a pool of alkaline water, in which each member of our party personally and simultaneously laundered his flannels and silk handkerchiefs, a purification that was greatly needed.
It was an inspiring if not "a sublime sight," to see eight stalwart men diligently scrub their garments in the margin of the pool, and hang them to dry upon the stiff branches of the sage bushes in that bright, pure sunlight. The pool proved to be the home of insect life, for the early evening brought myriads of "fair insects ... with thread-like legs spread out, and blood-extracting bill and filmy wing," which tortured us until the morning dawned, when we decided to move onward, and fly possibly to other evils that we knew not of.
As we moved further westward, the scenery became more attractive and many objects of interest invited our attention. Among these was an apparently newly-made grave in the shade of two small and lonely trees. The earthly journey of some unfortunate traveler had been ended before it was really completed. Such a discovery will cause even the most careless wayfarer to pause and think at least for a moment on the great problems of life and death, and otherwise ponder much more than he would among a thousand graves in a potter's field. I soon noticed a card high up in the trunk of one of the trees and fastened to it by a rusty horseshoe nail. I immediately called some of the boys to see it. Upon the uncolored face of the card was printed a black figure somewhat Egyptian in outline. One after another of our party upon inspection failed to understand the significance or relevancy of the cabalistic design. Pete from a distance at once declared that it was a Jack of Spades, which in fact it was, but others were deciphering a somewhat faded epitaph written upon the margin with a lead pencil, which finally read as follows:
What could have been the meaning of this occult sentence? I think it was a soldier who informed us that a man had been killed there in a fight, and that was all the soldier knew of the matter, except that the man had been appropriately epitaphed. There was no coroner or court of justice in those parts, and every man in that country seemed to be a law unto himself. The period of the Vigilantes was hardly yet in its bloom in Wyoming, but it is interesting to hear described the manner in which justice was summarily administered by a self-appointed tribunal, which also assumed the functions of executioner. There was little complaint of the law's delays in Wyoming, and the defendant did not suffer the embarrassment of being conducted through a gaping throng to a lofty gallows. The nearest tree served the purpose. There would be no time to issue tickets, and the charge was more likely to be horse stealing than any other crime. Still, it was true that deadly encounters were often the result of quarrels over unimportant matters. It seems difficult to pass judgment upon the acts of vigorous men who, having but little self-restraint, are freed from the restraints of law. Behind the bravado and the readiness to pull a gun on the slightest provocation, there were often noble and generous impulses which, when these men were merged into a settled community, led many of them to become strong, law-abiding citizens.
A few years later than the occurrence just narrated, I chanced to spend a few days in Silverton, Colorado, when that town was in the first flush of its mining successes. As I was walking along the street one Sabbath afternoon with an old boyhood friend, Judge Montague, we passed a large and very busy gambling saloon. Its entire one-story front was wide open to the street. Scores of men were at the tables playing cards, and the long bar near the front was crowded with patrons. The Judge, calling me as usual by my old nickname, said, "I will tell you a story of this saloon," and he proceeded as follows:
"A short time ago a home missionary, Rev. Mr. P——, came to Silverton, and having learned that I had been a church attendant in the East, he called upon me, and asked if I would give him some assistance that would aid him in the establishment of a church in this mining town." Having explained the character of the community, the Judge said to the missionary, "If you will go where I shall take you, I will see what can be done." There was then no house of worship in Silverton. The missionary promptly assented. "Then," continued the Judge, "I led him at once into this gambling house and up to the bar. Calling for the proprietor, I introduced the missionary and said, 'You know we have no church in Silverton and Rev. P—— desires to help us raise some money to apply toward the building of one.' 'No church in Silverton?' shouted the saloon proprietor, with apparent disgust. 'No,' I replied, 'not one!' Then with a series of oaths, vigorously emphasized by a blow of his fist upon the bar, which made the minister tremble, he declared that it was a d——d shame and showed a lack of enterprise. He added, 'If we are ever going to have a first-class town we've got to have everything that's a-going. Ye want something out of me?' 'Yes,' I replied, 'we should be pleased to have you head the subscription list, and I thought that about two hundred dollars would be about right for your place.' The young missionary gulped and held his breath. 'All right,' said the proprietor, as he inscribed his name on the paper, 'we've got to have everything that's a-goin' if we have any kind of a town. Now what'll you have with me, gentlemen?' as he firmly slammed upon the counter two or three bottles, 'and, by the way, I've got a little good, old whiskey here made before the war, that I keep back for my friends.'"
In following up the history of the little Congregational Church, the genesis of which was in the heart of a missionary, at the bar of a gambler, it may be of interest to relate an incident that seems quite grotesque and further illustrates the strange blending of extremes in the characters of the West. A young minister, H. P. Roberts, was sent later to the same Silverton work, and pending the construction of a new church, services were held in a schoolhouse. On the last Christmas previous to the transfer to the new edifice, some exercises were being held for the children. Late in the evening there was sent to the schoolhouse and hung upon the Christmas tree a woman's stocking sent as a gift to the young minister by one Jim Brown, another notorious saloon-keeper. On delivering to the minister the article of wearing apparel, for which he apparently had no present need, it was found to contain a pack of cards, a box of dice, and, what was greatly needed, sixty silver dollars. It had been collected by Brown from members of his profession as his voluntary act and expression of good will. Brown was killed not long after by an old, one-armed marshal named Ward, who in turn soon met the same fate. This incident is fully verified by a recent letter from a pioneer woman who was a member of that church and was also a witness to the event at the schoolhouse. The sixty dollars may have been tainted money (if it is possible to taint a well-inspired benefaction), but the act sheds a soft ray of light upon the life of a man whose career and character were generally regarded as dark.
On the following day, after passing the grave by the two trees, we drove thirteen miles. As we were slowly moving along in the afternoon over the heavy sands and up a long but rather gentle slope, we suddenly observed two wagons with mule teams approaching from the west, the animals being driven at the top of their speed under the lash of the drivers. On discovering us, the drivers motioned in an agitated manner toward Fred and me who were riding on horseback, indicating that they wished us to halt. We accordingly stopped the train and awaited their arrival. They at once reported a large band of Indians approaching. Having seen the Indians in the distance, the drivers had quickly turned their teams, and were endeavoring to escape from possible trouble. We all deemed it prudent to remain near where we were, and await the arrival of the band which was reported to be following the trail. It soon began to appear over the crest of the hill and much to our satisfaction was evidently not a war party. It was an Indian village on horseback, consisting of several hundred Sioux with their families and the ordinary equipment of Indian lodges, which were being transported upon several hundred horses and ponies. There is ordinarily little to fear from such a body, as Indians are not inclined to make trouble when there is danger to their wives and papooses, although the average Indian squaw doubtless shared the passion of her chief in time of war and was accustomed to strife and bloodshed.
In many of their battles, when the prospect of an Indian victory seems certain, the squaws and children are placed at some point of vantage, to witness the sport and the tortures. This was notably true in the attack of Roman Nose, with one thousand warriors, on Forsythe's little band on the so-called Island of Death in the Arrikaree River, in that year. The squaws took a safe position on the bluffs, as did the matrons in the days of Rome's glory, when they witnessed the brutal contests in the Coliseum.
We had courteously driven out a short distance from the trail to give the Indians a free passage. Our horses seemed not pleased with the appearance of the strange cavalcade, for they reared and plunged in an effort to escape. Hitching our saddle horses to wagons, Ben, Fred and I stopped close to the trail, and each of us courteously and fearlessly as possible saluted one after another of this band as they passed, with the familiar word, "How." Not even a grunt or motion came in return for our salutation. Their eyes were turned toward us as they passed, but, to use a society phrase, they cut us and turned us down. All appeared to be glum, sullen and disgruntled, and we were happy to see them move on at a steady pace.
In this Indian train there was possibly material for a hundred lodges. The lodge poles were carried on the backs of ponies, an equal number on either side, the large end of the pole dragging far behind upon the ground. In many cases a little hammock-like affair, suspended between the poles behind a pony, carried a papoose, whose unshaded face looked up toward the glaring sun. Other ponies were loaded with camp material of varied kinds, on top of which in some cases were squaws and children. All the men and nearly all the squaws were mounted. There was an excellent opportunity to observe the faces of all who passed, although there was little to be learned from their expressions concerning any of their emotions, for they were solemn and undemonstrative. It required a long time for all to pass, for they did not move in a compact body but were generally in single file, except that here and there some young warrior rode beside a tawny maiden. There was no hostile demonstration, nor did they pause a single moment on their onward march.
On the following morning, while riding our horses over a slight elevation, we came in sight of the swollen current of the Laramie River, which rushed into view from around some highlands not far away at our left; its swiftly flowing waters plunged along before us and onward into those of the North Platte not more than a mile away at our right.
The first view of the scene spread out before us across the river aroused our profound interest, chiefly because the consideration of some very grave questions had caused a large and unusual gathering of warriors to be assembled there, whose conclusions would result either in peace or savage, bloody war. Directly in front of us, and near the opposite bank of the stream, stood the historic old post, Fort Laramie. It consisted of the usual plaza, or parade ground, in the form of a parallelogram, equal in size to an average city block. On each of its four sides were buildings, some of which were two stories in height, some of but one story. It could be clearly seen that of the twenty-five or thirty structures around the square, some were built of logs, others of adobe, and a few were framed.
To the right of these, and wholly removed from the square, were seven or eight long and low buildings each of which we learned later, was used for one of the various trades of carpentry, blacksmithing, horseshoeing, etc., and for quartermasters' supplies. Seemingly not more than three-fourths of a mile beyond the river, a steep but smooth-surfaced bank rose rather abruptly several hundred feet from the river valley to what appeared to be a rough and rocky table-land. Toward our right and up the least abrupt and lowest part of the table-land, were clearly seen the lines of the Oregon trail leading on westward from Laramie over the hills to the Platte River Valley beyond. Somewhat to the left and towering far beyond and above the crest of the high, barren, and treeless table-land, rose Laramie Peak.
All these were then of interest simply as being the framework of the striking picture that lay in the foreground. Extending out to the further margin of the valley beyond the post, also to the right and the left of it on the plain was a city of Indian lodges, each of which stood out a white cone surmounted by its fringe of projecting lodge poles. The lodges appeared to be centered into groups or villages. Parties of Indians, a few only mounted, could be seen in many of the open places.
A flagstaff from which floated our national colors rose from near a corner of the rectangle which indicated the local seat of authority and the quarters for the regimental band.
The river, which was between us and the Fort, was swollen by a flood. It seemed important, however, that we should visit the post and learn as much as possible concerning the pending negotiations with the tribes. Ben, Fred, Pete, and I, therefore, decided to swim the river on horses. The current was exceedingly swift and deep, but though it carried us down stream a long distance, we reached the western bank without serious difficulty. We then wondered how our train would cross. On reaching the post we at once entered the quadrangle and for a few moments watched the movements which were passing before us in that place, which from the beginning of its history had been the most important center for intercourse between the Indians and whites that existed in our country. It was first established in 1834 by Mr. Robert Campbell, a successful fur trader and merchant, whom I have often seen; and as stated by Larpenteur, the river and the post were named in memory of Joaques La Ramie, a French trapper said to have been killed on that stream by the Arapahoes.
The post was purchased in 1849 by the U. S. Government and materially remodeled then, as it has also been since. There was no real fortification to be found at Fort Laramie. A few soldiers were on parade and others were visible around the barracks. We immediately went to headquarters and held interviews with various officials. We were informed that more than 7,000 Indians, consisting of bands of Ogallala and Minnecongoux Sioux, also Cheyennes and Arapahoes, and a few Mountain Crows who were interested in the question at issue, had assembled to participate in the proposed treaty. The officers informed us that the main object to be sought by the Government was the opening of the new route from Fort Laramie to Montana via the head waters of Powder and Big Horn Rivers. The Indians objected to any travel through that country, which was their most valuable hunting ground.
We also learned with pleasure that there was a bridge further down the stream, of which we had not known. We re-crossed the river by swimming our horses. Hitching our teams, we drove to the bridge and after paying three dollars toll for each wagon, crossed upon it and camped on the Platte River bottoms, near the junction of the Laramie and North Platte. The day had been intensely hot, the mercury at the post registering 98 degrees.
Although we had not learned how soon we should be permitted to proceed on our journey, it seemed proper that we should further investigate the progress of affairs and ascertain what was the prospect for peace. We, therefore, again entered the reservation and now interviewed Mr. Seth Ward, who was said to be the best informed man concerning those matters to be found at Laramie. This idea seemed to be quite reasonable, because the military was supposed to be in a sense partisan. We modestly approached the pompous Mr. Ward, who we were told was the sutler. He wore fine clothes, and a soft, easy hat. A huge diamond glittered in his shirt front. He moved quietly round as if he were master of the situation, and with that peculiar air so often affected by men who are financially prosperous and self-satisfied. He seemed to be a good fellow and was in every respect courteous. He assured us that the Indians would be "handled all right" and that there need be no fear of further trouble.
As a business proposition, it was manifestly to the advantage of the sutler and agents that some treaty be made, for the reason that every Indian treaty involves the giving of many presents and other valuable considerations. Whatever the Indians may finally receive become articles of exchange in trade. In this the astute sutler profits largely, as the Indian has little knowledge of the intrinsic value of manufactured goods and the sutler enjoyed exclusive rights of traffic with them at the posts. On the other hand, the soldiers and many others expressed the opinion that no satisfactory agreement would be reached. The demand of the Government as declared to the writer by Colonel, now General H. B. Carrington, was that it should have the right to establish one or more military posts on that road in the country in question. All the Indians occupying that territory were refusing to accept the terms, saying that it was asking too much of their people, in fact it was asking all they had, and it would drive away their game.
While these negotiations were going on with Red Cloud and the leading chiefs, to induce them to yield to the Government the right to establish the military posts, Colonel Carrington arrived at Laramie with about 700 officers and men of the 18th U. S. Infantry. Carrington was then already en route to the Powder River country, to build and occupy the proposed military posts along the Montana road, pursuant to orders from headquarters of the Department of the Missouri, Major General Pope commanding.
The destination and purpose of Colonel Carrington were communicated to the chiefs, who recognized this action on the part of the Government as a determination on its part to occupy the territory regardless of any agreement. Red Cloud and his followers spurned the offers which were made for their birthright and indignantly left the reservation to defend their hunting grounds, and as we then believed and learned later, went immediately on the war path. As stated in the Government reports, they "at once commenced a relentless war against all whites, both citizens and soldiers." The great Chief, Red Cloud, and his followers were now no longer a party to the negotiations, but thousands of other warriors and chiefs were induced to remain.
We later strolled out among the buffalo skin lodges and among the many warriors who were grouped here and there on the level land around the post. The faces of the older Red Men, who still remained, clearly indicated dissatisfaction and defiance.