Several days later the Nez Percé were trailing up the Madison River within the Park. They were strangers in Yellowstone and the most unwelcome tourists it has ever known. Within this identical week Secretary of War William T. Sherman and an escort of five concluded a tour and left for Fort Ellis. They did not see “any signs of Indians, and felt at no moment more sense of danger than we do here.”[195] A few days later they were cognizant of their lucky break. Near Madison Junction the Nez Percé met a prospector named Shively whom they pressed into service as a guide. A few days later they seized another miner named Irwin, and held him for a while.

The Radersburg Tourists

The Nez Percé spent the night of August 23 in camp on the banks of the Firehole River, above the narrows. At daybreak the next morning several Indians appeared in the camp of some tourists from Radersburg, Montana. The personnel of this party were Mr. and Mrs. George F. Cowan; Mrs. Cowan’s brother and sister, Frank and Ida Carpenter; Charles Mann; William Dingee; Albert Oldham; A. J. Arnold; and Henry Myers. A prospector, named Harmon, was also associated with the Cowan party at this time.

These people were just preparing to break up the “home” camp located at this terminus of the wagon road. For the past week they had been enjoying themselves on horseback visits to the geyser basins, and several of them had been to the lake and canyon.

Dingee asked the Indians, “What are you?” “Snake Injun,” one replied. Later they admitted they were Nez Percé and made a demand for coffee and bacon. Cowan refused to give them any, and as one who called himself “Charley” attempted to give a signal the stern Cowan peremptorily ordered him to “keep hands down!” Right there a special resentment was engendered toward the “older man.” Frank Carpenter asked them if any harm was in store for the party. The spokesman said, “Don’t know, maybe so.” He gave them to understand that since the Big Hole Battle the Nez Percé were double-minded toward the white man.[196]

The worried little party held a hasty consultation, and in view of their limited arms and ammunition they decided, with serious misgivings, to make an appeal to the chiefs for their deliverance.

They, therefore, hooked up the team, saddled their horses, and joined the Indian caravan, which turned eastward and journeyed up Nez Percé Creek. After proceeding a couple of miles the wagon was abandoned, its contents rifled, and the spokes knocked out for whip handles. By midday the Radersburg case had come to the attention of the chiefs. A council was held at the base of Mary Mountain in which it was decided that the tourists were to be liberated. Poker Joe spoke for the chiefs:

Some of our people knew Mrs. Cowan and her sister at Spokane House. The soldiers killed many Nez Percé women and children on the Big Hole. But we do not hurt Montana people. You may go. Take old horses and do not spy.[197]

They were relieved of their saddles, guns, and horses, worn-out animals being substituted for the latter. The white men nodded acceptance of these extraordinary terms. They were glad to part with the tribe and retrace their course. Within a half hour, two of the white men, Arnold and Dingee, abandoned their horses and ducked into the forest. Hidden Indian scouts were obviously expecting just such behavior. A few minutes later seventy-five braves swooped upon Cowan’s party, demanding the missing members. Cowan could only plead ignorance. Whereupon, Charley said, “You will have to come back.” The little band again turned eastward with leaden spirits.

Angry Indians were milling around on all sides, each waiting for the other to start an attack. Suddenly Um-till-lilp-cown, one of the three Idaho murderers, fired at Cowan, hitting him in the thigh.[198] At the same time Oldham felt a twinge on both checks as a bullet passed through his face. Carpenter saw an Indian aiming at him, and thinking some of the Nez Percé might be Catholics he made the sign of the cross. His act may have disconcerted the warrior for he did not fire. Oldham managed to get away through a thicket, while Cowan was so stunned he fell to the earth. His wife jumped down from her horse and clasped him to her bosom, but they dragged her away. Another shot, from close range, struck him in the forehead. His wounds were considered fatal, and he was left to die. At this juncture Poker Joe arrived from the chiefs, who had got word of the attack, and he stopped the onslaught.

In the shuffle and commotion that ensued, Myers, Harmon, and Mann made their getaway. Mann felt a bullet whiz through his hat as he ran among the trees. Each man went in a different direction and carried the impression that he was the sole survivor. This was the opinion of each of the separated contingents. Each considered all missing ones as obviously dead.

The unscattered survivors, including Mrs. Cowan, her brother Frank, and sister Ida, were again taken captives. Although their treatment during the next twenty-four hours was considerate, it was a period of great mental anguish for them. They spent the night by Chief Joseph’s campfire, and considering the circumstances their attitude toward him was most interesting. Mrs. Cowan said of him:

My brother tried to converse with Chief Joseph, but without avail. The Chief sat by the fire, sombre and silent, foreseeing in his gloomy meditations possibly the unhappy ending of his campaign. The “noble red man” we read of was more nearly impersonated in this Indian than in any I have ever met. Grave and dignified, he looked a chief.[199]

On the evening of the twenty-fifth the captives were provided with two horses and released near the Mud Volcano. “They must not go too fast”; therefore no saddle for Ida or horse for Frank were provided. Poker Joe directed them to go down the river “quick.” This they did as rapidly as their broken-down ponies would carry them. Burdened with grief and care, they made their way over Mount Washburn and beyond Tower Falls where they came upon a detail of soldiers who supplied their most urgent necessities and found them a ride to Bozeman.

In going down Yellowstone Valley they were the recipients of much sympathy from the settlers. As they entered Bozeman, Lieutenant Doane and a considerable number of Crow Indian scouts and soldiers were leaving for the Park. Carpenter joined Doane’s command, with the intention of returning to the scene of the attack and attending to the burial of his brother-in-law. In mourning, Mrs. Cowan and her sister continued on to Radersburg.

But Cowan was a sturdy being; he would not die. It was nearly sundown when he regained consciousness. Wounded in thigh and head, he yet pulled himself up from his rocky “grave.” Unfortunately an Indian sentinel observed his movement, drew a bead, and fired. Cowan dropped with a fresh wound in his left side. He now felt that they had “fixed” him beyond all hope of recovery. However, he remained conscious and lay motionless until darkness settled.

Then he started a crawling retreat toward Lower Geyser Basin, nine miles away.[200] What an eternity August 24 must have seemed! Were his wife and friends safe? He had little basis for hoping so. Could he make a getaway, and was it worth the effort? About midnight he apprehended motion among the cinquefoil. It was an Indian scout, raised to elbow posture, listening. Cowan remained perfectly quiet until the watchman relaxed; then he circled the danger zone by more than a mile. Onward he dragged his tortured body, alternately resting and crawling. He finally reached the deserted wagon where his bird dog faithfully waited. She growled and menaced until recognition dawned, then hovered over him like a protecting mother. There was no food anywhere to be found, but he gathered up the sheets of Carpenter’s diary. Cowan pressed doggedly on toward the campground in the Lower Geyser Basin. During the third day a band of Indians came by his hiding place. They were friendly Bannocks of Howard’s command, but he did not know and took no chance.

On the twenty-seventh he reached the old camp, found matches, and gathered spilled coffee grains and an empty can. These netted him a cup of coffee. He passed the night there. The following day he crawled over by the road, and that effort taxed his strength to the limit. It was enough, as relief came in the form of two of Howard’s scouts, Captain S. G. Fisher and J. W. Redington. The latter said, “Who in hell are you?”

“I’m George Cowan of Radersburg.”

“You don’t say! We’ve come to bury you.”

They rendered first aid, provided food, and left Cowan by a roaring fire with the assurance that the main force would gather him up within two days. Mr. Fee has deftly described the abrupt termination of that hard earned felicity:

Cowan ate enough to keep himself alive and lay down in silent joy to sleep the night through. Towards morning he was awakened by awful heat, and found to his dismay that the vegetable mold he was lying on had taken fire and encircled him with flames. He rose on hands and knees and suffering terribly, crawled across the charred area to safety. His hands and legs were badly burned.[201]

In the meantime his scattered companions were being united. Mr. Harmon was the first to reach General Howard’s encampment at Henrys Lake. Arnold and Dingee arrived after several days and nights of hardship. Myers and Oldham were encountered by Howard’s scouts. The latter was in a pitiful state. His tongue was so swollen, as a result of his wound, that he could not speak. Shock and exposure to the cold nights, together with lack of food for four days, had left its mark upon them all.

Howard reluctantly took the whole delegation along, and on August 29 they joined Cowan in the Lower Geyser Basin. Arnold said Cowan was a “most pitiful looking object. He was covered with blood, which had dried on him, and he was as black as a negro.” Here Cowan learned of his wife’s safety, and that news, together with his friend Arnold’s “unremitting attentions,” pulled him through. The army surgeon ministered to the physical wounds of the men but no sympathy was forthcoming. The Radersburg men desired to return home by way of Henrys Lake, but they were bundled along with the command, over roads that were:

simply horrible and almost impassable for wagons. At times we were compelled to lower them over precipices with ropes, and again we would hitch a rope to a wagon and pull it up the hill by man power.[202]

In the meantime Frank Carpenter, along with Lieutenant Doane’s command, pressed toward the Park. They found Henderson’s ranch buildings in flames. A band of renegade Nez Percé were spreading terror in their wake. Camp was established there anyway, and a courier arrived, directing Lieutenant Doane to mark time until joined by Colonel Charles C. Gilbert and the Seventh Infantry. Carpenter’s plan to return and bury Cowan was again frustrated. A promise to perform that function, given by a frontiersman named Houston induced Carpenter to return to Bozeman. There he learned that all members of the party were safe and accounted for except Cowan. The news that Cowan was still alive reached him a few days later when he met the two scouts who had found Cowan just a week before. Perhaps no one else could have convinced him his friend was alive.

A telegram to Mrs. Cowan brought her posthaste from Radersburg. She reached Bottler’s ranch, a distance of one hundred and seventy-five miles, in thirty-one hours. The reunion was effected on September 24, exactly one month from the date of the attack.

The Helena Tourist Party

Other Yellowstone visitors were caught in the Nez Percé net as it rolled across the Park. It has been sufficiently indicated that Chief Joseph maintained a role of dignified restraint, but there were unprincipled factions under less responsible leadership which he could not keep under his thumb. While the main tribe was slowly weaving its course through the Park some of the reckless young men were foraging far and wide. It is also correct to observe that bitter resentment had been smoldering toward the entire white race since the battle of Big Hole. The Nez Percé were inclined to regard every white man as an enemy.

This Indian psychology, or “bad heart,” helps account for the conduct of a marauding band of White Bird’s “bucks” toward a party of Helena tourists north of Hayden Valley. There were ten men in this company: A. J. Weikert, Richard Dietrich, Frederick Pfister, Joseph Roberts, Charles Kenck, Jack Stewart, August Foller, Leslie Wilkie, L. Duncan, and a negro cook named Benjamin Stone.

On the morning of August 25 this party was traveling along between Sulphur Mountain and Mud Volcano when they observed a body of horsemen fording the river. They correctly apprehended that the mounted men were hostile Nez Percé.[203] Thereupon, the tourists hastily repaired to the timber near the forks of Otter Creek and formed camp. It was a well-chosen position and might have been defended effectively if the natural advantages had been utilized.

However, no harm came to them that day or night. The next morning Weikert and Wilkie went reconnoitering in the vicinity of Alum Creek where they encountered a detail of the marauders. The white men retreated speedily, but Weikert was hit in the shoulder in the exchange of fire.

In the meantime the camp on Otter Creek was raided. Instead of posting a lookout the campers were huddled together, waiting for dinner, and hoping they would continue to escape notice. Mr. Kenck’s mind was active with forebodings; addressing the elderly colored cook, he said, “Stone, what would you do if the Indians should jump us?” Stone laconically replied, “You all take care ob yoursel’ and I’ll take care ob me.”[204] In that instant the Nez Percé struck. The eight tourists scattered like surprised deer. Kenck was hit and killed; Stewart was shot, fell, and was overtaken. He pleaded so earnestly for his life that he charmed their savage impulse and was spared. Dietrich fell in the creek and remained there four hours.

Ben Stone ran as fast as his old legs would carry him, but in midstream they gave out, and he lay prone in the water. The red men left as suddenly as they came. When Wilkie and Weikert arrived they fell in with some of the others and started for Mammoth. Joseph Roberts and August Foller had slipped away, and as it later transpired they went west to Madison River and thence to Virginia City and home. The other seven reached Mammoth, where Dietrich and Stone unfortunately decided to remain pending the arrival of Roberts and Foller. Dietrich had promised young Roberts’ mother that he would be responsible for his safe return.

On August 31, Weikert and McCartney, the “hotel” owner, left for the Otter Creek campground to look for the two missing men and to inter the remains of Mr. Kenck. The latter business accomplished, they were returning when the renegades, who had just committed a fresh deed of vengeance at Mammoth, met them at the falls of East Gardner River. A lively skirmish ensued, in which Weikert’s horse was killed and the others got away, before a sheltered position was reached. The desperadoes withdrew, and the white men pursued a cautious course to Mammoth. It was in this stage of their journey when McCartney, observing that Weikert was pale as a ghost, asked, “Do I look pale?” “No,” replied his friend, “Do I?” McCartney answered, “No.” Each was trying hard to “buck up” the other’s morale.[205]

Upon reaching Mammoth they learned about Dietrich’s fate. On August 31 he and Stone saw a band of Indians pass McCartney’s place. They were Nez Percé on their way to Henderson’s ranch which they ransacked and burned. The next day, when they returned, Ben Stone made a precipitous exit from the cabin and ran up Clematis Gulch. Dietrich, evidently believing the Indians friendly, stood in the doorway. They shot and killed him. Several days before he had expressed a premonition of death to Weikert. In view of this condition his conduct was attributed to inexperience.

Ben Stone, it will be remembered, was the colored cook who had a narrow call in the Otter Creek melee. This second escapade was even a closer shave. Stone evidently possessed sufficient of the quaint humor characteristic of his race to warrant the perpetuation of an amusing frontier tale.

Following is the story, as related by Stone to the men at Henderson’s ranch, before he had fully recovered from his scare. The account begins at the end, wherein the negro was challenged by a sentry as he approached the camp:

“‘Halt, who comes dar?’ ‘Ben Stone.’ ‘Come in, Ben Stone.’ An’ you bet I come a-runnin’.” Then he rehearsed the day’s activities in this wise:

“I seed de Injuns comin’ aroun’ in de foah-noon dis mornin’. I tole Dietrich we had better be a gettin’ out ob dis, but he kept a sayin’ ‘I’ll neber go back to Mrs. Roberts widout Joe.’ ’Bout ’leven or twelve o’clock Dietrich says, ‘I’ll go down an’ change de hosses, re-picket dem, while you git dinnah, Ben.’ ‘I say “all right.”

“Well, while he was gone a changin’ ob de hosses, I looked out ob de doah an’ seed a Injun stick his head up ober a rock out in front ob de house. I didn’t wait for no lebe, I didn’t, an’ dropped eberyting an’ bolted trew de back doah, I did, up into de timbah an’ laid down awaitin’ for somethin’ to do next. I seed de Injuns all ’bout de house an’ pears like dey was mighty anxious to fine me, but I wasen’t anxious to fine dem. It war gettin’ along towards night, and I clim a tree. Purty soon a big Injun rode right down under de tree a searchin’ aroun’ for me. I jes hel’ my bref an’ say to myself, ‘Oh Mr. Injun; good Mr. Injun, don’t look up dis way!’ Boys, I ’clare to goodness I could hab touched dat Injun’s head wif my foot—but I didn’t!

“Bye’m-bye de Injun go away down towards de springs an’ I got down on to de ground an’ strike for de side ob de mountain whar I laid down. I was a layin’ in de brush, when all ob a sudden I heerd a crackin’ in de brush. Den, boys, I got right down on my knees an’ prayed (an’ I hope de God Almighty forgive me, I neber prayed before sense I lef’ my modder’s knee), but I jes got down an’ say ‘O Lod God A’mighty, jes help me out ob dis scrape an’ I will neber interfere wid you no moah!’ I heerd dis noise an’ a crashin’ in de bushes again, an’ I jes laid down wid my face to de ground an’ I spected to feel de tom hawk in de back of my head. All ob a sudden I turned ober and dar I seed a big black bar a lookin’ at me. Boys, I neber was so glad to see a bar afore in all my life. De bar he got up an’ run, an’ I got up an’ run to de top ob de mountain when I saw youah camp fire an’ heah I’ is—bress de Lod!”[206]

At the conclusion of this delineation two of Lieutenant Doane’s friendly Indian scouts rushed toward Stone with arms extended, exclaiming “How, how!” The distraught negro nearly fainted from a fresh attack of fright. No amount of explanation could convince him they were not after his scalp. Indeed, he was certain that the larger buck was Chief Joseph himself![207]

Finally his friends Weikert and McCartney arrived, and thereafter his emotions switched around to unrestrained gratitude to his maker. The rest of the night was given over to lusty expressions of praise and hallelujahs. When objections were raised Stone replied that God had saved his life twice and he was going to thank Him as long and loud as he liked. Lieutenant Doane was forced to post a guard to maintain the peace.

At this time word arrived that Roberts and Foller were in Virginia City. The remains of poor Dietrich, who had been sacrificed so unnecessarily, were taken to Helena by Weikert. He also took the remains of Charles Kenck there for final interment.

General Howard leisurely pursued the fleeing Nez Percé marauders up the Lamar Valley after repairing Baronett’s bridge which they had partially burned. In the meantime, Joseph’s main band had crossed Yellowstone River, near Mud Volcano, and followed the east bank toward the lake. Shively, their captive guide, directed them up Pelican Creek to its source. Here Joseph’s scouts reported the presence of miners on the Lamar and Howard’s spies in the area. The scouts further noted that Colonel Sturgis and eight troops of the Seventh Cavalry from the Crow Agency on the Little Rosebud were in position astride the regular Absaroka Pass near Hart (Heart) Mountain. Joseph was now cut off between the commands of Howard and Sturgis.

This situation demanded desperate action. The threat of interception brought forth a masterful stratagem from the Red Napoleon. Upon reaching the Lamar-Shoshone Divide, Joseph turned abruptly southward. Was he striking for Stinking Water? Sturgis could not risk this chance. He, therefore, whirled in that direction, pursuing a parallel course—the summit dividing their forces.

Joseph’s feint worked; he passed by Sturgis’ right flank. He now doubled back beyond the main Absaroka gateway, toward Clarks Fork, and plunged through a “hidden” pass located by his feverish scouts. He fairly hurled his people over the rocky barrier and dropped them pell-mell down to Clarks Fork.[208] It was his task to get the protection of the Crow Indians, cross the Buffalo country, and reach Canada and safety.

By the time Colonel Sturgis had discovered the deception General Howard arrived. Indeed, he was already painfully pursuing the elusive foe through the awful earth gash Joseph had taken. When the two officers met there was an impressive demonstration of cussing. Wasn’t there a unit in the whole United States’ Army that could outwit this red devil?

Spurred by the barbed goad of frustration and anger, Sturgis pressed on in hot pursuit. On September 13, his troops were in their saddles at 5 A.M. When they drew rein at 12 P.M. sixty miles had been negotiated. Joseph’s band was still ahead! By daybreak the soldiers were on the trail again. They halted on the lower Yellowstone, near Billings. Discouragement pervaded their ranks; by common consent the Seventh Cavalry was ready to quit.[209] They felt a comrade’s compassion for General Howard’s command.

Two miles away the Nez Percé were headed for the mouth of Canyon Creek. “Let’s beat ’em to it,” and away they sped. The Indians gained the protection first. Officers Benteen, Otis, French, and Merrill’s battalions maneuvered bravely and well, but the watchful Nez Percé kept them back. There was rapid sharp shooting on both sides. When they finally broke through the Indians had disappeared.

Strewn upon the dusty battlefield were a dozen dead horses, five soldiers dead and eleven wounded. Night fell, and a cool wind drummed a funeral dirge upon the mind of many a restless soldier. When General Howard arrived the next day Sturgis was still on the trail. A band of Crow Indians had joined the white forces and were spoiling for a fight, but Sturgis had already wind-broken his horse and run out of rations. The Indian pace was too fast for him, but the rapidity of this flight forced them to abandon nine hundred horses.[210] However, Chief Joseph’s pony supply was augmented by a wholesale seizure from the Crows. He had crossed the Musselshell; next he would ford the Missouri which would bring them within the protection of Montana’s northern wastelands. Canada was not far away. Howard could never catch him now. Perhaps there would be time to kill some buffalo, feed their weary ponies, and rest their squaws.

He was reckoning without the telegraph and the ambitious interest of Colonel Nelson A. Miles at Fort Keogh on Tongue River. On September 17, a rider brought Howard’s S. O. S.; immediately Colonel Miles was all action. That very day he had three hundred and eighty-three men across Tongue River and on the march. Twenty-four hours later they were fifty miles away. They crossed the Musselshell River and marched on to the Missouri, where a steamboat ferried them across. Ever crowding men and beasts, he caught up with the Nez Percé on the twenty-ninth of September.

Joseph had made sure that Howard and Sturgis were far behind. In fact, they were deliberately slow. “We must not move too fast lest we flush the game.” Actually both of their commands were much depleted. The real job was up to Miles; they were providing the decoy. This time it worked.

Again, as at Big Hole, Joseph failed to anticipate trouble from other quarters than Howard’s. The one-armed general was six days’ march in the rear. Surely they could relax now. Upon reaching the Bear Paw Mountains he considered his position secure. He posted no scouts. Joseph obviously believed they had crossed the international boundary. Later, as he looked back in retrospection, he said:

I sat down in a fat and beautiful country. I had won my freedom and the freedom of my people. There were many empty places in the lodges and the council, but we were in a land where we would not be forced to live in a place we did not want. I believed that if I could remain safe at a distance and talk straight to the men that would be sent by the Great Father, I could get back to the Wallowa Valley and remain in peace. That is why I did not allow my young men to kill and destroy the white settlers after I began to fight. I wanted to leave a clean trail, and if there were dead soldiers on that trail, I could not be to blame. I had sent out runners to Sitting Bull to tell him that another band of red men had been forced to run from the soldiers of the Great Father, and to propose that we join forces if we were attacked. My people were recovering their health and the wounded getting better of their hurts.[211]

Joseph’s coveted felicity was roughly arrested on the dawn of September 30. His brief respite was assailed by the dual forces of nature and men. Snow flurries whipped the lodge flaps. Horses milled restlessly. An Indian youth slipped out to reconnoiter. He perceived the rapid approach of a formidable force of cavalry. The alarm was given.

Instantly the Nez Percé camp was churning with commotion. A hundred ponies were laden with squaws and papooses. They fled north under an escort of sixty braves. The balance of the encampment fairly clawed out positions of defense along a crescent-shaped ravine called Snake Creek.

By this time the military was in position. Colonel Miles sized up the situation at a glance and barked commands: “Captain Hale, draw up on the south flank.” “McHugh, mount the Hotchkiss and wheel forward.” “Infantry, deploy and follow cavalry charge; swing the four-pound howitzer to north.” “Troops of Second Cavalry, surround enemy pony herd.” “Lieutenant McClernand, retrieve the fleeing train.” “Main cavalry, ready for frontal assault.” He surveyed the resulting formation, raised his arm, and shouted, “Attack!”[212]

Reins were loosed, spurs clicked, and away rolled a thundering avalanche of mounted might. The charging line raced headlong toward the Indian camp. It was the same speed and precision that had broken the power of the Sioux and Cheyenne nations. The Nez Percé grimly waited. At a hundred yards they opened fire, and the battle broke with a roar.

In the wake of the charge were fifty-three soldiers dead or wounded. K Troop lost over sixty per cent of their complement. Joseph’s camp was cut in twain, but the position could not be forced, and the cavalry passed through. The Nez Percé settled deeper into their entrenchments, and a state of siege ensued. However, the Colonel’s pony detail succeeded in rounding up the Indian ponies. The Nez Percé were now on foot. That night a six-inch mantle of snow fell. Continuous fire was sustained the next day. Then a parley was arranged. Joseph was promised a safe conduct. He accepted but was made a prisoner. However, the Nez Percé captured an officer named Jerome and held him as hostage for Joseph. Terms were proposed. Miles demanded unconditional surrender, but Chief Joseph exacted a promise to return his people to the Lapwai Reservation. This Miles granted.[213]

On October 4, the fifth day of the siege, Joseph led his haggard people out of their camp. His head was bowed in awful solemnity. As he approached a cluster of officers, including General Howard, he straightened up and dismounted with dignity. Impulsively he presented his rifle to Howard, but the general motioned him to “Bear Coat” Miles.

After disarmament the great chief stepped forward, raised his arm in a sweeping motion toward the reddening sun, and intoned the requiem of a dying race:

Tell General Howard that I know his heart. What he told me before I have in my heart. I am tired of fighting. Our chiefs are killed. Looking Glass is dead, Tu-hul-hul-sote is dead. The old men are all dead. It is the young men who now say yes or no. He who led the young men is dead. It is cold and we have no blankets. The little children are freezing to death. My people—some of them have run away to the hills and have no blankets and no food. No one knows where they are—perhaps freezing to death. I want to have time to look for my children and see how many of them I can find. Maybe I shall find them among the dead. Hear me, my chiefs, my heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands I will fight no more forever.[214]

The Montana sun was going down; Hin-mut-too-yah-lat-kekht had spoken as its rays flickered.

The officers came forward and shook his hand. As he turned away, drawing his blanket over his head, the white soldiers discerned five bullet holes in his blanket and wounds on his forehead and wrist.

There was something about this leader that tugged at their heart strings as he beckoned his children toward their prison camp. There were four hundred and twelve survivors, including forty-six wounded. Twenty-six Indians and twenty-seven white men (plus Miles’ two Indian scouts) had been slain. Joseph’s conduct in burying the dead and in ministering to his half-starved and freezing people elicited the admiration of all. As the handsome, plucky chieftain assuaged their sorrow he seemed greater than any one man. Surely, here was the embodiment of the Nez Percé, indeed, of all Indian people. In his person were combined elements both noble and tragic. He was the last best specimen of a truly native race.

By nature Joseph was a modest man and inclined toward peace and good will. Events forced him into a role that has won eternal fame. Even General Sherman, who entertained no high sentiments for Indians, could not withhold his meed of praise:

Thus has terminated one of the most extraordinary Indian wars of which there is any record. The Indians throughout displayed a courage and skill that elicited universal praise; they abstained from scalping; let captive women go free; did not commit indiscriminate murders of peaceful families and fought with almost scientific skill, using advance and rear guards, skirmish lines and field fortifications.[215]

Other competent authorities have gone further. One ventured the asseveration that:

Had Joseph led thousands and had he been born of a people and in a place less remote from the main currents of history, his name would resound in our ears like thunder.[216]

As it is, the tale of the Nez Percé retreat, surrender, and burning years of their exile strike a mournful note upon the ears of men.

At Bear Paw a long “trail of tears” began for Joseph and his people. There was the solemn trek to Fort Keogh, thence to Bismarck, on to Fort Leavenworth, and finally to a small Oklahoma reserve. This was virtually a sentence of death for these mountain-bred people.[217] Miles could not make his promise good. Joseph was depressed by the increasing time and distance. Said he, “The Great Spirit Chief who rules above seemed to be looking some other way and did not see what was happening to my people.”

Many government officials called upon Joseph (“White men have too many chiefs”). Promises were lightly made (“Look twice at a two-faced man”). Resolutions were circulated (“Big name often on small legs”). The wise chief was learning the ways of his masters.

Joseph’s conqueror became his truest friend. Miles, a general now, kept working to fulfill his vow. Said he:

I frequently and persistently, for seven long years, urged that they be sent home to their own country but not until 1884, when I was in command of the Department of the Columbia, did I succeed in having them returned west of the mountains near their own country.[218]

In 1885, after they had been ravaged by sickness and death, the remnant of the Nez Percé tribe was established on the Colville Reservation in Washington state. Here Joseph’s declining years were spent in the companionship of his wives and children, until his death on September 21, 1904. There, among a vast concourse of white and Indian people, Thunder-Traveling-to-Loftier-Heights was gathered to his fathers.

Chapter XII
TRAVEL AND ACCOMMODATIONS—NEW BUSINESSES

The narration of trapper and miner visits and the account of final discovery have already described the difficulties of early travel in Yellowstone. Little segments of animal and Indian trails were all that broke the untraveled wilderness. Since no funds were available for any purpose before 1877, the trail building progress made before that date was negligible.[219] Until that time all visitors came on horseback, but while they generally went to the same places their approaches were different. Each outfit carried axes, and at least a modicum of effort had to be expended along the way. Such had been the way of mountain men. They did not expect someone else to build their roads; neither did they expect anyone to tell them where to go or camp. Therefore, it was every outfit to itself; still, companionship claimed its due, and groups sometimes fell into line and traveled together.

A perusal of old journals shows that packsaddle trips were always thrilling. It was by pack horse that the presidential party of August, 1883 visited the Park. It traveled three hundred and fifty miles, making nineteen camps during its sojourn. The personnel included the following: President Chester A. Arthur, Secretary of War Robert T. Lincoln, Senator George Graham Vest, General Phil H. Sheridan, General Anson Stager, Colonel Michael V. Sheridan, Colonel J. F. Gregory, Captain Philo Clark, Governor Schuyler Crosby (Montana), Judge Rawlins, and Official Photographer Frank Jay Haynes.[220] They had a grand time, and thereafter Yellowstone never lacked friends in high places.

One account tells of traveling three hundred and fifty miles in twenty-four days. Fish were caught in handfuls, horses caved in geyser formations, and Indians were seen. All of these activities were duly reported to a keenly interested American public. Indeed, a general concern for the President’s security was aroused. This natural anxiety gave occasion for a rumor that the President’s safety was in jeopardy, not from accident, wild animals, or Indians, but rather from a gang of desperadoes. A dispatch bearing the postmark of Hailey, Idaho, stated that a large band of Texas criminals had been observed in a mysterious ceremonial at Willow Park in Yellowstone. According to the report, each man swore by his dagger to do his duty, which was no less than the capture of the President of the United States and his entire party. The captives would then be held in a wilderness cavern until a ransom of one million dollars had been paid!

The alarming report that “They are after Arthur!” was followed by the reassuring word that Sheriff Farcy and a company of United States troops were investigating the reported conspiracy. Certainly the presidential expedition was enveloped in an atmosphere of high romance![221]

It is said that camping trips have always been ideal testers of friendship. Camp life is an excellent form of association because it is bound to disclose every character trait. Each virtue is surely tried, and every vice is certain to show itself. Wit, cheerfulness, patience, and industry were in demand, and their opposites greatly discounted. Some knowledge of cooking, washing, caring for animals, and tying the diamond hitch was essential. Good hunters and fishermen were popular in these camps. Skill in constructing fir-bough lean-tos against storms and couches for sleeping came in handy. Last of all, the gift of storytelling and song made its possessor the head of the nightly campfire circle. Were these the people the poet envisioned?

Pack outfit owners were a lusty sort. Some of them divided their time between acting as guides and slaughtering game for both meat and hides. A few were wholly unscrupulous, both in their exploitation of the tourists and the Park.[223] Still others were high-type frontiersmen. A description has been left of one Texas Jack, named John Omohondro, originally from Virginia:

He is tall, powerfully built, and as he rode carelessly along, with his long rifle crossed in front of him, he was a picture. He was dressed in a complete suit of buckskin, and wore a flaming red neckerchief, a broad sombrero fastened up on one side with a large eagle feather, and a pair of beautifully beaded moccasins. The costume of the man, his self-confident pose, and the quick, penetrating glance of his keen black eye, would give the impression that he was no ordinary mountaineer.[224]

Still, Texas Jack was quite typical of most mountain scouts, being a man of life and blood and fire, blazing with suppressed excitement in a land of high adventure.

Although the stagecoach took over most of the tourist business after 1880 a few reliable pack masters remained in business. Among these was the firm of Grant, Brogan and Lycan of Bozeman, which conducted a seven-day tour for thirty dollars per person. Jordan and Howell of Cody had a fourteen-day schedule, while Howard Eaton, in his day, personally guided more than a hundred parties around the Park on a twenty-day tour.[225] In 1923 the trail he used was improved, named, and dedicated to his memory. The Howard Eaton Trail parallels the Grand Loop highway. It is maintained by the government and is one of the most scenic bridle paths in America. It was hoped that many people would take advantage of this facility, but its public use is meager.

Travel by stage in Yellowstone was started in 1878 and concluded in 1917. Since a generation of Americans saw the Park in that manner, a description of the procedure would be appropriate. The stagecoach itself was a remarkable vehicle. It was substantially built, quite commodious, and reasonably comfortable. Concord coaches were used; they varied in capacity from seven to as many as thirty-three seats and were drawn by four or six horses, according to size. Great leather springs, called thorough braces, produced a swaying motion which absorbed all but the most violent shocks. The driver’s seat was perched above the body of the coach and underneath was a compartment for mail sacks and express packages. There was a strong platform in the rear of the coach upon which trunks and suitcases were loaded. Harness and other gear were always of the best grade and condition.

Several hundred thousand passengers were taken through Yellowstone by stagecoaches during the thirty-eight years of their operation. The drivers, therefore, were necessarily men of experience and resourcefulness. Indeed, they were a sovereign group and the cynosure of eyes as they cracked their whips and moved three span of horses away at a half-gallop, half-trot, trained, showy style. They were held in high esteem, as well they might be, for each held a position requiring judgment and skill. Several expert drivers who “tooled” Yellowstone coaches were William Woolsey, Hub Counter, and Oscar Scoda. They were firm in resolution, yet polite in manner, and obliging toward passengers. Generally:

... they were good entertainers, capable of making what would otherwise be a long, tedious night ride seem entirely too short to the passenger, who was fortunate enough to have a seat on the box beside him, and hear him relate his experiences with Indian and stage robber.[226]

The driver’s sole duty consisted of handling the stage while on the line; others attended to the feeding and harnessing of the horses, but the teams knew their drivers and responded amazingly to their wills. A driver could flick a fly off the back of his team leaders and bring back his lash without tangling it in the harness or wagon wheels. Day and night these “kings of the whip” flung and pulled the “silk” to those fleet creatures of nature, and over their strength and fears they were ever masters. “Clear the road! Get out of the way thar with your draft teams!” was their good-natured salutation as they swung into view, only to disappear at high speed around a curve or through the lodgepole-lined road. Unrelaxed, they were ever watchful for gullies, boulders, and road agents. As they approached a station they forced their horses into full gallop and brought their coaches up with a grand flourish before the ever-expectant crowd on hand, waiting for friends or the mail. One driver boasted that he could drive his outfit down Beehive Geyser and come out of Old Faithful without losing a hair!

The advantages of travel by stage included interesting acquaintances and fresh views into human nature. Close quarters in the wilderness have always been a touchstone, even thus lightly approached. The regular trip lasted five days and always seemed too short. One tourist regretfully observed, “Nothing can be done well at a speed of forty miles a day.”[227] As the stage prepared to pull out some would climb up the sides of the coaches and squeeze into the open seats on the roof. There, each obtained an unobstructed view of the landscape and a good sunburn. Others, less agile or venturesome, would remain in the interior, satisfied with less elevation, wind, and sun, and nearly as much advantage in sight-seeing.

There they sat, side by side, hour after hour, old and young, full of hope and fun and care. Some watched the scenery; others, the horses. All asked questions—some of them intelligent and well-conceived, some naïve, and still others ludicrous. They were usually addressed to the driver, as though skill in handling horses and familiarity with the area gave authority. Unfortunately, few drivers understood what they daily saw; still, as a defense against frustration, many acquired a knowing air. Great guesses were made, and occasionally the tourists were deliberately misled. Generally the driver’s observations were offered in a spirit of fun to keep the folks from drooping. A few examples have been recorded. Driving among the Hot Springs on the Mammoth Terraces, one guide shouted, “Them as likes their bath hot goes in on the left, and them as likes it cold goes in on the right, and them as likes it middlin’ goes in the middle.”[228]

At Norris Geyser Basin the following conversation was heard: One tourist speaking to another, “If we’re too late to see the Monarch Geyser erupt tonight, we’ll go over and see him before breakfast.” To which the driver replied, “No you can’t, the Monarch Geyser is a monarch up here in the Park. You can’t go see him when you get ready; you’ve got to go when he’s ready.”[229]

One Münchausen-minded guide informed his passengers that any geyser water, when bottled, retained a strange sympathy with its water nymph, so that when the geyser erupted the water became violently agitated; in one instance a bottle was shattered incident to a particularly powerful eruption! Many such stories were told by “Buckskin Charley,” “Yankee Jim,” “Billy” Hofer, and their compatriots. Rudyard Kipling left this description of Yankee Jim:

Yankee Jim was a picturesque old man with a talent for yarns that Ananias might have envied.... Yankee Jim saw every one of my tales and went fifty better on the spot. He dealt in bears and Indians—never less than twenty each.[230]