VI.
GLIMPSES OF THE BIG HORN RANGE.
Than the morning of Sunday, June 3, 1876, a lovelier never dawned in any clime. It was 6 o 'clock when our entire command — no company or troop being detached — struck their tents and prepared for their day's march. An hour later we had turned our backs on Powder river, with its gloomy associations and its three infernal "forks," facetiously christened by Lieutenant Schwatka, "Charcoal," "Sulphur" and " Spitfire." We had to make nearly thirty miles in order to reach Crazy Woman's Fork, so called on account of some obscure Indian tradition. Very little water lay between the two streams, but the " bunch grass" was plentiful, and we found some fresh "buffalo wallows "—holes made in the ground by the humps of the animals when they refresh themselves by an earth bath — but none of the noble bisons, now, alas, all but extinct, showed themselves that day.
Our column, including cavalry, infantry, wagon train, pack train and ambulances, stretched out a distance of, perhaps, four miles. The infantry generally accompanied the wagon train, and acted as a most efficient escort. On June 3d, the ten companies of the 3d Cavalry, under Major Evans, formed the van of the horse brigade, while five companies of the 2d Cavalry, under Major Noyes, formed the rear. Crook,
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with his staff, was away in advance of everything, as was his custom. Colonel Royall, commanding the whole of the horse, and mounted on a fast-going charger, regulated the time of the column, and we marched like greased lightning. Were I to live to the age of the biblical patriarchs, I can never forget the beauty of that scene. A friend and myself allowed the soldiers to file somewhat ahead, in order that we might enjoy a complete view. The cavalry rode by twos, the intervals between the companies, except those which formed the rear guard behind the pack mules, being just sufficient to define the respective commands. The wagons, 120 in all, with their white awnings and massive wheels, each drawn by six mules, covered the rising ground in advance of the horsemen, while the dark column of infantry was dimly discernible in the van, because Crook always marched out his foot, for obvious reasons, an hour or two ahead of his horse. 'We used to joke about the infantry, and call them by their Indian nickname of " walk-a-heaps," but, before the campaign was over, we recognized that man is a hardier animal than the horse, and that "shank's mare" is the very best kind of a charger. Our course lay over a gently swelling or billowy plain, nearly bare of trees, but sufficiently carpeted with young grass to render it fresh and vernally verdant. A slight white frost of the previous night, just beginning to evaporate, laid the dust and seemed to cover the prairie with countless diamonds. The sun beamed with a radiance rarely seen in the denser atmosphere of the East. Fifty miles in our front — we were marching almost due westward — rose the mighty wall of the Big
OR THE CONQUEST OF THE SIOUX
Horn mountains, Cloud Peak, the loftiest point of the range, seeming to touch the cerulean-hued canopy of the sky, its white apex standing in bold and broad relief against the firmamental blue. The base of the mountains, timber-covered, as we discovered on nearer approach, had that purple beauty of coloring which we sometimes see in the masterpieces of the great landscape painters. The snow line, under the influence of the solar rays, gleamed like molten silver, and all this, taken in conjunction with the green fore and the dark middle ground, produced an effect of dazzling grandeur. Even the rudest among the hardy soldiery appeared to be impressed by the spectacle. It was like a glimpse of the promised land, albeit not from the mountains of Moab, but from the plains of 'Wyoming. Perhaps never again did the splendid panorama of the sierra of the Big Horn appear so magnificent to the eyes that gazed upon the fullness of its glory on that brilliant morning of leafy June.
We observed on this march, along toward noon, supposed Indian signal fires. Our pickets had been much strengthened already, but now the General sent forward a strong cavalry detachment to feel for the expected enemy, who might attack us at any moment. We then suspected, what we afterwards knew to be correct, that the main body of the Indians was in Montana, keeping watch on the columns under Terry, and particularly the command of General Gibbon, who had under him the infantry of the expedition. It was well known that General Custer, with the 7th Cavalry, had left Fort Abraham Lincoln in the middle of May, and was liable to be heard from before many days. Now, however,
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that they knew of the presence of Crook's brigade in their country, we all knew that the Indians would not leave us unmolested much longer. Bugle calls were abolished, and all orders were transmitted through the officers of the respective staffs.
Crazy Woman's Fork, like all of its sister streams, is fed from the snows of the Big Horn, and its water is icy cold, even in summer. But it was a treacherous spot in which to camp, and had been the theatre of many a direful tragedy. Scrubwood and gullies abound at the crossing of the Montana trail, and these always induce Indians to form ambuscades. The Montana miners had evidently preceded us, for we saw their well-devised fortifications. The wagons had also moved on two tracks, which showed that, in passing ravines, and other dangerous places, the practiced frontiersmen had marched between their teams, so as to be ready for instant defense. Our pickets were soon posted, supper served and we fell off to sleep as tranquilly as if there were no Indians to disturb our happiness or no gory imaginings to tinge our dreams.
Our next march was a short one, Clear Fork being only a little over twenty miles from Crazy Woman. The water of Clear Fork is absolutely translucent, and in the days of which I am writing there was not in America a more prolific haunt of the exquisite brook trout. This stream is also a tributary of the Powder, but flows independently, thus escaping contamination, through very many miles of as charming a game country as ever the eye of man rested upon.
OR THE CONQUEST OF THE SIOUX
On that day, for the first time, I saw an Indian "grave." It was situated on a little bluff above the creek. After dismounting I went up to observe it. The Sioux never put their dead underground. This "grave" was a buffalo hide supported by willow slips and leather thongs, strapped upon four cotton-wood poles, about six feet high. The corpse had been removed either by the Indians themselves or by the miners who had passed through a few days before. Around lay two blue blankets, with red trimmings, a piece of a jacket all covered with beads, a moccasin, a fragment of Highland tartan, a brilliant shawl and a quantity of horse hair. Scarcely had I noted these objects when a squad of young fellows from the 9th Infantry walked up the hill after firewood. They, evidently, were lacking in the bump of veneration, as the following remarks will show:
"Hello, Sam, what in h— is that?"
"That—oh, that is the lay-out of some d—d dead Indian. Let's pull it down. Here, boys, each of you grab a pole and we'll tear it up by the roots."
They did tear it up by the roots, and within ten minutes the Indian tomb was helping to boil the dinners of the 9th Infantry.
Thus the relationship of all men to each other in point of savagery was established. The Sioux defaced the white graves at Reno. The whites converted the Sioux funeral pedestal into kindling-wood. It was all the same to the dead on both sides.
In the evening two rough-looking fellows came into camp and reported that they belonged to a party which was com
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ing from the Black Hills to the Big Horn. The main body, they said, was a day's inarch behind us. It was their fires we saw the day before. The men went away like Arabs, and only when they had gone did it strike our officers that they were "squaw men" from the Sioux camp, who visited us in the capacity of spies in behalf of their Indian people in-law. It seemed stupid not to have detained the rascals as prisoners.
June 5th was one of our shortest marches—only
