Chapter 17

But after dinner, when we were sitting outside and Faye and the doctor were smoking, a man came around the corner of the tent with long, swinging strides, and was in our midst before we had dreamed of anyone being near. He spoke to Faye courteously, and declining a chair, dropped down full length on the ground, with elbows in the grass and chin on the palms of his hands. His feet were near the tent and his face out, which placed him in a fine position to observe everything in the camp without anyone seeing that he was doing so, especially as his eyes were screened by a soft, broad-brimmed hat. It was impossible to see their color, of course.

He was young--not over twenty-eight or thirty--and handsome, with a face that was almost girlish in its fairness. His hair was neatly cut, and so was his light mustache, and his smooth face showed that he had recently shaved. He was tall and lithe, and from his chin to his toes was dressed in fine buckskin--shirt, trousers, leggings, and moccasins--and around his neck was tied a blue cotton handkerchief, new and clean. That the man could be a horse thief, an outlaw, seemed most incredible.

He talked very well, too, of the country and the game, and we were enjoying the change in our usual after-dinner camp conversation, when suddenly up he jumped, and turning around looked straight at Faye, and then like a bomb came the request to be allowed to go with him to Fort Maginnis! He raised the brim of his hat, and there seemed to be a look of defiance in his steel-blue eyes. But Faye had been expecting this, and knowing that he was more than a match for the villain, he got up from his camp stool leisurely, and with great composure told the man: "Certainly, I will be very glad to have some one along who knows the trail so well." To be told that he knew the trail must have been disconcerting to the man, but not one word did he say in reference to it.

After he had gone, Faye went over to the company, where he remained some time, and I learned later that he had been giving the first sergeant careful instructions for the next day. I could not sleep that night because of horrible dreams--dreams of long, yellow snakes with fiery eyes crawling through green grass. I have thought so many times since of how perfectly maddening it must have been to those horse thieves to have twenty-two nice fat mules and three horses brought almost within the shadow of their very own stockade, and yet have it so impossible to gather them in!

At the appointed time the buckskin-man appeared the following morning on a beautiful chestnut horse with fancy bridle and Mexican saddle, and with him came a friend, his "pal" he told Faye, who was much older and was a sullen, villainous-looking man. Both were armed with rifles and pistols, but there was nothing remarkable in that; in this country it is a necessity. We started off very much as usual, except that Faye kept rather close to the "pal," which left Bettie and me alone most of the time, just a little at one side. I noticed that directly back of the horse thieves walked a soldier, armed with rifle and pistol, and Faye told me that night that he was one of the best sharpshooters in the Army, and that he was back of those men with orders to shoot them down like dogs if they made one treacherous move. The buckskin man was one of the most graceful riders I ever saw, and evidently loved his fine mount, as I saw him stroke his neck several times--and the man himself was certainly handsome.

Faye had told me that I must not question anything he might tell me to do, so after we had crossed the valley and gone up the mountains a little distance he called to me in a voice unnecessarily loud, that I must be tired riding so far, and had better get in the ambulance for a while. I immediately dismounted, and giving the bridle rein to a soldier, I waited for the ambulance to come up. As I got in, I felt that perhaps I was doing the first act in an awful tragedy. The horsemen and wagons had stopped during the minute or two I was getting in, but I saw soldiers moving about, and just as soon as I was seated I looked out to see what was going on.

A splendid old sergeant was going to the front with four soldiers, whom I knew were men to be trusted, each one with rifle, bayonet, and belt full of cartridges, and then I saw that some of the plans for that day's trip had not been told to me. The men were placed in front of everyone, four abreast, and Faye at once told the thieves that under no conditions must one ever get in front of the advance guard. How they must have hated it all--four drilled soldiers in front of them and a sharpshooter back of them, and all the time treated by Faye as honored guests!

There were four men at the rear of the wagons, and the posting of these rear and advance guards, and placing men on either side of the wagons, had been done without one order from Faye, so my dismounting must have been the signal for the sergeant to carry out the orders Faye had given him the night before. Not by one turn of the head did those outlaws show that they noticed those changes.

In that way we crossed the range. We met a dozen or more men of the very roughest type, each one heavily armed. They were in parties of two and three, and Faye thinks that a signal was passed between one of them and the "pal." But there was no attack as had been predicted! What might have taken place, however, if Faye had not been prepared, no one can tell. Certainly part of Junot's story had been carried out--the horse thief came to the tent and came with us to Maginnis, and it was not because he wanted the protection of the troops. Faye insists that an attack was never thought of, but as he was responsible for government property, including the animals, he had to make preparation to protect them. Of course those men wanted only the animals. We passed many places on the divide that were ideal for an ambush--bluffs, huge boulders, and precipices--everything perfect for a successful hold up.

The men came on to the post with us, and were in camp two nights with the soldiers. The second day from the Judith, we stopped for luncheon near a small stream where there were a great many choke-cherry bushes, and "Buckskin Joe"*--that was his name--brought large bunches of the cherries to me. His manner showed refinement, and I saw that his wonderful eyes could be tender as well as steely. Perhaps he had sisters at the old home, and perhaps, too, I was the first woman he had seen in months to remind him of them. I shall always believe that he is from good people some place East, that his "dare-devil" nature got him into some kind of trouble there, and that he came to this wild country to hide from Justice. The very morning after we got here, not long after our breakfast, he appeared at our tent with a fine young deer slung across the back of his horse, which he presented to us. He had just killed it. It was most acceptable, as there was no fresh meat in camp. He and his "pal" stayed around that day and night, and then quietly disappeared. Not one of the soldiers, even, saw them go.

*About six years after this occurrence, there was a graphic account in the Western papers of the horrible death of "Buckskin Joe," who was known as one of the most daring and slippery horse thieves in the Territory. After evading arrest many times, he was finally hunted down by a sheriff's posse, when his fiendish fighting excited the admiration of those who were killing him. A bullet broke one of his legs, and he went down, but he kept on shooting--and so fast that no one dared approach him. And when the forearm of his pistol hand was shattered, he grasped the pistol with the other hand and continued to shoot, even when he could not sit up, but had to hold himself up by the elbow of his broken arm. He was finally killed, fairly riddled with bullets. He knew, of course, all the time what his fate would be if taken alive, and he chose the cold lead instead of the end of a rope.

It was pleasant to meet our old friends here. Colonel Palmer is in command, and I was particularly glad to see them. After Mrs. Palmer had embraced me she held me off a little and said: "What have you been doing to your face? my, but you are ugly!" The skin on the blistered side has peeled off in little strips, leaving the new skin very white in between the parched brown of the old, so I expect I do resemble a zebra or an Indian with his war paint on. The post, which is only a camp as yet, is located at the upper end of a beautiful valley, and back of us is a canon and mountains are on both sides. Far down the valley is a large Indian village, and we can distinctly see the tepees, and often hear the "tom-toms" when the Indians dance. There are other Indian camps near, and it is not safe to go far from the tents without an escort. It seems to be a wonderful country for game--deer, grouse, and prairie chicken. Twice we have seen deer come down from the mountains and drink from the stream just below the post. Bettie and I have scared up chicken every time we have taken little runs around the camp, and Faye has shot large bags of them. They are not as great a treat to us as to our friends, for we had so many on the way over.

We have two wall tents, one for sitting room and one for bedroom, and in front a "fly" has been stretched. Our folding camp furniture makes the tents very comfortable. Back of these is the mess, or dining tent, and back of that is the cook tent. Charlie has a small range now, which keeps him squeaking or half singing all the time. One morning, before we got this stove from the quartermaster, breakfast was late, very late. The wind was blowing a gale, and after waiting and waiting, we concluded that Charlie must be having trouble with the little sheet-iron camp stove. So Faye went back to see what was the matter. He returned laughing, and said he had found a most unhappy Chinaman; that Charlie was holding the stove down with a piece of wood with one hand, and with the other was trying to keep the breakfast on the stove.

You know the stovepipe goes up through a piece of tin fastened in the roof of the tent, which is slanting, and when the canvas catches the wind and flops up and down and every other way, the stovepipe naturally has to go with it. The wind was just right that morning to flop everything--canvas, pipe, stove, and breakfast, too--particularly the delicate Saratoga chips Charlie had prepared for us, and which, Faye said, were being blown about like yellow rose leaves. The poor little heathen was distracted, but when he saw Faye he instantly became a general and said at once, "You hole-ee him--me takee bleckfus." So Faye having a desire for breakfast, held down the stove while Charlie got things together. The Saratoga chips were delicate and crisp and looked nice, too, but neither the doctor nor I asked Faye if they were some of the "rose leaves" or just plain potatoes from a dish!

Charlie is splendid and most resourceful. Very near our tent is a small stream of cold, clear water, and on one side of this he has made a little cave of stones through which the water runs, and in this he keeps the butter, milk, and desserts that require a cool place. He is pottering around about something all the time. There is just one poor cow in the whole camp, so we cannot get much milk--only one pint each day--but we consider ourselves very fortunate in getting any at all. I brought over fourteen dozen eggs, packed in boxes with salt. We are to start back the first of November, so after we got here I worked out a little problem in mathematics, and found that the eggs would last by using only two each day. But Charlie does better than this; he will manage to get along without eggs for a day or two, and will then surprise us with a fine omelet or custard. But he keeps an exact account and never exceeds his allowance.

The doctor is still with us, and shows no inclination to join the officers' mess that has just been started. He seems to think that he is one of the family, and would be greatly surprised, and hurt probably, if he should discover that we would rather be alone.

FORT MAGINNIS, MONTANA TERRITORY, September, 1880.

THERE is a large village of Cree Indians in the valley below, and for several days they were a great nuisance in the garrison. One bright morning it was discovered that a long line of them had left their tepees and were coming in this direction. They were riding single file, of course, and were chanting and beating "tom-toms" in a way to make one's blood feel frozen. I was out on one of the little hills at the time, riding Bettie, and happened to be about the first to see them. I started for the post at once at a fast gait and told Faye and Colonel Palmer about them, but as soon as it was seen that they were actually coming to the post, I rode out again about as fast as I had come in, and went to a bit of high ground where I could command a view of the camp, and at the same time be screened by bushes and rocks. And there I remained until those savages were well on their way back to their own village.

Then I went in, and was laughed at by everyone, and assured by some that I had missed a wonderful sight. The Crees are Canadian Indians and are here for a hunt, by permission of both governments. They and the Sioux are very hostile to each other; therefore when four or five Sioux swooped down upon them a few days ago and drove off twenty of their ponies, the Crees were frantic. It was an insult not to be put up with, so some of their best young warriors were sent after them. They recaptured the ponies and killed one Sioux.

Now an Indian is shrewd and wily! The Sioux had been a thief, therefore the Crees cut off his right hand, fastened it to a long pole with the fingers pointing up, and with much fuss and feathers--particularly feathers--brought it to the "White Chief," to show him that the good, brave Crees had killed one of the white man's enemies! The leading Indian carried the pole with the hand, and almost everyone of those that followed carried something also--pieces of flags, or old tin pans or buckets, upon which they beat with sticks, making horrible noises. Each Indian was chanting in a sing-song, mournful way. They were dressed most fancifully; some with red coats, probably discarded by the Canadian police, and Faye said that almost everyone had on quantities of beads and feathers.

Bringing the hand of a dead Sioux was only an Indian's way of begging for something to eat, and this Colonel Palmer understood, so great tin cups of hot coffee and boxes of hard-tack were served to them. Then they danced and danced, and to me it looked as though they intended to dance the rest of their lives right on that one spot. But when they saw that any amount of furious dancing would not boil more coffee, they stopped, and finally started back to their village.

Faye tells me that as he was going to his tent from the dancing, he noticed an Indian who seemed to be unusually well clad, his moccasins and leggings were embroidered with beads and he was wrapped in a bright-red blanket, head as well as body. As he passed him a voice said in the purest English, "Lieutenant, can you give me a sear spring for my rifle?" The only human being near was that Indian, wrapped closely in a blanket, with only his eyes showing, precisely as one would expect to see a hostile dressed. Faye said that it gave him the queerest kind of a sensation, as though the voice had come from another world. He asked the Indian where he had learned such good English and technical knowledge of guns, and he said at the Carlisle school. He said also that he was a Piegan and on a visit to some Cree friends. This was one of the many proofs that we have had, that no matter how good an education the Indian may receive, he will return to his blanket and out-of-the-pot way of living just as soon as he returns to his people. It would be foolish to expect anything different.

But those Cree Indians! The coffee had been good, very good, and they wanted more, so the very next morning they brought to Colonel Palmer an old dried scalp lock, scalp of "White Chief's enemy," with the same ceremony as they had brought the hand. Then they sat around his tent and watched him, giving little grunts now and then until in desperation he ordered coffee for them, after which they danced. The men gave them bits of tobacco too. Well, they kept this performance up three or four days, each day bringing something to Colonel Palmer to make him think they had killed a Sioux. This became very tiresome; besides, the soldiers were being robbed of coffee, so Colonel Palmer shut himself in his tent and refused to see them one day, and an orderly told them to go away and make no noise. They finally left the post looking very mournful, the men said. I told Colonel Palmer that he might better have gone out on the hills as I did; that it was ever so much nicer than being shut up in a tent.

Bettie is learning to rear higher and higher, and I ride Pete now. The last time I rode her she went up so straight that I slipped back in my saddle, and some of the enlisted men ran out to my assistance. I let her have her own way and came back to the tent, and jumping down, declared to Faye that I would never ride her again. She is very cute in her badness, and having once discovered that I didn't like a rearing horse, she has proceeded to rear whenever she wanted her own way. I have enjoyed riding her because she is so graceful and dainty, but I have been told so many times that the horse was dangerous and would throw me, that perhaps I have become a little nervous about her.

A detail of soldiers goes up in the mountains twice every day for poles with which to make the roofs of the log quarters. They go along a trail on the other side of the creek, and on this side is a narrow deer path that runs around the rocky side of a small mountain. Ever since I have been here I have wanted to go back of the mountain by that path. So, when I happened to be out on Pete yesterday afternoon at the time the men started, I at once decided to take advantage of their protection and ride around the little mountain.

About half a mile up, there were quantities of bushes eight and ten feet high down in the creek bed, and the narrow trail that Pete was on was about on a level with the tops of the bushes. At my left the hill was very steep and covered with stones. I was having a delightful time, feeling perfectly safe with so many soldiers within call. But suddenly things changed. Down in those bushes there was a loud crashing and snapping, and then straight up into the air jumped a splendid deer! His head and most of his neck were above the bushes, and for just one instant he looked at us with big inquisitive eyes before he went down again.

When the deer went up Pete went up, too, on the steep hill, and as I was on his back I had to go with him. The horse was badly frightened, snorted, and raised his tail high, and when I tried to get him down on the trail, the higher up he went on the rolling stones. I could almost touch the side of the mountain with my whip in places, it was so steep. It was a most dangerous position to be in, and just what elevation I might have been carried to eventually I do not know, had not the deer stopped his crashing through the bushes and bounded up on the opposite bank, directly in front of the first team of mules, and then on he streaked it across a plateau and far up a mountain side, his short white tail showing distinctly as he ran. With the deer, Pete seemed to think that the Evil One had gone, too, and consented to return to the trail and to cross the stream over to the wagons.

The corporal had stopped the wagons until he saw that I was safely down, and I asked him why he had not killed the deer--we are always in need of game--and he said that he had not seen him until he was in front of the mules, and that it was impossible then, as the deer did not wait for them to get the rifles out of their cases on the bottom of the wagons. That evening at the whist table I told Colonel Palmer about the deer and Pete, and saw at once that I had probably gotten the poor corporal in trouble. Colonel Palmer was very angry that the men should even think of going several miles from the post, in an Indian country, with their rifles cased and strapped so they would have been practically useless in case of an attack.

Faye says that the men were not thinking of Indians, but simply trying to keep their rifles from being marred and scratched, for if they did get so they would be "jumped" at the first inspection. Colonel Palmer gave most positive orders for the soldiers to hold their rifles in their hands on their way to and from the mountains, which perhaps is for the best.

But I am afraid they will blame me for such orders having been issued.

FORT MAGINNIS, MONTANA TERRITORY, October, 1880.

IT is not surprising that politicians got a military post established here, so this wonderful country could be opened and settled, for the country itself is not only beautiful, but it has an amount of game every place that is almost beyond belief. Deer are frequently seen to come down from the mountains to the creek for water, and prairie chicken would come to our very tents, I fancy, if left to follow their inclinations.

Faye is officer of the day every third day, but the other two days there is not much for him to do, as the company is now working on the new quarters under the supervision of the quartermaster. So we often go off on little hunts, usually for chicken, but sometimes we go up on one of the mountains, where there are quantities of ruffed grouse. These are delicious, with meat as tender and white as young chicken, and they are so pretty, too, when they spread the ruffs around their necks and make fans of their short tail feathers.

Yesterday we went out for birds for both tables--the officers' mess and our own. The other officers are not hunters, and Faye is the possessor of the only shotgun in the garrison, therefore it has been a great pleasure to us to bring in game for all. Faye rides Bettie now altogether, so I was on Pete yesterday. We had quite a number of chickens, but thought we would like to get two or three more; therefore, when we saw a small covey fly over by some bushes, and that one bird went beyond and dropped on the other side, Faye told me to go on a little, and watch that bird if it rose again when he shot at the others. It is our habit usually for me to hold Faye's horse when he dismounts to hunt, but that time he was some distance away, and had slipped his hand through the bridle rein and was leading Bettie that way. Both horses are perfectly broken to firearms, and do not in the least mind a gun. I have often seen Bettie prick up her ears and watch the smoke come from the barrel with the greatest interest.

Everything went on very well until I got where I might expect to see the chicken, and then I presume I gave more thought to the bird than to the ground the horse was on. At all events, it suddenly occurred to me that the grass about us was very tall, and looking down closely I discovered that Pete was in an alkali bog and slowly going down. I at once tried to get him back to the ground we had just left, but in his frantic efforts to get his feet out of the sticky mud, he got farther to one side and slipped down into an alkali hole of nasty black water and slime. That I knew to be exceedingly dangerous, and I urged the horse by voice and whip to get him out before he sank down too deep, but with all his efforts he could do nothing, and was going down very fast and groaning in his terror.