CHAPTER XXI.

The "Dull Knife" Raid; The Indian's Motive for the Same, etc.

The summer of 1877 found the Indians as active as they had been for some years prior to that date. They had long since come to the realization that if the buffalo hunter continued his destructive work upon their base of supplies, the time would soon come when they would be brought to the verge of want. They had so long considered the buffalo their natural source of sustenance that they could not behold the plains depopulated of the vast herds without offering some kind of protest, and the only one that appealed to him was the rifle, and the tomahawk. Prior to '77 they had levied a heavy toll upon the settlers in varied shapes of depredations. They murdered wantonly, they carried into captivity many wives and daughters of the settlers, they ran off the stock and what they did not take away they destroyed. Things had come to such a pass that the settler had to be protected if the vast plains were to be opened up to agriculture, or ranching. With the removal of the buffalo, the cattle man would have an opportunity of stocking the vast territory with marketable beef, or the farmer would be able to convert the boundless acres of the plains to the production of much needed cereals. Hence it came to pass that the U. S. soldier took a very active part in affording protection not only to the scattering settlers who were brave enough to risk the dangers of Indian incursion, but also, to the cattlemen who were rapidly filling the plains with herds to replace the once numberless buffalo. Miners and freighters also came in for their share of protection from the lawless incursions of the marauding natives of the plains. As a consequence of the activity of the army, several bands of hostile Indians were captured and placed on reservations. Amongst the contingents brought in was Dull Knife with his followers. They were held under surveillance at Red Cloud Agency, Nebraska, until an order was issued by the Department to Capt. Lawton, telling him to take charge of the Dull Knife Band, and take them under military escort to Ft. Reno Reservation, Indian Territory. This order was promptly complied with, and he started southwards and located them on the above mentioned Reservation without any trouble or annoyance on the part of Dull Knife.

It might be well to interpolate here an assertion of Dull Knife, as it will explain some of his future conduct. He made the claim that he surrendered under a promise, or form of agreement that in case he should become dissatisfied with the Darlington agency at Ft. Reno, he would be allowed return to his northern hunting grounds again. I cannot vouch for the truthfulness of the statement, but will let it pass for what it is worth. The fact of the matter is that he was only a very short time at the Darlington agency before he began fomenting trouble. He managed to render himself obnoxious as possible to every one with whom he had any dealings. John D. Miles was in charge of the Darlington Agency at the time, and Major Misner was in command of Ft. Reno. They each of them kept a close scrutiny on every movement of their distinguished? guest, as his reputation for being a disturber among the Indians as well as amongst the whites had preceded him, and they soon discovered that his change of base did not change his disposition for the better, in fact, it seemed to have the contrary effect upon him. When he was brought into the reservation, the agent located him about nine miles above Reno, close by what was known as Dutch Jake's ranch, and not far from where the present town of Calumet is situated, in the valley of the North Canadian. He was not there very long until he discovered that the whole scheme of creation seemed to be out of harmony with his needs and comfort. He made the startling discovery that the water was no good, that the grass lacked the nutritive qualities necessary to keep his ponies in good condition, and last, but not least, that the agent was stealing his chuckaway and that he, his family and all that was near and dear to him were fast becoming mere shadows of their former selves owing to such scantiness of rations. I do not know whether there was any truth in the claim that the agent, John D. Miles was guilty of the crime charged against him, but this I feel very safe in saying, that a great many of the troubles with the Western Indians had their origin in just such practices, as has often been shown upon investigation. There are usually two sides to every question, but, in the case in discussion, whether there was any truth in the charge, or not, I am safe in remarking that Dull Knife with less provocation, in fact, with only an excuse for provocation, could stir up more strife with less raw material to start on than any Indian I ever knew or heard of, and certainly lived up to the description the Irishman gave of his wife, when he was carried away by his feelings of resentment, "Bad luck to your ould head, ye're never at home only when ye are abroad, and never at peace but when ye are at war."

The condition of which Dull Knife complained with so much petulancy and bitterness continued to exist during the winter. However, when the day arrived for the Indians to draw their rations, he appeared with the rest and took his share. The manner in which the cattle were turned over to them was rather peculiar, but filled the bill to a nicety. At the time appointed, they all adjourned to what was called the "issue" pen where the cattle were turned over to them to kill after their own fashion. As soon as the steer was turned loose the Indians set out in pursuit of him, armed with bows and arrows, with which they endeavored to despatch him. They rode alongside of him, often times the distance of more than a mile, all the while trying to sink their arrows into some vital spot. Many a wild race they had after some refractory steer goaded to desperation by the wounds inflicted upon him by the arrows. As soon as the beast fell in his track, the pursuers work was done. The attention required to convert the fallen steer into food was given by the squaws who followed the pursuit, some on foot and others on ponies. Arrived at the death scene they immediately set to work with their skinning knives and soon had the steer divested of his hide. That done, they made short work of cutting up the carcass into the portions allotted to each family. Those to whom the meat was distributed looked after the conveyance of it to their quarters in whatever manner suited their taste or convenience. Some wrapped it up in blankets, others hung it from their saddles, others brought into service a gunny sack or any other article that would suit the purpose of transporting their share to their dwellings. In the work of disposing of a steer, they were very economical, as there was very little left of it when they had finished the work of dismembering him. Even the entrails came in for their attention. The smaller intestines they usually relieved of their contents by squeezing between their fingers. When they had them sufficiently cleansed of all foreign matter, they braided them carefully and hung them around the necks of their ponies. If the work happened to take place in warm weather, by the time the work was completed there was usually a halo of flies encircling each squaw to accompany her on her homeward journey. The bucks seldom, if ever, took a hand in the butchering as they considered that work beneath the dignity of a warrior. A few years later this system of disposing of the cattle was abolished by an order issued from the Indian Department at Washington, as the officials considered that manner of killing a beast too barbarious and cruel. To accomplish the end desired, they had the Agent select a good marksman to go into the issue, pen and shoot the animal selected for each family. Then the beast was dragged outside and the family to whom it was apportioned, dressed it and made the division of it that suited their fancy. On the day of "issue," I have frequently sat for hours watching the aborigines at their work, and I must say that outside of a few little things, the scene had a certain amount of fascination for me. Here I had an opportunity to study the Indian at close range, and I found it far from uninteresting. However, education and environment has wrought considerable change in the habits and customs of the natives of the plains, though it was a somewhat difficult matter to break away from the mode of life founded upon years of existance under a species of wild and untrammeled freedom such as they enjoyed before they came under the dominion of the white man. I have oftentimes, in my travels over the plains and visits to the different agencies, come upon a family of Indians at their meal. All were seated upon the ground in a circle around the food, each one devoting careful attention to the work of demolishing some choice morsel with a gusto that would make Lucullus envious. Frequently, upon encountering them in such circumstances I discovered young men and young women who had been at Carlyle, or some other institution in the East, I could tell at a glance that they had had the advantage of an educational training, as, upon my arrival they would turn their faces away from me, much embarrassed and somewhat ashamed to be seen in their old habits of life when they had been permitted to enjoy the elevating influences and advantages of higher life. They had not been back from school perhaps, for more than a couple of weeks; perhaps, they were only making a short visit to the old folks on the plains, but they could not conceal their training, and they sought to avoid embarrassment by turning away from the visitor who happened to call upon them. They were wearing the blanket just to please the old people. It was the custom of the early days, and still the mode of life of their parents, and they found it rather difficult to live in a manner different from their people when they were in the midst of them. One who suffered no embarrassment from the visitor was the old buck himself. There he sat munching a piece of raw beef as unconcerned as if no visitor had ever appeared before him. He was apparently oblivious of his surroundings, and it seemed as if the sole purpose in life, just then, was to give his whole time and attention to a quantity of meat, oftentimes of such size that a section of it would be protruding from the corner of his mouth. There he sat and just chewed, like a work ox munching his quid, or a mountain goat contentedly masticating some tough but savory morsel of food.

I have digressed considerably from the subject of Dull Knife's doings, but I hope that matter just mentioned has not been uninteresting to the reader as it gives some idea of the manner of life the old rascal led while at the Darlington Agency. To continue the narrative, the Agent kept up his mode of procedure in dealing with Dull Knife, and the latter continued to raise objections. He kept the trail between his abode and the Agency in a well worn condition owing to his numerous visits to the presiding official. In this manner he managed to put in the whole winter. In other words, he kept the kettle boiling, and one could see that there was something brewing.

If there is anything that an Indian dislikes, it is to get into any trouble that would force him to leave his camp in the winter time, especially when there is much snow on the ground. Gen. Phil. Sheridan was aware of this fact when he made his winter campaign on the Washita after Black Kettle, Satanta, and Lone Wolf, and forever settled the outbreaks of the Indians in that section of the country.

When the grass began to spring up along the valley, and his ponies seemed to be putting on some of the much needed flesh, Dull Knife felt the blood pulsing through his heart with greater vigor, and he began to make preparations for war. He made no secret of his intentions to depart at the earliest opportunity from the restraining influences of the Reservation. It was quite manifest to all the employees at the Agency, and to a great many of the soldiers, that Dull Knife was making his arrangements to part company with his surroundings. News of the intentions of Dull Knife was brought to the Agent by an educated half-breed, George Bent. Any rumor that he had of the matter previously was now sufficiently confirmed to warrant his taking what precautionary measures he deemed proper to restrain the war-like ardor of the distinguished guest within his gates. He summoned Dull Knife to his presence and gave peremptory orders to remove his camp from its present location down the river to a position about eight miles east of where the present city of El Reno now stands. It was a good location as there was plenty of water, timber, and grazing, and should have satisfied the demands of Dull Knife for improved conditions, but he immediately put forth all manner of objections to which the Agent turned a deaf ear. Reluctantly Dull Knife agreed that the conditions in the new location were much better than where he had been living, but he did not see his way clear just then to make a change in his habitation. The reason he gave for his unwillingness to comply with the wishes of the agent was that there was sickness in his family and consequently it would be extremely dangerous to expose them to the necessity of submitting themselves to a change when it was not absolutely necessary. He promised, however, that as soon as his family was restored to health, he would move them to the new location down the river. The Agent permitted the delay suggested by the wily Indian, but as a precautionary measure, had the Commanding Officer at the fort send a troupe of the fourth cavalry to where he was then camped, to stand guard over him until such time as he would make up his mind to remove to the new site selected for his encampment. The placing of a guard over him, gave Dull Knife another opportunity to raise objections to the general scheme of things, and like a spoiled child who cries because it cannot have the rainbow, he commenced to whine once more. No sooner had the troops taken up their position to guard his actions than he came to the Agent to have them removed entirely, or if that was impossible, to have them removed to some distance from his teepee. He asserted strongly that the presence of the soldiers so near to him had a tendency to keep his squaws in a state of terror and that, as a consequence, they would not be able to regain their health, at least, as long as the soldiers remained in the neighborhood. The Agent, to put an end to his continual whining, consented to remove the soldiers to a position somewhat removed from Dull Knife's teepee, but still near enough to keep some sort of guard over him if they were at all careful in the fulfillment of their duty. The soldiers were rollicking, jolly good fellows, not at all bloodthirsty, and whenever an opportunity presented itself for merriment they entered into the spirit of the occasion with all kinds of ardor. Needless to say, they found the task of acting as guard over one redskin a rather tedious affair, and were compelled to break the monotony of existence by means originating with themselves. They managed to pass the time in running horses, playing cards, and with other diversions. In the meantime the Indians passed back and forth among them with as much freedom as if there had never existed anything like a guard.

In the meantime the summer was passing away, and Dull Knife had not yet changed his residence. The Agent was beginning to get somewhat nervous over the matter. He even went so far as to declare that he would leave the agency, but that was a matter that could not be attended to without considerable red tape, and in the meantime he was receiving a good salary where he was. He could not throw up his position without consulting Uncle Sam, as Samuel is rather a harsh task-master when it comes to seeing that his officials fulfill the duties of their position. It was quite evident that Dull Knife was getting on his nerves.

During all this time, Dull Knife was tearing around like a loose cyclone that has recently broken away from its moorings, and his lieutenant, Wild Hog, was not far behind him in activity. He made no secret of what he was doing. Here and there, all over the Reservation the wily old villian was meandering for the purpose of getting possession of fire-arms. Anything he had in his possession he was willing to barter for anything in the shape of the utensils of war. Cowboys and soldiers, all were requested to barter something in the nature of guns or ammunition for whatever he could produce. Anything he had was on the market. At times he succeeded in trading a couple of ponies for an old, rusty, six-shooter, but in the general run he was not very successful. As an instance of what he was willing to do, I shall mention one case. James Smith, a teamster for the government at the time, was hauling posts to erect a stockade at the fort. In one of his trips he met Dull Knife. The latter immediately proposed a swap. He saw Smith had his belt full of cartridges, and these seemed to take his fancy. He made a trade with the teamster, giving him a new government overcoat for ten cartridges. This penchant for trading became an obsession with him, and there were times when he rendered himself a nuisance to everyone in the neighborhood by his continual proposals to make a trade.

Finally, this state of things became very monotonous. They had long since become aware of the fact that Dull Knife had no good intentions in his desire to become possessed of firearms and ammunition. They began to be fearful of him, as they did not know the time he would break out and take the war-path and leave behind him a trail of smoking ruins, with a long list of murdered victims.

On the first of September, 1878, the Agent was called up by a family of Indians who informed him that Dull Knife had gone. They said that they had gone with him a short distance, but changed their minds and came back to the reservation. The thing that all had been looking for had come to pass, and they all became anxious for what the near future would make known to them. Something had to be done without delay. The Agent immediately summoned Johnny Murphy who had been Gen. Sheridan's confidential ambulance driver during the campaign on the Washita, during the winter of 1868, against the Kiowas, Comanches, and Arpahoes, and who was afterwards a reliable despatch bearer between the different posts in that section of the country. The Agent explained the situation to Mr. Murphy, and handed him a despatch to forward immediately to the Commander at Ft. Reno, telling him of the departure of Dull Knife. When the despatch was handed to the Commander, he read it attentively, and asked Mr. Murphy, as a special favor to take it up the river where the troops were still guarding the Dull Knife camp. Murphy again mounted his faithful old steed, Pegasus, and proceeded to bore a hole in the darkness until he arrived at the camp. There he found every one of the soldiers sound asleep while the object of their tender care was on his way to the hunting grounds in the North. It is difficult to account for the somnolent tendencies of the soldiers on this occasion. It does not seem possible that their amusements of the preceding day would have the effect of producing such a lethargic condition. In any case, even the sentinel, whose duty it was, at the expiration of each hour, to shout at the top of his voice and proclaim to the troops in particular and to the whole world in general that "All is well," had surrendered to Morpheus, and was so tightly wrapped in his embrace that Murphy was compelled to roll him out of his blankets and inform him that the Commander at the fort, and his country was calling him to duty, and it would be a better procedure to saddle up at once and go to headquarters as soon as possible.

To the average man, the escape of Dull Knife from under the very eyes of his guards, may seem increditable, but this is a case where truth is stranger than fiction. It seems as if Dull Knife's medicine had hypnotized the guardians of Uncle Sam's peace and dignity. If such were the case, he must have exercised the same powerful influence over the military until he was killed close to the Wyoming line. I cannot blame the reader if he shows a little hesitancy in accepting the statement as a fact, as I myself would have an inclination to question the matter, and begin to look for proof if I were in the same conditions as he, were it not that I am writing this account within a few miles of the locality in which the drama was enacted. I have been over the trail and visited the scenes of some of his brutal massacres.

When Dull Knife left the reservation, he had less than one hundred warriors, but had his full complement of squaws and papooses, which, all told, would raise the number of the departing contingent to about two hundred and fifty. The fact that he took down his teepee, packed all his belongings, and marched off undisturbed by the guard set to watch his every move, would be enough to stagger the mind of any one except some dime-novelist who has the happy faculty of accomplishing marvelous deeds with little or no implements to produce such wonderful results. But, nevertheless, that is what occurred. He had departed unmolested from the midst of his guards, and was on his way to his far off land of promise. When he left the reservation, he continued his march to the Cimmaron river without much inconvenience from the military men who were supposed to forestall any such movement on his part. Being that he was poorly provided with munitions of war, or supplies to maintain his command on their journey, he was compelled to seek subsistence by raiding ranches, or killing what stock he met on his way. He did not have much trouble in providing for his future wants, once he came into possession of some beef. This he dried and "jerked," a very easy proceeding, for as soon as the meat was salted and hung out in the sun, it readily cured, and would remain fit for use for a year or more without any further attention.

The day after the departure of Dull Knife and his followers, the soldiers under the command of an old German officer, who had seen service in the army of the Fatherland, Major Randerbrook, set out to arrest the fugitives and bring them back to the reservation. It was manifest to the observer that the Major did not relish coming in contact with the rough edges of army life. Here I may pardonably make mention of the fact that this same Major, and Captain Gunther, of whom I shall speak later on, were members of the Slumber Squad who were supposed to keep a wakeful eye upon Dull Knife's camp. The old Major, when notified by Johnnie Murphy that his captive had vanished, became indignant to think that Murphy, a mere messenger, would have the audacity to disturb his sweet repose. However, realizing that the courier had not acted on his own volition, he summoned up sufficient courage to leave his comfortable bed, and saddle up for the purpose of making a journey to the fort. When he arrived there, he received orders to take charge of the Fourth Cavalry, or that portion of it that was then at the fort, and set out in pursuit. There were several troops of the Fourth Cavalry in that section of the country at the time, as they had been sent down from Fort Sill to keep an eye upon the Kiowas and Comanches if they should show any disposition to foment disturbances. Hence it happened that there was only one troop of the Fourth at the fort at the time of the disappearance of Dull Knife and band. The Commander of the fort also sent a courier to Fort Sill telling the Commander there that Dull Knife had gone north, and asked him to intercept the Indians if possible.

The fugitive had gone northwards only a short distance when he went into camp in the sand hills which lay north of Dutch Jake's ranch. From his actions it was plainly evident that he was not at all uneasy about the presence of the soldiers, nor did he manifest any fear of them. When he was ready to proceed on his journey, he set out with the same nonchalance as characterized his encamping so near to the scene of his late restraint. He advanced on his route until he arrived at the Antelope Hills, north of the Cimmaron river. There he made another encampment. The soldiers had not yet overtaken him, a thing which he seemed anxious for them to do. In fact he became so anxious that they should overtake him that he sent a small band of warriors back to meet them to make inquiries as to the reason of their following him. They were informed by Major Randerbrook that he had been sent out to arrest them and restore them to the reservation. They positively refused to return with the Major, and stated plainly that they intended to return to their chief and lay the matter before him. Dull Knife, as might be expected of him, positively refused to consider the return to the reservation, in any light. In order that there might be no mistake about his intentions he began to daub on the war paint in greater abundance than he was decorated with before. He was simply living up to his assertion made previously that he would return to the hunting grounds of the northern territory if the conditions around the reservation did not suit his fancy, and in his present attitude he was fulfilling up to his declarations, and would continue to do so, come what might.

The first evening of the march, Major Randerbrook made the startling discovery that, in the haste and bustle of preparation consequent upon the order to pursue the fleeing Indians, they had forgotten to pack up his feather bed, his davenport, also his writing stand and wall tent. He felt that he could not make a successful journey without these necessary accessories to his personal comfort, and therefore, he detailed Peter F. Weasel, a member of the 16th Infantry, who was acting as teamster at the time, to return to the fort and bring all his belongings (the Major's) and overtake the troops the next day. This solemn duty Peter set out to fulfill with proper feelings of submission, but I have never found any evidence to show that the said Peter ever appeared in the presence of the Major, laden with his precious feather bed or any of his other belongings.

Do not permit the idea to find lodgment in your head, my reader, that the Major was a coward. Far from it, as his later actions showed. Later on, when the Indians refused to surrender when he met them at the Antelope Hills, he ordered the troops to charge upon them in the camp, which they