LITMIR.BIZ

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      OR THE CONQUEST OF THE SIOUX

      Captain Sutorius to a young officer, already introduced to my readers.

      "You mean about the watch?" inquired Schwatka. "It happened in this way: We were ordered to make a detail for picket duty, and as the Pawnees were doing nothing in particular we thought we would give them a turn. My sergeant took half a dozen of them with the regular guard, and, having placed the picket post, explained to the chief Indian, as well as he could, that he and his men would have two hours on and four hours off duty until the guard was relieved. He said to the Pawnee: 'I will lend you my watch.' He struck a match and pointed to the dial. 'It is now 6 o'clock,' said he. 'When the shorter hand moves two points your first watch will be relieved. Do you understand me?'

      "'Hey—hey—good!' said the Indian, and stalked away upon his rounds. The sergeant, who was greatly fatigued, dropped into a fitful sleep by the low watch-fire of the main guard, and was suddenly aroused by a hand laid heavily upon his shoulder. He started up in some affright, and saw the Pawnee standing over him, with the watch he had lent him in his hand. 'Well what the deuce do you want?' asked the startled sergeant. 'Injun heap cold—much heap stiff,' replied the warrior. 'Ugh ! that thing (indicating the watch) much lie. Long finger (the minute hand) him all

      right. Short finger (the hour hand) him heap d d tired!'

      "The sergeant laughed and tried to enlighten the chief as to his mistake, for he had really been but a short time on

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      guard. 'Ugh!' was all the disgusted brave would say, and, thereafter, he would have nothing more to do with picket duty."

      "By the way," said Lieutenant Reynolds, "you all remember how on the night Bourke's tent was fired into at Crazy Woman, a soldier got out of his tent, and in the frosty air of midnight, shouted loudly enough for all the command to hear him, 'I want to go ho-o-o-ome !'"

      A roar of laughter rewarded the Lieutenant's anecdote, and we all, soon afterward, "turned in " for the night.

      Next morning, June 2d, we marched for old Fort Reno, sixteen miles distant. It was one of the three forts abandoned by the government, under treaty with the Sioux, in 1868-9. We approached the dismantled post through Dry Fork canon, which extended about three-fourths of the way. The bottom lands were covered thickly with cottonwood, and showed very many remains of Indian villages. Emerging, at last, from the canon, we mounted a bluff, and saw, about two miles ahead of us, a small line of what appeared to be shelter tents, with animals grazing in the foreground. We soon discovered that they belonged to the two troops of the 3d Cavalry, sent forward under Captain Van Vliet and Lieut. Emmet Crawford, to meet the expected Crow Indian allies, who were, however, not yet visible. Above their little camp, on the left bank of the Powder river, we observed the ruins of Fort Reno—nothing left but bare walls, scorched timbers and rusty pieces of iron. We forded the stream, which was at low water, and speedily reached the camping ground. We were very kindly received

      OR THE CONQUEST OF THE SIOUX

      by the officers who had preceded us. Captain Van Vliet, now Major, was tall, thin and good looking. He introduced his second in command of the company, Lieutenant Yon Leutwitz, whom I had already seen at Sidney. Lieutenant, since Captain, Emmet Crawford was over six feet high, with a genuine military face, and a spare but athletic form. He and I formed a friendship then and there which was only terminated by his unfortunate death on Mexican soil, and by Mexican hands, several years later, while he was leading a scouting party in search of the murderous Apaches. The scout was made under what may be called a treaty, and I have always looked upon the shooting of gallant Crawford as a deliberate and cruel murder, which ought to have been promptly avenged on the dastardly perpetrators. Crawford treated several officers and myself to a most welcome stimulant. He was one of the most abstemious of men, but the virtue of hospitality had a large place in his noble nature. Van Vliet also did much for our comfort, and Von Leutwitz made us all laugh heartily at a ballad of lamentation he had written, because of the non-appearance of the Crow Indians, and the refrain of which was, "Crows, dear Crows, vere the d—1 you are?"

      Powder river is narrow, but rather rapid. In the rainy season it rises above its banks and inundates the country for miles on both sides of its course. Then it is both difficult and dangerous to attempt a crossing. The clay that composes its banks is generally of a black, brittle, gunpowdery appearance, and hence, it is commonly believed, the peculiar name of the river. The water is, at most seasons, exceed

      WAR-PATH AND BIVOUAC

      ingly muddy, and is thoroughly impregnated with alkali, as many soldiers discovered to their sorrow before and after we left the place. The fort was beautifully situated, commanded a view of the country far and near, and to surprise it would have been impossible, with even ordinary vigilance. The low lands along the river were plentifully wooded, a circumstance that caused the death of many a brave fellow of the former garrisons, as the Indians used to lie in wait for the small wood parties sent out to cut timber, and massacred them in detail. The grazing was about the best we had seen in Wyoming Territory up to that period. The entire mountain barrier of the Big Horn, softened and beautified by distance, is visible to the westward. Fort Reno had been the main defense of the old Montana road, and since its abandonment, up to within about ten years, few white people, even in large parties, were venturous enough to travel that route. The fort had a strong stockade, and must have been quite a fortress. Loads of old metal, wheels, stoves, parts of gun carriages, axles and other iron debris, sufficient to make a Chicago junk dealer rich, were lying there, then, uncared for. I suppose most of the stuff has since passed into nothingness.

      Two hundred yards north of the abandoned site is the cemetery, where thirty-five soldiers and one officer, all victims of the Sioux Indians, sleep their last sleep. A small monument of brick and stone had been erected above their resting place, but this the Indians did not respect. The moment the garrison that had erected it crossed the river, it had been set upon and almost razed to the ground. The

      OR THE CONQUEST OF THE SIOUX

      slab on which were distinguishable the words: "Erected as a memorial of respect to our comrades in arms, killed in defense," was broken. The stones placed to mark the graves were uprooted by the vengeful savages, and many of the mounds were either leveled or scooped out. Even the rough headboards, which proclaimed the names of the gallant dead were shivered into fragments, but the patronymics of Privates Murphy, Holt, Slagle, Riley and Laggin, nearly all of the 18th Infantry, killed May 27, 1867, could be distinguished by putting the pieces together. The most stoical of mortals could hardly fail to look with some degree of emotion at the lonely and dishonored resting places of those hapless young men, so untimely, and even ingloriously, butchered by a lurking foe. They sleep far away from home and civilization, for even yet the place is only visited by the hardy rancheros and cowboys, who are little given to sentiment of any kind. For the poor soldiers lying out there, Decoration Day never dawns, and neither mother, wife, sister nor sweetheart can brighten the sod above their bones with the floral tributes of fond remembrance. "The Indian knows their place of rest," and follows them with his implacable hatred beyond the eternal river.

      While the column was en route from Dry Fork to Reno, we came upon the trail of a party of Montana miners bound for the Black Hills. We found several rifle pits thrown up in good military fashion, which showed that some among them were old soldiers, and up to every species of Indian deviltry. Captain Van Vliet, while in advance, had picked up the following, written on a piece of board:

      WAR-PATH AND BIVOUAC

       Dry Fork Of Powder River, May 27, 1876.

      Captain St. John's party of Montana miners, sixty-five strong, leave here this morning for Whitewood. No Indian trouble yet. Don't know exactly how far it is to water. Filled nose-bags and gum boots with the liquid and rode off singing, "There's Room Enough in Paradise I"

      The names signed to this peculiar, and rather devil-may care, document were Daniels, Silliman, Clark, Barrett, Morrill, Woods, Merrill, Buchanan, Wyman, Busse, Snyder, A. Daley, E. Jackson, J. Daley and others.

      As the Crows, who had

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