LITMIR.BIZ

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of the savages, and the return fire of the hardy immigrants, many of whom paid with their lives the penalty of their ambition. The stages that ran to " the Hills" from the towns on the Missouri and the Union Pacific rarely ever escaped attack—sometimes by robbers, but oftenest by Indians. All passengers, even the women, who were, at that time, chiefly composed of the

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      rough, if not absolutely immoral, class, traveled with arms in their hands ready for immediate action. Border ruffians infested all the cities, and, very soon, became almost as great a menace to life and property as the savages themselves. Murders and suicides occurred in abundance, as the gambling dens increased and the low class saloons multiplied. Notwithstanding these discouragements, the period of 1874, '75 and '76 was the Augustan era, if the term be not too transcendental, of the Black Hills. The placer mines were soon exhausted, and, as it required capital to work the quartz ledges, the poor miners, or the impatient ones, who hoped to get rich in a day, quickly "stampeded " for more promising regions, and left the mushroom "cities" to the capitalists, the wage workers, the gamblers, the women in scarlet, and to these, in later days, may be added the rancheros, or cattle men. Morality has greatly improved in " the Hills" since 1876, and business has settled down to a steady, oldfashioned gait, but the first settlers still remember, with vague regret, the stirring times of old, when gold dust passed as currency; when whisky was bad and fighting general; when claims were held dear and life cheap; when the bronzed hunter, or long-haired "scout," strutted around in half savage pride, and when the renowned " Wild Bill," who subsequently met a fate so sudden and so awful, was at once the glory and the terror of that active, but primitive, community. But enough of historical retrospection. I will now resume my narrative of the long and weary march, which began at Fort Russell in "the ides of May," and terminated at Fort Laramie in the last days of September, 1876.

      CHAPTER III.

      THE MARCH OF THE PLATTE.

      The final order to move out on the expedition readied Fort Russell, as I think I have already stated, on May 16th. On the morning of the 17th, several troops of the 3d Cavalry, and, I think, one or two of the 2d Cavalry, under the orders of Col. 'W'. B. Royall, marched northward toward the Platte. It was my desire to accompany this column, but Captain Sutorius, Company E, of the 3d Cavalry, had to wait, under orders, until the morning of the 19th. Captain Wells, Troop E, of the 2d Cavalry, had orders to march with Sutorius. As I messed with the latter, I was compelled to wait also, and I occupied myself during the brief interval in visiting Cheyenne, and taking final leave of my kind friends in that city. I met there Mr. T. C. McMillan, now a State senator, who was going out as correspondent for another Chicago newspaper. Mr. McMillan was in feeble health at the time, but he was determined not to be left behind. He was fortunate in making messing arrangements with Captain Sutorius, who was the soul of hospitality. As McMillan had to purchase a horse and some outfit, we determined to follow, rather than accompany, the two troops mentioned, who marched for Lodge Pole creek, eighteen miles distant from Fort Russell, at daybreak. When McMillan had made his purchases, we set out on horseback, accom

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      panied for a few miles by the late George O'Brien, to overtake the command. Neither of us had been used to riding for some time, and, as the day was fairly warm, we did not over-exert ourselves in catching up with the column. There was a well-marked road to Lodge Pole creek, through a country greatly devoid of beauty, so that we had no difficulty in keeping the trail. Mr. O'Brien bade us adieu on a little rising ground, about five miles from the Fort, and then Mac and I urged our animals to a trot, as the afternoon was well advanced. A little before sundown we came in sight of the shallow valley of Lodge Pole creek, and saw tents pitched along the banks of that stream, while, hobbled or lariated, horses were grazing around. Several canvas-covered army wagons, and a number of soldiers engaged in attending to their horses, completed the picture. Captain Sutorius welcomed us warmly, and explained that he had no lieutenants — one being on sick leave and the other detailed for other duty. He introduced us to the two officers of the 2d Cavalry, Captain Wells and Lieutenant Sibley. The former was a veteran of the Civil War, covered with honorable scars, bluff, stern and heroic. Lieutenant Sibley, with whose career I was destined to be linked under circumstances which subsequently attracted the attention of the continent, and which will live long in the tales and traditions of our regular army, was a young West Pointer, who had distinguished himself under General Reynolds in the attack upon, and capture of, Crazy Horse's village on March 17th of that eventful year. He was about the middle height, well but slightly built, and with a handsome, expressive

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      face. It does not take very long to become thoroughly at home with soldiers, if they take a liking to you, and we were soon seated in Captain Sutorius' tent, partaking very industriously of plain military fare. The conversation turned chiefly on the campaign upon which we were enter ing. Captain Wells said that the Indians were in stronger force than most people imagined, and that General Crook, accustomed mostly to the southern Indians, hardly estimated at its real strength the powerful array of the savages. He joked, in rough soldier fashion, McMillan and myself on having had our hair cropped, as, he said, it would be a pity to cheat the Sioux out of our scalps. The bugle soon sounded, the horses were placed "on the line " — that is, tied by their halters to a strong rope stretched between wagons — curried and fed. The mules joined in their usual lugubrious evening chorus. 'We had a smoke, followed by a moderately strong "toddy," and, very soon, the sentinels having been posted, Sutorius, Mac and I lay down to rest on blankets and buffalo robes spread in the captain's commodious wall tent. I slept the sleep of the just, although I was occasionally conscious of McMillan's eternal cough and the captain's profound snore, and thus opened, for me, the Big Horn and Yellowstone campaign.

      In the midst of a dream, in which Indians, scalping- knives, warwhoops and tomahawks figured prominently, I was aroused by the shrill blast of the cavalry trumpets sounding the reveille. I sprang up instantly, as did my companions, made a very hasty and incomplete toilet, and, having swallowed a cup of coffee, served in an army " tin,"

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      was ready for the road. The little "outfit" moved like clockwork, and, by six o'clock, everything had " pulled out" of camp. The previous day's ride had rendered me quite stiff in the knee joints, as I had been riding with short stirrups. I soon learned that if a man wishes to avoid acute fatigue on a long march, it is better to lengthen the stirrup leathers. I accordingly adopted the military plan, and found some relief. Indians, by the way, generally ride with short stirrups on long journeys. I suppose they get used to it, but I never could.

      The country through which we were passing was monotonously ugly. In most places the ground was covered with sage-brush and cacti, and the clouds of alkaline dust, raised by the hoofs of the troop horses, were at once blinding and suffocating. I was tormented by thirst, and soon exhausted all the water in my canteen. The captain, who was an old campaigner, advised me to place a small pebble in my mouth. I did so, and saliva was produced, which greatly relieved my suffering. I found afterward, on many a hard, hot, dusty march, when water was scarce, that this simple remedy against thirst is very effective. The less water a soldier drinks on the march, the better it will be for his health.

      The command was halted several times in order that the horses might have a chance to graze, and also to enable the inexperienced among the soldiers to get some of the soreness out of their bones. I was devoutly grateful for every halt. The shadows from the west were lengthening as we rode into camp at a place called Bear Springs, where wood

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      and water abounded. The scenes and incidents of the preceding camp were duplicated here, but I learned that, on the morrow, we were to catch up with the column in advance, which was under the orders of Col. William Royall, of the 3d Cavalry, since colonel of the 4th Cavalry, and now retired.

      We were in the saddle at daybreak, and marched with greater rapidity than usual. There were no halts of any great duration. About noon we encountered a stout young officer, attended by an orderly, riding at break-neck pace toward us. He halted, saluted the captain, and said, "Colonel Royall's compliments, and he requests

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