CHAPTER ELEVEN THE SNOWY MOONS
Snow had already fallen on the mountain tops when Washakie got back, so he was in a hurry to get the camp moved to the winter range. Mother and Hanabi began at once to arrange the packs for traveling. We soon started for our winter quarters.
We went down the Tobitapa (Portneuf) to the Piupa (Snake River), then up the Piupa, and then west over the divide on to the headwaters of Angitapa (Rock Creek). At this place we stayed six days and killed sixteen buffaloes, two for each family. That was to be the last killing of buffaloes until the next year. Washakie bought four of the buffalo hides from other Indians, which made six in all. He said that he wanted something for the women to do through the winter.
When we started from here we went west over a big mountain upon which we had to camp in about three feet of snow. We had to tie up all our horses to keep them from running away, for we had nothing for them to eat. Early the next morning we were off and that night we got out of the snow, but it was still very cold. The next day we came to a beautiful stream. It was not very large, but it was fairly alive with mountain trout. We went down the stream two days’ travel and there we stayed for about a month, I think. Washakie had intended to winter here, but he changed his mind and followed the stream farther down until he came to another river. I do not remember what the Indians called this river, but they told me that fish as long as I was tall came up the river in the springtime. We had a very good camping ground that winter. It was sheltered from the wind, but we had a great deal more snow than had fallen the winter before.
About six hundred yards above our camp was a large grove of dry quaking aspens, mostly small poles. I told mother that if she would help me pile a lot of them, I would haul them down with the horses. She did not believe that I could do it, but she helped me gather the poles just the same.
Washakie had brought from Salt Lake City the inch auger I asked him to get for me, so I went to work to make a sled like the one I had seen my father make. I got two crooked sticks for runners, pinned on some cross pieces, and soon had the thing ready. It did not look much like a sled, but it answered the purpose pretty well.
I got up two lazy old horses of mother’s, put on their pack saddles and tied ropes from the sleds to the pack saddles, then I mounted one of the horses and away we went for the grove. After putting on quite a few poles and tying them on with a rope, I took the load to camp without any bother at all. All of the Indians were out watching me bring in my first load of wood.
“What cannot a white man do?” said the old War Chief.
In a few days I had all of the wood we needed down to the camp. Hanabi said that I was as good as two squaws. After getting our wood up, I lent the sled to some of the Indians. They thought they could haul wood as well as I could, so they hitched up their horses and started out. But they went on higher up the hill where it was steeper than where I got my wood. Then they put on a big load and started down. The sled ran into the horses’ heels, scared them, and they started to run. The horse that the Indian was riding broke loose from the sled, and the other horse ran away with the sled fastened to him, scattering the poles all over the side of the hill, and bolting down through the camp. The sled jammed against the tepees and jerked three or four of them down. Then the frightened horse struck out through some cottonwoods, slammed the sled against the trees, and broke it all to pieces.
Shoshone tepee with sagebrush windbreak.
This discouraged the Indians. They said that the squaws could pack wood if they wanted any, that it was their work anyhow. That ended the wood hauling.
I got the Indian boys to help me fix up the sled again. We pulled it up on a hill with a horse and turned it towards camp. I wanted some of the boys to get on with me and slide down, but they were afraid. They said they wanted to see me do it first, so away I went. Then they came down with the horse and we pulled the sled up again. By hard begging, I got two of them on the sled. As soon as we started, one jumped off, but the other stayed with me. When we reached the bottom, he said it was the finest ride he ever had. The next time several of the boys were ready to try it, and five of us got on. Away we went to the bottom. Oh, what fun we had! It was not long till they all wanted to get on, and the heavier we loaded it, the faster it would go. When the track got slick, the sled would carry us nearly to camp.
We kept this up for days. When the track was well made, we would pull the sled up without a horse. All of the big boys and girls joined in the coasting, and sometimes the older Indians would ride too. The sled was kept going all the time, until we wore the runners out. After that for fun we turned to fishing and hunting chickens and rabbits. Sometimes we would go for antelope, but when we went for them, some of the older Indians would go with us to keep us from killing too many. The Indians were always careful to preserve the game.
Everything went off peacefully this winter. There was no quarreling nor fighting. One young papoose and an old squaw died. We lost no horses. We were a long way from the Crows, so we had no Crow scares. I had a very good time, and mother seemed to enjoy the winter as well as I did.
Along towards spring seven or eight of us little boys were in the cottonwoods shooting birds when one boy’s arrow hit the side of a tree, glanced, and struck me in the leg. The boy was badly scared, for he thought I was going to kick him to pieces, but I told him to stop crying, that I knew it was an accident. He quit crying, and the other boys thought that I was getting to be a pretty good fellow after all, for before this they believed that if any one hurt me there would be a kicking scrape right away.
Spring came at last. We moved down the river about fifteen miles where we could get better grass for our horses. Here were plenty of white-tailed deer and antelope, some elk, and a few mountain sheep. Ducks and geese also were plentiful.
We stayed here until about the middle of May. The big fish they had told me about began to come up the river. And they were really big ones; two of them made all the load I could carry. They must have weighed thirty or thirty-five pounds each. Mother and Hanabi dried about two hundred pounds of these fish. I afterwards learned that they were salmon. The first that came up were fat and very good, but they kept coming thicker and thicker until they were so thin that they were not fit to eat.
After a while we moved camp again, going down the river a little farther and then up a deep and rocky canyon where there had been many snowslides during the winter. We crossed over snow that had come down in these slides that was forty or fifty feet deep and was as hard as ice. There was not very much timber in the canyon, and the cliffs were very high. Years afterwards very rich gold mines were found in this place, a mining camp was started, and great quartz mills were built.[3]
[3] Virginia City, Montana.
Lee Moorhouse
“The burden bearer”—Squaw carrying wood.
As we left the canyon, we climbed a very steep mountain for about two miles, and then went down through thick timber until we came out on to a beautiful prairie covered with the finest grass I had ever seen. Off to the left was a deep canyon where one fork of the Big Hole River headed, and here we camped for a long time. The Indians killed a great many black-tailed deer and antelope and dried the meat. I think Washakie and I killed seventeen while we stayed here.
Our next move was down to the forks of the river, where we stayed three or four weeks to give the women time to tan the deerskins. It was fine fishing in the Big Hole River.
While we were staying here, one of the War Chief’s boys was accidentally shot and killed. Oh, what crying we had to do! Every one in camp who could raise a yelp had to cry for about five days. I had to mingle my gentle voice with the rest of the mourners. They killed three horses and buried them and his bow and arrows with him. The horses were for him to ride to the Happy Hunting Grounds. When they got ready to bury him, every one in camp had to go up to him and put a hand on his head and say he was sorry to have him leave us. When it came my turn, I went into our tepee and would not come out. Mother came after me. I told her I would not go, that I was not sorry to see him go, for he was no good anyhow.
“Don’t say that so they will hear it,” she said. Then she went back and made excuses for me.
They took him up to a high cliff and put him in a crevice with his bedding, a frying pan, an ax, his bow and arrows, and some dried buffalo meat. After this they covered him with rocks. When they got back to camp, they let out the most pitiful howls I ever heard. I joined them too, just as loud as I could scream, as if I was the most broken-hearted one in the camp, but it seemed so foolish to keep up this howling, as they did for five days. I got so hoarse I could hardly talk.
But I did feel sorry for his poor mother. She was really grief-stricken. She cut off her hair close to her head. I asked mother why she did that. She said that all mothers did it when their oldest boy died. After our mourning was over, she would still weep bitterly and sometimes scream out her sorrow.
We next moved down the Big Hole River to where the town of Melrose is now situated. We stayed here for about two weeks, then went on till we came to where the Big Hole empties into the Beaver Head River and forms the Jefferson River.
Caspar W. Hodgson
Coming in from an antelope hunt on Camas Prairie, Idaho, years ago before these pronghorns were fully protected.
Here we did nothing but fish. The buffalo were not fat enough to kill, and besides, we had all of the dried elk and deer meat we wanted. It was a beautiful place to camp, and we had the finest of grass for our horses.
I broke a few more colts, two for mother and four for Washakie. Our horses by this time were getting fat and looking fine, but my little pinto was the prettiest one of all. Hardly a day passed but some Indian would try to trade me out of him. One Indian offered me two good horses if I would swap, but I thought too much of the pony to part with him even for a whole band of horses. He was just as pretty as a horse could be.
Our next journey took us a long way northeast. Washakie said that we were going where the buffaloes were too many to count. After about a week of travel, we reached the north fork of the Madison River, about on a line with the Yellowstone Park; and oh, the kwaditsi (antelope) and padahia (elk) and kotea (buffalo) there were! Every way we looked we could see herds of them.
While we were at this camp another boy was killed by a horse. He was dragged almost to pieces through the rocks and brush.
When I heard of it, I told mother to get her voice ready for another big howling.
“Aren’t you ashamed to talk that way?” asked Hanabi.
“I am afraid you are a hard-hearted boy,” said mother.
After the poor fellow was buried, we went up the Madison River about ninety miles and camped there for a month. The buffalo were now in better condition, so we killed a good many, drying their meat and making their hides into robes. Then we went on south and came to the beautiful lake where we had had such a good time the summer before. It is now called Henry’s Lake, and is the head of the north fork of the Snake River. We did nothing here but fish, for we had enough dried meat to last till we reached the usual hunting grounds.
“The warriors went on and passed … out of our sight.”