The Story of Man In Yellowstone

by Merrill D. Beal

Lost in the Wilderness

In Yellowstone even now the wilderness is almost within rifle-shot of the Grand Loop highway. Furthermore, the area’s conformation to a vast plateau renders it relatively deficient in accessible landmarks. Hedges and Stickney were inadvertently separated from the party on September 8, but they stumbled upon the camp by nightfall. The very next day Mr. Everts unintentionally drifted away from his associates. By evening he was laboriously embroiled in the forest labyrinth southeast of Lake Yellowstone. Unconcerned the first night, he made himself comfortable, fully assured of an early reunion the next day. From this point on, a chronicle of his experience reveals a record of astonishing incompetency and carelessness on his part. It is amazing that he escaped fatal consequences.

Up bright and early he was retracing the trail; dismounting to survey an engulfing situation, he left his horse untied, and it bolted. Upon its disappearing back was his entire outfit. In his excitement Everts then lost his spectacles, a grievous loss because he was nearsighted. Later on he also lost two knives and one of his shoes. The most valuable article on his person was his field glass. It saved his life.

Another day passed; complacence now turned to frenzy, and Everts fairly ran in circles. His voice gave out; his head whirled. The pangs of hunger were extremely severe, and the close of the second day found him in tears. A cold, dark night added terrors of its own. There were howling coyotes and roaring lions—whether real or fancied made little difference to a timid man.

Still, he reasoned upon his problem and resolved to fight his way through. In his ill-conceived exertions he came upon a beautiful little lake. He named it Bessie for his daughter. On its banks were several hot springs and numerous patches of elk thistles. In an agony of hunger he tasted a root; it was edible, better still when cooked in the boiling water. Then a storm came up. It whipped him both in body and mind. He became lethargic, satisfied to chew thistle roots and bake his backside on warm spring incrustations. Seven days Everts hovered over this location. This indecision on his part put him completely out of reach of salvation by the Washburn party.

Then the skies cleared; the sun glistened upon the water. Its reflection flashed an idea into his mind. “My opera glasses—fire from heaven!” Oh, happy, hope-renewing thought! It worked; he made a fire. With new purpose he bestirred himself; he would make a break, but which way should he go? South to Snake River? Yes, there were frontiersmen in Idaho. After many miles of painful toil among the intricacies of hill and vale his faith weakened. The goal—a notch in the mountain barrier—seemed to recede as if in mockery of his feeble efforts.[131]

“I’ll go west into the Madison Valley—that’s shorter.” So he stumbled off in that direction. A precipitous escarpment obstructed his path; there was no pass. The distraught pilgrim lighted a fire. It got out of control; he fled from its awful devastation. In utter exhaustion he sat down to rest; whereupon, he experienced an hallucination. An old clerical friend seemed to be standing before him. He seemed to say, “Go back immediately, as rapidly as your strength will permit. There is no food here, and the idea of scaling these rocks is madness.” Amid serious misgivings Everts decided to retrace the course of ingress. His heart nearly failed him as he envisioned the unending panorama of the Yellowstone River trail. Final resolution was helpful, and he trudged on by day, rested by night, and gnawed on “Everts” thistle betimes.

For two long weeks the party camped along the southwest shore of the lake. From this base position they daily sent out searching details, lighted signal fires, shot guns, posted notices, and cached food. No clues were found, and the time was far spent. They regretfully concluded that their companion was either hopelessly lost or well upon his way toward home. A foot of snow had already fallen. The thirty-day rations had rendered thirty-two days’ service. In these circumstances Cornelius Hedges expressed his depression in his diary:

Had to lie in bed to keep warm, wished I was at home ... stormed all night. We are in for it. Snowed all day ... the season is in our favor, we shall make haste home as soon as the blockade raises.[132]

Therefore, they left the Thumb of the Lake and started toward Firehole Basin on September 17. They were exultant over the exploration; accurate journals were kept. It was generally felt that their observations were of great value and the exploration would be considered important. Allow Langford to describe their reactions:

Strange and interesting as are the various objects which we have met within this vast field of natural wonders, no camp or place of rest on our journey has afforded our party greater satisfaction than the one we are now occupying, which is our first camp since emerging from the dense forest. Filled with gloom at the loss of our comrade, tired, tattered, browned by exposure and reduced in flesh by our labors, we resemble more a party of organized mendicants, than of men in pursuit of Nature’s greatest novelties. But from this point we hope that our journey will be comparatively free from difficulties of travel.[133]

Having finished an assignment, they were thinking of home and their neglected affairs. Notwithstanding the grandeur of nature’s wonders in the Yellowstone Lake region they were about to get the surprise of their lives. This marvel of wonders occurred on the evening of September 18. Just as they emerged from the woods into the Upper Geyser Basin, Old Faithful was shyly preening her billowy plume, and as the vanguard shouted, “Look!” she gracefully mounted, wave upon wave, until a mighty torrent vaulted heavenward, where it unfurled like a watery flag, as if in welcome to its known immortalizers. Thus, the Fairy Queen had the honor of first saluting those weary explorers, and never since that eventful day has she failed any visitor.

In that gloryful presence Lieutenant Doane solemnly declared, “The earth affords not its equal. It is the most lovely inanimate object in existence.”[134] To General Washburn, the Giantess, when quiet, was like a hallowed fountain and in eruption, grandly magnificent, with “each broken atom shining like so many brilliants with myriads of rainbows dancing in attendance.”[135] What ecstasy! A whole kingdom of fairy spirits seemed determined to outdo each other. There ensued an orgy of thermal activity. During the short visit of twenty-two hours, twelve geysers were seen in action. It was then that their experience waxed “more and more wonderful until wonder itself became paralyzed.” In this basin they overcame the tendency to apply the wretched Satanic nomenclature so fully employed elsewhere. Instead, the names bestowed bear witness to a profound appreciation. It was for them alone that Old Faithful marked the hours by sending up “a plume of spun glass iridescent and superb, against the sky.”[136] When the Giant played, “Our whole party went wild with enthusiasm; many declared it was three hundred feet in height.” The picturesque name “Broken Horn” was then proposed; it is most descriptive and worthy of being retained. The Grotto reminded them of

... a miniature temple of alabaster whiteness, with arches leading to some interior Holy of Holies, whose sacred places may never be profaned by eye or foot.[137]

Geysers soon to become known as Giantess, Lion, Grand, Turban (or Turk’s Head), Splendid, Beehive, Fan, Castle, Rocket, and Grotto performed with unrivaled courtesy. What an array of Titans! Surely the world would also want to know about this.

And then there were the pools, the amazing springs of Yellowstone—thousands of them, all colors, a riot of aquatic pigmentation—Emerald, Sapphire, Gentian, Grand Prismatic, Rainbow, Topaz, and glamorous Morning Glory. The amazing intricacy of color-blend in the water did not then excel in beauty the surrounding border incrustations. Indeed, the most delicate embroidery could not rival them in their wonderful variety and complexity.[138]

How was such symmetry of design created? Species by the score of tiny plants called algae and diatoms thrive in hot water, temperatures ranging from approximately 100° to 170° F. These plants have the capacity to assimilate silica held in solution, and as their lives are short they build sinter formations in the same manner as coral reefs are fashioned. These algae are, therefore, active geological agents in soil building on a considerable scale.[139] However, the intricate mineral incrustations and lacy embroidery surrounding the boiling hot springs and geysers are entirely the product of deposition due to evaporation.

As the party progressed through the hierarchy of basins, Upper, Biscuit, Midway, and Lower, samples were taken and names given to many thermal features. They were leaving the Firehole region, but before an exit was made, or its spell broken, their whole experience was given a proper evaluation, and the greatest natural history idea of a millennium was born.

On the evening of September 19, the explorers were encamped at the junction of the Firehole and Gibbon rivers. The setting was an impressive one. A majestic mountain backdrop cast long shadows upon them. The silvery Madison glided away in the foreground. On center stage, red embers of a neglected fire sparked and glowed in contact with a fanning breeze.

The last scene was being enacted—the curtain was about to fall. It was an hour of recapitulation. Thrills were relived, confidences exchanged, speculations indulged. Then came the inevitable question of Yellowstone’s destiny. The question was posed, “Men and brethren, what shall we do?” “Why,” said Smith, “we’ll fence it in; give me Old Faithful.” “I’ll take the Falls,” echoed another. Serious consideration was given the idea of allowing each explorer to pre-empt a choice section in the most strategic location and pool the income for equal distribution. Whereupon, the inspired mind of Cornelius Hedges proposed and explained an idea that marked him as one of the far-sighted men of his generation. Said he:

There ought to be no private ownership of any portion of this region. Rather the whole of it should be set apart as a great National Park for all time as a reserve for the use and enjoyment of all the people. Furthermore, each and everyone of us should make every effort to have this purpose accomplished.[140]

The response was instantaneous and all but unanimous. The next day Langford wrote in his diary, “I lay awake half of last night thinking about it;—and if my wakefulness deprived my bed-fellow [Hedges] of any sleep, he has only himself and his disturbing National Park proposition to answer for it.”[141]

Within a week the Helena Daily Herald had printed the first of a series of articles on “The Yellowstone Expedition.” Washburn, Langford, Hedges, and Trumbull wrote separate accounts, all of which were in general agreement that they had seen “the most interesting country ... where are presented at once the wonders of Iceland, Italy, and South America.”

W. S. Chapman
Part of Washburn-Langford-Doane party in camp.

The members were banqueted and feted; specimens of petrifaction, geyserite, and other strange items were displayed. Langford gave a “Grand Lecture” to open the Helena Library Association Lecture Course.

Hedges paid glowing tribute to the memory of Truman C. Everts, thought to be deceased. Indeed, his disappearance did as much as anything else to capture the public interest. Still anxious to do everything possible in his behalf, a searching party was immediately organized and sent off. On October 15, Jack Baronett and George A. Pritchett, two well-known scouts, came upon the prostrate Everts. It was his thirty-seventh day of travail. They found him near the northern boundary of the Park, near a mountain now bearing his name. The day was raw and gusty. Against the prospect of an overcast sky he carried a firebrand in his seared hands. His weight was halved; his whole system was terribly out of order. Actually he was sinking under the conviction that death was near. According to his own report rescue came in the nick of time:

Groping along the side of the hill, I became suddenly sensible of a sharp reflection, as of burnished steel. Looking up, through half-closed eyes, two rough but kindly faces met my gaze.

“Are you Mr. Everts?”

“Yes. All that is left of him.”

“We have come for you.”

“Who sent you?”

“Judge Lawrence and other friends.”

“God bless him, and them, and you! I am saved!”[142]

Everts fell helpless into the strong arms of his preservers. They carried him to a trapper’s cabin, and there he rested after swallowing a pint of bear grease. In time his recovery was complete, and he lived to the ripe age of eighty-five. During these years he experienced much satisfaction over the contribution he had made in the discovery of Yellowstone, even at the high price of “Thirty Seven Days of Peril.”

Chapter IX
CREATION OF YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

The return of Everts operated as a springboard for an attempt to get government action. Graphic accounts of the exploration in general filled the columns of the Helena Herald during October. An article written by Cornelius Hedges, which appeared in the issue of November 9, suggested an extension of Montana’s southern boundary to include the whole Yellowstone region. He also outlined the proposal for appropriation of the same for public purposes. An excited public interest consumed every issue. Bursting upon national attention, these highly entertaining narratives, spontaneous and vivid like tales from Arabian Nights, carried a large measure of conviction.

Nathaniel P. Langford went east to proclaim the discovery. He first announced the good news to his own people in a public meeting in Minneapolis. They gave him a responsive hearing, which encouraged him for the work ahead.[143] On January 19, 1871, a large crowd listened intently to his delineation at Lincoln Hall in New York City. The people of Washington accorded similar attention. In fact, one of the lectures was presided over by Senator James G. Blaine, and one of the most alert auditors was Dr. Ferdinand V. Hayden who was soon converted to the importance of the project and agreed to conduct a government geological survey the following summer. Hayden’s leadership was an important factor in making Yellowstone a live political issue. Sam Hauser also visited Washington, D. C., and he was subsequently joined by Truman C. Everts. Henry D. Washburn started for the national Capitol, but he fell ill on the way and died at his former home in Clinton, Indiana, on January 26, 1871. Walter Trumbull was serving as clerk of the Senate Judiciary Committee, of which his father was chairman. Interesting accounts of Yellowstone’s features by Langford and Trumbull appeared in the May and June numbers of Scribner’s and the Overland Monthly. The Firehole campfire resolution was bearing fruit.

Dr. Ferdinand V. Hayden

Montana’s new but able territorial representative, Hon. William H. Clagett, went assiduously to work upon the members of Congress. In his view there was a great prize to be secured for the benefit of all people and especially his constituents. A wonderland was available for the taking. As yet there were no complications of private ownership to arrest an alert government’s purpose. The Congress responded with alacrity by making provision for an official exploration. The sundry civil service act of March 3, 1871, carried an item of $40,000 for the construction of the Hayden Survey, to complete “the season’s work about the sources of the Missouri and Yellowstone Rivers.” In fact, the bill also provided for a reconnaissance of the upper Yellowstone under Captain J. W. Barlow and Captain D. P. Heap of the Army Engineer Corps. Congress was not entering into the problem halfway; it was actually doubling up.[144]

The chief officer, Dr. Ferdinand V. Hayden, was an unusually capable geologist. In addition, he possessed an inspiring personality and statesmanlike views. There were nineteen scientists directly under his command. The personnel included James Stevenson, managing director; Henry W. Elliott and Thomas Moran, artists; Professor Cyrus Thomas, agricultural statistician and entomologist; Anton Schonborn, chief topographer; William H. Jackson, photographer; George B. Dixon, assistant photographer; J. W. Beaman, meteorologist; Professor G. N. Allen, botanist; Robert Adams, Jr., assistant botanist; Dr. A. C. Peale, mineralogist; Dr. C. S. Trunbull, physician; Campbell Carrington, in charge of zoological collections; William B. Logan, secretary; F. J. Huse; Chester M. Dawes, son of Representative Henry L. Dawes of Massachusetts; C. De V. Hegley and J. W. Duncan, assistants. Barlow’s army detail also had a competent and well-balanced personnel.[145]

A military escort, including Lieutenant Doane, rounded out these expeditions and provided all that could have been desired in point of training and ability. Each detachment had a retinue of helpers. Two technical studies and scientific reports, which not only substantiated but actually enhanced the findings of the previous civilian explorations, resulted from these two expeditions.

Hayden’s party left Fort Ellis, near Bozeman, on July 15, 1871. Upon reaching the junction of the Yellowstone and Gardner rivers they elected to ascend the latter. It was a good choice because within the hour they beheld a white mountain which resembled a vast cascade of frozen snow. The Mammoth Hot Springs Terraces “alone surpassed all the descriptions which had been given by former travelers.”[146]

As this expedition progressed, the geological record was interpreted. Thereafter, rocks were identified as travertine, gneiss, rhyolite, dacite, basalt, breccia, geyserite, sinter, and obsidian. Trees and plants were likewise classified, and in addition to geysers, springs and pools there were fumaroles and solfataras. Geological speculations were formulated relative to petrified forests, Grand Canyon, the lake’s former Snake River outlet, and the relationship of heat, water, and “plumbing” essential for geyser action.

The Hayden expedition in camp

Henry Elliott and Campbell Carrington launched a canvas boat and made a survey of Yellowstone Lake’s hundred-mile shoreline. Later the temperatures of over six hundred hot springs were taken. Sketches were made of many features, and significant names were given, such as Architectural Fountain Geyser. Captain Barlow’s division paid particular attention to the mapping of Snake River’s headwaters. It also made a cursory survey of the Lamar River. Unfortunately most of the data and accompanying photographs were destroyed in the great Chicago fire. This delayed Barlow’s official report until six weeks after the Park Bill was enacted. However, an interesting summary appeared in the Chicago Journal for January 13, 1872. Thus, the report and collection of specimens and photographs by Dr. Hayden represented the principal result of the season’s endeavor.[147]

The beauty of Jackson’s photographs and Moran’s paintings could scarcely be denied. Each represented the work of a master. Dr. Hayden’s report to Secretary of Interior, Columbus Delano, was received in February, 1872. He also contributed feature articles to the American Journal of Science and Arts and Scribner’s. Thus, a number of authorities had taken up the national park cause without reservation. Indeed, after he became intrigued with the idea of government development, Dr. Hayden’s efforts were so impressive that many people regarded him as the true originator of the movement. In fact, his own enthusiasm unfortunately caused him to make pretensions for which he was severely criticized by his colleagues in the effort.[148] Although Dr. Hayden’s contribution was invaluable, it was not exclusive. It was through the combined effort of the entire Montana delegation, and its powerful friends, that Congress was made receptive and responsive.

On December 18, 1871, a bill to create Yellowstone National Park was introduced simultaneously in both houses of Congress. The direct sponsors were Delegate William H. Clagett of Montana and Senator Samuel C. Pomeroy of Kansas. A thorough canvass was made; photographs, specimens, and testimonials did heavy duty in both the Senate and the House. Four hundred copies of Scribner’s containing Langford’s articles were distributed among the congressmen, and all were personally interviewed. The advocates were few, but effective, and there was never any doubt as to the outcome. In the Senate, Pomeroy’s efforts were backed by George F. Edmunds, H. B. Anthony, and Lyman Trumbull. They made an unsuccessful attempt to bring the bill, S392, to a vote on January 22 and 23, but objections were raised, and it came up in calendar order on the thirtieth. Senator Edmunds appealed for unanimous support for the bill. Senators Cameron of Pennsylvania and Morton of Indiana were curious about the number of square miles in the proposed reservation. Senator Pomeroy assured them that, although it was a large tract, there were no arable lands therein because of the elevation.

The advocates were puzzled by the opposition exhibited by Senator Cornelius Cole of California. He entertained grave doubts as to the value of the bill. Settlers should not be excluded from such a large area. As to the natural curiosities, they would remain. Edmunds replied that the region was north of 40° and about seven thousand feet elevation. Pomeroy affirmed that:

... the only object of the bill is to take early possession of it by the United States, and set it apart, so that it cannot be included in any claims or occupied by any settlers.[149]

Opposition was removed from the discussion by the forceful and tactful speech made by Senator Trumbull. He reviewed the history of Yosemite and the Big Trees in California:

I think our experience with the wonderful natural curiosity, if I may so call it, in the Senator’s own State, should admonish us of the propriety of passing such a bill as this.... Here is a region of country away up in the Rocky Mountains, where there are the most wonderful geysers on the face of the earth.... It is possible that some person may go there and plant himself right across the only path that leads to these wonders, and charge every man that passes along ... the gorges of these mountains a fee of a dollar or five dollars....

I think it is a very proper bill to pass, and now is the time to enact it.... Now, before there is any dispute as to this wonderful country, I hope we shall except it from the general disposition of the public lands, and reserve it to the Government.... At some future time, if we desire to do so, we can repeal this law, if it is in anybody’s way; but now I think it a very appropriate bill to pass.[150]

The matter was then presented for a vote, and it passed without a call for the ayes and noes.

The progress of the Park Bill, H.R. 764, through the House was just as sure, if not so speedy, as in the Senate. On February 27 Chairman Mark H. Dunnell of the Public Lands Committee brought out a favorable report. He personally was convinced by careful investigation that the bill should pass. Henry L. Dawes clearly and forcibly explained its purpose and observed that it went a step further than the Yosemite precedent. In this case “the title will still remain in the United States.... This bill treads upon no rights of the settler ... and it receives the urgent and ardent support of the legislature of that Territory [Montana], and of the Delegate himself....”[151]

The roll call on February 28, 1872, showed 115 ayes, 65 noes, and 60 not voting. George W. Morgan, the minority leader, was opposed to the bill on partisan principles in general and his personal dislike for Secretary Delano in particular. Within ten weeks the measure had passed both houses by large majorities, and on March 1, 1872, it received the signature of President Ulysses S. Grant.

Upon passage of the act the Helena Herald printed a laudatory editorial on “Our National Park,” while the Helena Rocky Mountain Gazette considered the bill “as a great blow struck at the prosperity of the towns of Bozeman and Virginia City ... if it were thrown open to a curious but comfort-loving public.” Other local papers joined the Herald’s side of the controversy.[152]

A mild national reaction was generally favorable to the reservation idea. The bill even attracted attention abroad, as evidenced by an article in the London Times, April 10, 1873, under the caption, “A Very National Park.”

Who should receive the credit for this eminent accomplishment? A careful examination of the facts warrants the conclusion that the idea of establishing Yellowstone as a public reservation had a dual birth. It was independently conceived in the minds of two men. This view is attested by the deliberate statement of N. P. Langford:

It is true that Professor Hayden joined with Mr. Clagett and myself in working for the passage of the act of dedication, but no person can divide with Cornelius Hedges and David E. Folsom the honor of originating the idea of creating the Yellowstone Park.[153]

W. S. Chapman
President Ulysses S. Grant signing the Yellowstone National Park Bill.

In his Westward America, Howard R. Driggs states that the pioneer artist, George Catlin, made a similar observation about other parts of the Old West in the eighteen thirties. Surely it was Hedges’ suggestion at Madison Junction campfire that initiated the conception of a program which other men were well conditioned to execute. N. P. Langford was the enthusiast, the zealous crusader. William H. Clagett was the man at the helm, but he was ably supported by the sage advice of Henry L. Dawes, representative from Massachusetts, who probably formulated the general principles of the measure.[154] Dr. F. V. Hayden’s scientific reports and unstinted support must be weighed heavily in the scale. Senators Samuel C. Pomeroy and Lyman Trumbull gave strength to the movement. The good will of General Phil Sheridan was a constant factor. Beyond this spearhead of ability and integrity the number of contributors broadens. It was an altogether democratic effort, and little injustice results from the omission of other efforts toward the cause. Most of them would probably have had it so. It was a program for the benefit and enjoyment of all people, rather than the personal aggrandizement of a few.

The rapidity that characterized the government’s action in this matter will always stand as a tribute to the common sense and natural idealism of the Forty-second Congress. Judge Hedges’ idea had found ready acceptance as it journeyed along the legislative course. The “Dedicatory Act,” as it is now called, was a remarkably well-drawn bill, especially when it is remembered that the issues involved were not only new in America but to the entire world. It was a pioneer measure in the field of conserving natural phenomena for recreational and spiritual appreciation. John Muir has cogently expressed the significance of the endeavor:

Fortunately, almost as soon as it—the Yellowstone region—was discovered it was dedicated and set apart for the benefit of the people, a piece of legislation that shines benignly amid the common dust-and-ashes history of the public domain.[155]

The philosophy in the statement of the purpose was both unique and basic. The reservation was “dedicated and set apart as a public park or pleasuring ground for the benefit and enjoyment of the people.” Conservation was keynoted in “the preservation from injury or spoliation of all timber, mineral deposits, natural curiosities or wonders within said park and for retention in their natural condition.” There was a declaration against “the wanton destruction of fish and game—and the capture or destruction for the purpose of merchandise or profit.” Senators Anthony and Tipton wanted to strike out the last phrase so there would be no destruction of game for any purpose. Anthony said, “We do not want sportsmen going over there with their guns,” and Mr. Tipton, “... if the door is once opened I fear there will ultimately be an entire destruction of all the game in the Park.”[156] Within a score of years their fears were fully vindicated, and their wishes realized in the passage of a Protective Act on May 7, 1894.

Altogether, the Yellowstone National Park bill represents a comprehensive glance into the principle of use without abuse. Nature was to be preserved, protected, and not improved. Art could not embellish what God had wrought in Yellowstone. The Act of Dedication became the touchstone of a national conservation policy whose blessings are legion. The bill did not carry an appropriation. It appears that the program was to be implemented entirely by voluntary service. In the years that followed there was a noble devotion which burned brightly, then waned, and almost died before resuscitation came. Eventually Yellowstone administrative experience evolved a program of surpassing merit which served as an example for the whole nation in the matter of managing certain phases of natural resources.

Chapter X
THE LAST ROUNDUP

Before Yellowstone could become accessible as a national playground a certain evolution of security had to take place. Indian tribes and buffalo herds were hindrances to both colonization and travel. A double-action roundup was needed to clear the way for an ephemeral phase, known as cattle days on the open range, and ultimate colonization within the approaches of the Park.

The early clash of white trappers and Indians has been reviewed. Passing of time worked no respite. Indeed, occasional friction swelled into almost constant strife. As settlers multiplied, the accumulation of past mutual grievances and suspicions rolled in from other scenes of combat like a moving tide and then broke into smaller waves, backwashing among the Rockies.[157] What was regarded as the natives’ overbearing superiority was well matched by similar attitudes among the whites, but more important was the latter’s greater strength.

Racial antagonisms and cultural conflicts swept every tribe into the whirlpool. Each in turn wrecked itself against the might of federal power. Finally, a crimson trail was stretched toward Yellowstone when Nez Percé Joseph chose to make it a part of his escape route.[158] The Park area and its environs was by way of becoming the Indians’ last refuge. Therefore, the destiny of Yellowstone itself was contingent upon a solution of the Indian problem. Few people have the hardihood to seek pleasure at their peril, and that was precisely the condition until 1880. Only through complete Indian submission was the security issue brought to rest. How the events unfolded in this conflict between the settlers and the natives is a tale worth telling. Perhaps a brief exploration of the mutual opinions of disrespect will help give one a more balanced judgment of the factors that marshaled the two races into almost perpetual strife. It is an appropriate setting for the wind-up Indian scene, as narrated in the [chapter] on Chief Joseph’s flight and surrender.

In the outset, English colonial charters granted belts of land to companies, or proprietors, without reference to Indian occupation. Still, a native people was found almost everywhere, but these savages were generally interested only in what might be had for the taking, whether from nature’s bounty or an enemy tribe. Here was a land with resources for the sustenance of a thousand times their number. White men were given a generous reception at first. Indians generally displayed an Arabian type of hospitality and enjoyed showing homage to important visitors.

However, it became increasingly apparent that white and red men had little in common. The former were quick to recognize the Indians’ simplicity and to exploit it. If judged by civilized standards, they were a people living as children, naïve and simple. They roamed about seeking game and plunder. Something to eat, a shred of clothing, a partial shelter, and a touch of adornment sufficed. They would exchange much corn, meat, beaver, and deerskins for a handful of beads, an iron hatchet, knife, ax, awl, or—best of all—fire water. Articles of real value were first given cheaply for items of scarcely any value at all. Mere curiosity led them into many commercial pitfalls. Ross, the trader, said, “Our people might have loaded a seventy-five-gun ship with provisions bought with buttons and rings.”[159]

In the opinion of the Indians, palefaces were weaklings under torture. Still, white folks possessed strong medicine capable of moving great boats upon water without paddles. They also set great store upon boundaries on land and upon scratches on paper, which they said meant the same thing yesterday, today, and forever, and when a chief touched the quill to make his mark at the end of a writing it might bring trouble for years to come. Of course, the whites then said it was a treaty of cession by which the tribe had agreed to move the Indian village away and leave the settlers alone. These strange white people had a passion for killing trees continually, for making more tobacco than they could smoke, and for sending most of it away in their ships. White men were always working, mostly at tasks fit only for squaws, and they were fond of getting other white men and black men, and even trying to get red men, to work for them. Palefaces rarely moved their houses or changed their wives, and they would eat little more in harvest, or after a kill, than at any other time. Their restraints and their lack of restraint were equally unaccountable; and their numbers were ever swelling and their demands ever continuing for more and more land. They were, in truth, unfriendly neighbors, unwilling to blend the colony with the tribe; but they were firm, and on occasion impolite, in living their own lives and crowding the red men out. This brought battle now and then and a few blond scalps to dangle, but in war, too, the whites were unreasonable. They would not wait for Indian summer to do battle, and when once they took the path they were not content with raids, ambushes, and surprise attacks, but they would persist in a campaign under staunch command long after sensible, spasmodic Indian folk had grown weary.[160]

Thus, we may fancy, thought the Algonquins, Iroquois, Mohicans, Tuscaroras, and the Cherokees, the more sedentary eastern tribes early to experience the white man’s aggression. At length they concluded that their first welcome had been unwise and wrecked themselves in efforts to drive the invaders out, but even in this purpose the tribes could not unite. Alliances reluctantly made between them were carelessly broken in the hour of peril. There is record of few confederations of Indian tribes that acted with any degree of unity. The ordinary tribal relationships were hostile. Indeed, every Indian tribe had at least one implacable enemy. As Chief Little Plume once said, “As long as there remains a Crow and a Piegan, so long will there be war.”[161] Even in their campaigns with the white men they were inconstant and uncertain and quite as much the victims of treachery and double dealing as they were perpetrators of such offenses.

In what light was the Indian held by the white settlers of America? It has already been noted that Europe’s Christian sovereigns and their governors disregarded the Indians’ tribal ownership. They were primitive, pagan, and of ill repute. Human beings they were, perhaps, but with a hazy past, precarious present, and reckless future. If they could be converted to Christianity, well and good. That blessing would adequately compensate for the loss of their hunting grounds. Salvation in heaven was far better than savagery on earth.

Hence, we learn that the Pilgrim Fathers first “fell upon their knees and then upon the aborigines.” Roger Williams, William Penn, Zebulon Pike, John C. Calhoun, and Brigham Young raised dissenting views, but theirs were as voices crying in the wilderness. Other more self-seeking councils prevailed. Many were the voices raised in condemnation.

General Phil Sheridan, in his oft-quoted comment, said, “There is no good Indian but a dead Indian.... If a white man steals, we put him in prison; if an Indian steals, we give him a blanket. If a white man kills, we hang him; if an Indian kills, we give him a horse to put the blanket on.”[162]

Another characterization from a Montana frontiersman goes, “An Indian’s heart is never good until he is hungry and cold.”

Jim Stuart, than whom no man had more occasion to harshly judge Indians about Yellowstone, made the following observation:

“Arro-Ka-Kee” or The Big Rogue [eminently appropriate, that name], stood six and a half feet high in his moccasins and weighed two hundred and seventy-five pounds. He was accompanied by “Saw-a-bee Win-an,” who was a good Indian, although not dead, which I note as an exception to the general rule.[163]

The Earl of Dunraven professed to express the Sportsman’s viewpoint when he said that Buffalo Bill and Texas Jack had the same feeling for Indians that they entertained toward game. That is to say, “They love them, and they slay them.”

To the typical frontiersman, the Indian was a savage, ready to pounce on careless settlers, scalp them, burn their homes, and carry off their loved ones—in short, a “varmint.” To the romantic writers, the Indians were children of nature, dwellers in shady forests and peaceful plains, earth’s true nobility! Of course, the romantic writers seldom saw the natives and never lived with them. These errors, and many others, have been accepted as first-hand accurate observations. Indeed, the whole American Indian policy has been called a tragedy of errors, beginning with the naming of the race “Indian.”[164]

Given this background of Indian ways, what might reasonably have been expected in the way of biracial adjustment? So little was the question of Indian welfare considered before 1880 that one cannot yet determine just what course might have solved the problem and brought about successful assimilation. First the English, and then the Americans, just muddled along, bribing here, cajoling there, and ultimately forcing everywhere, until this once proud and militant race was reduced to an inconsolable remnant, broken, defeated, and forlorn, but not forsaken.

Even when the white man’s heart was good toward his red brother there was conflict in policies. Some thought his only salvation was in the adoption of agriculture and stock raising, but such a program was ruinous to the fur traders. The natives were the sinews of that business. The contrast in economy and culture, rival claims to land, and mutual feelings of superiority presented a gulf too vast for peaceful desires to overcome. It was the realization of this fact that impelled the wise Alexander Ross to say, “Peace in reality was beyond our power; it was but an empty name.”[165] White men’s activities and aggressions, under whatever guise, progressively deranged the Indians’ economy. From every frontier came incessant demands for the reduction of Indian lands. Memorials to Congress, complaints to Indian commissioners, blistering editorials in local newspapers, all mark a stage in frontier development. Settlers were intolerant of checks upon their expansion, and few, indeed, were the officials who had the temerity to “arrest the tide of empire in the Territories.”

Against this ominous force the Indians could only writhe and twist. The uneven contest waged for two and a half centuries, extending from Jamestown to the Pequot War and from Tippecanoe to Custer’s defeat in the battle of the Little Bighorn in 1876. It is a tale of red fury and white vengeance such as might properly appertain to an age of barbarism but which presents an incongruous picture in a Christian land. It is correct to say that Indian-American relations were never improved but always embittered until the natives were reduced to the point of decimation.

Actually, the activities of fur trappers were not bitterly resented by the natives. Notwithstanding their excessive exploitation of the game there were compensations. A measure of accommodation resulted, which does not imply that there was any lack of violence. Theft, rivalry, and sheer joy of conflict were motives always operating. But there was a community of interest existing between the trapper and Indian which was impossible between the settler and Indian. Primitive existence was based upon tribal land and native game; both of these methods were denied by white settlers. Two types of economy were in conflict, and the red man’s sun was already beginning to set. The clash is brought into clear relief in the story of the buffalo.

The bison is America’s largest game animal, and for centuries it was most plentiful. Native to both plains and mountains it was a truly monarchial beast. A Spanish conquistador, Cabeza de Vaca, left an account of his observation upon the Texas plains in 1532: “The cows came from the north, and are found all over the land for over four hundred leagues.”[166]

Several years later Coronado’s report stated that they “had seen nothing but cows and sky.” Ample supporting evidence sustains the fact that the number was legion. In 1832, Captain Bonneville stated, “As far as the eye could reach the country seemed absolutely blackened by innumerable herds.” No census was ever taken, but competent authority suggests that sixty million head was a conservative estimate for the American plains in the early nineteenth century. Dependable calculations place the number persisting until 1870 at one fourth that number. At the end of the century the species was on the verge of extinction.

How did this remarkable diminution transpire? Here, indeed, is a roundup of mammoth proportions and far-reaching consequences. Bison were the natives’ base of life, their tribal grubstake, a divine heritage. Only by wise conservation of this wild animal wealth were they enabled to maintain such a free and easy life.

After the Civil War railroads were projected into the buffalo country. Construction camps employed professional hunters to provide fresh meat. William F. Cody held a contract for the Union Pacific. It was this circumstance that gave him the name “Buffalo Bill.” Such hunters set amazing records for a day’s slaughter. Wasteful as this practice was, much greater prodigality emanated from the camps of certain foreign and American sportsmen and celebrities. Russian grand dukes, English lords, German counts, and American “no-a-counts” were alike in their insatiable instinct of destruction.[167] In way of extenuation it is fair to state that the emotional strain of bison chasing was overpowering.

However, it was the railroad itself that dealt the deadliest blow. Bison robes were too bulky to be handled by pack train, and only marginal profits accrued to wagon masters, but the effect of the iron horse was revolutionary. During the early seventies several lines conducted hunting excursions at low rates, guaranteeing shots from the windows. These facilities, supplemented by horse-and-wagon outfits, made the conquest of buffalo easy, especially when a definite profit was in view. That condition developed when the tanneries discovered bison hides could be used in leather wear. Thereafter, hides sold from $1.00 to $4.00 each, and a party of six hunters could kill and skin fifty or more in a day. In 1873, the Santa Fe alone carried 754,529 hides to eastern markets.[168] The traffic in buffalo hides grew and prospered and finally degenerated into debauching butchery.

Courtesy Union Pacific Ry.
The iron horse in Buffalo country—an early Wyoming scene

Thus, for a score of years, hundreds of expert riflemen combed the plains. They were armed with heavy Sharps and Winchester rifles, which boomed relentlessly at the ponderous bellowing herds. They took away the hides, brains, and tongues, leaving the rest to waste. It was wanton business written in crimson carcasses that dissolved into whitened bones. The railroad, therefore, destroyed frontier isolation and quickened the process of transforming a wilderness into a settled community. This increase in the tempo of frontier life was most apparent in the solution of the Indian problem.

As the great train, piled high with hides, rumbled away its reverberations were echoed by a more ominous rumble in the disconsolate camps of the red men. This was the final aggression, the ultimate grievance, and it set the people’s teeth on edge. This inexorable white advance broke the natives’ hearts. Once again, it was demonstrated that Indians and white men could not live together. It meant the annihilation of their way of life—their very existence—and a tragic fate—starvation.

Why did the government wink at this great imposition? Because after the railroad came colonization was imminent, but land overrun by wild Indians and buffalo could not be occupied. The herds had to be greatly diminished and the Indians, confined. The destruction of the bison was the most expedient means of bringing a recalcitrant race into subjection.[169] The nomads cagily rejected federal treaties until the bison commissary was destroyed. Then it was either fight or surrender. Several tribes elected to fight, to try to drive the white man back across the Missouri River. How much chance did they have in this belated effort? Indians were able warriors. They were slow to project, cautious to proceed, and firm to execute. Always cunning in strategy and subtle in ambush, they were certain to surprise.[170] An awareness of their limited numbers made them expert in decoy tactics and careful of their lives. Vigilant and watchful, they waited patiently for the advantage in time. They were quick and precise in estimating the strength of an enemy. Their code did not require a fight on equal terms. Indians, as a class, never equaled white men in the use of the rifle; however, they soon learned to improve the interval between firing and reloading.

Extremely superstitious, they carried certain charms about their persons, the efficacy of which was never doubted. Thus protected, they charged fearlessly into an affray. Too, youth was considered the proper time to die, and young men sometimes sought death, lending an air of fanaticism to the attacks.

Red men were greatly exhilarated by victory. They would vault and yell in fiendish glee as they flourished the gory scalps of their victims. By 1850, however, the destiny of Indian folk was established. Thereafter, their cries seldom bore the shrill staccato notes of victory but rather the mournful wail of defeat.

The legend of “Big Foot,” great chief of the Flathead tribe, had been fulfilled. In 1804 he is supposed to have assembled his warriors in council and related this message:

My heart tells me that the Great Spirit has forsaken us; he has furnished our enemies with his thunder to destroy us, yet something whispers to me, that we may fly to the mountains and avoid a fate, which, if we remain here, is inevitable. The lips of our women are white with dread, there are no smiles on the lips of our children. Our joyous sports are no more, glad tales are gone from the evening fires of our lodges. I see no face but is sad, silent, and thoughtful; nothing meets my ears but wild lamentations for departed heroes. Arise, let us fly to the mountains, let us seek their deepest recesses where unknown to our destroyers, we may hunt the deer and bighorn, and bring gladness back to the hearts of our wives and our children![171]

Flight of the Indians to the mountains delayed, but did not preclude, the final conquest of their domain. They were only reserved for the last roundup. Eventually each tribe was brought to its respective day of reckoning. The government’s policy was not always crystal clear. It fluctuated between the extremes of the “Quaker Peace Policy” and “Fire and the Sword Practice.” However, the goal was the same; “blanket” Indians were to become “farmers,” live in fixed abodes, and “walk the white man’s road.”[172]

After the Civil War the execution of this business was taken in hand by resolute fighting men. Hence, the military spirit was hardened toward the red men. Inexorably the race was pressed toward the appointed end. This work was accomplished by a series of military actions during the sixties and seventies.

In eastern Idaho Colonel Patrick Connor wrought swift vengeance on the Bannock nation in 1863. More than two hundred Indians were killed, a loss which forever broke down their force and effectiveness. This tribe was guilty of many depredations against migrants, miners, and Mormon settlers. Its forlorn remnants were assigned to the Fort Hall Reservation.

The plains tribes went on the war path in 1864. Colonel Chivington’s command surprised and almost annihilated a peaceful band of Arapahos and Cheyennes in the Sand Creek massacre. What Chivington neglected General Custer completed four years later in the destruction of Black Kettle’s village. In frontier parlance there was always battle when the Indians were killed and a massacre when the whites were the victims.[173]

In 1871 Generals Sherman and Sheridan projected a plan that eventuated in the complete conquest of the Kiowa and Comanche nations, but the Sioux were the most formidable obstacle to the colonization of Wyoming and Montana. They stood immovable astride the country lying between the headwaters of the Powder and Yellowstone rivers. This was the heart of the Sioux country—their last and favorite retreat. There, grass grew lush, and cool, sweet streams teemed with trout. Wild berries flourished, and a hunter could take his pick of buffalo, bear, elk, deer, antelope, and sheep. The great Sioux Chieftains, Red Cloud and Crazy Horse, together with Sitting Bull, the medicine man, protested bitterly in 1864 when John Bozeman, John Jacobs, and others began traveling across these lands.[174]

Federal ultimatums to assemble upon designated reservations were spurned by the Sioux, and a campaign of coercion was invoked with Brigadier Generals Alfred H. Terry and George Crook on far-flung phalanx and Colonel George A. Custer as the spearhead of the advance. Whether through reckless bravery, error of judgment, or necessity, Custer rushed into a treacherous situation, and his entire command (265 men) was annihilated. The day was June 25, 1876; the place, Little Bighorn River. It was a red letter event in the history of the Sioux, but it was a fleeting victory because the military, ably led by Colonel Nelson A. Miles, persisted in the campaign, and within a few months the mighty Sioux were either upon their appointed reservations or in exile. One of the last scenes in this solemn drama was enacted in June, 1881, at Miles City, Montana. Sixteen hundred Sioux, formerly under the leadership of Chief Rain-in-the-Face, were loaded on government steamboats for the Standing Rock Reservation in Dakota. Deep mourning issued from their camp on Tongue River:

For two days and nights the Indians, and more especially the squaws, kept up their dismal howlings on taking farewell of their beloved homes and hunting grounds.[175]

Courtesy Union Pacific Ry.
Strong medicine against the Indians

As the buffalo and Indian went out, the Texas longhorn and “long drive” came in. The long drive lay across the tablelands of western Texas into Kansas, crossed the Santa Fe Trail at Dodge City, passed over the headwaters of the Salmon and across the Republican, and reached the South Platte at Ogallala. From this camp it followed the Oregon Trail to Fort Laramie, and then veered north over the Bozeman road.[176] The Texas Longhorn rolled up from the Southwest like a tidal wave once the way was opened. In fact, wild “speckled cattle” had been sharing part of the Texas plains for generations. Now, cattle raising became the great bonanza for a period.

The American cattle industry started back in 1521 when seven calves of Andalusian breed landed in Mexico. Gregorio was the pioneer ranchman on the continent. His flocks literally covered “a thousand hills.” In spite of his vaquero’s diligence, some of his stock strayed and formed the nucleus of a mighty herd.[177] From buffalo to range cattle is not a wide step; it was the capacity of the winter range to carry bison that suggested the cattle industry.

Conditions for stock raising were ideal in Texas. Millions of acres were plush carpeted with grama, mesquite, buffalo, and bluestem grasses. Early settlers gathered this wild stock into princely domains, and a new industry was born. The greatest problem was getting the cattle to market. New Orleans, Mobile, and Cuba were reached from Shreveport by boat. Still, there were the thriving northern cities where prices doubled those in Texas.

The first authenticated northern drive came in 1846 when Edward Piper drove one thousand Texas steers to Ohio. By 1865 Texas boasted one-eighth of all the cattle in America, as against a local population of less than half a million people. Somehow these cattle had to be gotten to market.

Returning Confederate veterans, broke but adventurous, saw the challenge of the open range and seized it. Loose, wild stock and “mavericks” were soon in the clutches of men and mustangs as wild as they. The first cowboys to make the long drive had need to be tough. There were many hazards menacing their way—non-treaty Indians, white thieves, floods, cyclones, and ever threatening stampedes. Sometimes the distance between water was more than a day’s travel.

Cattle kings were men of great energy and enterprise. They took big risks, sometimes winning large profits and occasionally losing just as handsomely. Chisum, Hittson, Kennedy, O’Connor, and King were charmed names in the cattle fraternity. They nurtured their stock on hundred-thousand-acre ranches and then sent them forth to forage upon the public domain. It is estimated that six million head grazed their way to market over the Chisholm, Great Western, Shawnee, and other trails.

This wealth of the cloven hoof was entrusted to young athletes equally adept in forking a hoss, shooting a gun, and hurling a lariat. Cowboys were capable of both long, patient application to duty and vigorous relaxation when opportunity afforded. As a class they were steady and dependable. They delivered their charges in good condition at such shipping points as Sedalia, Abilene, Wichita, Ogallala, Glendive, and Miles City. This migration of cowmen and their herds was a strong, tremendous movement. It came with a rush and a surge, and in ten years it had subsided.

Even as the iron horse gave birth to the long drive, just so surely did it eventually destroy the big cattle business itself. Homesteaders came with the advance in transportation. There was a gradual, but irresistible, invasion of the open range. The “nesters” enclosed public domains. Thus, as the Indian gave way before the soldier and the hunter, so the cowboy yielded to the farmer. Ranches soon absorbed the eight million acres formerly overrun by bison and cattle.

There were still several regions ideally suited for stock raising—Montana, Wyoming, and Idaho. Toward these remote areas men looking for new, free grassland, timber, and water headed their cattle. The quest led them into the several great valley approaches to the Yellowstone Plateau. On both slopes of the great divide plants and grass grow steadily during summer, and the dry atmosphere cures and ripens them as they mature. This type of feed is highly nutritious and conducive to the development or perfection of form and strength of bone and muscle.

Among the pioneer ranchmen of the Rockies was Nelson Story. He netted more than ten thousand dollars in the placer mines of Alder Gulch. This sum he invested in a thousand Texas longhorns in 1866. With twenty-seven trail-hardened cowboys he brought the cattle to Montana. It was a tremendous undertaking to get them through a veritable gauntlet of hostile Indians and desperate white thieves. Three of his men were killed before they reached the end of Bozeman Trail.[178] Gold dust in exchange for beef proved more profitable than taking it from the placers themselves. Even the poorest ox would bring a hundred dollars, and so the traffic increased.

At this time the able Sioux chief, Red Cloud, served notice upon the government that he would kill every white man who traveled along that trail. It was not an idle boast; the record shows nearly two hundred casualties in the last six months of 1866. In fact, the Bozeman Trail became one long battleground, scene of such Sioux victories as the Fetterman and Wagon Box massacres. However, the military persisted, and with constant operations stemming from Forts Kearney and Smith the trail was kept open.[179]

In 1870 more than 40,000 Texas cattle reached Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho. Six years later the mountain Indians were largely liquidated. The removal of Red Cloud, Crazy Horse, and Sitting Bull opened the way for new cattle commonwealths. By 1880 the federal census reported 428,279 head in Montana and 521,213, in Wyoming. Soon the stockmen evolved a considerable network of mountain trails. The main artery went up the Yellowstone to Fort Custer and thence into Wyoming via Forts McKinney, Reno, and Fetterman to Cheyenne for shipping.

New names entered the stage with the growth of the cattle business such as Granville Stuart, James Fergus, A. J. Davis, John Ming, John Grant, Conrad Kohrs, R. S. Ford, Ancenny, Poindexter, Iliff, Flowerree, and George Searight.[180] Then there were the famous companies, The Union Cattle Company, The Swan Land and Cattle Company, North American, Powder River, Prairie, and Horseshoe being among the major names. Professor Dan E. Clark states that twenty Wyoming companies were organized in 1883, with individual capitalization from ten thousand to three million and a combined value of twelve million dollars.[181] In Montana, though, the Stock Growers Association represented an ownership of half a million head of cattle in 1884. The Eastern Montana Stock Growers Association of the same state claimed a capital investment of thirty-five million dollars.[182]

Under the impetus of such flourishing activity, the great river valleys stemming out of the Yellowstone Plateau were soon dotted by ranches. Wind, Snake, Madison, Gallatin, and Yellowstone valleys each received its quota. None of them quite reached the Park land, but Frederick Bottler’s range almost impinged upon the northern border. It is probable that rancher invasion of the actual Park area was minor, if there was any. However, there was a rustler element that quite assuredly knew part of Yellowstone country.

The decade overlapping the sixties and seventies was the twilight period in frontier history. A transition was progressing from semi-lawlessness to orderly government. The arrogant Henry Plummer and his wicked gang of Innocents were liquidated by Montana Vigilantes in 1864, but another nefarious activity was taking heavy toll from the cattlemen. Horse and cattle rustlers found a lucrative business in preying upon the large herds grazing the open range. These cunning men would establish a rendezvous in some sequestered place like Teton Basin or the upper Madison Valley. From such a position they would make forays upon the stock owned by the big interests. The worst offenders, and those most difficult to apprehend, were men who at some time had been connected with the cattle business. Sometimes they altered the brands, but often a crisscross plan of shipment was followed; that is, Wyoming and Montana stock was whisked down to the Utah market; while Idaho material went east to Cheyenne. Men such as “Teton” Jackson, Ed Harrington, and Bob Tarter worked both sides of the Divide. The high meadows in and near Yellowstone were ideal for their purpose. It is also claimed that the notorious Butch Cassidy gang, long ensconced upon the Green River, made occasional forays among stock ranging near the southeastern borders of the Park.

It is a fact that the Washburn-Langford-Doane party encountered representatives of the rustler element upon their last day in the Park area. Mr. Langford left this account:

Mr. Hauser and Mr. Stickney all through the day were a few miles in advance of the rest of the party, and just below the mouth of the canyon they met two men who manifested some alarm at the sight of them. They had a supply of provisions packed on riding saddles and were walking beside their horses. Mr. Hauser told them that they would meet a large party up the canyon, but we did not see them, and they evidently cached themselves as we went by. The Upper Madison in this vicinity is said to be a rendezvous for horse thieves.[183]

It was actually an area of operation for the Murphy and Edmonson gang of desperadoes. Langford and Doane came upon three of their horses which they caught and pressed into service during the rest of the journey.[184] In 1874 the Earl of Dunraven remarked that the Yellowstone traveler had to keep a sharper lookout for white horse thieves than for redskin robbers.

By 1873 stock losses by rustling were so great as to force counter measures. The Wyoming Stock Growers Association hired a large force of detectives and inspectors. The movements of every newcomer were watched with suspicious vigilance; blacklists were circulated. The penalties for mis-branding and marking were doubled, and prosecution was swift and vigorous. These hard-hitting policies soon brought the problem under control.

Thus ended the major evil of another era, and the rustlers were hustled into that Shangri-la of frontier romance where “happy ghosts,” as Professor Paxson has said, “will endure forever, a happy heritage for the American mind.”[185]

By 1880 the hostile human barriers, red and white, had been removed from the way. The West’s unsettled areas were so broken as to destroy the frontier line. Yellowstone was still a wilderness, but it was accessible to man.

Chapter XI
CHIEF JOSEPH’S TRAIL OF BLOOD

The Nez Percé Indians were first encountered in 1805 by the Lewis and Clark Expedition. They were at home in the region of eastern Oregon and western Idaho. The Wallowa Valley, “land of winding water,” was their especial habitat. They referred to themselves as “Nim-i-pu,” “the real people.” The name Nez Percé or “pierced noses” was a French cognomen of doubtful validity.

The Nez Percé were not highly centralized in tribal organization. There were several factions, but in the third quarter of the 19th century, Tu-eka-kas, or Old Joseph, as the Reverend Henry H. Spaulding called him, was a ranking chief. The Nez Percé befriended the Lewis and Clark party by taking care of their horses. Thenceforth their policy was one of cooperation and friendship with the white man, combined with a stern insistence upon their rights. Joseph hoped for biracial adjustment. To this end he always befriended the government, but it was understood that his domain should never be invaded.

Federal Indian treaties made after 1855 brought white settlers ever closer to the Nez Percé domain. Certain unprincipled Oregon people looked greedily upon the choice lands of Wallowa. As the pressure increased there was neither political will nor honor to curb the aggressors. Hence, the noble Nez Percé, like all red men before them, were thrown on the defensive.

Old Joseph sensed the impending issue, and before his death in 1871 he exacted a promise from his son, Young Joseph, that he would never give up Wallowa.[186] Years of increasing pressure brought a full vindication of Old Joseph’s fears and a realization of responsibility to his son.

By 1876 the federal government was yielding to local demands for Nez Percé evacuation, and a commission brought in the usual report. The non-treaty Indians had no standing and should be made to conform. They should be required to join the other tribes on the Lapwai Reservation.

General O. O. Howard was directed to enforce the decree. The Nez Percé were greatly distressed. Several conferences were held. Young Joseph resisted manfully. By this time he was in his thirty-seventh year. Fully mature, he stood six feet tall, and his rugged body disclosed tremendous energy and sinew. His mind was keen, but his spirit was disciplined. He was ready for his work.

The military authority gave Chief Joseph thirty days to get his people on the reservation; June 14, 1877 was the deadline.[187] In vain Joseph pleaded for an extension of time until fall. Orders had been given by the military. Joseph also gave orders. His people gathered in their stock and prepared for the migration; it was better for deer to be penned up than to fight the grizzly. There were many soldiers at Howard’s back; the odds were too great. They must surely obey or perish.

Other Nez Percé leaders were not so wise. Chiefs Tu-hul-hul-sote and White Bird wanted to fight. They were chiefs in their own right and had large followings. Still, Joseph was willing to sacrifice honor and prestige by resisting war.[188] He valued his people’s blood above his own pride. While the great man humbly revealed his integrity, trouble brewed in darker minds.

Courtesy of Haynes, Inc.
Chief Joseph, war chief of the Nez Percé.

An old man in White Bird’s band was taunting young Wal-ait-its, whose father, Eagle Blanket, had been slain by a white settler in 1876. “You are brave! Why don’t you go and show it by killing the man who killed your father?” The goad fired him to a fever of revenge. He and two companions sprang upon their horses. When they returned to the council, four white men had answered the last call. Wal-ait-its shouted, “Why do you sit here like women? The war has begun already.” Tu-hul-hul-sote had organized a war party. Joseph still hoped for a peaceful settlement. It could not be. The war fever spread, and Indian blood was on fire. He must either lead or step aside. He chose to defend his people and their cause.[189]

On the morning of June 17 a battle took place in White Bird’s Canyon. Captain Perry, assisted by Lieutenants Theller and Parnell, was approaching with two troops of cavalry. Joseph had taken command. He quickly conceived of a daring triple-action assault. With instinctive judgment he chose strategic positions and gave brisk orders. He moved among his men, encouraging them, and directing them from place to place. He seemed an all-pervading, dominating force. He deployed his braves upon the heights. Protected by rocks and brush, they threaded a bobbing course upon the beleaguered cavalry. Dismounting and aiming deliberately, they decimated the ranks of soldiery.[190]

White Bird Canyon stands next to the Custer and Fetterman massacres as the Waterloo of white troops before Indians, but the conditions were in no way identical. The advantages were equally balanced at White Bird.

Young Joseph had proved himself a great war chief in a single engagement. From this time forth his destiny was with him. He was the last mighty Indian, and his name was Hin-mut-too-yah-lat-kekht, meaning “Thunder strikes out of water and travels to loftier heights.” Wherever one touches him he is great; every incident and circumstance discloses a big man. He exercised unerring judgment in strategy and tactics. Years afterward Joseph said, “The Great Spirit puts it into the heart of man to know how to defend himself.”

The defeat of Perry threw General Howard’s command into a frenzy of activity. Orders went out for reinforcements, and troops moved toward Lewiston from every direction. By the last of June, Howard was in the field. The wily Indian leader had moved his entire nation beyond the raging Salmon River where he made a stand. Said Howard, “A safer position was unchoosable, nor one more puzzling and obstructive.”[191]

Howard’s soldiers experienced great difficulty in going where Joseph’s whole band had gone. This was just the prelude to a game of hide and seek that lasted from late June to early October and lengthened into a dozen engagements as the two forces moved eastward for the space of sixteen hundred miles.

In the weeks that followed, General Howard learned to respect his adroit and formidable foe. Joseph’s forces never exceeded three hundred warriors. The whole band numbered about seven hundred. General Howard’s command numbered five hundred and eighty regulars, and it was later augmented by four separate commands in the course of the pursuit. The forces of Joseph and Howard came to grips on the banks of Clearwater River. There the Nez Percé fought with such courage and precision that the battle must be written up as a draw.[192]

Joseph was now ready to fight to a finish, but his captains voted for a retreat. Again he bowed to the will of the majority. They were destined to pursue a “trail of tears” during the next three months. It was a march as dramatic as the “flight of a Tartar tribe.”[193] The band was on the move, over the Lolo Trail—a terrific route. They lived on the country—roots, berries, and game.

Joseph could cope with one enemy, but the military resources of the whole Western Department baffled him. He found his exit from the Bitter Roots obstructed by Captain Charles C. Rawn from Fort Missoula. Rawn demanded surrender; Joseph parleyed until his forces outflanked Rawn’s position and escaped. At this juncture we see his humanity in making a treaty of forbearance with the settlers in Bitter Root Valley.

The entire Nez Percé tribe was overtaken and attacked at daybreak, on the Big Hole, by General John Gibbon’s force of one hundred and eighty soldiers, augmented by some of the erstwhile peaceful settlers. The slaughter on both sides was: whites, twenty-nine killed, forty wounded; Indians, eighty-three dead, wounded undetermined (fifty-three of the dead were women and children).[194] Joseph commented bitterly, “The Nez Percé never make war on women and children.” Notwithstanding the confusion of this surprise attack, Joseph’s band recovered and moved on. Howard was still on their trail.

Several Salmon City, Idaho, freighters fell before the drunken wrath of some of Joseph’s braves on Birch Creek. In Camas Meadows Howard maneuvered for a stand. The result was the loss of many mules and horses. Worse still was the mortal wounding of three soldiers and serious injury of five others. Just as Howard was expecting to pounce upon his prey, the crafty chief whirled around and inflicted a surprising blow, escaping almost scot free.

A general map of Chief Joseph’s flight.

Several days later the Nez Percé were trailing up the Madison River within the Park. They were strangers in Yellowstone and the most unwelcome tourists it has ever known. Within this identical week Secretary of War William T. Sherman and an escort of five concluded a tour and left for Fort Ellis. They did not see “any signs of Indians, and felt at no moment more sense of danger than we do here.”[195] A few days later they were cognizant of their lucky break. Near Madison Junction the Nez Percé met a prospector named Shively whom they pressed into service as a guide. A few days later they seized another miner named Irwin, and held him for a while.