The Indians' Last Fight; Or, The Dull Knife Raid

by Dennis Collins

By this time, the whole country was well aware that Captain Gunther and Dull Knife had been playing a game of “hide and seek” for the past ten days. The cowmen became weary of such dilatory tactics, and determined to go into the canyon and fight it out with the Indians. At this time Captain Gunther had arrived on the scene with the 4th Cavalry, and demanded that the cowmen withdraw from the sight as he was going to take that matter into his own hands. He said that the Indians were well fortified and that he would have considerable trouble in dislodging them. He stated that he intended to place sentinels around the canyon so that none of them could escape, and intended to hold a conference with Dull Knife in the morning. He assured the cowmen that he was well acquainted with the old warrior and felt certain that he would have no difficulty in persuading him to return to the reservation with all his followers.

After the captain had arranged his guards around the canyon in such a manner as he thought would preclude the possibility of the Indians making their escape, he busied himself with preparations for encamping down the creek. While he was thus engaged, he was approached by Ben Jackson, the noted scout and buffalo hunter, who saluted him in military fashion, as far as his knowledge of that accomplishment would permit, and proposed that he, the captain, give him a despatch to be delivered to the commander at Fort Dodge requesting him to send more troops to aid in capturing the Indians. This despatch he promised to deliver within a few hours. The captain, not knowing the resourcefulness of the man making the request, replied that he could not spare an escort for the undertaking. To which the scout replied that he did not need an escort as he was well acquainted with the country and did not have any fears about the prompt delivery of the message. The captain answered that such a course of proceedings was unnecessary, as he was well acquainted with Dull Knife personally. He said that he intended to hold the conference with him the next morning, and that when matters were set before him in the proper light, there would be no further trouble in the case, as he was positive the Indians would be perfectly satisfied and return to the agency without any further difficulty. When this short interview had been completed, the captain proceeded down the creek and went into camp. In the meantime the pickets were on duty around the canyon, or rather were supposed to be, but, in some manner or other, Dull Knife’s medicine hypnotized them as it did on the former occasion when he escaped from the North Canadian. I am not going to make any remarks about the private soldiers of this campaign, as they were ever ready and willing to do their duty if they had a proper officer to lead them; nor am I going to make any comments, nor pretend to fix the blame where it belongs, but will state the facts and let the reader judge for himself who was culpable in the matter; but it seems incredible that 250 Indians could come out of that canyon, supposedly well guarded, and pass through a cordon of pickets without a gun being fired. Incredible it is, but, nevertheless, that is the unvarnished truth of the matter. When dawn appeared the following morning, the Indians had vanished, as if they had been swallowed up by the earth. Their trail indicated that they had gone northward. They pursued their line of flight to Crooked Creek, in Meade County, Kansas, and after crossing that stream near what is called the “Three Bends,” they came to a hay camp that was conducted by G. S. Emerson. Here they did not give themselves up to their usual depredations, but contented themselves with taking some provisions and cutting up a pair of calf skin boots belonging to the proprietor. That they did not commit any murders, was due to the fact that the men of the outfit were absent. From there they proceeded to what was intended to be the county seat of Meade county, which development did not extend further than the erection of a story-and-a-half frame building, with an unfinished well nearby, at which the city fathers were working when the Indians arrived. They immediately set out to explore the contents of the house and surroundings. Their efforts were not rewarded very highly, but one thing attracted their attention, a grindstone standing near at hand. The sole occupant of the dwelling, Captain French, was compelled to perform the task of turning the grindstone while they were sharpening their knives. To test the acuteness of the finish they had put on their weapons, they contented themselves with drawing them across the captain’s throat. To show him further that they were not at all unselfish in their attentions to him, the squaws lent a hand in pulling and hauling him around and inflicting all manners of abuse upon him, but they did not attempt to kill him. I asked the captain shortly afterwards why they did not take his life, and he replied that they knew better than try that. He stated that he had a picture of George Washington hanging on the wall of his dwelling, and they knew that if they killed him the government would soon be in pursuit of them. Poor old Cap! He did not know that the government was on their trail at the time.

Although there were four or five men working at the well at the time the Indians devoted their attention to the captain. They did not molest them but continued on their way northward. On their route they encountered a man, Wash Connors, who had been to Dodge City to do some trading. He had spent the previous night with a friend of mine, C. M. Rice, and set out early in the morning so as to reach his destination in good time, as he had some material for those who were digging the well at the new town-site. Mr. Rice urged him to remain and have breakfast with him, but he said that he was in a hurry and would attend to that duly when he reached his destination. With a good team of mules hitched to his lumber wagon, he started off in good spirits, little thinking he would never reach the end of his journey. He was proceeding on his way in a brisk fashion and had come in sight of the town-site when the members of Dull Knife’s band met him. They stopped him without any ceremony and attacked him before he could get out of his wagon. They cut his throat, tore the harness off his mules and went their way taking his team. The well-diggers saw the whole proceedings, but were unable to render assistance as they were not in a position to do so.

Leaving the victim of their murderous assault dying in his wagon, they set out toward the north again. Between the scene of their latest crime and the Arkansas they committed no further depredation. They crossed the river west of Dodge City, not far from where the present station of Cimmaron is located on the Santa Fe railroad. Their depredations after crossing the river were few, as there was little to attract their attention, excepting some wild cattle and the accompanying cowboys. They did not molest the latter as they had a wholesome respect for that individual by reason of the fact that he was generally armed with a brace of six-shooters and a Winchester rifle, and was an expert in the use of both. Meeting a cow-puncher under such conditions was a hazardous thing, as the Indian knew the cowboy would not trade even. They had no doubt about their ability to eventually kill him, but the price to be paid was too great, as he usually sent three or four of the wily redskins across the Great Divide before succumbing to their prowess, and they did not usually care to pay the price.

By this time the whole country was aroused. The news was heralded abroad on the wings of the wind. The newspapers, as is their custom, in glaring headlines, magnified the extent of the depredations, and gave alarming accounts of the atrocities committed by the Indians. Everybody was on the lookout, those in the neighborhood fearing a visitation of the marauders, and those far away living in expectation of the next savage depredation. The excitement reached such a high degree of intensity that the department ordered Lieutenant-Colonel Lewis to take charge of the field of action, which for some time had been a field of inaction as the gentleman who was supposed to be at the head of the movement against the Indians was but a poor apology for a successful military commander. It may be well to remark that this man was soon relegated to the military scrap-heap in disgrace.

When Lieut-Col. Lewis was notified of the appointment, he responded with alacrity. He set out at once from Dodge City with his command. He soon was on the trail of the Indians. A short journey westward brought him to the point where the band had crossed the Arkansas on their way northward.

In the meantime the Indians were pursuing their way with considerable speed. They may have realized that another expedition would be organized to follow on their trail, or another commander would be put in charge of the one they had left so unceremoniously on the night of their escape, but whatever their conclusions were, they did not stop to commit any more outrages until they reached the North Beaver, or Sand Creek. On their arrival there, they saw they were about to have a fight on their hands, as the lieutenant-colonel had followed their trail with such speed that he was almost upon them. Escape for the time being was out of the question, and they resolved to fight. Lewis did not want to kill them, but preferred to have them surrender and return to the reservation. Such idea did not enter into Dull Knife’s calculations, and he decided to fight rather than return to the place of his recent abode.

It was now getting late in the afternoon. Considerable sharp-shooting had been done on both sides for some time, and then a skirmish took place. Each party was doing what execution it could without exposing itself to any more danger than was necessary. The Indians endeavored to make every shot count as their ammunition was getting scarce, and the soldiers were employing the same mode of warfare as their opponents, though it was not the scarcity of powder, but rather the desire to preserve their anatomy from the missiles of the enemy that induced them to seek shelter behind every bush and hillock. The lieutenant-colonel was a busy man, directing the operations of his troops, and looking after things in general. The battle lagged along until evening, without much evidence of success for either party. Towards evening Lewis rode out to the firing line to get a closer view of things and to lend his men the encouragement of his presence. When he reached the zone of fire, one of the Indian scouts approached him and advised him to dismount from his horse as he would very probably be shot if he remained exposed in such a manner to the fire of the enemy. The lieutenant-colonel did not heed the advice so freely given by his scout, and in less than ten minutes he received a bullet in the thigh. The missile struck an artery, and as a result, the lieutenant-colonel died a few hours later from loss of blood, (My authority for the above statement is G. W. Brown, who was lying not twenty feet away when the scout gave the warning of danger. This gentleman, is now living at Cushion Oil Field). He piloted the ambulance bearing the lieutenant colonel under the command of Lieutenant Gardner and escort to Fort Wallace that same night, as he was familiar with that part of the country owing to the fact that he had hunted buffalo all through that section of the country in the early days. After the escort had proceeded on its journey for about six miles, a rider returned to the lieutenant and told him that the lieutenant-colonel had died. This sad news was a shock to the company, as he was a man of the highest type of bravery, and his demise was regretted by every man in the command. When the news was first broken to the troops a look of grim determination settled upon the countenance of every man, which meant that at the first opportunity they would avenge the death of him who they loved so well. The fortunes of war averted the blow for the present, for, during the night, Dull Knife and his followers fled, leaving nothing behind but the embers of his camp fires to show where he had taken his stand. The soldiers started in hot pursuit, as they did not want their enemies to go unpunished. They had not followed the trail very far when they learned that the Indians had divided their forces and gone in different directions. Wild Hog, the chief adviser of Dull Knife went towards the north-east, over to Sappa Creek, where he and his followers murdered over forty persons, pillaged their stock and burned what they could not conveniently carry off. Dull Knife with the rest of the band headed due north. This division of the Indians compelled the soldiers to adopt the same method of procedure. They were accordingly organized into two divisions and set off in hot pursuit of their wily foes. From this time onward the expedition assumed the character of a running fight. This system of pillage, and plunder, on the part of the Indians, with the pursuit on the part of the soldiers, was maintained until the 7th Cavalry, under General Samuel D. Sturgis succeeded in capturing both bands on the Niobrara River in the vicinity of the place in which Camp Niobrara was built, and about 15 miles east of Camp Sheridan. This event occured in the month of October, 1878, but I cannot give the exact date of the occurrence. The captives were then taken as prisoners of war to Fort Robinson, Neb., or, as it was then called, Camp Robinson. They were placed in the guard house and held there until New Year’s night, 1879, when they broke out, killed the guards and made their escape through the sand hills until they had almost reached the Wyoming line.

When the news was brought that Dull Knife had killed his guards and made his escape, everything was in a flutter of excitement. Preparations were immediately made for pursuit. At dawn, as soon as it was possible to observe the direction of the trail, the bugle sounded and the Third Cavalry mounted their horses and set out in pursuit of the wily old villain who had so often eluded them. They followed hastily all forenoon and the further they advanced, the clearer the signs manifested to them the fact that they were close upon the fleeing Indians. In the afternoon they overtook the band in the said hills close to the border line of Wyoming. When Captain Wessels rode up to them, he immediately ordered them to surrender. Dull Knife’s reply to this was a rifle shot that killed an Indian scout belonging to the cavalry. He repeated with another shot at Captain Wessels. The bullet struck the captain but did not inflict a mortal wound. The action of Dull Knife was a sufficient guarantee that he did not intend to surrender, and immediately the troops poured a succession of volleys into the foe. When the smoke of battle cleared away, and the few who remained alive surrendered, it was discovered that Dull Knife himself, his daughter who was present, and about two thirds of his followers had all gone to the Happy Hunting Grounds together. After giving the proper attention to the wounded, and burying the dead, the troops with the prisoners returned to Camp Robinson. Among the number returning to the fort were Wild Hog and many other leading spirits of the movement. They were held there until the spring of 1879, when the leaders were sent to Dodge City, Ford county, Kansas to be tried for murder and other crimes.