The hostiles rode around the Gros Ventres village many times, yelling, calling names, and sending forth challenges to the Gros Ventres to come out and fight; but the Gros Ventres remained quiet in their rifle-pits. I learned afterward that it was all their chiefs could do to keep their young men from accepting the hostiles’ challenges to fight. After a great deal of this verbal defiance, the hostiles rode back to their camp on a run, firing off their guns in the air. When opposite the town they halted and formed a half circle and began to sing their war-songs. After the songs a few approached within two hundred yards of the agency building, calling the whites dogs and women, names which were understood. The interpreters were directed to tell the Indians to stop their talk or we would kill them, and presently they rode back to their company, gave a yell of defiance, and left for their villages.

This lull gave us all an opportunity to eat dinner. I took Little Dog, Jack, and three other chiefs with me to dinner, and just as we had finished eating a fearful yell was heard. The chiefs jumped up and mounted quickly, making signs to the whites to remain in the houses. I mounted Dick and went with the chiefs, though many of the men called out to me: “Don’t go, sheriff.” I had decided what I should do in case of a fight. If the hostiles attacked the town, and Little Dog attacked the hostiles, I would remain with him, for there I would be of more benefit to the town than I would be in the building. If, on the other hand, Little Dog failed to act, I could return to the town.

The yell was given by some one thousand two hundred painted savages, each of whom had tied from five to twenty yards of calico to his horse’s tail and started out on a run all over the bottom. Calico of many colors was flying in all directions, and each Indian was trying to make his pony step on the calico tied to the horse next in advance. They were yelling and firing off their guns in every direction. It was a wild orgy, such as neither I nor any one else had ever beheld, and we had witnessed many a wild scene. It was something for a Rembrandt or a Remington to paint; the first scene of the kind, and, I believe, the last, ever seen in the United States.

[A scene somewhat similar to the one described took place in southern Nebraska in the year 1867 when the Cheyennes ditched a freight train on the railroad then being constructed across the continent. The Indians who took part in the wrecking of this train have told me how the freight cars were broken open, the goods taken from them and scattered over the prairie, and how the young men in sport knotted the ends of bolts of calico to their horses’ tails and then galloped wildly in all directions, the cloth streaming behind them in the wind.]

That night the Gros Ventres, like the Arabs, silently moved their village, without being discovered by their enemies. The next morning all the Indians except Little Dog’s band left for the north, to go to their own country. Before they left two war parties had been organized to raid upon the miners and ranchmen in different sections of the Territory. Such was the result of this great treaty.

Before they moved out a few of us visited the Indian villages. As many Indians were dissatisfied with the treaty, they looked on us with distrust, and hatred was plainly visible in their faces and their actions. We assumed the authority to notify the chiefs that they must control their young men and keep them from stealing from the whites, or war on them by the whites would continue. In part the treaty was successful. As a whole it was a failure, for a chronic state of warfare continued for years.


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