The Great Salt Lake Trail

by Henry Inman; Buffalo Bill

At nine o'clock the Indians replenished the fire, and, feeling sleepy, I wrapped myself in my blankets and lay down to rest. I soon fell asleep, and slept well until nearly midnight, when I was awakened by the snapping and snarling of the wolves near the fire. The wood had burned down to a bed of coals, and gave but a faint light, but I could see a dozen pair of red eyes glaring at me over the edge of the snowbank. The Indians were sound asleep, and, knowing they were very tired, I did not wake them, but got my gun, and, wrapping myself in my blankets, sat up by the fire to watch the varmints and warm my feet. Presently I heard a long wild howl down in the woods, and knew by the “whirr-ree, whirr-ree” in it that it proceeded from the throat of the dreaded buffalo wolf, or Kosh-e-nee, of the prairies. There was another howl, then another, and another, and, finally, a loud chorus of a dozen. Instantly silence fell among the coyotes, and they began to scatter. For a time all was quiet, and I had begun to doze, when suddenly the coals flew all over me, and I opened my eyes just in time to see a great gray wolf spring out of the fire and bound up the snowbank. I leaped to my feet and peered into the darkness, where I could see scores of dark shadows moving about, and a black cluster gathered under my saddle. I called the Indians, who quietly and nimbly jumped to their feet, and came forward armed with their revolvers. I told them what had happened, and that we were surrounded by a large pack of gray wolves. We had no fear for ourselves, but felt uneasy lest they might attack our horses, who were pawing and snorting with alarm. I spoke to them kindly, and they immediately became quiet. At the suggestion of the Indians I brought forward my revolvers, and we all sat down to watch the varmints, and see what they would do.

In a few minutes, a pair of fiery, red eyes looked down at us from the snowbank; then another, and another pair, until there were a dozen. We sat perfectly still, and presently one great gray wolf gathered himself, and made a leap for the elk-meat on the saddle. He nearly touched it with his nose, but failed to secure the coveted prize, and fell headlong into the fire. We fired two shots into him, and he lay still until one of the Indians pulled him out to keep his hair from burning and making a disagreeable smell. In about five minutes, another wolf leaped at our elk-meat and fell in the fire. We despatched him as we had done the first one, and then threw him across the dead body of his brother. So we kept on firing until we had killed eight wolves; then, tired of killing the brutes with pistols, I brought out my double-barrelled shot-gun, and loading each barrel with nine buckshot, waited until they were gathered thick under the tree on which hung my meat, and then let them have it. Every discharge caused some to tumble down, and sent the rest scampering and howling to the rear. Presently they became more wary, and I had to fire on them at long range.

The Indians now went out and gathered some dry limbs, and we kindled up a bright fire. Then we threw the carcasses of the nine dead wolves, that were in our camp, over the snowbank, and knowing that the beasts would not come near our bright fire, two of us lay down to sleep, while the third remained up to watch and keep the fire burning.

The coyotes now returned, and with unearthly yells attacked their dead brothers, snapping, snarling, and quarrelling over their carcasses as they tore the flesh and crunched the bones.

We rose at daylight, and through the dim light could see the coyotes trotting off to the swamp, while near the camp lay heads, legs, and piles of cleanly licked bones, all that was left of the gray wolves we had killed.

After breakfast we set out to find the command, striking across the country, expecting to come upon their trail. We travelled all day, however, and saw no trail. At night we camped out again, and were scarcely in camp, when we again heard the wolves howling around us. They had followed us all day, no doubt expecting another repast, such as had been served to them the night before. We, however, kept a bright fire burning, and no gray wolves came about; so the coyotes were disappointed, and vented their disappointment all night long in the most dismal howls I ever heard. At times, it seemed as though there were five hundred of them, and joining their voices in chorus they would send up a volume of sound that resembled the roar of a tempest, or the discordant singing of a vast multitude of people.

While we cooked breakfast, a strong picket of wolves watched all around the camp, feasting their greedy eyes from a distance on my elk-meat. When we started from camp, a hundred or more of them followed us, often coming quite close to the back pony, and biting and quarrelling about the elk that was never to be their meat. When we halted, they would halt, and sitting down, loll out their tongues and lick the snow. At length, I took my shot-gun, and loading the barrels, fired into the thickest of the pack. Two or three were wounded, and no sooner did their companions discover that they were bleeding and disabled, than they fell upon them, tore them to pieces, and devoured every morsel of their flesh. I had seen men who would do the same thing with their fellows, but until I witnessed the contrary with my own eyes, I had supposed this practice was confined to the superior brute creation.

The third day out, finding no trace of the command, we concluded to go back to the Medicine and seek the old camp, from which we could take the trail and follow it up until we came upon it. We reached the Medicine at sundown, and there, to our satisfaction, found the troops still in camp, where we had left them. They had not marched in consequence of the cold and foggy weather.

I was soon in my own tent and sound asleep, being thoroughly worn out with the exposure and fatigue of my long journey.

I was sent down from Camp Cottonwood (now Fort McPherson), with thirty men, to Gilman's Ranch, fifteen miles east of Cottonwood on the Platte, where I was to remain, guard the ranch, and furnish guards to Ben Holliday's overland stage-coaches. In those days, Gilman's was an important place, and in earlier times had been a great trading point for the Sioux. Two or three trails led from the Republican to this place and every winter the Sioux had come in with their ponies loaded down with buffalo, beaver, elk, and deer skins, which they exchanged with the traders at Gilman's. War had, however, put a stop to these peaceful pursuits; still the Sioux could not give up the habit of travelling these favourite trails. The ponies often came in from the Republican, not now laden with furs and robes, but each bearing a Sioux warrior. The overland coaches offered a great temptation to the cupidity of the Sioux, and they were not slow to avail themselves of any opportunity to attack them. The coaches carried the mails and much treasure, and if the savages could now and then succeed in capturing one, they got money, jewels, scalps, horses, and not infrequently white women, as a reward for their enterprise.