Notwithstanding the hardships through which they were compelled to pass, all but Mrs. Thatcher were faring much better than might have been expected. Mrs. Marble, Mrs. Noble, and Abbie Gardner were willing to appear resigned to their lot and did all that was requested of them: they even appeared ready and willing to perform the many menial duties which fell to their lot. With Mrs. Thatcher, however, it was different. She had from the first rebelled at the service imposed by her Indian captors; nor did she hesitate to show them very plainly her frame of mind. This attitude on her part proved to be most unfortunate.
From the beginning of her captivity Mrs. Thatcher had been ill with phlebitis, which before the end of two weeks had developed into virulent blood poisoning.[288] Indeed, so serious was her condition that for a large portion of the march she had been relieved of much of her pack. At the pipestone quarry and on the march after leaving that region the medicine man of the band had undertaken to treat her—and the treatment seemed to help her. To such an extent had she been relieved that the Indians considered her again able to bear a pack. Thus it happened that when they arrived at the crossing of the Big Sioux near the present village of Flandrau, Mrs. Thatcher was laden as heavily as were the other three captives.
This crossing had been for generations the fording place of the red peoples in their pilgrimages to the pipestone quarry. Normally the river at this point is wide but shallow. But “the vast amount of snow which covered the ground that memorable winter had nearly gone, by reason of the rapid thawing during the last few weeks, causing the river to rise beyond all ordinary bounds, and assume majestic proportions.”[289] Throughout the greater portion of the upper course of the Big Sioux it flows between perpendicular and continuous cliffs of red jasper rocks peculiar to the region, but at or near this traditional crossing place the stone cliffs were neither high nor continuous. Moreover, at this particular time so many tree trunks had become lodged by the spring freshets that at one point a bridge crossing was formed. Upon this the Indians proposed to cross, instead of attempting the more dangerous method of fording. At the prospect of crossing the swollen stream, the captives were terrified, believing that they would again be compelled to wade. They despaired of being able to get across. The situation seemed quite hopeless.
As soon as the determination to cross had been reached, an Indian warrior—the one who had seized the box of caps from Gardner—removed the pack from Mrs. Thatcher’s back and transferred it to his own.[290] This in itself was ominous, and Mrs. Thatcher was not slow to perceive that some unusual disposition was to be made of her. As she was ordered forward to the driftwood bridge she spoke to her companions, bidding them goodbye and saying as she did so: “If any of you escape, tell my dear husband that I wanted to live for his sake.”[291] When she had made the middle of the stream, the Indian carrying her pack suddenly tripped her into the river. Retaining her presence of mind she was able by desperate efforts to keep herself afloat. A number of times she succeeded in making her way to the banks of the stream where, grasping the roots of trees, she strove to pull herself out of the water. But each time she was met by an Indian who clubbed her loose and with a long pole pushed her into the main current. Finally, as she came to shore and grasped the roots of a tree for what proved to be the last time, an Indian who had always been peculiarly brutal in his treatment of the captive raised his gun and shot her through the head, killing her instantly.[292]
Mrs. Marble relates that the death of Mrs. Thatcher “was hailed by the Indian women with loud shouts of joy and exultation.—The feelings of the surviving prisoners at this horrid murder, cannot be imagined. They beheld in Mrs. Thatcher’s death, the fate reserved for them, when overpowered by fatigue, they would be unable to proceed.”[293]
The death of Mrs. Thatcher was a sad blow to the remaining captives: it was particularly distressing to Mrs. Noble. These two women had been lifelong friends and had married cousins. The families had come to the frontier together, had lived in the same cabin, and had planned to build homes as nearly together as possible. Mrs. Noble was so depressed and so bereft of any hope that in the evening she proposed to the other captives that they steal away to the Big Sioux and drown themselves. Mrs Marble, however, succeeded in convincing her that such an act would be useless. But from this time Mrs. Noble seemed to be wholly indifferent as to her treatment or possible fate at the hands of her captors. The captives were now made to realize as never before the heartlessness of their captors: they lived in the expectation that any day might see for them the end of life.
Before them lay many days of the most wearisome travel. It is true that walking had become easier, for spring had really come and the trails were much improved. With spring had come also the blossoming of the prairies; but in this there was neither charm nor beauty for the captives as they wearily plodded on knowing not whither they were bound. After crossing the Big Sioux the journey was continued in a nearly direct line westward. Other bands of Sioux or Yanktons were now frequently seen; and notwithstanding the reputation of Inkpaduta, he and his band were usually very cordially met by other Indians. Indeed, they were more than cordially greeted from time to time at these chance meetings. The fact that they seemed to be known by all bands they chanced to meet suggests that they were not strangers to the region. The story of how they obtained their captives, which was always told, seemed to be received with every sign of approbation.
By May fifth Inkpaduta and his band had reached Lake M’da Chan-Pta-Ya Tonka (Lake with a Grove of Big Trees). This body of water lies to the east of the present town of Madison, South Dakota, at the headwaters of Skunk Creek, and for that reason it has sometimes been called Skunk Lake.[294] Situated about thirty miles west of Flandrau, South Dakota, it is now known as Lake Madison. At the time it was visited by Inkpaduta it was on the margin of the buffalo range. Hunting was now quite the order of the day, and food became plentiful. The dressing and preparing of skins occupied the time of the squaws.