At the Ree village below the mouth of the Yellowstone, a stop was made to take on a large stock of buffalo robes, a half day being required to load them, and in order to hasten the work, twenty or thirty squaws were hired to aid in transferring the bales of robes from a warehouse on a hill, two hundred yards perhaps from the river bank, to the boat. These squaws, although of comparatively small stature, to the bucks, would shoulder up or put on top of their heads a bale of robes, and walk with it, apparently, with ease, laughing and chattering with their companions as they went. All the while the bucks were sitting or standing around, smoking their pipes, looking on with composure and satisfaction. It did not comport with their notions of dignity and propriety to engage in any such ignoble work themselves, in fact the Indian bucks have never yet been able to appreciate the “nobility” of labor.
Somewhere about Fort Pierre, while the boat was running, four buffalo bulls were seen grazing quietly in the bottoms some distance from the river bank. The captain gave orders for landing the boat immediately. Tied up to the guards on the lower deck were a couple of Indian ponies being sent down to some point below, as a present from some chief, to his friends or relations (giving presents being a very general custom among them), and as was stated when the horses were brought on board, the horses were extra good buffalo horses, fleet of foot and trained to the chase.
Among the passengers at that time was a solitary Sioux warrior, going down on a visit, as he said. He had been with us for a day or two, and it had been whispered around that he was a bad character where he belonged. He was athletic and devilish-looking, but there was little about his person to distinguish him from the general run of Indian bucks and warriors. He had an ordinary bow and quiver of arrows slung over his back.
The captain ordered one of the horses brought forward quickly, and, with the aid of a dozen deck hands, the horse was put ashore. Just as soon as the buffalo were seen this Indian volunteered with great alacrity to go after them, and as yet they were grazing undisturbed.
Having had experience in killing buffalo on horseback the previous year, on the Santa Fé Trail, I suggested the propriety of giving the Indian a pair of Colt’s navy revolvers, which I had used effectively, but he declined them, signifying by signs that his bow and arrow would answer the purpose better than the pistols, and we soon discovered that he was a skillful buffalo hunter. The moment the horse was on the river bank he mounted him, bareback, without any trappings whatever save a short piece of rope tied around the horse’s neck. We stood on the hurricane deck looking on, and it immediately became apparent to us that the Indian well understood the business at hand, needing no instructions whatever from us. The horse at once showed speed and activity, the Indian, expertness in riding him, swaying and guiding him without even using the rope, galloping off, not towards the buffalo, but down the river bank, to a point where he had the wind of the game, then turning towards them, he got right up on them almost before they started. In a moment he was abreast of one of them and sent an arrow into its side half its length. Then the horse, it seemed, of his own will fell back to the rear, then sprang forward on the opposite side when a second arrow was shot into the buffalo deep enough to produce inward bleeding. The animal being mortally wounded ran only a half-mile when tumbled down to die. We had an unobstructed view of the whole proceeding from the hurricane deck of the boat. A striking performance, demonstrating the prowess of the Indian. The buffalo was butchered and brought on board, furnishing fresh meat for several days.
Transcriber’s Notes
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