THE WHITE 
 INDIAN BOY 
 
 Wilson 
 Driggs 
 
 In Pioneer Life Series 
 
BANCROFT 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
The White Indian Boy 
 
Myers, Boise, Idaho 
 
 Shoshone Falls of the Snake River, Idaho ; one of the wonder scenes 
 in the land of Washakie's tribe. 
 
Pioneer Life Series 
 The 
 
 White Indian Boy 
 
 The Story of Uncle Nick 
 Among the Shoshones 
 
 J 
 
 IT N: Wilson, 1*4* 
 // 
 
 Revised and Edited by 
 Howard R. Driggs 
 
 Professor of English, School of Education 
 University of Utah 
 
 Illustrated with drawings by 
 F. N. Wilson 
 
 Yonkers-on-Hudson, New York 
 
 World Book Company 
 1922 
 
WORLD BOOK COMPANY 
 
 THE HOUSE OF APPLIED KNOWLEDGE 
 Established, 1905, by Caspar W. Hodgson 
 
 YONKERS-ON-HUDSON, NEW YORK 
 2126 PRAIRIE AVENUE, CHICAGO 
 
 The number of men and worn en who played 
 a part in the conquest and settlement of 
 the Great West grows smaller year by year, 
 and the passing of these plainsmen and 
 mountaineers marks the close of an era in 
 our national life. To put into permanent 
 form, as has been done in this book, a pio 
 neer's recollections of his early days, with 
 their trials and adventures, is to make 
 a certain contribution to history. Such a 
 record shows us the courage, perseverance, 
 and hardihood with which the foundations 
 of the nation were laid, and to read it is 
 to watch a state in the making. As a story 
 of the days when Indian tribes still roamed 
 the plains, this book will have for boys and 
 girls all the interest of a tale of adventure. 
 It is hoped that it will also give them a 
 realization of the hardships and dangers 
 so manfully faced by the settlers of the 
 West and will implant in them a desire 
 to prove themselves worthy successors to 
 those builders of the nation. Other vol 
 umes of the Pioneer Life Series will follow 
 The White Indian Boy 
 
 PLS:WDWIB-3 
 
 Copyright, 1919, by World Book Company 
 
 Copyright in Great Britain 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 PRINTED IN U. 8. A. 
 
BANCROFT 
 LJBRARY 
 
 AN INTRODUCTION TO UNCLE NICK 
 
 IF you ever go to the Yellowstone Park by way of Jack 
 son's Hole, you will most likely pass through Wilson, 
 Wyoming. It is a picturesque little village situated at 
 the foot of the Teton Mountains. A clear stream, rightly 
 named Fish Creek, winds its way through the place. On 
 the very edge of this sparkling mountain stream stands 
 a log cabin. The cabin is so near the creek, indeed, that 
 one might stand in the dooryard and catch fish. And 
 this is what "Uncle Nick" Wilson, who lived in the cabin, 
 has done many a time. That is a "true fish story," I am 
 sure, because I caught two lively trout myself last sum 
 mer in this same creek only a few rods from the cabin. 
 
 Who was Uncle Nick Wilson? you ask. He was an 
 old pioneer after whom this frontier town was named. 
 He was the man, too, who wrote this story book. You 
 would have liked Uncle Nick, I know. He was a rather 
 short, round-faced man with a merry twinkle in his eyes. 
 He took things easily ; he spoke in a quiet voice ; he was 
 never too busy to help his neighbors; he liked a good 
 joke ; he was always ready to chat awhile ; and he never 
 failed to have a good story to tell, especially to the children. 
 
 Uncle Nick had one peculiarity. He did not like to 
 take off his hat, even when he went into a house. I 
 often wondered why, but I did not like to ask him. One 
 day, however, some one told me the reason. It was 
 because he had once been shot in the head with an arrow 
 by an Indian. The scar was still there. 
 
 From outward appearances one would hardly have 
 guessed that Uncle Nick's life had been so full of ex 
 citing experiences. But when he was sitting about the 
 campfire at night or at the fireside with a group of boys 
 and girls, he would often get to telling his tales of the 
 Indians and the Pony Express; and his hearers would 
 never let him stop. My own two boys never got sleepy 
 
vi An Introduction to Uncle Nick 
 
 when Uncle Nick was in the house ; they would keep call 
 ing for his stories again and again. 
 
 This was one reason why he wrote this story book. 
 He wanted boys and girls to have the pleasure of reading 
 his stories as often as they pleased. How he was induced 
 to write it is an interesting story in itself. 
 
 Some years ago two professors of a certain Western 
 university were making a trip with their families to the 
 Yellowstone Park by way of Jackson's Hole trail. As 
 they were passing through Wilson, one of the women in 
 the party met with a serious accident. Her little boy had 
 got among the horses, and the mother, in trying to save 
 the child from harm, was knocked down and trampled. 
 
 Help must be had at once ; but how to get it was a 
 problem. The nearest doctor was over sixty miles away. 
 While the unfortunate travelers were worrying about what 
 to do, Uncle Nick's wife came to the rescue. She quietly 
 assumed command of affairs, directed the making of a 
 litter, and insisted that the wounded lady be carried to her 
 cabin home a short distance away. Then she turned 
 nurse, dressed the wounds, and attended the sufferer 
 until she was well enough to resume the journey. 
 
 The party meantime camped near by, and whiled away 
 about three weeks in fishing and hunting and enjoying 
 Uncle Nick's stories of the Wild West. Every night they 
 would sit about the cabin fire listening to the old frontiers 
 man tell his "Injun stories" and his other thrilling ad 
 ventures of the early days. They felt that these stories 
 should be written for everybody to enjoy. They were 
 so enthusiastic in their desire to have it done that Uncle 
 Nick finally consented to try to write them. 
 
 It was a hard task for him. He had never attended 
 school a day in his life ; but his wife had taught him his 
 alphabet, and he had learned to read and spell in some 
 
An Introduction to Uncle Nick vii 
 
 kind of way. He got an old typewriter and set to work. 
 Day by day for several months he clicked away, until 
 most of his stories were told. And here they are true 
 stories, of real Indians, as our pioneer parents knew them 
 about seventy years ago. 
 
 The book gives the nearest and clearest of views of 
 Indian home-life; it is filled, too, with stirring incidents 
 of Indian warfare, of the Pony Express and Overland 
 Stage, and other exciting frontier experiences. 
 
 Uncle Nick may have had no schooling except as he 
 got it in the wilds, but he certainly learned how to tell a 
 story well. The charm of his style lies in its Robinson 
 Crusoe simplicity and its touches of Western humor. 
 
 Best of all, the stories Uncle Nick tells are true. For 
 many months he was a visitor at our home. To listen 
 to this kindly, honest old man was to believe his words. 
 But the truth of what he tells is proved by the words of 
 many other persons who knew him well, and others who 
 have had similar experiences. For several years I have 
 been proving these stories by talking with other pioneers, 
 mountaineers, pony riders, students of Indian life, and 
 even Indians themselves. Their words have unfailingly 
 borne out the statements of the writer of this book. No 
 pretense is made that this volume is without error. It 
 certainly is accurate, however, in practically every detail, 
 and true to the customs and the spirit of the Indian and 
 pioneer life it portrays. 
 
 Professor Franklin T. Baker of Columbia University, 
 who read the book in manuscript, has pronounced the 
 book " a rare find, and a distinctive contribution to the 
 literature that reflects our Western life." 
 
 The rugged, kindly man who lived through the scenes 
 herein pictured has passed away. He died at Wilson, the 
 town he founded, in December, 1915, during the seventy- 
 
vi An Introduction to Uncle Nick 
 
 when Uncle Nick was in the house ; they would keep call 
 ing for his stories again and again. 
 
 This was one reason why he wrote this story book. 
 He wanted boys and girls to have the pleasure of reading 
 his stories as often as they pleased. How he was induced 
 to write it is an interesting story in itself. 
 
 Some years ago two professors of a certain Western 
 university were making a trip with their families to the 
 Yellowstone Park by way of Jackson's Hole trail. As 
 they were passing through Wilson, one of the women in 
 the party met with a serious accident. Her little boy had 
 got among the horses, and the mother, in trying to save 
 the child from harm, was knocked down and trampled. 
 
 Help must be had at once ; but how to get it was a 
 problem. The nearest doctor was over sixty miles away. 
 While the unfortunate travelers were worrying about what 
 to do, Uncle Nick's wife came to the rescue. She quietly 
 assumed command of affairs, directed the making of a 
 litter, and insisted that the wounded lady be carried to her 
 cabin home a short distance away. Then she turned 
 nurse, dressed the wounds, and attended the sufferer 
 until she was well enough to resume the journey. 
 
 The party meantime camped near by, and whiled away 
 about three weeks in fishing and hunting and enjoying 
 Uncle Nick's stories of the Wild West. Every night they 
 would sit about the cabin fire listening to the old frontiers 
 man tell his "Injun stories" and his other thrilling ad 
 ventures of the early days. They felt that these stories 
 should be written for everybody to enjoy. They were 
 so enthusiastic in their desire to have it done that Uncle 
 Nick finally consented to try to write them. 
 
 It was a hard task for him. He had never attended 
 school a day in his life ; but his wife had taught him his 
 alphabet, and he had learned to read and spell in some 
 
An Introduction to Uncle Nick vii 
 
 kind of way. He got an old typewriter and set to work. 
 Day by day for several months he clicked away, until 
 most of his stories were told. And here they are true 
 stories, of real Indians, as our pioneer parents knew them 
 about seventy years ago. 
 
 The book gives the nearest and clearest of views of 
 Indian home-life ; it is filled, too, with stirring incidents 
 of Indian warfare, of the Pony Express and Overland 
 Stage, and other exciting frontier experiences. 
 
 Uncle Nick may have had no schooling except as he 
 got it in the wilds, but he certainly learned how to tell a 
 story well. The charm of his style lies in its Robinson 
 Crusoe simplicity and its touches of Western humor. 
 
 Best of all, the stories Uncle Nick tells are true. For 
 many months he was a visitor at our home. To listen 
 to this kindly, honest old man was to believe his words. 
 But the truth of what he tells is proved by the words of 
 many other persons who knew him well, and others who 
 have had similar experiences. For several years I have 
 been proving these stories by talking with other pioneers, 
 mountaineers, pony riders, students of Indian life, and 
 even Indians themselves. Their words have unfailingly 
 borne out the statements of the writer of this book. No 
 pretense is made that this volume is without error. It 
 certainly is accurate, however, in practically every detail, 
 and true to the customs and the spirit of the Indian and 
 pioneer life it portrays. 
 
 Professor Franklin T. Baker of Columbia University, 
 who read the book in manuscript, has pronounced the 
 book " a rare find, and a distinctive contribution to the 
 literature that reflects our Western life." 
 
 The rugged, kindly man who lived through the scenes 
 herein pictured has passed away. He died at Wilson, the 
 town he founded, in December, 1915, during the seventy- 
 
viii An Introduction to Uncle Nick 
 
 third year of his age. But he has left for us this tablet 
 to his memory, a simple story of a simple man who lived 
 bravely and cheerily in the storm and stress of earlier days, 
 taking his part even from boyhood with the full measure 
 of a man. 
 
 HOWARD R. DRIGGS 
 
AUTHOR'S FOREWORD 
 
 You have no doubt read or heard stories of the great wild 
 West. Perhaps you have even listened to some gray- 
 haired man or woman tell tales of the Indians and the 
 trappers, who roamed over the hills and plains. They 
 may have told you, too, of the daring Pony Express riders 
 who used to go dashing along the wild trails over the 
 prairies and mountains and desert, carrying the mails, and 
 of the Overland men who drove their stages loaded with 
 letters and passengers along the same dangerous roads. 
 
 I know something about those stirring early times. 
 More than sixty years of my life have been spent on the 
 Western frontiers, with the pioneers, among the Indians, 
 as a pony rider, a stage driver, a mountaineer, and a 
 ranchman. 
 
 I have taken my experiences as they came to me, much 
 as a matter of course, not thinking of them as especially 
 unusual or exciting. Many other men have had similar 
 experiences. They were all bound up in the life we had 
 to live in making the conquest of the West. Others 
 seem, however, to find the stories of my life interesting. 
 My grandchildren and other children, and even grown 
 people, ask me again and again to tell these tales of the 
 earlier days ; so I have begun to feel that they may be 
 worth telling and keeping. 
 
 That is why I finally decided to write them. It has 
 taken almost more courage to do this than it did actually 
 to live through some of the exciting experiences. I have 
 not had the privilege of attending schools, so it is very hard 
 for me to tell my story with the pen ; but perhaps I may 
 be able to give my readers, young and old, some pleasure 
 and help them to get a clearer, truer picture of the real 
 wild West as it was when the pioneers first blazed their 
 way into the land, 
 
 "UNCLE NICK" WILSON 
 
 ix 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 INTRODUCTION. . . v 
 
 By Howard R. Driggs, telling who Uncle Nick was ; 
 of his home in Jackson's Hole, Wyoming, and the story 
 of how the book came to be written 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 1. PIONEER DAYS . 1 
 
 A sketch of the pioneer days in the West Indian 
 troubles Account of desert tribes and Shoshones 
 
 2. MY LITTLE INDIAN BROTHER 8 
 
 How Nick learns the Indian language 
 
 3. OFF WITH THE INDIANS 12 
 
 Nick joins Washakie's tribe as adopted son of the 
 chief's mother Experience in getting to the tribe 
 
 4. THE GREAT ENCAMPMENT 20 
 
 The gathering of the Shoshone nation in Deer Lodge 
 Valley, Montana 
 
 5. BREAKING CAMP . .- 28 
 
 Story of the Buffalo hunt Preparing meat for winter 
 
 6. VILLAGE LIFE 33 
 
 Winter experiences in the Indian village in Idaho 
 
 7. MY INDIAN MOTHER ....... 39 
 
 An Indian mother's sorrow How she came to want 
 a white papoose Love of the red mother for the 
 white child 
 
 8. THE CROWS . 44 
 
 Struggles of the Shoshones with their rival enemy 
 Scares and war preparation 
 
 9. PAPOOSE TROUBLES 57 
 
 Breaking Indian ponies A fight with bears 
 
 10. A LONG JOURNEY . . . . . . .69 
 
 Wanderings of Washakie's tribe through the Idaho 
 country on their trip to market their skins and robes 
 
 11. THE SNOWY MOONS 79 
 
 Another winter with the Indians Teaching the 
 Indians the ways of the white man Days of mourn 
 ing 
 
 12. THE FIERCE BATTLE 89 
 
 Fight for the buffalo grounds Description of the 
 battle in which Washakie settled the question of 
 boundary lines 
 
Contents xi 
 
 CHAPTER PAOE 
 
 13. LIVELY TIMES .98 
 
 An accident Medicine man doctoring and other 
 Indian practices in healing 
 
 14. OLD MOROGONAI 106 
 
 The old Shoshone arrow maker and his stories of early 
 times Memories of Lewis and Clark 
 
 15. THE BIG COUNCIL 112 
 
 Indian chiefs confer as to what shall be done with 
 the white boy 
 
 16. HOMEWARD BOUND 119 
 
 Nick, equipped with ponies and Indian trappings, 
 returns to tell his own story of how he left home 
 
 17. THE YEAR OF THE MOVE . . . . . 128 
 
 The coming of Johnston's army to Utah and the 
 leaving of their homes by the people Nick shows 
 his skill at riding wild horses 
 
 18. THE PONY EXPRESS .139 
 
 Nick chosen as a rider His experiences carrying the 
 mail Shot by an Indian 
 
 19. JOHNSTON PUNISHES THE INDIANS 157 
 
 Nick as a guide for the United States troops The 
 battle in the desert 
 
 20. THE OVERLAND STAGE 167 
 
 Experiences of Nick as a driver of the Overland 
 
 21. A TERRIBLE JOURNEY ....... 176 
 
 Establishing the mail route from Idaho to Montana 
 The struggle in the snow 
 
 22. MY OLD SHOSHONE FRIENDS ...... 192 
 
 After experiences with the Indians Hunting for the 
 Indian mother's grave Washakie 
 
 23. TRAPPING WITH AN INDIAN ...... 197 
 
 Nick spends a winter as a trapper Description of 
 the work 
 
 24. WORKING ON THE INDIAN RESERVATION . . . 202 
 
 Nick in government employ Troubles in getting 
 the tribe to settle down 
 
 25. FRONTIER TROUBLES 207 
 
 Capturing a band of cattle thieves A chase after 
 Indian horse-thieves The Jackson's Hole Indian 
 trouble Closing words 
 
 GLOSSARY 219 
 

 r 
 
The Western trail in the early days. 
 
 CHAPTER ONE 
 
 PIONEER DAYS 
 
 I WAS born in Illinois in 1842. I crossed the plains by 
 ox team and came to Utah in 1850. My parents settled 
 in Grantsville, a pioneer village just south of the Great 
 Salt Lake. To protect themselves from the Indians, the 
 settlers grouped their houses close together and built a 
 high wall all around them. Some of the men would 
 stand guard while others worked in the fields. The 
 cattle had to be herded very closely during the day, and 
 corralled at night with a strong guard to keep them from 
 being stolen. But even with all our watchfulness we lost 
 a good many of them. The Indians would steal in and 
 drive our horses and cows away and kill them. Some 
 times they killed the people, too. 
 
 We built a log schoolhouse in the center of our fort, 
 and near it we erected a very high pole, up which we could 
 run a white flag as a signal if the Indians attempted to 
 run off our cattle, or attack the town or the men in the 
 fields. In this log schoolhouse two old men would stay, 
 taking turns at watching and giving signals when neces- 
 
 1 
 
The White Indian Boy 
 
 sary, by raising the flag in the daytime, or by beating a 
 drum at night. For we had in the schoolhouse a big 
 bass drum to rouse the people, and if the Indians made a 
 raid, one of the guards would thump on the old thing. 
 
 When the people heard the drum, all the women and 
 children were supposed to rush for the schoolhouse and 
 the men would hurry for the cow corral or take their 
 places along the wall. Often in the dead hours of the 
 night when we were quietly sleeping, we would be startled 
 by the booming old drum. Then you would hear the 
 youngsters coming and squalling from every direction. 
 You bet I was there too. Yes, sir, many is the time I 
 have run for that old schoolhouse clinging to my mother's 
 apron and bawling "like sixty"; for we all expected to 
 be filled with arrows before we could get there. We could 
 not go outside of the wall without endangering our lives, 
 and when we would lie down at night we never knew what 
 would happen before morning. 
 
 The savages that gave us the most trouble were called 
 Gosiutes. They lived in the deserts of Utah and Nevada. 
 Many of them had been banished into the desert from 
 other tribes because of crimes they had committed. The 
 Gosiutes were a mixed breed of good and bad Indians. 
 
 They were always poorly clad. In the summer they 
 went almost naked ; but in winter they dressed themselves 
 in robes made by twisting and tying rabbit skins together. 
 These robes were generally all they had to wear during 
 the day and all they had to sleep in at night. 
 
 They often went hungry, too. The desert had but little 
 food to give them. They found some edible roots, the 
 sego, and tintic, which is a kind of Indian potato, like the 
 artichoke ; they gathered sunflower and balzamoriza 1 
 
 1 Sometimes called " spring sunflower." It has a blossom much 
 like the sunflower, and velvety leaves. It is common in parts of 
 the West. 
 
Pioneer Days 3 
 
 seeds, and a few berries. The pitch pine tree gave them 
 pine nuts ; and for meat they killed rabbits, prairie dogs, 
 mice, lizards, and even snakes. Once in a great while 
 they got a deer or an antelope. The poor savages had a 
 cold and hungry time of it ; we could hardly blame them 
 for stealing our cattle and horses to eat. 
 
 Yes, they ate horses, too. That was the reason they 
 had no ponies, as did the Bannocks and Shoshones and 
 other tribes. The Gosiutes wandered afoot over the 
 deserts, but this made them great runners. It is said 
 that Yarabe, one of these Indians, once won a wager by 
 beating the Overland Stage in a race of twenty-five miles 
 
 Bur. Am. Ethnology, Smithsonian Institution 
 Gosiute wickiups in the desert. 
 
4 The White Indian Boy 
 
 over the desert. Swift runners like this would slip in and 
 chase away our animals, driving them off and killing 
 them. Our men finally captured old Umbaginny and 
 some other bad Indians that were making the mischief, 
 and made an example of them. 
 
 After this they did not trouble us so much, but the 
 settlements were in constant fear and excitement. One 
 incident connected with my father shows this. Our herd 
 boys were returning from Stansbury Island, in the Great 
 Salt Lake, where many cattle were kept. On their way 
 home they met a band of friendly Indians. The boys, in 
 fun, proposed that the Indians chase them into town, fir 
 ing a few shots to make it seem like a real attack. The 
 Indians agreed, and the chase began. My father saw 
 them coming and grabbed his gun. Before the white 
 jokers could stop him and explain, he had shot down the 
 head Indian's horse. It took fifty sacks of flour to pay 
 for their fun. The Indians demanded a hundred sacks, 
 but they finally agreed to take half that amount and call 
 things square. 
 
 Some of the Indians grew in time to be warm friends 
 with us, and when they did become so, they would help 
 protect us from the wild Indians. At one time Harrison 
 Sevier, a pioneer of Grantsville, was out in the canyon 
 getting wood. " Captain Jack," a chief of the Gosiutes, 
 was with him. Some wild Indians attacked Sevier 
 and would have killed him, but " Captain Jack " sprang 
 to his defense and beat back the murderous Indians. 
 The chief had most of his clothes torn off and was badly 
 bruised in the fight, but he saved his white friend. Not 
 all the Gosiutes were savages. Old Tabby, another of 
 this tribe, was a friend of my father. How he proved 
 his friendship for us I shall tell later. 
 
 A rather amusing thing happened one day to Tabby. 
 
Pioneer Days 5 
 
 He had just got a horse through some kind of trade. 
 Like the other Gosiutes, he was not a very skillful rider. 
 But he would ride his pony. One day this big Indian 
 came galloping along the street towards the blacksmith 
 shop. Riley Judd, the blacksmith, who was always up 
 to pranks, saw Tabby coming, and just as he galloped 
 up, Riley dropped the horse's hoof he was shoeing, threw 
 up his arms and said, 
 
 "Why, how dye do, Tabby !" 
 
 Tabby's pony jumped sidewise, arid his rider tumbled 
 off. He picked himself up and turned to the laughing 
 men, saying 
 
 " Ka wino (no good), Riley Judd, too much how dye do." 
 
 Besides our troubles with the Indians, we had to fight 
 the crickets and the grasshoppers. These insects swarmed 
 down from the mountains and devoured every green thing 
 they could find. We had hard work to save our crop. It 
 looked as if starvation was coming. The men got great 
 log rollers and rolled back and forth. Herds of cattle 
 were also driven over the marching crickets to crush 
 them ; rushes were piled in their path, and when they 
 crawled into this at night, it would be set on fire. But 
 all seemed in vain. Nothing we could do stopped the 
 scourge. 
 
 Then the gulls came by the thousands out of the Great 
 Salt Lake. They dropped among the crickets and gorged 
 and regorged themselves until the foe was checked. No 
 man could pay me money enough to kill one of these birds. 
 
 After the cricket war the grasshoppers came to plague 
 us. Great clouds of them would settle down on our 
 fields. Father saved five acres of his grain by giving up 
 the rest to them. We kept the hoppers from settling on 
 this patch by running over and over the field with ropes. 
 We used our bed cords to make a rope long enough. 
 
6 
 
 The White Indian Boy 
 
Pioneer Days 7 
 
 But it was a starving winter anyway, in spite of all we 
 could do. We were a thousand miles from civilization, 
 surrounded by hostile Indians. We had very little to 
 eat and next to nothing to wear. It was a time of hunger 
 and hardships ; but most of the people managed to live 
 through it, and things grew brighter with the spring. 
 
" He went bucking through the sagebrush." 
 
 CHAPTER TWO 
 
 MY LITTLE INDIAN BROTHER 
 
 A FEW tame Indians hung around the settlements begging 
 their living. The people had a saying, "It is cheaper to 
 feed them than to fight them," so they gave them what 
 they could; but the leaders thought it would be better 
 to put them to work to earn their living ; so some of the 
 whites hired the Indians. My father made a bargain 
 with old Tosenamp (White-foot) to help him. The 
 Indian had a squaw and one papoose, a boy about my 
 age. They called him Pantsuk. 
 
 At that time my father owned a small herd of sheep, 
 and he wanted to move out on his farm, two miles from 
 the settlement, so he could take better care of them. 
 Old Tosenamp thought it would be safe to do so, as most 
 of the Indians there were becoming friendly, and the 
 wild Indians were so far away that it was thought they 
 would not bother us ; so we moved out on the farm. 
 
 Father put the Indian boy and me to herding the sheep. 
 I had no other boy to play with. Pantsuk and I became 
 greatly attached to each other. I soon learned to talk 
 
 8 
 
My Little Indian Brother 9 
 
 his language, and Pantsuk and I had great times together 
 for about two years. We trapped chipmunks and birds, 
 shot rabbits with our bows and arrows, and had other 
 kinds of papoose sport. 
 
 Once we thought we would have some fun riding the 
 sheep. I caught "Old Carney," our big ram, and Pantsuk 
 got on him; but as his chubby legs were hardly long 
 enough to hold him on the big woolly back, I tied his feet 
 together with a rope under the ram. Old Carney didn't 
 like this. He broke away and went bucking through 
 the sagebrush. Pantsuk tumbled off under him, and the 
 old sheep dragged him for several rods before he got free. 
 Pantsuk was a white papoose for sure, when he scrambled 
 to his feet ; but I guess I was more scared than he was. 
 We didn't want any more sheep-back rides. 
 
 Some months after this the poor little fellow took sick. 
 We did all we could for him, but he kept getting worse 
 until he died. It was hard for me to part with my dear 
 little Indian friend. I loved him as much as if he had 
 been my own brother. 
 
 After Pantsuk died, I had to herd the sheep by myself. 
 The summer wore along very lonely for me, until about 
 the first of August, when a band of Shoshone Indians 
 came and camped near where I was watching my sheep. 
 Some of them could talk the Gosiute language, which I 
 had learned from my little Indian brother. The Indians 
 seemed to take quite a fancy to me, and they would be with 
 me every chance they could get. They said they liked to 
 hear me talk their language, for they had never heard a 
 white boy talk it as well as I could. 
 
 One day an Indian rode up to the place where I was 
 herding. He had with him a little pinto pony. I thought 
 it was the prettiest animal I ever saw. The Indian could 
 talk Gosiute very well. He asked me if I did not want 
 
10 The White Indian Boy 
 
 to ride the pony. I told him that I had never ridden a 
 horse. He said that the pony was very gentle, and helped 
 me to mount it. Then he led it around for a while. The 
 next day he came again with the pony and let me ride it. 
 Several other Indians were with him this time. They 
 took turns leading the pony about while I rode it. It was 
 great sport for me. I soon got so I could ride it without 
 their leading it. They kept coming and giving me this 
 fun for several days. 
 
 One day, after I had ridden till I was tired, I brought 
 the pony back to the Indian who had first come, and he 
 asked me if I did not want to keep it. 
 
 "I would rather have that pony," I replied, "than 
 anything else I ever saw." 
 
 "You may have it," he said, "if you will go away with 
 us." 
 
 I told him I was afraid to go. He said he would take 
 good care of me and would give me bows and arrows and 
 all the buckskin clothes I needed. I asked him what 
 they had to eat. He said they had all kinds of meat, 
 and berries, and fish, sage chickens, ducks, geese, and 
 rabbits. This sounded good to me. It surely beat living 
 on "lumpy dick" 1 and greens, our usual pioneer fare. 
 
 "Our papooses do not have to work," he went on, 
 "they have heap fun all the time, catching fish and hunt 
 ing and riding ponies." 
 
 That looked better to me than herding a bunch of sheep 
 alone in the sagebrush. I told him I would think it over. 
 That night I talked with old Tosenamp. The Indians 
 had tried to get him to help them induce me to go with 
 them. He refused; but he did tell me that they would 
 not hurt me and would treat me all right. The next 
 day I told them I would go. 
 
 1 Made by cooking moistened flour in milk. 
 
My Little Indian Brother 
 
 11 
 
 My parents knew nothing about it. They would never 
 have consented to my going. And it did look like a 
 foolish, risky thing to do ; but I was lonely and tired and 
 hungry for excitement, and I yielded to the temptation. 
 In five days the Indians were to start north to join the 
 rest of their tribe. This Indian was to hide for two days 
 after the rest had gone and then meet me at a bunch of 
 willows about a mile above my father's house after dark 
 with the little pinto pony. The plan was carried out, as 
 you will see. I went with them, and for two years I did 
 not see a white man. This was in August, 1854. I was 
 just about twelve years old at the time. 
 
 Shoshone squaws on " pinto " and " buckskin " ponies. 
 
" I jumped on my horse and away we went." 
 
 CHAPTER THREE 
 
 OFF WITH THE INDIANS 
 
 THE night came at last when we were to leave. Just 
 after dark I slipped away from the house and started 
 for the bunch of willows where I was to meet the Indian. 
 When I got there, I found two Indians waiting for me 
 instead of one. The sight of two of them almost made 
 me weaken and turn back ; but I saw with them my 
 little pinto pony and it gave me new courage. They had 
 an old Indian saddle on the pony with very rough rawhide 
 thongs for stirrup straps. At a signal from them, I jumped 
 on my horse and away we went. Our trail led towards 
 the north along the western shore of the Great Salt Lake. 
 The Indians wanted to ride fast. It was all right at 
 first ; but after a while I got very tired. My legs began 
 to hurt me, and I wanted to stop, but they urged me along 
 till the peep of day, when we stopped by some very salt 
 springs. I was so stiff and sore that I could not get off 
 my horse, so one of them lifted me off and stood me on 
 the ground, but I could hardly stand up. The rawhide 
 
 12 
 
Off with the Indians 
 
 13 
 
 117 115 113 111 109 107 105 
 
 1 
 
 
 Map of the Western country which was the scene of Uncle Nick' 
 adventures. 
 
14 The White Indian Boy 
 
 straps had rubbed the skin off my legs till they were raw. 
 The Indians told me that if I would take off my trousers 
 and jump into the salt springs it would make my legs 
 better ; but I found that I could not get them off alone ; 
 they were stuck to my legs. The Indians helped me, 
 and after some very severe pain we succeeded in getting 
 them off. A good deal of skin came with them. 
 
 "Come now," they urged me, "jump into this water 
 and you will be well in a little while." 
 
 Well, I jumped into the spring up to my waist. Oh 
 blazes ! I jumped out again. Oh, my ! how it did sting 
 and smart ! I jumped and kicked. I was so wild with 
 pain that I lay on the ground and rolled round and round 
 on the grass. After half an hour of this, I wore myself 
 out, and oh, how I cried ! The Indians put down a buffalo 
 robe, and rolled me on to it and spread a blanket over me. 
 I lay there and cried myself to sleep. 
 
 When I awoke, they were sitting by a small fire. They 
 had killed a duck and were broiling it for breakfast. 
 "Come," they said, "and eat some duck." 
 I started to get up, but oh ! how sore I was ! I began 
 to cry again. They kept coaxing me to come and have 
 something to eat until finally I got up and went to them, 
 but I had to walk on a wide track. I ate some duck and 
 dried meat and felt better. While I was eating they got 
 the horses ready. 
 
 "Come," they said, "get on your pony." 
 "No," I objected, "I can't ride; I'd rather walk." 
 They said that they were going a long way, and that 
 I could not walk so far. Then they arranged the saddle 
 so it would not hurt me so much, by putting a buffalo 
 robe over it. They lifted me into it. It was not so bad 
 as I thought it would be. The soft hair of the robe 
 made the saddle more comfortable. One of them tied 
 
Off with the Indians 15 
 
 my trousers to my saddle. That day I lost them and for 
 more than two years I did not have another pair. During 
 that time I wore Indian leggings and a blanket. 
 
 We traveled all day over a country that was more like 
 the bottom of an old lake than anything else. We camped 
 that night by another spring. The Indians lifted me 
 from my horse, put me down on a robe and started a fire. 
 Then they caught some fish and broiled them again on 
 the coals. It was a fine supper we had that night. 
 
 The next morning I felt pretty well used up ; but when 
 I had eaten some fish and a big piece of dried elk meat 
 for breakfast, I felt more like traveling. Then we started 
 again. 
 
 Near mid-afternoon, we saw, about six miles ahead of 
 us, the Indians we had been trying to overtake. They 
 had joined with another large band, so there were a great 
 many in the camp. By the time we caught up with them, 
 they had stopped and were unpacking, and some of them 
 had their wigwams set up. We rode through the camp 
 until we came to a big tepee where a large, good-looking 
 Indian was standing. This man, they said, was Washakie, 
 their chief; I was to live with him, and he would be my 
 brother. 
 
 An old squaw came up to my horse and stood look 
 ing at me. The Indians said that she was the chiefs 
 mother and that she would be my mother, too. They 
 told her that my legs were badly skinned and were very 
 sore. Then Washakie helped me off my horse. 
 
 The old squaw put her hand on my head and began 
 to say something pitiful to me, and I began to cry. She 
 cried, too, and taking me by the arm, led me into the 
 tepee, and pointed to a nice bed the chief's wife had 
 made for me. I lay down on the bed and sobbed myself 
 to sleep. When I awoke, this new mother of mine brought 
 
16 
 
 The White Indian Boy 
 
Off with the Indians 17 
 
 me some soup and some fresh deer meat to eat. I tell 
 you it tasted good. 
 
 The next morning my new mother thought she would 
 give me a good breakfast. They had brought some flour 
 from the settlements, and she tried to make me some 
 bread, such as I had at home. They had no soda, nothing 
 but flour and water, so the bread turned out to be pretty 
 soggy. I think she didn't like it very well when she 
 found I didn't eat it, but I simply couldn't choke it down. 
 I did make a good meal, however, of the fried sage chicken 
 and the fresh service berries that she brought with the 
 bread. 
 
 That day my mother and Hanabi, the chief's wife, 
 started to make me something. to wear; for after I lost 
 my trousers, I had nothing but an old thin shirt, out at 
 the elbows, and a straw hat that had lost part of its brim. 
 The two women worked for several hours and finally got 
 the thing finished and gave it to me to put on. I do not 
 know what to call it, for I had never seen anything like 
 it before, but it may have been what the girls now call a 
 "mother-hubbard." It was all right anyhow, when I 
 got it on and my belt around to keep the thing close to 
 me ; but I had to pull the back up a little to keep it from 
 choking me to death when I stooped over. 
 
 We stayed at this camp for five days to give me time 
 to get well. My good old mother rubbed my legs with 
 skunk oil and they healed rapidly. It had got noised 
 around that my legs were very bad, and one day when 
 I was out in front of the tepee, a lot of papooses wanted 
 to see them. One stooped to raise my mother-hubbard 
 to take a look, and the rest began to laugh, but they 
 didn't laugh long, for I gave him a kick that sent him 
 keeling. Then his mother came out after me, and I 
 thought she was going to eat me up. She scolded and 
 
18 The White Indian Boy 
 
 jawed, but I couldn't tell what she was saying, so it did 
 not make much difference to me. My old mother, hear 
 ing the noise, came up and led me into the tepee and 
 gave me some dried service berries. I thought that if 
 that was the way they were going to treat me, I would 
 kick another one the first chance I got. 
 
 It was not long before I got the chance, for the next 
 day a papoose about my size tried the same trick and -I 
 fetched him a kick that made him let out a yell that 
 could have been heard a mile. It brought about half 
 the tribe out to see how many I had killed. That papoose's 
 mother turned loose on me, too, with her tongue and 
 everlastingly berated me. The chief happened to see 
 the trouble, and I think that is what saved me from being 
 cremated. Anyhow, the papooses left my mother- 
 hubbard alone after that. 
 
 My mother began then to teach me the Shoshone 
 language. My knowing how to talk the Gosiute tongue 
 made it easier for me, for these two Indian dialects are 
 very much alike. 
 
 One night the hunters came in loaded with game, and 
 the next day we began to move. The horses were brought 
 in, and among them was my pinto pony. When I saw 
 him, it seemed like meeting some one from home. I ran 
 up and hugged him. My good old mother had fixed up a 
 pretty good saddle, all cushioned in fine style to keep it 
 from hurting me. 
 
 We traveled about fifteen miles that day and camped 
 on a small stream they called Koheets (Curlew) . Mother 
 told me to wade out into the water and bathe my legs. 
 
 "Not much," I said, "I have had all the baths I want," 
 
 She said that the water would make my legs tough, 
 and when she saw I wouldn't go into the stream she 
 brought some cold water and told me to wash them. I, 
 
Off with the Indians 
 
 19 
 
 wanted to know whether it was salt water. She said it 
 wasn't, so I bathed my legs, and when I found that the 
 water did not hurt them I waded into the creek. Washakie 
 said it was "tibi tsi djant" heap good. 
 
 Shoshone wickiup. 
 
 Dr. T. M. Bridges 
 
 Lodges of this kind were used in the summer season. 
 
" I begged him to let me go." 
 
 CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 THE GREAT ENCAMPMENT 
 
 IT was the custom of the Shoshone chieftains in those 
 early days to gather all of their tribe every three years. 
 As this was the year for the great tribal meeting, we 
 started for the big camp ground. After traveling for three 
 days, we reached a large river, which the Indians called 
 Piupa (Snake River) . Here we were joined by another 
 large band of the same tribe. 
 
 In order to cross the river, the squaws built boats of 
 bulrushes tied in bundles; these bundles were lashed 
 together until they made a boat big enough to hold up 
 from six to eight hundred pounds. The Indians made 
 the horses swim over, and some of the papoose boys rode 
 their ponies across. I wanted to swim my horse, but my 
 mother would not let me. It took about a week to get 
 across the river ; but during that time I had some of the 
 best fun of my life. 
 
 My mother gave me a fishhook and a line made out of 
 hair from a horse's tail. With this tackle I caught my 
 
 20 
 
The Great Encampment 
 
 first fish, and some of them were very large ones, too. 
 The other boys became more friendly, and we had jolly 
 times together; but mother kept pretty close watch 
 over me, for fear I would kick them, and get into more 
 trouble. After I began to play with the papooses, I 
 picked up the Shoshone language much faster. 
 
 Nothing else of importance happened until we reached 
 Big Hole Basin. There I saw the first buffalo I had seen 
 since crossing the plains. Seven head of them appeared 
 one morning on a hill about a mile away. Ten Indians 
 started after them. One, having a wide, blade-like spear 
 head attached to a long shaft, would ride up to a buffalo 
 and cut the hamstrings of both legs, then the others 
 would rush up and kill the wounded animal. 
 
 About fifteen squaws followed the hunters to skin the 
 buffaloes and get the meat. Mother and I went with 
 them. The squaws 
 would rip the animals 
 down the back from 
 head to tail, then rip 
 them down the belly 
 and take off the top 
 half of the hide and cut 
 away all the meat on 
 that side from the bones. 
 They would tie ropes to 
 the feet of the carcass 
 and turn it over with 
 their ponies, to strip off 
 the skin and flesh from 
 the other side in the 
 same way. 
 
 The meat was then 
 carried to camp to be 
 
 Meat drying before the tepee of a Crow 
 Indian. 
 
The White Indian Boy 
 
The Great Encampment 23 
 
 sliced in thin strips and hung up to dry. When it was 
 about half dry, the squaws would take a piece at a time 
 and pound it between two stones till it was very tender. 
 It was then hung up again to dry thoroughly. The dried 
 meat was put into a sack and kept for use in the winter 
 and during the general gatherings of the tribe. The older 
 it got the better it was. This is the way the Indians cured 
 all of their buffalo meat. Washakie had about five hundred 
 pounds of such meat for his own family when we reached 
 Deer Lodge Valley, now in Montana, the place of our 
 great encampment. 
 
 It was about the last of August before all of the tribe 
 had assembled. What a sight it was to see so many 
 Indians together! The tepees were strung up and 
 down the stream as far as I could see, and the whole 
 country round about was covered with horses and dogs. 
 As nearly as I could find out, about six thousand Indians 
 had gathered. When I asked the chief how many there 
 were, he said that he could not count them. And to 
 think that I was the only white person within hundreds 
 of miles, perhaps ! It gave me rather a queer feeling. 
 
 Mother kept very close watch over me for fear that I 
 should get hurt or lost among so many Indians. When 
 ever I went around to see what was going on, she was 
 nearly always by my side. She warned me especially 
 against Pocatello's Indians, telling me that they were 
 very bad, that they would steal me and take me away 
 off and sell me to Indians that would eat me up. She 
 scared me so badly that I stuck pretty close to her most 
 of the time. 
 
 The Indians spent much of their time horse-racing 
 and gambling. They would bet very heavily; I saw 
 an Indian win fifty head of ponies on one race. Two 
 Indians were killed while racing their horses, and a squaw 
 
The White Indian Boy 
 
The Great Encampment %5 
 
 and her papoose were run over; the papoose was also 
 killed. 
 
 Some of Pocatello's Indians had several scalps they 
 had taken from some poor emigrants they had killed. 
 I saw six of these scalps. One was of a woman with red 
 hair, one a girl's scalp with dark hair, and four were men's 
 scalps, one with gray hair, the rest with dark hair. I 
 cannot describe the feelings I had when I saw the red 
 devils dancing around those scalps. It made me wish 
 that I were home again herding sheep and living on 
 "lumpy dick" and greens. 
 
 Washakie's Indians had a few Crow scalps, for at this 
 time the Shoshones and Crows were at war with each 
 other. I am pretty sure that they had no white scalps ; 
 or if they had, they did not let me see them. 
 
 The Indians had great times dancing around the scalps. 
 They would stick a small pole in the ground and string 
 scalps on it. Then they would dance around it, singing 
 and yelling at the top of their voices, making the most 
 horrible noises I ever heard. The leaders of the different 
 bands would take the inside, the warriors would circle 
 about them and the squaws and papooses would dance 
 around the outside. The noise they made would shame a 
 band of coyotes. As many as five hundred Indians would 
 be dancing in this way at one time, and they would keep 
 at it for hours. I got sick and tired of their hideous 
 noises ; but they thought they were having a high time. 
 This singing and dancing was kept going at intervals for a 
 week or more. 
 
 The time was drawing near when we were to separate, 
 and I was glad of it. Some of Pocatello's Indians left a 
 few days ahead of the rest of his band. A day or two 
 before our band was to start my pinto pony ran off with 
 some other horses. I slipped away from my mother and 
 
26 The White Indian Boy 
 
 went after him. Before I had gone far I met some 
 Indians hunting horses, but they said they had not seen 
 mine. I kept on going until another Indian came up 
 to me. He said he had seen some horses go over a ridge 
 about a mile away. 
 
 "If you will get on my horse behind me," he said, "I 
 will take you over and see if your horse is there." Think 
 ing no harm, I got on his horse and off we started ; but 
 when .we got to the top of the hill no horses were to be 
 seen. After we got over the hill he began to ride fast. 
 I got scared, for I thought of the man-eating savages my 
 mother had told me about. I asked him to stop and let 
 me get off, but he only whipped his horse harder and went 
 faster. 
 
 Watching my chance, I jumped off and almost broke 
 my neck; but I got up and put back towards camp as 
 hard as I could run. The Indian turned, dashed up, 
 and threw his lasso over me. After dragging me several 
 rods he stopped, and hit me with his quirt, telling me to 
 get back on his horse or he would put an arrow through 
 me. I cried and begged him to let me go ; but he made 
 me get on again, and then he struck off as fast as he could 
 go. I noticed, however, that he kept looking back every 
 little while. 
 
 Pretty soon he stopped and told me to get off. As I 
 jumped he gave me a lick over the head with his quirt 
 that made me see stars for a few minutes. Then he 
 started off on the run again ; but after going about fifty 
 yards he stopped, pulled his bow and arrow out of his 
 quiver and started towards me as if he intended to put 
 an arrow through me. He came but a few steps, then 
 suddenly whirled his horse and off he went over the 
 prairie. 
 
 I soon saw what caused his hurry. A short distance 
 
The Great Encampment 27 
 
 away were some Indians coming towards me as fast as 
 they could travel. When they reached me, they stopped, 
 and one of them told me to get on behind him and he 
 would take me to my mother. I climbed up double 
 quick. Before we got to the tepees I met mother 
 coming out to find me. She was crying. She took me 
 off the horse and threw her arms around me. One of 
 Pocatello's Indians, she said, was trying to steal me and 
 she never expected to find her white papoose again. 
 
 Some Indians happened to see me get on my horse 
 behind the Indian and told my mother, and Washakie 
 had sent those Indians after me, before we got very far 
 away. Mother stayed close to me after that; but I 
 had had such a scare that I didn't go very far from the 
 tepee without her. The chief told me never to go alone 
 after my horse if he got away again, but to let him know 
 and he would have the pony brought back. "If Poca 
 tello's Indians," he said, "could get you, they would 
 swap you for a whole herd of ponies, and then it would 
 be 'good-by Yagaiki. ' ' " Yagaiki," by the way, was my 
 Indian name. It meant "the crier." They gave it to 
 me because I mimicked the squaws and papooses one 
 day when they were bawling about something. 
 
" I jumped from my horse and raised her up.'' 
 
 CHAPTER FIVE 
 
 BREAKING CAMP 
 
 THE camp finally began to break up in earnest. Small 
 bands went off in different directions to their various hunt 
 ing grounds that had been decided on by the council. 
 We were among the last to leave. There were about sixty 
 tepees and two hundred and fifty Indians in our band. 
 We had about four hundred horses, and more than five 
 hundred dogs, it seemed to me. 
 
 Chief Washakie at that time was about twenty-seven 
 years old. He was a very large Indian and good looking. 
 His wife, Hanabi, did not appear to be more than twenty 
 years old. She had only one child, a little boy papoose 
 about six months old. 
 
 Pocatello was not so large as Washakie. He was a 
 Shoshone, but his wife was a Bannock. She had three 
 papooses when I first saw her. Pocatello was a wicked 
 looking Indian. His tribe did more damage to the emi 
 grants than any other tribe in the West. He wanted to 
 be the big chief of the Shoshones ; he thought he ought 
 to be the leader because he was older than Washakie, 
 
 28 
 
Breaking Camp 29 
 
 but the tribe would not have it that way. He did draw 
 away about five hundred of the tribe, however, and tried 
 to change the tribe name to "Osasibi" ; but Washakie's 
 Indians called them "Saididig," which means dog- 
 stealers. 
 
 When this band of Indian outlaws joined us in the Big 
 Hole Basin, they had new quilts, white women's clothes, 
 new guns, watches, saddles, and hats. Mother told me 
 that they had just attacked a large train of emigrants, 
 and had killed the people, burned their wagons and robbed 
 them of everything. They had some very large horses 
 and mules with them. Mother wanted to buy a saddle 
 and a hat for me, but I told her that I would not wear a 
 hat whose owner had been killed and scalped by old 
 Pocatello. 
 
 Washakie and Pocatello were never very friendly. 
 Pocatello wanted to keep up a constant warfare against 
 the whites ; but Washakie knew that meant only trouble 
 and that the Indians would finally get the worst of it; 
 so he would have nothing to do with Pocatello' s murderous 
 business. Because Washakie thought it would be much 
 better to live in peace with the whites, Pocatello called 
 him a squaw and said he was afraid to fight. 
 
 I was very glad to go ; for I was tired of being stared 
 at by so many Indians. There were hundreds of young 
 Indians in the camp and many old ones, too, that had 
 never seen a white person before. They would gather 
 around me as if I were some wild animal. If I moved 
 more suddenly towards them, they would jump back and 
 scream like wildcats. My mother told them that I would 
 not bite, but if they bothered me too much I might kick 
 some of their ribs loose, for I could kick worse than a wild 
 horse. 
 
 Two or three days after we had left the big camp, the 
 
The White Indian Boy 
 
 L. A. Huffman, Miles City. Mont. 
 Buffaloes on the plains. 
 
 pack on one of our horses turned under his belly and he 
 began to run and kick like mad. This started the rest of 
 the pack horses and they came running past us. Mother 
 tried to stop them, but one of the runaways bumped against 
 her horse and knocked it down. It rolled over with her. 
 I thought she was killed. I jumped from my horse and 
 raised her up. She was not dead, but she was badly 
 bruised and one of her arms was broken. I think I never 
 cried harder in my life than I did then, for I thought my 
 poor mother was going to die. She told me not to cry, 
 that she would be all right soon. 
 
 Washakie's wife was there and she told me to dash 
 ahead and tell the chief to hurry back. When he came, 
 he ordered the band to stop and pitch camp. We had to 
 stay there a week to let mother get well enough to travel 
 again. There were a great many antelope in the valley 
 and plenty of fish in the stream by the camp. When 
 mother would go to sleep, I would go fishing. When she 
 awoke Hanabi would call, "Yagaiki come," and I would 
 get back in double-quick time. 
 
 One day while we were camped here waiting for mother 
 to get better, I went out with Washakie and the other 
 Indians to chase antelope. About fifty of us circled around 
 
Breaking Camp 31 
 
 a bunch and took turns chasing them. The poor little 
 animals were gradually worn out by this running and 
 finally they would drop down one after another, hiding 
 their heads under the bushes, while the Indians shot 
 them to death with their bows and arrows. I killed two 
 myself. When I got home and told mother about it, she 
 bragged about me so much that I thought I was a "heap 
 big Injun." 
 
 Mother's arm soon got well enough for her to travel, for 
 the medicine man had fixed it up very well, so we took 
 up our journey again. There were a great many buffaloes 
 and antelope too, where we next pitched camp. We 
 stayed there for about three weeks. During the times 
 that she could not watch me, mother had Washakie take 
 me out on his hunting trips. That just suited me. It 
 was lots of fun to watch the Indian with the big spear dash 
 up and cut the hamstrings of the great animals. When 
 they had been crippled in this way, we would rush up and 
 shoot arrows into their necks until they dropped dead. 
 The first day we killed six, two large bulls and four cows. 
 
 L. A. Huffman, Miles CUy,.MorU. 
 Why the buffalo disappeared ; part of the white man's trail. 
 
32 The White Indian Boy 
 
 I told Washakie that my bow was too small to kill 
 buffaloes with. He laughed and said I should have a 
 bigger one. When we got back to camp, he told some 
 Indians what I had said and one very old Indian, whose 
 name was Morogonai, gave me a very fine bow and 
 another Indian gave me eight good arrows. I felt very 
 proud then ; I told mother that the next time I went out 
 I would kill a whole herd of buffaloes. She said she knew 
 I would, but she did not know what they could do with all 
 the meat. 
 
 Washakie said that I was just like the rest of the white 
 men. They would kill buffaloes as long as there were 
 any in sight and leave their carcasses over the prairies for 
 the wolves. He said that was not the way of the Indians. 
 They killed only what they needed and saved all the 
 meat and hides. 
 
 "The Great Spirit," he said, "would not like it if we 
 slaughtered the game as the whites do. It would bring 
 bad luck, and the Indians would go hungry if they killed 
 the deer and buffaloes when they were not needed for 
 food and clothing." 
 
 Two or three days after this we went out again and 
 killed two more buffaloes. When we got back mother 
 asked how many I had killed. I told her that I shot twice 
 at them and I believed I had hit one. She said that I 
 would be the best hunter in the tribe afterwhile, and some 
 day, she said, I would be a big chief. 
 
>'-^jj*, - 
 
 " The boy papooses made fun of me." 
 
 CHAPTER SIX 
 
 VILLAGE LIFE 
 
 COLD weather was coming. Some snow had already fallen 
 in the mountains. Hanabi and her friends went to work 
 to make me some better clothes. Very soon they had a 
 fine suit ready. 
 
 The trousers part was made somewhat like the chaps 
 worn by cowboys, being open in front, with no seat ; but 
 on the sides they had wedge-shaped strips that ran up and 
 fastened to the belt. These leggings fitted pretty tight, but 
 there was a seam about as wide as my hand that could be 
 let out if necessary. They gave me a pair of new mocca 
 sins that came up to my knees. They also made me an 
 other overshirt, or " mother-hubbard, " out of fine smoked 
 buckskin ; it fitted me better than did my first one. The 
 sleeves came down a little below my elbows and had a 
 long fringe from the shoulders down ; it was also fringed 
 around the neck and the bottom ; and to touch it up more, 
 they had stitched beads in heart and diamond shapes 
 over the breast. The clothes were all very fine ; but when 
 I got them on, I looked a good deal like a squaw papoose. 
 
 33 
 
34 
 
 The White Indian Boy 
 
Village Life 35 
 
 I didn't care much, though, for the clothes fitted me pretty 
 well and they were warm and comfortable. Mother also 
 made me a hat out of muskrat skin. It ran to a peak and 
 had two rabbit tails sewed to the top for tassels. With 
 my new clothes on, I was better dressed than any other 
 kid in camp. 
 
 We now started for the elk country. When we got 
 there, the Indians killed about one hundred elk and a few 
 bear ; but by that time it was getting so cold that we set 
 out for our winter quarters. After traveling a few days 
 we reached a large river, called by the Indians Piatapa, by 
 the whites the Jefferson River; it is now in Montana. 
 Here we pitched camp to stay during the "snowy moons." 
 
 Most of the buffaloes by this time had left for their 
 winter range ; but once in a while we saw a few as they 
 passed our camp. The Indians did not bother them, 
 however, because we had plenty of dried meat, and for 
 fresh meat there were many white-tail deer that we could 
 snare by hanging loops of rawhide over their trails through 
 the willows. There were also a great many grouse and 
 sage hens about in the brush. I have killed as many as 
 six or seven of these a day with my bow and arrows. 
 
 Winter passed away very slowly. Nothing exciting 
 happened until along towards spring ; then one day we 
 had a terrible fracas. Washakie had gone up the river a 
 few miles to visit another large Indian village for a day or 
 two. While he was away, pretty nearly all the camp got 
 into a fight. 
 
 We had a fishing hole close to camp where the squaws 
 and papooses would fish. Mother and I had been down 
 there with the others fishing through this hole in the ice, 
 and when we had caught a good string of fish mother 
 took what we had to the tepee. She told me not to stay 
 long. 
 
36 The White Indian Boy 
 
 As soon as she had gone, a girl, a little larger than I, 
 wanted to take my tackle and fish in my hole. I let her 
 have it, and she caught several fish. Then I heard mother 
 call me and I asked the girl to give me back my pole so I 
 could go home, but she would not do it. I tried to take 
 it from her, but she jerked it away and hit me over the 
 head with it, knocking me to my knees. I jumped up and 
 gave her a whack that knocked her down ; when she got 
 up she let out some of the awfulest yelps I ever heard. 
 Then she put for home as fast as she could go, yelling and 
 screaming. I knew something else would happen pretty 
 quick; so I gathered up what fish the other papooses 
 hadn't run away with and hiked for home too. Just as I 
 got inside the tepee, the girl's mother came rushing 
 up with a big knife in her hand. "Give me that little 
 white devil!" she screamed. "I'll cut his heart out!" 
 She started for me, but mother stopped her, and shoved 
 her back out of the tepae. 
 
 They made such a racket that the whole camp gathered 
 around to see the fun. The squaw hit mother over the 
 head with the knife ; and when I saw the blood fly, I 
 grabbed a stick and struck the squaw over the head, 
 knocking her down. Another squaw grabbed mother and 
 I sent her spinning. Then others mixed in and took sides 
 and soon the whole bunch was yelling and fighting fit to 
 kill. One boy grabbed my stick, but I gave him a kick 
 that settled him. Then Hanabi took the stick from me : 
 but I ran into the tepee and grabbed my bow and ar 
 rows. I was so mad I would have made a few "good squaws" 
 in quick time ; but a big Indian jerked my bow from me 
 and broke the string. I guess it was best that he did. 
 More Indians rushed up and stopped the fight ; but not 
 before a lot of them went off howling with sore heads. 
 That night Washakie came home and held a big council. 
 
Village Life 
 
 37 
 
 im. Ethnology, Smithsonian Institution 
 
 The seed gatherers of Western desert 
 . tribes. 
 
 I don't know what they 
 said, but the next day 
 two or three families left 
 our camp and went to 
 join another band. 
 
 Everything now passed 
 along very well for a time. 
 I helped mother carry 
 wood and water. The 
 boy papooses made fun 
 of me, calling me a squaw 
 for doing it, because 
 carrying wood and water 
 was squaw's work. I 
 told mother that I would 
 break some of their necks 
 
 if they didn't stop it. "Oh, let them alone," she said, 
 "they are bad boys." 
 
 But one day we were getting wood, and having cut more 
 than we could carry in one trip, I went back for it when a 
 boy ran up to me and said, "You're a squaw," and spit 
 at me. I threw down my wood and struck out after him. 
 He ran yelping at every jump, expecting me, I guess, to 
 kick his head off. But Washakie happened to see us and 
 called to me to stop. It was lucky for that papoose that 
 he did. I went back and got my wood and took it to 
 the tepee. 
 
 Washakie wanted to know what it was all about. I 
 told him what the boy had done. He said he did not 
 want to start another camp fight, but he did want me to 
 take my own part. He said that he had been watching 
 how things were going, and he was glad to say that, so 
 far as he knew, I had never started a fuss. He did not 
 think that I was quarrelsome if I was let alone. He was 
 
38 The White Indian Boy 
 
 glad, he said, to see me stand up for myself ; for if I was 
 cowardly the papooses would give me no peace. 
 
 One day I heard an Indian talking to Washakie and 
 telling him it was not right for him to let me do squaw's 
 work; it would set a bad example for the other boys. 
 Washakie replied that he thought it was a good example, 
 and if some of the older ones would take it, it would be 
 better for their squaws. 
 
 "We burden our women to death," he said, "with hard 
 labor. I did not think so much about it until Yagaki 
 came. I see now how much he helps mother and how 
 much hard work she has to do. Yagaki appears to be 
 happier helping mother than he is when playing with the 
 other boys. I believe that she would have gone crazy 
 if it had not been for him, her troubles over the loss of 
 father and my brothers were so great. I do believe that 
 the Great Spirit sent the little white boy to her." 
 
 I think myself that if anything had happened to me, it 
 would have killed mother. She was very proud to have 
 me with her. She would say to Washakie, "Yagaki is a 
 smart boy. He asks me questions that I can hardly 
 answer. One day he asked me why the Indians did not 
 haul and cut the wood for their women. His father does 
 that for his mother. He thinks that the Indians ought to 
 pack the meat, too, and take care of their own horses, or 
 send the boys to do it. If the women tanned the hides 
 and made the moccasins and clothes for the family and 
 did the cooking, it was their share of the work." 
 
 I heard all this talk going on one night when they 
 thought I was asleep. Washakie agreed with most of 
 what his mother said, but of course they couldn't change 
 the Indians' way of doing things. 
 
"She used to tell me her troubles." 
 
 CHAPTER SEVEN 
 
 MY INDIAN MOTHER 
 
 MY Indian mother was as good and kind to me as any 
 one could be, but she did not seem to realize that there 
 was another loving mother miles and miles away whose 
 heart was sorrowing because of my absence. To her mind 
 must have come many times these words of the old song : 
 "Oh, where is my wandering boy tonight?" 
 
 My Indian mother would often ask me a good many 
 questions about my white mother. She asked me if I 
 did not want to go home. I told her that I should like to 
 see my folks very much, but if I went home they would 
 keep me there, and I did not want to herd sheep. I told 
 her that I would rather play with white boys than with 
 Indian boys, but that I liked my bow and arrows, and 
 father would not let me have these at home because I 
 would be shooting at the cats and chickens all the time. 
 "I like my pony too, and I could not take him home," 
 I said, "and I love you too. If I went away you could 
 not go with me ; so taking it all around I should rather 
 stay with you." 
 
 39 
 
40 The White Indian Boy 
 
 This always seemed to please her ; for her face would 
 light up and sometimes a tear would steal down her 
 brown cheeks, and then she would grab me and hug me 
 until you could hear my ribs crack. 
 
 Often she would tell me about her troubles. Her hus 
 band had been shot a few years before in the knee with a 
 poisoned arrow by the Crow Indians. He lived a little 
 over a year after the battle, but he suffered greatly before 
 he died. Soon after his death her two boys named Piubi 
 and Yaibi went out hunting mountain sheep. While 
 they were climbing a steep hill, a snowslide crashed down 
 and buried them in the deep gorge at the bottom of the 
 canyon. Here they lay until late in the following spring. 
 The Indians tried to find their bodies by pushing long 
 sticks into the snow, but they could not locate them. 
 
 But their mother would not give up the search. She 
 told me how she would go out every day and dig in the 
 snow with a stick in the hope of finding her boys, until 
 she got so sick that Washakie and some other Indians 
 brought her home, where she lay for two months very 
 near death from sorrow and exposure. 
 
 As soon as she could walk she went up to the snowslide 
 again. The warmer weather by this time had melted some 
 of the snow, and she found the body of one of her boys 
 partly uncovered. The wolves had eaten off one of his 
 feet. She quickly dug the body out of the snow, and 
 near by she found the other boy. She was too weak to 
 carry them back to the tepee, and she couldn't leave 
 them there to be eaten by the wolves, so she stayed all 
 night watching over them. 
 
 The next morning Washakie found her lying on the snow 
 beside the bodies of her children. He took them up 
 tenderly and carried them back to the village. The poor 
 old mother was very sick after that. During this sickness 
 
My Indian Mother 41 
 
 and delirium of grief, she dreamed that her youngest boy 
 came back to her, and he was white. This dream put into 
 her mind the strange notion that she wanted a white 
 papoose. 
 
 She was just getting well when the band of Indians 
 she was with came into the settlement where I lived and 
 found me. When they found that I could talk the Indian 
 tongue, they decided that I was just the boy for the chiefs 
 mother. They asked Washakie about it. He would not 
 let them steal me, but he said that if they could lure me 
 away from home, it was all right with him. So they set 
 to work, as I have told, and succeeded in tempting me to 
 go away with them. 
 
 My old mother also told me many things that happened 
 when she was a little girl. She said that her father was 
 a Shoshone, and her mother a Bannock. She said she 
 was sixty-two "snows" (years) old when I came. She 
 had had four children, three boys and a girl. When the 
 girl was seven years old, she was dragged to death by a 
 horse. Her two sons were killed by the snowslide, so 
 Washakie and I were the only ones she had left. 
 
 Her life, she said, had been filled with sorrow, but she 
 was having better times now than she had ever had before. 
 If I would stay with her, she would be happy once more. 
 She said she had fifteen head of horses of her own. When 
 she died she wanted Washakie and me to divide them be 
 tween us. She also wanted me, when she died, to bury 
 her as the white folks bury their dead, as she thought 
 that way was the best. 
 
 She certainly was good to me, watching me night and 
 day and doing everything she could for my comfort, and 
 I tried to be good and kind to her in return, but some 
 times, boylike, I forgot. One night I was playing with 
 the Indian boys. Our game was killing white men. With 
 
The White Indian Boy 
 
 J. E. 
 
 Death's Canyon, Teton Range, Jackson's Hole, Wyoming; snow slide 
 in ravine at left. 
 
My Indian Mother 43 
 
 our bows and arrows, we would slip up to the bunches 
 of brush and shoot at them. If we clipped off a twig with 
 the arrow, that was a scalp. We would stick it in our belts 
 and strut about like big Injuns. 
 
 While our fun was on, I heard mother call, "Yagaki, 
 come in and go to bed." I paid no attention so she came 
 out and said, "Why didn't you come when I called you?" 
 "I didn't want to go to bed," I answered sulkily. With 
 that she grabbed me by the collar and jerked me toward 
 the tepee. I begged and promised, but she kept me 
 going till she got me inside ; then she flung me down on a 
 pile of blankets. 
 
 "Washakie," she said, "you must do something with 
 this boy. He won't mind me." With that she left the 
 tent and I heard her crying outside. 
 
 The chief looked at me a minute, then he said quietly : 
 "What is the trouble between you and mother?" 
 
 "Well, she won't let me play," I said ; "she makes me 
 come in every night before dark. The other boys stay 
 out ; I don't see why I can't." 
 
 "Mother knows why," he said. "You should be good 
 to her and mind her; she is good to you better than 
 she ever was to me." 
 
 Mother had come in again. "Yagaki," she said, 
 "you must not stay out after dark. Those papooses 
 might kill you. They have been trained to think it is an 
 honor to kill a white man. If they could do it without 
 being seen, they would just as soon put an arrow through 
 you as not. I know what is best for you, Yagaki. You 
 must come when I call." 
 
 I always obeyed her after that, and we got along very 
 well. She was a dear old mother to me. 
 
" I went flying toward the creek." 
 
 CHAPTER EIGHT 
 
 THE CROWS 
 
 As winter began to break up we got ready to move to the 
 spring hunting grounds, but when we rounded up our 
 horses we found that about fifty head of the best ones were 
 missing. The Crow Indians had stolen them. Our 
 Indians found their trail and followed them, but the 
 Crows had so much the start that our braves could not 
 overtake them. We never recovered our animals. 
 Among the lost horses were six that belonged to mother 
 and eleven of Washakie's horses. My little pinto was not 
 missing, for I had kept him close to camp with the horses 
 we had used during the winter. 
 
 Our Indians were angry. They declared that they 
 would get even with the Crows before another winter had 
 passed. And I suppose they did it, for the two tribes were 
 constantly stealing from each other. The Crows would 
 steal every horse they could from the Shoshones; and 
 our Indians would do the same with them. It was as 
 fair for one tribe as it was for the other. They would 
 fight, too, every time they met. Each tribe was always 
 
 44 
 
The Crows 45 
 
 on the watch to get the advantage over the other ; so we 
 were in a constant state of excitement, and war dances 
 were going on all the time. 
 
 When we left our winter camp, we started south. After 
 two days' travel, we joined another large Indian camp, and 
 kept with them during our wanderings the rest of the 
 summer. 
 
 For three or four more days we all traveled south again. 
 The game was plentiful here, elk, deer, antelope, and 
 buffalo, so we camped for several days and stocked up with 
 fresh meat. Then we took up the trail again, this time 
 going east till we came to a beautiful lake that was fairly 
 alive with fish. Oh, how T I did catch them ! 
 
 It was a great game country, too. We could see buffa 
 loes at any time and in any direction that we looked. 
 There were herds of antelope over the flats. I had great 
 fun running them. Washakie said that I was riding my 
 horse too much, that he was getting thin. He told me to 
 turn the pony out, and he would give me another horse. 
 I was very glad to let my little pinto have a rest and get 
 fat again. 
 
 The horse that Washakie gave me was a pretty roan, 
 three years old, and partly broken. When the chief saw 
 how well I managed my new horse, he said that I might 
 break some other young horses for him to pay for the roan. 
 That just suited me, for I liked the excitement of training 
 wild horses. The Indian ponies were small, especially 
 the colts that he wanted broken. I wanted to get right 
 at it, but he said that I must wait till they got fat, so that 
 they could buck harder. 
 
 At this time we were not far from the Crow country. 
 There was a dispute between the tribes about the boundary 
 line that divided our hunting grounds from theirs. One 
 day some of our hunters came rushing to camp badly 
 
46 
 
 The White Indian Boy 
 
The Crows 
 
 47 
 
 scared. They said that the Crows were right on us. I 
 never saw such excitement in my life. Everybody in 
 camp was running about and talking excitedly. The 
 bucks were getting ready to fight ; the horses were rounded 
 up and driven* into camp. It was a great mixup horses, 
 squaws, dogs, papooses, tepees, and bucks all jumbled 
 together. 
 
 The War Chief ordered the young warriors to go out 
 and meet the Crows. The old men were left to guard 
 camp. I started to get my horse. 
 
 " If I am going to fight," I said, " I want my pinto pony." 
 
 Mother stopped me, "Here, you little dunce," she said, 
 "you are not going to fight. You couldn't fight any 
 thing. I don't believe there is going to be a fight anyway. 
 I have had too many such Crow scares." 
 
 I wondered whether the Crows had wings like the crows 
 in our country. She said that they were Indians like the 
 Shoshones. 
 
 By this time the squaws had everything packed and 
 
 A Crow encampment (Crow Agency, Montana). 
 
48 The White Indian Boy 
 
 ready to fling on to the horses that were standing about 
 with their saddles on. The old bucks were gathered in 
 small groups here and there talking all at the same time. 
 But the excitement soon passed over ; for the warriors 
 came back after a little while to tell us that it was not 
 Crows at all but a herd of buffaloes that had caused the 
 scare. I was rather disappointed, for I wanted to see 
 some fun. I began to think that they were cowards 
 the whole bunch of them. But they were not. The 
 next day a band of about fifty young warriors left for some 
 place. I could not find out where they were going, but 
 they seemed to mean business. 
 
 For a while after this scare everything passed off 
 peacefully. We fished and chased antelope, and one day 
 I went with Washakie up into the mountains to kill elk. 
 We had not gone far till we saw a large herd of these 
 animals lying down. Leaving our horses, we crept up 
 close to them. Washakie had a good gun, and at his first 
 shot he hit a big cow elk. She ran about a minute before 
 she fell. The chief told me to slip up and shoot her in 
 the neck with my arrows till* she was dead, then to cut 
 her throat so that she would bleed freely; and to stay 
 there till he came back. Well, I crept up as close as I 
 dared, and shot every arrow I had at her. Then I climbed 
 a tree. I guess she was dead before I shot her, but I was 
 not sure, for I was afraid to go up near enough to see. 
 Washakie followed the herd that ran down the canyon. 
 
 'I stayed up the tree for some time, then came down 
 quietly and went up to the elk and threw sticks at her, 
 but she did not move, so I plucked up courage and cut 
 her throat. She had been dead so long that she did not 
 bleed a bit. 
 
 I waited and waited for Washakie to come back. After 
 a while I began to get scared. I thought that the bears 
 
The Crows 
 
 49 
 
 would smell the elk and 
 finding me there would 
 eat me up, so I put off 
 to where we had left 
 our horses ; but I could 
 not find them. Then 
 I started back to the 
 elk, but I could not find 
 it. I was so bewildered 
 that I did not know 
 what to do. The tim 
 ber was thick, and I was 
 getting more scared all 
 the time. I tried again 
 to find our horses and 
 failed. By this time the 
 sun had gone down, and 
 it was very gloomy 
 among the trees. I 
 climbed another tree 
 and waited for a long 
 
 time. I was afraid to call for fear of bringing a bear on 
 to me. 
 
 Afterwards, I learned that I had not left the elk long 
 before Washakie came and took the entrails out of it, and 
 as he did not see my horse, he thought that I had gone to 
 camp. Before following the elk, he had tied my horse to 
 a tree, but it had broken loose and run away. When 
 Washakie reached camp, some Indians told him that they 
 had seen my horse loose with the saddle on. He did not 
 know what to do. Mother was frantic. She started right 
 out to hunt me, and a big band of Indians followed her. 
 
 A little while after dark I heard the strange noise they 
 were making. I thought the Crows were after me ; so I 
 
 A Crow Indian 
 
50 The White Indian Boy 
 
 kept quiet, but pretty soon I heard some one calling 
 "Yagaki! Yagaki!" Then I knew that it was one of 
 our Indians, so I answered him. In a little while there 
 was a crackling of brush right under my tree. 
 
 "Where were you?" he shouted. 
 
 "Here I am," I said. 
 
 "What were you doing up there?" he asked. 
 
 "Looking for my horse." 
 
 "Well, you won't find him up there," he said. "Gome 
 down here." 
 
 I minded him in a hurry. 
 
 "Now, get on behind me," he said; "the whole tribe 
 is looking for you, and your poor mother is nearly crazy 
 about you. It would be better for her if some one would 
 kill you, and I have a notion to do it. It would save her 
 lots of trouble." 
 
 When he got out of the timber, he began to halloo just 
 as loud as he could to let the rest know that I was found. 
 Then I could hear the Indians yelling all through the 
 woods. We reached camp before mother came in, and I 
 wanted to go back to look for her, but Hanabi would not 
 let me. She said that I might get lost again ; that I had 
 given mother trouble enough for one night. 
 
 It was not long before mother came. She grabbed me 
 in her arms and said, "Yagaki, Yagaki, where have you 
 been? I was afraid a bear had eaten you." She talked 
 and cried for almost an hour. She blamed Washakie for 
 leaving me alone and said that I should never go off with 
 him again ; she would keep me close to her. 
 
 The next morning I went with mother and another 
 squaw to get the elk. Washakie asked me if I thought 
 I could find it. I told him that I knew I could, so we 
 started and I led them right to it. As we were skinning 
 the elk, mother said that I had spoiled the skin by 
 
The Crows 51 
 
 shooting it so full of holes. But the meat was fat and 
 tender. 
 
 About ten days after this our band of young warriors 
 came back. They had captured thirty-two head of horses, 
 but one of our Indians had been killed in the skirmish 
 they had with the Crows. One of the band told me all 
 about their raid. He said that they went over to the head 
 waters of the Missouri River Sogwobipa, the Indians 
 called it. There they found a small band of Crow Indians, 
 but the Crows had seen them first, and were ready for them. 
 Just after dark our Indians tried to run off a band of Crow 
 horses they had seen, but they were met with a shower 
 of arrows and a few bullets which killed one of their party 
 and wounded five or six of their horses. One horse was 
 so badly crippled that he could not travel, so the rider 
 jumped on to the horse belonging to the dead Indian 
 and they all broke back as fast as their horses could carry 
 them. They were chased by the Crows all night, but 
 they finally made their escape. 
 
 A few days after this as they were going through a 
 range of mountains, they came suddenly upon a small 
 band of Crows, killed two of them and took all their 
 horses. They thought the whole tribe of Crows was 
 following them, so they made a bee line for home. I 
 thought it was pretty rough for about fifty to jump on a 
 few like that, kill some and rob the rest of their horses. 
 I think that Washakie did not like it either. When I told 
 him that it was not fair, he said it was too bad, but that 
 the Crows would have treated us just the same. 
 
 The Indians were uneasy. They felt sure that the 
 Crows would follow and attack us any minute, so we kept 
 a strong guard out all the time. Washakie thought it 
 best to get a little farther from the border line and in a 
 more open country where they could watch the horses 
 
The White Indian Boy 
 
The Crows 53 
 
 better. The Indians did not appear to value their own 
 lives so much as they did their horses. 
 
 I asked Washakie why it would not be better for the 
 chiefs to get together, talk the matter over, and stop 
 this stealing and fighting. He laughed and said that 
 when I got older I might fix things to suit myself, but as 
 things were going there, he had to be a little careful. 
 Some of his men would rather be fighting than at peace ; 
 and Pocatello was poisoning the minds of as many of the 
 tribe as he could with the spirit of war, to draw them 
 away with him. For his part, Washakie said, he would 
 rather live at peace. 
 
 The camp packed up and made a start from the open 
 country. We made a long string of Indians, horses, and 
 dogs trailing through the hills. For about a week we kept 
 traveling southward along the river that came out of the 
 beautiful lake until we reached another large stream. 
 When these two streams came together, they made a 
 very large river. It was the Piupa, or Snake River, which 
 we had crossed before. We pitched our tepees by a 
 stream that flowed into the north fork of this big river. 
 It was not very wide, but it was deep and full of fish. 
 We papooses had heaps of fun catching them. 
 
 After we had been in camp here a few days, Washakie 
 told me that I might begin breaking the colts. That was 
 more fun for me. We caught one, tied it to a tree and let 
 it stand there until it stopped pulling back, then we led 
 it to water. We staked it out near camp and let it stay 
 there to feed all night. The next morning I found that I 
 could lead it alone to water, so I thought I would try to 
 ride it. 
 
 I was putting my saddle on it when mother said, "You 
 had better ride it bareback." I told her that I could not 
 stay on without my saddle, so she told me to do as I liked. 
 
54 
 
 The White Indian Boy 
 
 Howard R. Drlggs 
 
 Crow Indian ponies feeding among the sage. From a photograph taken 
 near Custer battle-field, Montana. 
 
 The colt, however, objected so strongly to being saddled 
 that he came near getting away from me. 
 
 "Put a blanket over its head, so it cannot see," said 
 mother. 
 
 I tied the broncho to a brush, threw a blanket over its 
 head, and mother helped me to tie it on. By this time 
 about fifty kids had gathered around to see the fun. 
 When the saddle was cinched, mother said, "Now get on 
 and I will pull the blanket off its head." 
 
 I mounted carefully and then said, "Let him go." Off 
 came the blanket and away went the horse. He whirled 
 and sprang into the air, coming down with his head be 
 tween his forelegs. I went flying toward the creek, 
 and I didn't stop till I got to the bottom of it. When I 
 crawled out and wiped the water out of my eyes, I could 
 see that colt going across the prairie with my sacjdle under 
 his belly and kicking at every jump. 
 
 "Let him go," said my mother, as I started after him. 
 
 I said I would ride that horse if I never killed another 
 Indian. 
 
The Crows 55 
 
 "How many have you killed?" she asked in surprise. 
 
 "Not half as many as I am going to," I said. "And I 
 have half a notion to start in on some of these black imps 
 that are laughing at me." 
 
 When I got some dry clothes on, a young Indian rode 
 up on a horse and I got him to go and catch the colt for 
 me. He brought the broncho back and helped me tie a 
 strap around him so tight I could just put my fingers 
 under it, then he held the colt while I -got on him. 
 
 When I said, "Let him go !" the colt leaped into a run 
 and the young Indian followed after me, keeping it out of 
 the brush and away from the horses that were staked 
 around. The colt soon got tired and stopped running. I 
 had a fine ride. After a while we went back to camp and 
 I staked the colt out for the night. The next day I rode 
 the broncho again, and very soon I had it well trained. 
 
 It took mother and me some time to gather up my saddle, 
 and when we got it together we could hardly tell what 
 it had been in the first place ; but after about a week of 
 mending, we made it a great deal stouter than it was. 
 The next colt was not so fractious and I soon got so that 
 I could ride any of them without much trouble. 
 
 About this time we had another stampede. One night 
 a guard came running into camp with the word that he had 
 seen a big band of Crows coming. It was in the middle 
 of the night, but all of the squaws and papooses were 
 pulled out of bed and ordered to get into the brush and 
 stay there till morning. I told mother that I would not 
 go one step without my horse. She said that I could not 
 find him in the dark, but I was certain that I knew right 
 where he was, and off I put with mother after me calling, 
 " Yagaki, Yagaki, come back, come back." I outran her, 
 however, and happened to find my pinto. Jumping on 
 it I dashed back to mother. She scolded me and told me 
 
56 The White Indian Boy 
 
 that the Crows might have got me ; but I said I would 
 have to see the Crows before I believed there were any 
 within a hundred miles of us. 
 
 The Indians, however, gathered up all their horses and 
 stayed around them all night. Mother, Hanabi, and I 
 went down to the river about a mile away to hide among 
 the willows and trees with seven or eight hundred other 
 squaws and papooses. They made such a racket with their 
 excited talking and crying that no one could sleep. All 
 of them expected to be killed before morning. 
 
 But morning came and no Crows. The Indians were 
 mad as hornets, or at least they acted that way. Washakie 
 sent out some men to where the guard said he saw the 
 Crows. They found that he had seen only a big dust and 
 thought it was made by their enemies. I asked Washakie 
 if he thought that there was any real danger of the Crows 
 coming to attack us. He said that he did not think 
 they would come to fight us in this place, but that they 
 might try to steal our horses, or even attack small bands of 
 our Indians if they ran on to them away from camp. 
 
 Every once in a while after that we would have a Crow 
 scare. If the Indians saw a cloud of dust, they thought 
 the Crows were after them. They acted like a band of 
 sheep that had been run by coyotes. Every little thing 
 would scare them. It made me tired to see them so 
 cowardly. I told Washakie that I did not think they 
 would fight if they had a chance. 
 
 "When are you going to send more Indians out to steal 
 the Crows' horses? " I asked him. 
 
 "Why, do you want to go with them?" 
 
 I told him that I had not lost any horses. 
 
 "Well, we have," he said, "and we are going to get them 
 back before snow flies. The War Chief will attend to that." 
 
 I found out afterwards that Washakie meant business. 
 He was no coward. 
 
" I flung the lasso over his head and jerked him from his pony." 
 
 CHAPTER NINE 
 
 PAPOOSE TROUBLES 
 
 AFTER this second Crow scare, things quieted down again. 
 I kept on breaking colts, and whipping kids once in a 
 while. One day while I was riding a wild colt, the boy 
 whom I had kicked before for trying to see my sore legs 
 began to act smart again. He was riding with other 
 papooses along with me to see the fun, and every once in 
 a while he would poke my pony with a stick to see him 
 jump. I warned him once or twice to quit; but this 
 only seemed to make him worse. 
 
 I had a long rawhide rope around the colt's neck, and 
 I made a noose in the loose end. When he punched my 
 horse again, I flung the lasso over his head and jerked 
 him from his pony. This scared my broncho and he broke 
 into a run. Before I could stop him, I had nearly choked 
 the life out of that kid. The blood was coming out of 
 his nose and mouth and I thought that I had surely killed 
 him ; but as soon as I loosened the rope, he began to bawl, 
 and when he got up he put out for camp on the dead 
 run, yelling and groaning as if he was being murdered. 
 
 57 
 
58 The White Indian Boy 
 
 I started for camp, too, for I knew that things would be 
 popping pretty soon. As he passed our camp, mother 
 asked who had hurt him. "Yagaki!" he cried, running 
 on to his mother. 
 
 Before I got home, mother met me and asked, "What 
 have you been doing, Yagaki ? " 
 
 "Trying to kill that blamed kid," I said. 
 
 "Well, you have nearly done it this time," she said. 
 "How did it happen?" 
 
 I told her all about it. 
 
 "It will cause another camp fight," she said. 
 
 I turned loose the colt I was riding and started after 
 my pinto pony. 
 
 "Where are you going?" she asked me. 
 
 "After my horse." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "Because I want him." 
 
 When I had caught and saddled my pony I saw the 
 boy and his father and mother with some more Indians 
 coming towards our tent. I jumped on my horse and 
 started off. Mother called to me to stop, but I kept on 
 going. I thought that if they wanted to fight they could 
 fight; I was going to get out of it as fast as my pinto 
 could carry me, so I went up the river and hid in the 
 brush. After dark I heard the Indians calling "Yagaki, 
 Yagaki," but I would not answer them. 
 
 After a while the mosquitoes got so bad in the brush 
 that I could not stay there, so when everything was still 
 I crept out, but I did not know where to go or what to do. 
 I sat down on a stump and tried to decide. I knew that 
 there would be a racket in camp and I felt bad on account 
 of mother, but I was not a bit sorry for the papoose I 
 had hurt; just then I almost wished I had killed him. 
 I had some pretty mean feelings as I sat there on the 
 
Papoose Troubles 
 
 59 
 
 Bur. Am. Ethnology, Smithsonian Institution 
 Indian girls carrying water. 
 
 stump. I was more homesick than I had ever been 
 before. 
 
 It was not a very pleasant situation, I tell you, to be so 
 far away from home among a lot of Indians who were mad at 
 me. I did not know but that they would kill me. I was 
 worried ; but after thinking the matter over I decided that 
 it would be better for me to go back and face the music. 
 
60 The White Indian Boy 
 
 When I got near camp I met a lot of Indians that 
 mother had sent out to hunt me. They said that Washakie 
 was also out trying to find me. When I asked them what 
 the Indians were going to do to me, they said that they 
 would do nothing, that I had done what any of them 
 would have done. I told them that I was afraid that it 
 would start another camp fight, but they laughed and 
 said it would not. This made me feel much better. 
 
 When I reached camp, mother asked me where I had 
 been. I told her and she said I was a foolish boy for 
 running away like that. "Well," I said, "I thought it 
 might stop another camp fight if I went away." 
 
 It was not long before Washakie returned. He gave me 
 a long talk, telling me not to run away any more but to 
 come to him if I got into trouble again. He would see 
 that I did not get hurt. I told him that I thought I had 
 better go home, for I was always getting into trouble 
 and making it hard for mother and him. He told me he 
 would not let me go home for that, but advised me to be 
 a little more careful, as I might have killed the boy. "A 
 rope tied to a wild horse and around a boy's neck," he 
 said, "is not much fun for the boy." 
 
 "Well I forgot about the rope's being tied to the horse," 
 I said, "the boy made me so mad that I did not know 
 what I was doing." 
 
 Washakie said that the boy's neck was badly skinned 
 and that his father and mother were very angry about it, 
 but that he would try to calm them. The other papooses 
 who saw it thought that I did just right. The chief had 
 a long talk with the boy's parents, and I heard no more 
 about it, but I saw the boy wearing a greasy rag about 
 his neck, and whenever I came near, he would look very 
 savagely at me. 
 
 The mosquitoes made us move from this camp. We 
 
Papoose Troubles 
 
 61 
 
 A white-tailed deer. 
 
 Albert Schlechten, Bozeman, Mont. 
 
62 The White Indian Boy 
 
 went east nearly to the Teton Peaks, where we found 
 game plentiful and the streams full of trout. The valley 
 with its river running north and south through the middle 
 of it was beautiful. There was no timber on the banks 
 of the stream, but it was bordered with great patches of 
 willows from one to two miles wide extending for about 
 twenty miles along it. The white-tailed deer were 
 plentiful among the willows. I killed five while we were 
 there and mother tanned the skins and made a suit of 
 clothes for me out of them. The clothes were nice and 
 warm. The Indians also killed a number of moose among 
 the willows. 
 
 Waskahie told me that his tribe had had a great fight 
 with the Sioux Indians in this valley many years before 
 when he was a small boy. He said that his people lost 
 a great many of their best men. He took me all over 
 the battle ground. 
 
 j We stayed in this valley about thirty days and I began 
 again breaking colts. When I brought up the first one, 
 mother said, "Leave your rope here." I told her I could 
 not manage the colt without it. 
 
 "Well, don't use it on any more papooses," she said, 
 and I minded her. 
 
 . The Indians killed a great many elk, deer, and moose 
 while in this valley, and the squaws had all they could 
 do tanning the skins and drying the meat. I asked 
 Washakie if he was planning to winter in this valley. 
 
 "Oh, no," he replied. "The snow falls too deep here. 
 After the buffalo get fat, and we kill all we want for our 
 winter use, we will go a long way west out of the buffalo 
 country, but where there are plenty of deer and antelope 
 and fish. Some of the fish," he said, "are as long as you 
 are." 
 
 Berries were getting ripe, so we papooses would go with 
 
Papoose Troubles 63 
 
 our mothers up in the hills and gather them to dry. It 
 was great fun. One day, however, things got pretty 
 exciting. We were in a canyon busy gathering the 
 berries when all at once we heard a terrible screaming. 
 Pretty soon there came a crowd of squaws and papooses. 
 One was yelling, "A bear has killed my girl." 
 
 I jumped on my pinto pony, for I was riding him that 
 day, and started up through the brush as fast as I could 
 go. When I got a little way up the canyon, where the 
 brush was not so thick, I could see a bear running up the 
 hill. I went a little farther and found the girl stretched 
 out on the ground as if she were dead. Then I shouted 
 as loudly as I could for some of the Indians to come back, 
 but they had all gone. I tried to lift her on to my horse 
 but she was too heavy for me, so I laid her down again. 
 Then she asked me for a drink. I took the cup she had 
 been picking berries in and gave her some water. Then 
 she said she felt better. 
 
 "Where is my mother?" she asked. 
 
 I told her that they had all run down the canyon like 
 scared sheep. Then I helped her to her feet. She was 
 crying all the time, and she said that her head and side 
 and arm hurt her very much. I asked her if she could 
 ride. She said she would try, so I helped her up on my 
 horse and led it until we got out of the canyon. Then 
 she told me to get on behind her as she thought she could 
 guide the horse. We had about four miles to go, so I 
 climbed upon the pony with her. 
 
 When we got in sight of camp we saw some Indians 
 coming full tilt, and when they met us there was the 
 greatest hubbub I ever heard. When we reached the 
 camp the girl's mother came running up and threw her 
 arms about the girl and acted as if she were crazy. She 
 would have hugged me too if I had been willing. She 
 
The White Indian Boy 
 
 A black bear. 
 
 New York Zoological Society 
 
 said that I was a brave boy. Mother came up and said, 
 "Yagaki, I thought you had come down to camp ahead 
 of me or I never would have come without you." 
 
 "Oh, you were as scared as any of them," I said. 
 
 "I know I was scared," she said, "but I never 
 would have left you, if I had known you were still in 
 the canyon." 
 
 That night the girl's father and mother came to our 
 tepee to see what I wanted for saving their daughter's 
 life. I told them that I wanted nothing. 
 
 "You are a good, brave boy," said her father. 
 
 I asked her mother why she ran away and left the girl. 
 
 "Well," she said, "I saw the bear knock my girl down 
 and jump on her and I thought she was dead, and I 
 thought the bear would kill me, then there would be two 
 of us dead." 
 
 The father said that the bears killed many people be 
 cause they tried to help the one that was first caught. 
 He felt that it was better for the rest to run. I did not 
 
Papoose Troubles 65 
 
 agree with him. I thought that everybody should help 
 kill the bear even if they did run the risk of getting 
 killed. 
 
 "Yes, you have already shown what you would do," 
 said my mother. "You are a brave boy." 
 
 "It was a brave act for a boy," said Washakie; "but 
 we must not brag too much about Yagaki or he will begin 
 to think he is a great hero. It is about time we went to 
 sleep." 
 
 The girl's mother told me that I might have her daughter 
 for a wife when I got big enough ; but I told her she could 
 keep the girl, I did not want her. 
 
 The next day I wanted mother and the other Indians 
 to go up the canyon after more service berries, but they 
 wouldn't go a step. They had had bear scares enough for 
 that time. The Indians left the bears alone unless they 
 caught these animals in the open. 
 
 One morning we saw two bears crossing the valley. 
 About fifty Indians on horses started after them. I ran 
 and got my pinto pony. When I came back for my 
 saddle, mother asked where I was going. 
 
 "To help kill those bears yonder." 
 
 "No, you are not," she said. 
 
 "Oh, let him go," said Washakie, and she consented. 
 I jumped on the horse and started after the bears as hard 
 as I could go. The Indians had headed them away from 
 the timber and were popping arrows into them. My 
 horse was not a bit scared so I ran up to one of the bears 
 and shot three arrows into his side. 
 
 "Keep back, you little dunce," shouted the Indians, 
 "that bear will tear you to pieces." 
 
 But the bear was too full of arrows to tear much. He 
 looked like a porcupine with his quills on end. Very soon 
 the two bears dropped dead ; but their skins were so full 
 
66 
 
 The White Indian Boy 
 
 S. N. Leel, Jactson, Wyoming 
 A baby elk in its hiding place. 
 
 of holes that they were not worth much ; the meat was 
 not much good either. 
 
 That night the Indians had a big dance around the 
 two hides. I joined in the fun and sang as loud as any 
 of them. They thought I was pretty daring. One old 
 Indian said, "The little fool doesn't know any better. 
 If a bear once got hold of him he would not be so brave." 
 But they gave me one of the hides and mother tanned it 
 and sewed up most of the holes. It made me a very good 
 robe to sleep in. 
 
 While we were in this valley another small band of 
 Indians joined us. The girl that had hit me with the 
 fishing pole was with them. When she saw that the 
 other Indians liked me so much, she wanted to make up 
 with me. She came around several times before she 
 said anything to me, but finally one day she walked over 
 to where I was helping mother stake down a moose hide 
 to dry and said, " Yagaki, I am sorry that I hit you that 
 day with the fish pole." 
 
 " J am not," I said. 
 
Papoose Troubles 
 
 67 
 
 "Why?" she asked. 
 
 "Because we had lots of fun that day." 
 
 "Why don't you be friends with her?" mother asked. 
 
 I said that I did not want to be her friend. 
 
 "You are a mean boy," said mother; "you should be 
 friends." 
 
 "Not much," I said; but I did finally tell the girl that 
 it was all right. 
 
 Then she wanted me to go over to their tepee and 
 play, but I told her that I was afraid her mother would 
 cut my head off. 
 
 "No," she said, "mother will not hurt you. She feels 
 sorry for what we did to your folks, and so does my 
 father." 
 
 Well, we passed the trouble over and became pretty 
 good friends after that. 
 
 By this time we had gathered most of the berries that 
 grew along the foothills ; the squaws were afraid to go 
 farther into the mountains after the bear excitement; 
 
 A squaw tanning buckskin. 
 
 Creel 
 
68 The White Indian Boy 
 
 so then they stopped berry picking and went to work in 
 earnest tanning buckskin and drying meat for winter 
 use. The Indians quit hunting for elk and deer; for 
 they already had all of the skins that the women could 
 get ready for the trading trip they had planned. 
 
 It was the custom of the tribe to make a journey almost 
 every fall to Salt Lake City, and other White settlements, 
 and swap their buckskin and buffalo robes for red blankets, 
 beads, ammunition, and other things they needed. Mother 
 and Hanabi worked all day and away into "the night to 
 get their skins ready in time, and I helped them all I 
 could. I got an old horse and dragged down enough 
 wood to last while we stayed there. I carried all the 
 water for them, and no kid dared to call me a squaw 
 either. 
 
 Finally the time came for us to begin killing buffaloes 
 for our winter's supply of meat. We did not have to 
 hunt them, however, for we could see them at any time 
 in almost any direction. Many a time I went out with 
 Washakie to watch the hunters kill the buffaloes. Washa- 
 kie wanted only five and we soon got them ; but it took 
 mother and Hanabi a good many days to tan their hides 
 and get the meat ready for winter. 
 
" Three or four buckets of water came over me." 
 
 CHAPTER TEN 
 
 A LONG JOURNEY 
 
 NOTHING went wrong while we were getting ready for 
 the long trip to market, and finally everything was in 
 shape to pack up. Our camp by this time was very large, 
 for Indians had been coming in every few days until there 
 were fully a thousand of them, and there must have been 
 as many as five thousand horses. When we took the 
 trail, I could not see half of the long string of pack animals. 
 
 We had twenty pack horses for our own family, loaded 
 with buffalo robes, elk and deer skins, and our camp outfit. 
 Washakie had a fine big tepee of elk hides made so it 
 would shed rain. It could be divided in two parts. 
 Sometimes if we were going to stop just one night, we 
 would put up only half of it; but if we made a longer 
 camp, we would set up the whole wigwam. 
 
 After we were well started, I noticed that the Indians 
 broke up into small bands. That night there were only 
 twenty-five tepees left in our camp. Washakie said 
 that it was better to travel in small parties, for we could 
 make better time and get better pasture for our horses. 
 
 69 
 
70 The White Indian Boy 
 
 In two or three days we reached the big river where I 
 had come near choking the papoose to death with my 
 rope. It was quite wide and the current was very swift 
 where we forded it. When we got in the deepest place, 
 mother's horse stumbled over a boulder and fell, and 
 away went mother down the stream ; for she could not 
 withstand the swift current. I saw her going and started 
 after her, but I could not catch her until she was carried 
 into the deep, quieter waters. My horse was a good 
 swimmer, and I was soon at her side. I pulled her to 
 the bank and tried to help her out of the water, but the 
 willows were so thick at this place we had a hard time 
 getting on land. Washakie hurried to the rescue. 
 
 " You came nearly going to the Happy Hunting Grounds 
 that time, mother," he said. 
 
 Washakie thought that we had better stop there so that 
 mother could put on dry clothes and get over her scare, 
 for he was afraid it would make her sick. We pitched camp 
 for the night by a grove of cottonwoods near the river. 
 
 Just before dark an Indian came running in and told 
 Washakie that the Crows had overtaken a small bunch of 
 our Indians and had killed them and taken all their 
 horses. Washakie ordered the War Chief to take every 
 one of our warriors and follow the Crows clear into the 
 Crow country if necessary to punish them. The War 
 Chief told his men to get ready for a long trip, and the 
 women and children to hide in the willows until they 
 heard from them. I never saw greater excitement among 
 the squaws and papooses than we had that night. They 
 were bawling, and yelling, and rushing everywhere. 
 
 "Come on, Yagaki," called mother, "let us get into 
 the brush." 
 
 "Not much," I said, "I am going with the warriors to 
 kill Crows." 
 
A Long Journey 71 
 
 Mother grabbed me by one arm and Hanabi by the 
 other, and mother began to cry and say to Washakie, 
 
 "Make him come ; make him come." 
 
 Washakie laughed and said that I was just fooling, 
 that I hadn't lost any Crows. He said that he was going 
 to guard the camp. 
 
 "So am I," I said. With that mother let me go. I 
 ran and caught my pinto pony, put my saddle and a few 
 buffalo robes on him and went with mother and Hanabi 
 down the river. When we reached the rest of the crowd, 
 I could hear the papooses howling like a pack of young 
 coyotes. 
 
 "What is the use of hiding and making such a racket?" 
 I asked. "If the Crows have any ears they can hear 
 this noise for five miles." 
 
 Mother said that it made no difference for the Crows 
 did not dare to come into the brush after us. 
 
 "Are the Crows as big cowards as our Indians?" I 
 asked. 
 
 She said that they were. 
 
 "Then there is no danger," I said; "we had better go 
 to sleep." 
 
 It was not long before we heard Washakie call for us to 
 come back. 
 
 "There," I said; "another scare is over with no Crows 
 at all. I shall never hide again." 
 
 When we got to camp we learned that a few Crows had 
 chased some of our Indians and had fired a few shots at 
 them, but nobody had been killed, and not even a horse 
 had been stolen. About fifty of our young warriors were 
 following the Crows ; but I knew that they would never 
 overtake them. 
 
 The next day we packed up early and hit the trail 
 pretty hard. For several days we headed south. We 
 
The White Indian Boy 
 
A Long Journey 73 
 
 left the Piupa, or Snake River, and crossed over the 
 mountains. Finally we came to a place called Tosaibi, 
 which I learned later to be Soda Springs, in southeastern 
 Idaho. We could not use the water of these springs, so we 
 went on a short distance and camped on a good-sized river 
 which the Indians called Titsapa ; this was the Bear River. 
 
 They said that this stream ran into a big salt lake that 
 reached nearly to my old home. That started me to 
 thinking about my dear father and mother, my brothers 
 and sisters I should like so much to see, and I could feel 
 the tears running down my cheeks. Mother saw them 
 and came and sat down by my side. 
 
 "Yagaki," she said, "I fear you do not like to live 
 with us." 
 
 "Why do you say that?" I asked. 
 
 "What are you crying about?" 
 
 I told her that I was thinking of my white mother. 
 
 "Am I not as good to you as your own mother?" she 
 asked. 
 
 I told her that she was. But I could not help wanting 
 to see my white mother and my people just the same. 
 
 We followed down the Titsapa for one day's travel and 
 there we stayed for three days. At this place part of 
 our band was going to leave us and make the journey to 
 Salt Lake City to sell our robes and buckskins and what 
 furs we had. I wanted to go with the party, but mother 
 would not let me. Hanabi and Washakie went. They 
 took twelve pack horses very heavily loaded and also 
 two young horses to sell if they got a chance. They left 
 mother and me with the camp outfit and sixty-four head 
 of horses to look after. Those that were not going to 
 Salt Lake City intended to go off northwest and strike 
 the head of another river, about four days' travel away, 
 and stay there till the others returned. 
 
74 The White Indian Boy 
 
 When mother and I went to packing up for our return, 
 we found that we did not have pack saddles enough for 
 all of our camp outfit. Besides our tepee, bedding, 
 clothing, and utensils, we had sixteen sacks of dried meat 
 and two sacks of service berries. This was too much for 
 our eight pack-saddles. Mother said that we could get 
 along if we had two more saddles so I told her to use mine 
 for one and I would ride bareback. She did not like to 
 do this, but she finally consented, and another boy let us 
 have his saddle, so we packed ten horses. This took a 
 good deal of time each morning. 
 
 After three days of slow traveling we reached the head 
 of a stream which they called Tobitapa ; the whites now 
 call it the Portneuf River. There were fifteen squaws, 
 about thirty-five papooses, and three old men Indians 
 in our camp. 
 
 Washakie thought it would take them fifteen days to 
 go to Salt Lake City and get back to where we were. 
 I asked mother whether she was not afraid that the Crows 
 would come and kill all of us while they were gone. 
 
 "No," she said, "the Crows never come this far south." 
 
 Then I asked her why she did not want me to go to 
 Salt Lake City with the others. She said that she could 
 not take care of so many horses without me to help, and 
 she was afraid, too, that the white men would take me 
 away from her. 
 
 "Is that the reason Washakie does not like to take me 
 with him when he goes among the whites?" I asked her. 
 
 She told me that Washakie said that if I ever got 
 dissatisfied and wanted to go home, he would give me my 
 horse and a good outfit, and see that I got home safe. 
 "But," she said, "I hope that you will never want to go 
 away, for I believe it would kill me if you should leave 
 me." I told her not to worry because I thought that I 
 
A Long Journey 75 
 
 should always stay with her. It always made her seem 
 happier when I would tell her that. If she ever saw me 
 look unhappy, she would turn away and cry. She did 
 everything she could to make me happy, and I tried to 
 be kind to her. 
 
 Mother was afraid that I would get sick from not hav 
 ing bread and milk to eat, for I told her that was what I 
 always had for supper when I was home. She thought 
 that eating meat all the time would not agree with me 
 and would make me unhealthy. Often she would have 
 fried fish and fried chickens or ducks for supper. When 
 I first went to live with her, she made a small sack and 
 tied it to my saddle. She would keep this sack full of 
 the best dried fish when we were traveling, so that I could 
 eat if I got hungry ; for she said that I could not go all 
 day without eating anything, as the Indians often did. 
 Every morning she would empty my lunch sack and 
 refill it with fresh food. She soon found out what I liked 
 best, and she always had it for me ; so you see I had plenty 
 to eat, even if I was with Indians ; and that is more than 
 a great many white children had at that time. 
 
 I was very healthy while I was with the Indians. I 
 think the reason was that I did not like their way of 
 doctoring. When any of them got a cold, they would 
 dig a hole two or three feet deep by the side of a cold 
 spring. Into this hole they would put a few cobblestones. 
 Then they would build a fire in the hole, get the stones 
 right hot, and then scrape the fire all out. The sick person 
 had to get into the hole with a cup of water, and after 
 being covered with a buffalo robe, he would pour the 
 water on the hot rocks and make a steam. This would 
 make him sweat like sixty. When he had sweated long 
 enough some one would jerk off the robe and he would 
 jump into the cold water of the spring. As soon as he 
 
76 
 
 The White Indian Boy 
 
 Dr. T. M. Bridges 
 
 Indian sweat house covered ; fire in foreground. 
 
 got out of the water, they would throw a buffalo robe 
 around him, let him sweat awhile, then they would cool 
 him off gradually by taking the robe off a little at a time 
 while he quit sweating. He was then supposed to be 
 well. 
 
 One chilly day I was out hunting chickens, and was 
 quite a distance from camp when a heavy rainstorm came 
 and soaked me through before I could get home. That 
 night I coughed and coughed so that nobody in our 
 tepee could sleep. The next day mother wanted to dig 
 a hole for me. I told her that I did not want a hole dug 
 for me until I was dead. She begged me to take a sweat. 
 
 "Not much," I said, "no more of your jumping into 
 springs for me." I had not forgotten how they tried to 
 cure my sore legs with a salt-springs bath. 
 
 She said that it would not hurt me. But I told her 
 that I was played out and I would not do it. 
 
 "Well," she said, "you need not jump into the cold 
 
A Long Journey 
 
 77 
 
 water. The heat of the rocks and the steam from the 
 ground will sweat you enough." 
 
 "You had better do it," said Washakie, "before you 
 get sick in bed." 
 
 "All right," I said, "go to digging." 
 
 Very soon she had the hole dug and everything ready, 
 then she said, " Come now, pull off your clothes and get 
 in here." 
 
 "Pull off nothing," I said. 
 
 "You must," she said. 
 
 "Jerk them off," urged Washakie; "I will hold this 
 buffalo robe over you so that you will not be seen." 
 
 So off came my clothes and into the hole I went. I got 
 over the rocks just the way an old sitting hen does over 
 her eggs. Mother gave me a cup of water and I poured 
 it over the heated boulders. She stood there to keep the 
 robe over the hole and kept asking me if I was sweating. 
 I told her that I was getting wetter than a fish ; but for 
 
 /pv / / J :\, ; . 
 
 
 Framework of an Indian sweat house, 
 
 Dr. T. M. Bridges 
 
78 The White Indian Boy 
 
 some cause she kept me for quite a while, then she jerked 
 off the robe and whack! three or four buckets of cold 
 water came all over me. Oh, I jumped out of that hole 
 in a hurry ! 
 
 Washakie stood there with the robe, threw it over me, 
 carried me into the tepee and put me to bed. Then 
 he threw more robes over me, and how I did sweat ! It 
 was rough doctoring, but it cured my cold all right. 
 
 This was after Washakie and his party had got back 
 from Salt Lake. They were gone twenty-two days in 
 stead of fifteen. Washakie had disposed of his robes and 
 skins at a good price, and he had sold the two horses, so 
 he came back pretty well outfitted for the winter. He 
 had twenty-four blankets, a lot of calico, some red flannel 
 for the tongues of moccasins, some underclothing for me, 
 and about a peck of beads of all colors and sizes. The 
 beads were to swap for tanned buckskin, and the blankets 
 for buffalo robes. He brought me a butcher knife, a new 
 bridle, two pounds of candy, and a lot of fishhooks. I felt 
 "heap rich" and very happy. 
 
" Away we went to the bottom." 
 
 CHAPTER ELEVEN 
 
 THE SNOWY MOONS 
 
 SNOW had already fallen on the mountain tops when 
 Washakie got back, so he was in a hurry to get the camp 
 moved to the winter range. Mother and Hanabi began 
 at once to arrange the packs for traveling. We soon 
 started for our winter quarters. 
 
 We went down the Tobitapa (Portneuf) to the Piupa 
 (Snake River), then up the Piupa, and then west over 
 the divide on to the headwaters of Angitapa (Rock Creek). 
 At this place we stayed six days and killed sixteen buffaloes, 
 two for each family. That was to be the last killing of 
 buffaloes until the next year. Washakie bought four of 
 the buffalo hides from other Indians, which made six 
 in all. He said that he wanted something for the women 
 to do through the winter. 
 
 When we started from here we went west over a big 
 mountain upon which we had to camp in about three feet 
 of snow. We had to tie up all our horses to keep them 
 from running away, for we had nothing for them to eat. 
 Early the next morning we were off and that night we 
 
 79 
 
80 The White Indian Boy 
 
 got out of the snow, but it was still very cold. The next 
 day we came to a beautiful stream. It was not very 
 large, but it was fairly alive with mountain trout. We 
 went down the stream two days' travel and there we 
 stayed for about a month, I think. Washakie had in 
 tended to winter here, but he changed his mind and 
 followed the stream farther down until he came to another 
 river. I do not remember what the Indians called this 
 river, but they told me that fish as long as I was tall came 
 up the river in the springtime. We had a very good 
 camping ground that winter. It was sheltered from the 
 wind, but we had a great deal more snow than had fallen 
 the winter before. 
 
 About six hundred yards above our camp was a large 
 grove of dry quaking aspens, mostly small poles. I told 
 mother that if she would help me pile a lot of them, I 
 would haul them down with the horses. She did not 
 believe that I could do it, but she helped me gather the 
 poles just the same. 
 
 Washakie had brought from Salt Lake City the inch 
 auger I asked him to get for me, so I went to work to 
 make a sled like the one I had seen my father make. I 
 got two crooked sticks for runners, pinned on some cross 
 pieces, and soon had the thing ready. It did not look 
 much like a sled, but it answered the purpose pretty well. 
 
 I got up two lazy old horses of mother's, put on their 
 pack saddles and tied ropes from the sleds to the pack 
 saddles, then I mounted one of the horses and away we 
 went for the grove. After putting on quite a few poles 
 and tying them on with a rope, I took the load to camp 
 without any bother at all. All of the Indians were out 
 watching me bring in my first load of wood. 
 
 "What cannot a white man do?" said the old War 
 Chief. 
 
The Snowy Moons 
 
 81 
 
 In a few days I had all of the wood we needed down to 
 the camp. Hanabi said that I was as good as two squaws. 
 After getting our wood up, I lent the sled to some of the 
 Indians. They thought they could haul wood as well as 
 I could, so they hitched up their horses and started out. 
 But they went on higher up the hill where it was steeper 
 than where I got my wood. Then they put on a big load 
 and started down. The sled ran into the horses' heels, 
 scared them, and they started to run. The horse that 
 the Indian was riding broke loose from the sled, and the 
 other horse ran away with the sled fastened to him, 
 scattering the poles all over the side of the hill, and bolt 
 ing down through the camp. The sled jammed against 
 the tepees and jerked three or four of them down. 
 Then the frightened horse struck out through some 
 cottonwoods, slammed the sled against the trees, and 
 broke it all to pieces. 
 
 Shoshone tepee with sagebrush windbreak. 
 
82 The White Indian Boy 
 
 This discouraged the Indians. They said that the 
 squaws could pack wood if they wanted any, that it was 
 their work anyhow. That ended the wood hauling. 
 
 I got the Indian boys to help me fix up the sled again. 
 We pulled it up on a hill with a horse and turned it towards 
 camp. I wanted some of the boys to get on with me and 
 slide down, but they were afraid. They said they wanted 
 to see me do it first, so away I went. Then they came 
 down with the horse and we pulled the sled up again. 
 By hard begging, I got two of them on the sled. As 
 soon as we started, one jumped off, but the other stayed 
 with me. When we reached the bottom, he said it was 
 the finest ride he ever had. The next time several of 
 the boys were ready to try it, and five of us got on. Away 
 we went to the bottom. Oh, what fun we had ! It was 
 not long till they all wanted to get on, and the heavier we 
 loaded it, the faster it would go. When the track got 
 slick, the sled would carry us nearly to camp. 
 
 We kept this up for days. When the track was well 
 made, we would pull the sled up without a horse. All 
 of the big boys and girls joined in the coasting, and some 
 times the older Indians would ride too. The sled was 
 kept going all the time, until we wore the runners out. 
 After that for fun we turned to fishing and hunting chick 
 ens and rabbits. Sometimes we would go for antelope, 
 but when we went for them, some of the older Indians 
 would go with us to keep us from killing too many. The 
 Indians were always careful to preserve the game. 
 
 Everything went off peacefully this winter. There 
 was no quarreling nor fighting. One young papoose 
 and an old squaw died. We lost no horses. We were 
 a long way from the Crows, so we had no Crow scares. 
 I had a very good time, and mother seemed to enjoy the 
 winter as well as I did. 
 
The Snowy Moons 83 
 
 Along towards spring seven or eight of us little boys 
 were in the cottonwoods shooting birds when one boy's 
 arrow hit the side of a tree, glanced, and struck me in 
 the leg. The boy was badly scared, for he thought I was 
 going to kick him to pieces, but I told him to stop crying, 
 that I knew it was an accident. He quit crying, and the 
 other boys thought that I was getting to be a pretty good 
 fellow after all, for before this they believed that if any one 
 hurt me there would be a kicking scrape right away. 
 
 Spring came at last. We moved down the river about 
 fifteen miles where we could get better grass for our 
 horses. Here were plenty of white-tailed deer and ante 
 lope, some elk, and a few mountain sheep. Ducks and 
 geese also were plentiful. 
 
 We stayed here until about the middle of May. The 
 big fish they had told me about began to come up the 
 river. And they were really big ones ; two of them made 
 all the load I could carry. They must have weighed 
 thirty or thirty-five pounds each. Mother and Hanabi 
 dried about two hundred pounds of these fish. I after 
 wards learned that they were salmon. The first that 
 came up were fat and very good, but they kept coming 
 thicker and thicker until they were so thin that they were 
 not fit to eat. 
 
 After a while we moved camp again, going down the 
 river a little farther and then up a deep and rocky canyon 
 where there had been many snowslides during the winter. 
 We crossed over snow that had come down in these slides 
 that was forty or fifty feet deep and was as hard as ice. 
 There was not very much timber in the canyon, and the 
 cliffs were very high. Years afterwards very rich gold 
 mines were found in this place, a mining camp was started, 
 and great quartz mills were built. 1 
 
 1 Virginia City, Montana. 
 
84 
 
 The White Indian Boy 
 
 Lee Moorhouse 
 " The burden bearer " Squaw carrying wood. 
 
 As we left the canyon, we climbed a very steep moun 
 tain for about two miles, and then went down through 
 thick timber until we came out on to a beautiful prairie 
 covered with the finest grass I had ever,, seen. Off to 
 the left was a deep canyon where one fork of the Big 
 Hole River headed, and here we camped for a long time. 
 The Indians killed a great many black-tailed deer and 
 antelope and dried the meat. I think Washakie and I 
 killed seventeen while we stayed here. 
 
 Our next move was down to the forks of the river, where 
 we stayed three or four weeks to give the women time to tan 
 the deerskins. It was fine fishing in the Big Hole River. 
 
The Snowy Moons 85 
 
 While we were staying here, one of the War Chief's 
 boys was accidentally shot and killed. Oh, what crying 
 we had to do! Every one in camp who could raise a 
 yelp had to cry for about five days. I had to mingle my 
 gentle voice with the rest of the mourners. They killed 
 three horses and buried them and his bow and arrows 
 with him. The horses were for him to ride to the Happy 
 Hunting Grounds. When they got ready to bury him, 
 every one in camp had to go up to him and put a hand 
 on his head and say he was sorry to have him leave us. 
 When it came my turn, I went into our tepee and would 
 not come out. Mother came after me. I told her I 
 would not go, that I was not sorry to see him go, for he 
 was no good anyhow. 
 
 "Don't say that so they will hear it," he said. Then 
 she went back and made excuses for me. 
 
 They took him up to a high cliff and put him in a 
 crevice with his bedding, a frying pan, an ax, his bow and 
 arrows, and some dried buffalo meat. After this they 
 covered him with rocks. When they got back to camp, 
 they let out the most pitiful howls I ever heard. I joined 
 them too, just as loud as I could scream, as if I was the 
 most broken-hearted one in the camp, but it seemed so 
 foolish to keep up this howling, as they did for five days. 
 I got so hoarse I could hardly talk. 
 
 But I did feel sorry for his poor mother. She was 
 really grief-stricken. She cut off her hair close to her 
 head. I asked mother why she did that. She said that 
 all mothers did it when their oldest boy died. After our 
 mourning was over, she would still weep bitterly and 
 sometimes scream out her sorrow. 
 
 We next moved down the Big Hole River to where the 
 town of Melrose is now situated. We stayed here for 
 about two weeks, then went on till we came to where the 
 
The White Indian Boy 
 
The Snowy Moons 87 
 
 Big Hole empties into the Beaver Head River and forms 
 the Jefferson River. 
 
 Here we did nothing but fish. The buffalo were not 
 fat enough to kill, and besides, we had all of the dried 
 elk and deer meat we wanted. It was a beautiful place 
 to camp, and we had the finest of grass for our horses. 
 
 I broke a few more colts, two for mother and four for 
 Washakie. Our horses by this time were getting fat and 
 looking fine, but my little pinto was the prettiest one of 
 all. Hardly a day passed but some Indian would try 
 to trade me out of him. One Indian offered me two good 
 horses if I would swap, but I thought too much of the 
 pony to part with him even for a whole band of horses. 
 He was just as pretty as a horse could be. 
 
 Our next journey took us a long way northeast. 
 Washakie said that we were going where the buffaloes 
 were too many to count. After about a week of travel, 
 we reached the north fork of the Madison River, about 
 on a line with the Yellowstone Park ; and oh, the kwaditsi 
 (antelope) and padahia (elk) and kotea (buffalo) there 
 were ! Every way we looked we could see herds of them. 
 
 While we were at this camp another boy was killed by 
 a horse. He was dragged almost to pieces through the 
 rocks and brush. 
 
 When I heard of it, I told mother to get her voice ready 
 for another big howling. 
 
 "Aren't you ashamed to talk that way ? " asked Hanabi. 
 
 "I am afraid you are a hard-hearted boy," said mother. 
 
 After the poor fellow was buried, we went up the 
 Madison River about ninety miles and camped there for 
 a month. The buffalo were now in better condition, so 
 we killed a good many, drying their meat and making 
 their hides into robes. Then we went on south and came 
 to the beautiful lake where we had had such a good time 
 
88 The White Indian Boy 
 
 the summer before. It is now called Henry's Lake, and 
 is the head of the north fork of the Snake River. We 
 did nothing here but fish, for we had enough dried meat 
 to last till we reached the usual hunting grounds. 
 
" The warriors went on and passed . . . out of our sight." 
 
 CHAPTER TWELVE 
 
 THE FIERCE BATTLE 
 
 WE were now traveling towards the Crow country. I 
 think our Indians were a little afraid that the Crows 
 were going to try to stop them ; but Washakie said that 
 he was going through if it cost him half of his tribe, for 
 he was not going to be bluffed off his best hunting ground 
 any longer. 
 
 I thought something was up, because small bands of 
 Indians kept joining us, until we had gathered about 
 seven hundred warriors. We sent all of our surplus 
 horses down the Snake River with Indians to guard them 
 until we came back. Washakie and mother kept fifteen 
 head for pack horses, and I kept two horses to ride. 
 After the extra horses and packs had gone, we started 
 for the disputed hunting grounds. 
 
 The men all went out ahead, followed by the pack 
 horses, with the women and children and old men in the 
 rear. Mother warned me to keep close to her, for Wa 
 shakie said that the Crows might tackle us that day. 
 I said that kind of talk was too thin. But we had not 
 
 89 
 
90 The White Indian Boy 
 
 been traveling very long before one of our scouts came 
 tearing back and said that he had seen where a very large 
 band of Crows had passed, and had sighted smoke in 
 the timber ahead. 
 
 The men all stopped and bunched together. I heard 
 Washakie tell them to go ahead, to keep a good lookout, 
 and if the Crows pounced on them, to fight as long as 
 there was a man left. I thought that they must be 
 getting brave. 
 
 We started again with the men in the lead as before, 
 but riding very slowly. Six or eight Indians kept riding 
 back and forth along our line to keep the squaws and 
 pack horses from getting scattered. 
 
 Pretty soon we stopped again and the War Chief 
 ordered us to camp there for the night. "We know now," 
 he said, "that we must fight or go back, and we have 
 gone back so much that the Crows begin to think we are 
 afraid of them. I feel that we ought to give them a 
 lesson this time that they will not forget soon." 
 
 "That is the way I look at it," said Washakie. "Now 
 is the time to show them that we will fight for our rights." 
 
 This seemed to be the way most of the warriors felt, 
 for I heard them talking about it in their council that 
 night. 
 
 We camped right there, all in a bunch, with hardly 
 room to make down our beds. A strong guard was sent 
 to look after the horses, but the night passed off without 
 any trouble. When morning came, ten men were sent 
 to see if they could find any signs of the Crows. They 
 were gone about an hour, when back they came and 
 reported that about a thousand Crows were camped over 
 the ridge just ahead of us. 
 
 "We will go on to our hunting grounds," said the War 
 Chief, "if there are ten thousand of them." 
 
The Fierce Battle 91 
 
 The Indians painted up in grand style. They drew 
 black streaks all over their faces to make themselves look 
 fiercer, and then we got ready and started forward. We 
 had not gone far when the squaws were ordered to stop. 
 The warriors went on and passed over a small ridge out 
 of our sight. 
 
 Pretty soon we heard shooting, then an Indian came 
 and told us to go back until we came to good water and 
 stay there until we heard from the chief. "They are 
 fighting now," he said. 
 
 We had hardly reached the stream of water before we 
 saw Indians come up on the hill and then disappear, 
 then come in sight again. They seemed to be fighting 
 fiercely, and they were yelling to beat Old Billy. They 
 had not been fighting over an hour before half or two 
 thirds of them were on top of the hill and slowly coming 
 down the side towards us. 
 
 The squaws began to cry and say that the Crows were 
 getting the better of our Indians and were driving them 
 
 Dr. T. M. Bridges 
 
 A Shoshone brave (Fort Hall, Idaho). 
 
92 The White Indian Boy 
 
 back. They kept coming closer and closer to us. When 
 I looked around I saw that the squaws were getting their 
 butcher knives ; they were ready to fight if they had to. 
 Then I noticed that our men were not coming towards 
 us any longer. I could see Washakie on his big buckskin 
 horse dashing around among the Indians and telling them 
 what to do, ancj very soon the driving turned the other 
 way; they began to disappear over the ridge again, and 
 I could tell that our Indians were beating the Crows. 
 
 We could tell the Crow Indians from ours, for they 
 had something white over one shoulder and under one 
 arm, and they wore white feathers in their hair. There 
 were about fifteen hundred Indians engaged in the fight 
 on both sides, as the battle ground covered quite a piece 
 of country. We could see a good many horses running 
 around without riders. 
 
 I believe that the squaws would have taken part in 
 the battle if it had not been for the guard of about fifty 
 old Indians that kept riding around us all the time to 
 keep the squaws and papooses and horses close together. 
 
 When our men had driven the Crows back to the ridge, 
 they seemed to stick there; but they were still fighting 
 and yelling and circling around. It looked as if they 
 could not force the enemy back any farther. I got so 
 excited that I jumped on my horse and said to another 
 Indian boy, "Come on, let's go up and see what they are 
 doing and try to help them." 
 
 Mother grabbed my bridle and said, "You crazy little 
 dunce ; haven't you one bit of sense?" 
 
 "I might kill a whole flock of Crows," I said, "for 
 all you know." But she would not let me go, and I 
 guess it was a good thing I did not. 
 
 After about six hours of fighting, one Indian, badly 
 wounded, came in and told us to go back to the lake, but 
 
The Fierce Battle 93 
 
 not to unpack until we got word from the War Chief. 
 We went back and when we got to the top of the divide 
 we could still see the Indians fighting, although they 
 were about two miles away, and we could see loose horses 
 all over the prairie. The sun was nearly an hour high 
 when we reached the lake. 
 
 About dark half of our Indians came to us and the War 
 Chief told us to unpack and put up the tepees, for 
 very likely we should stay there for a while. He told us 
 that about sundown the Crows broke and ran and that 
 Washakie with the other half of our Indians was follow 
 ing them to try to head them off and keep them from 
 getting away. Washakie thought that he and his warriors 
 could stop them until morning, and then all of his band 
 could attack them again. The War Chief sent twenty 
 Indians with one hundred fresh horses to overtake the 
 Indians that were following the Crows, for their horses 
 had been on the go all day and were about worn out. 
 He said that he had seen twenty-five of our Indians that 
 were dead. How many more had been killed he did not 
 know. Mother told them that they might take two of 
 her horses and I let them have my roan pony to help 
 them in their chase after the fleeing Crows. 
 
 By this time three or four hundred squaws and 
 papooses were wailing and moaning till they could be 
 heard for two miles. I asked mother when our turn would 
 come. 
 
 "Do hush and go to sleep," said Hanabi; but there 
 was not much sleep that night. 
 
 When day came, I saw such a sight as I had never seen 
 before. About one hundred Indians, had been brought 
 in during the night, all very badly wounded. Mother 
 and I went around to see them. One poor fellow had his 
 nose shot off and one eye shot out. He said he didn't 
 
94 The White Indian Boy 
 
 Indian grave among the rocks, Utah desert. 
 
 feel very well. Many of them were so badly hurt that 
 I knew they could not live until sundown, and I thought 
 about half of them would die that day. A few old Indians 
 were sent over to the battle field to keep the eagles and 
 wolves from eating the Indians that had been killed. 
 The War Chief had been shot in the arm and in the leg, 
 but was not very badly hurt. He had gone before I got 
 up that morning and had taken with him all of the war 
 riors that were able to go. 
 
 That night a little after dark all of our Indians re 
 turned. Washakie said that the Crows had gone into 
 the thick timber from which he could not get them out, 
 but that there were not many of them left anyhow. 
 Our men brought in a very large band of Crows' horses 
 and saddles and when they were unpacked I never before 
 saw such a pile of buffalo robes, blankets, bows and 
 
The Fierce Battle 95 
 
 arrows, and guns. The next morning we all started out 
 for the battle ground to bury our dead and oh, what a 
 sight! There were Indians scattered everywhere all 
 over the battle field. The squaws and papooses wailed 
 pitifully when they saw their dead Indians lying around. 
 Wives were hunting for their husbands; mothers were 
 looking for their sons. 
 
 I went about picking up arrows. I had gathered quite 
 a few when mother saw me with them. 
 
 "Throw them down quick," she said, "the old Indians 
 will come around and gather them. Don't touch any 
 thing." 
 
 "What do they want with them?" I asked. 
 
 "They will keep them for another fight," was her 
 answer. 
 
 The squaws scalped every Crow they could find. 
 
 "Why don't you scalp our Indians and send their 
 scalps to the Crows ? " I asked her. 
 
 "Go away," she said, "you don't know what you are 
 talking about." 
 
 Our Indians carried our dead to a deep washout in the 
 side of the hill, put them in and covered them with dirt 
 and rocks. The dead Crows were left to the wolves and 
 the buzzards. 
 
 That night when I got back to camp I was very tired 
 and hungry, and I had seen so many Indians scalped that 
 I felt sick and wished from the bottom of my heart that 
 I was home with my kindred. 
 
 About two hundred and fifty horses were captured 
 from the Crows. Thirty-one Indians on our side had 
 been killed and about one hundred wounded. Eighteen 
 of these afterwards died from their wounds, making 
 forty-nine in all we lost in that terrible fight. The Crows 
 had suffered far worse than we did. The men sent out 
 
96 The White Indian Boy 
 
 by Washakie to count the killed came back and reported 
 that they had found one hundred and three dead Crows. 
 Washakie thought this number would be increased greatly 
 by those that died from their wounds. 
 
 I began to change my mind about our Indians being 
 cowards after seeing that fight. I have seen other fights 
 between the whites and the Indians, but I never have 
 seen greater bravery displayed than was shown by our 
 Indians in this fierce battle with the Crows. 
 
 We had to stay in this place about three weeks to give 
 our wounded warriors a chance to get well. When we 
 could move them, it was too late to go the rounds that 
 Washakie had planned, so we began to get ready for 
 winter. Our camp was moved over on the Angatipa 
 (Rock Creek), and the hunters began to kill buffaloes 
 while the squaws dried the meat. There were a good 
 many widows and orphans now to take care of. The 
 worst of it was the man who was best at cutting the ham 
 strings had been killed in battle, so we could not get 
 on so fast with our hunting. However, we soon got all 
 of the buffaloes that we wanted and the squaws began to 
 make the hides into robes. 
 
 Poor old mother and Hanabi worked very hard to get 
 ours ready for the journey to Salt Lake. Washakie had 
 a good many robes. Besides those he had got from 
 hunting, he had bought a lot from other Indians, and he 
 had his chief's share of those captured from the Crows. 
 We had six packs of dried meat and our camp outfit 
 made three more. Altogether it made so heavy a load 
 that we could not travel very fast. 
 
 When we got over the divide Washakie said that mother 
 and I had better stay there with some of the others to 
 take care of the extra horses. I did not like to do this, 
 for I wanted to go to Salt Lake this time; but I would 
 
The Fierce Battle 
 
 97 
 
 do anything that Washakie advised. He told us that 
 we could come on slowly after them. 
 
 When they started for Salt Lake, they took with them 
 about thirty head of the Crows' horses to swap for any 
 thing they could get for them. After they were gone, 
 there were one hundred of us left behind, mostly squaws 
 and papooses and old and wounded Indians to take care 
 of, besides six hundred head of horses. 
 
 Bur. Am. Ethnology, Smithsonian Institution 
 Chief Washakie (center) and two of his Shoshone braves (Wyoming). 
 
r. N. w i i. 9 o M - 
 
 " He said that it ... would have to be cut off." 
 
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 
 
 LIVELY TIMES 
 
 AFTER the trading party had been gone two days, the rest 
 of our band moved down the creek to where it sank in 
 the sand hills. Here three of the wounded Indians got 
 so bad that we had to stop for some time ; but we had 
 the finest of grass for our horses, and the sage hens were 
 as thick as could be. 
 
 One day I was out shooting chickens. I had killed 
 four with arrows and was coming home, when, as I was 
 passing a tepee, a dog jumped out and got me by the 
 leg. He tore off quite a piece of my flesh and I shot him 
 through with an arrow, leaving the feathers on one side 
 of him and the spike sticking out of the other. As I was 
 trying to catch the dog to get my arrow back, the old 
 squaw that owned him ran up with a rope. She threw 
 it over my head and jerked me along to her tepee. 
 And there she held me while her girl tied my feet and 
 hands. Then the angry old squaw grabbed a butcher 
 knife and was going to cut my head off. 
 
 A sick Indian, who happened to be lying near by, 
 
 98 
 
Lively Times 99 
 
 jumped up and held the squaw while a little boy ran 
 and told mother. Mother came in double quick time. 
 She grabbed the knife from the squaw, cut the strap 
 that she had tied me with, took me by the arm, and made 
 me hike for my tepee. When she saw how the dog had 
 bitten me, oh, she was mad. She went back to the squaw, 
 with me following her, and said: "If you don't kill that 
 dog before sundown, I will kill you. Look here, see this 
 poor boy with his leg nearly bitten off." 
 
 The old Indians that had gathered around stopped 
 the fracas, or I guess there would have been another 
 camp fight. 
 
 Mother went for the medicine man. When he came 
 he said that it was a very bad bite, and that we must be 
 very careful or blood poison would set in. He said that 
 the dog would have to be killed. I told him that I thought 
 the dog would die if they let him alone. 
 
 "But he must be killed before he dies," said the medi 
 cine man. 
 
 This made me laugh. 
 
 The cut in my leg was "V" shaped, and the piece of 
 flesh hung only by the skin. 
 
 "Ouch !" I cried, when he tried to put it back in place. 
 
 "What did you say?" he asked. 
 
 "Ouch!" 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "Oh," he said, going on with his work of patching up 
 my leg. He put the piece back where it belonged and 
 tied it there with a piece of something ; then he got some 
 weeds, mashed them up and made a poultice and put it 
 on the wound. 
 
 After this he went to have the dog killed. I told him 
 to hurry up or the dog would be dead before he got there. 
 
100 The White Indian Boy 
 
 When the medicine man told any one to do anything, 
 he had to do it. He sent a big boy to kill the dog, but 
 when the boy got to the tepee, the old squaw and her 
 girl pitched on to him and beat the poor fellow nearly to 
 death. Then the medicine man sent two big Indians 
 to see what they could do. When they reached the place, 
 I could hear very loud talking, so I got up and went to 
 the door to see the fun. One Indian had hold of the old 
 squaw; the other had the girl and they were shaking 
 them to beat time. I was glad of it. They deserved a 
 good shaking. 
 
 Well, they killed the dog before he died, anyway. 
 
 When the camp had quieted down again, the medicine 
 man came and changed the poultice on my leg. It had 
 swollen very badly by this time. He told mother to 
 boil sage leaves and with the tea to bathe my leg very 
 often. I could hear mother crying while she was out 
 gathering the sage, and when she came in I asked her 
 what she was crying about. She said she was afraid 
 that I should be lame all my life from the hurt. I told 
 her that I should be well in a week, that a little thing like 
 that would not make me lame very long; but my leg 
 pained me so that I did not get much sleep that night. 
 
 The next morning the squaw and her girl and their 
 tepee were gone, but the sick Indian was left lying there 
 alone in his bed. I told mother to let him come into our 
 tepee and stay until his squaw got back. She had 
 gone with Washakie to sell her robes and skins, and had 
 left her sister-in-law to take care of her wounded hus 
 band until she returned. Mother objected to taking 
 care of him, but when I told her he had saved my life by 
 keeping that old squaw from cutting my head off, she 
 consented and asked him to come over to our tepee. 
 
 The poor old fellow was very sick and so weak he could 
 
Lively Times 101 
 
 hardly walk. He had been shot three times with arrows 
 in the arm, in the leg, and in his side. The wound in 
 his side was so bad that the medicine man had to take 
 out part of his two ribs. It kept the medicine man busy 
 tending to me and all of the wounded Indians. 
 
 Mother bathed my sore leg three times a day with 
 sage tea; the swelling all went away, and I was getting 
 along fine. In about a week I had mother get me some 
 sticks and I made some crutches ; then I could get around 
 out of doors. When the other lame Indians saw how 
 well I could move about, they had me make them crutches 
 also, so that they could move about. 
 
 After staying here nearly two weeks, we had to move, 
 for the wood was getting scarce close to camp. I hobbled 
 around and helped mother pack up ; then we went over 
 through the sand hills and came to a good-sized stream 
 which they called Tonobipa. The stream ran south 
 through the sand hills and lava beds, and farther down it 
 sank out of sight into the ground. 
 
 The sick Indians had a hard time while we were on 
 the move, but I stood the trip very well. After staying 
 in our new camp for four days, we packed up again and 
 started for the place where we were to meet Washakie. 
 That was five days' travel away. We could not travel 
 very fast on account of the sick Indians and we could 
 not get a very early start because of having so many 
 horses to pack, so it seemed a very long journey. 
 
 One day we had to make a twenty-five-mile ride to 
 reach water. That day was too hard on our sick. We 
 were obliged to leave two of them in the sand hills, while 
 we pushed on to the Piupa. One old Indian carried water 
 back to them. It was way after dark when we got to 
 the river. Oh, how tired I was, and how my leg did hurt 
 before that day's travel was over. I was glad to get a 
 
102 The White Indian Boy 
 
 good drink of water and to lie down to rest. My leg 
 hurt so much that mother would not let me do a thing. 
 She unpacked all the horses and put up the tepee 
 alone. 
 
 The medicine man came to take care of my leg. When 
 he unwrapped it to put on another poultice, he found 
 that it had turned black. He said that it had begun to 
 mortify and would have to be cut off. Then mother 
 began to cry so hard that the whole camp heard her, and 
 several Indians came up to see what was the matter. 
 She told them that her poor boy must lose his leg. 
 
 "Not by a blame sight!" Isaid. Then I told the old 
 medicine man to pike away to his tepee and not to 
 come back any more. Mother cried harder and begged 
 him not to go. She said that I was out of my head and 
 did not know what I was saying. 
 
 "Yes, he does," said the old rascal, "and I do not care 
 if the little white devil does die." 
 
 "I know you don't," I replied ; "if you did, you would 
 not want to cut my leg off. I know very well what I am 
 saying," I told him; "now you get, and mighty quick, 
 too, or when Washakie comes I'll have him cut both your 
 legs off." 
 
 Away he went as mad as fire. When he had gone 
 mother said, "Now you have run the medicine man off, 
 you will die." 
 
 "Not half so quick as I would if he kept putting his 
 poisoned poultices on my leg," I said. "I should have 
 been well long ago if he had left me alone. He has been 
 trying to kill me ever since he began to doctor me. I am 
 not going to let him do anything for me any more." 
 
 Mother gathered more sage and bathed my leg. The 
 poor old woman worked with me nearly all night, and the 
 next morning my leg was better, but I could not move it 
 
 
Lively Times 
 
 103 
 
 American Museum of Natural History 
 
 The sage hen or sage grouse, a beautiful Western bird that should be 
 
 saved. 
 
 without a great deal of pain. Mother said that we should 
 not leave that place until I got well even if it took all 
 winter. The next morning, when mother got up she 
 said she dreamed that Washakie came and killed a sage 
 hen and put the entrails on my leg and it cured it right 
 away. I told her to keep right on with sage tea, and I 
 thought it would be all right soon. 
 
 After we had been here a few days, some of the Indians 
 wanted to go on to the place where we were to meet 
 Washakie; but mother said she would not move until 
 I got better, so five tepees stayed with us and the rest 
 went on. Washakie and his party were at the rendezvous 
 waiting for them. When they told him how I was, he 
 started out, and in two days he reached our camp. 
 
 The chief was very angry when he saw my leg and was 
 
104 The White Indian Boy 
 
 told how I had been treated. It was bad enough, he 
 said, to be bitten by a dog without having the squaw 
 threaten to kill me. He said that she would have to 
 leave the tribe. When I told him how the old medicine 
 man had acted, he was angrier still. 
 
 The chief had left his things in bad shape ; he wanted 
 to go back as soon as I could be moved. I told him I 
 thought I could travel, so the next morning we packed 
 up for the start ; but as I went to get on my horse it hurt 
 my leg so much that I began to cry. 
 
 "Hold on," said Washakie, "I will fix things so you can 
 ride better." Then he and some more Indians tied some 
 tepee poles on each side of two horses and wove some 
 rope between the poles, making a kind of litter. Several 
 buffalo robes were thrown on the rope net and this made 
 a fine bed. Mother led the front horse and away we went 
 in first-class style. After we got going, Washakie came 
 up and asked me whether they were traveling too fast. 
 
 "No," I said, "you can run if you want to." 
 
 He laughed and said that I was all right. 
 
 That day mother got some boys to shoot some sage 
 hens for her. They killed three and when we camped 
 she put the entrails on my sore leg. I slept well that 
 night. It was the first good sleep I had had for more 
 than a week. As we traveled along, mother took good 
 care of my leg in this way and by the time we got to the 
 main camp I could walk again on my crutches. 
 
 The next morning after we arrived here, Washakie 
 told the War Chief to send down the river for the best 
 medicine man in the tribe. I told Washakie that I would 
 not let any more of his medicine men fool with my leg. 
 He said that he only wanted him to see it. That day the 
 good medicine man came, and when he saw my leg, he 
 shook his head and said that it was a wonder I was alive, for 
 
Lively Times 105 
 
 the old medicine man had been putting poison weeds on it, 
 and if he had kept it up two days longer I would have 
 been dead. 
 
 Washakie sent for the old medicine man. When he 
 came the chief asked him, "What have you been doing 
 with this boy?" 
 
 He said that he had been doing ah 1 he could for me. 
 
 "I don't want any more of your lies," said Washakie. 
 "If this boy had died, I would have had you tied to the 
 tail of a wild horse and let him kick and drag you to death. 
 Now, go, and don't let me see you any more, for you are 
 hated by every Indian, squaw, and papoose in this camp." 
 
 We stayed in this place till my leg got nearly well, 
 then we moved on down the river to stop for the winter. 
 Here the fishing was good, and the white-tailed deer, 
 ducks, and rabbits were very plentiful. 
 
" I used to like to watch him make arrows." 
 
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN 
 
 OLD MOROGONAI 
 
 DURING the time that I was disabled and had to stay in the 
 tepee, my old friend, Morogonai, would come and talk 
 to me for hours. He told me all about the first white men 
 he ever saw. It was Lewis and Clark. When they made 
 their trip across the continent, this old Indian had sold 
 them some horses, and had traveled with them for about 
 ten days, catching fish and trading them to the whites 
 for shirts and other articles. 
 
 Old Morogonai was respected by all the tribe. He 
 had once been a chief among the Shoshones, but now 
 that he was too old to lead the Indians, he became an 
 arrow-maker for them. 
 
 I used to like to watch him make arrows. It takes 
 skill to make a good one. Our Indians generally used the 
 limbs of service-berry bushes for this purpose. They 
 would cut a great many of these and leave them for a 
 year to dry thoroughly. Old Morogonai would take a 
 bundle of these seasoned limbs and draw each one through 
 a hole in an antelope horn to make it perfectly straight. 
 
 106 
 
Old Morogonai 107 
 
 Then he would crease each shaft, and after this he would 
 feather them and put on the steel spikes. In earlier times 
 they used flint heads, which they had chipped into shape. 
 If the arrow was for long-distance shooting, the feathers 
 were made heavier than the spike ; if for short distances, 
 the spike was made heavier so that it would bring the 
 arrow down more quickly. 
 
 The bows were sometimes made of mountain sheep 
 horns, which were thrown into some hot spring and left 
 there until they were pliable. Then they were shaped, 
 and a strip of sinew was stuck on the back with some 
 kind of balsam gum that was about as good as glue. This 
 made a powerful bow. Not many Indians had this kind ; 
 most of our Indians used bows made from white cedar 
 strung with sinew along the back. 
 
 For other weapons, the Indians had spears made of 
 small pine-tree shafts about twelve feet long and a steel 
 spike about four inches in length. When they were not 
 using their spears, they would take the spike off the shaft, 
 sharpen it, and keep it in a little buckskin scabbard. They 
 traded with the whites for knives and tomahawks and 
 guns. 
 
 Old Morogonai told me many things about his experi 
 ences with the white man. He was not unfriendly 
 towards them, but he felt that they had often mistreated 
 the Indians, and caused a good deal of unnecessary suffer 
 ing and trouble for both the red men and the whites. 
 
 "At one time," he said, "an emigrant train, on its way 
 to Oregon, camped at Humboldt Springs. Some of 
 Pocatello's Indians went to the camp to swap buckskins 
 for flour. The white men took three of their squaws and 
 drove the rest of the Indians away. That made the 
 Indians mad. They gathered a large band of Indians, 
 followed the train, and killed every one of the white men 
 
108 The White Indian Boy 
 
 in it. Then they took all their stock and clothing and 
 food and weapons, and afterwards set fire to the wagons." 
 
 "At another time," he said, "some mail carriers drove 
 a band of fine big horses up to my camp of Indians and 
 asked me to take care of the animals for them for two 
 moons, then they would come and give us fifteen red 
 blankets. They had stolen the horses from an emigrant 
 train. We did not know this, however, so we agreed to 
 take care of the animals for them. 
 
 "In a few days the emigrants found the tracks of 
 their horses around our camp and thinking we had, stolen 
 them, they began to shoot before they gave my Indians 
 a chance to explain. After shooting seven of my braves, 
 they rode off, driving with them not only their own horses 
 but some of ours. 
 
 " I was away at the time with most of my men. When 
 I returned, I found my oldest boy and five other Indians 
 dead and another dying. I gathered what was left of 
 my band and that night we set out in hot pursuit of the 
 whites; but it was eight days before I got a chance to 
 get even. There were a good many men in the camp and 
 they kept a strong guard at night. On the eighth night 
 it grew very stormy, we skipped in through the darkness, 
 stampeded their horses, and got away with twenty-two 
 of them. The whites followed us, and they would have 
 overtaken us, if we had not run into a large camp of Poca- 
 tello's Indians. We did not stop, but kept right on going. 
 
 "When the emigrants came up to Pocatello's band, 
 they pitched into these Indians without waiting for 
 explanations. A big fight followed and men were killed 
 on both sides, but the Indians finally got the worst of it. 
 The best of it was that we got away with the horses. 
 
 "After we got back to the main tribe, Washakie hap 
 pened to hear about the trouble and he sent for me. I 
 
Old Morogonai 
 
 109 
 
 Dr. T. M. BrUges 
 
 " Old Ocean " (at right), one of the Lewis and Clark Shoshone guides. 
 This picture was taken about 1885, when the noted Indian guide was 
 more than one hundred years old. 
 
 told him the full story. He said that he did not blame 
 me; but it was a bad scrape and he did not want any 
 trouble with the whites. 
 
 "He advised me to keep away from the road where the 
 white men travel, and have nothing to do with them; 
 'for,' said he, 'they have crooked tongues ; no one can be 
 lieve what they have to say.' " 
 
 "We did not know," said the old arrow-maker, "what 
 whooping cough, measles, and smallpox were until the 
 whites brought these diseases among us. A train of emi- 
 
110 
 
 The White Indian Boy 
 
 grants once camped near us ; some of their white papooses 
 had the whooping cough; our papooses caught it from 
 them. Our medicine man tried to cure it as he would a 
 bad cold, and more than half of our papooses died from 
 the disease and the treatment. Hundreds of our people 
 have been killed with the smallpox brought to us by the 
 white man. 
 
 "The white men keep crowding the Indians that are 
 east of here out west, and they keep crowding us farther 
 west. Very soon they will have us away out in Nevada 
 where there is nothing but lizards and snakes and horned 
 toads to live on. If they crowd us farther than that, we 
 shall have to jump off into the Great Water." 
 
 When Old Morogonai was telling me these and other 
 tales about the cruel wrongs the Indians have suffered 
 from the whites, I was not prepared to sympathize with 
 him as I can now. But I have seen so much since on both 
 sides that I am sure he told me the truth. Most of the 
 
 Bur. Am. Ethnology, Smithsonian Institution 
 Family of Bannock Indians of Pocatello's tribe, about I860- 
 
Old Morogonai 
 
 111 
 
 Shoshone and Bannock Indian relics collected by Dr. T. M. Bridges. 
 
 trouble between the whites and the Indians has been 
 caused by the white men, who had not white hearts; 
 they did not treat the Indian fairly. 
 
 I know that the Indians were a treacherous and revenge 
 ful people. They always demanded a life to pay for a 
 life, and they would often do bloodthirsty things. But 
 the whites were mostly to blame. If they had been fair 
 with the Indians, and treated them kindly, instead of 
 taking mean advantages of them, the Indians would have 
 been kind and friendly. I cannot blame the Indians as 
 much as some do. They were good friends to me, and most 
 of them have peaceful hearts. 
 
" The War Chief asked me some more questions." 
 
 CHAPTER FIFTEEN 
 
 THE BIG COUNCIL 
 
 OUR winter camp was a very beautiful place with plenty 
 of game and an abundance of good dry wood. We had 
 nearly everything that was needed to make us happy. 
 My leg and all of the sick Indians got well, and we were get 
 ting along finely when one day some of Pocatello's Indians 
 came to our camp. 
 
 That night Washakie called a council of the tribe to 
 meet in the War Chief's tepee. I thought this strange, 
 for he had always held his councils in our tepee. The 
 next morning they held another council, so I thought I 
 would go over and see what it was all about. But when 
 I got to the door of the council tepee, I met an Indian 
 who told me to run back, that they did not want me in 
 there. This puzzled me, for I had never before been 
 sent away from the councils. 
 
 When I got back to our tepee, mother and Hanabi 
 were both crying. I knew then that something serious 
 was up, but they would not tell me a word about it. 
 
 112 
 
The Big Council 113 
 
 I thought that Pocatello's Indians wanted Washakie to 
 help them in some bloody affair with the whites. 
 
 Things went on in this way for four days. The Indians 
 kept on holding councils, but I could not learn what was 
 the cause. I saw other squaws come to our tepee, but 
 when I came near them, they would stop talking. This 
 made me think that the trouble had something to do with 
 me, and I worried a good deal about it. 
 
 On the fifth morning Washakie sent for me. I went 
 and found about fifteen Indians at the council. The War 
 Chief first asked me how old I was. 
 
 "About fourteen years," I answered. 
 
 " How old were you when you left home ? " he went on. 
 
 "Nearly twelve." 
 
 "Were you stolen away or did you come to us of your 
 own accord?" was his next question. 
 
 I told him that I ran away ; nobody forced me to come ; 
 but two Indians coaxed me and gave me my pinto pony. 
 
 He then told me that I might go. When I got back to 
 our tepee mother and Hanabi wanted to know what 
 had happened, and I told them. 
 
 That night the council was continued in Washakie's 
 tepee. The War Chief asked me some more questions. 
 He wanted to know how the Indians treated me, and why 
 I ran away from home. 
 
 I told him that I had been treated just as well by the 
 Indians as I had ever been treated by the whites, and that 
 I ran away because I was tired of herding sheep alone. 
 Besides, I wanted the pinto pony and the only way I could 
 get him was to go with the Indians, so I went. 
 
 "Have the Indians kept their promises with you?" 
 the War Chief asked. 
 
 "They have done everything they said they would 
 do," I told him ; "I haven't any fault to find with them." 
 
114 
 
 The White Indian Boy 
 
The Big Council 115 
 
 Washakie then said that he had told the Indians they 
 might offer me the pony if I would come ; but they were 
 not to force me away from home. "So when he came," 
 the chief continued, "we gave the squaw who owned the 
 pinto four colts for him. I gave her a yearling, mother 
 gave two others, and Morogonai gave one. We never 
 told the boy that he could have the pony; but we all 
 understood that it belonged to him. Afterwards I gave 
 him another horse for breaking some colts for me." 
 
 The War Chief asked me whether I would rather live 
 with the white people or the Indians. I told him I would 
 sooner live with the Indians. With that the council 
 broke up and the Indians went to their various tepees. 
 
 "What does all this mean?" I asked Washakie. 
 
 "You will know in the morning," he replied. 
 
 "If they intend to take my pony away," I said, "I will 
 skip out in the night." 
 
 "They are not going to do that," said my mother; 
 "whenever you go, that horse goes with you." 
 
 We all went to bed that night wondering what would 
 happen next day. It was a long night for me, for I did 
 not sleep much. 
 
 Morning came at last, and after breakfast the War 
 Chief with several other Indians came to our tepee. 
 With them were the Pocatello Indians. When they were 
 all inside the tepee, Washakie told me that these In 
 dians had been down to the place where my people lived ; 
 that my father said I had been stolen by the Indians; 
 that he was raising a big army to come and get me ; and 
 that he was going to kill every Indian he could find. 
 Washakie asked me what I thought about it. I told him 
 that it was not so. 
 
 "In the first place," I said, "my people do not want to 
 fight the Indians ; and besides, if my father had been com- 
 
116 The White Indian Boy 
 
 ing after me he would have come long before this. I 
 don't believe one word of it." 
 
 Washakie was of the same opinion as I was. 
 
 Then one of Pocatello's Indians said he had just come 
 from Salt Lake City and many people there had asked 
 him whether he knew anything about the boy that had 
 been stolen from the whites. He said that all through the 
 white men's towns they were getting ready to fight, and 
 he knew that they were coming to get me. 
 
 "I know they are not," I said, "for I have heard my 
 father say many times that if any of his boys ran away he 
 should never come home again ; besides, my father has 
 an old Gosiute Indian living with him who knows all 
 about my running away." 
 
 Washakie said that it did not look reasonable to him that 
 they would wait so long and then come to hunt the 
 boy, especially at that time of the year. 
 
 This made the Pocatello Indians angry. "All right," 
 they said; "believe that white boy if you would rather 
 than believe us ; but if you get into a fight with the white 
 men, you need not ask us to help you." 
 
 Washakie said that he was not going to have any 
 trouble with the whites if he could avoid it. 
 
 "No," they said, "you are too big a coward to fight 
 anything"; and off they strutted as mad as hornets. 
 As they went out they said to one of our Indians that 
 they would like to get that little white devil out in the 
 brush and they would soon have another white, curly- 
 headed scalp to dance around. 
 
 When the council met again that night, they did not 
 have much to say ; they all appeared to be in a deep study. 
 After a little while Washakie said he thought it would be 
 a good thing to send some of our Indians to the white 
 settlements to find out what was going on. 
 
The Big Council 117 
 
 "That is the best thing to do," said old Morogonai; 
 "but who will go?" 
 
 "It will not be hard to get men enough to go," said 
 Washakie. 
 
 The War Chief said it would be better for the white 
 boy to go himself and end all the trouble ; for if his folks 
 were coming after him, that would stop them and settle 
 the dispute. Nearly all of the council agreed with the 
 War Chief. 
 
 Washakie asked me what I thought about it. I told 
 him that I did not know the way home and I would not go. 
 
 "If the council decides that it is the wisest plan for you 
 to go," said the chief, "we will find a way for you to get 
 home safe." He then asked each member of the council 
 what he thought about it, and all were of the opinion that 
 it was the best thing to do. 
 
 Mother talked and cried a great deal. I do not remem 
 ber all she said, but I know that she begged them to send 
 some one else. Washakie was silent for a long time, then 
 he said that I had better go ; that he would send two of 
 his men with me to the nearest white town and then I could 
 get home myself. 
 
 "I want you to go home," he said, "and when you get 
 there, tell the truth. Tell your father that you came to 
 us of your own accord ; and then if you want to come 
 back, we shall be glad to have you come and live with us 
 always." 
 
 "All right," I said, "I will go home if you want me to, 
 but I will not stay there." 
 
 How mother did take on ! It seemed as if it would 
 break her poor old heart, and Hanabi took it very hard, 
 too. I told them not to feel bad, for I would soon come 
 back. 
 
 In a few days, I was to leave, so we began to get ready 
 
118 The White Indian Boy 
 
 for the journey. Hanabi and some other squaws set to 
 work to make my clothes, and they soon had enough to 
 dress me in first-class Indian style. The Indians gave me 
 so many buffalo robes and buckskins that one horse could 
 not carry them ; so Washakie said that I might have one 
 of the horses they had captured from the Crows. 
 
 When the two Indians that were to go with me said 
 they were ready, we packed up. I had in my pack seven 
 buffalo robes, fifteen large buckskins, and ten pairs of very 
 fine moccasins. It was a bulky load, but not very heavy. 
 Just as I was leaving, the little boys gave me so many 
 arrows that I could not get them all in my quiver. * 
 

 " She knew me the moment she saw me." 
 
 CHAPTER SIXTEEN 
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND 
 
 WHEN we started to leave the village, how my mother 
 did cry ! I tried to comfort her by telling her not to feel 
 bad, for I should soon be back. Little did I think it would 
 be the last time I should see her, for I fully intended to 
 return that fall. 
 
 We took plenty of dried meat with us to last us through 
 the trip, and away we went. On the fourth day, at noon, 
 we came to a place on the Bear River about twenty miles 
 north of Brigham City, Utah. We stayed there the rest 
 of the day to give our horses a little rest. The two Indians 
 said that they would go no farther, for I could find the 
 way from there very well. 
 
 The next morning they helped me pack my horses and 
 put me on the right trail, telling me not to ride too fast, 
 for I could get to the white settlement long before night. 
 
 As I left them I said, "You may look for me back in 
 a few days." 
 
 "Don't try to come back this fall," they said, "for it 
 is getting too late to cross the mountains, and we may 
 
 119 
 
120 The White Indian Boy 
 
 have a big snow at any time now. It will take you six 
 days to get home from here, and that will make it too late 
 for you to return. You had better stay home this winter. 
 The Indians will be there next summer. You can come 
 back with them." 
 
 About noon I came to some warm springs. I thought 
 it would be a good idea to wash my face and hands as I 
 had not done it very often for the past two years. I saw 
 that I had plenty of time, for the sun was high, so I un 
 packed and staked my horses and went to work to give 
 myself a good scrubbing. I ran my fingers through my 
 hair to get the snarls out, but after all my fussing I could 
 not see that I looked much better. 
 
 My hands were like an Indian's and my costume was in 
 the latest Indian fashion. My leggings were trimmed with 
 new red flannel, my shirt was of antelope skins, and my 
 frock of heavy buckskin, smoked to a nice reddish hue, 
 with beads of all colors in wide stripes down the breast 
 and on the shoulders, and fringes all around the bottom 
 that reached nearly to my knees. My cap was made of 
 rawhide, with notches all around the top, and looked like 
 a crosscut saw turned upside down. It came to a peak 
 in front, and mother had put a crown in it with muskrat 
 skin. 
 
 After I had scrubbed off all the dirt I could, I packed up 
 and started again. I could see the little town long before 
 I came to it. At the first house I reached a man had just 
 driven up with a load of hay. When I asked him where I 
 could find a place to camp, he told me to stay at his place 
 if I wanted to, that he had plenty of hay, and I was wel 
 come, so I took him at his word. Unpacking my horses 
 I tied them under the shed and fed them. By that time 
 the man came out and said that supper was ready. I told 
 him that I had plenty to eat and would rather not go in. 
 
Homeward Bound 
 
 "Come and eat with me," he insisted, and taking me 
 by the hand, he led me into the house. 
 
 The women and children stared at me so hard that I 
 felt uncomfortable. The children would look at me, then 
 turn to one another and laugh. 
 
 "I suppose you would like to wash before you eat," 
 said the lady. She gave me some water and soap. It 
 was the first soap I had seen for two years. After I had 
 washed, she told me to sit down at the table. 
 
 " Don't you take off your hat when you eat ? " the man 
 asked. 
 
 "No," I said. 
 
 "Will you please take it off here?" 
 
 I pulled it off. 
 
 They had bread and butter and potatoes and gravy and 
 milk the first I had seen since I left home. But I was 
 mighty glad when I got away from that table. 
 
 I went out and watered my horses and gave them some 
 more hay. By this time it was darkj so I made my bed 
 and turned in. Just as I was getting into bed, I saw this 
 man go down town and pretty soon he came back with 
 three more men. I saw them go into the house. Shortly 
 afterwards he came out and said that the bishop was in the 
 house and would like to have a talk with me. I told him 
 that I did not want to talk ; but he kept at me until I got 
 up and went into the house. 
 
 The bishop said his name was Nichols, or something 
 like that; then he added, "I see by your dress that you 
 have been with the Indians." 
 
 I told him that I had lived with them for a year or two. 
 
 He said that he had read in the papers about a little boy 
 running away with the Indians, and he thought I might 
 be that boy. 
 
 "Maybe I am," I said. 
 
The White Indian Boy 
 
 "To what tribe do you belong?" 
 
 "Washakie's tribe." 
 
 "I have heard," he said, "that Washakie is a chief 
 among the Shoshones and that his tribe is friendly to the 
 white people. What do you know about them?" 
 
 "Washakie's band," I replied, "are good Indians. I 
 have heard the chief say many times that he was a friend 
 to the people of Utah, that he had seen their big chief, 
 who was a very good 'tibo.'" 
 
 " What is that ? ' ' he asked. 
 
 "Oh, I forgot I was talking to white men," I said; 
 "'tibo' means friend." 
 
 I told them that he had no need to fear Washakie's 
 tribe, but that old Pocatello had drawn away some of 
 Washakie's Indians, and that they were bad Indians, who 
 were doing everything against the whites they could. 
 Washakie had told me they were killing the emigrants and 
 stealing their horses and burning their wagons. 
 
 Well, this bishop talked and talked, and asked me ten 
 thousand questions, it seemed to me. Finally the woman 
 took pity on me and said, "Do let the poor boy rest." 
 
 I told them I had always been in bed by dark and that 
 I felt pretty tired. 
 
 "Well," said the bishop, "you may go to bed now, and 
 I will see you in the morning. You had better come down 
 to my house and stay all day. I should like very much 
 to have Brother Snow talk with you." 
 
 I didn't say anything, but I thought that neither Snow 
 nor rain would catch me in that place another day, so I 
 was up by the peep of day and away I went. I traveled 
 seven or eight miles and stopped by some hot springs, 
 unpacked my horses, and got me something to eat. I 
 thought that I would not stop in any more houses where 
 bishops could get hold of me and talk me to death. 
 
Homeward Bound 123 
 
 After my horses had fed, I started on my way again, 
 and after traveling about ten miles more, I came to a 
 place called Ogden. As I was going along the main street, 
 a man standing by a store stopped me and began talking 
 Indian to me. He asked me where I had been. I told 
 him. While we were talking, several more men came up 
 and one of them asked me where I was going to camp 
 that night. I told him that I did not know, but that I 
 would go on down the road a piece until I found grass and 
 water. He asked me to put my horses in his corral and 
 give them all the hay they could eat. 
 
 "No," I said, "I would rather go on." 
 
 "No," he said, "you must stop here tonight." With 
 that he took the rope out of my hands and let my horses 
 into his corral. I followed him, and when I had unpacked 
 I asked him if he was a bishop. He said he was. I told 
 him I thought so. 
 
 "Why?" he asked. 
 
 "Because you talk so much." 
 
 He laughed and said that I must not mind that, for 
 they seldom saw a person like me, and they wanted to 
 find out all they could about the Indians. 
 
 After a while he invited me in to supper. I did not want 
 to go, but he would have his way, so I went in with him. 
 I think he said his name was West. 
 
 This Bishop West, if that was his name, asked me a good 
 many questions, but he said he would not weary me by 
 talking too long. I was in bed soon after dark that night. 
 I intended to get off early the next morning, and give them 
 the slip as before ; but just as I was packing up, the bishop 
 came out and said, "Hold on there, you are not going 
 before breakfast." 
 
 I told him that I had plenty to eat with me ; but he 
 insisted that I take breakfast with him, and I had to stay. 
 
124 
 
 The White Indian Boy 
 
Homeward Bound 125 
 
 He asked me a great many more questions, but he was 
 very nice about it. I felt glad to talk with him, for he was 
 so kind and good to me. 
 
 He said that I would be a very useful man, if I was 
 treated right. He asked me whether I had been to school 
 much, and he was very much surprised when I told him 
 that I had never attended school a day in my life. He 
 said that I must go to school, and if I lived near him he 
 would see that I did go. As I started away he asked me 
 to go and see Governor Young when I got to Salt Lake ; 
 but I thought I did not want to do it. I was a young boy 
 then and did not realize the importance of his request. 
 
 That day I reached a place called Farmington. Just 
 as I was nearing town, I saw some boys driving cows. 
 
 "Where can I camp tonight?" I asked them. 
 
 "Up on the mountain if you want to," said one of 
 them. 
 
 "You think you are pretty smart," I said. 
 
 "Just as smart as you, Mr. Injun," he replied; "if 
 you don't believe it, just get off that buzzard head of a 
 horse and I'll show you." 
 
 I jumped off and he ran. I got on my horse and started 
 after them, but they scrambled through the fence and 
 ran away through the fields. I went on through the town, 
 and after getting permission from the owner, camped in 
 his field, and I was not bothered with any questions that 
 night. 
 
 The next morning I was off pretty early and reached 
 Salt Lake City. I did not stay there, however, but went 
 on through and stopped at the Jordan River bridge for 
 noon. This was a familiar road to me now, for I had been 
 in the city several times before. That afternoon I jour 
 neyed on to what we called Black Rock and camped that 
 night at the southern end of Great Salt Lake. I was now 
 
126 The White Indian Boy 
 
 within a short day's ride of home. I could hardly stay 
 there till morning, I was so anxious now to get home. 
 
 Just as I was making camp, a team drove up with three 
 people in the wagon. I knew them. They were John 
 Zundel, his sister Julia, and Jane Branden, our nearest 
 neighbors, but they did not know me at first. 
 
 I had a fire and was broiling a rabbit I had killed, when 
 Julia came up and tried to get a good look at me, but I 
 kept my face turned from her as much as I could. Finally 
 she got a glimpse of my face and went to the wagon. I 
 heard her say to Jane, 
 
 "That is the whitest Indian I ever saw, and he has blue 
 eyes." 
 
 "I'll bet a dollar it is Nick Wilson," said Jane. 
 
 They came over where I was and Jane said, "Look up 
 here, young man, and let us see you." 
 
 I let them take a look at me. 
 
 "I knew it was you, you little scamp!" she said, tak 
 ing hold of me and shaking me and patting me on the 
 back. 
 
 "I've a good notion to flog you," she went on. "Your 
 poor mother has worried herself nearly to death about 
 you." 
 
 Morning came at last, and I packed up in a hurry to get 
 home. I did not stop this time until I reached it. 
 
 As I rode up, two of my little sisters, who were playing 
 by the side of the house, ran in and told mother that an 
 Indian was out there. She came to the door, and she 
 knew me the moment she saw me. I cannot tell you just 
 what passed the next hour, but they were all happy to 
 have me back safe at home again. 
 
 I had forgotten all about my horses in the joy of the 
 meeting. When I finally went out to unpack them, the 
 folks all followed me and mother asked, "Where did you 
 
Homeward Bound 127 
 
 get all of those horses ? Did you take them from the In 
 dians and run away?" 
 
 I told her that they were mine, that I had not rim away 
 from the Indians as I had from her. After that I put 
 my ponies in the field, and answering their eager ques 
 tions, I told them all about my two years among the 
 Indians. 
 
" Away she went, through the bars and down the street." 
 
 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 
 
 THE YEAR OF THE MOVE 
 
 SOON after I reached home, another call was made for 
 men to go out and stop the soldiers from entering the 
 territory. I wanted to go, but my father would not let 
 me. I said that I could shoot as well with my bow and 
 arrows as they could with their old flintlock guns, but 
 they said I was too young, so my older brother went, and 
 I let him have one of my buffalo robes and my roan pony. 
 All of the grain was not out of the fields yet and all of 
 the men had gone off to the "Echo Canyon War," as 
 it was called, except a few very old men who could not do 
 much work. The women and little boys could be seen 
 every day out in the fields hauling grain and stacking it. 
 There would be about half a dozen women to each team 
 and a little boy driving the oxen. I have seen as many 
 as fifteen to twenty teams at a time out in the big public 
 field hauling grain, and just as many women and children 
 as could get around the wagons. They seemed happy as 
 larks, for they were singing bravely. 
 
 128 
 
The Year of the Move 129 
 
 After the grain was hauled it was threshed. An old 
 man by the name of Baker, who could just get around 
 by the aid of two walking-sticks, took charge of the 
 threshing machine. It was not much like the steam 
 threshers of these days. This one had a cylinder fixed 
 in a big box, and it was made to turn by horse power, 
 but we had to use ox power. Old "Daddy Baker" and 
 as many women as could get around the machine began to 
 do the threshing. We put on four yoke of oxen to run 
 the old "chaff-piler," as we called it. 
 
 The oldest boys were set to pitching the grain to the 
 old machine. One of the other boys started up the cattle 
 and away she went. I was to do the feeding. At first 
 the boys pitched the grain so fast that I had to shove three 
 or four bundles at a time into the mouth of the machine. 
 This choked the old thing, and caused the belt to break, 
 and it took half an hour to patch up and get going 
 again. 
 
 The straw and chaff came out together. About fifteen 
 women with rakes would string out and rake the straw 
 along until they left the grain behind, then about forty 
 children would stack the straw. After we threshed an 
 hour or two we would stop and "cave up," as we called it. 
 That meant to push the grain and chaff in a pile at one 
 side. Then we would go on again. 
 
 When we had finished Brother Martendale's job, we 
 moved over to Brother Pumpswoggle's place, and after 
 that we threshed for some other brother until all the grain 
 was done. 
 
 After the threshing was done, we took the old-fashioned 
 fanning mill and went the rounds to clean the chaff from 
 the grain. Some of the women would take turns turning 
 the old thing, while others would take milk pans and 
 buckets and put grain into the hopper. The chaff would 
 
130 The White Indian Boy 
 
 fly one way and the grain go another. At best we could 
 thresh only about one hundred fifty bushels a day, and 
 we had about twenty thousand bushels to thresh, so it 
 looked a very discouraging task, with winter so near. 
 
 But as luck would have it, some of the men came in 
 with a large band of mules and horses they had taken 
 from the soldiers and four of the men were left home 
 to help do the threshing. "Lonzo" Mecham took charge 
 of the work, and we used some of the captured mules to 
 help out, so the threshing went on much faster. They 
 were good mules. 
 
 During all of that fall the women took the part of men 
 as well as women. They hauled wood from the moun 
 tains, dug potatoes, and gathered in all of the other products 
 from the gardens and farms. Many of the poor mothers 
 were hardly able to be out, but they took their double 
 part bravely while their fathers, brothers and sons were 
 off in the mountains defending their homes and families. 
 They were poorly dressed, too, for the cold weather. 
 
 Most of the people were very poor. The Indians and 
 grasshoppers and crickets had kept them down so that it 
 was hard at best to make a living, and now an army was 
 coming, they feared, to burn and kill. 
 
 The soldiers probably would have made sad work, if 
 Lot Smith had not stopped them by burning their wagon 
 trains full of supplies out on the Big Sandy. 1 This held 
 them off long enough to enable the officers of the govern 
 ment to meet with the leaders of the state and come to 
 an understanding ; the war was happily prevented. 
 
 During the winter many of the men came home. Poor 
 
 though we were we had happy times. They had social 
 
 gatherings at which they sang and danced and played 
 
 games to while away the wintry evenings. Sometimes, 
 
 1 A branch of the Green River, in Wyoming. 
 
The Year of the Move 
 
 131 
 
 Echo Canyon, Utah. The Overland Trail ran through this pass. 
 
 to pay the fiddler, the people took squash or wheat or 
 carrots. There was little money in the country. 
 
 I have said that the people were very poor. They were 
 poor in furniture, bedding, clothing, but generally they 
 had enough to eat, and they were gradually getting cattle, 
 sheep, pigs, and chickens to help out. Their furniture 
 and dishes, however, had been broken and used up in 
 their long journey across the plains and it was hard to 
 get more. Sometimes a coat or a dress would be patched 
 so many times and with so many different kinds of cloth 
 
132 The White Indian Boy 
 
 that it was difficult to tell which piece of cloth it had been 
 made of in the first place. 
 
 When spring came, matters had not been yet arranged 
 between our leaders and the government. The leaders 
 were uncertain how the trouble would end, so they 
 ordered the settlers to abandon their homes for the time 
 being and move south. This was a trying thing to do. 
 The crops were all in when the order came to move. 
 A guard was left to take care of what was left behind, 
 and if it came to the worst, they were to burn everything 
 that might be useful to the army. My father with his 
 family and most of our neighbors moved down to Spanish 
 Fork, Utah. Here we stayed for further orders from the 
 authorities. 
 
 To make this move from their homes, the people had to 
 use any kind of outfit they could get together. Every 
 thing from a wheelbarrow to an eight-mule team could 
 be seen along the roads. An old wagon with a cow and 
 a horse hitched up together was a common sight. Some 
 had good buggies, others an old ox hitched between the 
 shafts of a rickety old two-wheeled cart. Some of the 
 women led the family cows with their bedding and a little 
 food packed on their backs. Some were rich and many 
 were poor, but they all were traveling the same road, and 
 all appeared to be happy, and none of them very badly 
 scared. 
 
 By this time I had traded my Crow Indian pony for a 
 white man's saddle and a two-year-old heifer. I wanted 
 to go back to live with Washakie and my dear old Indian 
 mother, but I did not care to do so until I found out what 
 the army was going to do. 
 
 We had not been in Spanish Fork long before some 
 Spaniards from California brought in a band of wild 
 horses to trade for cattle. A good many people had 
 
The Year of the Move 
 
 133 
 
 Remains of levee built by Utah troops to flood a canyon 
 so as to impede the march of Johnston's army. 
 
 gathered around the corral to see the mustangs. While 
 sitting on the corral fence, I saw a little black three- 
 year-old mare that took my fancy. I asked the man 
 what he would take for her. 
 
 "She is worth sixty dollars," he said, "but if you will 
 
134 The White Indian Boy 
 
 jump off that fence on to her back and ride her, you may 
 have her for nothing." 
 
 "That is a whack," I said ; "I'll do it." 
 
 He told me to wait until they were ready to turn the 
 horses out. It was not long before he said, "Now we 
 are ready to see the fun." He had no idea that I would 
 do it. He thought the colt would throw me off at the 
 first jump, and they would have a good laugh on my 
 account. 
 
 They let down the bars and drove the horses around so 
 that the black came near enough for me to jump off the 
 fence to her back. As she came close I made the leap 
 and landed fairly. Away she went out through the bars 
 and down the street. Every dog in the place seemed to 
 be after us. 
 
 We passed over the hill and headed towards Pond 
 Town. Then we circled to the west towards Goshen. 
 The band of horses we started with were soon left way 
 behind and we ran away from all the dogs. 
 
 Some one ran over and told my folks that I was on a 
 wild horse, that it was running away and I would be 
 killed. Mother was not much worried, for she knew I 
 had been on wild horses before. My brother, however, 
 jumped on my pinto pony and struck out after me. 
 When he finally caught up, the colt I had been riding 
 had run herself down, and had stopped. He rode up 
 and handed me a rope, which I put around the mare's 
 neck, and then got off to let her rest. After a while I 
 mounted her again and with my brother drove her back 
 to town. The stranger kept his word. I had won the 
 black mare. 
 
 When we got back, all of the men that had seen us start 
 off came up to look at us. Among them was a Mr. Faust, 
 "Doc Faust," they called him. He said that I beat all 
 
The Year of the Move 135 
 
 the boys at riding he ever saw ; that he had a good many 
 horses on his ranch he wanted broken and would give 
 me fifty dollars a month to come and do it for him. When 
 I told mother about it, she would not give her consent, 
 for my father was very sick and she was afraid he would 
 not live much longer. 
 
 We stayed in the neighborhood of Spanish Fork until 
 about the first of August, then word came that we could 
 go back home. The leaders had come to a peaceful 
 agreement with the government. 
 
 We started back to our homes with a hurrah ! and when 
 we reached them, we all went to work with a will. I 
 never saw larger crops than we raised that year. Wheat 
 ran from fifty to seventy-five bushels to the acre. It 
 was the same all through the territory. Best of all we 
 received the highest prices for it. The army bought 
 all the gram, hay, straw, and other products that we had 
 to sell. 
 
 All of our harvesting had to be done by hand, for there 
 were no reaping machines in those days. We hired 
 Owen Baston to cradle our grain, and my brother and I 
 bound it. That fall, after our wheat was all harvested, 
 my father died. 
 
 After the death of father, my brother and I did not get 
 along very well together. He was a hard worker. I had 
 never done much work and it went rather hard with me. 
 Riding horses, I thought, was more fun than slaving on 
 the farm, so I decided to go to Mr. Faust's ranch and 
 help him break his bronchos. After that I intended to 
 go back to live with Washakie. 
 
 Mr. Faust lived at the south end of Rush Valley, about 
 sixty miles southwest of Salt Lake. When I got to his 
 ranch he was very glad to see me. 
 
 "We will have that old outlaw of a horse brought to 
 
136 
 
 The White Indian Boy 
 
 time now," he said to his other riders. "Here is the 
 boy that can ride him." 
 
 I told him that I was not so sure of that, for I had 
 never ridden a bad horse for more than a year. 
 
 "Bad," he said, "what do you call jumping off a fence 
 on to the back of a wild mustang P " 
 
 "Oh, she wasn't a bad animal to ride," I said; "she 
 did nothing but run." 
 
 "My horses are not bad to break," he went on, "but 
 one of them has thrown two or three of the boys, and it 
 has made him mean. I want him broken, for he is about 
 as good a horse as I have, and I know you can break 
 him." 
 
 The next morning one of Mr. Faust's best riders and 
 I went out to bring in the band the outlaw was with. 
 This man told me that if I was not a very good rider I 
 had better keep off that horse, or he would kill me. I 
 told him that I did not know much about riding, but I 
 was not afraid to try him. We brought in the band and 
 roped the outlaw. 
 
 Fart of fortifications built by Utah troops to hold back Johnston's army. 
 
The Year of the Move 137 
 
 Mr. Faust asked me whether I thought I could ride 
 him. I was ready to try. The man who had gone with 
 me tried to get Mr. Faust not to let me do it, for he said 
 I might be killed. I began to think he was afraid I 
 should prove the better rider, for the outlaw had pitched 
 him off several times. 
 
 When things were ready, I mounted the broncho. He 
 went off very peaceably for a little way, and I thought 
 that they were making a fool of me; but pretty soon 
 the old boy turned loose, and he fairly made my neck 
 pop. He gave me the hardest bucking I ever had; but 
 he did it straight ahead. He did not whirl as some horses 
 do, so I stayed with him all right. 
 
 When he stopped bucking, I sent him through for ten 
 miles about as fast as he ever went, and when I got back 
 to the ranch I rode up the corral where the man was 
 saddling another horse. 
 
 Standing up in my saddle, I said, "Do you call this a 
 bad horse ? If you do you don't know what a bad horse 
 is." 
 
 The fellow did not like me very much after that. I 
 got along very well with the old outlaw; but I had to 
 give him some very hard rides before he acknowledged 
 me his master. 
 
 I had a number of similar experiences in taming horses 
 which were hard to manage, and although I did not come 
 out without a scratch or a bruise, I succeeded in making 
 almost any horse I tried to ride understand that I was 
 his master. However, I would not advise a boy who has 
 not a particular faculty for riding unmanageable horses 
 to engage in the sport on the strength of my remarks here. 
 It takes quite a knack to establish the right understanding 
 between a horse and a man. Some persons women as 
 well as men seem to have this gift naturally, and with- 
 
138 The White Indian Boy 
 
 out any idea of boasting I may say that I think I had it 
 more than most of the boys in our part of the country. 
 
 One reason, perhaps, why I got along so well with them 
 was that ever since I was a little boy I have loved horses 
 and liked to be around them, thinking of them more as 
 human beings than mere dumb beasts. It was the same 
 way, I may add, with dogs ; and horses and dogs know 
 when a boy or a man has this feeling, and it makes a dif 
 ference even in the toughest of them as to how they will 
 treat you. 
 
 I am sorry that I cannot stop and make it a part of my 
 story to tell about some more of my adventures in taming 
 wild horses. But possibly this is just as well, as I am 
 afraid true stories might not prove very interesting be 
 side some which have been printed in papers and maga 
 zines, in which I think the writers must have drawn 
 largely upon their imagination in order to make thrilling 
 " yarns." 
 
<?i.-i 
 
 " Their leader grabbed ray horse's rein." 
 
 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 
 
 THE PONY EXPRESS 
 
 ABOUT the time I had decided to go back to my Indian 
 friends, word came that the Pony Express was to be 
 started, and Mr. Faust induced me to stay and be one 
 of the pony riders. I sold my roan pony to a sergeant 
 in Camp Floyd for seventy-five dollars and my little 
 black mare for a hundred dollars. Part of this money 
 I gave to mother, and the rest I used to buy some clothes. 
 
 A great "powwow" was going on about the Pony 
 Express coming through the country. The company 
 had begun to build its roads and stations. These stations 
 were about ten miles apart. They were placed as near 
 to a spring, or other watering place, as possible. There 
 were two kinds of them, the "home station" and the 
 "way station." At the way stations, the riders changed 
 horses ; at the home stations, which were about fifty 
 miles from each other, the riders were changed; and 
 there they ate their meals and slept. 
 
 Finally the time came for the express horses to be 
 distributed along the line, and the station keepers and 
 
 139 
 
140 The White Indian Boy 
 
 riders were sent to the various stations. Mr. Faust 
 and Major Howard Egan went on my bond, and I was 
 sent out west into Nevada to a station called Ruby Valley. 
 This was a "home station." It was kept by William 
 Smith. Samuel Lee was his hostler. 
 
 When we were hired to ride the express, we had to go 
 before a justice of the peace and swear we would be at 
 our post at all times, and not go farther than one hundred 
 yards from the station except when carrying the mail. 
 When we started out we were not to turn back, no matter 
 what happened, until we had delivered the mail at the 
 next station. We must be ready to start back at a half 
 minute's notice, day or night, rain or shine, Indians or 
 no Indians. 
 
 Our saddles, which were all provided by the company, 
 had nothing to them but the bare tree, stirrups, and 
 cinch. Two large pieces of leather about sixteen inches 
 wide by twenty-four long were laced together with a 
 strong leather string thrown over the saddle. Fastened 
 to these were four pockets, two in front and two behind ; 
 these hung on each side of the saddle. The two hind ones 
 were the largest. The one in front on the left side was 
 called the "way pocket." All of these pockets were 
 locked with small padlocks and each home station keeper 
 had a key to the "way pocket." When the express 
 arrived at the home station, the keeper would unlock 
 the "way pocket" and if there were any letters for the 
 boys between the home stations, the rider would dis 
 tribute them as he went along. There was also a card 
 in the way pocket that the station keeper would take out 
 and write on it the time the express arrived and left his 
 station. If the express was behind time, he would tell 
 the rider how much time he had to make up. 
 
 Well, the time came that we had to start. On the after- 
 
The Pony Express 141 
 
 noon of April 3, 1860, at a signal cannon shot, a pony rider 
 left St. Joseph, Missouri ; and the same moment another 
 left Sacramento, California one speeding west, the other 
 east over plains and mountains and desert. Night and 
 day the race was kept up by the different riders and their 
 swift horses until the mail was carried through. Then 
 they turned and dashed back over the same trail again. 
 Each man would make about fifty miles a day, changing 
 horses four or five times to do it. 
 
 Not many riders could stand the long, fast riding at first, 
 but after about two weeks they would get hardened to it. 
 
 At first the rider would be charged up with the saddle 
 he was riding, and his first wages were kept back for it. 
 If he had no revolver, and had to get one from the com 
 pany, that would add another heavy expense to be de 
 ducted from his wages. Some of the boys were killed 
 by the Indians before they had paid for these things. 
 Our pay was too small for the hard work and the dangers 
 we went through. 
 
 Everything went along first rate for a while, but after 
 about six or eight months of that work, the big, fine 
 horses began to play out, and then the company bought 
 up a lot of wild horses from California, strung them along 
 the road and put the best riders to breaking them. 
 
 Peter Neece, our home station keeper, was a big, strong 
 man, and a good rider. He was put to breaking some of 
 these mustangs for the boys on his beat. After he had 
 ridden one of them a time or two, he would turn the half- 
 broken, wild things over to the express boys to ride. 
 Generally, when a hostler could lead them into and out 
 of the stable without getting his head kicked off, the 
 bronchos were considered broken. Very likely they had 
 been handled just enough to make them mean. I found 
 it to be so with most of the horses they gave me to ride. 
 
142 The White Indian Boy 
 
 I was not a bit afraid of the Indians at first ; but when 
 the boys began to get shot at and killed by the skulking 
 savages, I might not have been afraid, but I was pretty 
 badly scared just the same. 
 
 At one time my home station was at Shell Creek. I 
 rode from there to Deep Creek. One day the Indians 
 killed a rider out on the desert, and when I was to meet 
 him at Deep Creek, he was not there. I had to keep 
 right on until I met him. It was not until I reached 
 the next station, Willow Creek, that I found out he had 
 been killed. My horse was about jaded by this time, so 
 I had to stay there and let him rest. I should have had 
 to start back that night if the Indians had not come 
 upon us. 
 
 About four o'clock that afternoon, seven Indians rode 
 up to the station and asked for something to eat. Neece, 
 the station keeper, picked up a sack holding about twenty 
 pounds of flour and offered it to them. They demanded 
 a sack of flour apiece. He threw it back into the house 
 and told them to clear out, that he would not give them 
 anything. 
 
 This made them angry, and as they passed a shed about 
 five rods from the house they each shot an arrow into a 
 poor old lame cow, that happened to be standing under a 
 shed. When Neece saw that, he jerked out his pistol 
 and commenced shooting at them. He killed two of the 
 Indians and the rest ran. 
 
 "Now, boys," he said, "we are in for a hot time tonight. 
 There's a bunch of about thirty of the red rascals up the 
 canyon, and they will be on us as soon as it gets dark. 
 We'll have to fight." 
 
 A man by the name of Lynch was with us at the time. 
 He had boasted a good deal about what he would do if 
 the Indians attacked him. We thought he was a kind of 
 
The Pony Express 
 
 143 
 
 desperado. I felt pretty 
 safe until he weakened 
 and began to cry, then 
 I wanted all of us to get 
 on our horses and skip 
 for the next station ; but 
 Pete said : " No ; we will 
 load up all of our old 
 guns and get ready for 
 them when they come. 
 There are only four of 
 us; but we can stand 
 off the whole bunch of 
 them." 
 
 Just a little before 
 dark we could see a big 
 dust over towards the 
 mouth of the canyon 
 about six miles from the 
 station. We knew they 
 were coming. Neece 
 
 thought it would be a good thing to go out from the station 
 a hundred yards or so and surprise them as they came up. 
 When we got there he had us lie down a little way apart. 
 
 "Now," he said, "when you fire, jump to one side, so 
 if they shoot at the blaze of your gun, you will not be 
 there." 
 
 You bet I lay close to the ground. Pretty soon we 
 heard the thumping of their horses' hoofs. It seemed 
 to me there were hundreds of them. And such yells 
 as they let out, I never heard before. They were coming 
 straight for us, and I thought they were going to run right 
 over us. It was sandy where we lay, with little humps here 
 and there and scrubby greasewood growing on the humps. 
 
 Bur. of Am. Ethnology, Smiths onian Institution 
 
 An aged Indian of the Nevada desert, 
 of Pony Express days, with his bow 
 and arrows. 
 
144 The White Indian Boy 
 
 When the Indians got close enough, Pete shot and 
 jumped away to one side. I had two pistols, one in each 
 hand, cocked and ready to pull the trigger, and was 
 crawling on my elbows and knees. Each time he would 
 shoot I saw him j ump. Soon they were all shooting but me. 
 I got so excited that I forgot to fire, but I kept jumping. 
 
 After I had jumped a good many times, I happened to 
 land in a little wash, or ravine, that the water had made. 
 My back came up nearly level with the top of the banks. 
 Anyway I pressed myself down in it. I was badly scared. 
 My heart was beating like a triphammer. 
 
 As I lay there, the shooting ceased. After a while I 
 raised my head and looked off towards the desert. Those 
 humps of sand covered with greasewood looked exactly 
 like Indians on horses, and I could see several of them 
 near the wash. I crouched down again and lay there a 
 long time ; it seemed hours. 
 
 Finally everything was so still I decided to go and see 
 whether my horse was where I had staked him. If he 
 was, I intended to jump on him and strike back for the 
 Deep Creek station, and tell them that the boys were 
 killed; but as I went crawling around the house on my 
 elbows and knees with my revolvers ready to shoot, I 
 saw a light shining through the cracks. It must be full 
 of Indians, I thought ; and I lay there quietly to watch 
 what they were doing. 
 
 Suddenly I heard one of the men a little distance from 
 the house say, "Did you find anything of him?" 
 
 Another answered: "No, I guess he is gone." 
 
 I knew then it was the boys. When I heard them go 
 into the house and shut the door, I slipped up and peeped 
 through the cracks. The three of them were in there 
 all right. I was almost too ashamed to go in; but I 
 finally went around and opened the door. 
 
The Pony Express 145 
 
 "Hello!" Neece called out; "here he is! How far 
 did you chase them, Nick ? I knew you would stay with 
 them." 
 
 Several Indians had been killed and the rest of the 
 bunch had run when the surprise attack was made on 
 them. They did not bother us any more just then, but 
 they got plenty of revenge later. The next morning I 
 went back to Deep Creek. 
 
 Shortly after this I was making my ride through one 
 of the canyons on the trail when suddenly four Indians 
 jumped out of the rocks and brush into the road just 
 ahead of me. I whirled my pony and started to run 
 back, when I found three other Indians standing in the 
 trail. I couldn't climb the sides of the canyon ; the 
 devils had me trapped, and they began to close in on 
 me with their bows and arrows ready. Only one of them 
 had a gun. 
 
 I did not know what else to do, so I sat still on my 
 horse. As they came up I recognized old Tabby among 
 them. This gave me some hope. Their leader, a one- 
 eyed, mean-looking old rascal, grabbed my horse's rein, 
 and ordered me to get off. I tried to get old Tabby's 
 eye, but he wouldn't look my way nor speak to me. Two 
 Indians led my horse about a hundred yards up the 
 canyon and held it there, while the one-eyed Indian 
 talked to me. 
 
 He said I had no right to cross their country. The 
 land belonged to the Indians, and they were going to 
 drive the white men out of it. He took his ramrod out 
 of his old gun and marked a trail in the road. "We will 
 burn the stations, here and here and here," he went on, 
 jabbing the rod in the dirt. "And we will kill the pony 
 men." 
 
 With this threat he left me standing in the road, while 
 
146 
 
 The White Indian Boy 
 
 " Joe Dugout's " well on old Pony Express trail, about ten miles north 
 east of Camp Floyd. " Joe " kept a " way station " here for the express. 
 
 he, with old Tabby and the rest, walked away into the 
 brush and began to talk. I could not hear what they 
 were saying. I was badly scared. Then they made a fire. 
 
 My soul! I thought. Are they going to burn me? 
 I was just about to make a dash for the two Indians and 
 fight for my horse; but that would have been a fool 
 thing to do. 
 
 After a while one of the Indians came up and asked me 
 if I had any tobacco. I gave him all I had. That made 
 things look a little better. They had a smoke and then 
 Old Tabby came to talk with me. 
 
 The Indians, he said, wanted to kill me, but he would 
 not agree to it. My father, he said, was his good friend. 
 But I must turn back and never carry the mail there 
 again ; for if they caught me they would surely kill me 
 next time. 
 
 "But this mail's got to go through," I said. "Let 
 me take it this time and I will not ride here again." 
 
The Pony Express 147 
 
 When I had made this promise, they let me go. I did 
 not carry the mail over there any more; but I was sent 
 further west, about three hundred miles, to ride from 
 Carson Sink to Fort Churchill. The distance was about 
 seventy-five miles and was a very hard ride, for the horses 
 as well as for me, because much of the trail led through 
 deep sand. Some things were not so bad, however; 
 I had no mountains to cross, and the Indians were more 
 friendly here. 
 
 East of my beat along Egan Canyon, Shell Creek, and 
 Deep Creek, they had begun to be very ugly, threatening 
 to burn the stations and kill the people, and the following 
 spring they did break out in dead earnest. Some of the 
 stations were burned and one of the riders was killed. 
 That spring I was changed back into Major Egan's division 
 and rode from Shell Creek to Ruby Valley. 
 
 Things grew worse that summer. More stations were 
 burned, some hostlers and riders were killed, and I got 
 very badly wounded. It happened this way. I had been 
 taking some horses to Antelope Station, and on my way 
 back, I made a stop at Spring Valley Station. When I 
 got there, the two boys that looked after the station were 
 out on the wood pile playing cards. They asked me to 
 stay and have dinner. I got my horse and started him 
 towards the station, but instead of going into the stable 
 he went behind it where some other horses were grazing. 
 
 Pretty soon we saw the horses going across the meadow 
 towards the cedars with two Indians behind them. We 
 started after them full tilt and gained on them a little. 
 As we ran I fired three shots at them from my revolver, 
 but they were too far off for me to hit them. They 
 reached the cedars a little before we did. 
 
 I was ahead of the other two boys, and as I ran around 
 a large cedar one of the Indians shot me in the head with 
 
148 The White Indian Boy 
 
 a flint-tipped arrow. It struck me about two inches 
 above the left eye. The two boys were on the other side 
 of the tree. Seeing the Indians run, they came around 
 to find me lying on the ground with the arrow sticking 
 in my head. They tried to pull the arrow out, but the 
 shaft came away and left the flint in my head. Thinking 
 that I would surely die, they rolled me under a tree and 
 started for the next station as fast as they could go. 
 There they got a few men and came back the next morning 
 to bury me ; but when they got to me and found that I was 
 still alive, they thought they would not bury me just then. 
 
 They carried me to a station called Cedar Wells, and 
 sent to Ruby Valley for a doctor. When he came, he 
 took the spike out of my head and told the boys to keep a 
 wet rag on the wound, as that was all they could do for me. 
 
 I lay there for six days, when Major Egan happened 
 to come along. Seeing that I was still alive, he sent for 
 the doctor again. When the doctor came and saw I was 
 no worse, he began to do something for me. But I knew 
 nothing of all this. For eighteen days I lay unconscious. 
 Then I began to get better fast, and it was not long before 
 I was riding again. 
 
 If Mr. Egan had not happened along when he did, I 
 think I should not be here now telling about it. But 
 oh, I have suffered with my head at times since then ! 
 
 The Indians kept getting worse. They began to attack 
 and murder emigrants, and they did a lot of damage to 
 the express line by burning stations, killing the riders, 
 and running off with the horses. It became harder to 
 get riders to carry the mail; for every one that could 
 leave would do so, and the agents found it difficult to 
 find others to take the dangerous job. They raised the 
 wages from forty dollars to sixty per month, but men did 
 not want to risk their lives for even that price. 
 
The Pony Express 149 
 
 Between Deep Creek and Shell Creek was what we 
 called "Eight-mile station." It was kept by an old man, 
 and he had two young emigrant boys to help him. Their 
 mother had died of the cholera, east of Salt Lake City, 
 and their father had been shot by the Indians farther along 
 the trail west. He died when they reached Deep Creek, 
 leaving these two boys with the station keeper. Before 
 he passed away he gave this keeper five hundred dollars, 
 a span of big mules, and a new wagon if he would send 
 the boys back to Missouri where the family had lived. 
 
 As it was too late for them to make the trip that fall, 
 the boys were to pass the winter at Deep Creek. The 
 old keeper of the "Eight-mile station" could not do the 
 work very well, so the older of the two boys- was sent 
 there to help him. An emigrant train came along and 
 the old man slipped away with it, leaving the boy to take 
 care of the station alone. It was hard to get men to stay 
 at this station when the Indians began to get mean. The 
 boy wanted to stay with it, so they let him do it ; and his 
 brother was sent out to help him. 
 
 One day, while these two boys were in charge, I rode 
 up there to meet the other rider. As I reached the 
 station, I could see him coming five or six miles away. 
 While we were watching him a band of Indians broke out 
 of the brush and began to chase him. He made a great 
 race for his life ; but just before he reached the station, 
 they shot and killed him. We knew the Indians would 
 attack the station next, so we hurried to the barn and 
 brought the three horses there to the house. 
 
 The station was a stone building about twelve by 
 twenty feet in size, with a shed roof covered with dirt, 
 so that no timbers were sticking out for the Indians to 
 set on fire. There were portholes in each end of the build 
 ing, and one on each side of the door in front. 
 
150 The White Indian Boy 
 
 We succeeded in getting our horses into this house by 
 the time the Indians surrounded the station. They kept 
 shooting at the back of the house ; for they soon learned 
 not to come up in front of these portholes. One or two 
 of them that were foolish enough to do it got killed. I 
 know that one made a mistake by darkening my port 
 hole. When I saw the shadow, I pulled the trigger. 
 Three days afterwards, when I went out, I found an 
 Indian lying there. He must have got in the way of my 
 bullet. 
 
 They kept us there for three days. It was lucky for 
 us that the station was built on low ground. The water 
 had risen in the cellar under the house. We had only 
 one pan that the boys had used for mixing dough to make 
 their bread. This we had to use to water and feed the 
 horses in and for mixing bread also. The water in the 
 cellar was not good, but it kept us from choking to death 
 those three days that we were held prisoners. 
 
 The younger boy was not more than eleven years old, 
 and the other one was about fourteen. I was only a few 
 years older. We put the little boy to tending the horses 
 and looking after things while we guarded the house. 
 Sometimes the little fellow would get to crying, and 
 talking about his mother dying and his father getting 
 killed by the Indians. The older boy was full of grit. 
 He would try to comfort his little brother. 
 
 The first night none of us slept at all, but the next day 
 and the following night I let them sleep a little by having 
 one of them watch while the other slept. The third night 
 I went to sleep and left the boys on guard. 
 
 Along towards morning, just as it was getting daylight, 
 they came and woke me up. There was a lot of shooting 
 going on outside, and they wanted to know what it meant. 
 I listened, and the first thing I heard was somebody say- 
 
The Pony Express 151 
 
 ing, "Go to the house and see if the boy is all right." I 
 looked through the hole and saw a lot of soldiers. Some 
 of Johnston's army had been sent out to clear the trail 
 of the murdering Indians. 
 
 Another exciting experience happened to me when 
 Mr. Kennedy, a horse trader, was bringing a large band 
 of mustangs along the trail from California to Salt Lake 
 to sell. He got belated out on the desert and found it 
 necessary to stop at Deep Creek, where he could winter 
 his horses out instead of feeding them. The Indians 
 were so bad that we had to send out guards with the 
 horses in the daytime, and at night corral them, and place 
 a strong guard around them. 
 
 Our corral was made by digging a trench and setting 
 in large cedar posts on end. There was a straw stack in 
 the middle of the corral where the boys tried to sleep; 
 but the Indians got so mean that they would shoot arrows 
 in the bed. This made it too dangerous to sleep there. 
 Sometimes we would spread our blankets on the straw 
 as if we were in bed, and in the morning find several 
 arrows sticking through them. 
 
 A favorite way of guarding the corral was to take up a 
 big picket, or post on either side of the bars, and have a 
 man stand in its place. 
 
 The Indians' scheme was to get the bars down in some 
 way, then stampede the horses, and run them off. One 
 night Peter Neece and I were standing guard in this way. 
 He was on one side of the bars and I was on the other. 
 We knew that there were Indians around by the way the 
 horses in the corral acted. I was standing on the south 
 side of the bars looking off into the sagebrush, for I be 
 lieved the Indians would be coming from that direction, 
 because the horses were looking that way. 
 
 But one Indian, instead of coming straight up from the 
 
152 The White Indian Boy 
 
 front, got close up to the fence at the back and came creep 
 ing around close to the corral to get to the bars. It 
 happened that he was coming on my side, but I did not 
 see him. Neece did, but he could not warn me without 
 giving himself away. 
 
 He watched him crawling towards the bars, and just 
 as he got about to his feet, Neece fired. The Indian 
 gave one unearthly yell that could have been heard for 
 miles, sprang in the air and settled down where I had 
 been standing, but I wasn't there. When that yell was 
 being let out, I turned a back somersault and landed a 
 rod or more inside of the corral. 
 
 Sometimes at night when the horses were brought in, 
 we would saddle one for each of us and keep him saddled 
 ready for use all night. In the morning we would put 
 the saddle on fresh horses to be prepared at any minute 
 to strike out after the Indians if it was necessary. 
 
 In the spring, when Mr. Kennedy was about to start 
 with his horses for Salt Lake, the herder was fired on one 
 morning as he was driving the band out to grass. The 
 Indians then closed in behind the horses and headed them 
 towards the hills. Seven of us immediately started after 
 them. I was on a lazy, old blue horse, and could not 
 keep up with the other boys, but Mr. Kennedy rode a 
 very good horse. He was way ahead of the rest of us 
 and was crowding the Indians pretty close. He would 
 have overtaken them in a few minutes more. Just before 
 he caught up with them, however, one Indian's horse 
 fell, carrying his rider down with him. As Kennedy 
 charged on the Indian to run over him, he received an 
 arrow in the arm ; but the Indian got a bullet through 
 the head in return. Kennedy had to wait until we came 
 up to pull the arrow out of his arm. 
 
 By that time the Indians had the horses in a box canyon. 
 
The Pony Express 
 
 153 
 
 Flnley and Bohlman 
 
 A coyote, an animal often seen on the desert, along the Pony Express 
 trail. See Mark Twain's description of the coyote, in Roughing It. 
 
 A few of the thieves hid among the rocks and held us 
 back while the rest of the band rushed the horses up the 
 canyon. The canyon led south a few hundred yards, 
 then turned sharply around a large, steep mountain and 
 ran almost directly north. A short distance further 
 the canyon turned again and opened into a large meadow 
 about a mile long. 
 
 When we saw that we could not pass the Indians that 
 were ambushing us at the rocky entrance of the canyon, 
 Kennedy thought it would be best to go back two or three 
 miles and cross a low divide to get into it at the head of 
 the meadow. There the canyon narrowed again. We 
 might head off the Indians if we got there first. We 
 turned and went back about two and a half miles to go 
 over this divide. When we neared the top of the divide 
 there was a cliff too steep to take our horses over, so we 
 
154 The White Indian Boy 
 
 tied them to a clump of mountain mahogany, and went 
 afoot. We could not go very fast down the other side, 
 for the white maple brush was very thick. 
 
 Just before we got down to the head of the meadows, 
 we stopped on the side of the mountain near a very large 
 flat-topped rock. Kennedy sat there watching for the 
 Indians to come out on to the meadows from the canyon. 
 The rest of us went down just below the rock and began 
 to fill our pockets with "yarb," or Indian tobacco. While 
 picking this "yarb," Frank Mathis laid his old muzzle- 
 loading Springfield rifle down in the bushes where he 
 could easily reach it if necessary. 
 
 We had been there about half an hour when all at once 
 Kennedy jumped down among us and cried, "Boys, 
 we're surrounded!" In his excitement Mathis grabbed 
 his gun by the muzzle and gave it a jerk. The hammer 
 caught on a bush and the gun was discharged, shooting 
 his left arm off between the shoulder and elbow. That 
 rattled us a good deal so we hardly knew what to do 
 next. 
 
 Kennedy thought it best for us to fight our way back 
 to where our horses were tied. He started Mathis up 
 the hill ahead of the rest of us. We were to keep the 
 Indians back if we could. We knew they were around 
 us on every side for we could hear the brush cracking 
 and see it shaking every once in a while. When near 
 the top, we came to a bare stretch of ground about two 
 rods across. 
 
 We stopped at the edge of the brush, for we knew that 
 the Indians could shoot us as soon as we got into the open. 
 Kennedy thought we had better make a break for it and 
 scatter out as we ran so that they could not hit us so easily. 
 I had the shortest legs of all the men ; but, just the same, 
 I wasn't the last one over. When we were about half 
 
The Pony Express 155 
 
 way across, the Indians opened fire with their bows and 
 guns. One bullet struck a rock right under my feet. It 
 helped me over the hill just that much quicker. 
 
 By the time we reached the horses, Mathis was bleed 
 ing badly. He was faint and begging for water. We 
 had to lead our horses down to the bottom of the moun 
 tain on account of the rocks. Kennedy sent Robert Orr 
 and me down to the creek to get water in our hats for 
 Mathis. When we got back with it, Kennedy sent me 
 on to the station so I could be there when the express 
 came and be ready to take it on. That was the last I 
 ever saw of Frank Mathis. He was sent on to Salt Lake, 
 where he was cared for and got well, but he got into 
 trouble later and was killed. 
 
 About the time the Indians were at their worst a small 
 train of emigrants came through on their way to Cali 
 fornia. They were warned by all of the station agents 
 that it was not safe for so few people to travel through 
 the country at that time, and were advised to stop until 
 more trains came up. They replied that they were well 
 armed and could stand off the Indians all right. 
 
 At that time I was riding from Shell Creek through 
 Egan Canyon to Ruby Valley. We who knew the 
 Gosiute Indians could tell that they were going to make a 
 raid. They were making signals in the mountains with 
 smokes by day and fires by night to gather their band. 
 We knew by their signs that the emigrants would be 
 attacked as they were going through some of the bad 
 canyons on the route. Egan Canyon was about the 
 worst of these ; it was a narrow canyon nearly six miles 
 long, with cliffs on each side from three hundred to one 
 thousand feet high, so that one could not turn to the 
 right or the left after entering it. This canyon was the 
 dread of all that had to go through it. 
 
156 The White Indian Boy 
 
 The train of emigrants had entered this canyon just 
 ahead of me. I rode very fast to catch up with them 
 before they got to the worst part of it, but just before 
 I reached them, I heard the shooting and I knew the 
 Indians had made an attack. As I stopped to listen 
 two men came running for dear life. They were bare 
 headed. 
 
 "Go back!" they shouted as they came near, "The 
 whole company has been killed but us." They passed 
 me and ran on. 
 
 After a little while I could hear no more shooting, so 
 I went on cautiously, looking ahead and around at every 
 turn of the road. Soon I came in sight of the wagons. 
 I made sure the Indians had gone before I went up to 
 them. 
 
 Such a terrible sight I never saw before. Every man, 
 woman, and child except the two that escaped had been 
 cruelly murdered. Only one woman had any life left 
 when I got there and she died a moment later. I looked 
 around carefully to see whether any others were alive, 
 but finding none I rode on. I could not stand to look 
 long on the dreadful scene. The Indians had cut the 
 tugs of the harnesses and taken every horse and mule in 
 the train. When I got out of the canyon, and saw where 
 the murderous band had turned off the road, I did not 
 spare my horse until I reached the next station. The 
 keeper there immediately sent a messenger to Ruby 
 Valley where the soldiers were and they came and buried 
 the unfortunate emigrants. 
 
" I told Johnson to have his shooting-irons ready." 
 
 CHAPTER NINETEEN 
 
 JOHNSTON PUNISHES THE INDIANS 
 
 THE Indians became so troublesome that the soldiers from 
 Camp Floyd were called out to stop their dreadful work. 
 I got a letter from Major Egan directing me to meet him 
 at Camp Floyd as soon as I could get there, for they 
 wanted me to act as interpreter and guide for the soldiers. 
 I started at once and made two hundred miles in three 
 days. When I reached Camp Floyd, General Albert 
 Sidney Johnston was all ready to start out against the 
 Indians with four companies of soldiers. We traveled 
 west, and crossed the Great American Desert in the night, 
 so as not to be seen by the Indians. 
 
 The soldiers stayed at Fish Springs and sent me out with 
 three other scouts to see if we could find any signs of the 
 Indians we were after. We took only two days' rations 
 with us. The first day we met with no success, so the next 
 morning we separated. I sent two of the scouts to circle 
 around to the south, and took with me a young man by the 
 name of Johnson, and went northwest. That afternoon 
 we saw two Indians crossing a valley. We kept out of 
 
 157 
 
158 The White Indian Boy 
 
 sight but followed them until night, and saw them go into 
 a small bunch of cedars. We left our horses and slipped 
 up as close to them as we could without letting them 
 see us. 
 
 When we got pretty near to them, I recognized in one 
 of the Indians my old friend Yaiabi ; but not feeling sure 
 that he would be glad to see me, I told Johnson to have 
 his " shooting-irons " 1 ready and I would go up to them 
 and see what they would do. As soon as they saw me com 
 ing they jumped up and drew their bows. I began to talk 
 to them in their language. Yaiabi did not recognize me 
 at first, and demanded to know what I was doing there. 
 I told him I wanted water. He said there was no water 
 except a very little they had brought with them. They 
 asked me if I was alone. I told them that another young 
 man was with me, then I called to Johnson to come up. 
 
 After Yaiabi found out who I was he felt better, for they 
 were very uneasy at first. When I asked him how he came 
 to be there, he said they had been out to a little lake to 
 see some Parowan Indians that were camped there. I 
 asked him what the Indians were doing there. He said 
 they were waiting for some more of the Pocatello Indians 
 to come, and as soon as they arrived they were going to 
 burn all the stations and kill all of the riders and station 
 keepers. 
 
 "Are you going with them?" I asked. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why then have you been with those Indians?" 
 
 He said that the Parowan Indians had stolen his 
 sister's little boy two years before, and he went out to 
 see if he could find the child. 
 
 "Did you find it?" 
 
 "No," he said, "they have sold it to the white folks." 
 1 Revolvers or guns. 
 
Johnston Punishes the Indians 159 
 
 "Do you know when the Indians they are looking for 
 will be there?" 
 
 "One sleep," 1 he said. 
 
 I knew it was a big day's ride back to where the Indians 
 were gathering and I knew it was a hard day's ride to the 
 place where the soldiers were camped. I did not know 
 what was best for me to do. I had these two Indians 
 and I did not want to let them go, for I was afraid they 
 would skip back and let the others know that the soldiers 
 were after them. 
 
 Here we were a big day's ride to water, and our horses 
 had had none since early morning, so I decided that it 
 would be better to take the Indians to headquarters and 
 let General Johnston decide what to do. I told Yaiabi 
 my plans. He said he did not want to go to the soldiers, 
 for he was afraid of them. I told him I would see that 
 the soldiers did him no harm. He said, "Yagaiki, you 
 have known me ever since you were a little boy, and you 
 never knew of my doing anything bad in your life." I 
 told him I knew that he had always been a good Indian, 
 "but now you know that the soldiers are after those bad 
 Indians and intend to kill the last one of them, and if I 
 let you go, you will go to them and tell them that the 
 soldiers are after them. Then if General Johnston should 
 find out what I had done he would think I stood in with the 
 Indians and would have me shot ; so, you see, you must 
 go with us to the soldiers' camp." 
 
 The Indian that was with Yaiabi said he would not go 
 to the soldiers' camp. He started to get his bow, but I 
 had my pistol on him in a jiffy, and told him to stop. He 
 stopped, and I kept him there while Johnson gathered up 
 their bows and arrows. When I told them to get ready to 
 start, Yaiabi said they were tired and would like to stay 
 1 One night. 
 
160 The White Indian Boy 
 
 there until morning, but I said that our horses were so 
 thirsty, we had better travel in the cool of the night or we 
 should not be able to get them to camp, so we set out for 
 Fish Springs. 
 
 I told Johnson to tie the bows and arrows to his saddle 
 and to keep a close watch over them; Yaiabi mounted 
 my horse while I walked and led the horse. When I got 
 tired of walking, I changed places with Yaiabi, and then 
 young Johnson walked and let the other Indian ride his 
 horse. In this way we traveled until morning. When 
 daylight came, I gave the bows and arrows to young 
 Johnson and told him to go to General Johnston's camp as 
 soon as possible and send us fresh horses and some water. 
 In about six hours he came back to us, accompanied by two 
 soldiers with some water and two extra horses for the 
 Indians to ride. By traveling pretty fast, we reached 
 camp at one o'clock that day. 
 
 General Johnston was very much pleased with me for 
 bringing the two Indians in. At the sight of so many 
 soldiers the Indians were very uneasy, but after they had 
 been given something to eat and saw that they were not 
 going to be hurt, they felt much better. 
 
 The General talked with the Indians for about an hour, 
 and I acted as interpreter. Yaiabi told him just how the 
 big camp of Indians was located, and said there were 
 about three hundred warriors there then ; they were 
 looking for about fifty more to join them that night, and 
 as soon as they could complete their plans they were 
 going to burn the stations and kill all the white men they 
 could find. He thought they would be ready in about five 
 days to begin their bloody work. 
 
 The General liked the way Yaiabi talked. He called 
 him a good Indian, and said he believed he was telling the 
 truth. I told Yaiabi what the general said. General 
 
Johnston Punishes the Indians 161 
 
 Howard R. Driggs 
 
 Ruins of barracks at Camp Floyd, Utah ; an army post established by 
 Colonel Albert Sidney Johnston ; also a home station for Pony Express 
 and Overland Stage. 
 
 Johnston told me to get a little rest, for he wanted me to 
 start out again that night if I would. I lay down and had 
 a little sleep, and when I got up he told me that I was to 
 go to the lake and see if Yaiabi had told the truth ; and 
 if everything was all right, to send back word as soon as I 
 could by one of the scouts that he would send with me. 
 He told me to do all my traveling at night and keep under 
 cover in the daytime, and to meet him as soon as I could 
 at a spring about half way between where we were and the 
 Indians. Then on the following night he would move his 
 soldiers to another spring which Yaiabi had told about, 
 and which was within six miles of the lake where the 
 Indians were gathering. 
 
 After dark, three of us started with four days' rations. 
 I rode the little pinto pony on this trip, the first I had 
 ridden him for a long time. We traveled all night and 
 reached the first spring just at daybreak. I knew it would 
 be a hard night's ride to go from here to the lake and then 
 reach Yaiabi's spring in the mountains before daylight. 
 
162 The White Indian Boy 
 
 About midnight we arrived at the north end of the lake, 
 which was only a mile and a half long and half a mile wide. 
 I had my two scouts stop there while I wrapped a red 
 blanket around me and went on foot to find out what I 
 could about the Indian camp. I had gone only a few steps 
 when I came to a band of horses, and as I was passing 
 around them I heard an Indian speak to a horse he was 
 hobbling. I went up and asked him in Shoshone if he had 
 come with the Pocatello Indians. He said he had, and 
 that seventeen others came with him. 
 
 "We will start burning the stations, then, soon," I 
 said. 
 
 "Were you at the council tonight?" he asked. I told 
 him I was not at the council, that I had been following 
 a horse that had started back. He said that at the 
 council it was decided that the Parowans were to go to 
 Ruby Valley and burn and kill everything they came to ; 
 and that the Pocatello Indians and Gosiutes were to start 
 at Ibapah and burn towards the east. I asked him when 
 we were to start from there. He said, "In four days." 
 We were walking towards their camp as we talked, so as 
 soon as I found out all I wanted to know, I said that I 
 had forgotten my rope and would have to go back for it. 
 So I parted company with my Indian friend. He was a 
 Shoshone, and he thought I was another. When I got 
 out of his sight, I wasn't long getting back to where I had 
 left the boys, and in a very short time one of them was 
 carrying the news to the army. 
 
 The other scout and I went to find the spring Yaiabi had 
 told me about. We got well into the mountains before 
 daylight, and when it was light enough to see, we found 
 the spring up a very rough canyon. We staked our 
 horses so they could get plenty to eat and then crawled 
 off into the willows for a good nap. 
 
Johnston Punishes the Indians 163 
 
 That afternoon I climbed a high mountain near by to 
 see which would be the best way to go from there to the 
 Indians' camp in the night. After I had studied the lay 
 of the country pretty well, I went back to the horses, ate 
 a little cold lunch, and when it commenced to get dark, 
 we struck out to meet General Johnston at the appointed 
 place. 
 
 We did not travel very fast, for I knew we would reach 
 the place before the soldiers could get there. We were 
 at the spring about two hours before daylight, and had a 
 good nap before General Johnston came. When he got 
 to us he wanted to know if I thought it safe to make a fire 
 to boil some coffee. I told him I thought there was no 
 danger, so we made a small fire, and had a good cup of 
 coffee, then we all lay down for a little nap. 
 
 About sundown, the packers began loading the hundred 
 pack mules we had with us, and we got started just about 
 dark for the Yaiabi spring, which was about six miles north 
 of the Indians' camp. We reached the spring in good time, 
 and were all unpacked before dawn. 
 
 After breakfast, General Johnston and I went up on to 
 the mountain so that he could see the Indian camp. He 
 had a good pair of field glasses and could see everything 
 very plainly. He asked if I knew anything about that 
 bunch of willows he could see a little to the west of their 
 camp. I told him I knew it very well, for when the ex 
 press first started it came this way, and we had a station 
 right where the Indian camp is now, so I had been there 
 many times. He said, "Then you can take me to it in 
 the night?" I told him I could, and pointed out to him 
 the way we would have to go. He told me he wanted to 
 make the attack the next morning at daybreak. We 
 went back to camp, and found all the soldiers asleep, 
 except the guard ; and in a very short time we were rolled 
 
164 The White Indian Boy 
 
 in our blankets and dreaming of the time when all the 
 Indians would be good Indians. 
 
 When I awoke that afternoon, I saw General Johnston 
 and his staff going up the mountain to where we had been 
 that morning. They got back to camp just before sun 
 down, and held a hasty council with the remainder of the 
 officers ; then orders were given to pack up, and we got 
 in line just at dark. I told General Johnston he would 
 have to take his men down this canyon in single file, and 
 in some places we would have to travel along the side of 
 the mountain over very narrow trails; that we would 
 have to climb above high cliffs, and pass through some 
 very dangerous places. He said that I was to go ahead, 
 and, when I came to the bad places, to dismount and they 
 would follow suit. We had about two miles to go before 
 we would come to the bad places, and when I got off the 
 next man would get off and so on down the line. By 
 doing this, we got down the canyon very well, except 
 that three of our pack mules rolled over a cliff and were 
 killed. 
 
 The head of the company got out of the canyon about 
 eleven o'clock that night. We were within six or seven 
 hundred yards of the Indian camp, for the lake lay almost 
 at the foot of the mountains. As the soldiers came down 
 they formed into lines, and General Johnston and I 
 started to find the bunch of willows we had seen from the 
 top of the mountain. We soon found it, and went back 
 to the soldiers. The general said that was all he wanted 
 with me until after the fight, and told me to take care of 
 the two Indians we had with us. So I got Yaiabi and his 
 friend, and we climbed a small hill not far away, where 
 we could see the fight when it commenced. 
 
 The soldiers didn't all get out of the canyon until about 
 three o'clock in the morning, and the pack train was not 
 
Johnston Punishes the Indians 165 
 
 all out when daylight came. In the meantime, General 
 Johnston had strung the soldiers around the Indian camp. 
 
 Just as day was breaking, an old Indian chief started a 
 fire in front of his tepee, and was standing there call 
 ing to some of the other Indians, when a soldier shot him 
 without orders. Then the fight commenced. How the 
 guns did rattle ! It was almost too dark at first for me to 
 see much of the fight, but it was getting lighter all the time. 
 As we were coming down the canyon that night, the 
 General gave me his field glasses to carry for him and I 
 still had them. 
 
 Along the edge of the lake grew a lot of bulrushes. 
 Soon after the firing began, I could see the papooses run 
 ning into these rushes and hiding. From the volleys that 
 were fired it got so smoky that I could not see very plainly, 
 but the shooting soon stopped, and as the smoke rose, 
 I could see everything that was going on. By this time 
 they were in a terrible mixup, and were fighting fiercely, 
 the soldiers with their bayonets and sabers, and the 
 Indians with their clubs, axes, and knives. I could see 
 little children not over five or six years old with sticks 
 fighting like wildcats. I saw a soldier and an Indian that 
 had clinched in a death struggle. They had each other by 
 the hair of the head, and I saw a squaw run up to them with 
 an ax and strike the soldier in the back and he sank to the 
 ground, then she split his head with the ax. While she 
 was doing this, a soldier ran a bayonet through her, and 
 that is the way it was going over the whole battle ground. 
 And what a noise they made ! with the kids squalling, 
 the squaws yelling, the bucks yelping, the dogs barking, 
 and the officers giving their orders to the soldiers. 
 
 This was the worst battle and the last one that I ever 
 saw. It lasted about two hours, and during that short 
 period of time, every Indian, squaw, and papoose, and 
 
166 The White Indian Boy 
 
 every dog was killed. After the battle, I was sent to 
 bring up the baggage wagons to haul our wounded to Camp 
 Floyd. 
 
 As we were on our way back to Camp Floyd with the 
 wounded, and were passing through a rocky canyon, we 
 were fired at by some straggling Indian, and I was shot 
 through my left arm about half way between the wrist and 
 elbow. The same bullet that went through my arm killed 
 a soldier at my side. The one shot was all we heard, 
 and we did not even see the one who fired it. I have 
 sometimes wondered if that bullet was not sent especially 
 for me. 
 
 That spring the great war between the North and the 
 South broke out, and General Johnston sold all of the 
 government cattle and wagons very cheap, and went 
 back East with his pack mules. I bought a yoke of oxen 
 for eighteen dollars and a new wagon for ten. There 
 must have been as many as ten thousand oxen bought at 
 from twenty-five to fifty dollars a yoke. That summer 
 the gold mines were opened in Montana and everything 
 had to be hauled with ox teams, and the same oxen we 
 had bought for eighteen dollars were worth from one 
 hundred and fifty to two hundred dollars a yoke. The 
 poor people that had been living on greens and "lumpy 
 dick " for two or three years now began to get very wealthy 
 and proud. The young ladies began to wear calico 
 dresses, and I even saw young men who could afford to 
 wear calico shirts and soldiers' blue overcoats and smoke 
 store tobacco. 
 
- F X.- Y.1U S 
 
 I kept on swinging through the deserts ... in the ' boot ' of the 
 Concord stage." 
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY 
 
 THE OVERLAND STAGE 
 
 JUST before the soldiers left Camp Floyd, the Overland 
 Stage line was opened from St. Joseph, Missouri, to Sacra 
 mento, California. Shortly afterward the telegraph line 
 was completed across the continent. This ended the work 
 of the Pony Express. Instead of the pony riders dashing 
 on their wiry horses over prairies and mountain and 
 desert, now came the stage drivers with their sturdy 
 horses, four or six-in-hand, rolling along in their great Con 
 cord coaches, loaded with passengers, mail, and express. 
 
 The stations, as before, were scattered along the trail 
 from eight to sixteen miles apart, according to the water. 
 These stations were mainly low dirt-roofed structures, 
 built of logs or adobe or rock. After Johnston's army 
 had decamped, the lumber left by them at Camp Floyd 
 was used for some stations. They were large enough to 
 accommodate six to eight horses, and had, partitioned 
 from the stalls, one room for the stable keepers and an 
 other for provisions. Grain was hauled to them from the 
 
 167 
 
168 
 
 The White Indian Boy 
 
 fields of Utah and California. Native hay was supplied 
 from the grassy valleys through which the route lay. 
 Traveling blacksmiths kept the horses shod, and the 
 stages in repair. 
 
 As a few of the stations had to be built where there was 
 no spring or stream, it was necessary to haul water to 
 them. This was my first work in connection with the 
 Overland Stage. I had a good four-horse team and was 
 given the job of supplying Canyon station with water. 
 
 One day while I was unloading the water the stage came 
 into this station. Major Howard Egan, who had charge 
 of this division of the route, had the lines. The stage 
 driver lay dead in "the boot" and one passenger was 
 wounded. They had been shot by stage robbers, or 
 "road agents," as we called them. Another driver must 
 be had. The station keepers said they couldn't drive 
 four horses, so Major Egan called on me. I hadn't had 
 any experience handling the stage, but I tried it. The 
 Major seemed to think I drove all right, for he didn't 
 send any man to relieve me as he promised to do, so I 
 kept on driving. Finally I sold my team and water out- 
 
 An overland stage ready for a trip. 
 
The Overland Stage 169 
 
 fit and became a regular stage driver. For about two 
 years I kept on swinging over the rough and heavy roads 
 through the deserts of Nevada in the "boot" of the 
 Concord stage. 
 
 The "boot" was the place where the driver sat perched 
 in front. It was big enough to hold two passengers be 
 sides the driver ; and a thousand pounds or more of mail 
 could be packed in the "boot" also. Behind this was the 
 body of the coach, big enough to hold six passengers. 
 They sat three on each seat, facing each other. It was 
 hard on those not used to it to sit day and night through 
 clouds of alkali dust or sand, through rain and slush, or 
 snow and cold, cramped up in that stage. If we had to 
 crowd more than six in, as we did occasionally, it was 
 rather rough riding. When few passengers were along, or 
 the mail was lighter, we made up our load with grain or 
 other provisions to be distributed along at the various 
 stations. So we were nearly always well loaded. Often 
 we carried more than a ton of mail in the "boot," and 
 strapped on the back platform. 
 
 Some pictures I have seen of the Overland Stage have 
 passengers on top. This is a mistake. There was no 
 place on the rounded top for passengers. Some of the 
 boys occasionally lashed packages there. The passen 
 gers would have had to be strapped on too, if they had 
 tried the top, for they would have got pitched off in a 
 hurry, the stage rocked so. The body of the stage was 
 hung on great leather springs, and it swung with a kind of 
 cradle motion as we dashed along. When a fellow learned 
 how to swing with it, things went all right ; if he didn't, 
 it was hard riding. 
 
 The road was not only rough and wearisome; it was 
 dangerous. For a time the Indians were so troublesome 
 that a soldier was sent with every stage. We should have 
 
170 
 
 The White Indian Boy 
 
 Two Gosiute braves of Overland Stage 
 days. 
 
 felt safer without these 
 soldiers though, for we 
 knew how the Indians 
 hated soldiers. The 
 worst danger, however, 
 was not from Indians; 
 they got lots of blame 
 that didn't belong to 
 them. 1 1 was the ' ' road 
 agents" that infested 
 the country during those 
 days that gave us most 
 trouble. 
 
 Many a time these 
 desperadoes would hold 
 
 up the stage on some lonely place on the road. They would 
 spring out before the horses and order the driver to stop, 
 or would shoot down a horse to stop the stage ; then after 
 robbing the passengers and rifling the mail bags of their 
 valuables, they would dash away with their plunder to their 
 hiding places in the hills. 
 
 Some drivers, when these outlaws came upon them, 
 would put the whip to their horses and try to dash by 
 them to safety. At times the boys managed to give the 
 robbers the slip, but oftener the driver would be shot 
 down in the attempt to escape. Then the horses, mad 
 with fright, if no passenger was aboard to grab the lines, 
 would run away, upset the coach, perhaps, and string 
 things along the trail in great shape. Sometimes they 
 have dashed into a station with nothing but the front 
 wheels dragging behind them. 
 
 I was lucky enough to escape such mishaps. The rob 
 bers never held me up ; but one day I did have one of my 
 wheel horses shot down, by some skulking desperado or 
 
The Overland Stage 
 
 171 
 
 Indian, we never knew which. I was swinging along a 
 dugway down hill about two miles west of Canyon station 
 when it happened. Three passengers two men and a 
 woman were in the stage. A shot rang out and my 
 off wheel horse dropped dead. 
 
 I flung off the brake, knowing what was up, cracked my 
 whip and away we went plunging down the hill, dragging 
 the dead horse with us till I thought we were out of gunshot. 
 No more shots came, so I stopped the team, jumped down 
 and began to unhitch. The man inside the coach jumped 
 out too, but instead of helping 
 me, he grabbed the whip and 
 begun to lash the team, yelling 
 to me to go on. He was so 
 scared he acted like a crazy 
 man till his wife jumped out, 
 grabbed the whip from his 
 hand, and told him to behave 
 himself. Then he cooled down 
 a little ; and with the help of 
 the other passenger, I got the 
 dead horse out of the harness, 
 hitched one of the leaders in 
 his place, and drove on to the 
 next station, without any more 
 trouble. I never found out 
 who did that devilish trick, but 
 I don't believe it was stage 
 robbers, though, for they would 
 have followed us up and fin 
 ished their mischief. Other 
 
 drivers, however, Were not SO Antelope Jake, an aged Gosiute 
 
 lucky. Three different times J n 1 f ian who won his name by 
 
 . T^, i , killing antelope for Overland 
 
 Major Lgan brought m the stage stations. 
 
172 
 
 The White Indian Boy 
 
 stage with the driver dead in the boot and the stage shot 
 full of holes. At one time a driver who had been wounded 
 by outlaws was loaded into my stage. We were trying to 
 get him through to Salt Lake, but the poor fellow died 
 while he was with me. No other passenger was along at 
 the time. I couldn't help the sufferer much. It was a 
 terrible experience, I tell you, for him and me too, that 
 long night on the lonely Nevada desert. 
 
 Afterwards I was changed to another division, driving 
 in Nevada from Austin to Sand Wells. Jim Clift was 
 division agent here. It was a heavy road, full of sand ; 
 but it wasn't so hard and heavy as another stretch that 
 Ben Halliday, our big chief, gave me later. When he 
 heard I was careful with the horses, that I didn't use 
 them up as did some of the drivers they brought in from 
 the East, who didn't know mountain life, he set me to 
 driving from the Sink of Carson to Fort Churchill. I 
 drove there that summer and winter and the next spring 
 
 Antelope on the desert. 
 
 Pictures of this kind were often seen by Pony 
 Express riders. 
 
The Overland Stage 
 
 173 
 
 Howard R. Driggs 
 Old stage station at Fort Hall or Ross's Fork, Idaho. 
 
 I was sent to drive from Carson City to Virginia City, 
 Nevada. 
 
 I arrived at Carson City about ten o'clock one very 
 fine morning in June. The mail agent met me just as I 
 entered the town, and told me to drive to Tim Smith's 
 big rock stable and put up my horses. He told me that 
 the line I was driving on was in dispute, and he would 
 have to go to Salt Lake City to see who had the right of 
 way. "Stay here until you hear from me," he said, "and 
 board in that hotel across the street." With that he 
 left me alone, seven hundred miles from home and among 
 strangers. If he had left me in an Indian camp, I should 
 have felt all right ; but to be left away out here among a 
 lot of strange white folks was more than I could bear. 
 
 I put my horses up, and while I was sitting out by the 
 side of the stable, I saw a man come out of the hotel. He 
 had on a white cap, and a white apron that reached from 
 his chin to his feet. In each hand he had a big, round, 
 brass thing. He pounded these together and made a 
 fearful racket. I had never seen a hotel before, to say 
 
174 The White Indian Boy 
 
 nothing of being in one, and as the men that worked in 
 the barn came rushing past me, I asked one of them what 
 was up. "Dinner," he said. I got up and went over to 
 the hotel, and when I went in, I never saw such a sight 
 before. They had tables all over the house, and people 
 were rushing in and sitting down to them. 
 
 I slipped in and took off my hat and stood by the side of 
 the door waiting for some one to come up and ask me to 
 sit down at a table, but nobody came. I stood there 
 a while longer, and saw others come in and sit down at 
 the tables without being asked, so I went sneaking up to 
 a table and stood there, and as nobody asked me to sit 
 down, I sat down anyhow. A waiter came up and began 
 to mutter something to me. I asked, "What?" He got 
 it off again. I told him that I did not know what he said, 
 so he went out and brought me something to eat. I went 
 over to the stable and sat down, and then I began think 
 ing of home. I didn't go back to the hotel that night for 
 any supper, and when I went to bed, the fleas were so bad 
 I didn't sleep a wink that night, and when morning came 
 I was hungry, sleepy, tired, and homesick. 
 
 Next morning I met one of the stable men. He asked 
 me if I had been to breakfast. I told him I had not. 
 " Come right on in," he said, taking me by the arm. The 
 waiter came up and got off the same thing that he said 
 the day before, and the man that was with me told him to 
 fetch it along. I told the waiter to bring me the same. 
 Well, I ate two or three breakfasts that morning to make 
 up. Then I felt much better. 
 
 After breakfast we went back to the stable, and pretty 
 soon Tim Smith came in and said, "Young man, it may 
 be three weeks before the right of way is settled, but if 
 you want to go to work in the stable I will give you three 
 dollars a day." I agreed and began to work. Tim Smith 
 
The Overland Stage 
 
 175 
 
 was a one-armed man, and he had fourteen hostlers and a 
 clerk that worked in the stable. The office was in one 
 corner of the stable and a young man by the name of 
 Billy Green was the clerk. He had charge of the men and 
 was very kind and good to me. 
 
 I was afraid to go out at night, so I stayed in the stable 
 and helped Billy. It was a very large stable, holding over 
 one hundred horses, and there was a good deal of work to 
 do after dark. 
 
 At that time Virginia City was booming. Two or three 
 men were killed every day. I had not driven here very 
 long before I saw a man hanged at what they called the 
 Golden Gate. I don't remember what he had done, but 
 I saw him hanged, anyway. 
 
 Those were rough, wild days, and this was one of the 
 roughest spots in the savage West. I was glad enough 
 to leave it. After a few months of staging here, I quit 
 the job and returned home. 
 
 Spring at Rockwell's stage station, Salt Lake County, Utah. 
 
" All of us but the driver would walk ahead of the team. 1 
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 
 
 A TERRIBLE JOURNEY 
 
 WHEN I returned from Nevada to Utah, I found that 
 mother had moved to Cache Valley, so I went up there 
 and stayed all winter with her. It proved to be a very 
 sad winter for me, though it began very happily. I found 
 here my first sweetheart, a beautiful girl, who made me 
 love her very dearly by her sweet ways and her kind 
 heart; for she helped my mother nurse me through a 
 dangerous illness. 
 
 We had spent the time delightfully for about a month, 
 when I got hurt. My horse, which I was riding one day 
 very fast, struck some ice, slipped and fell, throwing me 
 to the ground. My head struck the ice so hard that it 
 nearly killed me. I was carried home ; brain fever came 
 on and I lay in bed till spring. To make matters worse, 
 the wound in my head broke out again and I was delirious 
 for part of the time. But this dear girl stayed by my 
 bedside day after day, and helped me past death's door. 
 They thought I was dying one day, and she was driven 
 
 176 
 
A Terrible Journey 177 
 
 half wild for fear I might go ; but the next day I had ral 
 lied and from then on I recovered very fast. 
 
 Our intention was to get married ; but before we could 
 realize our hopes they were blighted and destroyed by 
 certain men who should have been our friends. These 
 men poisoned the minds of her parents against me, while 
 I was away driving the stage and guarding the cattle of 
 the people against the Indians; her parents refused to 
 allow her to answer my letters; and finally they suc 
 ceeded in making her give me up and marry one of the 
 men who had turned them against me. 
 
 The little bunch of cattle, which I had bought with the 
 money I had received for my team, were stolen that win 
 ter, presumably by the Indians. I hunted for them for a 
 while, but not one did I ever get back. The money I had 
 saved for a "wedding stake," I gave to mother ; and as I 
 had no heart to stay in that town any longer, I started 
 for the road again. 
 
 That summer I worked for John Bolwinkle of Salt 
 Lake City, as his wagon boss, in charge of his ox-team 
 freighting from Carson City, Nevada. A mail route had 
 been established from Salt Lake City to Bannock, Mon 
 tana, and Mr. Leonard I. Smith obtained the contract 
 to carry this mail. Knowing of my experience in this 
 business, he induced me to drive the stage from Salt 
 Lake north that winter. 
 
 We started out some time in November with a wagon- 
 load of dry goods to trade for horses along the road. 
 Besides this, we had one light coach and two buggies, in 
 which were seven passengers. We went on our journey 
 through Ogden, Brigham City, and other towns north, 
 buying what horses we could as we went along. For a few 
 days we stopped at Soda Springs to arrange about mak 
 ing a mail station there. At that time a large company 
 
178 The White Indian Boy 
 
 of soldiers were wintering in the town. It was the plan 
 of Mr. Smith to make me division agent from Soda 
 Springs to Salt Lake, but I was to go on with him to Ban 
 nock to get acquainted with the whole route. 
 
 When we got to Bannock, winter had set in. It 
 snowed very hard while we were there, and kept snowing 
 all of the way back. By the time we got to Snake River, 
 the snow was deep, and there was no place where we 
 could buy feed for our horses. We had two passengers 
 with us, and Mr. Smith had not provided us with supplies 
 enough to last us half way back to Soda Springs. 
 
 We could not travel as fast as he had planned on ac 
 count of the deep snow, and the horses were getting very 
 weak for want of food. For these reasons we could not 
 come back on the road by which we had gone, so we kept 
 down the Snake River to where the Blackfoot empties into 
 it. There we ate the last of our provisions. We were 
 still one hundred miles from any place where we could 
 get more, and the snow was becoming deeper every day. 
 When we got up the Ross Fork Canyon we had to stop 
 for the night. Here three of the horses gave out, and we 
 had to leave them and one of the buggies. We had left 
 the coach at Beaver Canyon. 
 
 The next morning we started before breakfast, for we 
 had eaten the last thing the morning before. The snow 
 kept falling all the time, and by noon, it was at least three 
 feet deep. All of us but the driver would walk ahead of 
 the team to break the road. We had four horses on the 
 buggy, and the buggy would push up the snow ahead of it 
 until it would run in over the dashboard and sides. 
 That day two more of the horses gave out and we had to 
 leave them, but we reached the head of the Portneuf. 
 
 That night we all turned out and kicked the snow off 
 a little space so the poor horses could get some frozen 
 
A Terrible Journey 179 
 
 grass, but it was so very cold and they were so tired that 
 they could not eat very much. 
 
 The next morning we made another early start, and 
 Mr. Smith said we would get to Soda Springs that day, 
 but I knew we could not get there that day, nor the next 
 day, either. I told the passengers that if we were to leave 
 the buggy, we might make it in two days, but the way we 
 were fooling along with the worn-out horses, we never 
 would get there. They told Mr. Smith what I said and he 
 upbraided me for it. He said I had scared the passengers 
 nearly to death and he wanted me to stop. 
 
 Well, by noon that day, we came to the road we had 
 come out on, but Mr. Smith did not know the place and 
 wanted to follow the road over which we had traveled in 
 going to Bannock. I told him the way we wanted to go 
 was south, but the way he wanted to go was north. He 
 told me I was wrong and ordered me to keep still. 
 "Well," I said, "I will go to Soda Springs and you can go 
 to the other place," so I took what I wanted out of the 
 buggy and started off, but I had not gone far when I 
 heard some one calling me. It was so foggy and the 
 frost was falling so fast that I could see only a few yards, 
 and as I hesitated about going back, one of the passen 
 gers came up to me and asked me if I was sure I knew 
 where I was going, and begged me to come back to the 
 buggy. 
 
 One of the passengers was a large, strong Irishman, 
 and appeared to be well educated ; the other was a sickly 
 looking Englishman. I don't remember their names, but 
 they called each other Mike and Jimmy. I went back 
 to the buggy and Mike saw that I did not want anything 
 to say to Mr. Smith, so he did the talking. He questioned 
 Mr. Smith and then me for quite a while, and then he 
 said he believed that I was right. He told the driver to 
 
180 
 
 The White Indian Boy 
 
A Terrible Journey 181 
 
 turn the team around and follow me. The driver obeyed 
 although it made Mr. Smith very angry. 
 
 After turning south we had not traveled over four miles, 
 when one of the remaining horses gave out and we could 
 not get the poor thing to move, so we had to leave the 
 buggy. We went on about three or four hundred yards 
 to a clump of quaking aspen, and built a large fire. When 
 we all got warm, I went to bring up the horses and buggy, 
 and when I got back to the fire, Mr. Smith and Mike were 
 quarreling. Mr. Smith said that we were going away 
 from Soda Springs, and that he intended to turn and go 
 the other way. 
 
 It was already quite dark, but we could travel just as 
 well in the night as in the day, for we could not see very 
 far anyhow on account of the fog. I said I knew I was 
 right and for all those who wanted to go to Soda Springs 
 to fall in line, for I was going to start right then. I went 
 to the buggy and got a pair of buffalo moccasins I had 
 there, put them on, and started down the trail. "Hold 
 on," called Mike, "I will go with you." Then Jimmy 
 said he was not going to stay there and starve to death, 
 that he would go with us, too. So the three of us went 
 our way and left Mr. Smith and the driver standing there 
 in the fog and snow. 
 
 It was about eleven o'clock at night when we left the 
 buggy. We did not feel much like pushing our way through 
 the snow, for we had already walked many miles that day, 
 and had been three days without anything to eat. Mike 
 said he would take the lead to break the path, I was to 
 come next, and Jimmy was to follow me. There was 
 about a foot of snow with a crust on it, not quite hard 
 enough to hold one up, and on top of this was about two 
 feet of lighter snow, so you see it was very hard traveling. 
 
 We had not been out over two hours, when Mike said 
 
182 The White Indian Boy 
 
 his feet were frozen. I had a few matches in my pocket 
 wrapped in paper, and we kicked around to find some dry 
 sagebrush, but it was all wet and frozen. We broke up 
 some and tried to make a fire, but it would not burn. 
 Pretty soon Mike said we should give him the matches 
 and he would try it. He took them and laid them down 
 by his side while trying to light one, and Jimmy came up, 
 struck them with his foot, and scattered them all through 
 the snow. We could not find a single one of them, so we 
 had to go without any fire. 
 
 We trudged along, stumbling over sagebrush and rock 
 until morning. Mike said we must be very near Soda 
 Springs, for he thought we had traveled twenty miles or 
 more during the night, and he could not believe me when 
 I told him we had not made over eight miles. I told them 
 before we left the buggy that it was about thirty miles to 
 Soda Springs, so I knew we had over twenty miles yet. 
 
 Jimmy and I were about played out, and had to stop 
 every little while to rest. Mike had long legs, but Jimmy 
 and I were so short that when we tried to step in his 
 tracks we had to jump, and that made it harder for 
 Jimmy and me. During the night we had traveled too far 
 to the east and had left the trail through the lava beds 
 and sagebrush, and had started to cross the big meadow 
 and swamps along the Blackfoot River. The tall slough 
 grass and bulrushes were so tangled and frozen together 
 that we could hardly get through them. Sometimes Mike 
 would forget himself and step about six feet over a large 
 mass of grass and rushes, and Jimmy and I would have 
 to wallow through them. 
 
 About noon the fog rose a little and we could see a large 
 butte which we called the Chinaman's Hat, and which I 
 knew was twelve miles from Soda Springs. The butte 
 was about four miles ahead of us, which would make it 
 
A Terrible Journey 183 
 
 sixteen miles from where we were to Soda. Jimmy said 
 his feet were frozen, and that he was too tired to go much 
 farther. I was about worn out, too, so we were in a 
 pretty bad fix. The fog soon settled again, and was so 
 thick that we could not see fifty yards, and we were all so 
 tired out that I knew we could not reach the Chinaman 's 
 Hat before ten o'clock that night. 
 
 We decided that we must not stop to rest more than 
 ten minutes at any time, and that at least one of us must 
 keep awake, for we knew that if all went to sleep at the 
 same time we would never again wake up. 
 
 It was a bitter cold night. There was no wind blowing, 
 and it was very still, not even a bird, rabbit, or coyote 
 was to be seen or heard not a sound but the ringing in 
 our ears. By this time I had gotten over my being hungry, 
 but I was very thirsty, and I had eaten so much snow 
 to satisfy my thirst that my mouth and tongue had be 
 come so sore and swollen that I could scarcely speak. 
 Jimmy was so used up by this time that we could hardly 
 get him to move after we had stopped to rest, and Mike 
 would sometimes carry him a little way ; but Jimmy said 
 it hurt him, so Mike would have to put him down again. 
 
 Well, night was coming on again, and I do not think 
 we had traveled over three or four miles that day, but we 
 were doing the best we could. About four o'clock in the 
 afternoon we stopped for a minute's rest ; I settled back 
 in the snow and put one foot out for Jimmy to lay his 
 head on. Soon it was time to start again and I shook 
 Jimmy, but he did not stir. Mike had already started, 
 so I pulled my foot out from under Jimmy's head, and as 
 I did so his head sank in the snow. Then I took hold of 
 him and tried to raise him, but I could not. I called for 
 Mike, and when he came back, we raised Jimmy up, and 
 I saw that he was dead. 
 
184 
 
 The White Indian Boy 
 
 I cannot tell you what happened in the next half hour, 
 but from what he said in his sorrow over Jimmy's death, 
 I learned for the first time that Jimmy had married Mike's 
 sister. After a while I scraped the snow away clear to the 
 ground, and while doing this, I found a dry thistle stalk 
 about fourteen inches long. I took the dead man's coat 
 off, laid him in the hole, spread the coat over his face, 
 and covered him with snow, making a little mound like a 
 grave. I tore some of the lining from my coat, tied it to 
 the thistle, and stuck it over the grave. 
 
 It was hard work to get Mike started again. He said 
 we were all going to die anyway, and he would rather 
 stay there with Jimmy. I told him we were nearly to 
 Soda Springs, and if he would try, we could get there ; 
 but he said I had told him that so much that he didn't 
 believe I knew where Soda Springs was. He said I had 
 
 Shoshone tepee. Brush across entrance 
 means " No one at home." 
 
A Terrible Journey 185 
 
 told him when we first started from the buggy that it was 
 only thirty miles and he knew we had traveled over 
 seventy miles by this time. I told him I knew if we trav 
 eled as fast as we could that we would be in Soda Springs 
 in two hours. 
 
 We talked there a long time, and I began to think that 
 Mike had really made up his mind not to try to go on any 
 more, when just before dark he seemed to take fresh 
 courage. He jumped up and started out so fast that I 
 could not keep up with him. After a while he stopped 
 and sat down again in the snow, and when I caught up 
 to him I found him sound asleep. I let the poor fellow 
 sleep a few minutes, and then I found it almost impossible 
 to wake him. After pulling and shaking him, I finally 
 got him on his feet, but he would start off the wrong way. 
 Then I would get hold of him and start him off right, but 
 he would turn around and go the wrong way. He did 
 not know what he was doing, so I had to take the lead. 
 Then he would stop and I would have to go back and get 
 him. 
 
 After a little time he seemed to come to himself, and 
 took the lead again for about a mile, and then he sat down 
 in the snow and said he was done for, and that he would 
 not go another step. I did all I could to rouse him, but 
 he would not stir. He gave me a small memorandum 
 book and a little buckskin bag full of gold dust, and told 
 me he had a sister living in Mississippi, and that I would 
 find her address in the book. I talked to him a long time 
 to try to get him to come with me, but he would not 
 move. 
 
 I saw that it was of no use, and that I would have to 
 leave him or lie down in the snow and die with him. This 
 I felt like doing, but for the sake of my mother and sisters, 
 I thought I would make one more effort to reach the 
 
186 The White Indian Boy 
 
 town, so I left him and had gone about seventy-five 
 yards, when I stumbled over something and fell head 
 long into the snow. I cleared the snow away from my 
 face, and sat there thinking about home and how badly 
 my mother would feel if she knew where I was, and how 
 easy it would be to lie there in the snow and go to sleep. 
 
 Drowsiness had nearly overcome me when, suddenly, I 
 heard the far-away tinkle of a bell. I knew then that I was 
 not far from Soda Springs. I jumped up and ran back to 
 Mike as fast as I could go, and when I got to him, I found 
 him stretched out on the snow with his hands folded 
 over his breast and sound asleep. It was all but impossible 
 to wake him. I am certain he would have died if he had 
 been left ten minutes longer. When I got him awake 
 enough to tell him about the bell, the sound had ceased. 
 He would not believe what I told him about it, so I could 
 not get him to come with me. 
 
 I went back to the place where I first heard the bell and 
 sat down again. In a few minutes I heard it louder than 
 before. Then I rushed back to Mike and found him 
 awake, and when I got him to listen he heard the bell this 
 time, too. He jumped up and started so fast in the di 
 rection of the sound that I could not keep up with him. 
 When he would see me falling behind, he would come back 
 and take hold of my hands and pull me along. I begged 
 him to let me alone and told him it hurt me to be jerked 
 over the snow in that way. Then he would kick the 
 snow and say that he would make a good road for me if I 
 would only come. 
 
 We had traveled this way for about half an hour, when 
 the fog rose a little and we saw, a short distance ahead 
 of us, a faint light. He then left me and started for 
 the light as fast as he could go. I tried to follow, but 
 slipped and fell, and found that I could not get up again. 
 
A Terrible Journey 187 
 
 Many times I tried to rise, but fell back every time. I 
 thought if I lay there a while and rested, then perhaps 
 I could get up and go on. I guess I must have fallen 
 asleep, for the first thing I knew, two men had hold of 
 me and were carrying me to the hotel where we had seen 
 the light. Mike had reached there and had told the men 
 in the hotel that one of his companions was dead and an 
 other was out there just a little way dying in the snow. 
 
 When we got to the door, Mike was standing there with 
 a big glass of whiskey in his hand. " Down this, old boy," 
 he said, "and it will be the making of you," but I could 
 not bear the smell of this liquor, to say nothing of drink 
 ing it. 
 
 They set me down in a chair near the stove, but the heat 
 soon made me feel sick, and I had to move as far from the 
 fire as I could get. The cook brought something for us to 
 eat, but my mouth and tongue hurt me so that I could 
 hardly eat anything. Then the light began to grow dim 
 and I could feel them shaking me and could hear them 
 talking to me, but I could not answer, for my tongue was so 
 swollen. Then I seemed to go away off. 
 
 The next thing I remember, they were telling me that 
 the doctors had come, and I saw that the house was full 
 of people. They told me that Mike's feet were frozen and 
 that two men were holding them in a tub of cold water to 
 try to draw the frost out. The doctor was pulling my 
 moccasins off and I heard him say that my feet were all 
 right. It seems that they were giving me hot soup or 
 something every minute, but I was so sleepy that I hardly 
 knew what was going on. I soon found myself in bed 
 with two doctors standing over me. One of them was 
 the faithful Doctor Palmer who, years afterwards, be 
 came a dear friend and neighbor of mine. He told me 
 they had just brought in the dead man, and that they 
 
188 The White Indian Boy 
 
 did not know what to do with him until either Mike or I 
 was able to talk. They were going to hold an inquest 
 over the body and wanted witnesses to tell how he died. 
 I tried to ask if they had sent for Mr. Smith, but they 
 could not understand what I said. 
 
 I don't know how much time had passed, when an army 
 officer came in and began talking to Doctor Palmer. I 
 heard Doctor Palmer say, "Is that so?" The officer 
 said it was. Then Doctor Palmer said, "I did not know 
 he was that bad." I rose to ask what was the matter, 
 but Doctor Palmer told me to lie still. The officer said, 
 "Shall I tell him?" Doctor Palmer said, "Not now, 
 let the other doctor tell him." The officer went out and 
 soon the old doctor came in. He told me that the man 
 who came with me had his feet so badly frozen that he 
 could not save them and they would have to be taken off. 
 He said he would leave Sergeant Chauncey with me while 
 Doctor Palmer assisted him in cutting off Mike's feet. 
 He told me to keep very quiet and in a few days I would 
 be all right. 
 
 About two hours after Mike and I reached the hotel, a 
 company of men started out to find Mr. Smith ; and when 
 they reached the buggy, they found Mr. Smith and the 
 driver all right. They had the meat of two horses cut 
 up and hanging in the trees. When they told Mr. Smith 
 that Mike and I had reached Soda Springs but that Jimmy 
 was dead, he said he was surprised that we were not all 
 dead, for he was certain that I was leading them right 
 away from the town. 
 
 The party that went out for Mr. Smith got back the 
 day the doctors were going to cut Mike's feet off. Mr. 
 Smith came in to see me, and he almost cried when he saw 
 the fix I was in. He said he would take me right to Salt 
 Lake City, where I would get better care than I could in 
 
A Terrible Journey 
 
 189 
 
 S. N. Leet, Jackson, Wyoming 
 
 Winter scene near Uncle Nick's home in Jackson's Hole. Thousands of 
 elk come into this valley during the " snowy moons." 
 
 Soda Springs. They would not allow him to move me, 
 however, though he tried his hardest to take me. 
 
 Owing to the skill of Doctor Palmer I got along pretty 
 well, but it was several weeks before I was able to get 
 around very much. Poor Mike suffered terribly after his 
 
190 The White Indian Boy 
 
 feet were taken off, but he got well and strong as ever, 
 except for the loss of his feet. 
 
 When I got well, I drove the mail from Soda Springs 
 to Franklin during the rest of the winter. That June 
 Jimmy's wife came out from Mississippi. She was Mike's 
 sister, and a most beautiful woman. 
 
 She and Mike induced me to stop driving the mail for a 
 while and take them back over the road we traveled those 
 awful days to reach Soda Springs. I secured a buggy for 
 us to ride in, a small spring wagon to carry the camp out 
 fit, and a good cook to go with us to do the cooking and 
 drive the mess wagon. 
 
 We first stopped where Jimmy died. The spot was 
 still marked by the pieces of my coat lining that were ly 
 ing around. Then we went to where we had left Mr. Smith 
 and his driver. When we reached the place where Mr. 
 Smith wanted to turn north and follow the old trail in the 
 wrong direction, Mike told his sister that if it had not 
 been for me that day, they would all have gone the wrong 
 way and there, somewhere on that lonely trail, have per 
 ished in the snow. From there we went to the Snake 
 River, where we had eaten our last meal on that awful 
 trip. 
 
 We found here a large band of Indians, and among them 
 were several that I was acquainted with. We could not 
 get away from them, they were so glad to see me, so we 
 stayed here four days. They wanted to know why I 
 didn't come back in those days and live with them all the 
 time. Then I had to tell them all about where I had been 
 ever since I went away from them and what I had been 
 doing all that time. They took Jturns asking me questions 
 until I thought they would talk me to death. 
 
 These were the first Indians this woman had ever seen, 
 and she was frightened of them until she noticed how 
 
A Terrible Journey 191 
 
 glad they were to see mo and how kind they were ; then she 
 felt better towards them. She said she was delighted to 
 hear me talk to them, that they were certainly a queer 
 people, and that I must have been a strange boy to leave 
 my home and go to live with them. 
 
 After I had finished my visit with the Indians we 
 turned back over the same road. When we got to mother's 
 home, Mike and his sister stayed with us three weeks. 
 They kept trying all the time to induce me to go with 
 them to her home in Mississippi, but my mother objected 
 so strongly that I would not go, although I wanted to very 
 much. They would have treated me very kindly, I am 
 sure. They even offered to share their property with me ; 
 but I thought more of my mother than I did of anybody 
 else in the world and I could not leave her to make my 
 home among strangers. 
 
" Finally she came to my white mother's home." 
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 
 
 MY OLD SHOSHONE FRIENDS 
 
 "WHAT became of your old Indian mother, Washakie, 
 Hanabi, and the rest?" This question has been asked 
 me again and again. "Did you ever see them again?" 
 "What other experiences did you have with the Indians ?" 
 Such queries as these have been sent to me from even 
 far-off France by people who have read the first edition 
 of my little book. 
 
 To satisfy my readers on these points and others that 
 may be of interest, I have added a few more chapters to 
 my story. 
 
 When I left my dear old Indian mother up north on 
 "Pohogoy," or Ross Fork, a place near the Snake River, 
 I promised her I would come back to her. That promise 
 I intended to keep ; but I was prevented from doing so 
 by other pressing duties, till it was too late. 
 
 She waited a year for her " Yagaki" to return, then her 
 sorrow became so great she couldn't bear it longer and 
 she started out to hunt me up. The Indians told me 
 later that after I had been gone a few months my old 
 
 192 
 
My Old Shoshone Friends 193 
 
 mother would roam off in the mountains and lonely 
 places and stay until hunger would drive her home. Fi 
 nally she came to my white mother's home in Grantsville 
 to find her boy. My mother made her welcome, taking 
 my Indian mother into her home, feeding her, and pro 
 viding her with a room as one of the family. 
 
 Then she wrote me that my two mothers wanted me to 
 come home. I wished with all my heart to do so, but at 
 that time I was about five hundred miles away, out on 
 the mail line, badly wounded in the head by an Indian 
 arrow. When I recovered enough to travel, I had to go 
 to work again. The Indians at this time were burning 
 stations and killing men every chance they got. Riders 
 became so scarce and hard to get that I could not well 
 leave, no matter how I felt. 
 
 When I finally did get away, I found that my own 
 mother, as I have said before, had moved into Cache 
 Valley, and my old Indian mother had left her, broken 
 hearted because she had not found her papoose. She 
 had stayed with my white mother for more than two 
 months. When I did not return as she expected, she 
 grew suspicious that my white mother had hidden me 
 away; and no words could comfort her or change her 
 mind. Finally she went off with some Indians who came 
 there. 
 
 My mother urged me to hunt her up. She had taken 
 quite a fancy to the Indian woman. She thought it my 
 duty to find and care for her the rest of her life. I felt so 
 too. She had been a dear friend to me. She had cared 
 for me and protected me from harm, even saving my life 
 several times. 
 
 The next word I got of my Indian mother was that she 
 was dead. This sad news came from a band of Shoshones 
 I found in the Bear Lake Valley. Hearing they were 
 
194 
 
 The White Indian Boy 
 
 I 
 
 
 I 
 
 
My Old Shoshone Friends 195 
 
 there, I had gone to see them, thinking to meet some of 
 my old Indian friends. But those I wished most to see 
 were not among the band. My dear old mother, they 
 told me, had died about three years after I left. Washakie 
 was then out in the Wind River country. As these In 
 dians were going there, I decided to go with them. 
 
 We found Washakie at South Pass. He was very 
 glad to see me, and treated me like a brother. But 
 he could not tell me just where our mother was buried, 
 as he had happened to be away from her when she died. 
 He only knew that her grave was somewhere on Ham's 
 Fork 1 in Wyoming. He found an Indian who said he 
 knew where it was. I offered to give him a pony if he 
 would guide me to it. He agreed, and we went back to 
 the head of Ham's Fork. We found the camping place 
 they were at when she died, but not the grave, though we 
 hunted for three days together, and I stayed another day 
 after he left. Since then I have passed the place many 
 times and have searched again and again ; for I did de 
 sire to carry out my old Indian mother's wish to be buried 
 like the whites, but I have never found her grave. 
 
 It was the custom of the Indians to bury their dead in 
 some cleft of rocks or wash. They left no mark over the 
 grave, but they usually buried with the body articles the 
 deceased had treasured in life, as weapons, clothing, etc. 
 In the grave with my dear old mother they placed the 
 beaded and tasseled quiver she had made of the skin of 
 the antelope I had killed, the auger I had sent to Salt 
 Lake for, and other things of mine she had kept after I 
 went away. There are those who think an Indian has no 
 heart. This dear old woman certainly had one that was 
 tender and true. Her soul was good and pure. Peace 
 to her memory. 
 
 1 A branch of the Green River. 
 
196 The White Indian Boy 
 
 Washakie's wife Hanabi was another good woman. 
 She, too, had died before I returned to the Indians. Her 
 little girl papoose, the baby when I was with them, grew 
 up, I have been told, and married. 
 
 Washakie married another squaw by whom he had 
 several children. One of them, Dick Washakie, is still 
 living in the Wind River country. He is a wealthy Indian, 
 and has considerable influence. 
 
 When these Shoshone Indians made their treaty with 
 the government there were three reservations set apart 
 for the Shoshone tribe Fort Hall, Lemhi, and Wind 
 River. Washakie was given his choice. He took the 
 Wind River reserve because, as he told me afterwards, it 
 had been his boyhood home, and his father was buried 
 there. Here Washakie spent the rest of his life, honored 
 by his tribe and respected for his goodness and his wis 
 dom by all the whites who knew him. During the early 
 nineties he passed to the Happy Hunting Grounds. 
 
 I saw Washakie many times before he died. We were 
 always brothers. When I lived in Bloomington, Bear 
 Lake County, Idaho, the chief often came and stayed 
 with me. He was always made welcome in my home, 
 and his lodge was always open to me. During the time 
 of Chief Joseph's War, Washakie brought his band and 
 camped for some months near my ranch on Bear River ; 
 and every day he would come to get the news of the war. 
 My wife would read the paper and I would interpret it 
 for the Indians. 
 
 While this war was on, the whites would not sell am 
 munition to the Indians without a letter of recommenda 
 tion, or "Tabop," as they called it. The Indians all 
 came to me for these letters. My home for years was 
 their headquarters. They would have eaten me out of 
 house and home if the ward authorities had not come to 
 my rescue and helped to feed these Red Brethren. 
 
" I would . . . ride the round of the traps." 
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 
 
 TRAPPING WITH AN INDIAN 
 
 BUT the Indians were not always a burden. They 
 sometimes gave me good help. At one time in particular 
 I found an Indian who proved a friend in need. It was 
 during the winter of 1866-7, the year after I had brought 
 my wife from Oxford, Idaho, to Bloomington. 
 
 "Hogitsi," a Shoshone Indian, with his family, was 
 wintering in the town at the time. The whites called 
 him "Hog/' but he hadn't a bit of the hog in his nature. 
 I found him to be one of the best Indians I ever knew. 
 
 After I had got well acquainted with him, he proposed 
 that we try trapping to make some money. I was hard 
 up ; my family was destitute of food and clothing, for I 
 had hard luck that summer, so I was ready to try anything. 
 
 We set to work over in Nounan Valley on a little stream 
 ab6ut fifteen miles from home. The results were very 
 encouraging. At the end of the first week we came back 
 with sixty dollars' worth of furs. It was the easiest 
 money I ever made in my life. Such success made us 
 ready to try again. 
 
 197 
 
198 The White Indian Boy 
 
 New Yort Zoological Society 
 A mink. 
 
 "Hog" proposed that we go down to the Portneuf 
 country and spend the winter at the trapping business. 
 He said he knew of a stream there that was full of beaver 
 and mink and other fur animals. I was anxious to go, 
 but my wife protested that she could not think of my 
 going off for a whole winter with an Indian. She was 
 sure I would be scalped. It was hard work for me to 
 persuade her that under our circumstances it was the 
 right thing to do. She finally consented, however, and 
 we set to work to get ready. 
 
 With "Hog" to help we soon had enough winter's 
 wood chopped up to last my family through the winter. 
 I did all I could otherwise to leave them comfortable; 
 but the best I could do was not enough to keep them 
 from having a hard time of it while I was away. 
 
 I had three horses. " Hog " got two more from Thomas 
 Rich ; and Joseph Rich, who kept a store in Paris, sup 
 plied us with provisions and camp outfit upon our agree 
 ing to sell to him what furs we should get. 
 
 It was about a week after New Year's that we struck 
 out northward through the cold and snow. The snow 
 got deeper and deeper as we went on towards Soda Springs. 
 
Trapping with an Indian 
 
 199 
 
 It seemed impossible to make our destination. I sug 
 gested that we turn back, but "Hog" wouldn't listen to 
 me. He said that we would find the snow lighter from 
 there on, and it would be only a day or two more before 
 we got to the Portneuf. So I yielded and we pushed on 
 till we reached Dempsey Creek, a branch of the Port 
 neuf. Here we made our winter camp at the base of the 
 lava cliffs that border the stream near where it empties 
 into the Portneuf. We chose a good place on the sunny 
 side of the rock, and built our quarters. A cleft up the 
 face of the cliff served us well. By building up a fourth 
 side to this cleft, we made a fine chimney and fire 
 place. Around this we made our shack of quaking 
 aspen poles and willows, and long grass to thatch it. 
 For a door we used the skins of two white-tailed deer 
 stretched over a quaking aspen frame. Our house was a 
 cosy shelter from the storms, and roomy enough to store 
 
 Beaver and beaver lodge. 
 
 New York Zoological Society 
 
200 The White Indian Boy 
 
 our bales of furs. For wood we used cedar, which grew 
 near by. 
 
 Within the cedars we found plenty of black-tail deer, 
 while in the willows the white-tail were so numerous that 
 we had little trouble to get all we needed. Trout we could 
 catch at any time ; so we had food in abundance. 
 
 When it came to trapping, we found beaver and mink 
 so thick that it was no trick at all to catch them. Otter 
 were not so plentiful, but we did land several of these 
 beautiful animals. 
 
 I tended the traps and did the cooking. Hogitsi skinned 
 the animals, stretched the fur, and kept watch of the 
 horses. He was a good worker not a lazy thing about 
 him. Usually he was in bed an hour before me, and up 
 an hour earlier. By the time I was ready to tumble out, he 
 had the fire roaring, and was at work on the skins. While 
 I got breakfast, he would look after the horses, and bring 
 my old buckskin mare to camp. After breakfast I 
 would get on her and ride the rounds of the traps to see 
 what luck the night had brought. Usually I found the 
 traps all sprung and a beaver or mink or sometimes an 
 otter in them, tail up, and drowned in the stream. For 
 we weighted the traps with a rock to hold the animal, 
 when caught, under water. If the animal is not drowned, 
 he will often gnaw off his foot and get away. After 
 taking out the game, I would reset the traps, and return 
 to camp with my load. 
 
 To keep the traps going kept me busy all day. We 
 caught animals so fast that I had sometimes to stop and 
 help Hogitsi catch up with his skinning and stretching. 
 We would sit up at times late at night at this work. 
 Evidently little trapping, if any, had ever been done on 
 this stream, for the animals seemed not to know what a 
 trap meant. 
 
Trapping with an Indian 201 
 
 If it hadn't been for the worry I had for my dear ones at 
 home, the winter would have been a pleasant one in 
 every way. It was one of the easiest I ever spent, and 
 most profitable. I never have made money faster than I 
 did that winter. When springtime came, we had about 
 seven hundred pounds of fur. At that time mink and 
 beaver skins sold at two dollars per pound; otter was 
 worth one dollar a foot. A stretched otter skin would 
 often bring nine dollars or more. 
 
 When we turned over our pack to Mr. Rich, we found 
 we had $900.00 due us after paying all our expenses. 
 He paid us in gold, silver, and greenbacks. Hogitsi was 
 scared when he saw the pile ; and when it came to divid 
 ing, he certainly proved that he was no hog; for he 
 simply would not take his full share. He insisted that 
 we should not have had any if it hadn't been for me; 
 that it would "make him too rich." 
 
 This streak of good luck gave me a new start. My 
 wife felt better about the trapping business ; but she had 
 no desire to repeat the experience of that winter; and, 
 as I found other profitable work to do, I did not turn to 
 trapping again as a business, though I have done a good 
 deal of this work at various times since. And I have 
 also done a good deal of trading in furs with the trappers. 
 
 This trading has brought me into acquaintanceship 
 with a good many of the mountaineers. It was through 
 this that I came to know Kit Carson, who came to my 
 home hunting his trapper son-in-law, Sims, one winter. 
 Sims was wintering near at the time. Kit stopped over 
 night with me. I brought his son-in-law to my home 
 and they made up their troubles. Kit wanted to stay 
 with me for a while. I took him in, and we boarded and 
 lodged him for several months. We had a good time to 
 gether swapping yarns that winter, I can tell you. 
 
' We intend to tie you to that tree and burn you alive.' " 
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 
 
 WORKING ON THE INDIAN RESERVATION 
 
 WHEN the government undertook the task of settling 
 the Indians on the reservations, I was given the job of 
 helping the Indian Agent of the Fort Hall reservation 
 gather and keep the Redmen within bounds. This was 
 no easy task. The Indians found it hard, after their 
 many years of roving life, to be restrained. They often 
 grew discontented, complaining at times that they were 
 being cheated and otherwise mistreated. It is a well- 
 known fact that they often had much cause to complain. 
 The Indians have been abused shamefully by the whites at 
 times, and I know it. Our dealings with the Redmen 
 reflect no great credit on us. 
 
 If the Indians became disgruntled, as they frequently 
 did, they would slip away to the mountains in a sulky 
 mood. Whenever they did this, it was my business to 
 bring them back. This task was not only disagreeable, 
 but sometimes dangerous. 
 
 At one time a band under the lead of old Sagwich got 
 angry over something, and struck for the hills, strongly 
 
 202 
 
Working on the Indian Reservation 203 
 
 determined that they would not come back to the reser 
 vation again. 
 
 I was sent to bring them back ; they had a week the 
 start of me. I had a good horse, however, and taking 
 with me an Indian boy named Suarki, to lead the pack 
 horse, I started out. The second day we struck their 
 trail, and knowing well the signs they always leave be 
 hind them, we followed it easily; but it led us over a 
 hundred and fifty miles through a rough country before 
 we found the runaway band. 
 
 On the sixth day we came upon them camped on the 
 Salmon River. We pitched our camp about a hundred 
 yards away. After unsaddling our horses, I went over 
 to have a talk with them. 
 
 Old Sagwich was very angry. He said he knew what I 
 was after, but he wouldn't go back ; and I would not go 
 back either, for they would fix me so that I couldn't give 
 them any more trouble. He said I ought to be their friend, 
 but instead of that I was helping to bring more trouble to 
 them. The whites he accused of lying to them and rob 
 bing them of their hunting ground and forcing them to 
 
 Trading post at Fort Hall Indian reservation, Idano. 
 
204 
 
 The White Indian Boy 
 
 Bureau of Indian Affairs 
 Piute Indian girl carrying corn (Southern Utah). 
 
 work at something they knew nothing about. They 
 would bear it no longer ; they would fight first. The 
 old chief grew angrier as he went on. 
 
 "You need not think of escaping this time," he said to 
 me. "We intend to tie you to that tree and burn you 
 alive." I tried to reason with them, telling them I knew 
 I was in their power ; but it wouldn't do them any good 
 to kill me. If they did, the soldiers would soon follow 
 and kill the last one of them. 
 
Working on the Indian Reservation 205 
 
 "We are not afraid of the soldiers," he retorted. "We 
 would rather die fighting than starve." 
 
 "Well," I replied, "if you kill me, you will kill one of 
 the best friends the Indians ever had." 
 
 But nothing I could say seemed to make any difference 
 with old Sagwich. He was determined to carry out his 
 threat. If he had his way I knew he would do it. The 
 other Indians, however, were not so devilish. One of 
 them gave me some fresh elk meat, and I went back to 
 my camp. Things looked rather black for me that night. 
 My only hope was that the other Indians would not stand 
 by old Sagwich. 
 
 If the worst came, I had determined to sell my life as 
 dearly as possible. The Indians held a council that night. 
 We kept close watch till morning, but as no one offered 
 to harm us, we began to feel a little easier. After sad 
 dling our horses, I told Suarki I was going over to have 
 
 Dr. T. M. Bridges 
 At the Indian agency ; squaw with papoose in Indian cradle. 
 
206 The White Indian Boy 
 
 another talk with them, and instructed him that if they 
 made a move to kill me, he should leap on my horse and 
 strike for home to tell the Indian Agent. 
 
 Old Sagwich was so sulky he wouldn't even speak to me. 
 The other Indians, however, acted better. They said 
 nothing of what had been decided, but that day they 
 packed up and took the trail towards home. We followed 
 them. On our way down the river we came upon one of 
 the Indians fishing. He told me about the council. Old 
 Sagwich was stubborn in his determination to kill me, 
 but the rest wouldn't consent and he had to give up his 
 bloody plan. 
 
 This experience made me feel that my job was too 
 risky for the pay I was getting. The Agent wouldn't 
 raise my wages, so I quit him and went back to my home 
 at Oxford, Idaho. 
 
" Two Indians were behind them, both on an old horse of mine." 
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 
 
 FRONTIER TROUBLES 
 
 LATER, we moved back into the Bear Lake, where we 
 made our home for twenty years. During this time I 
 was often called on to do dangerous service in the interest 
 of our settlements. After the Indian troubles were over, 
 we had outlaws to deal with who were worse than Indians. 
 For a long time the frontier communities suffered from 
 depredations committed by cattle rustlers and horse 
 thieves. Organized bands operated from Montana to 
 Colorado. They had stations about a hundred miles 
 apart in the roughest places in the mountains. They 
 would often raid our ranges and steal all the cattle and 
 horses they could pick up, driving them into their moun 
 tain retreat. They got so daring finally that they even 
 came into the settlements and robbed stores and killed 
 men. The colonists did not get together to stop these 
 outrages till after a fatal raid was made upon Montpelier, 
 when a store was robbed and a clerk was shot dead. 
 This roused the people of the valley to action. Gen. Charles 
 C. Rich called upon the leaders of the towns to send two 
 
 207 
 
208 The White Indian Boy 
 
 men from each settlement the best men to be had 
 to pursue and punish the outlaws. Fourteen men re 
 sponded to the call, among them four of the leaders 
 themselves. It fell to my lot to be one of this posse. 
 
 We struck across the mountains east of Bear Lake, 
 following the trail of the robbers to their rendezvous on 
 the Big Piney, a tributary of the Green River. We 
 knew that they had hidden themselves in this country, 
 for two of the men with us, whose stock had been stolen, 
 had followed the robbers to their den to recover their 
 property. Finding the outlaws in such force, they didn't 
 dare to claim their stolen stock but returned to Bear 
 Lake for help. 
 
 These men led us to the place where they had come 
 upon the outlaws ; but the outlaws had evidently feared 
 pursuit and moved camp. To hide their tracks they 
 had driven their wagons up the creek right in the water 
 for over a mile. Then they had left the creek and driven 
 up a little ravine and over a ridge. As we rode up this 
 ravine, to the top of the ridge, the two men who were in 
 the lead sighted the tepees of the robbers in the hollow 
 below. They dodged back to keep out of sight, and we 
 all rode down into the thick willows on the Big Piney, hid 
 ing our horses and ourselves among them. The two men 
 that had sighted the outlaw camp then slipped up the hill 
 again on foot, secreting themselves in the sagebrush at the 
 top of the ridge, and watched the rest of the afternoon to 
 see whether the outlaws had mistrusted anything; but 
 they showed no sign of having seen us. At dark they 
 came and reported. 
 
 We held council then to decide what plan to pursue to 
 capture the outlaws. As the robbers outnumbered us, 
 more than two to one, and were well armed, it was serious 
 business. Our sheriff weakened when the test came ; he 
 
Frontier Troubles 209 
 
 said he couldn't do it, and turned his papers over to 
 Joseph Rich, as brave a man as ever went on such a trip. 
 There were others who felt pretty shaky and wanted to 
 turn back, but Mr. Rich said we had been picked as the 
 best men in Rear Lake and he didn't feel like going back 
 without making an attempt to capture the thieving band. 
 One man said he was ready to go cut the throats of the 
 whole bunch of robbers if the captain said so, but Mr. 
 Rich said, " No ; we did not come out to shed blood. We 
 want to take them alive and give them a fair trial." 
 
 Every man was given a chance to say how he felt. 
 Most of us wanted to make the attempt to capture the 
 outlaws, and the majority ruled. 
 
 How to do it was the next problem. It would have 
 been folly for so few of us to make an open attack on so 
 many well-armed men. The only way we could take 
 them was by surprise, when they were asleep. This plan 
 agreed upon, Mr. Rich proposed that we go down the hill 
 with our horses and pack animals, get in line at the bottom, 
 then, just at the peep of day, charge upon their camp, 
 jump from our horses, run into their tents and grab their 
 guns. When we had decided on this plan of action, Mr. 
 Rich said that this probably meant a fight. If it did we 
 should let them fire first. Should they kill one of us, we 
 must not run ; for if we did so they would kill us all. We 
 should give them the best we had. With our double-bar 
 reled shotguns loaded with buckshot, we would make 
 things pretty hot for them if they showed fight. 
 
 In order that we might know exactly the situation, and 
 have our tents picked out beforehand, so as not to get in 
 a mix-up, two volunteers were called for to go down 
 through their camp in the night and get the lay of things. 
 Jonathan Hoopes and I offered to go. Their tepees 
 were pitched on both sides of a little stream, which was 
 
210 The White Indian Boy 
 
 deep enough for us to keep out of sight by stooping a little. 
 Down this stream we stole our way, wading with the cur 
 rent so as not to make any noise, till we got right among 
 the tepees. The biggest one was pitched on the brink of 
 the stream. We could hear some of the men inside of it 
 snoring away lustily. Hoopes reached his hand up and 
 found a blanket on which were some service berries spread 
 out to dry. Being hungry, we helped ourselves, filling 
 our pockets with them. After taking in the situation 
 fully, we slipped back to our boys. 
 
 There were seven tents in all, and fourteen of us two 
 to each tent. Hoopes and I were to take the largest, the 
 other boys were assigned theirs. We waited for day to 
 break ; just as it did, the word was given ; we popped 
 spurs to our horses and away we went. A few seconds 
 and we had leaped from them, rushed into the tents and 
 begun to grab the guns from the robbers, who, wakened 
 so rudely, stared stupidly, while we gathered in their 
 weapons. By the time Hoopes was through passing them 
 out to me, I had my arms loaded with rifles and revolvers. 
 Mr. Bich told me to carry them up the hill a piece and 
 stack them. "Shoot the first man who makes a move 
 to touch them," was his order. When I looked around, 
 there sat three of our men on their horses ; they hadn't 
 done their duty, so some of the tents were yet untouched. 
 I told Hoopes, and he jumped over the creek to one of 
 them. I was just gathering up some weapons I had 
 dropped when a big half-breed made a jump at me, grabbed 
 my shotgun and we had a lively tussle for a few minutes. 
 He might have got the better of me, for he was a good 
 deal bigger than I, but Hoopes jumped to the rescue and 
 cracked him on the head with his revolver so hard that it 
 knocked him senseless for some time* 
 
 When the outlaws rallied themselves enough to sense 
 
Frontier Troubles 
 
 what had happened, they broke out of their tents in 
 double-quick time, swearing and cursing and demanding 
 what we wanted. 
 
 Captain Rich told them to keep quiet, that they were 
 all under arrest, that we had the advantage, but we would 
 not harm them if they behaved themselves. Seeing that 
 it was useless to resist, they settled down. 
 
 The captain then ordered them to kill a calf for us, as 
 we had not had anything to eat since noon the day before. 
 They obeyed orders and we soon had a good breakfast. 
 Later in the day part of our men went out and searched 
 their herds. A good many cattle and horses belonging to 
 our men were found among them. 
 
 The leaders of the outlaws were not in this band. They 
 were off making another raid somewhere. One of the 
 band of outlaws was deaf and dumb. Captain Rich took 
 this fellow aside and carried on a conversation with him 
 by writing. From the man he learned that the rest of 
 the band were expected in that night, but as they didn't 
 come, we concluded that they had seen us and were lying 
 off in the hills waiting a chance to ambush us and rescue 
 their comrades. We were too sharp to give them the 
 chance to do that. For three days we waited, guarding 
 our prisoners. Then, as we thought it too risky to try to 
 take so large a band of desperate men through the rough 
 timbered country we must pass to get home, we took 
 forty head of their horses as bond for their appearance at 
 court in thirty days, and let the prisoners go. 
 
 When we were ready to set out, we carried their guns to 
 the top of a hill, and Hoopes and I were left to guard the 
 weapons till we were sure our men were far enough away 
 to be safe ; then we left the weapons and struck out for 
 home after them. 
 
 As no one ever came to redeem the horses, they were 
 
The White Indian Boy 
 
 sold at auction. This nest of outlaws was broken up for 
 good the following year. Since then that part of the coun 
 try has had no serious trouble with horse thieves and robbers. 
 
 One more rather exciting experience that befell me and 
 then I shall close these stories of my life in the rugged 
 West. 
 
 It happened in 1870. Jim Donaldson, Charley Web 
 ster, or "Webb," as we called him, and I were taking a 
 peddling trip to Fort Stanbow, the soldier post that was 
 temporarily established near South Pass for the protection 
 of the miners and emigrants. We had loaded up our 
 three wagons with butter, eggs, and chickens. 
 
 The Sioux Indians were then on the warpath. We had 
 been warned to keep an eye on our horses, but we thought 
 little about it till one day we were nooning on the Big 
 Sandy about where Lot Smith burnt the government 
 wagon trains when, just as we sat down to eat, "Webb" 
 looked up to see our horses, which we had turned loose to 
 graze, disappearing in a cloud of dust. Two Indians were 
 behind them, both on an old horse of mine, and they were 
 whooping the others across the hills to beat time. 
 
 Jumping to our feet we dashed after them afoot. This 
 was useless, of course. "Webb" and Donaldson jerked 
 out their revolvers and took several shots at the rascals, 
 but they were out of revolver reach and getting farther 
 away every second, while we stared and damned them. 
 
 It was a pretty pickle we were in forty miles from 
 nowhere, with three wagons loaded with perishable stuff, 
 and not a horse to move them. We got madder and mad 
 der as we watched the thieving devils gradually slip out of 
 sight beyond the sand hills. 
 
 Then we went back to our wagons cussing and dis 
 cussing the situation. For an hour or more we tried to 
 puzzle a way out of our difficulty. It was no use. The 
 
Frontier Troubles 213 
 
 more we worried the worse it looked. All the money I had 
 was invested in those eggs and butter and they would soon 
 be worse than nothing in the hot sun. The other boys 
 were in as bad a fix as I was. We just couldn't see a way 
 out of it ; but we kept up our puzzling till suddenly we 
 heard a rumbling noise. 
 
 A few minutes later a covered wagon drawn by a pair of 
 mules came in sight. 
 
 An old man "Boss Tweed" the boys had nicknamed 
 him was the driver. In the seat with him was a boy, 
 who had a saddle horse tied behind. They were surely 
 a welcome sight to us. 
 
 We told them of our trouble. The old man reckoned 
 he could help us out. He proposed that we load the sup 
 plies of two of our wagons on his larger wagon, then trail 
 ing our other wagon behind, his old mules he thought 
 could haul us into South Pass. It looked like our only 
 chance, but "Webb" thought he had a better plan. 
 
 The Indians, he said, must make their way out of the 
 country through a certain pass. There was no other 
 route they could escape by. If we three would take the 
 mules and boy's horse and ride hard through the night, we 
 might get ahead of the thieves and retake our horses. 
 
 "Anything for the best,"' said the old man; but the 
 boy objected. We shouldn't take his horse. He started 
 to untie his animal, but we stopped him. Our situation 
 was a desperate one ; he had to give in. 
 
 We unhitched the mules, and strapped quilts on their 
 backs. Donaldson and I jumped on them; "Webb" 
 took the horse. Then we struck the trail single file, my 
 old mule on lead with Jim to whip him up and "Webb" 
 behind him to whip Jim's mule. It was a funny sight. 
 I never meet Jim but he calls up that circus parade loping 
 along over the hills out on the Big Sandy. 
 
214 
 
 The White Indian Boy 
 
 S. N. Leek, Jackson, Wyoming 
 
 Uncle Nick (E. N. Wilson, author of this book), lauding a big trout out 
 of Jackson Lake, Wyoming. 
 
 The old mules were slow, but they were tough. They 
 kept up their steady gait mile after mile through the night. 
 We couldn't see any trail just the gap in the mountains 
 against the sky to guide us as we loped and jogged and 
 jogged and loped through the long night. 
 
 When daylight came to light our way, we found our 
 selves at the place where the trail took up over the pass. 
 Soon it forked, the two branches of the trail going up two 
 
Frontier Troubles 215 
 
 ravines which were separated by a low, narrow ridge. 
 We saw no fresh tracks on either trail, so we knew the 
 Indians had not passed this point. It looked as if we had 
 got ahead of them as "Webb" hoped. 
 
 We rode up one ravine about a mile from the forks, 
 keeping out of the trail so as to leave no tracks to alarm 
 the thieves if they came our way. Here we stopped and 
 "Webb" went up on the ridge to where he could overlook 
 the country and at the same time watch both trails. Our 
 plan was to wait till we found out which trail the Red 
 skins took. Then we could post ourselves on either trail 
 and head them off as they came up the one or the other 
 ravine, it being but a short distance between the trails. 
 
 "Webb" had not been on watch long before he sighted 
 them coming about six miles away. He waited till they 
 reached the forks. Luck favored us. They took our 
 trail. Seeing this "Webb" slipped down to tell us. We 
 hastily hid our horses in the tall brush that bordered the 
 little creek, chose a place where the big birches hung over 
 the trail, and got ready. "Webb" and Donaldson, having 
 revolvers, were to take the lead Indian, while with my 
 rifle I was to settle accounts with the other. 
 
 We hadn't long to wait till here they came crowding 
 our horses full tilt along the trail. We held ourselves till 
 we had the dead drop on them, then we all fired. My 
 companions both caught their Indian in the head. I took 
 mine right under the arm. Their horses jumped and they 
 both tumbled off so dead they didn't know what struck 
 them. It may seem a cruel thing to do, but we were not 
 going to take any chances. 
 
 I never have found any joy in killing Indians. And I 
 never have killed any except when circumstances com 
 pelled it; nor have I ever felt like boasting about such 
 bloody work. These rascals certainly deserved what they 
 
216 The White Indian Boy 
 
 got. They had stolen all we had and left us in a very serious 
 difficulty. They were Sioux Indians who were escaping 
 from a battle with the soldiers of Fort Stanbow. 
 
 You can easily believe we were mighty glad to get back 
 those horses and strike the trail again towards our wagons. 
 We found things all right there. The old man had taken 
 good care of our produce while we were away. He was 
 just as happy as we were over our success. But do you 
 think he would take any pay for his trouble? Not a 
 i cent. It was pay enough, he said, to feel so good because 
 he had helped us out of a bad fix. When we got to 
 South Pass, however, we found his home and left him 
 some supplies with our good wishes. He was away at the 
 time, so he couldn't object. 
 
 The boy who had refused us his horse didn't object, 
 though, to taking five dollars for his pay. I've always 
 found a heap of difference among the human beings one 
 meets in his travels. 
 
 The years that have followed these wild days have not 
 been so filled with exciting adventures, yet no year has 
 passed without its rough and trying experiences; for it 
 has been my lot to live always on the frontier. Even 
 now my home is in Jackson's Hole one of the last of our 
 mountain valleys to be settled. In 1889 I first went into 
 this beautiful valley, and a few years later I pioneered 
 the little town now called Wilson, in my honor. 
 
 It was here that I was brought again into close contact 
 with my Shoshone friends the Indians from whom for 
 many years I had been all but lost. In 1895, when the 
 so-called Jackson's Hole Indian war broke out and several 
 Indians were killed and others captured and brought to 
 trial for killing game, I was called on to act as interpreter. 
 My sympathies went out to the Indians at this time. 
 
Frontier Troubles 
 
 217 
 
 They were misunderstood and mistreated as they always 
 have been. The Indian has always been pushed aside, 
 driven, and robbed of his rights. 
 
 It is a sad thought with me to see the Redmen giving 
 away so rapidly before our advancing civilization. Where 
 thousands of the Indians once roamed free, only a scat 
 tered few remain. The old friends of my boyhood days 
 with Washakie have almost entirely passed away. Only 
 once in a great while do I find one who remembers Yagaki, 
 the little boy who once lived with their old chief's mother. 
 But when I do happen to meet one as I did last year 
 when I found Hans, a wealthy Indian, who lives now on 
 his ranch at the Big Bend in Portneuf Canyon then 
 we have a good time, I tell you-, recalling the days of long 
 ago when Uncle Nick was among the Shoshones. 
 
 Caspar w. Hodgson 
 
 A lily pond in the Yellowstone Park, which was part of the land of the 
 Shoshones. 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 EDITORIAL NOTE. The Indian words and definitions given in this 
 glossary have been carefully checked by a scholar of national reputa 
 tion, who has studied the Shoshone language. He has pronounced 
 the words as nearly correct as one can represent in our symbols these 
 differing dialects of the Indian tribes. It has been the effort of the 
 editor to be accurate, but it is difficult to give exactly the sounds of 
 the Indian language. 
 
 Angitapa (An'gi-ta-pa'). Name 
 applied by Shoshone Indians 
 to Rock Creek, Idaho. 
 
 Antelope (an't-lop). Animal 
 akin to the deer, a native of 
 the Western plains and open 
 mountain valleys. Commonly 
 called pronghorns. The North 
 American pronghorn is not a 
 true antelope. 
 
 Balzamoriza (bal'za-mo-ri-za). A 
 species of plant with showy 
 yellow blossoms, and velvety 
 leaves, belonging to sunflower 
 family. Commonly known as 
 "spring sunflower." The 
 seeds were used by Indians for 
 food. It grows about one foot 
 high. 
 
 Bannocks (B&n'nocks or Pa/nooks). 
 Tribe of western Indians allied 
 to Shoshones. Dr. Eobert 
 Lowie, of the American Mu 
 seum of Natural History, gives 
 the name Banaite as the one 
 he found applied by the Lemhi 
 Indians to the Bannocks. 
 
 Chaps (from Spanish - American 
 chaparajos). Leather or sheep 
 skin leggings worn by cow 
 boys to protect their legs from 
 thorny bushes while riding. 
 
 Chief Joseph. Leader of Nez 
 Perce" Indians during sixties 
 and seventies^ who with Chief 
 
 Looking-Glass and others led 
 his tribe in a revolt against 
 the United States, and after 
 wards fled with his people 
 towards Canada, but was over 
 taken by soldiers under Gen 
 eral Miles, captured, and held 
 in this country. 
 
 Coyote (ki-o'te). Animal of the 
 wolf family, a native of West 
 ern plains. Picturesquely de 
 scribed by Mark Twain in his 
 Roughing It. 
 
 Echo Canyon. A canyon about 
 twenty miles in length, leading 
 from southwestern Wyoming 
 westward into Utah. Through 
 this canyon ran the pony ex 
 press and overland trail. The 
 canyon is so named because 
 of the clear echoes made by 
 its red sandstone cliffs. 
 
 Fort Hall. The first Fort Hall was 
 a fur-trading post on the Snake 
 River, about fifteen miles to 
 the north of Pocatello. The 
 second Fort Hall was a mili 
 tary post about fifteen miles 
 to the east of original site. 
 The third and present Fort 
 Hall is on Ross's Fork, about 
 ten miles northeast of Poca 
 tello on Oregon Short-line. 
 Now it is the headquarters of 
 the Indian Agency of that 
 name. 
 
 219 
 
220 
 
 Glossary 
 
 Gosiutes (Go'shutes). Name given 
 to scattered bands of Indians 
 living in the deserts of western 
 Utah and eastern Nevada. 
 "Go" in this Indian dialect 
 is said to mean desert or waste 
 place; hence Gosiutes would 
 mean desert Utes. 
 
 Hanabi (Han'a-bi). Washakie's 
 wife. 
 
 Hogitsi (Hog'it-se-). Name of In 
 dian who trapped with Uncle 
 Nick. 
 
 Jackson's Hole. One of the splen 
 did valleys in western Wyo 
 ming, lying between the Con 
 tinental divide and the Teton 
 Mountains. It was named 
 after Jackson, an old moun 
 taineer, who made this his 
 rendezvous while trapping and 
 hunting. 
 
 Koheets (Ko'heets). Indian name 
 for the curlew (cur 'lew), a 
 Western bird of the plover 
 family. Name given by In 
 dians also to a stream in south 
 ern Idaho. 
 
 Lemhi (Lem'hi). Name given to 
 tribe of Indians and to an 
 early fort or settlement in 
 central eastern Idaho, near 
 the Salmon River. Indian 
 reservation there was aban 
 doned in 1907. 
 
 "Lumpy Dick." A kind of por 
 ridge, made by boiling mois 
 tened flour in milk. Used in 
 early days by Western pio 
 neers. 
 
 Morogonai (Mor'o-go'ni). An old 
 arrow maker and a retired 
 chief of the Shoshones when 
 Uncle Nick lived among them. 
 
 Pantsuk (P&nt'sook). Name of 
 Uncle Nick's little Indian 
 brother. 
 
 Parowan (Par'6-wan). Name ap 
 plied to tribe of Indians in 
 southern Utah. Also name 
 given to first settlement made 
 in the same part of that state. 
 
 Piatapa (Pe'at-a-pa). Name given 
 by Shoshones to Jefferson 
 River, Montana. 
 
 Pinto (pin' to). Painted, mottled, 
 or vari- colored. Many of the 
 Indian ponies were pinto 
 ponies. (See pictures on 
 pages 11 and 54.) 
 
 Piubi (Pe'ub-e). Name of one of 
 Washakie's brothers who was 
 killed by snowslide. 
 
 Piupa (Pe'u-pa). Name given to 
 Snake River by Shoshones. 
 Means "Big Water." 
 
 Pocatello (Po'ca-tel'lo). Name of 
 one of leading chieftains of 
 Shoshones. He did not agree 
 with Washakie in the pacific 
 policy followed by the latter 
 chief. Pocatello protested and 
 fought against the encroach 
 ment of the whites. Poca 
 tello, Idaho, was named after 
 this chief. 
 
 Quaking aspen. A tree common 
 in the mountains of the West. 
 Named because its leaves are 
 ever trembling. Its bark is 
 white ; the tree grows some 
 times fifty to sixty feet in 
 height. Its wood is for fuel. 
 
Glossary 
 
 Rawhide. Untanned skin of ani 
 mals. Strips of this skin were 
 often used in place of ropes 
 and strings by the Indians 
 and pioneers of the West 
 
 Sagwich (Sag'wich). A chief 
 tain of Pocatello's band. 
 
 Sego (se'go). A plant of lily fam 
 ily common throughout the 
 mountains and valleys of the 
 West. It grows from a small 
 onion - like bulb, generally 
 found about eight inches in 
 the ground. This bulb was 
 used by the Indians for food. 
 The Utah pioneers, learning 
 of this native food from the 
 Indians, also used it in early 
 days when provisions were 
 scarce. The sego lily has 
 been officially chosen as 
 Utah's State flower. It 
 blooms in the latter part of 
 May, and is used extensively 
 on Decoration Day. Among 
 the interesting spring pastimes 
 of the Western boys and girls 
 are sego digging and gathering 
 sego lilies. Se'go is the Indian 
 name for this plant. 
 
 Service berries. Small berries 
 similar in size and color to 
 blueberries and huckleberries. 
 Found plentifully in the 
 mountains of the West. They 
 grow on bushes. Used by 
 Indians for food. Granny 
 Pokiboro's service berry bas 
 ket was among the collection 
 of Shoshone relics pictured on 
 page 111. 
 
 Shoshone (Sho'sh5-n). Some 
 times spelled Shoshoni. Name 
 
 applied generally to Indians 
 of Utah, Idaho, and Western 
 Wyoming, and some parts of 
 Eastern Nevada. Southern 
 Shoshones were usually spoken 
 of as Ute tribe. " Shoshone " 
 probably means "Snake." 
 The Shoshones were com 
 monly called the Snake In 
 dians by the other tribes 
 and the early pioneers of the 
 West. 
 
 Sioux (Sod) . Name of large Indian 
 tribe of the northern central 
 plains. 
 
 Sogwobipa(Sog-wob'bi-pa). Name 
 given by Shoshones to Mis 
 souri River. 
 
 Suarki ( Su-ar'ki) . Name of young 
 Indian who accompanied Un 
 cle Nick when he went to 
 bring Sagwich and his band 
 back to the reservation. 
 
 Swap (swap). Means to trade, 
 to exchange. 
 
 Tabby (Tab-by). Tabby means 
 the sun. Name of Gosiute 
 Indian who lived about 
 Grantsville, Utah, in the early 
 days and who saved Uncle 
 Nick. It was also the name 
 of a chief of the Utes. 
 
 Tabop (Ta-bop'). Letter of rec 
 ommendation given to Indians. 
 They used such letters at 
 times when they would come 
 asking for food. 
 
 Tepee (te'pee, also ti'pi). Name 
 applied to cone-shaped tent 
 used by Western Indian tribes. 
 Made in earlier days of buf 
 falo robes or elk skins ; now 
 made of canvas. 
 
Glossary 
 
 Teton Mountains (Te'ton) . Name 
 of mountain range on western 
 edge of Wyoming. The Teton 
 Peaks (see picture facing page 
 1) are famous the world over. 
 The Grand Teton is about 
 14,000 feet high. 
 
 Titsapa (Tit'se-pa). Name given 
 to the Bear River, a stream 
 which rises in northeastern 
 Utah, flows through part of 
 Wyoming and Idaho, and 
 finally finds its way back into 
 Utah and empties into the 
 Great Salt Lake. 
 
 Tobitapa (T5'b6-ti-pa). Name 
 given by Indians to the Port- 
 neuf, a branch of the Snake 
 River. The Portneuf rises 
 in southeastern Idaho and 
 flows through the Portneuf 
 Canyon past Pocatello and 
 empties into the Snake River 
 about ten miles northwest of 
 this city. 
 
 Tosaibi (To'se-a/bi). Name given 
 springs in southeastern Idaho. 
 The water of these springs is 
 a kind of natural soda water. 
 They are used by many for 
 
 medicinal purposes. Tosa or 
 Tose means white. The sedi 
 ment from these springs makes 
 whitish mounds. 
 
 Tosenamp CTo'se-namp') . White- 
 foot. Tose (white), namp 
 (foot). Name given to Indian 
 who worked for Uncle Nick's 
 father. 
 
 Umbaginny (Um'ba-jin-ny) . A 
 Gosiute Indian killed by the 
 whites for cattle stealing in 
 early days. 
 
 Washakie (Wash'^-ke'). Name of 
 chief of the Shoshones from 
 about 1850 until his death 
 about 1890. 
 
 Wickiup (wick'i-iip). Name given 
 to brush huts and other rude 
 shelters built by the Indians 
 out West. 
 
 Yagaki (YS'gi-ke). Name given 
 
 by Indians to Uncle Nick. 
 
 Means "the crier." 
 Yaibi (Yl'bi). Name of one of 
 
 Washakie's brothers killed by 
 
 a snowslide. 
 
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 greatest length with saving the soil, the forests, and wild life. It is one 
 of the author's main purposes to arouse a stronger sentiment for pre 
 serving what remains of the forests as well as for extending their areas. 
 This is because proper forestation will lessen the danger of floods and 
 of erosion of the soil, and it will encourage the return of the wild crea 
 tures that are of so much economic importance and add so much to the 
 joy of life. 
 
 The matter is presented in an easy narrative style that is calculated to 
 arouse the intelligent interest of children. The text is illustrated with 
 photographs of wild animals, trees, landscapes, and rarely beautiful 
 birds, printed in colors. The subject is timely and the treatment is 
 happy throughout. 
 
 CONSERVATION READER should be used as a reader or as a book for 
 regular study in every elementary school in the country. 
 
 Cloth, vi + 216 Pages. 
 Price $1.20. 
 
 WORLD BOOK COMPANY 
 
 YoNKERS-ON-HuDSON, NEW YoRK 
 
 2126 PRAIRIE AVENUE, CHICAGO