UP I IHii Nil :l' P;ii. Bftt mi m ^w,^m Book L l^A^. PRI-:SKNTJ£0 BY A. J. Leach. EARLY DAY STORIES We Overland Trail Animals and Birds that Lived Here Hunting Stories Looking Backward Second Edition By A. J. LEACH Press of HUSE PUBLISHING CO. Norfolk, Neb. Preiatory^ This book is descriptive, historical, instructive, truth- ful. It is a safe book for the young people. It is intended to be an interesting book for the old people. These stories are drawn from the personal experiences of the author, during a trip across Nebraska, and west- ward over the mountains to the Pacific coast in the year 1852, and from a residence in Nebraska since May 16, 1867. It is a book of frontier stories taken from actual life. These stories were first printed in the county news- papers, with no thought of having them published in book form. They met with so much favor that it was determined to send them forth in a bound volume. Here it is. A. J. LEACH. Oakdale, Nebraska, March 13, 1916. Contents Chapter Page I Ignorance of Nebraska History — A Great Thor- oughfare — The Different Starting Points — The Overland Stage — Marked by Graves Along the Route 9 II Start from Home in Genesee County, Mich. — Jour- ney on Foot to La Salle, 111. — Down the Illinois River to St. Louis — Up the Missouri to St. Jos- eph — Hire Out to Drive Team — Journey With Ox Team from St. Joseph to Sarpy's Landing 14 III Crossing the Missouri — Camp Where Bellevue Now Stands— Gather Wild Strawberries May 28, 1852 — Start West on the Journey from the Missouri May 29, 1852— Join Capt. Well's Train— Cross the Elkhom River 22 IV Halted by a Band of Pawnees at Shell Creek — Pay Toll for Crossing the Creek — Cross Loup Fork Near the Present Site of Genoa 29 V From Loup Fork to Wood River — Buffalo Chips — Lone Tree— The First Buffalo Hunt— Flagging Antelope 35 VI The Journey up the Platte Valley — Hunting Moun- tain Sheep— Talk With a Sioux Indian— The Buffalo Hunt 43 VII Incidents of the Journey — Out on the Trail Over Night — The Dogs and the Wolves 49 VIII The Cholera— Death of Hosea Ballou— The Story of Mrs. Knapp and Her Baby 56 IX Four Young Men Leave the Train and Go On Afoot — Arrival at the Dalles — Trip Down the Colum- bia — ^Arrive at Oregon City 62 Chapter Page X Wild Animals and Birds that Lived Here 70 XI Wild Animals and Birds that Lived Here — Cont 77 XII Wild Animals and Birds that Lived Here — Con- cluded 86 XIII Hunting Stories— Antelope— White-tail Deer— Elk 94 XIV Hunting Elk and Deer in Wheeler and Garfield Counties 102 XV Hunting Elk and Deer in Custer County Ill XVI A Summer Hunt 119 XVII Hunting Near Home 126 XVIII Hunting and Camping Lore 135 XIX A Hunting Trip to Wyoming 141 XX A Hunting Trip to Wyoming — Continued 150 XXI A Hunting Trip to Wyoming — Concluded 158 XXII The Black Hills 166 XXIII Two Black Hills Bear Stories. No. 1— No. 2 171 XXIV Hunting Stories and Habits of the Wild Animals.... 181 XXV Hunting Stories and Habits of Wild Animals — Continued 187 XXVI Hunting Stories and Habits of Wild Animals — Concluded 194 XXVII Hunting Stories— Lying in Wait for Game 200 XXVIII Hunting Stories — Lying in Wait for Game — Con- cluded 208 XXIX Hunting Stories— Hunting Without a Gun 215 XXX Hunting Stories— My Last Big Hunt in Wheeler and Garfield Counties 223 XXXI Looking Backward. No. 1 231 XXXII Looking Backward. No. 2 239 EARLY DAY STORIES. CHAPTER I. Ignorance of Nebraska History — A Great Thoroughfare — The Different Starting Points — The Overland Stage — Marked by Graves Along the Route. This story is written chiefly for the young people, but it may interest also the older ones, some of whom possibly may have a dim and shadowy remembrance of events de- scribed herein, or of the persons who took part in these events, and who helped to make them a part of the history of our state and country. There is much ignorance among our young people, and the older ones as well, about the early history of the state of Nebraska. The reason is that this history is not found in full in our books, nor taught in our schools. Im- portant events that transpired in the early days, and that left a lasting impress upon the destinies of our state are either entirely overlooked or have received only mere men- tion in such records as have been kept. Had these events happened in New England or New York or Virginia in colonial times there would have been a record made of them, and they would have become a part of the history of our country, and would be as familiar to our school boys and girls of today as are the stories of Pocahontas, of Red Jack- et, and of Osceola. If you will take one of our modern large dictionaries and turn to the list of proper names, you will easily find such names as Pocahontas, Powhatan, Red Jacket, Osce- ola, Tecumseh, Pontiac, Black Hawk and many others who flourished in the early days of our nation, but in some of them, at least, you will look in vain for the name of Black- bird or Red Cloud or Spotted Tail or Sitting Bull, or any 10 EARLY DAY STORIES. of the great Indian warriors of more recent times. We have become a great people — wonderful discoveries are con- stantly being made — great events are happening, one right after the other, and these things all claim our attention, so that we have little time to give thought to matters of early history, and yet these things should not be neglected nor forgotten. Before there was a railroad west of the Mississippi river, the country then known as Nebraska territory had the greatest thoroughfare of the kind ever known in histor- ical times. This was the Overland Trail, starting at first from Independence, Missouri, and afterward from West- port, Missouri, (now Kansas City), with branches from St. Joseph, Missouri, from Leavenworth, Kansas, and from Nebraska City, Nebraska, these Hues all converging on the south side of the Platte nearly opposite Grand Island, the route continued on west through Nebraska to Denver, Salt Lake, Oregon and California. On the north side of the Platte river was another prong of this great highway that crossed the Missouri at Sarpy's Landing, (now Bellevue), and also at Kanesville, (now Council Bluffs), and these two uniting at the crossing of the Elkhorn river passed up the valley on the north side of the Platte, going directly through the places where now stand the cities of Fremont, Columbus and Grand Island. These two roads, one on the north, and one on the south side of the Platte, united near Fort Laramie in Wyoming and continued on west as one thor- oughfare, but divided again farther west, one branch going to Oregon and one to California, with still a third and shorter one to Salt Lake. On the 7th day of May, 1859, gold was discovered in Colorado. Prior to this date Colorado was unsettled and un- known. There were a few traders and trappers within its borders, and possibly a few settlers of Mexican lineage in the extreme southern part, but as a whole it was a wilder- EARLY DAY STORIES. 11 ness, unoccupied excepting by wild animals and scattered bands of Indians. This finding of gold gave great impetus to the travel through Nebraska, tens of thousands of peo- ple passing over the road in covered wagons, many of the wagons bearing the legend 'Tikes Peak or bust." When this overland trail first came into use about the year 1840 but to a greater extent by 1843, it was used chiefly by emigrants to Oregon, and later to California and still later by the Mormons on their journey to Utah. After the discovery of gold in Colorado a vast amount of freighting was done over the road, one firm, that of Rus- sell, Majors and Waddell, it is claimed had about $2,000,000 invested in the business, employing 6,000 teamsters, and working 45,000 oxen besides many horses and mules. Be- fore the building of the U. P. Railroad, the freighting and emigrant travel had assumed enormous proportions. There was also a stage line carrying the United States mail and passengers. At first in 1850 there was a stage each way once a month — in 1857 it was increased to a weekly, and in 1861 to a daily service. The fare by stage from Mis- souri river points was $75 to Denver, $150 to Salt Lake, and $225 to Placerville, Calif. When these two trails were first traveled — one on the north and one on the south side of the Platte river, each one consisted of a single wagon road, and the travel was almost entirely of wagons drawn by ox teams, there being from two to four yoke of oxen to each covered wagon ; the wagons following one directly behind the other, thus form- ing only a single track or road. Along the left side of the road was a plain foot path made by the drivers. As the traffic increased over the road other tracks were made par- allel with the first one, so that by the year 1860 there were five or six parallel tracks a few feet apart, meandering along up the Platte valley, and so on over the mountains 12 EARLY DAY STORIES. to Utah and the Pacific coast. Before the railroad was built, this was the great highway connecting the East with the West. Over it passed tens of thousands of emigrants to Oregon, California, Utah and Colorado, and hundreds of thousands of tons of freight, in the form of machinery, tools, provisions, grain, feed and merchandise of all kinds needed in Colorado and Utah. Nothing like it was ever seen before either in ancient or modern times, and never will be seen again. There were two other routes to Colo- rado — one called the Arkansas valley route through southern Kansas, and the other the Smoky Hill route through cen- tral Kansas, but both of these together had only a small fraction of the travel that passed through Nebraska over the Oregon and California trails. This trail is now entirely obliterated almost everywhere in the central and eastern parts of the state, where the land is arable and has been put in cultivation, but as one goes west where there is more waste land it is yet plainly marked by several parallel tracks, deeply indented in the soil but almost everywhere over- grown with buffalo grass. A few years ago the writer examined the trail in Scotts Bluff county just west of Gehring. Here the trail passes over the low divide separ- ating the northern from the southern part of the Scotts Bluff Hills or mountains as they should properly be called. The old trail as it passes up the slope on the eastern side, and so on through the gap, is still used for a wagon road today, but as it goes down the steeper western slope, it is gullied out by the rains into parallel ravines from five to fifteen feet deep. On the north side of the river, through an almost level pasture field the four or five parallel tracks were cut down into the hard, gravelly soil five or six inches, but all covered over with buffalo and gramma grass. On both sides of the Platte river, and so on west along the whole course, clear through to Oregon and California, these trails were marked by the graves of those who had EARLY DAY STORIES. 13 dropped out by the way. Some of these graves were un- marked — some were marked by a slab or board only, with the name and age and date cut with a knife, or burned in with a hot iron ; and at the head and foot of others a rough stone was placed without inscription. Very few, indeed, of these graves can be located today, although there are thousands of them. Perhaps the only one that is known in the eastern part of the state is in Jefferson county, five miles northwest of Fairbury; this has for a headstone a large sandstone slab, on which is chiseled the following: "George Winslow, Newton, Mass." And on the footstone, "1849." As one goes west where the soil is harder other graves can be found, but generally, the markings, if there were any have perished. About two miles east of the village of Scotts Bluff is a well preserved and well marked grave that was visited by the writer a few years ago and in which he took great interest because it was made probably only about a month after he had passed along the route driving four yoke of oxen. This grave was marked by a wagon tire which had been cut and the ends driven into the earth so as to form a bow over the head of the grave. On this was cut with a cold chisel, "Rebecca Winters — aged 50 years. Died Aug. 15, 1852." A short distance south of the grave were the deep indentations in the earth, still plainly visible made by the wheels of thousands of wagons more than fifty years ago. In the year 1902 — the centen- nial year of the birth of Mrs. Winters, her grandchildren placed an enduring stone monument properly inscribed at the head of this grave, leaving also the wagon tire with the original inscription in place. 14 EARLY DAY STORIES. CHAPTER II. Start from Home in Genesee County, Mich. — Journey on Foot to LaSalle, 111. — Down the Illinois River to St. Louis — Up the Missouri to St. Joseph — Hire Out to Drive Team — Journey With Ox Team from St. Jos- eph to Sarpy's Landing. This and seven following chapters will be mostly a record of the writer's personal experiences on a journey from central Michigan to Sarpy's Landing (now Bellevue, Neb.) ; and thence over the Overland Trail to the Pacific coast during the spring and summer of 1852. It is given for the purpose of making it clear and plain to the readers of the present time, how things looked in the western coun- try at that early date, and how people traveled in those days, and what opinions about this country were held at that time. The reader will be able to make his own com- parisons between things as they were then, and are now, and to draw his own conclusions. It is not expected that anything of very great importance will be recorded, there is nothing strange or wonderful to tell, but it is believed that the contrast between the past and the present will be wonderful to contemplate, and almost unbelievable, because of the changes that have taken place. In 1852 there was not a railroad west of the Mississippi river — Kansas City was a little village then called Westport — St. Paul and Minneapolis, if they existed at all, were mere "villages,'* and Omaha was not on the map. Western Iowa was a thinly settled frontier country, only partly surveyed, and was the extreme limit of civilization — it was the jumping off place on a journey to the west. EARLY DAY STORIES. 15 At the beginning of the year 1852, I was living near Flint, Genesee county, Mich., where I had lived since early boyhood — had never been anywhere else since I was a small child, and had no knowledge of any other place or country except from reading and from listening to the talk of others. At that time I was teaching a country school — the first I had ever taught, a four months' term, for twelve dollars per month, and ''board round." My cousin, Wesley G. Conant, about three years my senior, but also my chum and companion, was working in a cooper shop, making flour and pork barrels. We got the Oregon fever, and de- termined to start, as soon as my school closed in the spring, on the overland journey to Oregon. About the middle of April, 1852, we were ready. Our outfit consisted of a pony, valued at $30.00, our clothing, a rifle apiece, two or three pairs of blankets, a little tent just big enough for two to sleep under, a pack saddle, a big pair of canvas saddle bags, each side holding about a bushel, and between us a hundred dollars in money. My cousin had saved up fifty-five dol- lars at his trade, and when my school was out I received a district order for my whole wages, for forty-eight dollars for the four months work. There was no money on hand in the district and I sold the order for forty-five dollars in cash. Packing our clothing and a few small articles in the saddle bags, and placing this and all our other equipage on the back of the pony, we started for the Great West, on foot, leading the horse by the bridle. We were young, strong, well and happy. I would like to do it again. Going in a southwest direction we passed through such towns as Ann Arbor, Coldwater, Burr Oak and Sturgi<=;. Mich., Elkhart, South Bend and Michigan City, Ind., and Joliet and Ottawa, 111., leaving Chicago about thirty miles to the north of our course, and arriving early in May at 16 EARLY DAY STORIES. La Salle, 111., at the head of navigation on the Illinois river. Could our young people of Antelope county now make such a journey, just as it was then, I believe that what would strike them as the strangest of all things along the journey, would be the farms cut up into little fields of from five to ten acres each, and all fenced with the old fashioned zigzag rail fence. Not a town that we passed through on this trip from home to La Salle, 111., was anything more than a fair sized village at that date, although some of them are large cities now. At La Salle we took passage on a river steamer to St. Louis, where we purchased provisions for the trip, consist- ing principally of flour, parched corn meal, bacon and beans. Parched meal was used because ordinary corn meal would not keep well on such a trip. We also laid in a supply of powder and lead, and a quantity of matches. Tea and cofifee we had no use for, and of sugar we took only a small supply. Peoria was the only city of any size we saw until we reached St. Louis. The city of St. Louis was a revelation to me. I had never been in a place half as large before. There were no railroads running into St. Louis then, but there was a wilderness of steam boats tied up to the quay, or coming in or going out, or receiving or dis- charging freight, the work being done by gangs of negro slaves. The streets along the river banks were paved with cobble stones, and the rattle of the wagons and trucks over these, the screeching of whistles and the hoarse coughing from the exhaust pipes of the steamboats, made a din and racket that was quite confusing to a green country boy from the backwoods of central Michigan. The trip from home to St. Louis had been on the whole very pleasant. As stated we led our pony all the way to La Salle, 111., and we also furnished our own pro- visions and did our own cooking, excepting that we bought our bread. I do not remember that we slept in a bed or EARLY DAY STORIES. 17 ate at a table during the whole time. We slept in a house or barn, nearly every night, paying for the privilege, what- ever the charge might be which, if any, was always small. Sometimes when it was pleasant we slept in the little tent. There was a good deal of rainy weather and sometimes the roads were muddy, but generally we had a good time and at small cost. The trip down the Illinois by boat we thought very fine and enjoyed it much, as it was the first trip we had ever made on a river steamboat. The steamboat stop- ped at every town along the way to take on or discharge passengers or freight, and as we were going down stream, the boat always made a turn in landing so as to bring the bow of the boat up stream. This is always the way with a river steamboat, to land with the bow up stream. At St. Louis we shipped on another and much larger steamboat for St. Joseph, Mo., which was to be our starting point for the journey by the Overland Trail. Our boat was heavily loaded with passengers, wagons, mules, horses, oxen and supplies, all bound for Oregon or California. Among the passengers were man}^ women and children. The pas- sengers were mostly from Illinois with also quite a sprink- ling of emigrants from Missouri, Kentucky and Tennessee. Of course we took deck passage and fed ourselves, and we also had a bale of hay and some oats for the pony. Many of the emigrants had their wagons and supplies on board, but no stock of any kind, intending to buy oxen or mules on their arrival at St. Joseph. It was a tedious journey up the Missouri river. Many times the boat ran aground and had to back off down stream and seek a different and deeper channel. Some- times the boat would stick fast for two or three hours, and then spars had to be rigged as levers, and the force of the engine applied by means of ropes and pulleys to push it off the sand bar. At Westport, now Kansas City, a large number of passengers disembarked, and a great amount of 18 EARLY DAY STORIES. freight was unloaded. These emigrants that got off at Westport, whether going to Oregon or California, would take the trail that run northwest from Westport, and would strike Nebraska on the south line of what is now Jeffer- son county, and the Platte a little west of Grand Island. At Westport while the boat was discharging freight a lot of the young men arranged a match to see who could jump the highest. The match was to be between the steer- age and cabin passengers. Two older men were chosen to hold a string at a certain height, gauged by notches cut in a pole ; this was gradually raised a notch higher each time until only my cousin Wesley was left to represent the steer- age, and a nice looking young gentleman dressed in black for the cabin passengers. The string had been gradually raised to about five feet — both contestants stripped to their shirts, pants and socks. Our friend from the cabin made his jump and cleared the string, then Wesley did the same, both apparently clearing it with ease. Wesley, however, declared he had done his best, and was willing to call the contest a draw. The other said he believed he could do one notch better. He tried it, cleared the string and won the game, but his black pants were split behind from the suspenders down. Covering the exposed part of his per- son with both hands, he hurried to the cabin without waiting to listen to the plaudits of the audience. A day or two later we arrived at St. Joseph where we unloaded our stuff, pitched our little tent and began to prepare for the trip across the plains. I had been sick for two or three days from what was supposed to be a bad cold, but on coming to the tent one day from a trip up town, my cousin found me nicely broken out with the measles. I kept close to the tent, was careful not to take cold and was soon all right again. St. Joseph at that time was perhaps as large a place as Neligh is at the present time, but not nearly so compact- EARLY DAY STORIES. 19 ly built, and with much poorer buildings than Neligh now has. It was a lively place — there were hundreds of people camped near the town, some in tents and some in covered wagons, all preparing for their western journey. We knew that we could not pack supplies enough on our pony to last us more than half way to Oregon, and our intention was to hire out to drive teams for others. While I was sick with the measles my cousin found a man who wanted two men to drive his team, so that he might have time to hunt and fish and look out for camping places, or do anything else that suited him. He offered that if we would drive his team, and give him our pony, he would haul our stuff, put our provisions in with his, he and his wife doing the cooking, and that we should all eat together and work to- gether as one family during the entire journey to Oregon. We accepted his offer, found them nice intelligent people and we got along well together. His name was Knapp, but his first name has been forgotten. I have heard that Knappton in Washington was named for him. His family consisted of his wife and a little girl about two years of age. Mr. Knapp bought for the journey a yoke of oxen well broken and handy, and a yoke of three year old, and another of two year old steers and a yoke of cows. The steers and cows were tame but had never been yoked up and our first work was to break them in. This was not difficult for we both had been used to oxen all our lives but had never used horses to any extent. Mr. Knapp decided to take the trail on the north side of the Platte river, believing there would be less travel on that side and therefore better grass for the stock. We there- fore struck out to drive up along the east side of the Mis- souri river through northwestern Missouri and southwest- ern Iowa to Traders' Point opposite to where Bellevue, Neb., now stands, where we would cross the river to Sarpy's Trading post, and begin our western journey. We found 20 EARLY DAY STORIES. the country well settled and quite well improved until we crossed the Iowa line, when the settlements became new and thin and the improvements small. At Sidney, Iowa, as I remember it there was one house only, in which the Sidney post office was kept. At Glenwood there was a small collection of houses and another post oifice. Rather an amusing thing occurred a day or so after leaving St. Joseph. As we went into camp at night, I found an old farmer camped about a quarter of a mile from us with a whole wagon load of smoked hams, shoulders, and bacon, on his way to St. Joseph to market. Reporting the fact to Mr. Knapp he directed me to buy from the old farmer a half dozen or so of hams, and handed me a little pasteboard box containing, I should say, from seventy-five to a hundred gold dollars. This was before the era of greenbacks or national currency. Our money consisted at that time principally of bills issued by state or private banks, much of which was at a discount, and most of it unsafe. There was however much gold and silver in circulation. Mr. Knapp had saved up expressly for this journey all the gold dollars he could get. Probably most of my readers have never seen a gold dollar — it is somewhat less in size and thinner than a dime. I wish they were in circulation now — it was the prettiest money I ever saw. I selected the hams, the farmer weighing them with his steelyards — we figured up the amount, and I counted out the sum in gold dollars, making the small change in silver. He looked at the money and said: 'T 'low it mought be good all right, but I never seed sich money afore. I reckon I'll take my pay in bills." I had to go back and get paper money for him. On arriving at Traders' Point I inquired for Council Bluifs post oifice and was directed to a little one story frame house about a mile away on the prairie. Here I got letters from home, the first we had received, and a good EARLY DAY STORIES. 21 drink of buttermilk and lots of good advice from the kind old Mormon lady who kept the post office. What is now Council Bluffs was then called Kanes- ville, and Council Bluffs post office at that time was near Traders' Point. I thought the country passed over from St. Joseph to Traders' Point very fine, and after we crossed the Missouri river and passed on west this fine country continued until we crossed the Elkhorn and struck the Platte bottom, after which I did not like it so well. I will now say, however, after having had some experience, and having traveled extensively in twenty or more states, that I think the eastern third of Nebraska, and the western third of Iowa, the very finest and best farming country I have ever seen anywhere, of equal extent. 22 EARLY DAY STORIES. CHAPTER III. Crossing the Missouri — Camp wliere Belleviie now stands — Gather wild strawberries May 28, 1852 — Start west on the journey from the Missouri May 29, 1852 — Join Capt. Wells' train — Cross the Elkhorn River. There were not many emigrants camped at Traders' Point on our arrival there, but they were coming from the east every day in covered wagons chiefly from Illinois and eastern Iowa, but some also from Indiana and Wisconsin. There had been a large number of emigrants at this point a few days before our arrival, awaiting their turn to be ferried across the river, but a river steamboat that had been used as a ferry boat had transferred the last of these just a day or so before we came. This steamboat had now gone down the river, leaving only two or three flat boats to do the ferrying. These flat boats could carry only one wagon and the team attached at a time, and it was slow work. We drove the wagon on to the boat with only one yoke of oxen attached, leading the other three yoke aboard and tying them to the wagon wheels. The boat was carried over the river mostly by the force of the current, which set across obliquely from the loading place to the landing on the opposite shore, but was also propelled and guided by two men with setting poles, and by a man with a large oar that worked on a pivot at the stern. The current was very swift and the boat was carried down stream at least a quarter of a mile before landing. On the return trip the boat was cordelled, that is, drawn by a rope and pushed by setting poles, up along the bank of the river, half or three quarters of a mile to a place where the current set across to the eastern shore. It must have taken nearly two hours to transfer one load and make the return to the EARLY DAY STORIES. 23 eastern bank. It was almost night when we got across, and driving out a short distance west of Sarpy's trading post we camped for the night within the Hmits of the present village of Bellevue, Sarpy county, Nebraska. Sarpy's post, at that time consisted, as I remember it, of the store buildings of Peter A. Sarpy, a blacksmith shop for the Indians, a mission school, a government Indian Agency, and three or four dwellings. There were no set- tlers in Nebraska, then, nor for two years thereafter. The first real settlers — farmers who came to make this their home — to raise crops and to improve and develop the coun- try, did not begin to arrive until the summer and fall of 1854. There were military and trading posts within the present boundaries of the state — there were traders, hunt- ers and two or three missionaries among some of the Indian tribes, and although tens of thousands of emigrants to the territories further west had crossed the fertile plains of Nebraska seeking for homes, none of them tarried here. The country was not open to settlement, the title of the In- dians to the land was not extinguished until the summer of 1854. It is sometimes claimed that Manuel de Lisa was the first settler in Nebraska. He was a fur trader and not a settler in the true meaning of the word. He established probably the first trading post in Nebraska, about the year 1807, at or near the present site of Ft. Calhoun, Washing- ton county, and spent most of his time here, but he also had trading posts in Dakota and in Montana — his head- quarters were in St. Louis, where he died in 1820. He could not with propriety be called a settler. After camping, I was sent out to watch the cattle while they pastured upon the grass. There were three or four other emigrant wagons with us, and as we had agreed to keep together, and travel in company a few days at least, 24 EARLY DAY STORIES. our cattle were all turned out together, to be herded until about nine o'clock, when they were driven in and tied to the wagons during the night, to be turned loose again as soon as daylight appeared in the east. While herding the cattle I found ripe wild strawberries, not in great abund- ance, as they were just beginning to ripen, but enough to remind me of home, as the strawberry plants were about the only kind of vegetation that had a familiar look — every- thing else being new, strange and unfamiliar. I had come from a thickly timbered country, and this was my first view of a new, wild, prairie land. Everything looked strange to me. The oak, elm and ash trees had somewhat of a familiar look, but they were different — they were not nearly so tall, were more bushy and spreading and altogether of a differ- ent appearance from the same varieties back home. Among the grasses and wild flowers of the prairie, and the weeds growing in the ravines, there was not one that had a famil- iar look excepting the wild strawberries. Years afterward, when I had become a resident of Nebraska and had famil- iarized myself with the trees, shrubs, grasses and other wild plants of the state, I found many that are identical with the same varieties of my home state, but I did not recognize any of them then. The next morning, May 29th, 1852, we started on our journey by way of the Overland Trail, bound for Oregon City, Oregon. The road was a splendid one — a hard, well beaten track, showing much travel, and meandering to the northwest over a beautiful gently rolling prairie country, thickly covered with new fresh grass five or six inches high and dotted with little plats of blue and yellow spring flow- ers. The road held to the divide between the little timbered creeks and ravines running east toward the Missouri and the branches bearing south or southwest that were tributary to the Papillion. As our road followed the high land the view was extensive and enchanting, Grander and sublimer EARLY DAY STORIES. 25 scenery can be found among the mountains of Colorado, or Montana, or along the ocean coast of Oregon or Wash- ington, but for exquisite beauty and loveliness, no scenery can excel or equal that of a fertile rolling prairie in spring- time, just as God made it, with its green hills, its sloping valleys, its little meandering timber-bordered streams, and its plats of blue, purple and yellow flowers. And so it was here in Antelope county when I first saw it in 1869. I would like to live in such a place, with such surroundings, forever — but the White Man has come with his plow, his railroad, his telephone, his automobile and other discom- forts of civilization and spoiled it. I do not blame the White Man — it is his way and I helped to do the spoiling myself. But I look back with a tinge of sorrow and of regret, and of longing to once more see what I never can behold again ; a fertile prairie land in all its pristine loveliness, just as it came from the hand of its Creator. These things are all of the past and can never be again, and like Alexander the Great, I weep that it is so and that there are no more lands to conquer. That night we camped on a little branch of the Pa- pillion, where there was a fine grove of elm timber, some of the trees being very large. The grass and water were both abundant and good, and it was an ideal camping ground, excepting that there was no dry wood, the previous campers having used all that was in sight. The next morn- ing it was raining, and it continued to rain all day and grew very cold for the season of the year. It was difficult to keep a fire with the green elm, but by piling on a large quantity of the green fuel, and finding some dry branches by going a long way for them, we finally got and kept up a good fire. Toward evening the rain ceased and Mr. Knapp went out with the rifle and shot the heads off of four or five wild pigeons. These were not the mourning or turtle dove, such as we have here now, but were the genuine pas- 26 EARLY DAY STORIES. senger pigeon, now an extinct variety, but which were more abundant sixty years ago than blackbirds are today, and which were often seen in larger flocks than any flocks of blackbirds of the present time. That night two Indians armed with bows and arrows, and accompanied by a little Indian boy about twelve years old came to the camp and asked permission to sleep by our fire. This was granted and at bed time they curled up in their buffalo robes, and kept quiet until after the morning fire was started. They were clothed with a band around the middle, with an apron or flap suspended before and behind extending about half way to the knees. Each adult Indian also had a good buf- falo robe thrown over the shoulders and moccasins on his feet. The boy had nothing on except a short cotton shirt. We had Johnny cake for breakfast next morning and Mrs. Knapp gave the Indians a quantity of the dough, which they cooked in the ashes, covering it with coals. The little In- dian found the place where I had cleaned the pigeons, and taking the entrails, stripped them through his fingers so as to press out what was on the inside, and then broiled them with the gizzards, heads and feet, upon the coals. These with the hot roasted Johnny cake were eaten with evident relish. Leaving the camp on the little Papillion, we passed over the divide and down the western slope to the Elkhorn river. Here there was a rope ferry, the rope being attached to a tree on either side of the river, and to this two short ropes with pulleys, these shorter ropes being connected with the ferry boat or scow, which was carried across the river by the force of the current. The country now became very flat and moist, as we had entered upon the great Platte valley, which we were to follow in an almost directly west course for more than six hundred miles. The road was wet and heavy until after EARLY DAY STORIES. 27 crossing the Rawhide, a short distance east of the present site of Fremont, when it became better again. There was a large village of Pawnee Indians at that time just across on the south side of the Platte, and some of them were with us nearly all the time ; they were friendly and gave no trouble whatever, but we did not feel safe and determined to unite with a larger company at the first opportunity. That opportunity came very soon. We met with a company of emigrants from Illinois, consisting of about seventeen wagons, who were on their way to Califor- nia. They had crossed the river, as I recollect it, at Kanes- ville, now Council Bluffs, and had encamped exactly where Omaha now stands. They were fully organized, having a captain, a lieutenant, and an orderly and had adopted rules and regulations for the journey. It was known as Capt. Wells' train. We applied for permission to join the com- pany, which was readily granted on our agreeing to con- form to the rules and regulations. The company consisted of twenty-one wagons, I think, after we had joined, forty- two men, and about a dozen or fifteen women, and prob- ably twenty or more children. The men were all armed, generally with rifles, but some had single or double barrel- ed shotguns, and quite a good many carried revolvers, or single barreled pistols. We were well armed and equipped, as these things were considered then, but all the fire arms were muzzle loaders, as breech loading guns had not come into use at that time. The captain selected the camping places, or sent his lieutenant or orderly on ahead for that purpose. The stock was turned loose to feed as soon as camp was made and a temporary guard placed over it. As soon as supper was over guards were mounted for the night, two to guard the wagons which were placed in a circle with the tents inside, and two to guard the cattle which were allowed to run loose all night, but were not permitted to stray away. About 28 EARLY DAY STORIES. nine o'clock the horses were brought inside the circle and secured to the wagons. There were very few horses in the outfit, the teams for the heavy wagons all being oxen. The guards were changed at one o'clock, and at daylight all hands were routed out by the wagon watch, breakfast pre- pared and served, and by a little after sunrise the train was on the move. At noon a stop was made of from one to two hours, but the cattle were not generally unyoked. Camp was made at night according to the distance to a good camping place — sometimes as early as four o'clock and sometimes as late as seven. The company was well organized and the discipline was good. There was no Sun- day travel, that I recollect, on the first part of the journey. On Sunday the oxen were allowed to feed and rest, and generally it was washing day in camp. EARLY DAY STORIES. 29 CHAPTER IV. Halted by a Band of Pawnees at Shell Creek — Pay Toll for crossing the creek — Cross Loup Fork near the present site of Genoa. The object of writing this personal narrative with some minuteness of detail, is to place before the readers as clear a view as may be, of conditions in the country of the plains as they appeared to the writer in the year 1852, or two years before there were any white people living in Nebraska, excepting those doing either military or missionary duty or engaged in trade with the Indians or employed by the traders as hunters and trappers. In the year 1852 Ne- braska was Indian country, with no white people except- ing those just mentioned. The changes that have taken place since that time are astounding. It is doubtful if any of the thousands who passed along up the valley of the Platte, by way of the Overland Trail, in the year 1852 had the very faintest thought or conception of what was to fol- low in so short a time — the transforming of a wilderness filled with herds of buffalo and bands of roving tribes of Indians as wild as the game they pursued and upon which they subsisted; into a magnificent farming country — the best may be in the world ; criss-crossed with railroads, dot- ted with thirving and growing cities and villages, covered with contented and prosperous communities of people, who are growing rich upon the products of a soil that had time and again been pronounced and denounced as desert. I am not expressing merely my own thoughts which I held at that time as to this country and its future, but the thoughts and opinions of others as far as I heard them expressed. If there was a man in our company of forty-two men, or if among the thousands who in 1852 passed over the 2,800 30 EARLY DAY STORIES. miles from the Missouri river to the Willamette valley of Oregon, who thought the country west of the crossing of the Elkhorn amounted to anything or would ever amount to anything as a farming country, I do not remember of his speaking of it in my presence. The prevailing, prob- ably the unanimous opinion was, that the country to the Elkhorn crossing was beautiful, rich and fine. West of that it had grass, would produce pasture and hay for stock, and might some day be used for that purpose, but not in the near future. The thought was that th^re were better places — far better, than the flat, treeless, uninviting valley of the Platte, with its shallow, muddy river, its swarms of mosquitoes and green head flies, its stretches of wet, swampy ground, its prairie dog towns and its rattlesnakes. I found out afterward, but did not know it then, that prairie dogs never locate where the soil is poor, and that rattlesnakes always abound where there are prairie dogs, for the young of the prairie dogs make excellent food for the rattlesnakes. Just seventeen years and three days after we crossed the Elkhorn, June 1, 1852, I located my homestead on Cedar Creek, one hundred and twenty miles above the Elk- horn crossing, in what afterwards became Antelope county — I am not dreaming — it is so. Had we left the valley of the Platte and taken time to examine the low, undulating rolls and valleys that make up the highlands between the Platte valley and Maple creek, to the north of Fremont or had we looked over the valley of Shell creek north of Columbus, or followed up the valley of the Beaver from where Genoa now stands, we would have beheld a lovely and rich country, than which there is no better in Nebraska, or anywhere else. But we did not do this ; we were cautioned not to leave the trail, to keep together, and not to go far from the wagons, and besides there was no time for investigation. The Indians were thought to be dangerous — some of them were in sight EARLY DAY STORIES. 31 from the wagons most of the time — there were only two or thrde riding horses in the outfit, and one could not go far away on foot and rejoin the train by camping time even though it were safe. So we passed through the country — that is, for the first two hundred miles — without seeing it, and formed our opinions of the country from what we saw of the Platte valley, which did not produce, on the whole, a favorable impression. From reading books of travel and exploration, and from talking with others, we had gotten unfavorable opinions of the country and we held to them. The mosquitos and green head flies did not bother us much at first, as it was too early in the season, but they got bad later on wherever there was wet land with tall grass. Later in the season the buffalo gnats became troublesome. These buffalo gnats were very bad also here in Antelope county for several years after its first settlement, but they have probably entirely disappeared. I think they are never found in a thickly settled farming country. They attack the eyes, ears and nose, and will fly right into one's mouth if he opens it. They are especially bad about attacking horses on the breast and under the lower jaw. The mosquitos left us entirely after we entered the dry, rolling country approach- ing the mountains. As we neared the crossing of Shell creek, close to where Schuyler now stands, Mr. Knapp, who had been riding ahead, came back and reported that there was a large number of Indians at Shell creek crossing. Orders were given by Capt. Wells to halt the train, and all the men were commanded to get their arms ready for instant use. The women and children, many of whom had been walking, were ordered into the wagons, which command was really not necessary, for they were very willing to get under cover, and the train was commanded to move in close order with guards on either side. We were in the Pawnee country, and the Pawnees at that time did not have a good reputa- 32 EARLY DAY STORIES. tion. I do not now think there was a particle of danger, but we were looking for it then and to some extent at Icast, expecting it. My cousin and I were both with our team which was very near the head of the procession. As we came to Shell creek bridge we found a large force of In- dians, mostly on horseback, and all armed, and most if not all painted. They had bows and arrows in their hands and quivers, filled with arrows, hung over their shoulders ; some few of them also had guns. It looked warlike the way they were armed, but they appeared friendly. As I came up one of the Indians was trying to talk with Mr. Knapp, who with Capt. Wells and three or four of the guards was a little in advance of the teams. The Indian addressed him- self to Mr. Knapp, thinking him to be our captain, prob- ■ ably because he was on horseback, the others of us all being on foot. The Indian handed Mr. Knapp a paper, which, instead of reading himself he passed directly to me. It was written in a very plain, nice hand and stated that the bearer, giving his name which I have forgotten, was the head chief of the Pawnees and that it would be to the in- terest of the emigrants to treat him with consideration and respect. After reading it aloud to those present, I was asked by Mr. Knapp to try and see if I could make out what he wanted. I had lived for several years within a mile of about a dozen families of Chippewa Indians, had played with and gone to school with the children, and could speak Chippewa fairly well, and also knew something of the sign language. My knowledge of Chippewa did no good, but by signs we managed to come to an understanding. The chief claimed that the Pawnees had built the bridge over the creek, and wanted pay for crossing — he made signs of planting corn, and wanted his pay in corn. There was doubt expressed about the Indians having built the bridge, although I be- lieve personally that the chief told the truth about it. How- ever it was decided to pay toll in corn. Accordingly the EARLY DAY STORIES. 33 Indians placed a skin on the ground, and three or four bushels of shelled corn were brought from the wagons and piled upon the skin. The chief said in English, "Heap Squaw" meaning there were plenty of squaws to do the plant- ing, and made signs for more corn. The pile was increased to five or six bushels, which seemed to satisfy him, and opening up the ranks of his warriors he allowed us to pro- ceed, after shaking hands with Knapp and myself, and re- peating two or three times "Heap good man," "Heap good man." These two phrases "Heap Squaw" and "Heap good man," probably comprised all his knowledge of English — at least it was all he made use of during the interview. The chief did not shake hands at parting with any except Mr. Knapp and myself, probably supposing that Knapp was in command because he was on horseback, and that I was his lieutenant, because Knapp handed me the note to read. I never knew why Mr. Knapp passed the note to me, but I always suspected he was just enough scared to be a little beside himself. I made no attempt to count the Indians or estimate their numbers, but some who did, said there were about three hundred — probably one hundred would be more nearly correct. A bad mistake was made by Capt. Wells in permitting the teams to remain in line in charge of the drivers, provided he thought the Indians meant to be hos- tile. The wagons should have been parked, and prepara- tions made for defense, and only two or three should have gone out to meet the Indians. It was the only time on the whole trip that we were stopped by Indians, or that there was the least appearance of hostility, and the only signs of hostility this time were that the Indians were fully armed, there were no squaws with them, and they blocked the road to the bridge. The bridge was made of willow poles placed across the creek for stringers, covered with smaller willow poles, brush and sods. It was a sHmsy affair, and teetered 34 EARLY DAY STORIES. up and down when we crossed it like a teeter board, but it carried us safely over. Leaving Shell creek we passed on up the valley, going directly through the place where Columbus now stands, and following on up the north side of Loup Fork near to the present site of Genoa. We camped over night on the north bank of the Loup, and began to make preparations to ford the stream the next day. The Loup, like the Platte, is a bad stream to ford, the bottom being all quick sand, and the current rapid. There were two or three men sent afoot across and back in different places to ascertain the depth and to find the best place to ford. It seemed about all alike everywhere. The bottom was all sand, the water shallow, being from a few inches to about a foot, excepting in the main channel where for fifteen or twenty feet the water was from two to three feet deep, but there the bottom was better. There was considerable timber along the river here, and Cottonwood poles seven or eight inches thick were cut and placed lengthwise under the wagon boxes so as to raise them above where the water would come. From eight to ten yoke of oxen were hitched to each wagon with two drivers for each team . The crossing was made without difficulty, but it took the most of the day. I helped to take eight wagons across and in doing it waded the river fifteen times. Toward the middle of the afternoon a strong wind came up from the northwest and it turned very cold lor that time of year, just as Nebraska weather has not forgot- ten to do in early summer, even of recent years. It was a chilly, disagreeable camp ; although there was plenty of tim- ber, it consisted almost entirely of green cottonwood, the dry wood having been used up by previous campers. EARLY DAY STORIES. 35 CHAPTER V. From Loup Fork to Wood River — Buffalo Chips — Lone Tree — The first Buffalo hunt — Flagging Antelope. After crossing Loup Fork, we went on, the next morn- ing, in a southwest direction, over a low, sandy divide, again striking the Platte valley at or near the present town of Clarks, in Merrick county, crossing on the way Prairie creek, which is a small sluggish stream abounding in sloughs and wet land. This creek, unlike most of the streams trib- utary to the Platte, does not take its rise in the hills but drains the great flat country north of Clarks, Central City, and Chapman, in Merrick county, and north of Grand Island, in Hall county. Here the Platte bottom is very wide, so that the hills on the north side could not be seen often, if at all from the trail, but south across the Platte river they were in plain view. Wood for camp fires now became very scarce — in fact there was none, excepting little willows not larger than one's finger, and even these were not plentiful. We therefore had to depend on the bois de vache (literally wood of cow), as it was called by the Canadian hunters and trappers but which in plain blunt English was trans- lated buffalo chips. This material had been dropped by the millions on millions of buffalo that ranged all over our Ne- braska prairies at that date and when cured by lying in the sun and wind for a year or two, and when perfectly dry, made a passably good fire. It did not burn like dry willow or ash brush, with a quick, bright blaze, but slowly and al- most without flame, like sawdust or wood so rotten and decayed as to fall all to pieces. It produced considerable heat and did very well for cooking, but made a poor camp- fire to sit by in the evening. It had to be perfectly dry to burn at all, and it was amusing whenever there were signs 36 EARLY DAY STORIES. of an approaching shower to see the men strike out from the wagons, each one provided with a sack to gather up a supply of dry buffalo chips for use at the next camp. It was not necessary to carry a supply along in dry weather, because it was found in incredible quantities everywhere on the prairie. The emigration this year, 1852, was very large, and in fact it had been quite large every year since 1843, so that at camping places where there was timber, all the dry wood had been used up, but no impression whatever had been made. on the buffalo chips, except in the immed- iate vicinity of favorite camping grounds, and even there it was plentiful within a quarter of a mile of the camp. When it is called to mind that this was the condition every- where on the Nebraska prairies in the vicinity of living water where the buffalo came to drink, one may form a faint idea of the incredible numbers of these wild native cattle that once roamed all over the land that we have now appropriated to ourselves, pasturing and growing fat upon the wild grasses that grew and flourished in a land that had been named a desert, and of which Washington Irving, in his Astoria, among many other dreadful things, has this to say: "It spreads forth into undulating and treeless plains and desolate and sandy wastes, wearisome to the eye from their extent and monotony, and which are supposed by geologists to have formed the ancient floor of the ocean, countless ages since when its primeval waves beat against the granite bases of the Rocky mountains. It is a land where no man permanently abides ; for in certain seasons of the year there is no food for the hunter or his steed. The herbage is parched and withered ; the brooks and streams are dried up; the buffalo, the elk, and the deer have wan- dered to distant parts keeping within the verge of expiring verdure and leaving behind them a vast uninhabited soli- tude, seamed by ravines, the beds of former torrents, but now serving only to tantalize and increase the thirst of the EARLY DAY STORIES. 37 traveler." Page on page could be quoted from authors, many of them prominent, similar to the quotation given above. Even Horace Greeley, as observant and practical a man as he was, speaking of his trip to Colorado by stage after gold had been discovered at Pikes Peak, in articles prepared by himself and published in the New York Tribune, said substantially as follows: "This country will not or cannot be used for farming until nature by its slow process has pulverized the soil, and dissolved it into finer particles, so that it can sustain and support plant growth." This is not his language exactly, for that has been forgotten, but it is exactly the thought as I read it myself in the Tribune ; and yet Horace Greeley as he passed over the route could see with his own eyes the rich buffalo, gramma and other grasses, the dried excrement dropped, and the trails made by the millions of these wild cattle of the plains. How could a country be thought to be a desert, when at that very time it was pasturing wild cattle that greatly exceeded in number all the tame cattle of the United States? I want to make all these things plain to our young people of Ante- lope county today — I want them to see and know just how things were, and just how they were regarded, and that is the excuse, if excuse is needed, for dwelling upon these things. But besides the buffalo, there were millions of elk, deer and antelope all feeding upon the grasses of our prair- ies ; but this will be taken up in subsequent articles. There was in our company a guide book, which de- scribed the route, telling of the best camping places where wood and water could be found, and giving the distances from one noted point to another. This guide book claimed that the route had been measured by an odometer, an in- strument attached to a wagon wheel and so constructed as to record the revolutions of the wheel. Hence by multiply- ing the number of revolutions by the measurement around the circumference of the wheel ,the distance traveled could 38 EARLY DAY STORIES. easily be obtained. It was from this guide book that we ascertained that it was 2800 miles from the crossing of the Missouri river to Oregon City, Oregon. This guide book mentioned among other noted objects along the route Lone Tree. This tree was a single large cottonwood very near Central City, Merrick county. It was a prominent land mark, standing alone, between the trail and the river Platte, and was the only tree in sight for many miles. At that time it was apparently partly decayed, although I did not leave the trail to examine it. Central City was at first called Lone Tree, and it seems to me a mistake that the name was changed. Lone Tree has a definite meaning, and a history, and the name should have been perpetuated. The tree has lived its day, done its allotted task and gone to decay. Where it stood a monument has recently been erected to commem- orate the fact that for many years it was a beacon marking the way westward, to the pioneers who were making the toilsome journey overland to people the countries of the Pacific coast. Soon after passing the place where Grand Island now is, we began to see the caravans of white topped wagons that were following the trail on the south side of the river, but could hold no communication with them, for the wide stream always flowed between us and them and generally there was a mile or so of intervening land, for the road very seldom followed along the immediate bank of the river. We also met from time to time people returning from California, Oregon or Utah, to the states, and once or twice we met companies of returning trappers. All these people were traveling on horseback, carrying their effects on pack horses. I do not think we met a wagon at all. These all told us that we would probably see no more Indians until we neared Ft. Laramie where there would be plenty of Sioux — that we need have no fears of the Indians attack- ing us, or doing us any harm whatever unless to steal our EARLY DAY STORIES. 39 horses, which they would do if they got a chance — that the Indians did not want our cattle and had no use for them — that there were plenty of buffalo which were fatter and better than the cattle, and which the Indians preferred. We were cautioned not to let the horses straggle away from camp, and to secure them at night. We were told to use always the water of the Platte river or of some pure running stream, and never to drink the water from shallow wells. It is proper to explain that we had often found wells that had been dug where the ground was low, whenever the road was far from the river. These wells were from four to six or eight feet deep, and contained a foot or two of water. We had not often used any of this well water because our guide books had cautioned against it. About this time there was a change made in the plan of camping. The wagons were still drawn up in the form of a circle on forming camp for the night, and at about nine o'clock the few horses belonging to the train were either brought inside and secured, or tethered with picket ropes near by outside of the circle of the wagons, but no guard was placed over the camp. The cattle were driven quite a distance from the camp to some place where the grass was good and watched by the guards until they quit feeding and began to lie down, when the guards too lay down with the cattle and went to sleep. The cattle guard from this time on was not changed during the night but re- mained with the cattle all night, bringing them in soon after sunrise. By the time the guards came with the cattle breakfast was over ,and while the men were yoking up the oxen and preparing to break camp, the guards ate their breakfast which had been kept warm for them. The people of our train were having a pretty good time. There had been no sickness nor accidents, there was no prospect of any trouble with the Indians, and the fear of them had about all subsided, the weather was nearly always pleas- 40 EARLY DAY STORIES. ant, there not having been any rain except Hght showers since our camp at the Little Papillion the first day out from Sarpy's Landing, and excepting a few wet swaly spots, and a few miles of sand between the Loup crossing and the Platte, the road had been excellent. Discipline, there- fore, was very properly relaxed, and the men whose duties did not keep them with or near the train were permitted to ramble wherever or whenever they pleased. Game was not yet plentiful — no buffalo had been seen nor heard of, and the men whom we had met coming from the west reported that there would probably no buffalo be seen until after passing Ft. Laramie. There were antelope in sight every day, but they were wild and we did not get any of them — there were prairie chickens, and jack rabbits but not yet for us. The only thing we could find to vary the bill of fare from biscuit, pancakes, corn bread, beans, rice and bacon or ham, was wild onions ; these were plentiful and we gathered them as often as needed. Not many miles west of where Grand Island now is the trail struck Wood river, which is a beautiful stream about half as large as the Elk- horn, but without any of the low, sandy bottoms or fiats that prevail along the Elkhorn river. The country now looked very fine along Wood river and pleased us all nearly as well as did the country east of the Elkhorn crossing. My cousin and I took turns in driving, each having a day on and a day off. We must have been at this time near the east line of Buffalo county in the vicinity of the present village of Shelton. I had not as yet left the trail to go any distance away and had been just spoiling for a week or two for something exciting. As the trail would follow along up Wood river on the north side for some distance before cross- ing, a young man about my age and who felt just about as I did, got permission with me to go on a hunt to the north of the trail, and to turn west and meet the train some time in the afternoon or at any rate not later than EARLY DAY STORIES. 41 camping time in the evening. After having been admon- ished over and over again, not to lose sight of the train, to be careful and not get lost or run into danger, and not to be out after dark, we started northwest, and for three or four miles could see not only our own train but two or three others also; crawling along at a snail's gait by the side of Wood river which could be traced by its line of bushes and small trees. The prairie over which we traveled was fine, thickly covered with grass just high enough to wave nicely in the wind, prominent among which was the wild blue stem, although I did not then know the names of any of the wild prairie grasses; and there were also the spider lillies in great abundance, and other wild spring flow- ers common to our Nebraska prairies. The day was fine and I was happy. There were antelope in sight nearly all the time, but they were shy and cunning, and knew just how near to approach, and just when to raise the long white hairs on the rump, which they do when alarmed, and bound away as if they had steel springs in their feet. We had heard about flagging antelope, and we tried it. We tied a red handkerchief on a ram rod, and lay flat down raising and waving the flag, and tried it over and over again — the antelope would come up within about forty rods, stop and gaze, run oflf, circle around and come up on the other side, then bound away again. It was of no use — there was no chance to get antelope steak for supper. We gave it up. Just north of us a short distance was a little gentle swell in the prairie — we reached the top, looked over to a little valley through which meandered a prairie brook, lined here and there with a few large handsome elm trees, and there, feeding not more than a half mile away were two buffalo. We were surprised, not to say astonished, for we had been told that there were no buffalo anywhere near the trail at that point or at that season of the year. We were now al- most sure of buffalo steak for breakfast next morning. It 42 EARLY DAY STORIES. was easy to approach them for the wind was favorable and there were trees for shelter, and not far from the place where the buffalo were feeding was a large elm log for cover. After winding about to keep behind the cover of the trees, we finally crawled on hands and knees to the elm log, made ready, counted three and fired, both shots falling short. We were not used to estimating distance on the prairie, and our rifles were of light caliber. The buffalo looked up in a wondering, surprised sort of way gazing at the smoke of our rifles, sniffed the air, and then started off in a heavy, lumbering sort of gallop, and before we could reload were over the next rise of ground out of sight. We did not have buffalo steak for breakfast, but we did have a good time and a good appetite for supper. However, some time after we had buffalo meat in plenty, but this will be told later on. Note — Surprise has often been expressed at the scarcity of game along the entire route of the Trail. This scarcity is easily explained. There was abundance of game at no great distance, but it was frightened away from the immediate vicinity of the route, by the sight and scent of the constant stream of wagons, people and stock traversing the road. EARLY DAY STORIES. 43 CHAPTER VI. The journey up the Platte Valley — Hunting Mountain Sheep —Talk With a Sioux Indian— The Buffalo Hunt. As the trail passed on up the Platte valley to the west, the country began to change in appearance — the valley be- came gradually narrower, and the hills bounding it on either side became high, rough and bluffy in form — the ele- vation was greater, the air rarer and drier, and there were no rains excepting brief showers which were generally ac- companied with a good deal of thunder and lightning. The scenery grew more and more interesting as the western part of the state was reached, and Court House Rock, Chimney Rock and Scotts Bluff came one after the other into view. Grass became less abundant as the train progressed toward the west, although there was always plenty of it found by going some distance away from the camping grounds. Camp was always made where there was water, and if possible where there was wood also. If there was no wood there was always the substitute mentioned in a previous chapter. At one time when we had toiled along all day up hill and down, for we had left the level valley of the Platte — the country being quite hilly, rough and broken, but the road though hilly was not bad, but was hard and smooth almost as a rock — it had clouded up, and showed signs of a storm as we made camp. Mr. Knapp had gone on ahead with the pony and selected a good camping place, and about a mile from camp had found good pasture for the oxen, for it was all eaten off near the camping ground. It was my turn to go out with the cattle and stay with them all night, and Jolly was to be my companion on guard. Jolly was an Englishman, and a very good fellow, but he had some ways and traits that were not agreeable. His name 44 EARLY DAY STORIES. was Jolly, but that was not his nature — he always had a grouch. Mr. Knapp and another man drove the herd out to the pasture ground as soon as the oxen were unyoked, while Jolly and I remained to eat supper before going. We reached the cattle just as it was getting dark and had some trouble in keeping them from wandering off, as there was a strong, cold wind from the west and the weather was be- coming disagreeable. A big black cloud was coming up and there were sharp flashes of lighting with heavy thun- der, and a little rain. Although it rained scarcely enough to wet UF, what little rain there was felt as cold as ice. Finall)' the cattle became partly quieted down and Jolly undertook to build a fire, the very thing which he could not do. I tried to get him to let me do it, but he said "No! You watch the dom cattle. I'll build the fire." Finally he gave up after using most of his matches and called for me to try my hand at it. That was one thing I could always do, to build a fire under almost any circumstances when camping out. I got some large sage brush, of which there was plenty, whittled off a good lot of dry shavings, got Jolly to get down on his knees and spread out his overcoat as a wind shield, and used one match only. The next morn- ing was bright and cold, and the Rocky mountains, streaked with broad white patches of snow were in plain sight for the first time, sixty miles away to the west. No wonder it was a cold rain — it came right down from the snowy moun- tains. We saw no Indians after leaving Loup Fork until within about a day's drive of Ft. Laramie, Wyoming. I was out hunting one day when we were about twenty miles or so east of Ft. Laramie, trying to get a shot at some mountain sheep. The hills were high and very steep and rough; I had come in sight of the game several times, but always they had gone to the top of some high, steep bluff, from the summit of which they would stand on the edge of a EARLY DAY STORIES. 45 steep precipice and gaze down at me. Finally I determined to climb the bluff on which there was a flock of six or eight, and try and outwit them and get a shot. Going away off some distance to the west among the low rolls at the foot of the bluff, and keeping out of sight as I supposed, I ap- proached the hills again from another side where it was not so steep, and carefully climbing up probably eight or nine hundred feet, reached the summit after a good deal of hard work, to find that the game had gone down on the other side, crossed a deep, rough valley and now stood gaz- ing at me from the top of another bluff of equal height, about a quarter of a mile away. Making up my mind that I was not a mountain sheep hunter — a thing I ought to have known before — I gave it up and started for camp. Just as I got to the foot of the bluff I saw an Indian at some dis- tance away who had no doubt been watching my perform- ances and laughing to himself about them, and who beck- oned me to wait. I sat down on a rock until he came up. He was armed with a very poor kind of light, single shot gun, called a fusee. We shook hands and sat down to talk and get acquainted. He told me he was a Sioux— that there were lots of Sioux near by, pointing to the west and north- west, and making signs that they were in camp with their families and teepees. The only word spoken that I could understand was Sioux, but he made his talk plain by signs. We had quite a long friendly chat together, and as he said he was out of powder, I gave him on parting several charges of powder and some bullets, and we shook hands and parted good friends. On reaching camp I found my friends very uneasy for my safety, as there had been several mounted Indians at the camp, and others were seen at a distance. We camped a day on the north side of the river about a mile from the fort. The Indians were all on the opposite side of the river but many of them came over, bringing buffalo robes, dressed deer skins and moccasins to trade. 46 EARLY DAY STORIES. My cousin and I both traded for moccasions, and it was lucky we did as our shoes would not have lasted through to the end of the journey. If you will examine a map of Wyoming, you will find that a few miles west of Casper the Platte river makes a big bend, coming at that point almost from the south, and then turning abruptly to the east. Just as this elbow of the river we camped for several days to hunt buffalo and to cure the meat. Game had been scarce and wild all the way so far. There were plenty of antelope, but that was the only kind of large game excepting that there were mountain sheep after we reached the rough country, but we got no sheep, and very few antelope. Occasionally we caught a catfish in the Platte, and also got a very few ducks, chickens and rabbits. At this elbow of the Platte there were some very high hills, their steep shelving sides streaked with red. These were called the Red Buttes. Just at the foot of these buttes there were some very large, cold springs — there was also plenty of good, cold water in the Platte, which had now lost its muddy character and quick sand bottom, and instead had clear water and a rock bottom. We heard from other campers who had been hunting and curing meat, that buffalo were plenty just across the river only a few miles from the camp. Next morning all the men who could be spared and who wanted to go, started on a buffalo hunt. Only a few had horses, nearly all going on foot. I went alone from choice, and it is only what happened to myself and Jolly, whom I came across later in the day, that can here be related. I first went about a mile up the river along the foot of Red Bluffs, stopping to examine several big springs one of which, icy cold, flowed right out from under the largest one of the Red Buttes, in a stream half as large as Cedar creek at the crossing north of Oakdale. Taking off all my clothing, packing it up in a bundle and tying it on my shoulders, I waded the river, holding my EARLY DAY STORIES. 47 gun and powder horn above my head. The water was swift, cold and almost up to my arms in one place, and the stony bottom being rough and slippery, I came near being taken off my feet, but made the crossing all right, put on my clothing and walked to a hill about a mile away, from the top of which I expected to see buffalo, but none were in sight. Turning back I recrossed the river and climbed the highest of the Red Buttes, from the top of which I thought I could see a good many black specks away to the southeast but if buffalo, which was probable, they were too far away for me to hunt on foot. Nearby, however, to the west, and probably not more than a mile from the hill on which I stood were two buft'alo quietly feeding, and close by right at the foot of the hill was Jolly. I hurried down, met Jolly and told him what I had seen. We went after the two buffalo, being very careful to keep out of sight, and coming up to them so that the wind was in our favor, we easily got up within seventy-five steps of them. Remem- bering my ill success at Wood river, where we saw the first buffalo, we meant to make sure of these. We both agreed to shoot at the buffalo nearest, which was a big fellow standing broad side, and apparently unsuspicious of danger. At the count of three we both fired, one of the bullets break- ing the fore leg above the knee. Our guns were too light for such game, and had not the fore leg been broken, doubt- less he would have carried away the lead from both shots, and we would have lost him. He could scarcely run at all, he was so bulky and heavy, and after following the other a short distance he turned aside, and lay down in a small, steep ravine. As soon as we could reload I started on the run after the wounded buffalo but Jolly called out "Hold on, young man, hold on, something has happened to my gun." But the young man did not hold on — he kept right on after the game, which was soon overtaken. The wound- ed buffalo was lying in the bottom of a dry creek under a 48 EARLY DAY STORIES. cut bank that was probably eight feet high, and taking in the surroundings at a glance, I came up right over him on top of the cut bank. He gave a snort and a deep, hoarse bellow and getting on to his three feet began to hook the cut bank, throwing the clay all over his back. I knew he could not get at me without going up or down the ravine several rods, and so I stood and watched him a little while — he was mad and awful savage. I then shot him in the head and he fell to the ground and did not try to rise again. Jolly now came up puffing and blowing, for he was too short of wind to run in that high altitude without getting out of breath. He put in the final shot and the great brute rolled over on his side. I had read and heard much about the great size of the buffalo but this one looked larger to me than I had supposed them to be. Jolly by this time had lost his grouch and we both felt very proud and well sat- isfied with our kill. We cut out what meat we could carry and went back to camp which was probably not over two miles away. Getting help, and horses to pack the meat on, we returned and cut all the best of the meat from the bones, leaving the carcass to the wolves, the ravens and the buz- zards. The other party returned at evening with all the meat they could carry, but I do not remember how many buffalo were killed. We cut the meat in thin strips, salted it slightly, and dried it in the sun, smoke, and heat of the fire. This took three or four days. We had all the meat we could afford to spend time to cure, besides an abund- ance of fresh meat for several days. In that dry climate and high altitude fresh meat will keep for a long time with- out spoiling. Without this supply of meat our provisions would have run low long before reaching a place where supplies could be had. We did run short as it was, before reaching our journey's end, as will be seen in another chap- ter. EARLY DAY STORIES. 49 CHAPTER VII. Incidents of the Journey — Out on the Trail Over Night — The Dogs and the Wolves. I have omitted to state that somewhere along near the western line of the present state of Nebraska, but I have forgotten at just what point, Mr. Knapp, became dissatisfied with the method of travel of Capt. Well's train, and he de- termined to pull out and leave it. He thought a train of twenty-one wagons too large — that it took too much time to pitch camp in the evening, and to break camp in the morning, and that there were too many cattle in one herd to do well when turned loose to feed. He therefore deter- mined to travel alone for a time, until we could pick up a few wagons with people who would be congenial and agreeable to us, and thus form a new and much smaller train that would be more easily handled. His position upon this question was well taken, and the reasons therefor were good and sound. We therefore traveled by ourselves for a week or ten days, my cousin Wesley and myself taking the whole charge of the cattle, one or the other of us always, and some of the time both of us staying out with them all night. We got along all right, only that Wesley and I did not have our full amount of sleep, because when out with the cattle we had to be up and stirring whenever the cattle got up to feed. When the cattle were driven out to pas- ture after making camp, they would usually feed until about ten o'clock, when they would lie down and be quiet until about one or two o'clock, and then get up and feed for an hour or so and lie down again. If they did not get up and go to feeding at the first streak of daylight, it was our busi- ness to rout them out, which we did if we were awake our- selves, which generally was not the case, and then at about 50 EARLY DAY STORIES. sunrise they were to be driven to camp. Do not think that we with our wagon were alone at any time, even if we were traveHng by ourselves. There were wagons ahead, and wagons behind us, all the time and in plain sight, unless for a short time it happened that our wagon was hidden in some small valley. Mr. Knapp, who spent much of his time on horseback soon picked up some emigrants with three or four wagons and directly thereafter three or four more, making a train of eight wagons in all, and about twenty- four persons, men, women and children. This train was, from that time on to the end of the journey, known as Knapp's train. It just came to be known as such because Knapp was the most prominent and best known person of the company, but not because he was captain, for we had no captain or other officers, nor any rules or regulations. Mr. Knapp was the leader — always selected the camping places, going on ahead with the pony for that purpose, and as he had good sense and good judgment, his plans were always followed and his suggestions adopted. However, he never assumed to command, or even to take the lead, but consulted with the others as if desirous of getting their opinions, but somehow his opinions were always satisfac- tory and were followed out without objection. I was the only one in the company, as I now remember, who ever gave any trouble; but I was a constant source of anxiety to my cousin and in a less degree to Mr. Knapp. As stated before my cousin and I each had a day on and a day off ; our duties were light and easily performed ; the oxen had become thoroughly broken, and would mind at the word. Our lead team of oxen were called Tom and Tim — it was the easiest thing in the world to turn them out of the track either to the left or right, even when the driver was away back by the wheel oxen, by calling out, "Whoa, EARLY DAY STORIES. 51 haw, Tom, haw, Tim," or "gee, Tom, gee, Tim." They were all of them as tame and tractable as a pet dog; and Tim was my pet. When watching the cattle at night, as soon as they lay down to rest, I would lie down by Tim, snuggHng up close to his side if the night was chilly, which was always the case when we had reached a high altitude, and I would immediately fall asleep, to be awakened when Tim made a move to get up to go to feeding. Poor Tim, he fell by the way and did not live to feed in the green pas- tures of the Willamette valley. I hope there is a heaven for all such faithful friends of man, as are our domestic animals, for it seems to me that there would be something lacking to be forever without their devoted companionship. We do not know — we cannot tell — it may be. As intimated, I was a constant source of worry to my cousin, and I think in a less degree to Mr. Knapp. When it was my day to drive, Wesley always stayed near the wag- ons, and never went hunting or exploring, although he was free to do so if he desired. On the contrary, when we reached that interesting country in the upper part of the Platte valley, and so on west, if it was my day off, I was always out with my gun as soon as the train was ready to pull out, and generally was not seen again until after noon, and frequently not till supper time, unless it was my turn to guard the cattle, when I would always get back before camping time. I do not think Mr. Knapp cared anything about it only that, as I was out quite late a few times, he was afraid I would get lost and delay the train. But Wes- ley was one of the cautious kind and was afraid I would break a leg, or that the Indians would get me, or that some other dreadful thing would happen. One night we made camp on the north bank of Malheur river, in extreme east- ern Oregon, and just across the Snake river opposite the 52 EARLY DAY STORIES. place where now stands the city of Payette, Idaho. The next morning it was my day off, and borrowing from a member of our company a book entitled "Jo^^^i^^l of Travel over the Rocky Mountains to the Columbia River," by Joel Palmer, I lay down under a tree as soon as the train was in motion and began to read. I was admonished by my cousin not to stay too long, but to overtake the train before noon, which of course I readily and faithfully promised to do. Under existing circumstances such a book, as one can readily see, was enchanting, in fact absorbing, and I for- got all about time or place. The sun grew hot and two or three times I changed my position to secure shade — train after train passed along and I continued to read. At last when the book was finished the sun was well down in the west, and I knew it would be dark before I could over- take the train. But I was light on foot then, was wearing moccasins, and had no coat — coat and rifle having been left in the wagon, and besides I had had no dinner and was not burdened with a full stomach — there was nothing to carry but the book I had been reading. It was a good long stretch to the next camping place which was called I think, mud springs, and I knew I could overtake no wagons until I reached that place, as that was the first water. Just at dark I heard a dog bark ahead of me in the road, and looking up saw two large brindled dogs that belonged to our train. They had been hunting together, as they were accustomed to do, and had now returned to the road looking for the train, which of course, was their home. They were as glad to see me as I was to see them. Going on in company with the dogs, I expected surely to meet our folks at the springs and so evidently did the dogs, judging from their actions, but although there were three or four outfits in 'camp, our train was not there. On inquiring for Knapp's train I was told "It is about an hour ahead." That would mean about EARLY DAY STORIES. 53 a half hour for me, and after traveHng more than half an hour I came to another camp and asked again for Knapp's train, and was told "It is about an hour ahead." The dogs and I went on — there was starlight but no moon — the road was full of loose stones, and I was constantly stubbing my toes, in the dark, the moccasins not affording very satis- factory protection. I was hungry, not having had a mouth- ful since breakfast. I am not sure, but think I must have been getting tired, and am quite sure I was getting mad. I told the dogs it was time to camp, so we turned aside up a little hollow ; I gathered up a big armful of sage brush, of which there was plenty, and soon had a good big fire. The dogs and I curled up by the fire and went to sleep to- gether . The night was cool, and I was in my shirtsleeves, but sage brush was plenty and the fire was replenished many times during the night. The wolves, the big gray kind, were around camp all night, snapping and howling but there was not a particle of danger from them — they were not hungry, for the trail was strewn with dead or dying cattle. The dogs chased them off several times, and seemed to think it was their business to take care of me. What a faithful friend to man is a dog — he never wavers in his affection for, or devotion to his master. Had a man been my companion that night, he might have forsaken me and saved himself if possible, had there been danger, but these dogs would have stayed by me to the last and would have given their lives to save mine. A few days later these dogs went on a hunt and did not return. I was very sorry, for although they were not mine, they were my friends, especially on that night. I got to camp next morning just as they were yoking up the oxen and Mr. Knapp had the pony saddled to start back after me. I got a good rounding up, which of course was merited, but it did not do one bit of good. "The leopard cannot change his spots, nor the Ethiopian his skin." 54 EARLY DAY STORIES. There were many things that tended to make this trip interesting. Among other things, while we were traveUng along the Platte valley with Capt. Wells' train, some mem- ber of the company had a greyhound, a very tall, fleet dog that was a great favorite. He would chase antelope every time one came near enough so that he could see it, but I think he was never able to catch one, although they had to get right down to business and do their best to keep out of his reach. One day two of the men were about sixty rods away from the wagons, trying, I think, to get some prairie chick- ens, having the dog with them. A big wolf started up out of the grass, and the dog gave chase. The ground was perfectly level, and the chase was a fine one, and all in plain sight of the wagons, as the wolf, instead of running north toward the hills, kept right on west the way we were going. The dog caught him in a short distance and at one snap disabled one hind leg — the wolf turned, but the dog got out of the way. Again the wolf started to run, and the dog caught him again and soon had both hind legs crippled. The wolf then stopped to fight and refused to run, when one of the men came up near enough and shot him. The dog and wolf did not clinch, and the dog was not hurt at all. While in camp opposite Ft. Laramie a number of young Indians visited our camp with their bows and arrows and began shooting at a mark. The men would put an old fashioned cent in a split stick and placing it at a distance of ten steps away, the Indians would shoot at it, the cent going to the one that could hit it. After awhile, borrowing a bow and arrows from one of the Indians I tried my luck at it, and found that I could shoot about as well as the Indians. It surprised them very much that a white man knew EARLY DAY STORIES. 55 how to handle a bow and arrows. If I had had a Chippewa bow I believe I could have beaten them. I had used a Chip- pewa bow and arrows from the time I was eight years old until I was grown, and had become expert. The bows of the Chippewas are much longer than those of the Sioux, but the arrows are about the same. When we reached the upper waters of the Platte, and also farther west on the Sweetwater there were an abund- ance of wild, ripe gooseberries, and also yellow and black wild currants, and after crossing the divide and getting over into Bear river valley and beyond as far as Snake river, we found ripe, wild service berries in such quantities as T had never seen before nor have I ever seen anything like it since. There were also wild strawberry plants in great abundance on the Sweetwater, but the fruit was all gone before we reached that place. Probably from what has been told in this and some of the preceding chapters, the reader will be of the opinion that it was a very pleasant thing to cross the continent with an ox team in the early fifties, and this opinion will be at least partly correct. It was not only in many respects a pleasant trip, but it was also instructive — it was an education of a kind that could be had in no other way — it was worth more to a young man than any term of equal length in school. But there was a serious side also — it was not all pleasure and there was very little play. The next chapter, or at least a part of it, will be devoted to some of the more serious problems that presented themselves during the trip. 56 EARLY DAY STORIES. CHAPTER VIII. The Cholera— Death of Hosea Ballou— The Story of Mrs. Knapp and Her Baby. It might be inferred by the reader from perusing the preceding articles, that about all the travel over the Oregon and California trail in the year 1852, and previous years, was by ox teams. To quite an extent this was true. At the time of which I am writing, all the trains that I saw on the route were made up of ordinary farm wagons drawn by ox teams, excepting that there were in almost every train a few light wagons, generally with springs, that were drawn by horses, and carrying the women and children and sometimes the bedding. These light wagons and horse teams were scarce, however, as most of the emigrants had but one wagon, which carried the provisions and bedding of the owner, as well as a few common, indispensible tools, and in which also rode the wife and children, provided the owner had a family. However in the early part of the season many trains had passed over the road, made up of men almost entirely, with horse or mule teams lightly equip- ped, and able to travel rapidly, and all bound for the gold mines of California. These were all ahead of us, and we saw none of them. They could make the overland trip with good luck in ninety days from the Missouri river, while it took the slow-moving ox trains a full five months. These horse and mule outfits were in much more danger from the Indians than were the trains drawn by oxen, because the Indians wanted the horses and mules and would steal them at any time if there was a chance, but they had no use what- ever for the oxen. The feeling of danger from Indians therefore to our train, soon ceased, to trouble us, except that there were some timid ones wha w§r? ajiyays afraid. As EARLY DAY STORIES. 57 for myself, I had always known Indians, liked them, and on every occasion when any came to our camp I made their acquaintance as much as possible and treated them as friends. It was intimated in the last chapter that this article would treat 'in part at least of some of the serious problems of the trip that had to be met and solved. I have mentioned the Indians at this time because it seems to stick permanently in the minds of many that the probability of Indian attack was the most serious of all the problems confronting the emigrant. Let this idea of Indian attack be eliminated from the reader's mind — if such danger ever existed, and it did sometimes, it did not exist in the year 1852. The first real trouble that befell our train, and that while we were traveling with Capt. Wells' company, was the ap- pearance of Asiatic cholera, or at any rate what was called Asiatic cholera. I find on consulting certain authorities recently, that it is denied that there ever has been any real Asiatic cholera in the United States but once, that being in 1832-1834, and that the scourge of so called cholera of 1850- 1854 was not cholera at all. "Who shall decide when doc- tors disagree?" If a disease that is kindred to cholera and that carries off 30 to 50 percent of those attacked, is in our presence, it makes little difference what it is called. Our company suffered from this disease but little comparatively, but it was very prevalent in some companies, and very fatal. It apparently had followed the emigration from St. Louis up the Missouri river, and so on across the country by the overland trail, perhaps not quite across the continent but at least as far west as the Snake river valley in Idaho. In our company was a Mr. Hosea Ballou with his wife and, I think two or three little children, accompanied also by a brother, Henry Ballou, all from Henry county, 111. We had heard of cholera, and of some deaths in some of the neighboring companies, but our people had been well. 58 EARLY DAY STORIES. excepting some cases of dysentery, when suddenly Mr. Hosea Ballou was stricken with cholera and died in a few hours. I saw him die, and it was the first death I had ever witnessed. It made a deep impression on my mind. A strong man who only a day or so previous to his death, I had seen going about his work in apparent health, was cut down without warning, leaving a wife and two or three helpless babies. It seemed to me that we were utterly helpless in the presence of such a scourge. A grave was dug by the side of the trail, and the body wrapped in ^ bed quilt as there was no lumber for a coffin, was sorrowfully and silently lowered into it, and without a prayer or a song or the reading of a single passage of Scripture, the grave was filled and the train moved on. God deliver us from such a death and burial. It was better to be broken and killed by a fall from a precipice — to be drowned in the waters of the river or to be killed by the Indians, than to die such a death, and to have such a burial. This cast a dreadful gloom over the whole company, but it was the only death from this cause. There were two or three more light cases of the disease in our train, one of whom was Mr. Knapp, but all speedily recovered. For many weeks, however, there were cases of dysentery, some of which were serious, obstinate, and of long duration. Another serious matter, and the cause of a good deal of trouble, and loss, amounting in some cases to the break- ing up of some of the teams, and abandonment of the wa- gons, was the lameness and sickness of some of the oxen. There was little or none of this for the first five or six hun- dred miles, but as we approached the mountains and the roads became very hard, gravelly, and hilly, the oxen, es- pecially the heavy ones, and those used as the wheel teams — that is those next to the wagon — became footsore and lame, in some cases the feet becoming worn through on the bottom so that they would bleed. Our employer, Mr. EARLY DAY STORIES. 59 Knapp, had provided against this trouble by bringing along a supply of ox shoes and nails for putting them on. Some, however, did not think of this, or did not forsee such a difficulty and did not provide themselves with ox shoes. We lay over for two days when our oxen first began to have tender feet, and shod all in our train that needed it, as some had shoes, and Mr. Knapp fortunately had enough to supply those who had none. In the lumber woods, and elsewhere where it is necessary to shoe oxen, a frame is kept at every blacksmith shop, into which the ox is led, where he is se- cured and by means of a clutch, straps, ropes and pulleys he is easily placed in position, and the work is quickly and easily done. Out on the plains, however, it was different, and was no easy job. Sometimes the front feet could be shod with the ox standing if he was very quiet and gentle, but to shoe the hind feet the ox had to be thrown on his side, his head secured so he could not raise it ,and the hind feet drawn forward up against the body and tied with ropes. Our man, Jolly, mentioned in the last article, was a black- smith, and expert at the business as soon as the best plan to throw and hold the ox was discovered. Very many oxen became so footsore that they could not travel and had to be abandoned, to be devoured by the wolves. After crossing the Rocky mountains there was a disease among the cattle which was not understood, and which was incurable, that took off a great many. From the summit of the Rocky mountains west to the end of the journey the trail was marked so thickly with dead cattle, that they were hardly ever out of sight, and the wolves, buzzards and ravens at- tracted by the carcasses upon which they feasted were more numerous than I have ever seen them elsewhere. I wonder if any mother, who is a reader of these papers, would be ambitious to make such a trip of almost 2800 miles as the road runs, and taking from the middle of May to the middle of October, or even a longer time, having in her care 60 EARLY DAY STORIES. from one to five children, riding in the day time and sleeping at night in a covered wagon, cooking by an open fire, with the wind, dust or rain to contend with, to say nothing of the hot sun by day, the music of the wolves by night, and the more or less constant fear and dread of the Indians. If any feel that way— well — they have got grit — that is all. At the same time that the oxen were shod, the tires were set on many of the wagons, as the hot weather and dry atmosphere was hard on the woodwork. This, however, was quite an easy job — cottonwood bark was plentiful at that camp and was used for heating the tires. As stated in a former chapter, our family, when we left St. Joseph, Mo., consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Knapp and their little girl, and my cousin, Wesley, and myself, but awav <^ver the continental divide somewhere, I cannot now remember just where, there was an addition to our family, Mrs. Knapp presenting her husband with a little girl baby. It cannot be said that there was rejoicing in camp because an addition of that kind was really desired or welcomed, but there was rejoicing that the baby lived and that Mrs. Knapp recovered her strength rapidly, and only a delay of two or three days was necessary before resuming the journey. And now comes the saddest part of my story. I shrink from telling it, and have seldom mentioned it — but it is proper and right that it should be told. We were camped on Burnt river, in what is now Baker county, eastern Ore- gon, somewhere between Huntington and Baker City — the oxen had died off so that our team was not strong enough to draw the wagon, and all the other teams were in a similar condition — we were getting short of provisions, and we supposed none could be had nearer than Walla Walla, pro- bably 200 miles distant. It was decided to double teams, abandon part of the wagons, and all the single men to leave the train and go on foot, to shift for themselves as well as EARLY DAY STORIES. 61 they could. The teams so doubled could easily draw the remaining wagons, and it was thought there might be pro- visions enough left to last those that tarried with the teams, until supplies could be reached. There were four of us to go on ahead, my cousin, Wesley, a man by the name of Root, another whose name has gone from me, and myself. We bade them all good bye, and started off, but our journey of 400 miles on foot will be told in the next chapter. Mrs. Knapp and her babies I never saw a^'^m. I saw Mr. Knapp in Portland about a year later, ana he told me this sad story. Soon after we left the company the baby was taken sick and died and was buried in a poor, little, lonely grave, only another added to the thousands that al- ready marked the whole course of the trail. It was too much for the mother — she probably had not become very strong and in just a few days she followed her baby to the better land. Poor Mrs. Knapp — her lot for the last few months of her life was a hard one. Born of well to do parents in Louisiana, her father an owner of slaves, reared in a good home, well educated, surrounded by luxuries, she yet consented, and willingly, I think, to undertake this trip, knowing of some of the things at least, that she was to endure. She had energy, courage and grit, but had never been drilled in the school of adversity. Her strength was insufficient for the burdens she had to carry. Mr. Knapp was born in Ohio but went to Louisiana when quite young, and married his wife there. He did not believe in slavery and wanted to go to a state where it did not exist, and his wife was willing to go with him. They decided that Oregon was the place. The reader has heard the story but I could scarcely summon sufficient resolution to relate it. 62 EARLY DAY STORIES. CHAPTER IX. Four Young Men Leave the Train and Go On Afoot — Ar- rival at the Dalles — Trip Down the Columbia — Arrive at Oregon City. Referring back to the narrative given in the last chap- ter, it will be remembered that our train was reconstructed, and that to economize in provisions, four young men of the train who had no families, were to leave the company and make the rest of the journey on foot. It had been known for some time that provisions were getting scarce, and every effort possible had been put forth to procure game and fish to help out. Before we left the train and while en- camped on one of the tributaries of Snake river called Goose creek, a number of fish of the sucker variety, weighing from one to two pounds apiece, were shot with a rifle in the shal- low waters, and this gave us one good mess. A little far- ther on we came to an Indian village at a place where there were some low falls in the river, and these Indians were engaged in drying salmon for their winter supply of pro- visions. They were not willing to sell the dried fish but oflfered fresh ones right out of the water for sale. I traded for a large red salmon that would probably weigh thirty pounds, a ten cent tin powder flask, containing about six charges of powder. This was all we wanted for our wagon, and it tasted so good that nearly all of us overate and were sick from its effects. Near this place we crossed Snake river, because it was known that the road for a hundred miles or so was much better on the north than on the south side. The river was too deep to ford, and a raft was con- structed by taking two of the tightest and best wagon boxes, lashing them together side by side, caulking the seams as tightly as possible, thus forming a pretty safe and sub- EARLY DAY STORIES. 63 stantial raft. The wagons were unloaded and taken apart, and every thing ferried safely over, it taking a good many trips, but it was accomplished with little difficulty. The cat- tle were driven across, having to swim part of the way, and it fell to my lot here as elsewhere, when any large stream was to be crossed, to follow them over on horseback. Re- suming our journey we soon came to Boise or Wood river, which was crossed and then followed down to its mouth, where we again crossed Snake river in the same way as at first. All along Boise river there was an abundance of rabbits, the common cottontail kind such as are found here. The first mess of these procured on Boise river was shot by Mr. Knapp. I went with him and carried the rifle and the game, Mr. Knapp doing the shooting. He had the best rifle in the whole outfit — in fact the only real good one, and he was a good shot, but at this time was just recovering from the illness caused by eating too much salmon, and was not yet strong enough to carry the heavy rifle. In about half an hour he killed seven rabbits, scarce missing a shot. The country passed over along Boise river looked good to us, being thickly covered with grass about eight or ten inches high, but dry and dead at that time of year, and having a dark and evidently productive soil provided there was suflficient water for the growing plants. I have under- stood that this is one of the best parts of Idaho, and is now well settled and improved. Not long after crossing Snake river the last time, we came to the camp on Burnt river where we parted company and started on afoot. We took very little in the provision line from the train as it could not be spared — the only thing as I remember being a little of the dried buffalo meat that had been killed and prepared at the last camp on Platte river near Red Buttes, as pre- viously told. We had each a gun, a blanket or two, an over- coat, and among us a small tin pail and a frying pan, and one of the men. Root I think, had a watch. We could have 64 EARLY DAY STORIES. taken more bedding but did not care to be burdened with it. I think every one had a little money left, and it was hoped that with it enough provisions could be bought from emigrant trains that we would overtake and pass, to keep us eating until the settlements were reached. We also took with us a black mare said to be of good stock, belong- ing to one of our company, with instructions to take her through if she could keep up, but if not to turn her loose and the owner would pick her up again if he found her. The mare was very thin, and seemed to be growing weaker all the time. We always turned her loose at night, and one morning she could not be found, and we did not care to tarry to hunt her up. We wanted to know about how much ground we cov- ered in each day's travel, and it was arranged that we should take turns in counting our steps, calling 1700 steps a mile. As there are 5280 feet in a mile 1700 steps would just about equal a mile, provided the one counting his steps or 'Spaces" as we called it measured just a little over three feet at a pace. In this way by noting by the watch the time it took to "pace" off one mile, we found that we could easily cover thirty miles a day, and in this way could tell just about how long it would take us to get to a place where we could get something to eat. That was really the problem that was to be solved — getting something to eat. We were all well, strong and happy. I liked that trip. Our guns were a burden, and almost of no use on the trip, as all the game we had a chance to shoot during the trip was one grouse that alighted near us on the side hill as we were eating breakfast, and one or two ruffed grouse, or pheas- ants found in the thick timber while crossing the Blue moun- tains. However, in the end, the guns helped us out, for on arriving at the Dalles, I sold mine for four dollars, and I think my cousin got five dollars for his. We had very poor luck buying provisions from the emigrants, nearly all being EARLY DAY STORIES. 65 short themselves, and those that had a Httle to spare gener- ally felt that it ought to be kept for others that were short, who had women and children dependent upon them. This reason for not selling to us, and which was unanswerable, was given in a number of instances. Upon one occasion I had quite an adventure while trying to buy something to eat of a man belonging to a company that was in camp near where we stopped for lunch. I said stopped for lunch, but we could have no lunch that time unless I succeeded in buy- ing something. I bought for a dollar about as much bread as one can now get at a bake shope for ten cents, and was just turning away with my purchase, when a man belonging apparently, to another wagon asked, "What did you sell that bread for?" and began cursing the man that sold it, and declaring he would shoot him, went to his wagon and got a revolver. I thought there would be bloodshed, and did not know whether to offer to trade back, or to run. I did neither. The man who sold the bread never said a word, probably knowing that to be the best way, and pre- sently the other quieting down somewhat, approached me and said in an apologetic sort of way, "We are short our- selves, and haven't enough for our own women and chil- dren." I told him how we were fixed and he seemed con- siderably mollified. It is probable that some of the emi- grants let us have a little food when they really could not spare it — in fact I am sure that was the case. After cross- ing the Blue mountains, from the western slope of which Mt. Hood, one of the highest and sharpest peaks in the Cas- cade range was in plain sight away to the west, all white with snow, we came down upon the Umatilla river, where we found Indians that farmed a little, and they brought to us potatoes and dry shelled peas to sell. Our money by this time was gone, and in fact the Indians cared little for it anyway, not well knowing its value. They also had dried camas roots. The camas is a bulbous plant with a root or 66 EARLY DAY STORIES. bulb something like a small onion. It grows in great quan- tities on the prairies of Central and Eastern Oregon and Washington, its beautiful blue flowers in springtime being so numerous as to give tint and color to the landscape. A camas prairie in early springtime is a lovely sight. The Indians dig the roots in great quantities, and prepare them for winter use. The taste is sweet and agreeable, and has the appearance of having been soaked in molasses before being cured. The saccharine matter, however, is in the plant itself. We had very little to offer them in trade. They would take powder and lead, but of this we only had a small supply. My cousin was trying to strike a bargain with an old squaw for some dried camas roots, but she was sharp and refused whatever he had to offer. Finally putting his hand in his pocket for something he was looking for he accidentally drew out a large smoked pearl button that be- longed on my overcoat and that happened to be in his pock- et. The squaw gave a scream of delight, pushed the bunch of camas roots towards him and seizing the button ran off, evidently thinking she had struck a grand bargain. My overcoat was double breasted, having two rows of smoked pearl buttons up and down in front. From that time on we could buy of the Indians anything they had to offer in the provision line as long as the buttons lasted. At last they were all cut off and the coat was tied together with strings. We had currency of the most acceptable kind un- til we reached the Dalles where there were supplies in plenty. I forgot to state that a day or two after we parted company from our train on Burnt river we overtook a young fellow whose name has been forgotten, if indeed, I ever knew it, but who was called Bud. He said he had left his company because they were short of eatables and was mak- ing his way alone. He had no money, no blankets, no over- coat, and nothing to eat. We felt sorry for him and took him in, and took care of him until we arrived at the Dalles EARLY DAY STORIES. 67 where we left him when we took a canoe to go down the Columbia. He paid us off well, however, for helping him along, and gave us something to remember him by, for every one of us got lousy sleeping with him. We did not go by Walla Walla as had been intended, but cut off two or three days' travel by leaving it to the north, and going on straight to the Dalles. At the Dalles a settlement had been commenced. There were one or two board shanties, quite a large number of tents, and there were supplies of all kinds for sale. We were entirely out of money, but had one large smoked pearl button left, which, however, did not pass cur- rent with the white traders, but did serve us well, however, later on. We here sold our rifles, and nearly all our blan- kets and got something to eat and supplies, as we supposed, enough to last us to the Cascades of the Columbia. There were Indians here with big Columbia river canoes, wait- ing to take passengers down the river, the charge being four dollars each and board yourself. We found five other men, making nine in all of white men, and picking out a good looking canoe, manned by two Indians, pushed off down the Columbia. At the start it was a charming trip — the smooth, deep river, with clear water and high, bluffy shores — the bold range of the Cascade mountains in front, and seeming to grow higher and higher as we neared them — the bright sunshine overhead — the rocks and cliffs be- coming bolder and higher as we approached the mountains, and at last as we entered the gateway of the mountains the evergreen trees, covering the sides and crowning the sum- mits of the mountains nearest the river, and every now and then a cascade where some mountain brook came tumbling down from rock to rock, or poured over a high precipice, dissolving into spray before reaching the river. Soon after entering the mountains it began raining with a strong wind coming directly up the river from the ocean. The home of the Indians who owned the canoe was 68 EARLY DAY STORIES. at the mouth of the White Salmon river, and here we land- ed and remained three days waiting for the storm to sub- side, and of course we ate up all our store of provisions before we got under way again. We were just about out of everything to trade on, and the Indians, finding it out, were good to us. We had no blankets left at all as I re- member, but there was lots of timber, some of it very large, which sheltered us from the wind and we took lodgings under a big fir tree that shed a good deal of rain, made and kept up a big fire, and got along pretty well. The Indians had some very coarse shorts, and we traded something, I do not remember what, for some of it, intending to make a cake and bake it in our frying pan, but it would not make dough that would hold together, but fell apart like bran, so we boiled it in the tin pail and called it mush — however, it was about half way between mush and soup. Then Wes- ley took the one remaining pearl button, and started out to trade. He found a squaw who had just caught a large white salmon, weighing probably thirty pounds, and struck a bargain for it. The squaw, however, insisted on dressing and cooking the salmon, and bless her that she did — it was the best job of the kind I ever saw. She split the salmon on the back, then run two or three long, slim sticks through it lengthwise, then two or three crosswise to keep it spread out wide and flat, stuck the long ends of the sticks in the ground, before the fire and roasted it, then when it was cooked, placing it on a broad, clean piece of bark, withdraw- ing the sticks, she placed it before us. At the risk of making this too long, one or two more things must be told. The storm over, we were taken on down the river, landing at the upper end of the Cascades or lower falls of the Columbia, and then walking five miles down over the rocks on the north side of the river to the foot of the falls, where was the little village called the Cas- <^-ades. Here, which was the head of tide water, and at that EARLY DAY STORIES. 69 time the head of navigation on the Columbia, there was a steamboat, just arrived from Portland. The captain offered to take us to Portland and give us dinners, if we would help unload the cargo. This we gladly did, and by a Httle strat- agem which we worked on the cook, got our supper also, arriving in Portland after dark. The next morning Wesley and I crossed the Willamette river to the eastern bank, the ferryman agreeing to take us over on condition that we would pay at some future time if we ever came that way — which I am sorry to say we never did — it is still due. We went on up to Oregon City, there being then only one road up the river from Portland, and that on the east side. Ar- rived at Oregon City our journey over the Overland Trail was ended, and I immediately got work and soon had money enough to invest in a fine comb — the thing of all most needed. 70 EARLY DAY STORIES. CHAPTER X. Wild Animals and Birds That Lived Here. It is doubtful which is the worse habit, to read only to be amused, or not to read at all. This is a general state- ment, and will not apply in every case, because it is entirely proper sometimes to read for amusement and relaxation. But if the object in reading is solely to be entertained, the habit is a bad one. One who reads only to be entertained or amused, and who receives no instruction from what is read, and only skims along to get the run of the story, and how it turns out in the end, injures his memory and unfits his mind for study or for profitable reading. All books should be written in such style, and the subjects presented should be treated in such manner as to be both entertaining and instructive. Such books as entertain only, and do not instruct, should in general be kept out of the hands of young people, because, while perhaps not absolutely hurtful in the stories they tell, they lead the mind in the wrong direction. In preparing all these articles it has been the intention of the writer to both instruct and entertain those that read, and especially the young readers, who can know nothing of these things only as they read about them. This chapter and two others to follow will describe portions of Ante- lope county, and perhaps also other parts of the state as they looked to the writer when first seen by him; and will also tell something about the wild animals and birds that were found here, and how some of these that were once plentiful have entirely disappeared, and how new kinds have come in and are now making this their home. It will also describe the habits of some of these wild animals, telling how they provide themselves with food, how they guard themselves against their enemies, and how they become wary EARLY DAY STORIES. 71 and wild as soon as they are hunted by man. What would I give to go back again to the old times, and old scenes, and old neighbors of forty years ago ? It cannot be ! yet it fills my heart and my eyes full to think of and to write of it. About the 28th of May, 1869, we were camped near the east bank of Cedar creek^ on the northeast quarter of section 27, Oakdale township, on the land now owned by Antelope county, and known as the county farm. "We" means Solomon S. King and myself, who had come to look the country over, and if we liked it to select claims for our- selves and for several others. We had been running lines for two or three days both east of the camp in Oakdale township and south as far as the center of Cedar township, but had not crossed to the west side of the creek as yet. It was all new and wild everywhere. There were no signs anywhere that there had ever been a white man in the coun- try excepting in one place we found where probably a hunt- er or trapper had cut down a small cottonwood tree two or three years before, and excepting also the mounds and stakes made and set by the government surveyors two and a half years previous to this time. It was an ideal place to camp anywhere along Cedar creek. The water of the creek, flow- ing between steep banks, was deep and cold; fine springs of clear, pure water were numerous; there was an abund- ance of hardwood timber, plenty of dry wood, good grass and good shelter. We were not on a hunting trip and made no effort to get any game, except an occasional duck or prairie chicken, both of which were abundant. There were antelope in sight most of the time, and every day we saw deer and wild turkeys, and there were also tracks of elk in abundance, but we saw none of the animals themselves. We were in a great game country, but we were hunting land, not game. We thought we had found just the kind of country we were looking for, and we believed that we were the first upon the ground, as we had seen no signs of the 72 EARLY DAY STORIES. white man excepting those just alluded to, not even the track of a wagon, since leaving Battle Creek, in Madison county. There were abundant signs of beaver all along the creek, but we saw none of the beaver themselves at that time. There were trees that had been cut down by them some years before, some of which we used for camp fires, and there were numerous fresh cuttings of little willow and Cottonwood trees which the beaver had drawn into the water and there eaten the bark. It is said that the beaver, when taking his meals, always sits with the hind parts in the water and while this statement is probably incorrect, he no doubt takes his food in or near the water. They live mostly on the bark of trees, such as cotton- wood, willow and poplar where it can be had. They also eat the coarse grass that grows in low grounds and swampy places along the streams. In one place in Oregon many years ago, while out hunting, I found a grove of little pop- lar trees, situated about twenty rods from the banks of a small river. Here the beaver worked at night, as is their custom. They had cut down many of these trees which were from two to three up to five or six inches through, and had then cut them up into lengths from a foot or so, to four or five feet long, according to the size, and then had drawn the most of them to the river where the bark had been eaten off. There was certainly a wagon load of these sticks in a bend of the river where it was still water, nearly all of which were without the bark, while in the grove were a dozen or more sticks just freshly cut, and all ready to be taken to the river, and there were also several sticks partly cut off and two or three trees partly cut down, but in no case was the bark eaten off except from those at or in the river. I have also seen one place on Beaver creek in Wheel- er county, Nebraska, where there was a beaver dam and pond that apparently held a large colony of beaver. There was no timber at all here, excepting some small brush, but Buck Antelope. EARLY DAY STORIES. 73 there were many acres of swampy ground covered with big grass and water plants that furnished the colony with food. While beaver generally do their work in the night, they sometimes are out in the day time but it is difficult to get a chance to see them. I have tried several times to get sight of a beaver, but succeeded only once. Several years ago in Sherman county, Nebraska, I came suddenly and silently upon a beaver sitting just at the edge of a pond. He was a big fellow, and we did not see each other until I was within a dozen feet of him as he sat at the edge of the water under a bank. He made a dive into the water, and swimming across the little pond went into a hole under water on the opposite bank. Beaver were quite plentiful here in the early days, and were probably found in all the streams of the county. Some of them were trapped, but not many. They are very shy and timid, and when persistently trapped, or when the country begins to settle, they will emigrate to new haunts. It is now against the law to take them in Nebraska at any season, and I hear that there are a few in the thinly settled parts of the upper Niobrara coun- try and that they are increasing in numbers. There is also said to be a colony of them on the Elkhorn river in Stan- ton county. It was thought best to take a look at the country on the west side of the creek, and as my comrade, Sol King, could not walk very far, from the fact that he had lost a leg while fighting for his country during the civil war, and as it was very difficult to ford the creek with a horse, he agreed to keep the camp while I looked over the country to the west. I went up the creek about two miles from the camp, and crossing to the west side on a fallen tree, placed my- self in line with certain objects on the east side of the creek that had been marked a day or two before, and that could be plainly seen, and tracing the line thus previously marked, soon came to a section corner. It will be remembered that 74 EARLY DAY STORIES. this was in May, 1869, and that the government survey was made in October, 1866, therefore it was an easy matter to trace the section Hnes and locate the corners. The corners in this part of the county were plainly marked ; and gener- ally the mounds were well preserved, even many of the sight mounds could be plainly seen for a considerable distance. These sight mounds were made of sods, and were built up to the heighth of sixteen or eighteen inches at prominent places on the line, as a guide to the chainmen. It was thus very easy to follow the line and find the section corners. Of course the old men living here now who were here forty or more years ago, know all about these things, but I am particular in giving this description to make it plain to the young people how it looked here in the early days. The first section corner that I found was plainly defined, the mound well preserved, and the four pits from which the earth had been taken to make the mound were only partly filled with drift. The corner stake, however, had been burned off near the ground by the prairie fire of the pre- vious fall and the markings could not be read. I went on a mile west to the next corner where the stake was standing and in perfect condition. This was the corner of sections 4, 5, 8 and 9 in Cedar township, just three miles east of the present village of Elgin. There is no landscape scene in nature more beautiful than a fertile, gently rolling prairie in spring time just as it cam.e from the hand of its Creator. And this spring morning in the year 18G9 I was gazing upon a picture in color, painted by the hand of the Great Master, using the earth and the sky for a canvas, and done in such a master- ful way as no other artist has ever been able to equal, or even successfully imitate. The earth was covered with a thick, bright green carpet of grass that waved and trem- bled in the breeze ; there were few if any flowers, for they seek the low grounds and the sheltered places along the sides EARLY DAY STORIES. 75 of the ravines and in the valleys, but flowers were not need- ed in this scene. To the north and west the ground sloped gently upward to little low green rolls a quarter of a mile or so away that shut out a distant view in these directions. From the southwest around to the southeast and east the land was at first level, then there were gentle swells and undulations, and finally away to the south at a distance of six or seven miles were the high smooth green hills divid- ing the waters of the Elkhorn from those of Beaver creek. Nearby in the foreground to the southeast was a point of thick timber growing in and along the sides of a ravine that led away to the southeast to Cedar creek, narrow at the near- by point but broadening as it neared the creek, where it joined the strip of woodland that borders the creek and plainly marks its windings for five or six miles. I looked upon the picture before me with admiration, and thought then that I had never seen a more lovely landscape nor a more fertile soil. As I look back upon it after a lapse of more than forty years, I am now sure I was right. But the picture is not yet complete. I sat down upon the mound, and taking out my memorandum book, began to jot down the numbers and description of the adjacent lands. My thought was that almost anything in sight was good enough for a farm for anybody; and such it has proven to be. From that viewpoint, there was no land in any direction of all the thousands of acres in sight, with possibly the ex- ception of a half dozen rough quarter sections, that has not since become fine, valuable and very productive farming land. But to complete the picture; while writing in the memorandum book, I happened to look down at old Cap- tain, the dog, he v/as all atremble and crouched as if in the attitude of making a spring, and looking to the north, there, within thirty steps were five antelope looking upon us with apparent wonder. Probably they had never seen a man nor a dog before, and were curious to know what we were. 76 EARLY DAY STORIES. The one in the lead began to stamp his fore feet at us, and to utter the pecuHar antelope cry of "tchew tchew" which they are apt to do when somewhat alarmed. Captain was waiting for the word from his master, for he was trained to wait until told to go. They were so near that I could have knocked one over with bird-shot, but I had no gun and we were in no need of meat, and it was not the season to kill such game, and besides it would have spoiled the picture. I said to Captain "Go," and he went like a shot, but the antelope is about the fleetest animal known, and they were perfectly safe. He was a fast dog, but the ante- lope is fleeter than any dog except possibly the greyhound. Captain could make an antelope get down to business and run straight, but he could not catch one in a fair race. They very soon all went out of sight over the little hill to the north, and I finished my notes and was ready to go when here came back the dog, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, and not more than thirty rods behind him were the antelope, trotting back to complete their investigation. The dog lay down lolling by my side, and I waited to see what the ante- lope would do. They did not come very near again, but circled around, stamping and uttering their peculiar "tchew tchew." Pronounce this as spelled, with the lips open, the teeth closed, forcing the air through the teeth, and you have it. EARLY DAY STORIES. 77 CHAPTER XL Wild Animals and Birds That Lived Here — Continued. In all the experiences of my life, nothing that ever oc- cured to me, or that came under my personal observation, has left upon my memory a more vivid or pleasing impres- sion than the occurrences related in the latter part of the last chapter. There I was, a stranger in the country, view- ing these scenes for the first time. Probably no white man had ever been in that place before, excepting the govern- ment surveyors. The soil was no more fertile, the lay of the land no more desirable, the scenery no more beautiful, and the location no better than could be found in scores of other places in the county; but here, what completed the picture and made it more beautiful and impressive, was the coming of those antelope into the foreground of the pic- ture, being chased away by the dog, and then following him right back again. If there is one word that more than any other fully expresses the feelings that possessed my whole being that morning, it is the word "enchanted," and this being the fact is probably the reason why it left an im- pression of such vivid clearness upon my memory. There were then, and are now, many places in the county which afforded a grander and sublimer view than the one describ- ed, but I had not seen them at that time ; in fact the whole of Antelope county in the early days, when it was as yet untouched and unmarred by the hand of the white man, presented a varied scene of symmetrical beauty, grandeur and loveliness that could scarcely be surpassed. How could the early settlers fail to be pleased, charmed and suited with what they saw before them? Many of the wild plants that once helped to adorn and make beautiful the landscape scenes are now nearly extinct 78 EARLY DAY STORIES. or greatly diminished in quantity, having been turned over by the plow, or trampled to death by herds of cattle. Prom- inent among these is the wild sweet pea that was found in great abundance in the early days, especially where the land was somewhat sandy, giving color to the hillsides, and fill- ing the air with fragrance. It is eaten by cattle as greedily as is the grass, and being an annual, it is only a matter of time until it will be exterminated. What a pity it is, that the white man cannot enter into and possess a fruitful and inviting wilderness, just as God gave it to him, without destroying some of its most charming attributes. The wild animals have gone, and so have many of the birds, the wild flowers and the wild grasses have either gone or are going — only the landscape remains, but shorn of many of its most beautiful features. But to return to the wild things that were found here in an early day; the antelope were more numerous than any others of the larger animals, or in fact than all others combined. During the months of May, June and July they might be seen anywhere on the smooth prairie, either a sol- itary one, or in little bands of three or four, or an old doe with her two fawns, or sometimes a drove of a dozen or more. They are animals of the plains, and do not frequent the rough, hilly lands, nor the timbered tracts. They do not hide from their enemies, nor seek to conceal themselves, but lie out in the open where they can see as well as be seen. They depend wholly upon their senses of sight and smell to detect the presence of enemies, and upon their fleetness to escape. They stay out in the open, and do not seek shelter during storms. They feed upon almost every kind of weed that grows upon the prairie, but eat very little grass. I have observed our own tame antelope many times when feeding — in summer they would nip the weeds, leav- ing the grass untouched, and in winter would pick all the weeds from the hay leaving the grass uneaten, and al- EARLY DAY STORIES. 79 though they had access to shelter, they never used it. The vension of the antelope has a very marked gamy taste, prob- ably from the fact of their eating weeds, and consequently it is not relished by most people as well as the vension of deer or elk; however, some people, and especially old hunt- ers, prefer it to any other meat. They were somewhat mi- gratory in habit, and generally did not stay here through the winter in great numbers. They would get together in large flocks in August and September, and while some would remain, the greater number would go west, to return again in April and May, to rear their young here during the sum- mer. They were not very wild and wary when found here by the first settlers, but they very soon became so. I am taking much more space to describe the habits of the ante- lope than will be given to the description of any other ani- mal, partly because there is a good deal of misinformation concerning the antelope, and partly because our county was named for the fleet, graceful little animal that once covered its prairies in such numbers. The male antelope has horns that when full grown attain the length of twelve or per- haps fourteen inches, each horn supplied with one small prong, hence they are often called the prong-horn. The females are hornless. Unlike other animals, such as the goat, sheep, cow, buffalo and others that have a hollow or pith horn, the antelope shed their horns annually. All ani- mals of the deer family, such as the elk, moose, caribou, common deer and many others have solid horns, and these shed their horns in the winter, and grow them in full again during the spring and summer. The antelope shed their horns in the spring, the new horn growing inside the old one, and the old shell becoming loose, falls off. When the old shell is shed, the new horn is soft and partly covered with scattering hairs. The new horn soon grows to attain full size, and the outside hardens, forming a new shell. Knowledge to be valuable should be exact, but some 80 EARLY DAY STORIES of our best authors are frequently very inaccurate as to de- tails, and therefore their teachings are to a greater or less extent erroneous. As a case in point the following in- stances will be given, taken from Francis Parkman's "Cal- ifornia and Oregon Trail," page 105: "As we emerged from the trees a rattlesnake, as large as a man's arm, and more than four feet long, lay coiled on a rock, fiercely ratt- ling and hissing at us ; a gray hare, double the size of those of New England, leaped up from the tall ferns ; curlew were screaming over our heads, and a whole host of little prairie dogs sat yelping at us at the mouths of their burrows on the dry plain beyond. Suddenly an antelope leaped up from the wild sage bushes, gazed eagerly at us, and then, erect- ing his white tail, stretched away like a greyhound." The foregoing sentences are elegantly written and are very in- teresting and instructive reading, but they convey informa- tion that will be very surprising to an old frontiersman who has read little or nothing of these matters, but whose stock of information comes only from personal experiences. Who ever heard a rattlesnake hiss? I have killed hundreds of them, and have talked with very many persons who hav^ seen and killed many of these reptiles, but I have never heard of such a thing as a hissing rattlesnake except from reading books. The Rocky Mountain rattlesnakes are not noted for their great size — in fact they are rather under- sized, therefore this one must have been a monster if the measurements are correctly stated. Who ever saw or heard of tall ferns in the foot-hills of the Laramie mountains, where these things occurred? Ferns grow only in a com- paratively damp soil, and here it was very dry — in fact, al- most a desert. Small ferns do grow higher up in the Lara- mie mountains where there is more moisture, but even then they are not tall enough to hide a hare. It would surprise an old plainsman to see an antelope leap out from the wild sage bushes, or any kind of bushes, for antelope do not V S,:% m . \ N . Doe Antelope. EARLY DAY STORIES. 81 hide; and still more to see him raise his white tail, for an antelope does not raise his tail when he runs, and if he did it would be too inconspicuous to be seen. And it is equally surprising that the antelope stretched away like a grey- hound — there are no two animals whose modes of running are more unalike than the antelope and the grey-hound. The running of a sheep and a grey-hound are as nearly aHke as that of a greyhound and an antelope. It probably will be considered presumptuous for one like myself who is almost devoid of learning, to criticise one of our standard authors; but I shall risk the hazard to my reputation to make the following statement : If from the descriptive works of Washington Irving, Francis Park- man and James Fenimore Cooper, the misconceptions and exaggerations were eliminated, their books would be con- siderably abridged in size, and would be of increased value, especially those of the last named author. On either side of the rump of an antelope there is a patch as large as a man's hand of snow-white hair, which is four or five inches in length, and that lies down flat and smooth when the animal is feeding or at rest; but when about to start to run, which is done with a wonderfully quick, light, springy bound, these patches of hair rise and stand straight up. If the reader should ever be so lucky and so happy as to hunt antelope, when the moment comes when he is trying to get a shot, it will be all right to wait for a better chance as long as the animal stands and gazes, or even stamps his foot and repeats his "tchew" "tchew," but when those white hairs begin to rise — shoot quick, or you will lose the chance. The antelope have their young right out on the open prairie, where there is no cover ex- cepting grass a few inches high. Several times I have found the young before they were old enough to run. They will then lie flat down with the under jaw close to the ground, and ears flat, as though pinned down, and they 82 EARLY DAY STORIES. will not move if very young, but will suffer themselves to be taken up, without making the least effort to get away. Even then, in very short grass it is difficult to see them, as they lie so quiet, and their color harmonizes so perfectly with the grass. But the days of the antelope in Nebraska are numbered — there are probably none now this side of Wyoming. There have been no buffalo in Antelope county, so far as is known, since the settlements began, excepting as told in the history of the county. It was not many years before the settlement of the county that they were very numerous. I have never seen any place, either in Nebraska or Wyom- ing, where the skulls, bones and horns were more plentiful than they were here in 1869-70. The buffalo were very gregarious animals, living in large herds and going from place to place in search of pasture. Little need be said here about the buffalo, because their history and habits are pretty well known already. The mountain sheep were probably never found here because the country is not at all suited to their habits. They live only in a very rough mountainous country. Seventy- five years ago, according to the accounts of the old hunters and trappers, they were very plentiful in the Wild Cat range in Scotts Bluff, Banner and Morrill counties, and probably also in all the counties traversed by Pine Ridge, as that country is suited to their habits. The elk, and the black-tail and white-tail deer will not be described here, but will receive attention in the next chapter. There were panthers or mountain lions here many years ago, their range being along the Elkhorn and its timbered branches, and no doubt they were also then found on the Verdigris in Sherman and Verdigris townships. So far as is known to me, only one has ever been seen in the county EARLY DAY STORIES. 83 since its settlement. At one time Mr. E. R. Palmer, one of the first settlers in Cedar township, was out hunting, when he started a panther on the west side of the creek, and followed it west nearly to the place where Elgin now stands. The animal was gray in color, as large as a large dog, had a long tail, and ran with bounds like a big cat. When it stopped to look back at him it turned its head only, and looked back over its shoulder, cat fashion. This is a peculiarity of all the cat family — they turn the head back, but do not turn broadside after the fashion of a deer or elk. Although it was followed several miles, there was no chance to get a shot, and it never was seen here again. I have seen a panther that I followed on the prairie and in the woods of Oregon, many years ago, that acted in pre- cisely the same way. About fifteen years ago I went to what is now Mor- rill county, Nebraska, to examine some land for an eastern party, and had occasion to run a section line through some rough, rocky hills that were covered with pine timber. This was in the immediate vicinity of the Wild Cat range, and was in fact just a point or edge of that range of mountain- ous country. It looked like a fine game country, and sev- eral times I ran across tracks of black-tail deer. I stopped with a man who lived on the smooth prairie about a half- mile from this rough country, and he told me the follow- ing story : 'There have been two mountain lions Hving in this part of the country, but I have not seen them for about two years, and whether they have been killed or have left the country I cannot say. They probably have left, for I think I should have heard of it had they been killed. A great many people used to come here to get firewood and timbers from the scrub pines, but they do not come so often now, for a good many have left on account of the dry weather, but they used to come from as far away as forty 84 EARLY DAY STORIES. miles, generally three or four teams together. About two years ago two men came, having a wagon and team each, and stopped at my well for water. They went down into the timber, got loaded up and camped over night, being all ready to pull out in the morning. The next morning they had harnessed the horses and tied them to the loaded wagons and fed them their grain, and were frying bacon for their own breakfast, when they saw the two mountain lions not far away, looking at them and sniffing the air as if they smelled the bacon. They did not come very near at first, and the men hooked up after finishing breakfast and pulled out, followed by the lions. One of the men had a rather small, short-legged dog, and the lions seemed bent on catch- ing him. They came up closer and closer, and would have caught the dog only he kept right under the front axle be- tween the wheels. One of the men had a loose chain on his load, which he would shake at the lions, and this fright- ened them some, but they followed on, almost to my house, when they turned and loped back to the hills." Of the smaller wild animals that were found here when the county was first settled, some have diminished in num- ber, and some have greatly increased. It was very seldom that a skunk was found, either the large striped kind or the small spotted variety, commonly but incorrectly called the civet cat. Now both varieties are numerous. Racoons, badgers, and wildcats are occasionally found now, but are not nearly as plentiful as formerly. The fox squirrel was here at first, but was very rare, while at the present time, being protected by law, they have greatly increased, and are found in the groves all over the country. There is one animal of the fox kind that has probably entirely disappeared. It is the small gray prairie fox, com- monly called the swift, so named from the swiftness with which it runs. It has none of the cunning of its relative, the red fox, and is easily trapped. These animals were quite EARLY DAY STORIES. 85 common in the early days, but I have not heard of one hav- ing been seen for many years. They are probably exter- minated. Rabbits were very abundant in an early day, both the gray or cottontail, and the large jack rabbits. The cotton- tails are still almost as plentiful as ever, but the jack rabbits have been very much thinned out excepting where there are large tracts of pasture land, where they are yet quite abundant. 86 EARLY DAY STORIES. CHAPTER XII. Wild Animals and Birds That Lived Here — Concluded. The black bear, the red fox and the Canada lynx have all been found in the eastern part of the state, in the hilly, timbered country adjacent to the Missouri river, but insofar as has come to my knowledge, none have been seen in Antelope county. The otter, mink and muskrat were found here when the country was new, and the mink and the musk- rat are yet about as plentiful as ever, but the otter have probably nearly disappeared. There was a time when the large gray wolves were abundant here — in an early day they were found everywhere with the buffalo. When the buffalo retired from this country the gray wolves went with them. It is probable that one was seen occasionally by the first settlers, but it was a rare occurrence. The coyote or prairie wolf has always been plentiful here, there seemingly being little or no diminution of their numbers. To sum up the matter: The last of the buffalo were seen here in July, 1872; the elk and the black-tail deer re- mained in diminished numbers five or six years longer; the white-tail deer were very scarce after the hard winter of 1880-'81, but there was an occasional one seen until the early nineties. One was killed between Neligh and Clearwater by Geo. W. Rapp of Nehgh in the year 1891. A few an- telope probably remained as late as the year 1880, but they were not numerous after 1875 or '76. The big wolves, what few there were here, left with the buffalo, and the swifts, or prairie foxes, were killed or trapped or driven out before the year 1890. The beaver all left the country prior to 1880, but as it is their habit to travel from place to place a few have been in the county of recent years, and one was trapped in the Elkhorn about the year 1900. Now and then an otter EARLY DAY STORIES. 87 has been seen in recent times, and the track of one was found between Oakdale and NeHgh in the year 1910. The last one killed, unless I am mistaken, was shot near Oakdale by V. E. Brainard in 1887 or '88. The only panther ever seen in the county is the one spoken of in the preceding chapter. These things are mentioned as I have had my attention called to them, and the dates given may not be exact in every in- stance, but they are approximately correct. Of course, some of these animals may have been seen in the county recently and that fact may not have come to my knowledge. Great changes have taken place among the birds that made this county their home, or used it as a stopping place during their migrations in the spring and fall of each year. Some kinds have left us entirely — others are yet with us in diminished numbers — others are as numerous as ever, or in some instances have actually increased in number, and there are a few new varieties now becoming common that were never seen here in the early days. Of the kinds that were common forty years ago, but that are now rarely or never seen, are the wild turkey, the raven, the magpie and the curlew. The magpies, however, are to some extent coming back again ; for the last two winters they have been seen in quite large numbers in the timbered ravines of Cedar creek. Of those that were common but are now very rare are the turkey buzzard and the plover. Among those that have greatly diminished in num- ber are the wild geese, the different varieties of brants and wild ducks of many kinds, also prairie chickens and sharp-tail grouse. Occasionally there has been seen here a pelican, a blue heron, a loon, and now and then a small flock of white swans, but this country is avoided by them of late years. Among those that have greatly increased in number are the blackbirds, robins, bluebirds, blue- jays, brown thrushes and quails. Among those that have about held their own are the meadow larks, turtle doves, cat birds, 88 EARLY DAY STORIES. swallows, martins, night hawks, kingfishers, kingbirds, song sparrows, bobolinks, yellow-hammers, woodpeckers, the hairy, the downey and the red heads, and the Baltimore or- ioles. Of the new kinds that are now common, but that were either entirely unknown in an early day or were very rare, are the wood thrush, the rose-breasted grosbeak, the olive backed thrush, the peewee, and the orchard oriole. There are also two new birds that we perhaps could well do without — the crow and the English sparrow, but of this I am not sure. Of the birds that are remarkable for the beauty of their plumage or the rich melody of their songs that visit us occasionally may be mentioned the cardinal grosbeck, the scarlet tanager and the mocking bird. The mocking bird is quite common in the southern part of the state but is rare here; I have been hoping that they would visit us oftener. About two years ago, a Lewis woodpecker was seen by me for three or four days. He made his head- quarters in a dead box elder tree that had been left stand- ing for the birds, and from which he drove off a pair of flickers that were building a nest in a cavity. They are rare here, but are common farther west. Besides those already named we have in great abund- ance the tohee, the junco, at least two kinds of vireos, the indigo bunting, the gold finches, the wrens, the horned larks, the nuthatch, the brown creeper, the kill-deer, the chickadee and other kinds not so well known. I have attempted to name only those that are of the most common and best known varieties. There are very many kinds of birds, chiefly small ones, that visit our groves and thickets and the tall grass and weeds of our prairies, that I cannot even call by name. Prof. Lawrence Bruner says that there are as many as 400 dififerent kinds of birds found within the borders of Nebraska. I wish that some attention might be given to the sub- ject of bird study in every district s?hop} in the county. If EARLY DAY STORIES. 89 every school district had at least one book that describes accurately all of our most common and useful birds, and if during the spring and fall terms this book was consulted two or three times a week, or even every day, and the chil- dren taught to name the different kinds of birds at sight from the description given in the reference book, and at the same time were taught the use these birds are to the farmers, it would create an interest in the subject, and we would soon have a county full of bird lovers, and it would result in a great increase in the number of these friends of the farmer. The county superintendent should see to it that some such book as ''Bird Neighbors," by Neltje Blan- chan, is used in every school district in the county. In early days Antelope county was a poor man's par- adise. I doubt if the Garden of Eden was more beautiful than was Antelope county before it was desecrated by man. I do not see how the Garden of Eden could have surpassed Antelope county in beauty, for God created both, and no doubt pronounced them both good. The results were dif- ferent — in the first case God drove man out of the garden — in the second case man drove out or marred many of the beautiful things that were found in Antelope county. He has driven out the elk, the deer, the antelope, the wild tur- key, the curlew, the otter and the beaver. He has ruined the prairie grass and all the most beautiful of the wild flowers ; but let him be given credit for what he has done by way of compensation. He has planted orchards and has dotted the county all over with thousands of acres of planted groves, which has partly changed the face of the country from that of native prairie to one of diversified prairie and timber, and by his railroads, telephones and telegraphs has made communication easy with all the rest of the world. If a strike occurs in the morning in the coal mines of Wales, or if the emperor of China abdicates his throne, or if there is an earthquake in Italy, we read of it in the evening papers. 90 EARLY DAY STORIES. Therefore it may be that things are about evened up after all. The elk, the white-tail deer and the black-tail deer were all found here when the country was new. They are all closely related, but they differ a good deal in size, appear- ance and habits. I have seen quite a good many deer of both varieties weighed, after they were ready to ship for market — this means of course with the head and hide on — but I have never seen an elk weighed. A full-grown, white- tail buck when fat will weigh from 150 to 175 pounds, and sometimes a very large one will weigh 200 pounds — a full- grown fat doe will weigh about 50 pounds less than a buck. A black-tail deer will weigh about fifty pounds more than the white-tail when in the same condition, although a very large buck might weigh 75 pounds more than a white-tail. The elk is from two and a half to three times as large as a black-tail deer. The flesh of the doe elk is always sweet and good, even when the animal is thin, but it is at its best from about the first of September to the first of January. The flesh of the buck is good in July and August, but gets strong in taste and smell by the latter part of September, and is almost unfit to eat thereafter for four or five months. It loses its strong taste after a time, but the animal remains thin in flesh until about the next July. The flesh of both varieties of deer is nearly always sweet and good, but sometimes that of an old buck will taste somewhat strong if killed after about the first of December. During the spring and sum- mer the elk are scattered about over the country in small herds until the fawns are six weeks or two months old, when they invariably begin to collect in large herds, sometimes numbering hundreds in a bunch. In Nebraska, however, I have never seen more than sixty in a herd excepting on one occasion, and generally twenty to thirty was about the limit. In September the old master buck would drive all ,^%'^i-