The “Dull Knife” Raid; The Indian’s Motive for the Same, etc.

The summer of 1877 found the Indians as active as they had been for some years prior to that date. They had long since come to the realization that if the buffalo hunter continued his destructive work upon their base of supplies, the time would soon come when they would be brought to the verge of want. They had so long considered the buffalo their natural source of sustenance that they could not behold the plains depopulated of the vast herds without offering some kind of protest, and the only one that appealed to him was the rifle, and the tomahawk. Prior to ’77 they had levied a heavy toll upon the settlers in varied shapes of depredations. They murdered wantonly, they carried into captivity many wives and daughters of the settlers, they ran off the stock and what they did not take away they destroyed. Things had come to such a pass that the settler had to be protected if the vast plains were to be opened up to agriculture, or ranching. With the removal of the buffalo, the cattle man would have an opportunity of stocking the vast territory with marketable beef, or the farmer would be able to convert the boundless acres of the plains to the production of much needed cereals. Hence it came to pass that the U. S. soldier took a very active part in affording protection not only to the scattering settlers who were brave enough to risk the dangers of Indian incursion, but also, to the cattlemen who were rapidly filling the plains with herds to replace the once numberless buffalo. Miners and freighters also came in for their share of protection from the lawless incursions of the marauding natives of the plains. As a consequence of the activity of the army, several bands of hostile Indians were captured and placed on reservations. Amongst the contingents brought in was Dull Knife with his followers. They were held under surveillance at Red Cloud Agency, Nebraska, until an order was issued by the Department to Capt. Lawton, telling him to take charge of the Dull Knife Band, and take them under military escort to Ft. Reno Reservation, Indian Territory. This order was promptly complied with, and he started southwards and located them on the above mentioned Reservation without any trouble or annoyance on the part of Dull Knife.

It might be well to interpolate here an assertion of Dull Knife, as it will explain some of his future conduct. He made the claim that he surrendered under a promise, or form of agreement that in case he should become dissatisfied with the Darlington agency at Ft. Reno, he would be allowed return to his northern hunting grounds again. I cannot vouch for the truthfulness of the statement, but will let it pass for what it is worth. The fact of the matter is that he was only a very short time at the Darlington agency before he began fomenting trouble. He managed to render himself obnoxious as possible to every one with whom he had any dealings. John D. Miles was in charge of the Darlington Agency at the time, and Major Misner was in command of Ft. Reno. They each of them kept a close scrutiny on every movement of their distinguished? guest, as his reputation for being a disturber among the Indians as well as amongst the whites had preceded him, and they soon discovered that his change of base did not change his disposition for the better, in fact, it seemed to have the contrary effect upon him. When he was brought into the reservation, the agent located him about nine miles above Reno, close by what was known as Dutch Jake’s ranch, and not far from where the present town of Calumet is situated, in the valley of the North Canadian. He was not there very long until he discovered that the whole scheme of creation seemed to be out of harmony with his needs and comfort. He made the startling discovery that the water was no good, that the grass lacked the nutritive qualities necessary to keep his ponies in good condition, and last, but not least, that the agent was stealing his chuckaway and that he, his family and all that was near and dear to him were fast becoming mere shadows of their former selves owing to such scantiness of rations. I do not know whether there was any truth in the claim that the agent, John D. Miles was guilty of the crime charged against him, but this I feel very safe in saying, that a great many of the troubles with the Western Indians had their origin in just such practices, as has often been shown upon investigation. There are usually two sides to every question, but, in the case in discussion, whether there was any truth in the charge, or not, I am safe in remarking that Dull Knife with less provocation, in fact, with only an excuse for provocation, could stir up more strife with less raw material to start on than any Indian I ever knew or heard of, and certainly lived up to the description the Irishman gave of his wife, when he was carried away by his feelings of resentment, “Bad luck to your ould head, ye’re never at home only when ye are abroad, and never at peace but when ye are at war.”

The condition of which Dull Knife complained with so much petulancy and bitterness continued to exist during the winter. However, when the day arrived for the Indians to draw their rations, he appeared with the rest and took his share. The manner in which the cattle were turned over to them was rather peculiar, but filled the bill to a nicety. At the time appointed, they all adjourned to what was called the “issue” pen where the cattle were turned over to them to kill after their own fashion. As soon as the steer was turned loose the Indians set out in pursuit of him, armed with bows and arrows, with which they endeavored to despatch him. They rode alongside of him, often times the distance of more than a mile, all the while trying to sink their arrows into some vital spot. Many a wild race they had after some refractory steer goaded to desperation by the wounds inflicted upon him by the arrows. As soon as the beast fell in his track, the pursuers work was done. The attention required to convert the fallen steer into food was given by the squaws who followed the pursuit, some on foot and others on ponies. Arrived at the death scene they immediately set to work with their skinning knives and soon had the steer divested of his hide. That done, they made short work of cutting up the carcass into the portions allotted to each family. Those to whom the meat was distributed looked after the conveyance of it to their quarters in whatever manner suited their taste or convenience. Some wrapped it up in blankets, others hung it from their saddles, others brought into service a gunny sack or any other article that would suit the purpose of transporting their share to their dwellings. In the work of disposing of a steer, they were very economical, as there was very little left of it when they had finished the work of dismembering him. Even the entrails came in for their attention. The smaller intestines they usually relieved of their contents by squeezing between their fingers. When they had them sufficiently cleansed of all foreign matter, they braided them carefully and hung them around the necks of their ponies. If the work happened to take place in warm weather, by the time the work was completed there was usually a halo of flies encircling each squaw to accompany her on her homeward journey. The bucks seldom, if ever, took a hand in the butchering as they considered that work beneath the dignity of a warrior. A few years later this system of disposing of the cattle was abolished by an order issued from the Indian Department at Washington, as the officials considered that manner of killing a beast too barbarious and cruel. To accomplish the end desired, they had the Agent select a good marksman to go into the issue, pen and shoot the animal selected for each family. Then the beast was dragged outside and the family to whom it was apportioned, dressed it and made the division of it that suited their fancy. On the day of “issue,” I have frequently sat for hours watching the aborigines at their work, and I must say that outside of a few little things, the scene had a certain amount of fascination for me. Here I had an opportunity to study the Indian at close range, and I found it far from uninteresting. However, education and environment has wrought considerable change in the habits and customs of the natives of the plains, though it was a somewhat difficult matter to break away from the mode of life founded upon years of existance under a species of wild and untrammeled freedom such as they enjoyed before they came under the dominion of the white man. I have oftentimes, in my travels over the plains and visits to the different agencies, come upon a family of Indians at their meal. All were seated upon the ground in a circle around the food, each one devoting careful attention to the work of demolishing some choice morsel with a gusto that would make Lucullus envious. Frequently, upon encountering them in such circumstances I discovered young men and young women who had been at Carlyle, or some other institution in the East, I could tell at a glance that they had had the advantage of an educational training, as, upon my arrival they would turn their faces away from me, much embarrassed and somewhat ashamed to be seen in their old habits of life when they had been permitted to enjoy the elevating influences and advantages of higher life. They had not been back from school perhaps, for more than a couple of weeks; perhaps, they were only making a short visit to the old folks on the plains, but they could not conceal their training, and they sought to avoid embarrassment by turning away from the visitor who happened to call upon them. They were wearing the blanket just to please the old people. It was the custom of the early days, and still the mode of life of their parents, and they found it rather difficult to live in a manner different from their people when they were in the midst of them. One who suffered no embarrassment from the visitor was the old buck himself. There he sat munching a piece of raw beef as unconcerned as if no visitor had ever appeared before him. He was apparently oblivious of his surroundings, and it seemed as if the sole purpose in life, just then, was to give his whole time and attention to a quantity of meat, oftentimes of such size that a section of it would be protruding from the corner of his mouth. There he sat and just chewed, like a work ox munching his quid, or a mountain goat contentedly masticating some tough but savory morsel of food.

I have digressed considerably from the subject of Dull Knife’s doings, but I hope that matter just mentioned has not been uninteresting to the reader as it gives some idea of the manner of life the old rascal led while at the Darlington Agency. To continue the narrative, the Agent kept up his mode of procedure in dealing with Dull Knife, and the latter continued to raise objections. He kept the trail between his abode and the Agency in a well worn condition owing to his numerous visits to the presiding official. In this manner he managed to put in the whole winter. In other words, he kept the kettle boiling, and one could see that there was something brewing.

If there is anything that an Indian dislikes, it is to get into any trouble that would force him to leave his camp in the winter time, especially when there is much snow on the ground. Gen. Phil. Sheridan was aware of this fact when he made his winter campaign on the Washita after Black Kettle, Satanta, and Lone Wolf, and forever settled the outbreaks of the Indians in that section of the country.

When the grass began to spring up along the valley, and his ponies seemed to be putting on some of the much needed flesh, Dull Knife felt the blood pulsing through his heart with greater vigor, and he began to make preparations for war. He made no secret of his intentions to depart at the earliest opportunity from the restraining influences of the Reservation. It was quite manifest to all the employees at the Agency, and to a great many of the soldiers, that Dull Knife was making his arrangements to part company with his surroundings. News of the intentions of Dull Knife was brought to the Agent by an educated half-breed, George Bent. Any rumor that he had of the matter previously was now sufficiently confirmed to warrant his taking what precautionary measures he deemed proper to restrain the war-like ardor of the distinguished guest within his gates. He summoned Dull Knife to his presence and gave peremptory orders to remove his camp from its present location down the river to a position about eight miles east of where the present city of El Reno now stands. It was a good location as there was plenty of water, timber, and grazing, and should have satisfied the demands of Dull Knife for improved conditions, but he immediately put forth all manner of objections to which the Agent turned a deaf ear. Reluctantly Dull Knife agreed that the conditions in the new location were much better than where he had been living, but he did not see his way clear just then to make a change in his habitation. The reason he gave for his unwillingness to comply with the wishes of the agent was that there was sickness in his family and consequently it would be extremely dangerous to expose them to the necessity of submitting themselves to a change when it was not absolutely necessary. He promised, however, that as soon as his family was restored to health, he would move them to the new location down the river. The Agent permitted the delay suggested by the wily Indian, but as a precautionary measure, had the Commanding Officer at the fort send a troupe of the fourth cavalry to where he was then camped, to stand guard over him until such time as he would make up his mind to remove to the new site selected for his encampment. The placing of a guard over him, gave Dull Knife another opportunity to raise objections to the general scheme of things, and like a spoiled child who cries because it cannot have the rainbow, he commenced to whine once more. No sooner had the troops taken up their position to guard his actions than he came to the Agent to have them removed entirely, or if that was impossible, to have them removed to some distance from his teepee. He asserted strongly that the presence of the soldiers so near to him had a tendency to keep his squaws in a state of terror and that, as a consequence, they would not be able to regain their health, at least, as long as the soldiers remained in the neighborhood. The Agent, to put an end to his continual whining, consented to remove the soldiers to a position somewhat removed from Dull Knife’s teepee, but still near enough to keep some sort of guard over him if they were at all careful in the fulfillment of their duty. The soldiers were rollicking, jolly good fellows, not at all bloodthirsty, and whenever an opportunity presented itself for merriment they entered into the spirit of the occasion with all kinds of ardor. Needless to say, they found the task of acting as guard over one redskin a rather tedious affair, and were compelled to break the monotony of existence by means originating with themselves. They managed to pass the time in running horses, playing cards, and with other diversions. In the meantime the Indians passed back and forth among them with as much freedom as if there had never existed anything like a guard.

In the meantime the summer was passing away, and Dull Knife had not yet changed his residence. The Agent was beginning to get somewhat nervous over the matter. He even went so far as to declare that he would leave the agency, but that was a matter that could not be attended to without considerable red tape, and in the meantime he was receiving a good salary where he was. He could not throw up his position without consulting Uncle Sam, as Samuel is rather a harsh task-master when it comes to seeing that his officials fulfill the duties of their position. It was quite evident that Dull Knife was getting on his nerves.

During all this time, Dull Knife was tearing around like a loose cyclone that has recently broken away from its moorings, and his lieutenant, Wild Hog, was not far behind him in activity. He made no secret of what he was doing. Here and there, all over the Reservation the wily old villian was meandering for the purpose of getting possession of fire-arms. Anything he had in his possession he was willing to barter for anything in the shape of the utensils of war. Cowboys and soldiers, all were requested to barter something in the nature of guns or ammunition for whatever he could produce. Anything he had was on the market. At times he succeeded in trading a couple of ponies for an old, rusty, six-shooter, but in the general run he was not very successful. As an instance of what he was willing to do, I shall mention one case. James Smith, a teamster for the government at the time, was hauling posts to erect a stockade at the fort. In one of his trips he met Dull Knife. The latter immediately proposed a swap. He saw Smith had his belt full of cartridges, and these seemed to take his fancy. He made a trade with the teamster, giving him a new government overcoat for ten cartridges. This penchant for trading became an obsession with him, and there were times when he rendered himself a nuisance to everyone in the neighborhood by his continual proposals to make a trade.

Finally, this state of things became very monotonous. They had long since become aware of the fact that Dull Knife had no good intentions in his desire to become possessed of firearms and ammunition. They began to be fearful of him, as they did not know the time he would break out and take the war-path and leave behind him a trail of smoking ruins, with a long list of murdered victims.

On the first of September, 1878, the Agent was called up by a family of Indians who informed him that Dull Knife had gone. They said that they had gone with him a short distance, but changed their minds and came back to the reservation. The thing that all had been looking for had come to pass, and they all became anxious for what the near future would make known to them. Something had to be done without delay. The Agent immediately summoned Johnny Murphy who had been Gen. Sheridan’s confidential ambulance driver during the campaign on the Washita, during the winter of 1868, against the Kiowas, Comanches, and Arpahoes, and who was afterwards a reliable despatch bearer between the different posts in that section of the country. The Agent explained the situation to Mr. Murphy, and handed him a despatch to forward immediately to the Commander at Ft. Reno, telling him of the departure of Dull Knife. When the despatch was handed to the Commander, he read it attentively, and asked Mr. Murphy, as a special favor to take it up the river where the troops were still guarding the Dull Knife camp. Murphy again mounted his faithful old steed, Pegasus, and proceeded to bore a hole in the darkness until he arrived at the camp. There he found every one of the soldiers sound asleep while the object of their tender care was on his way to the hunting grounds in the North. It is difficult to account for the somnolent tendencies of the soldiers on this occasion. It does not seem possible that their amusements of the preceding day would have the effect of producing such a lethargic condition. In any case, even the sentinel, whose duty it was, at the expiration of each hour, to shout at the top of his voice and proclaim to the troops in particular and to the whole world in general that “All is well,” had surrendered to Morpheus, and was so tightly wrapped in his embrace that Murphy was compelled to roll him out of his blankets and inform him that the Commander at the fort, and his country was calling him to duty, and it would be a better procedure to saddle up at once and go to headquarters as soon as possible.

To the average man, the escape of Dull Knife from under the very eyes of his guards, may seem increditable, but this is a case where truth is stranger than fiction. It seems as if Dull Knife’s medicine had hypnotized the guardians of Uncle Sam’s peace and dignity. If such were the case, he must have exercised the same powerful influence over the military until he was killed close to the Wyoming line. I cannot blame the reader if he shows a little hesitancy in accepting the statement as a fact, as I myself would have an inclination to question the matter, and begin to look for proof if I were in the same conditions as he, were it not that I am writing this account within a few miles of the locality in which the drama was enacted. I have been over the trail and visited the scenes of some of his brutal massacres.

When Dull Knife left the reservation, he had less than one hundred warriors, but had his full complement of squaws and papooses, which, all told, would raise the number of the departing contingent to about two hundred and fifty. The fact that he took down his teepee, packed all his belongings, and marched off undisturbed by the guard set to watch his every move, would be enough to stagger the mind of any one except some dime-novelist who has the happy faculty of accomplishing marvelous deeds with little or no implements to produce such wonderful results. But, nevertheless, that is what occurred. He had departed unmolested from the midst of his guards, and was on his way to his far off land of promise. When he left the reservation, he continued his march to the Cimmaron river without much inconvenience from the military men who were supposed to forestall any such movement on his part. Being that he was poorly provided with munitions of war, or supplies to maintain his command on their journey, he was compelled to seek subsistence by raiding ranches, or killing what stock he met on his way. He did not have much trouble in providing for his future wants, once he came into possession of some beef. This he dried and “jerked,” a very easy proceeding, for as soon as the meat was salted and hung out in the sun, it readily cured, and would remain fit for use for a year or more without any further attention.

The day after the departure of Dull Knife and his followers, the soldiers under the command of an old German officer, who had seen service in the army of the Fatherland, Major Randerbrook, set out to arrest the fugitives and bring them back to the reservation. It was manifest to the observer that the Major did not relish coming in contact with the rough edges of army life. Here I may pardonably make mention of the fact that this same Major, and Captain Gunther, of whom I shall speak later on, were members of the Slumber Squad who were supposed to keep a wakeful eye upon Dull Knife’s camp. The old Major, when notified by Johnnie Murphy that his captive had vanished, became indignant to think that Murphy, a mere messenger, would have the audacity to disturb his sweet repose. However, realizing that the courier had not acted on his own volition, he summoned up sufficient courage to leave his comfortable bed, and saddle up for the purpose of making a journey to the fort. When he arrived there, he received orders to take charge of the Fourth Cavalry, or that portion of it that was then at the fort, and set out in pursuit. There were several troops of the Fourth Cavalry in that section of the country at the time, as they had been sent down from Fort Sill to keep an eye upon the Kiowas and Comanches if they should show any disposition to foment disturbances. Hence it happened that there was only one troop of the Fourth at the fort at the time of the disappearance of Dull Knife and band. The Commander of the fort also sent a courier to Fort Sill telling the Commander there that Dull Knife had gone north, and asked him to intercept the Indians if possible.

The fugitive had gone northwards only a short distance when he went into camp in the sand hills which lay north of Dutch Jake’s ranch. From his actions it was plainly evident that he was not at all uneasy about the presence of the soldiers, nor did he manifest any fear of them. When he was ready to proceed on his journey, he set out with the same nonchalance as characterized his encamping so near to the scene of his late restraint. He advanced on his route until he arrived at the Antelope Hills, north of the Cimmaron river. There he made another encampment. The soldiers had not yet overtaken him, a thing which he seemed anxious for them to do. In fact he became so anxious that they should overtake him that he sent a small band of warriors back to meet them to make inquiries as to the reason of their following him. They were informed by Major Randerbrook that he had been sent out to arrest them and restore them to the reservation. They positively refused to return with the Major, and stated plainly that they intended to return to their chief and lay the matter before him. Dull Knife, as might be expected of him, positively refused to consider the return to the reservation, in any light. In order that there might be no mistake about his intentions he began to daub on the war paint in greater abundance than he was decorated with before. He was simply living up to his assertion made previously that he would return to the hunting grounds of the northern territory if the conditions around the reservation did not suit his fancy, and in his present attitude he was fulfilling up to his declarations, and would continue to do so, come what might.

The first evening of the march, Major Randerbrook made the startling discovery that, in the haste and bustle of preparation consequent upon the order to pursue the fleeing Indians, they had forgotten to pack up his feather bed, his davenport, also his writing stand and wall tent. He felt that he could not make a successful journey without these necessary accessories to his personal comfort, and therefore, he detailed Peter F. Weasel, a member of the 16th Infantry, who was acting as teamster at the time, to return to the fort and bring all his belongings (the Major’s) and overtake the troops the next day. This solemn duty Peter set out to fulfill with proper feelings of submission, but I have never found any evidence to show that the said Peter ever appeared in the presence of the Major, laden with his precious feather bed or any of his other belongings.

Do not permit the idea to find lodgment in your head, my reader, that the Major was a coward. Far from it, as his later actions showed. Later on, when the Indians refused to surrender when he met them at the Antelope Hills, he ordered the troops to charge upon them in the camp, which they did. After a short skirmish with them, he found that he had lost three soldiers who were killed, and among the injured was the company blacksmith who was crippled by being shot through the hips. After this skirmish the soldiers withdrew from the fray and went into camp. There they buried their dead companions, but when they came to look for the injured blacksmith he was no where to be found. In fact, they never saw him again. The loss on the part of the Indians is unknown, but from what I can learn about the fray, to use the language of the prize ring, that battle might be considered a “draw.” Some years afterwards, acting under orders from the Department at Washington that all soldiers killed in battle with the Indians on the plains, where their graves were known, their bodies should be exhumed and given a military funeral. This order was complied with in the case of the three soldiers killed in the Antelope Hill fight, and they were later on removed to the fort where they belonged and properly interred. The Major himself bore himself in a courageous manner, but he was suffering from the handicap of age. Brave as any man that ever straddled a horse, he wanted to be in the thickest of the fray, but owing to his eyesight being greatly impaired it was not a safe move to permit him to enter so ardently into an engagement, as he could not distinguish friend from foe at even a short range, and the difference between an Indian and any other object at a distance he could by no means make out. The Major was thoroughly discouraged with the outcome of the affray, and disgusted with the conduct of his troops on the occasion. He resolved to give up his commission and turn over his command to a younger man. He determined to make his resignation at Camp Supply, but before taking his departure he placed Captain Gunther in charge of the command. This man proved his unfitness for the position of trust confided to him later on at Sand Creek where he displayed the cowardice and worthlessness of his character, which stamped him as one of the most despicable characters who ever disgraced the uniform of an officer since the days of Benedict Arnold. The old Major in due time arrived at Camp Supply accompanied by an escort, whilst Dull Knife after carrying off and secreting his dead warriors, started northwards across the Cimmaron river, and began a series of depredations on the ranches and cattle in Clarke county, Kansas.

Once he had crossed the river, he did not confine his band to any definite route of travel. In place of an orderly line of march, such as characterizes the trained soldier, his followers scattered out each day in different directions to perpetrate whatever devilment might offer, with the purpose of meeting at night at some appointed rendezvous to plot and plan further rascality to be put in operation on the following day.

There were few stock ranches in the country at the time, and when they had heard that the Indians were on the warpath, and were in the neighborhood, they began to make preparations to protect themselves and their stock against an expected incursion of the marauding band. They rounded up their horses and kept them under close herd, but that was impossible as regarded the cattle, as they were scattered far and wide, and consequently would afford the Indians an opportunity for obtaining possession of what meat they wanted for their journey. It would have been flying into the teeth of danger to endeavor to round them up just then, as the ranchmen would, in all likelihood, have encountered some of the roving bands of cut-throats in their way, and the result would have been disastrous. However, it was not the nature of the cowboys to remain supinely inactive and permit the Indians to work havoc on the herds at will. They determined to have a hand in the fray, and decided that it was time to give the Indians their first lesson in civilization if they had not received it before. They let the cattle take care of themselves, and set out to deliver their instructions in the only manner that would appeal to the natives of the plains. The cowboys from Doc Day’s ranch, and those from the Driskill ranch, with those of several other outfits, all turned out to take a hand in the fray that was sure to come. They set to work with enthusiasm, and continued it with so much zeal and ardor, that Dull Knife began to fortify himself against their unremitting attention. He selected for this purpose a location on what is called Gypsum Creek. The squaws set to work to dig rifle pits upon the side of the bluffs that overlooks the stream, where the warriors could fire down upon the persistent cowboys if they should have the audacity to follow them into their hiding place.

Everybody was, by this time, on the lookout for the invaders and prepared to give them a warm reception should they appear in the neighborhood, excepting one man named Sam Kiger. He lived on what is now known as Kiger Creek, so named in his honor. Sam had a little ranch. He lived in a dugout, and had a small herd of cattle, and was busy looking after his own interests. He was so far removed from everybody else, that he did not hear of the danger that was threatening the neighborhood. It is easy to understand how he was unaware of the menace of the Indians when it is stated that he seldom saw any one, seldom went abroad except when necessity compelled him to do so, and then went to Dodge City which was 45 miles distant, for supplies. He remained in ignorance of his danger until two weeks after the Indians had left that part of the country. That was one case where ignorance was bliss. But another man, Sam Williams, was not so fortunate. He was a sheepman and maintained his flocks on another creek, and had a very close call, in fact, just escaped being murdered by the savages by the narrowest margin. He was herding his sheep all alone at the time. Sam, among the other adornments of nature, was upholstered with a luxuriant crop of whiskers. They were his pride and he spent his spare time in combing them. Never did beauteous maiden bestow so much time and attention upon her personal adornment as Sam spent upon his hirsute appendage. In fact, the care and attention of those whiskers became a sort of obsession with him. Well, the first notice that the aforesaid Sam had of the presence of Indians was when a bullet came singing through the air from behind a sand hill and ploughed a furrow through his highly cultivated whiskers. It did not require any very rapid calculation on his part to tell him that he was living in the midst of alarms, and that he ought to seek the protection of his dugout so as to be secure from further manifestations of hostility on the part of the invisible riflemen. To think was to act, and Sam made the distance between where he was shot at and the dug-out in record breaking time. In fact, he might have shattered the record considerably, had he been timed, but there was no time to look for an official timekeeper then, so his efforts in speed must go unrecorded. Once inside the dug-out he felt comparatively safe, as an Indian would be very careful about approaching it as it was virtually impregnable. There was no mode of assaulting it except from in front, and no wise Indian, with a view to saving his skin from being perforated, would care to approach from that direction, as he would be compelled to take that direction if he wished to create any impression on the occupant of the dug-out. In the meantime, the proprietor of the place, acting on the law of self-preservation, would likely be cutting the dust from around the said Indian’s moccasins, if not making a more successful effort to convert his assailant into what is called a “good Indian.” Usually, as the besieging party came to realize that he could not set fire to the place, nor make any success of shooting into it, he would abandon his undertaking for some other more tractable victim. But, the fact that he could not kill his victim, did not prevent his turning his attention to some other mode of deviltry at which the Indian was usually adept. In this case, they rounded up the sheep belonging to Williams and drove them into a water-hole where six hundred of them were drowned.

While prowling among the Sand Hills, the Indians chanced upon and, after a running fight, killed a man, named La Force, a brother of Perry La Force who was foreman on the Diamond F. ranch, owned by the Franklin Land and Cattle Co., and managed by B. B. Groom, part owner of the stock. He was a fine type of Kentucky gentleman, actuated by the highest ideals, and one who ran true to the standard of the highest kind of hospitality. When the ranchman became aware of the absence of La Force, as he had not returned from his tour of inspection, or whatever duty took him away from the remainder of the party for the day, they organized a search party to discover his whereabouts. They probably had more than a suspicion that he had met with something more than an accident, as they were aware of the fact that the Indians were on the rampage, but it would not be according to the ethics of their mode of life to abandon him unless they were positive that he had met death. For weeks they maintained the search, but with no success. Finally, in one of their excursions, they came across a skeleton, or what was left of it, as the bones had been disjointed and scattered in all directions. They were not yet positive that it was the remains of their friend. However, they were not long left in their uncertainty for they discovered La Force’s six-shooter. Every chamber of it was empty, which went to show that he had not yielded tamely to his fate, but fought manfully against whatever odds he had encountered. How many there were opposed to him, the searching party had no idea of calculating, but there was no doubt in their minds that he had accounted for more than one of his foes. The condition of his remains was due to the fact that they had left his body where he had fallen, and the coyotes had gnawed every particle of flesh from the bones. They gathered up what bones they could find and bore them to the ranch and buried them with all the tributes of respect that could be shown to one who had been not only a friend, but who had held a very exalted place in their regard. They then notified his brother Perry La Force, of the untimely death of his brother, giving him what information they could of his tragic end. He came from the Panhandle where he was living at the time and had the remains exhumed and took them to Mobeetie, Texas, where he laid them in their last resting place.

Whilst these acts of thievery, murder, and other rascality were being perpetrated on the Cimmaron, and Big, and Little Sand creeks, a small contingent paid a visit to a personal friend of mine, named Charles Coe. He, at the time, was holding a herd of beef cattle in the southwestern part of Ford county, awaiting an opportunity to ship them from Dodge City. The herd was owned by Tuttle and Chapman. In his employment he had a negro who performed the duties of cook, as well as acting as chore boy around the outfit. This same Charlie Coe was afterwards book-keeper for the George S. Emerson Mercantile Co. in Dodge City, Kan. At the time I mention he was what was termed a tenderfoot, and along with being inexperienced in the ways of the west, had little or no knowledge of the Indians mode of existence, especially on the warpath. Anything he happened to know of them, he had gleaned from rumor and reading. His tent was located not far from Crooked Creek. When the Indians came upon him, decked out in their war regalia, he was in a quandry what to do. It would have been useless for him to endeavor to seek shelter behind the bank of the creek, as the distance was rather far just then, and his tent would offer no protection from the bullets of the enemy. Plainly he was confronting a proposition the like of which he had never encountered before. It did not take him long to realize the danger of the situation, and he saw at a glance that it was death or glory for him, no matter which horn of the dilemma he chose to take. Instead of seeking safety in flight, he preferred to break a long established precedent of running away, and faced the danger unflinchingly. He seized his gun and stepped outside and waited the coming of his foes. As soon as they came within range, he took careful aim and fired. His first shot brought to earth the horse of the leader of the band. Indications showed that he wrought some damage upon the rider also, as he had to be assisted by his comrades in rascality. They picked him off the ground where he lay, and placed him on a pony behind another redskin. The bold front shown by the white man had the effect of halting the marauders in their mad career, and at the same time had a stimulating effect upon young Coe. He continued to fire at them as long as they remained within range. The reception they had received was wholly unexpected by the Indians, and after firing several random shots at him, without inflicting any damage, turned their horses around and withdrew to the Sand Hills about a mile distant. As soon as they had departed the young tenderfoot entered his tent to take stock of his means of defense. A brief glance at his small supply of ammunition showed him that he was not in a position to stand much of the siege. In fact he had very few cartridges left, and considering prudence the better part of valor decided to make an improvement in his conditions by seeking safety in flight. He gave orders to his stable attendant to hitch up the horses and they would set out for Dodge, which was about thirty miles away. He told the negro the condition of affairs and showed him that they would likely lose their scalps and their lives if the Indians should make another descent upon their camp. To the proposal to abandon the place, the negro made reply, “No, sah, I ain’t agwine to leave Marse Tuttle’s mules heah for dem pestificatin red debils to get. Ise agwine to take dem along.” Having delivered himself of this proclamation of loyalty, he started to hitch up. Coe could not persuade him that he was exposing himself to unnecessary danger, and while Mr. Tuttle would appreciate his feelings of loyalty to his interests, at the same time he was not cruel enough to wish to expose him to the danger of losing his life. This and all other arguments that Coe could urge, were of no avail. He had determined to follow his own course in the matter, and nothing could move him from that determination. He had a strong liking for that team of mules, and a very strong affection for Mr. Tuttle, and in less than an hour later he lost his life through his fidelity to his master’s interests. Reluctantly Coe started off for Dodge City. Sharp eyes were watching every move he made. From the Sand Hills they had noticed the preparations made at the tent, and saw the paleface ride away in the direction of the city. They felt that it was useless to follow him, as they knew he was well armed, and they remembered too well the manner of reception he tendered them but an hour before, and knew that he would be prompt to repeat it if they offered him another opportunity. They had no desire to lose any members of their band, and they felt that it would be a certainty that they would suffer some loss if they pursued him, so they let him proceed on his way. Not so did they show any consideration for the negro. When they saw him set out they started in pursuit. They rode down from the Hills, gradually converging to a point in which the darky and the team of mules was the center of attraction. When the negro saw them coming with the evident intention of intercepting him, he put the mules to a gallop, but it was impossible for the team dragging the heavy wagon to outrun the war ponies of the Indians. When they were drawing down upon him they began to shout and shoot at the same time. The poor darkey was terrified. The mules were stampeded and ran away. They overturned the wagon in their flight. In their mad career, the driver had been shot in the back several times and was killed outright. They overtook the mules and unhitching them, led them back to the Sand Hills where Dull Knife had now established his temporary headquarters. They did not scalp the negro, nor burn the wagon as was their custom. Evidently they must have come to the conclusion that the team of mules and the plunder of the tent was sufficient for one day. The darkey was later found and buried by some cowmen, and his grave for a long time was used as a landmark for travelers along the Jones and Plummer trail. Mr. Tuttle was in Dodge City at the time his faithful attendant gave up his life for his interests. Naturally he felt the loss of his servant rather keenly. When the news was brought to him that his wagon was still out there along the trail where it had been upset, he hired Hoodoo Brown, an old scout, to go out and bring it into Dodge, for repairs. The old scout often told me of his experience upon that dangerous journey.

It was late in the afternoon when he had the wagon fixed up in such a fashion that he could haul it into the city. He made the return trip the same night as he did not care to expose himself to the danger of meeting the same or worse fate than the negro. He said that he imagined he could see an Indian hiding behind every sage brush, or cactus in the country. But as it proved to be nothing more real than a fancy of the imagination, he had no difficulty in making the journey, for which Mr. Tuttle paid him handsomely.

This band that had just perpetrated the deviltry, had returned to Sand Creek just in time to avoid a possee of cowboys who were in pursuit of them. They had but recently run the rest of the Dull Knife band into the canyon which they had fortified, and it would have gone hard with the battle contingent that had just come from murdering the negro if the cowboys had a chance to meet them before they sought shelter in the rifle pits the squaws had recently dug.

By this time, the whole country was well aware that Captain Gunther and Dull Knife had been playing a game of “hide and seek” for the past ten days. The cowmen became weary of such dilatory tactics, and determined to go into the canyon and fight it out with the Indians. At this time Captain Gunther had arrived on the scene with the 4th Cavalry, and demanded that the cowmen withdraw from the sight as he was going to take that matter into his own hands. He said that the Indians were well fortified and that he would have considerable trouble in dislodging them. He stated that he intended to place sentinels around the canyon so that none of them could escape, and intended to hold a conference with Dull Knife in the morning. He assured the cowmen that he was well acquainted with the old warrior and felt certain that he would have no difficulty in persuading him to return to the reservation with all his followers.

After the captain had arranged his guards around the canyon in such a manner as he thought would preclude the possibility of the Indians making their escape, he busied himself with preparations for encamping down the creek. While he was thus engaged, he was approached by Ben Jackson, the noted scout and buffalo hunter, who saluted him in military fashion, as far as his knowledge of that accomplishment would permit, and proposed that he, the captain, give him a despatch to be delivered to the commander at Fort Dodge requesting him to send more troops to aid in capturing the Indians. This despatch he promised to deliver within a few hours. The captain, not knowing the resourcefulness of the man making the request, replied that he could not spare an escort for the undertaking. To which the scout replied that he did not need an escort as he was well acquainted with the country and did not have any fears about the prompt delivery of the message. The captain answered that such a course of proceedings was unnecessary, as he was well acquainted with Dull Knife personally. He said that he intended to hold the conference with him the next morning, and that when matters were set before him in the proper light, there would be no further trouble in the case, as he was positive the Indians would be perfectly satisfied and return to the agency without any further difficulty. When this short interview had been completed, the captain proceeded down the creek and went into camp. In the meantime the pickets were on duty around the canyon, or rather were supposed to be, but, in some manner or other, Dull Knife’s medicine hypnotized them as it did on the former occasion when he escaped from the North Canadian. I am not going to make any remarks about the private soldiers of this campaign, as they were ever ready and willing to do their duty if they had a proper officer to lead them; nor am I going to make any comments, nor pretend to fix the blame where it belongs, but will state the facts and let the reader judge for himself who was culpable in the matter; but it seems incredible that 250 Indians could come out of that canyon, supposedly well guarded, and pass through a cordon of pickets without a gun being fired. Incredible it is, but, nevertheless, that is the unvarnished truth of the matter. When dawn appeared the following morning, the Indians had vanished, as if they had been swallowed up by the earth. Their trail indicated that they had gone northward. They pursued their line of flight to Crooked Creek, in Meade County, Kansas, and after crossing that stream near what is called the “Three Bends,” they came to a hay camp that was conducted by G. S. Emerson. Here they did not give themselves up to their usual depredations, but contented themselves with taking some provisions and cutting up a pair of calf skin boots belonging to the proprietor. That they did not commit any murders, was due to the fact that the men of the outfit were absent. From there they proceeded to what was intended to be the county seat of Meade county, which development did not extend further than the erection of a story-and-a-half frame building, with an unfinished well nearby, at which the city fathers were working when the Indians arrived. They immediately set out to explore the contents of the house and surroundings. Their efforts were not rewarded very highly, but one thing attracted their attention, a grindstone standing near at hand. The sole occupant of the dwelling, Captain French, was compelled to perform the task of turning the grindstone while they were sharpening their knives. To test the acuteness of the finish they had put on their weapons, they contented themselves with drawing them across the captain’s throat. To show him further that they were not at all unselfish in their attentions to him, the squaws lent a hand in pulling and hauling him around and inflicting all manners of abuse upon him, but they did not attempt to kill him. I asked the captain shortly afterwards why they did not take his life, and he replied that they knew better than try that. He stated that he had a picture of George Washington hanging on the wall of his dwelling, and they knew that if they killed him the government would soon be in pursuit of them. Poor old Cap! He did not know that the government was on their trail at the time.

Although there were four or five men working at the well at the time the Indians devoted their attention to the captain. They did not molest them but continued on their way northward. On their route they encountered a man, Wash Connors, who had been to Dodge City to do some trading. He had spent the previous night with a friend of mine, C. M. Rice, and set out early in the morning so as to reach his destination in good time, as he had some material for those who were digging the well at the new town-site. Mr. Rice urged him to remain and have breakfast with him, but he said that he was in a hurry and would attend to that duly when he reached his destination. With a good team of mules hitched to his lumber wagon, he started off in good spirits, little thinking he would never reach the end of his journey. He was proceeding on his way in a brisk fashion and had come in sight of the town-site when the members of Dull Knife’s band met him. They stopped him without any ceremony and attacked him before he could get out of his wagon. They cut his throat, tore the harness off his mules and went their way taking his team. The well-diggers saw the whole proceedings, but were unable to render assistance as they were not in a position to do so.

Leaving the victim of their murderous assault dying in his wagon, they set out toward the north again. Between the scene of their latest crime and the Arkansas they committed no further depredation. They crossed the river west of Dodge City, not far from where the present station of Cimmaron is located on the Santa Fe railroad. Their depredations after crossing the river were few, as there was little to attract their attention, excepting some wild cattle and the accompanying cowboys. They did not molest the latter as they had a wholesome respect for that individual by reason of the fact that he was generally armed with a brace of six-shooters and a Winchester rifle, and was an expert in the use of both. Meeting a cow-puncher under such conditions was a hazardous thing, as the Indian knew the cowboy would not trade even. They had no doubt about their ability to eventually kill him, but the price to be paid was too great, as he usually sent three or four of the wily redskins across the Great Divide before succumbing to their prowess, and they did not usually care to pay the price.