Buffalo County, Nebraska - Chapter 58: Last Hunt of the Pawnees in 1873 the Tribe Numbered 2,400 70o Men, 1916

Last Buffalo Hunt Of The Pawnees

A score or more of times I have been requested to write my })ersonal recollections and experiences with the Pawnee Indians on their last buffalo hunt, which ended in a battle with their old enemy, the Sioux. So many stories have been written - all claiming to be authentic - that I have hesitated to pen for publication a true history of the battle which ended so disastrously for the Pawnees, knowing that it will differ, in many respects, from accounts which have been printed heretofore.

In the spring of 1873 the Pawnees at the Genoa Agency numbered 2,400. Of this number 600 were fighting men, or warriors. I had come to the agency three years previous and was working for the Government at the time the Pawnees left on their last buft'alo hunt. At that time buffalo were feeding in the valleys of the Platte, Loup, Niobrara and Republican rivers and their tributaries. The nearest buffalo to Genoa were as far west as Plum Creek Station (now Lexington), and a place consisting of a few low houses where Arapahoe now stands.

It was the custom of the Pawnees to hunt buft'alo twice a year. The summer hunt was for meat, tent material and moccasin leather, and the winter hunt for robes and meat. The Government, in order to avoid clashes between the Pawnee and Sioux, had divided the hunting grounds. The Sioux were confined to that part of the country north of the Niobrara River, and the Pawnees to the country south of the Niobrara to the Kansas line.

To keep the Indians confined to the territory assigned them and to prevent them from molesting homesteaders who were pouring into the state and hhng on land, trail agents were appointed to accompany the Indians.

In May, 1873, the Pawnees held a council meeting and decided to leave the agency on the summer hunt in July. IVIajor P.urgess. a Quaker, was agent at

Genoa, and through him the Indians made their request for permission to hunt and also for the appointment of a trail agent to accompany them. Texas Jack (John Omahander) had acted as trail agent the previous year and made application for reappointment. George Clothier, of Columbus, also applied for the position. I did not apply for the place and was surprised when one of the chiefs came to me and informed me that the council had decided to request the Government to appoint me to accompany them.

The Pawnees were made up of four different bands : The Skeedes, the Kitkahas, the Chowees, and the Petahowerats. Each band has its head and subchiefs, but Petah La Shauro was the supreme head of the Pawnee Nation, and, if I am not mistaken, was the last chief to have that distinction, the position ending with the death of this noted Indian, who had always been friendly with the white people. It was the custom to allow each band to send an equal number on the buffalo hunts.

On the 2d day of July, 1873, the Indians, to the number of 700, left Genoa for the hunting grounds. Of this number 350 were men, the balance women and children. Alost of the men were armed with bows and arrows, old fashioned muzzle loading rifles ; a few had seven-shot Spencer carbines and some carried Colts powder and ball revolvers. All were mounted, and in addition took with them 800 extra ponies to pack home the meat and hides.

Two hours before we started for the hunting grounds Chief Petah La Shauro sent for me. As I entered the council hall the old man extended his hand and addressed me in his language, which was interpreted for me, although I understood Pawnee to some extent and could speak the language fluently. In substance the chief said :

"You are a young man. You have never hunted buffalo. I have instructed my people to take good care of you and obey you. I want you to feel at home on this trip. You will be the guest of my son, Sun Chief."

The old chief was about sixty years old at this time, a magnificent specimen of physical manhood for his years. I consider him, intellectually, the greatest Indian I ever met.

Llad he been an educated white man he would have taken his place as a leader in state and nation. He was kind, considerate, sympathetic, but firm and just in his position as head of the tribe.

After leaving Genoa we followed up the Valley of the Platte beyond Kearney. Near Plum Creek Station we crossed the river and went up the south bank of the stream. Not finding buff'alo, we turned south to the Republican River and up the valley to a point called Burton's Bend, where we crossed and went south to the West Beaver, near where Beaver City now stands. Before we reached the Beaver, signs indicated that buffalo had been in that vicinity recently, and scouts were thrown out, and a suitable location selected for a camp and preparations made for the anticipated slaughter. No sooner had a halt been made than scouts came riding in and reported that a herd of 300 buffalo were feeding on the south slope of the divide between the Beaver and Prairie Dog.

Among white men this announcement would have created excitement and confusion. If the Pawnees were excited it was not apparent by any outward signs. There was no confusion, no haste. At the command of the chief presiding that

(lay the hunters formed in the shape of a letter V. At the point; rode one of the scouts with a spear decorated with colored feathers. There was no noise, no disorder as the procession moved over the prairie. The eye of every hunter was on the bunch of feathers on the end of the spear carried by the scout. Suddenly the feathers disappear. It is the signal that the hunt is on. With military precision that V shaped formation straightens out, and 350 Indians and one white man sweep down the valley into that herd of buffalo. Each hunter selects a buffalo as his legitimate prey and cuts it out, and riding up by the side of the fleeing animal shoots it down. Jumping from the pony the hunter plunges his knife into the throat of the buffalo. In a short time the animal is skinned, the meat cut from around the bones, rolled into strips and bound together with thongs cut from the hide and placed on the pony and brought into camp and turned over to the women, who cure the meat and tan the hides. For drying the meat the women erect willow poles, where the meat is placed in strips and in a few days is cured, and when ready for transportation on the backs of ponies, resembles dried lute fish, used by Swedes and Norwegians as a Christmas delicacy.

In this hunt one of the chiefs took charge of me and showed me how to cut out and kill my first buffalo. So expert were the Pawnees in killing buffalo that not one animal escaped death out of the several herds attacked.

That night there was a great feast in camp. What Christian peo])le would call a prayer meeting was held, and the Great Spirit thanked for his kindness in sending his red children a bountiful supply of meat. While the feast was going on a long pole was placed in the center of the camp and on this was hanging a large piece of cooked meat as a burnt oft'ering to God.

After leaving the south slope of the Beaver, we mo\ed to the \'alley of the Prairie Dog, then down that stream to the Kansas line, where another herd of buffalo was killed and the meat cured. Retracing our steps, we went up the A'alley of the Prairie Dog for fifty miles, killing several small herd of buffalo en route. On the fourth day of August we reached the north bank of the Republican River and went into camp. At 9 o'clock that evening three white men came into camp and reported to me that a large band of Sioux warriors were camped twenty-five miles northwest waiting for an opportunity to attack the Pawnees. They said that the Sioux had had scouts out spying on the Pawnees for several days, anticipating that we would move up the river where buffalo were feeding. Previous to this white men had visited us and warned us to be on our guard from Sioux attacks, and I was a little skeptical as to the story told me by our while visitors. But one of the men - a young fellow about my own age - appeared to be so sincere in his efforts to impress upon me that the warning should be heeded that I took him to Sky Chief, who was in command that day. for a conference. Sky Chief said the men were liars ; that they wanted to scare the Pawnees away from the hunting grounds so that white hunters could kill buffalo for hides. He told me I was a squaw and a coward. I took exception to his remarks, and retorted, "I will go as far as you dare go. Don't forget that." The following morning, August 5th. we broke camp and started north up the divide, between the north and south forks of the Frenchman. Soon after we left camp Sky Chief rode up to me and extending his hand said. "Shake, brother." He recalled our little unpleasantness the night previous and said he did not believe there was cause for alarm, and was so impressed with the belief that he had not taken the precaution to throw out scouts in the direction the Sioux were reported to be. A few minutes later a buffalo scout signaled that a herd of buffalo had been sighted in the distance and Sky Chief rode off to engage in the hunt. I never saw him again. He was killed by the Sioux. He had killed a buffalo and was skinning it when the advance guard of the Sioux shot and wounded him. The chief attempted to reach his horse, but before he was able to mount, several of the enemy were on him. He died fighting. A Pawnee who was skinning a buffalo a short distance away, but who managed to escape, told me how Sky Chief died.

A young Indian who was riding near me when buffalo were reported in sight borrowed my gun and rode oft' to engage in the hunt. He, too, was killed, and I never saw him or my gun again. We had not proceeded a mile after the departure of Sky Chief when I noticed a commotion at the head of the procession, which had suddenly stopped. I started to ride up wiiere three of the chiefs were talking when a boy of sixteen rode up and stopped me.

Dismounting, he tied a strip of red flannel on the bridle of my horse, and after remounting told me a buffalo scout had signaled that the Sioux were coming. What significance was attached to the flannel tied on the bridle I was never able to learn. We were only about a hundred yards from a large canyon when the Sioux were reported coming and orders were shouted down the line for the squaws, children and pack ponies to take refuge in the canyon. The warriors were preparing to ride forth to meet the enemy. Coming up to Chief Terra Recokens, who was surrounded by several leading men of the Skeedee band, I suggested that we fall back down the canyon two miles, where there was a small grove of timber, and make a stand. The chief was in favor of adopting the suggestion, but Fighting Bear of the Kitkahos rebelled. He had fought the Sioux before and said we could whip them in an open fight, and it was finally decided to adopt his suggestion and make the stand on the ground we were on. It seemed but a short time after the squaws and pack ponies had disappeared over the edge of the canyon when the first Sioux appeared in the distance. Down in the canyon arose a chant. It was the war song of the Pawnee Nation, sung by the squaws as they stood side by side and rocked back and forth. Louder and louder grew the song as the enemy approached. I loaded my two revolvers and made up my mind to do my share in the fighting. As the Sioux kept coming over the hill it became apparent that they outnumbered the fightng men of the Pawnees four to one. I afterwards learned that there was between twelve hundred and fifteen hundred in the band, under command of Chief Snow Flake. I was later informed that he belonged to the Brule band of the Sioux and that most of his warriors were also of that band. The Sioux were about a mile and a half away when the Pawnee chiefs noted that they were greatly outnumbered and suggested to me that I go out and parley with them with a view of warding off the threatened attack. I rode out 300 yards, accompanied by Ralph Wicks, a half-breed interpreter, who afterwards studied law and was admitted to the bar in Oklahoma. He died a few years ago. Waving a handkerchief as a token of peace. I attempted to stop the Sioux, but on they came - the whole bunch of them. Suddenly the war whoop of the Sioux sounded and several puffs of smoke from as many guns and the whistle of bullets warned me that it was time to beat a retreat. The battle cry of the Sioux was answered with a cry of defiance from the Pawnee warriors, which denoted that a w^arm reception awaited the enemy. All the Indians were mounted, and as I reached the edge of the canyon the 350 Pawnees had hurled themselves against the enemy. Just as I reached the canyon my horse, which had been struck by one or more bullets, stumbled and fell. It took less than a minute to strip olf the saddle and bridle and place them on my bufifalo pony a squaw was holding for me. Mounting my horse I rode up from the canyon. The Pawnees were putting up a splendid fight, but the odds were aganst them. I blazed away with my revolvers, when the chiefs noticed that the enemy was surrounding the head of the canyon and gave orders to retreat. 1 did not understand the command given, but when I noticed the squaws' cutting the thongs that bound the packs of meat to the ponies and mounting with the children, I concluded it was about time to make a dash myself. A moment before the retreat commenced I saw Fighting Bear engaged in a duel with a Sioux chief. I presumed he was a chief from the war bonnet he wore. Both chiefs were fighting with tomahawks. Taking deliberate aim at close range I fired at the Sioux. The bullet struck the mark and wounded the Sioux, which gave Fighting Bear an opportunity to finish him. Jumping from his horse the Pawnee chief scalped his enemy, remounted and grabbing the dead Sioux's horse by the bridle joined in the retreat down the canyon.

It was in the retreat down the canyon that the greatest loss of life occurred among the squaws and children, the Sioux riding down each side and firing down upon them. As the Pawnees reached the river and crossed to the opposite bank, the Sioux succeeded in cutting oft 700 ponies and had started down the stream to cross at another point to attack the Pawnees when the sound of a bugle stopped them. Looking across the ri\'er I noticed a company of United States cavalry emerge from the timber. When the Sioux saw the soldiers approaching they beat a hasty retreat. In company with Fighting Bear and two other chiefs I crossed the river and conferred with the officer in command, who suggested lliat the Pawnees return and gather up the meat left behind and bury the dead. But the Pawnees could not be induced to comply with the suggestion. They were firm in the belief that the meat had already been poisoned by their enemies and the wounded put to death.

We camped that night on the banks of Red Willow Creek. There was nothing to eat. All our supi)lies had been left behind on the battle field. I had always understood that an Indian is devoid of emotion. T'.ut that night 1 was convinced that at times an Indian gives vent to his feehngs the same as a white man. Seated on the ground, rocking back and forth, the warriors who had fought so valiantly a few hours previous, pulled hair from their heads, while the tears rolled down their cheeks. While this demonstration was being enacted the sc[uaws kept up an incessant wail for the dead.

A mile from where we camped lived a man named Frank Byficld. He kept a few groceries, flour, bacon and otlier supplies for buffalo hunters. He freighted all his g-oods from Plum Creek Station, a distance of seventy or eighty miles. I bought from Byfield thirty sacks of flour and signed a receipt for the same and the Government later reimbursed him.

Shortly after leaving Red Willow Creek we killed a herd of twelve buffalo and then moved on to Arapahoe, which at that time consisted of a few log houses. Here I hired a homesteader for $5 to haul twelve of the wounded to Plum Creek Station.

At Plum Creek Station a company of soldiers were stationed. Here the wounds of the injured were dressed by the army surgeon. Barclay White, superintendent of Northwestern Indian agencies, had his headquarters in Omaha at this time and to him I wired what had occurred, and he made arrangements with the Union Pacific Company to provide box cars for bringing the Pawnees to Silver Creek. From Silver Creek the Pawnees walked across the country to Genoa - a sad return from the last buffalo hunt in a country that had been their home so many years.

Several weeks after returning with the Pawnees I received a letter from Nick Jenese, trail agent for the Sioux. He said the Sioux had lost fifty warriors in the battle. Jenese was a Frenchman who married a Sioux squaw and had been adopted into the tribe. He attempted to prevent the Sioux from leaving the Niobrara Valley to attack the Pawnees, but they placed a guard over him and rode away on a raiding expedition which cost them the lives of fifty warriors and $10,000 in money, for the Government took that amount of money out of the annuity fund of the Sioux and turned it over to the Pawnees to pay for the meat lost and ponies captured. I had in my pack at the time of the battle a memorandum book containing $7 in money and several letters. Jenese sent the book and letters to me by express, but the buck who went through my pack kept the money.

Some time during the fall I was sent by the Government to the battle field to bury the dead. At Plum Creek Station I hired a liveryman named Coles to assist me. We drove to Arapahoe, where I hired four more men. I recall now the names of only two of them. One was the famous "Wild Bill," who was murdered a few years later by Jack McCall in Deadwood. The name of the other man was Frank Martin.

We arrived on the battle field early in the evening and commenced our gruesome work, finishing before dawn and hurrying back to Arapahoe, as the Sioux were reported to be on the war path. At one place on the battle field were the charred remains of several children, who had evidently escaped injury and had been left behind in the retreat, only to meet horrible death by torture at the hands of the Sioux.