Hall County, Nebraska - Chapter 2: Settlement of Hall County, 1920 (part 2 of 2)

From an early day the Pawnees were divided in four branches: First, the Shani, or Grand Pawnees, with their villages on the south bank of the Platte, opposite the present Grand Island; second, the Kitkehaki, or Republican Pawnees, so named from their having lived on the Republican River (Republican branch of the Kansas River) in northern Kansas, from whence they emigrated to join the principal band on the Platte ; the third was the Skidi, or Loup (Wolf), Pawnees, sometimes called the Pawnee Loups, who resided on the Loup fork of the Platte River, nearly a hundred miles from the main branch of the tribe. The Pitahauerat, or Noisy, Pawnees also at one time lived on the Platte. The fourth band formerly lived far south of Nebraska, but in their wars with their enemies they had been so often defeated that they had been compelled to move northward to be at peace.

When settled around the Platte, the Pawnees lived in well built log houses covered with turf and earth, preferring these to the movable tepee, which was only used when the bands were on an extended hunt. They depended largely on agriculture, the raising of corn and pumpkins, even more than on the buffalo hunt, so they never outgrew the sedentary and agricultural hah)^ jwuliar to tribes from the south. 1 .< ' ' ^ 1 .1 ^

Lieutenant Zebulon M. Pike's expedition, when on its way to the mountains in 1806, encountered the Republican Pawnees in northern Kansas. This was shortly before they moved northward to join their brothers in the Platte and Loup valleys. Lieutenant Pike and Lieutenant Wilkinson held a grand council with the chiefs of that nation on the 29th of September, described in the following interesting language :

The council wes held at the Pawnee Republic village (near the present site of Scandia, in Republic County) and was attended by 400 warriors. When the parties had assembled for their council, Lieutenant Pike found that the Pawnees had unfurled a Spanish flag at the door of the chief, one which had lately been presented by that government, through the hands of Lieutenant Malgoras. To the request of Lieutenant Pike that the flag should be delivered to him, and one of the United States hoisted in its place, _ they at first made no response: but, upon his repeating Ids demand, with the emphatic declaration that they must choose between Americans and Spaniards, and that it was impossible for the nation to have two fathers, they decided to put themselves, for the time at least, under American protection. An old man accordingly rose, went to the door, took down the Spanish flag and laid it at the feet of Lieutenant Pike, and in its stead elevated the Stars and Stripes.

Treaties Of Amity

Treaties of amity were entered into by government agents with leading tribes along the established routes of travel. The Pawnees made such a treaty that was ratified as early as January 5, 1812. In 1819, the war department sent out the expedition of Major Long, to which reference has heretofore been made. This expedition crossed just below Council Bluffs on June 10th and struck out boldly across the "Indian country." Major Long had his instructions to see that the treaties were strictly lived up to by redskin and white man alike. In 1815 the Maha (Omahas) had formed such a treaty, and in 1817 the Otoes. As he advanced westward, Major Long made it a point to visit the Pawnee villages, and accounts that after he crossed the Elkhorn he trailed along the north bank of the Platte till the confluence of the Loup was reached. At sunset, June 10th, the expedition went into camp at a small creek about eleven miles distant from the village of the Grand Pawnees. Major Long's account most interestingly details that:

On the following morning, having arranged the party according to rank, and given the necessar}^ instructions for the preservation of order, we proceeded forward, and in a short time came in sight of the first of the Pawnee villages. The trail on which we had travelled since leaving the Missouri had the appearance of being more and more frequented as we approached the Pawnee towns : and here, instead of a single footway, it consisted of more than twenty parallel paths, of similar size and appearance: at a few miles distant from the village, we met a party of eight or ten squaws, with hoes and other implements of agriculture, on their way to the com plantations. They were accompanied by one young Indian, but in what capacity - whether as assistant, protector or taskmaster, we were not informed. After a ride of about three hours we arrived before the village and dispatched a messenger to inform the chief of our approach.

Answer was returned that he was engaged with his chiefs and warriors at a medicine feast, and could not, therefore, come out and meet us. We were soon surrounded by a crowd of women and children, who gazed at us with some expressions of astonishment: but as no one appeared to welcome us to the village, arrangements were made for sending on the horses and baggage to a suitable place for encampment while Major Long with several gentlemen who wished to accompany him, entered the village. The party after groping about for some time and traversing a considerable part of the village, arrived at the lodge of the principal chief. Here we were again informed that Tarrarecawaho, with all the principal men of the village, was engaged in a medicine feast. Notwithstanding his absence, some mats were spread for us upon the ground in the back part of the lodge. Upon them we sat down, and, after waiting some time, were presented with a large wooden dish of hominy or boiled com. In this was a single spoon or the horn of a buflfalo, large enough to hold a pint, which, being used alternately by each of the party, soon emptied the dish of its contents.

After this strange reception and feast the expedition visited in turn the villages of the Republican and Loup (Wolf) Pawnees, lying a few miles apart, an hour's ride above the village of the Pawnee Grand.

Major Long commented upon the thrift of these villages. For miles up and down the river large droves of horses were grazing, fields of maize and patches of tomatoes, pumpkins, and squashes were seen in many places and added much to the apparent wealth of the community. All this was before misfortune overtook the nation. The Long expedition spent the night of June 12 on the banks of the river within a stone's throw of the Loup village. So far as established, this was the first organized party of white men to slumber on the banks of the beautiful Loup.

The Decay Of The Pawnees

A story of the decay and some of the traditions of the Pawnees have been collected by H. W. Foght and included in his book, The Trail of the Loup, in which he brings to a close the history of the Pawnees as follows :

The Pawnee nation formerly numbered about 25,000 souls arrd in the day of its prime was the terror alike of trapper and trader and bands from other tribes which by chance ventured too far into the hunting grounds of these fierce fighting foes. But calamity was at hand. In 1831, a terrible smallpox epidemic carried off several thousand of their number, leaving the nation in a pitiable condition. Their agent, John Dougherty, in making his report to the government, says: "Their misery defies all description. I am fully persuaded that onehalf of the whole number will be carried ofif by this frightful distemper. They told me that not one under thirty years of age escaped, it having been that length of time since it visited them before. They were dying so fast, and taken down at once in such large numbers that they had ceased to bury their dead, whose bodies were to be seen in every direction - lying in the river, lodged on the sandbanks, in the weeds around the villages and in their com caches.

On the 9th of October, 1834, a treaty was made between the Pawnees and the United States government whereby the former agreed to vacate all their lands south of the Platte. All the plague stricken southern villages were abandoned and the miserable remnant of a once proud tribe reassembled on the Loup and westward along the Platte.

But scarcely had the enfeebled nation had time to set up their tepees and break soil in their new home, when the Sioux, made bold by their heriditary foes' apparent weakness.

swept down the North Loup and the Cedar and began a war of extermination. Villages and fields were abandoned to the revengeful foe and safety sought in flight. The Pawnee found every man's hand against him. Even the government was indifl:erent and did little to check the depredations of the Sioux. To make matters still worse, other enemies on the south, the Cheyennes and the Arapahoes, infested the Pawnees' old Kansas hunting grounds, eager to strike the final blow. But this was not to come by the hand of red men. In 1849, gold seekers on their way to California brought the cholera to the Pawnee camps. Again several thousand died and the handful of survivors, reduced to beggary, besought the government for protection, which was granted. By the treaty of September 4, 1857, they ceded all their original territory except a strip 30 miles long by 15 wide upon the lower Loup River. This was the old Nance County Reservation, whence they were finally removed to their present abode in Oklahoma. During the Indian troubles of 1862-65 the Pawnees furnished scouts to the government and proved a valuable aid against the crafty Sioux. The latter, however, reaped sweet revenge after the war closed. The Pawnees were never safe if they ventured away from the reservation. Red Cloud's bands might at any moment sweep down upon them to kill and plunder. As if the loss of their hunting grounds were not enough to fill the cup of troubles, the grasshoppers in 1872 devoured their corn crop. This meant star\'ation. Congressional appropriation through land sales kept them alive till 1874, when, as stated above, the Pawnees set their faces southward, forever to leave the Loup and the Platte.

The Sioux

The Sioux tribes were not essentially a part of the region out of which Hall County developed, but in their conflicts with Pawnees and in their excusions through this region in later years, became enough a part of the Indian history of this country that some short

The Sioux belonged to one of the most widely extended and important Indian families of North America. In the very earliest days of the advent of white men they appear to have held sway on the Atlantic seaboard, around the Virginias and Carolinas. They later abandoned their sedentary and agricultural tendencies and roamed to the banks of the Ohio. From their own traditions it is accounted that the Sioux parted company with ?he Winnebagoes at some point on the Ohio, probably near the mouth of the Wabash, and crossed northwesterly through Illinois, and took possession of the headwaters of the Mississippi. In the meantime other tribes of that great family reached the Mississippi until they came to the Missouri, there dividing, some of them going southward to Arkansas. The portion called the "Omahas" ascended the Missouri and made their home in eastern Nebraska. The Poncas and lowas are also usually classed as belonging to this Sioux family, as well as the Otoes, Peorias, and Missouris, first mentioned by Father Marquette in 1673. But the Sioux were the most important of the Siouan stock. The Sioux called themselves Dakotah, Nakotah, or Lakotah, according to their respective dialects, a name signifying "allies." But from the early French designation of "Nadaousioux" a shortening brought it down to the modem "Sioux." This warlike nation early relinquished sedentary habits and became roaming buffalo hunters. For many years the Niobrara river in Nebraska formed the line of demarkation between the Sioux and Pawnees. In 1837, the Sioux sold to the government all their claims to lands east of the Mississippi; in 1851, relinquished the greater part of Minnesota and Dakota. In 1857, they expressed dissatisfaction with the handling of their treaty relations by the government by a massacre of white settlers at Spirit Lake, Iowa, and in 1862 their chieftain. Little Crow, led a warfare upon the outlying settlements in Minnesota, and took advantage of the government's embarassments consequent upon the Civil War. This bitter war lasted until 1869, when they were driven out of Minnesota by General Sibley. While Little Crow and his bands escaped to Canada, Red Cloud and his cohorts came to Nebraska where they started a long struggle. The valley of the Platte was then the thoroughfare to California. Plainsmen dared not cross in small companies and the pioneers were forced to arm to the teeth. The trail from the Missouri to the Rockies then became marked with bleaching bones, burnt wagons, and rotting harness.

The Outbreak Oe 1864

The story of how the outbreak of 1864 affected the little pioneer colonies of Hall County is narrated in minute detail later in this chapter by members of the original colonies of Hall County and their early neighbors. The first outbreak of that war occurred at Plum Creek in Dawson County on the 17th day of August, 1864. At a point where steep bluffs and wood covered canyons afforded excellent concealment to the foe, the Indians planned their ambuscade. There they fell upon an unsuspecting wagon train and killed the entire party of eleven. The failure of the Indians to cut the telegraphic communication eastward enabled a general alarm to be given in time to prevent a general massacre, long planned. Settlers and ranchmen received a timely warning that enabled them to reach points of refuge and protect themselves during the weeks of panic and confusion that followed. For almost five years the war intermittently dragged on, numerous pitched battles between the government regulars and the Sioux ensuing. The last and decisive fight took place at Summit Springs, Sunday, July 11, 1869. This battle, though occurring outside of Hall County, brought a peace and safety to the settlers of Hall County that entitles us to digress long enough to give a short account of the struggle between the Sioux, under the command of their vile chief. Tall Bull, and the several companies of the troops of General Carr of 'Fort McPherson, and Major Frank North's band of 300 Pawnee scouts and fighters. William F. Cody, better known as

July 5, Cody and six Pawnee scouts discovered the Sioux in the sandhills south of the Platte, whither they had retreated in haste upon hearing of the pursuit. When the attack was made the Sioux broke up into small bands and escaped under cover of darkness. Three days later, however, 600 Sioux were discovered in the act of fording the river and a

A treaty made that year remained in force unbroken until the invasion of the Black Hills by miners, which brought on an outburst which Nebraska escaped. The main event of that outbreak of 1876-77 was the Custer massacre in the Little Big Horn country. There was but little Sioux history from then on that would affect the Platte Valley.

sharp fight ensued. The Indians suffered heavy loss, among others the famous chief. Tall Bull, falling a victim to Cody's unerring aim. On the following Sunday, General Carr, who had followed the main trail, overtook the reunited bands at Summit Springs. The Sioux held their ground and a day-break battle ensued. It was short but decisive. Many soldiers and Pawnee scouts were slain, and at least 700 of the Sioux, including many chiefs and sub chiefs. The handful who escaped the carnage sought safety in headlong flight. Considerable booty was made. Herds of ponies, the entire camp outfit and 300 squaws fell into the victor's hands. This battle practically ended the war. The Indians' power of resistence was broken and while a

The pioneers of Hall County in common with all of the pioneers of central Nebraska owed a great debt of gratitude to the Pawnee scouts and their gallant white leader. Major Frank North. In 1856 when Frank North came to Nebraska, a young boy, he mingled fearlessly with the Indians along the Missouri in the region of Omaha, and learned their mode of warfare, their language, which he came to speak as fluently as his mother tongue, and won their confidence. In 1861 he took a position as clerk and interpreter at the Pawnee reservation, and by 1863 he became a daring scout. When the work of building the Union Pacific progressed westward the fierce Arapahoes, Cheyennes, and Sioux were attacking the laborers, until it seemed deadly peril to venture outside the camps.

The story of Major North's work can be most accurately accepted as it was rarrated by his niece, Mrs. Sarah Clapp, in Nebraska Pioneer Reminiscences :^

It was useless to call on the regular troops for help as the government needed them all to hold in check the armies of Lee and Johnston. A clipping from the Washington Simday Herald on this subject states that "a happy thought occured to Mr. Oakes Ames," the main spirit of the work [of building the Union Pacific]. He sent a trusty agent to hunt up Frank North, who was then twentyfour years old. "What can be done to protect our working parties, Mr. North?" said Mr. Ames. "I have an idea," Mr. North answered. "If the authorities at Washington will allow me to organize a battalion of Pawnees and mount and equip them, I will undertake to picket your entire line and keep off other Indians. The Pawnees are the natural enemies of all the tribes that are giving you so much trouble, and a little encouragement and drill will make them the best irregular horse you could desire."

The plan was new but looked feasible. Accordingly, Mr. Ames went to Washington, and, after some effort, succeeded in getting permission to organize a battalion of four hundred Pawnee warriors, who should be armed as were the U. S. cavalry and drilled in such simple tactics as the service required, and my uncle was commissioned as a major of volunteers and ordered to command them. The newspaper clipping also says : "It would be difficult to estimate the service of Major North in money value." General Crook once said, in speaking of him, "Millions of government property and hundreds of lives were saved by him on the line of the Union Pacific railroad, and on the Nebraska, Wyoming, and Montana frontiers. . . .

During the many skirmishes and battles fought by the Pawnees under Major North, he never lost a man; moreover, on several occasions he passed through such hair-breadth escapes that the Pawnees thought him invulnerable. In one instance, while pursuing the retreating enemy, he discovered that his command had fallen back and he was separated from them by over a mile. The enemy, discovering his plight, turned on him. He dismounted, being fully armed, and by using his horse as a breastwork, he managed to reach his troops again, though his faithful horse was killed. This and many like experiences caused the Pawnees to believe that their revered leader led a charmed life. He never deceived them, and they loved to call him "Little Pawnee Le-Sharo" (Pawnee Chief), and so he was known as the White Chief of the Pawnees.

Local Indian History

It was on February 5, 1862, when the first Indian massacre of whites by Indians in Hall County was chronicled. The story of this Smith-Andresen massacre is told in two other places in this and the preceding chapter.

One day in August, 1864, two boys, Nathaniel and Robert Martin, .were helping their father George Martin in the hayfield. Their ranch was in the broad valley of the Platte in Hall County, about eighteen miles southwest of Grand Island. This was during the great Indian raid of 1864 when the Sioux were creating so much disturbance through the Valley. The two boys were mounted on one fleet pony and were making good their escape toward the shelter of the log house and bams at the ranch when an arrow pinned them together. A shower of arrows circled around them, and one of the arrows struck Nathaniel in the arm and buried itself in Robert's back, pinning the boys together. Both fell from the horse, but luckily they were near the ranch. They were about to be scalped when an Indian interfered, saying in English: "Let the boys alone." The Indian with his drawn knife desisted and the boys were left for dead. The ranchmen defended the house, drove the savages to flight, killed or wounded one, took the boys in and had the arrow drawn from their bodies. Both of the boys lived to be grown men and the story of the two boys pinned together became one of the most familiar of Hall County pioneer days.

The Campbell Raid

The attack on the Campbell ranch was made July 24, 1867. Peter, the Scotchman, lived ten miles south of Grand Island, on the south side of the Platte. No men being at home, the house was captured, a woman named Mrs. Thurston Warren killed by a gun shot, and her son by an arrow. The two nieces of Campbell, aged seventeen and nineteen, were carried away with twin boys four years old, and a German, named Henry Dose, was killed close by. The Indians robbed the house, killed some stock, and escaped unmolested. Months afterward the government bought the two girls and the boys from the Indians for $4,000, and, as an extra compensation, released a Sioux squaw, captured by Ed Arnold's Pawnee scouts, at Elm Creek, the same season.

The Old Pioneer Days In Western Nebraska

The family consisted of father, mother, four sisters, and three brothers. In the fall of 1865 their journey was undertaken, and. after repeated hardships and trials they landed safely in Nebraska, what to them was their desired haven.

Winter was approaching and hurried preparations were made to get established in a house of our own. Rude logs were cut and fitted together and a one-room house covered with sod and chinked with mud was built. A cold, hard, long winter was put in. The mother of our family, though frail, stood the journey bravely, but succumbed in January, 1866, and with tender, loving hands was laid to rest in a rude unpainted coffin in her lonely grave in the Platte Valley.

Our father struggled on. The summer of 1866 brought gladness again to cheer him on, and prospects seemed brighter that he would own his own home and he would become a land owner in this free country. So in the spring of 1867 he again journeyed to Nebraska City, where the government land office was then stationed, and here he took out naturalization papers and registered for a homestead and started home with the needed groceries and household goods.

Arriving once more beside his family, preparations were made to farm and additions were made on the house. Bams were built and the land plowed and the crops planted. Corn, wheat, and oats were growing. These were busy, happy days with those early settlers, of which there were scarcely a dozen in ten miles up or down the valley.

July came with its balmy days, ripening the grain and bringing the thoughts to mind of a golden harvest. On July 24th the harvest began on a farm six miles from our home, and all hands were needed to follow the one reaper.

About three o'clock that afternoon a horseman was seen coming as though on the wind. The reaper was stilled and golden sheaves were left unbound and all hurried to learn the oft-dreaded dreadful news - the Indians had raided the valley. Every one was fearful for his own family, but none more so than my father. He jumped upon the first horse and pulling me beside him he headed for his home.

Arriving within a quarter of a mile of home the house of our nearest neighbor was inspected. The mother of the family lay on the threshold of the door dead, clasping her infant son in her anus. A son, fourteen years old, lay near by, shot through the thigh.

Reaching our own home we found that it had been robbed and partly demolished. The contents of the house were destroyed and scattered about, but, saddest of all, the family was gone. Search about the premises and fields revealed nothing.

The youngest daughter at home, a child of mine had managed to get away from the Indians by hiding in a grain field and by crawling on her knees for a quarter of a mile to get out of sight and then running four miles to notify a neighbor, who in turn brought the news to the field where we were all at work.

A hurried meeting of the neighborhood was called as soon as possible that afternoon to decide upon a plan of action. It was decided to make a search for a few miles around and that all of the neighborhood should assemble at one point for protection. Nothing came of the search. Nothing was found to show what disposition was made of the missing ones, the two daughters and the two younger sons. The body of the only victim found was quietly buried. After a hurried counsel it was decided to abandon the valley, as protection from future raids was slight, there being only one company of soldiers kept at Fort Kearny, which was just barely enough to protect the fort, let alone the settlers.

who had not made up their minds to leave, and before another nightfall there was only left in the valley my father, myself and my father's -brother and aged father. It was decided to stay and face the dangers alone in the hope that some tidings might be learned of the lost ones.

In about a week six soldiers under the charge of Captain Wyman were sent from the fort to help us in the search for the stolen children. A search was made for twenty-five miles to the south, but nothing was found to give any evidence to relieve the terrible anxiety. And all this time it was necessary to keep constant guard, for it was reported that the savages were still about the neighborhood.

At last, about October 20th, news was brought from the sparse settlement at Grand Island that the prisoners had been seen in the camp of an Ogallala band of Sioux, who were then in camp somewhere on the Solomon River in southeastern Colorado or southwestern Kansas. It was also reported that the government was about to treat with the Sioux and that the prisoners would probably be captured.

A week or more dragged by before any faith was put into the story, and then my uncle was sent to North Platte to learn what he could about the band. When the train reached Elm Creek the passengers were aroused by the shrill cry of the engine whistle, down brakes being repeated several times. It was reported in every car that there were Indians at hand and guns and revolvers were made ready for action. But the trouble proved to be only another train on the track ahead. Antelope and bufifalo were seen at a distance from the train, but they were too far to be reached by the bullets from rifles.

At North Platte it was reported that the band of Indians under Spotted Tail would arrive some time that day. The peace commissioners arrived at 3 o'clock and the Indians two hours later. The prisoners proved to be children of our family, who after two more days of travel reached our home. Here they told the stor>^ of their capture and imprisonment, of the hardships they had undergone, without food at times, without proper clothing at all times, and of abuses and ill treatment. Our family remained there during the winter, and in the spring of 1868 moved to Saunders County, leaving the homestead and the scene of the raid.

Of the children captured three are living now (1909). They are Mrs. J. P. Dunlap of Dwight, Nebraska, Peter Campbell, living at Wahoo, Nebraska (in 1919 at Lincoln), and Daniel,' who is located in the state of Missouri (in 1919 in Ohio).

These and many other incidents of Indian life and relations in Hall County are told first hand in the narratives of Frederick Hedde, William Stolley, and in the narrative of Indian renuniscences by Fred Stolley, which follows :

I will first give some recollections of days from my childhood, as far back as 1859, of Hall County early days, when I came from Davenport, Iowa, to Grand Island, only two years old at that time, with father and mother and my oldest sister Annie, to the farm where my mother is still living, together with two of my younger sisters, Clara and Ottilie (the so-called Stolley Grove farm).

First Recoelections

The first very vivid recollection I have is an Indian story, yet I remember this one but faintly. I remember that my mother hurriedly lifted my sister off her lap and I myself clung close to her dress, hiding as best we could in our old log house which still stands on the farm resided on by my mother. Some 200 or 300 Sioux Indians on horseback made their appearance at our place, surrounded our house, dismounting from their horses and investigating - holding their hands to both sides of their faces, and looking into our windows, with their large faces, broad flat noses, dark brown skins, somewhat greasy, and large, inquisitive black eyes, looking at mother and us children, also I think sizing up the situation for a raid on something good to eat. But they seemed to have been quite friendly at that time, because they molested nothing and spared all of our lives, and in 10 or 15 minutes time everybody was again on their sleek ponies and they went away as quickly and as suddenly as they came, to our great relief and satisfaction.

The next exciting Indian incident was in the following fall. My uncle, William Hagge, father and I were in the hay field, when an Indian battle started on the south side of Wood River, about at the point where the St. Joseph & Grand Island railroad crosses over Wood River. A hard skirmish ensued and many shots were heard as the bodies of fighters moved eastward down stream, close to the river bank, and gradually faded away about where Bill Thavenet's ice house now stands. My uncle and father never stopped hauling hay, but kept on unconcerned about the fight among the Indians.

Took Our Dinner

About a year later, I think in August, at the noon hour, my mother had dinner ready on the table. I was playing outside in front of our house, and at the time I noticed possibly 75 or even 100 Indians coming on fleet footed black and white ponies, in irregular order, riding quite thinly scattered over a large space. The Indians had no clothing on, all of them in their own natural bronzed skins, faces painted red, their hair shaved close to their scalps, except a strip in the middle on top of their head about two by four inches cut to about 2 inches short, standing straight up. The hair resembled the coarseness and appearance of a horse tail and as black as coal, but at the back end of this bunch or patch of bristles they always carried a long braid hanging down, which was invariably scalped if they were captured by Indian enemies. So when I spied this band of Sioux Indians coming like a whirlwind, I ran back into the house and reported to my father, "Indians ! Indians ! quick !" My father jumped instantly to his feet, reaching simultaneously for his 8-inch navy revolver, which always hung on his left hip on a heavy leather belt buckled to his body. I followed on the heels of my father, and by the time we were outside, there they came, quick and plenty of them, coming close u,p to our log house, all armed, a few with short Kentucky rifles, muzzle loading single shots, 125 round balls to the pound, and some of them had long pointed spears, even 8 or 10 feet long, fastened to their right foot, but most of them equipped with the strongest kind of bows and arrows. At this juncture I ran back into the house looking for mother and sister, when I noticed an Indian reaching through an open window with his long spear, trying to pierce a pudding on a plate, so he could take it off our dinner table and bring it to him within reach of his bare hands. When he secured it, he divided with his comrades, and with keen appetites and great enjoyments they devoured our dinner. By this time I hurried back to where father was, with 8 or 10 Indians gathered in a half circle around him, and now one of them swung his spear back and forth toward father, as though he intended to throw the deadly weapon at us, and let me assure you, with not a very pleasant eye behind it, and an expression you could see that was decidedly not friendly. But this all came to a very sudden standstill when father whipped out his old navy revolver, with hammer up and finger lightly on the trigger, aiming at the Indian's treacherous heart. Now his long spear sank down to a natural position, and pointing to father's revolver, he remarked in Indian language, "heap a no good" and the substance of "pu, pu, pu wanta" to convey idea - "shoots often and kills sure." Thereupon everything suddenly changed, a different spirit crept among them, and after a few moment's silence, and varying glances, we heard a very low voice, but very positive, sharp command given, from their chief to gather themselves up and go, and go they did. When I saw them coming they were about where the brick schoolhouse now stands northeast of the old home place, of District Number One. When they went, they left in the direction of Sand Krog, or Cay Ewoldt's old farm, and within a few moments they had well vanished into the endless prairie, and the whole affair appeared to be a very lucky and happy matter. Yes, indeed, we can now comprehend the unspeakable dangers surrounding us, and the likelihood we constantly faced of being killed at any time.

But somehow the Sioux Indians did not take such an interest in this part of the country as our Pawnee friends, because, as the Pawnees claimed, an agreement existed between the Sioux Indians and the Pawnee tribes that the south bank of the Platte River was the boundary line on the south for the Southern Sioux tribe and the north side of the Loup River, "Eatzkarie" in Indian, should be the south boundary line for the north Sioux tribe, and the land in between these two streams was to be the hunting ground for the four Pawnee tribes, but how far west this agreement was established I never heard from any one. Furthermore, our Pawnee friends claimed the southern Sioux were very bad and hostile "heap a no good, we heap a fight for buiifalo," because the south side of the Platte all the way to the Little Blue and the Republican River was the best by a hundred fold for buffalo hunting. This was used nevertheless by the Pawnees as why they were compelled to trespass on Sioux territory to get their winter's supply in bufifalo meats and buffalo robes to keep their bodies warm. This doubtless somewhat accounts for the hostilities experienced from the Sioux towards the white people living on the south side. The south side had by far the largest herds of buffaloes, so the first settlers had to go there to get their winter's supply of meats. Hence, the trouble that usually came when they did so, and always from the southern Sioux. The Pawnees always claimed that the northern Sioux were "heap a good no fight." And it should be mentioned that along the Loups only some "elk" or "bah" in Indian, and some "deer" or "buxkys" in Indian, but there were plenty of antelope or "alligators" in Indian, and only deer along the wild Platte River bottoms. These were hard to hunt for the Indians because their guns were of very poor quality, so it is clear that the buffalo always remained the Indians' main support for a living. Some Pawnees were very fine marksmen with the bow and arrow. I have seen one old Indian coming along in a snowstorm passing through a patch of weeds, where a flock of snowbirds were busily picking, and the old Indian spying the birds, reach for his heavy ashwood bow and arrow with steel points (a regular buffalo hunting outfit), set down some 20 steps off and shot six times at six birds and get a bird on every arrow. For every day purposes they used a lighter outlit, but for large game they had a bow of tremendous strength and durability. I have only seen one white man who could shoot one of these to its fullest capacity. That was David Schuller, our postmaster in early days, who could shoot fully eighty rods with one of those heavy outfits.

The larger Indian boys had a national sport, playing on a smooth piece of level ground some 75 yards long and 20 yards wide. Two boys always played together, both of them having a five foot long spear and a little ring about four inches in diameter, wrapped with buffalo sinew, one of them throwing this ring very swiftly, both of them being barefooted and naked, running at a high speed with this ring rolling along. The great trick was for both boys to hit this ring so that their spears crossed each other through the ring at the same time. This play was practiced for training their hands and eyes for accuracy, and the exercise it gave for toughening their bodies and developing great lung capacity. An Indian could go on a dog trot all day and never puff one bit, and another stunt they had was to harden themselves against freezing.

I have often seen Indian children of all ages sliding on smooth ice with their bare feet for hours at a time, never seeming to mind it at all. One day I found tracks in the snow of a barefooted Indian going across our farm towards their Indian camps on Wood River.

His name was "Lalulashar." He wanted to stay over night with us, and bed room was scarce. So this Indian had to go to bed with Peter Mohr and myself in our barn upstairs for that night. But to our great discomfort, the Indian developed a body-heat that was something awful. It got so disagreeably hot for us, with him resting in the middle, that we had to quit our guest's presence. Peter and I did not know but that this Indian was dangerously sick, supposing he had a very high fever, thus accounting for his extremely hot skin. But to our astonishment, the next morning this Indian was hale and hearty, and hungry as a wolf, so there was nothing to worry about concerning him at all - - it was just his extremely healthful vigor.

"puppy dog soup" My father was a great lover of hunting and trapping and he also poisoned a great many coyotes and grey wolves. One time he had poisoned 15 coyotes and wanted to make a robe of their pelts, and he made an arrangement with an Indian by the name of George, who with his three squaws and 17 year old daughter had moved onto our place. They pitched their tents and set to work tanning coyote and two deer skins, of which they made a line job. One of the three little pups belonging to our pet dog was found dead one morning, and the 17 year old Indian girl coming in spied it and wanted it. This particular pup being mine, I gave it to her, wondering what she wanted of it. Consequently in my curiosity I followed her into their living tent, where a big camp fire was burning in the middle of the room, under a large pot boiling a quantity of navy bean soup. I could hardly trust my eyesight, to behold this pretty Indian girl holding the little baby dog by its tail, dropping it hair and hide, kaplunk, into the bean soup. This stopped the boiling of the soup for a time because the little pup was frozen stiiT, but pretty soon the boiling started again and little doggy was making somersaults in the boiling soup, now tail up and then, for a change, the head coming bobbing up, and so it rolled and rolled over and over, until the little doggy boiled to mush, ready for the great feast, when taken out on a tin pan. This delicious dish was passed around from one Indian appetite to another until their hunger was satisfied. At the same time, the "killi" Kaneck tobacco pipe was smoked with great satisfaction. Indian George was a very kindhearted man, but notwithstanding his kindly disposition, after they left our place and while going West, headed for Fort Kearny, George was shot in the temple by a U. S. soldier at that place, only for the fun of it. Such is only an instance of the cruel acts of the white man towards the children of the wilderness who lost their great hunting grounds with all of its fine game.

We must not forget all of the waste of meat and timber perpetrated by the white man in those days. No less an authority than the late Buffalo Bill wrote that he alone had killed over 2,000 buffaloes for a railroad camp in Kansas. Maybe a good share of that meat was for a good use, but what about the rest? Everybody was shooting the Indian's meat supply, and most of it rotted away on the prairie for nothing. This grieved the Indians' heart beyond expression, and it created a hatred and revengefulness toward the "pale faces" or "Chickestalkers" (in Indian). What more did the white man do? He swindled, lied, corrupted where he had a chance toward the Indian, and some^ more villainous of our race even sold the red man small-pox infected blankets, causing their death in great numbers. In the face of all this is it to be wondered that many Indians got mad at last and turned out to be most unmerciful brutes toward the white men? I cannot blame them so much, and can only wonder that the white man was allowed to stay at all, or that he was considered by the Indian as the most grewsome creature they ever met. But we hardly ever get the Indian's side of the matter. The white man writes the history about himself and also about the Indian, and usually the Indians suft'er the most. But now that it all belongs to the past and the Indian is mostly killed off and gone, and their ashes are strewn over the hills of the land, the wild flowers are growing on their mournful graves and weeping bitter tears for the vinspeakable injustices so frequently done them at the hands of the white man, - may we not pause and consider the other side? Shame be on the white men who contended there was no room left for the Indians to live in peace in this great country of ours.

We had one very wise and dear friend among the Pawnees, whose name was "Nezarrezarries." He was a Kidkahah, by far the most intelligent Indian we ever knew. Through him father made a dictionary of the Indian language, so you see it was quite easy for us to converse with Indians in an intelligent way. Nezarrezarries had two squaws, was quite rich in horses and tents, and was the most popular Indian of the whole tribe (which meant four sub-tribes) -^ the Kidkahahs, Cavees, Pittihauvittys, and lost Scitties, which last term by the way is also the name for wolf or coyote, and the symbol for the greatest liar in the world, the Scittie Indian was marked for being the most skillful horsethief of the Pawnee tribes towards their most bitter enemies, the Southern Sioux. This popular Nezarrezarries was very freely spoken of as being selected as the first big chief in command, but he was handicapped by having only two squaws when three and no less were required by custom and law, and so many horses.

An Indian Love Story

Now we come to a love story. One early morning a very beautiful, graceful, sharp featured, fine looking Indian girl, with body finely formed, tall and quite slender, possibly 23 or 24 years of age, strayed into our place for a few moments, and then got up and started towards the Indian camps on Wood River. At the same time our esteemed friend came along from camp toward our place, I think for another visit, or he might have known of this girl's presence that early morning, or it might have been agreed upon that they should meet in the open field, for at least that was their meeting place. It was a very cold morning, the wind blew out of the north with biting cold, but when the two met, he grabbed her by the hand and it started a struggle, each pulling this way and that, as if she wanted to pull away from him, and at last she settled down peaceably and friendly toward him and eventually he succeeded in covering her and also himself over their heads, with his buffalo robe, and talked to her for more than an hour without moving an inch. I watched closely during all of this time. For I did not know whether to count them friend at that time, but it finally proved to be all right. They finally separated, he came to our place and she went home to the camp. What must I do after he arrived at our place but satisfy my curiosity by asking him what had happened over yonder with that beautiful Indian girl, and he answered quickly and straight from the shoulder, "that is now my third squaw, a heap good squaw," and that was all there was to it. He acted very unconcerned about it, as if this was final and I never found out more about it, but I do know that from then on this girl acted as his squaw.

A True Red Friend

I think it was in the coming year, in the late fall, that Nezarrezarries came riding along onto father's place one day and explained to him that he was in bad need of a rifle for hunting buffalo to get a buffalo robe, and my father without asking any questions whatsoever, handed the Indian his very fine Spencer repeating rifle of 7 shots, caliber 50, and one of our buffalo robes, not quite the best, and also 6 or 7 No. 4 double spring beaver traps. He thanked father for them and left. I think it must have been in the latter part of November, one fine day, when in came our friend, returning rifle, traps, and instead of the old robe handing father a fine brand new one in its place. He never advanced to the leadership of his people. Once more this noble Indian paid us a visit but this time, sick and afflicted with a loathsome disease, "an inheritance of the white man." The Indians had moved in the meantime to Indian Territory and he came all that long way to consult father in regard to his deplorable condition. Of course we could do nothing for him though he stayed a day or two with us, and one morning, after breakfast, with tears in his eyes he stretched, for the last time, his hand to his esteemed pale faced friends and bid us all good-bye and that is the last we ever saw of him. Another interesting previous visit of that Indian friend I almost overlooked was when a blizzard was raging over the country. He was sitting with father philosophizing over important questions, great drops of sweat were rolling down his fine featured face, his eyes sparkled with deep hidden fire, as he started out to discuss the white man v. Indian national question. "The white man's greed drives the Indian mad; he envies even the ground we walk on, he would if he could, express us into the skies where there is nothing but useless space, or push us off into the ocean, until he knows he has destroyed us, and he would rejoice much over it, and after he has fulfilled his wishes, then I would wish the pale face God speed when they turn loose on themselves."

In the early 60's, I was still a very small boy when my father and Joachim Buenz, a brother of John Buenz of Grand Island, hauled the cotton wood logs from the heavy timber growing along Wood River at that time for building a fortification against possible attack of hostile Indians. There was no trouble pending at that time, but it came soon after that when the southern Sioux went on the warpath against the white men all along the line, and when trouble had started the so-called Fort "O. K." was erected for the protection of the white men, but for some reasons the Indians never made any raids on us. It might have been spy work on the part of the Indians that saved our hides, as they probably knew better because we were well fortified, at least they never came near us.

back in a hurry. He had seen a large band of hostile Indians going over the same ground where Grand Island now stands. He reported ft as soon as possible to the captain in command of the U. S. soldiers stationed at Fort O. K. In short order the captain and a squad of 10 or 12 regulars were swinging themselves into the saddles of their fine horses, and in company with father went in pursuit of this band of Indians. They soon found their trail and followed them in a northwesterly direction up to the mouth of Oak Creek, at Dannebrog, but they caught up with them, and lost the Indians as they disappeared to the westward.

Fort Independence

One fort was erected on my father's place, named Fort Independence. This was built with the help of my Uncle William Hagge and Fred Moeller. The dimensions were 20 x 28 feet, about 7V-2 feet high, with port holes to all sides and banked up heavily with tough prairie sod and dirt, making it fire-proof against burning arrows, which the Indians used to great advantage. An underground horse stable, with the capacity of 24 horses, was added, and the port holes in the fort proper overlooked the horse stable so it was well covered by our guns. One day after the Indian trouble had taken hold all over the country. General Curtis made our fort a pleasant visit and inspected it. After looking it over thoroughly he advised us that we had done a fine job of providing protection and need fear nothing, as we were safe against the attacks of Indians, if we would be careful and not permit them to rush onto us unexpectedly. That was a very common practice of the Indians, as they would come on horse back like birds on wings and be onto you before you knew it, and might get advantage of you in this way. By always having the place guarded, day and night, we would be safe. He added that he would give us, and also the other fort, a cannon, a 5-pounder, to defend ourselves against possible attacks by the Redskins. He left at once for Fort O. K. where he made his temporary headquarters.

Goettsch-Frauen Massacre

Jumping along to 1867 or 1868, in the latter part of November, a foot of snow covered the bleak prairies. One afternoon my father sent me on horseback to the very small town of Grand Island to get his mail. At that time only a few houses had been built in the village. Mr Schuller, our postmaster, had moved to town, to the place where the Schuff (American) hotel and restuarant now stands, and the O. K. store had been moved to the present location of the Koehler Hotel, and when I stepped into the post office, Mr. Eggert Goettsch called to me and said : "Fred, come here with me to the outside of the street," and pointing his finger northeast toward the St. Paul road, where not a house stood in all that space, added, "do you see that wagon load of cart- wood coming along?" I answered "yes sir." "Well" he said, "on that load of wood lies your playmate Chris Geottsch dead. He got killed by Indians the other day, out on the Loup River, also Henry Frauen got killed at the same time, they are both frozen hard as a rock. Do you care to see them once more? If so you must wait here until they are here and it will not take very long." I answered, "No sir, I am scared stifif now. I don't care to see them. I want to go home as soon as possible." A boy of only 10 or 11 years old, I was really afraid. I looked once more with tears in my eyes toward my best playmate, shuddering at the idea that he had been massacred by those awful Indians. I got onto my horse in a double quick hurry and hustled home to tell my parents the terrible news. Chris and Henry had been out on a hunt for large game, in company with my uncle John Vieregg, an old hunter and trapper, and Hans Klingenberg, another old hunter. They had been having verj- poor luck on the trip, due to bad weather, and before starting home had made a hurried side trip over the ice to the other side of the Loup, on Oak Creek, to cut a few wagon reach poles, taking their rifles with them. Upon arriving on the other side of the river, Mr. Klingenberg had noticed ahead of them a cloud of dust and snow thrown up in the air and mentioned it to my uncle.

My uncle had not observed it, but Mr. Klingenberg insisted that somebody had been shooting there, from seeing a bullet mark in the snow, but my uncle observed. "Who could shoot at us here, a heavy north wind blowing, and we can hear nothing." When another dust cloud and snow shot up in the air, Klingenberg again said, "Do you see it this time," and my uncle answered, "Yes, but who could shoot at us," and they still went on their way to get the poles. Upon returning to camp they found both boys had been killed, Chris with a load of buckshot in his breast, evidently poured out from his own gim, and Henry with a rifle bullet through his temple, appearing also to have met death from his own rifle. Both horses had been stolen and all of the bed clothes and guns were missing. The Indians had mixed molasses and coffee together and evidently had taken a big meal before starting on their get-a-way. Left out there some 30 rniles in the wilderness, with a foot of snow on the ground, nothing remained for the men to do but to hoof it back to the fort. This gruesome murder happened near the present Dannebrog, on the south side of the Loup River, opposite from the west point of the big island in the river east of the bridge at the mouth of Oak Creek.

Every fall great numbers of Pawnees, in bands of thousands, came up from their reservation, swarmed over the country everywhere as they jouneyed through to the hunting grounds further up, west and south towards the Blue and Republican rivers. The Indians generally divided into two great camps going out on their fall hunts, one part going up on the Loup and the other part going up on the Platte bottoms. On their journey they would signal to each other with gigantic prairie fires. The Indians following the Platte would set fire to the large islands, and the Indians following the Loup would set fire to the endless prairies, and in the evening you could see the red crimson light thrown on the clouds on the heavenly screens, reflecting back to earth in blood red, and sometimes it would look so fiery in the heavens one would think the world would come to an end. This burning off country had two objects, one to signal the other bands, and the other for driving the deer, in particular, closer together so as to make it easier to hunt them. Many deer were captured by the Indians on the islands in the Platte River bottoms, where the Indians formed a circle around the burning island, and the deer were driven by the iire toward them getting in such close range they could be brought down with bows and arrows. A favorite method of preparing deer ribs for a meal was to cut the ribs in four by four inch squares and then use a sharp stick to hold the deer rib over a live coal bed, and indeed that prepared a royal dish. After securing a supply of buffalo meat and robes for winter use, the Indians would find camping places along the Platte Islands, and particularly along Wood River, in the hardest winter months.

An Indian Dance

One time my father and I met a large band of Pawnees coming from the hunt, when we were at a point south of Bonson's ranch, 12 miles up the Platte, on one of the big islands. We had already secured two deer on our hunt and these Indians told us about a "heap a big fight" they had encountered with the Sioux Indians and showed us a brand new bleeding scalp, taken only a few days ago. The scalp dangled from a long pole, hanging by the braid and the raw scalp hanging downward. The Indians found a favorite camping place in south of the Bunk place in a thicket. My sisters, Annie and Lioneret, my brothers Bill and Emil, Minnie Roeser and myself were a group of children much given to making frequent visits on a camp-fire evening to these camps. We dehghted in watching their dances and pow wows in honor of some instant greatness, or a war dance or a dance for the great doctor, or in honor of great game. I shall try to describe this latter dance. The drums were beating continuously, but very irregularly in time. These drums were made out of empty nail kegs, stretched over with a raw buffalo or elk hide. A tent was occupied by the most noted and famous personalities. Seated in a half-circle in an almost open tent, but little shelter was offered from the side where the actors were seated, with a nice bright fire burning in the center of the tent. The common herd of Indians stood outside in bunches in half circles and placed the smaller folks on the inside, with grown people arranged on the outside, according to sizes. This offered all of them a good view of the performers. This dance was in honor of the large game. The patriarch was decorated with elk and deer skins, another one with a buffalo robe and tail of a buffalo hanging on behind, making as nearly as possible an imitation of a buffalo. One was made up as a beaver, another had muskrat skins, one as a scittie (wolf) and one Indian carried a coyote, one a fox pelt on his arms. It seemed as if each of the four tribes had its own favorite game and fur bearing animals to whom it delighted to give honor in these celebrations. Now the dance commences. The drums beat everlastingly and dipper curbises with seeds in them were shaken as hard as possible, also in regular time, all of the performers would sing in a hum drum manner, but regular Indian songs, which I cannot give here. The dancers were decorated with their favorite game hides and paint on their faces, sometimes red and sometimes black being used. With the hides hanging on them right and left, and in a very stooped posture, they begin tramping and stamping the ground up and down in a half circle in front of the fire. One of their main acts is to take a snapping bite at fur on their amis every so often and this is kept up for an hour or so. On the soft fine afternoons and evenings of February the dancing season came in great favour and lasted till spring time set in, and during all this time drum beats could be heard. Then they would break camp and go oft' to their reservation, and spend the summer doing a little gardening and fanning, raising some navy beans and some com.

Buffalo Hunts

southwest of the August Becker place, close to the present Midway and Sand Krog roads, in the southwest quarter of that section. My father went after him with his heavy muzzle loading rifle. He worked up the slough, came up to the bufifalo at 150 yards and shot him, but he hit the animal too high, and this infuriated the bufifalo. With tail up, and horns in the ground, pawing the dirt, the animal turned around lively in a circle, tramping and tearing the sod up in great shape. This obUged father to shoot seven times before his game fell dead. The bufifalo was divided up among neighbors.

In 1865 or 1866 my father went on an antelope hunt, taking me with him. I had to stay with the wagon on Prairie Creek, about where the old Kinkel place is, but at that time still a howling wilderness. Along toward evening, as I was expecting father back at any moment and consequently watching the surrounding country very closely, I saw a large black living object moving very fast over a small hill about a mile and a half away. Then came father in plain view, galloping toward me. He asked me if I had seen that bufifalo and I said I did. He then explained that he had crippled him pretty badly and we would get him in the morning. We went home and were ofif at 4 o'clock the next morning on a genuine bufifalo hunt. We soon found the tracks and followed the animal by tracking him through the sandhills, northwest of St. Libory into the Loup River high blufifs. In a high patch of slough grass the animal had laid down, and his stubby horns and some of his very long hairy head was all we could see. Father took a fine aim behind the shoulder, one-third from below up and a sharp crack of his old trusted rifle brought this old monarch of the western plains dead to the ground. One remarkable thing about the bufifalo was his strong smell. This was the last buffalo steak we secured for our home. I remember one evening Hank Martin coming in with a heavy load of bufifalo meat from the west, with the wind blowing gently, carrying the scents of the bloody meat across the country. This started a large pack of grey wolves to howling. Hank was coming along the military road on Wood River about a mile off, but to listen to music of this kind was qiute grewsome and made the hair stand straight on end.

The bufifalo was both a ferocious and large animal. Father poisoned one that measured after he was skinned 9 feet from tip of nose to tip of tail, and so heavy it took a good strong man to lift it onto a horse, and he was almost white, evidently an old fellow.

The Bndurance Of A Papoose

Two squaws visited us one day, one of them carrying a papoose probably two months old. After eating a lunch with us, the squaw picked up the papoose, hanging the little tot over her shoulders, walked out into a storm of zero weather. The papoose started to bawl, something remarkable, but the mother paid very little attention to the youngster and when she got out into an open field, where the cold biting wind was blowing at a high gale, the little one still cried, and the mother got mad and talked sassy for awhile. She unpacked the baby and it developed that it had not a stitch of clothing on. The mother rearranged the lynx skin next to the craille board and placed the little one back to the far side, then placed a double blanket over the papoose, wrapt a girth around it, starting at the feet, and covered it until only the little face showed and it then seemed to be satisfied with its condition, and the mother proceeded on her journey at a dog trot.

A word about the wonderful miroiches of early days that were with us every winter and springtime, of which we see nothing today. The reasons for this phenomenon? One of them is, we have not any longer the unbroken endless smooth prairie, but that is all now a memory and the landscape is broken with groves and farm houses. Those miroiches of early days appeared only when the air was full of vapors, charged highly with moisture at sunrise in the morning. With white frost on the ground, you could see towards Alda and Wood River station and south of it. From our place great pictures were thrown on the heav- enly screens, magnified to a wonderful size. For instance, a crow would look as large as a buffalo, the houses up west, as large as gigantic castles, the timber along Wood River seven or eight miles off hung up against the horizon in monstrous sizes and it was so clear to the eye that it was a pleasure to look at. One morning at sunrise father called us out to see the Loup River with its graceful bands, its heavy timber along its banks hanging upside down on the low horizon in a dark grayish picture, a magnificent sight for the lover of nature. Then again at noon and afternoon in particular, if you could be on an endless atretch of burned prairie you could see a mile or even two or three off, great lakes of water, the exact image of a great sheet of water. Thirsty people have followed these lakes of water, and never could find them.

Some Indian Horsethieves

I remember one afternoon, George Thavanet, father and I were out on a deer hunt along Wood River. I was with the wagon in a thicket, when along came 20 Indians with war paint on them, walking on foot, dressed in light gray blankets, armed with navy revolvers, and yelling the most hideous, infamous, horrifying war whoops that I ever heard. It lifted me almost off of my feet to say the least. I left the wagon for another thicket and large weeds, and from there I peeped out and watched very closely this suspicious band of Indians. Later, we heard they belonged to the Scitties and were on a horse-thieving expedition, headed for the southern Sioux country to steal horses. Mr. Thavanet and father killed a five foot deer that afternoon. Some years later five very suspicious Indians strayed onto our place one afternoon carrying halters and lasso ropes made out of horse tail * hair, and large revolvers on their bodies. They looked into our horse stable. Father opined that those fellows were nothing less than horsethieves. Father made me lock our barn as a warning to them and demanded of them in not very uncertain tones, "you, pocketshee." meaning "you get" and the prediction of my father came true to a dot. Sure enough, three or four days later the report came that Nick and Henry Bonson's herd of horses on one of the Platte islands had been visited by these red skinned scoundrels and five of the best horses had been stolen. Nick Bonson himself, took up the dashing Indian chase. On horseback, rifle in hand, he dashed for twelve miles up the Platte River, across the country, south down through the state of Kansas and on into Indian Territory, and finally recaptured his horses from the bandits and returned home safe with his stolen property.

Depending On The Gun For Egod

Father's old muzzle loading rifle, 16 balls to the pound, sharp pointed bullets, with a trajectory 6 inches for every 50 yards distance when shot, and kicking like a mule, but with a very fine target, was a great game getter. We depended altogether on this trusted old rifle for our meat supply for the year around. For the winter it meant buffalo meat and for the summer it meant antelope meat. It required six hind quarters and three saddles of buffalo for the winter use. For summer we needed from 10 to 15 antelope. The buffalo quarters hung on the north side of our log house, and in the morning for breakfast mother would use an axe to cut a round steak of frozen hams. I think of it yet today, how nice and sweet those juicy nourishing round steaks tasted to us, nothing now like it. For a variety, we occasionally had deer, brought in through the winter season. We hunted them usually after a fresh snow, on Wood River and in the wild thickets of swamp willows along the Platte Islands. This meant the very hardest kind of hunting, yet very fascinating. This brush hunting was mostly done with shotguns and buckshot. It meant quick, hard shots and very often only a glimpse was caught of the prey. I killed my quota, 30 deer and antelope and 24 coyotes to my credit, the latter generally shot with high power rifles.

The Anteeope History Of Hall Collnty Nebraska

came tlie antelope drifted back to us onto the great level prairie countries along Prairie Creek. Great numbers of them could be seen. You couldn't help but admire their beautiful, graceful bodies, their brilliant, large, lustrous dark brown eyes, their horns sticking out of the head very prominently and their ability to see back of them. This accounted for their being so difficult to catch, and very hard to hurt.

Feathered Game

The many lovers of feathered game of today may be interested in a word about the feathered game we hunted then. We killed prairie chickens in unlimited numbers. Often we bagged 60 or 70 chickens in a day, and have marked up 70 chickens, 7 jack rabbits, 7 mallard ducks and one fine antelope in a day's record. The numbers of all feathered game was so tremendously large that nobody had the slightest idea of living to see them so nearly extinct as they are today. A word concerning the wild geese. In early days, I have come from Merrick County, starting west of Charley Schertzbergo's place on horseback along the Platte River and for a solid two miles and as close up to the banks on both sides you could see hardly any water at all. All this space of about two miles square was literally covered with gray geese as thick as they could set together, countless in number. Where have they gone? Most certainly, the same route as the buffalo. Before the decoy geese and ducks and fine guns of the hunter they have perished.

Our extinct esquinan endue might be of interest to the younger generations of this day. This bird belonged to the snipe family. It came on its migrations through the country in the spring-time going north about May 1st.

This was one of the most admired game birds in the world, beautiful, brown plumage, as large as a quail. It was the finest eating. Its habit was to congregate in very large tiocks, sometimes five hundred or a thousand going together, swarming over the farmer's fields, and their favorite places to feed was on newly ploughed corn land. Great numbers were easily taken on account of their offering splendid pot shots on the ground or on wing. One of their habits was to rise to their wings, from 2 to 4 p. m. and go so high into the blue skies, so high you could barely see them, circUng round and round and at the same time whistle a whirring plaintive call, somewhat like a plover.

Only the coyote has survived in increasing numbers. Why not hunt him? But he is superior in wits to all of the game, and the decoy does not tempt him.

The Indian Pipe

The Indian pipe and kille lanick tobacco was gathered from our red dogwood growing along the streams, creeks and in groves. The part of that bush used for tobacco was the outer fine bark. The peelings were dried in the sun and were there ready for use. The Indian pipe was made out of a soft red stone, sometimes their tomahawk being arranged for a pipe. The head was hollowed through the handle to draw the smoke. In the act of smoking the Indian inhaled his smoke, deep down into his lungs and held it there by sucking it still deeper and deeper and then he closed his mouth and blew it out through his nose in great clouds with the greatest of enjoyment. The dogwood tobacco had a wonderfully fine aroma that I always loved to smell.