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Dodge City Peace Commission



MONTANA'S INDIAN PUZZLE


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New York Times / April 4, 1880

THE OBSTACLES TO THE ONWARD MARCH OF CIVILIZATION.

AN ADVENTURE WITH A DESPERADO BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION -- SITTING BULL AND HIS CANADIAN PROTECTORS -- THE COVETED LAND OF THE CROWS -- A DELICATE QUESTION ASSERTING ITSELF -- ONSLAUGHTS ON THE BUFFALO HERDS.

MILES CITY, Montana, Feb. 14. -- An incident which occurred in this neighborhood recently afforded startling evidence of the desperate measures to which lawless men are yet able to occasionally resort in the great new North-west, though the speedy retribution which followed it, or rather, which anticipated and frustrated the intended crime, gives satisfactory indication of the poverty of Eastern Montana as a field for the operations of horse-thieves and highwaymen. Some months ago a semi-weekly mail route was established between Miles City and Deadwood, in the Black Hills, 235 miles distant. The contractor, who lives in this place, is named Maxwell. He is a quiet, unassuming man, short in stature, but solidly planted on his feet, with a quick, bright eye, and a power of quiet resolution traceable on his features. The mails are carried on horseback, and as the country between here and Deadwood is for the most part a wilderness, the mail ranches along the route, where the contractor keeps his relays of horses and riders, in constant readiness for the road, are almost the only human habitations encountered in the lonely journey. A few weeks ago a raid was made by some unknown persons upon one of the stations west of Powder River, and several of Maxwell's horses were carried off. On another occasion, a mail rider was brought to a sudden halt by road agent, who relieved him of his horse, and ordered him, on pain of death, to turn back from the direction of Box Elder Creek, which he was approaching, and return to the station he had last left.

The Apache Ndee Sangochonh, photographed in 1906 by Edward S. Curtis.

The mail route was in a fair way for being speedily bankrupted, when, about the middle of January, Mr. Maxwell decided upon making a personal inspection of the line with a view to establishing, if possible, a better order of things. He set out resolutely alone on horseback, and had traversed the greater part of the route lying in Montana, paying the wages of his employees and noting the requirements of the several sections as he proceeded, when one day he caught up with another solitary horseman riding in the same direction. Neither one carried a rifle, a circumstance which I confess I do not understand, the opposite custom being so inflexibly observed. Greetings were exchanged, and as the two men plodded along Maxwell noticed that his companion was a powerfully-built, muscular man, with a hardened, bull-dog countenance, expressive of the capability for almost any outrageous action. His conjectures on the subject, however, were soon after set entirely at rest by the fellow declaring plumply that he was out after horses, and that when he had got a little “band” together he intended to take them down into Wyoming, where they could be safely sold. It required no stretch of conscience for Maxwell to declare earnestly that he was "on the horse lay" himself, and


mutual confidence was speedily established on this basis. The horse-thief further explained that he was a deserter from Fort Keogh, and that his special object in that region was to "light upon" the mail contractor Maxwell, whom he had heard was expected along the line with a large sum of money in his possession. Certain threats which Maxwell was understood to have uttered respecting the man who had stolen his stock seemed to have peculiarly excited the desperado's animosity, and the former gentleman was edified for some time with a description of the treatment in store for himself when his companion should find him! To hear one's own murder thus deliberately planned, and to appear to enter into the details of the plot with cheerful acquiescence, was, under those circumstances, an ordeal sufficient to try the stoutest nerve. Maxwell, however, was equal to the trial, and, chiming in with the man's humor, rode by his side the remainder of the day, camped with him in the open air that night, and the strangely-mated pair drew up on the following day at a station on the Little Missouri, the superintendent of which was Maxwell's own stepson. Happily, the risk of detection was averted by the fact of the young man bearing another name, and the contractor having found an opportunity of explaining his wish to remain incognito, his would-be assassin entered the ranch without suspicion. Here the game of the previous 24 hours was continued, the two "pals" selecting from the stock at the station such animals as they thought would suit their purposes best, and when the young man ventured to put in a pretended remonstrance, the deserter drew a knife and threatened, in horrible terms, to "rip him open" on the spot. It was evident that he would submit to no trifling.

Little Big Horn: The Piegan elder Mountain Chief, having his voice recorded by ethnologist Frances Densmore in 1916.

An opportunity finally offered itself to turn the tables. The man was sitting by the fire-place of the cabin, within arm's reach of a heavy axe which leaned against the log wall. On the opposite side of the apartment stood a Sharps rifle belonging to Maxwell's step-son. Taking it up in an apparently careless manner, Maxwell found it unloaded. He drew a cartridge from his pocket and inserted it in the breech and stood toying with the piece for an instant, undecided how to act. The deserter remarked, "I thought you had no ammunition?" "Oh, yes," was Maxwell's reply. "I always carry it," and then, with quick decision, he dropped the barrel on his left wrist, cocking the piece, and holding the hammer back with his thumb near the right hip, the muzzle covering the ruffian. "I'm the Maxwell you have been looking for! How do you like my new appearance now?" "I'll take you in yet!" was the defiant reply, and the speaker was on the point of springing forward when the gun was discharged and the bullet entered his forehead. He fell forward, a corpse. I have omitted the expletives which entered largely into the dialogue, as being unessential to the story. Maxwell, who declares that his purpose from first to last was to capture the man alive and return him to Fort Keogh as a deserter, insists that he had not intentionally discharged the rifle, but supposes that the hair-trigger was set and that the hammer responded to an unconscious pressure of his finger. He at once telegraphed the casualty to the commanding officer of the post, and announced that he would come in forthwith and give himself up. It not being a case in which the military authorities could take cognizance. Deputy Sheriff Johnson took horse and rode out to meet and arrest Maxwell. His story was corroborated by at least one credible eye-witness, and the examination, which took place on the 12th inst. before Probate Judge McBride, although conducted with all due formality, was a mere form, the finding being that the shooting was "accidental." Had it been declared "justifiable homicide," the sense of the entire community would have coincided, the frontier sense of justice excluding rigorously all sympathy for horse-thieves. I am not certain, by the way, but that an exception should be made in case the horses are stolen from Indians. There is an unlucky wight in jail here now charged with that offense, and I am watching with curiosity the issue of his case. It is a thoroughly established fact that even the friendliest Indians will steal horses from the whites whenever they have a fair opportunity, and it certainly savors of partiality to restrict the privilege to one side.

INCURSIONS OF INDIAN HORSE-THIEVES.

There have been innumerable rumors current along the Yellowstone Valley during the past six weeks relative to Indian incursions, but down to the present writing all of them that were not born of timid imaginations have been directly traced to horse-stealing raids of little parties of Sioux from the British side of the forty-ninth degree of north latitude. These parties seldom number more than six or eight at a time, and are almost invariably made up of young men, ambitious of displaying prowess by robbing their enemies, in order to have additional "coups" to boast over by the camp-fire on returning to their friends. The Crows have lost a number of horses this season by raids of this kind, and as horseflesh is the commodity in which lies their recognized claims of being the wealthiest tribe of American savages, it may readily be imagined that much excitement has resulted. Some blood has been shed also, but far less, I will venture to assert, in this whole valley, than was spilled through wanton violence during the same period in any one of two or three wards of New-York City which I could name. One of these recent local tragedies, which is likely to become permanently woven into the woof of our valley history, is deserving of recital, both because of the heroic features it embodies, and because of the singularly erroneous manner in which it has been treated by the entire press of this Territory. This, permit me to say, will not be the first instance in which THE TIMES has been the means of correcting errors in this far-distant region. On the 2d or 3d of February -- it is difficult to be precise about dates in a country where one-half of the population is ignorant of even the day of the week -- two white men, engaged in trapping on the Mizpah Creek, a confluent of Powder River, were suddenly confronted by a party of six or eight Indians. One of the men was an "old timer" in Montana, rejoicing in the title of "Catfish Sandy." The other was his "pardner" in the trapping venture, and his name has escaped my recollection. According to established custom in like cases, the whites waved their hands to the Indians to indicate that they must not approach too closely. Two of the savages thereupon laid aside their rifles and knives, and holding their hands above their heads to show that they were unarmed, drew up to the trappers, the remainder of the party looking on silently at a distance. Sandy, who is a veteran Indian fighter, remained on his guard notwithstanding this parade of pacific purpose, and held a firm grasp upon his rifle. Suddenly his he was enveloped in the blanket of the foremost savage, who attempted to follow up the surprise by throwing him on the ground. But the latter had reckoned without his host. With a powerful effort Sandy threw his half-naked antagonist from him, relieved his head of the blanket, and in another instant had shot the Indian dead at his feet. Meanwhile, the other savage was overpowering Sandy's partner, and as the two were wrestling on the ground, the white underneath, a second shot from Sandy's unerring rifle disabled the Indian and, glancing, inflicted a wound in the arm of his rescued opponent. The other Indians fled incontinently he upon beholding the death of their champion.

A Navajo elder photographed in 1905 by Edward S. Curtis.

The affair being reported to Fort Keogh, Gen. Miles, who had just returned from the East, dispatched Sergt. Glover, of Company B, Second United States Cavalry, with a detachment of 10 soldiers that of that regiment and 10 Cheyenne scouts, to bring in the wounded men, and, if possible, to capture the party of Indians, who had been identified as Sioux from Sitting Bull's old camp above the border. After marching about 26 miles from Fort Keogh, Sergt. Glover trailed the party to where they were encamped on the Tongue River, in a gully which formed a strong defense for their position. An attempt was made to dislodge them by a charge, but it failed, the soldiers and their Indian allies being repulsed, after a brisk fight, with the loss of one man, Private Douglass, Second Cavalry. One of the Sioux was shot through the body. Sergt. Glover thereupon surrounded the Sioux, so as to cut off all chance of retreat, and sent an Indian runner back to the post with word that he had the Indians "in a hole," but needed reinforcements to capture them. Capt. Snyder, of the Fifth Infantry, a discreet and experienced Indian fighter, with Lieut. Randall and a company of mounted infantry, were sent to the rescue on the night of Sunday, Feb. 8, and with them a party of friendly Cheyennes, who were frantic with delight at setting out on the war-path against the Sioux. About 7 o'clock the following morning the scene of the conflict was reached, and the Sioux, perceiving themselves utterly helpless, obeyed with alacrity the demand for surrender. It was discovered that two of the original party, including the one whom Sandy had wounded, had escaped, and started back to the Canadian border, leaving the force which had created such disturbance reduced to three "bucks," two sound and one crippled. The ability of such a pitiful handful of savages to successfully "stand off" a body of soldiers so largely superior in numbers is by no means an anomalous incident in Indian warfare, the besiegers being restrained by prudence from risking an unnecessary sacrifice of life for the capture of game that is already securely bagged. The Sioux having given themselves up, Capt. Snyder returned to


Fort Keogh, preceded by several of the Cheyenne scouts, who bore with them as a trophy the scalp of Catfish Sandy's victim. This, according to custom, they divided up into a number of pieces, which they distributed among themselves, and when one afternoon a party of painted savages rode in wild procession around the parade-ground of the fort, singing and yelling and waving exultantly their scalp poles, from the ends of which tufts of long black hair fluttered in the breeze, there was a general impression in the command that an extensive fight had taken place, and that at least half a dozen Sioux had been killed. The truth, however, was quickly learned, and it does not appear that the Cheyennes desired in any manner to exaggerate the affair. The scalp of a single enemy, whom, as I have shown, they had no hand in slaying, was accepted by these doughty warriors as emblematic of what they would have done had they been in a fight, and the hullabaloo which they began in Fort Keogh was kept up for some for some time after in their camp, where, for several nights, fire-light scalp dances and other appropriate services were held with great vigor by the bucks and squaws around the fragments of what had recently been the head covering of Sitting Bull's hapless retainer. The wounded Indian is in the post hospital, where under Surgeon Girard's attention he may recover. The other captives are closely imprisoned in the guard-house, where they probably will remain until instructions respecting them are received from Washington. Their capture, just at this time, when so large a portion, if, indeed, not the whole, of the Sitting Bull band of Sioux are notoriously on this side of the British border, may possibly be utilized for bringing about a final settlement of a complication which, until adjusted, must be the cause of constant dissension between the settlers in Montana and their Canadian neighbors.

SITTING BULL'S GUARDIANS.

It is a well understood fact that the Dominion government has accepted the guardianship of the hostiles whom Gen. Miles drove across the border three years ago, and Major Welch, who, whatever may be his real grade in the Mounted Police, is the recognized mouthpiece of that corps, has, on several occasions, personally vouched for the good behavior of the redskins thus solemnly taken into wardship. From the outset Gen. Miles has entertained the belief that the only way to keep the Sioux safely within British protection was to hedge them in with United States troops near the border. The new post of Fort Assiniboine, on the Milk River, about 40 miles south of the forty-ninth degree, was garrisoned by the Eighteenth Infantry last Summer for this purpose, but for all that it has accomplished, the fort might as well have been placed in the Everglades of Florida. Not only have the Sioux repeatedly crossed into Montana in large and small bodies, with perfect impunity, but it is hinted that they have even been allowed to procure supplies, directly or otherwise, at Fort Assiniboine, to make up, it may be presumed, such deficiencies in their munitions of war as they were unable to fill at the Canadian trading posts, in which Major Walsh [?] has an active, and lucrative business interest. This system of conniving at arming and equipping savage hostiles for carrying on a destructive warfare against ourselves is one of the mysterious features of our Indian policy, better understood, probably, in the West, where it is a recognized fact, than in the East, where it would scarcely seem credible. Large fortunes have been realized in the nefarious traffic by capitalists in St. Paul and other Western cities, and there is good reason for believing that the large party of half-breeds captured last summer in upper Montana have been extensively utilized as go-betweens in the business.

A Kwakiutl person wearing mask and hands representing the forest spirit Nuhlimkilaka, "bringer of confusion." British Columbia, 1914.

As to the presence of Sitting Bull himself on American soil, there has been a steady succession of conflicting rumors ever since it became known that the Sioux were suffering from the extreme cold, and a scarcity of buffalo. The most authentic information I have received placed him in person at the big bend of the Milk River on Feb. 11, and it was said that his party was on its way to trade at Fort Belknap. In all likelihood, he has crossed the line with his followers whenever he has felt so inclined, and it is not improbable that he has reconnoitered the changes which have been made in his favorite resorts on the Missouri and the Yellowstone since he left them so abruptly a short distance in advance of the Fifth Infantry. Whether he has done so or not is, however, a matter of small consequence. The glamour which once enveloped Sitting Bull in such lurid atmosphere was some time ago completely dissipated. He never was a fighting chief among the Sioux, and his influence in the councils seems to have been entirely lost, the other chiefs regarding him with scorn on account of his too-ready fraternization with the Mounted Police. If the Sioux have determined to re-establish themselves on United States soil, it makes little difference whether Sitting Bull accompanies them or stays behind at his retreat on the Saskatchewan. So long as the cold weather continues and the supply of fresh buffalo meat holds out, these visitors will, perhaps, give no trouble, but in the Spring their old aggressive programme will unquestionably be reenacted, with all its harrowing and expensive accompaniments. So, as I have said, it is to be hoped that the prisoners taken in the Tongue River affair may be ordered to Washington in time to induce Congress seriously to consider the question of whether the British Government is responsible for the present Sioux invasion. Possibly, the actual presence of some of the murderous invaders may enable the Congressional mind to recognize the Sioux question is more of a tangible reality and less of a sentimental abstraction than it seems to have been of late regarded.

PRESENT ATTITUDE OF THE CROWS.

While discussing the Indian problem and its relationship to the Yellowstone Valley, I must not overlook the Crows. This tribe, which numbers about 900 or 1,000 warriors, is in many respects the most formidable tribe of Indians on our frontier. Their wealth in ponies is said to be almost incalculable, though 20,000 is probably a reasonable estimate of the size of the herd. The Crows, for some years, have been the warm allies of the whites, with whom they have gladly combined in hunting down their common enemy the Sioux. By this association they have gained the knowledge of our tactics and methods of warfare, which might operate to our disadvantage if they should ever go on the war-path against us. Besides this, they are excellently armed with the best patterns of breech-loading rifles manufactured in the United States, which they can use effectively, mounted as well as afoot. They are now on the friendliest terms with their pale-face neighbors, and it is to be hoped that no question will ever arise to disturb the existing harmony. But clouds are beginning to appear on the horizon, the full import of which it is difficult to foresee. In the first place, the Crow reservation is unquestionably the garden spot of the Yellowstone Valley, and as such it is exciting the envy of the white settlers. The reservation embraces all the territory west of the one hundred and seventh degree west longitude, south and east of the Yellowstone River and north of the Wyoming border, and includes 20,000 square miles of the most fertile and best-watered soil in Montana. There is an almost continuous chain of settlers, along the north shore of the Yellowstone, from here to the Gallatin Valley, and the south shore would be quickly taken up also, were it not for the Crow obstacle. The ranch men on the north bank of the river opposite the reservation find themselves somewhat uncomfortably situated, from the fact that the northern buffalo herd, upon which the Crows depend for their food and their robes, and the hides to construct their tepes, or lodges, inhabits the upper portion of the Territory, and they are in constant danger of having their farms overrun by Indian hunting parties. The treaty with the Crows was executed in 1868, and gives them authority to cross the Yellowstone for game only at such points as are unoccupied by white settlers. Those points are not so readily discoverable as they were 12 years ago. But the treaty provides that the Crows shall have unmolested occupancy of the reservation "as long as water runs and grass grows," which is the conventional aboriginal phrase for the conveyance of a fee simple, and, with the nation's faith thus plighted, the Indians should not be disturbed, except by purchase through a new treaty. They would probably demand a pretty round sum for their land, being shrewd bargainers and keenly appreciative of the estimation in which it is held by the whites. The tract is very valuable, however, and the government could readily afford to pay liberally for territory which would unquestionably be immediately taken off its hands again. The greater difficulty would be to select another suitable reservation for the Crows. A few years ago arrangements were nearly perfected with the tribe for its removal to the Judith Basin region, near the head waters of Musselshell. The scheme fell through, however, at the last moment, and since then, gold has been discovered in the region, and settlers have poured in too rapidly to leave room for an Indian reservation.

A Crow man photographed circa 1908 by Edward S. Curtis.

Meanwhile, the wave of civilization is washing the borders of the Crow country. Houses are constantly springing up on all sides. Valuable gold discoveries have been made on Clark's Fork, in Wyoming Territory, possibly, but only accessible by the Montana route through the reservation. The great cattle men of Western Montana have no ready outlet for their herds except by crossing the Crow lands, and this privilege is sternly denied them. Too many influences are operating concurrently for the removal of the Crows to make it probable that they will much longer occupy their present home, and it will be well, for various reasons, if the present Congress takes action on the petition for their removal, which was recently sent to Delegate Maginnis, at Washington, after receiving the signature of nearly every white resident of the entire Yellowstone Valley. It is not difficult to foresee what will be the result if the Indians are not induced to sell out their claim amicably, and when, as will otherwise be the inevitable consequence, they find the whites determined push them off the reservation. I, for one, shall wish to be as close to a military post as is possible. The flurry might be brief, but it would be destructive. I am not sounding an idle alarm but am giving expression to the declared sentiment of many of the oldest and coolest settlers of this region, with whom I have conversed upon the subject.

Another complication in which the Crows are concerned relates back to Gen. Miles's campaign against the Sioux last summer. While the main body of the command was operating in the Milk River region, a cruel butchery was committed on the upper Missouri, the victims being a half-breed named Lambert, his wife, and two children. One other little child was tomahawked and left for dead, but was discovered in time to save its life. Lambert had been on a visit down the river with his family, and they were just riding up to their home on their return, when they were suddenly attacked and slaughtered before they could resist or turn to escape. An elder son arrived at the house immediately after the massacre, but too late to identify the murderers. Lambert was an old resident of the Upper Missouri country, and was universally esteemed, and his murder created great excitement. His wife was an Assiniboine squaw, which prevented any suspicion from attaching to the Sioux who were then prowling about that part of the Territory. The Crows attempted at once to lay the blame upon the Yanktonais, whom Gen. Miles had adroitly detached from the Sioux command by causing them to be ferried across the Missouri, with permission to hunt buffalo south of that river. These gentry were naturally anxious to clear their skirts, or blankets, of suspicion, and three of their chiefs, "Pack the Eagle," "Long Man Dan," and "Red Door" promptly visited Lieut. Randall, then in command at Wolf Point, and in the course of a long “talk,” pointed out to that officer incontestable evidences of the murderers having been Crows. This interview was held on Aug. 10, and appears to have given the first definite clue to the assassins, which ultimately led to their identification. It turned out that a party of from 80 to 100 Crow warriors -- "braves" according to their own notion -- had participated in the dastardly affair, and the question now arises, What will result if the Government demands their surrender for trial and punishment? Although Lambert was not a Government officer, his murder presents many points of identity with that of Mr. Meeker by the Utes, and as regards the propriety of punishing the perpetrators there seems to be no difference between the two cases. That, at least, is the way men reason on the subject out here in Montana, while anxiously awaiting the action of the Government. The murderers are all known, and the Crows are understood to have determined not to surrender them under any circumstances. In fact, as they are among the leading braves of the tribe, their giving up would be equivalent to self-surrender, and that is a step they will probably be as reluctant to take as white men would be under similar circumstances. They claim, in extenuation of their crime, that Lambert had given aid to the Sioux. This is known to be false, however, and is a subterfuge to cover the greed which instigated the murder -- six horses taken from Lambert's house, and an improved Winchester rifle being still in the Crow camp. This matter may be adjusted without disturbing the friendly relations of the Crows with the whites, and under wise management it doubtless will be thus peaceably settled. I mention it as an indication of the small dependence that can be placed in Indian alliances under the most favorable circumstances. In the case of the Montana Crows, it is very apparent that their room is far more desirable than their company.

THE YELLOWSTONE IN SPRING.

The cold weather is gradually breaking up, and the rivers will probably be in running order in another fortnight. The breaking of the ice in the Yellowstone, when the gorges form at the bends, and the low bottom-lands are overwhelmed with icebergs, crashing and thundering their way along in search of a channel, is said by those who have witnessed it to be a spectacle little short of sublime. The manner in which the ice on these occasions roots up and scrapes away the trees on the low shores, and upsets things generally, affords an apt illustration of John Stuart Mill's conception of the devastating tendencies of nature. Mr. Dodge, an experienced Western railroad engineer, is visiting Fort Keogh, preparing to make a trip up the Yellowstone Valley, to locate about two hundred miles of the Northern Pacific railroad beyond this point. The company is pledged to extend its track to the Yellowstone River by the end of August, 1880, and it promises now to continue on as much further as it can during this year. Miles City will be within easy reach of the road by stage by the time navigation closes next Fall. This fact seems to be appreciated in Congress, which is considering a bill for the establishment of a Land Office in this place for the accommodation of the large number of settlers who are expected here this year. Heretofore, in order to enter up a pre-emption or homestead claim, it has been necessary to travel with one's witnesses to Helena, 435 miles away, in the Rocky Mountains. It is to be hoped, in the interest of all intending settlers in the valley, that the new office may be promptly established, in order that it may get into working order by the opening of steam-boat navigation. There is nothing new to report in military affairs. Business also has been quite dull under the depressing influence of the cold weather. Many of our prominent business men are now in the East, visiting their friends and laying their plans for next season's operations.

Buffalo grazing in Montana circa 1909.

The most active industry of the Winter has been buffalo-hunting, which has been pursued on a large scale. The prairies in all directions from here are covered with the carcases of bison whose hides are seen hanging on the fences of the ranchmen along the river, or piled in the warehouses of this place. I have heard it asserted that 10,000 buffalo have been thus slaughtered for their hides in the Yellowstone Valley this season. Probably half that number would be a more reasonable estimate. The hunting parties generally consist of five or six men -- one to cook, one or two to attend to the skinning, and the remainder to do the shooting. A hunter named White, who employ several of these parties, is reported to have secured 2,000 hides. A rough calculation of the daily requirement of the several Indian tribes in Upper Montana makes it practicable to compute, with some accuracy, the possible damage sustained by the Northern buffalo herd during the Winter. The average consumption of buffalo meat by Indians is about four pounds daily for each individual. At that rate thirty buffalo are required daily by the Sitting Bull Sioux, and, extending the calculation to the other tribes, it is probable that -- between the Indians seeking food and the white man in quest of hides -- 25,000 buffalo have been killed in Eastern Montana this season. This seems at first to be an enormous number, but it must be borne in mind that the herd is itself enormous, and capable of withstanding such annual onslaughts without perceptible diminution. The white hunters receive $1 50 for each hide delivered in Miles City, and when the river opens several steam-boat loads will be shipped hence for Chicago and other Eastern cities. The Territorial law forbids the shooting of bison after Feb. 1, but the injunction is generally disregarded, and when the portion of the herd now south of the Yellowstone passes by again on the way to the Northern pastures, there will be another onset made upon it. The temptation to shoot is irresistible when a man can stand in the doorway of his cabin and fire into a herd of hundreds and thousands of head of cattle. Deer are also plenty, and antelopes are more than abundant. The market value here of antelope skins is 30 cents per pound, or about $1 each. Wolf skins bring $2 and coyotes from 75 cents to $1. Panthers and mountain lions are not quoted.

T.P.M.
 

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