10

THE HUNT OF THE BUFFALO.

The late lamented "Texas Jack" gave the following laconic, yet realistic description of this exciting sport in Wilkes Spirit, March 26, 1877:

Fort McPherson, NEB., March 1, 1877.
DEAR SPIRIT: - My old friends, W. F. Cody ("Buffalo Bill") and Major North, paid me a visit the other evening, having returned from a successful hunting trip. The camp-fire tete a tete reminded me of my first buffalo hunt with Indians. If I don't get like the butcher's calf and "kind o' give out," I'll try and give you an idea of hoo-doo at New Orleans. I thought I had seen fun in a Texas cattle stampede, been astonished in a mustang chase; but it wasn't a market, and it made me believe that Methuselah was right when he suggested that the oldest could "live and learn." It is a pity the old man didn't stick it out. He could have enjoyed this lesson.

A few years ago I was deputized United States Agent, under Major North, to accompany a party of Pawnee and Ponca Indians. Although "blanket Indians" (living wild), they have for a long time been friends of the famed Pawnee scouts (now at Sydney, Neb.), have always been a terror to the Sioux nation. Owing to their hatred of each other it is necessary to send an agent with them to prevent "picnics," and also to settle disputes with the white hunters. As Major North was in poor health at that time, this delicate task fell to me.

As I don't like to be long-winded I'll pass over the scenes and incidents of wild Indian camp life, the magnificent sight of a moving village of "nature's children," looking like a long rainbow in the bright colors of their blankets, beads, feathers, war-paint, etc., etc., as it would form a full chapter, and skip an eleven-days' march from the Loup River Reservation to Plumb Creek; on the North Platte, where our runners reported.

Early in the evening, as we were about making camp, my old friend, Baptiste, the interpreter, joyfully remarked, "Jack, the blanket is up three times - fun and fresh meat to-morrow."

There was a great pow-wowing that night, and all the warriors were to turn out for the grand "buffalo surround," leaving the squaws and pappooses in the village.

Just before daybreak there was a general stir and bustle on all sides, giving evidence of the complete preparations making for the coming events. As it was dark, and I busied in arranging my own outfit, thinking of the grand sight soon to be witnessed, and wondering how I would "pan out" in the view of my "red brothers," I had not noticed the manner of their own arrangement in an important particular that I will hereafter allude to.

At a given signal all started, and, when the first blue streaks of dawn allowed the moving column to be visible I had time to make an inspection of the strange cavalcade, and note peculiarities. I saw at once, placed at a disadvantage, the "white brother."

I had started fully equipped - bridle, saddle, lariat, rifle, pistol, belt, etc. - and astride of my pony. They, with as near nothing in garments as Adam and Eve, only breech-clout and moccasins, no saddle, no blanket, not even a bridle, only a small mouth-rope, light bow, and a few arrows in hand - in fact, not an ounce of weight more than necessary, and, unlike myself, all scudding along at a marvelous rate, leading their fiery ponies, so as to reserve every energy for the grand event in prospect.

Taking it all in at a glance, your "humble servant," quite abashed, let fo all holts and slipped off his critter, feeling that the Broncho looked like a Government pack mule. I at once mentally gave up the intention of paralyzing my light-rigged side pards in the coming contest. As they were all walking, I thought the buffalo were quite near; but what was my surprise, as mile after mile was scored, that I gradually found myself dropping slowly but surely behind, and so as not to get left, compelled every now and then to mount and lope to the front, there to perceive from the twinkling eyes of friend "Lo" a smile that his otherwise stolid face gave no evidence of. How deep an Indian can think, and it not be surface plain, I believe has never been thoroughly measured. Just imagine this "lick," kept up with apparent ease by them for ten or twelve miles, and you may get a partial idea of your friend Jack's tribulations.

Fortunately, I kept up, but at what an expense of muscle, verging on a complete "funk," you can only appreciate by a similar spin.

(9)

THE HUNT OF THE BUFFALO.

The late lamented "Texas Jack" gave the following laconle, yet realistic description of this exciting sport in Wilkes Spirit, March 26, 1877:

For McPherson, NEB., March 1, 1877.
DEAR SPIRIT: - My old friends, W. F. Cody ("Buffalo Bill") and Major North, paid me a visit the other evening, having returned from a successful hunting trip. The camp-fire tete a tete reminded me of my first buffalo hunt with Indians. If I don't get like the butcher's calf and "kind o' give out," I'll try and give you an idea of hoo-doo at New Orleans. I thought I had seen fun in a Texas cattle stampede, been astonished in a mustang chase; but it wasn't a market, and it made me believe that Methuseiah was right when he suggested that the oldest could "live and learn." It is a pity the old man didn't stick it out. He could have enjoyed this lesson.

A few years ago I was deputized United States Agent, under Major North, to accompany a party of Pawnee and Ponca Indians. Although "blanket Indians" (living wild), they have for a long time been friends of the famed Pawnee scouts (now at Sydney, Neb.), have always been a terror to the Sioux nation. Owing to their hatred of each other it is necessary to send an agent with them to prevent "picnics," and also to settle disputes with the white hunters. As Major North was in poor health at that time, this delicate task fell to me.

As I don't like to be long-winded I'll pass over the scenes and indicents of wild Indian camp life, the magnificent sight of a moving village of "nature's children," looking like a long rainbow in the bright colors of their blankets, beads, feathers, war-paint, etc., etc., as it would form a full chapter, and skip an eleven-days' march from the Loup River Reservation to Plumb Creek; on the North Platte, where our runners reported.

Early in the evening, as we were about making camp, my old friend, Baptiste, the interpreter, joyfully remarked, "Jack, the blanket is up three times - fun and fresh meat to-morrow."

There was a great pow-wowing that night, and all the warriors were to turn out for the grand "buffalo surround," leaving the squaws and pappooses in the village.

Just before daybreak there was a general stir and bustle on all sides, giving evidence of the complete preparations making for the coming events. As it was dark, and I busied in arranging my own outfit, thinking of the grand sight soon to be witnessed, and wondering how I would "pan out" in the view of my "red brothers," I had not noticed the manner of their own arrangment in an important particular that I will hereafter allude to.

At a given signal all started, and, when the first blue streaks of dawn allowed the moving column to be visible I had time to make an inspection of the strange cavalcade, and note peculiarities. I saw at once, placed at a disadvantage, the "white brother."

I had started fully equiped - bridle, saddle, lariat, rifle, pistol, belt, etc. - and astride of my pony. They, with as near nothing in garments as Adam and Eve, only breech-clout and moccasins, no saddle, no blanket, not even a bridle, only a small mouth-rope, light bow, and a few arrows in hand - in fact, not an ounce of weight more than necessary, and, unlike myself, all scudding along at a marvelous rate, leading their fiery ponies, so as to reserve every energy for teh grand event in prospect.

Taking it all in at a glace, your "humble servant," quite abashed, let fo all holts and slipped off his critter, feeling that the Broncho looked like a Government pack mule. I at once mentally gave up the intention of paralyzing my light-rigged side pards in the coming contest. As they were all walking, I thought the buffalo were quite near; but what was my surprise, as mile after mile was scored, that I gradually found myself dropping slowly but surely behind, and so as not to get left, compelled every now and then to mount and lope to the front, there to perceive from the twinkling eyes of friend "Lo" a smile that his otherwise stolid face gave no evidence of. How deep an Indian can think, and it not be surface plain, I believe has never been thoroughly measured. Just imagine this "lick," kept up with apparent ease by them for ten or twelve miles, and you may get a partial idea of your friend Jack's tribulations.

Fortunately, I kept up, but at what an expense of muscle, verging on a complete "funk," you can only appreciate by a similar spin.

(9)