Accidents of less degree are common.Men break their collar-bones,arms,or legs by falling when riding at speed over dangerous ground,when cutting cattle or trying to control a stampeded herd,or by being thrown or rolled on by bucking or rearing horses;or their horses,and on rare occasion even they themselves,are gored by fighting steers.
Death by storm or in flood,death in striving to master a wild and vicious horse,or in handling maddened cattle,and too often death in brutal conflict with one of his own fellows--any one of these is the not unnatural end of the life of the dweller on the plains or in the mountains.
But a few years ago other risks had to be run from savage beasts,and from the Indians.Since I have been ranching on the Little Missouri,two men have been killed by bears in the neighborhood of my range;and in the early years of my residence there,several men living or travelling in the country were slain by small war-parties of young braves.All the old-time trappers and hunters could tell stirring tales of their encounters with Indians.
My friend,Tazewell Woody,was among the chief actors in one of the most noteworthy adventures of this kind.He was a very quiet man,and it was exceedingly difficult to get him to talk over any of his past experiences;but one day,when he was in high good-humor with me for having made three consecutive straight shots at elk,he became quite communicative,and I was able to get him to tell me one story which Ihad long wished to hear from his lips,having already heard of it through one of the other survivors of the incident.When he found that I already knew a good deal old Woody told me the rest.
It was in the spring of 1875,and Woody and two friends were trapping on the Yellowstone.The Sioux were very bad at the time and had killed many prospectors,hunters,cowboys,and settlers;the whites retaliated whenever they got a chance,but,as always in Indian warfare,the sly,lurking,bloodthirsty savages inflicted much more loss than they suffered.
The three men,having a dozen horses with them,were camped by the river-side in a triangular patch of brush,shaped a good deal like a common flat-iron.On reaching camp they started to put out their traps;and when he came back in the evening Woody informed his companions that he had seen a great deal of Indian sign,and that he believed there were Sioux in the neighborhood.His companions both laughed at him,assuring him that they were not Sioux at all but friendly Crows,and that they would be in camp next morning;"and sure enough,"said Woody,meditatively,"they /were/in camp next morning."By dawn one of the men went down the river to look at some of the traps,while Woody started out to where the horses were,the third man remaining in camp to get breakfast.Suddenly two shots were heard down the river,and in another moment a mounted Indian swept towards the horses.Woody fired,but missed him,and he drove off five while Woody,running forward,succeeded in herding the other seven into camp.Hardly had this been accomplished before the man who had gone down the river appeared,out of breath with his desperate run,having been surprised by several Indians,and just succeeding in making his escape by dodging from bush to bush,threatening his pursuers with his rifle.
These proved to be but the forerunners of a great war party,for when the sun rose the hills around seemed black with Sioux.Had they chosen to dash right in on the camp,running the risk of losing several of their men in the charge,they could of course have eaten up the three hunters in a minute;but such a charge is rarely practised by Indians,who,although they are admirable in defensive warfare,and even in certain kinds of offensive movements,and although from their skill in hiding they usually inflict much more loss than they suffer when matched against white troops,are yet very reluctant to make any movement where the advantage gained must be offset by considerable loss of life.The three men thought they were surely doomed,but being veteran frontiersmen and long inured to every kind of hardship and danger,they set to work with cool resolution to make as effective a defence as possible,to beat off their antagonists if they might,and if this proved impracticable,to sell their lives as dearly as they could.Having tethered the horses in a slight hollow,the only one which offered any protection,each man crept out to a point of the triangular brush patch and lay down to await events.
In a very short while the Indians began closing in on them,taking every advantage of cover,and then,both from their side of the river and from the opposite bank,opened a perfect fusillade,wasting their cartridges with a recklessness which Indians are apt to show when excited.The hunters could hear the hoarse commands of the chiefs,the war-whoops and the taunts in broken English which some of the warriors hurled at them.Very soon all of their horses were killed,and the brush was fairly riddled by the incessant volleys;but the three men themselves,lying flat on the ground and well concealed,were not harmed.The more daring young warriors then began to creep toward the hunters,going stealthily from one piece of cover to the next;and now the whites in turn opened fire.They did not shoot recklessly,as did their foes,but coolly and quietly,endeavoring to make each shot tell.Said Woody:"I only fired seven times all day;I reckoned on getting meat every time I pulled trigger."They had an immense advantage over their enemies,in that whereas they lay still and entirely concealed,the Indians of course had to move from cover to cover in order to approach,and so had at times to expose themselves.
