MACKENZIE'S LAST FIGHT WITH THE CHEYENNES

A Winter Campaign in Wyoming and Montana, Commonly Known as the "Dull Knife Fight," Nov. 25-26, 1876.
By the late Captain John G. Bourke, 3^rd Cavalry, U. S. A. In U. S. Army Recruiting News

(Continued From Last Issue)

Information of this attack reached camp shortly after midnight, and a squad of Pawnee scouts was at once dispatched, but beyond developing the facts was unsuccessful in pursuit. The Cheyennes had broken into small fragments to obtain food by the chase, and better elude pursuit. Whether it was from that or some other party I cannot say; but we were informed a few weeks later at Red Cloud Agency that a couple of Cheyennes had crept up to within hearing of one of our camp fires, and satisfied themselves that we really had a good-sized detachment of their own people among our auxiliaries.

During our fight they refused to believe that any Cheyennes except Bill Rowland and maybe two or three half-breeds were on our side; that was the last straw, and seeing further resistance useless, they acted upon their convictions by surrendering at Red Cloud Agency. On December 20, very unwelcome news came from General Sheridan that our expenses for transportation, etc., had exceeded a monthly average of $60,000, while the appropriations would not allow of spending more than $28,000, which was equivalent to an order to abandon the campaign.

Our horses and mules were doing their best on half rations, but could not continue very long if we were unable to hire transportation to supply even that. The expedition was at that time on the Belle Fourche , northwestern corner of the Black Hills, whence it worked slowly back to Fort Fetterman, to disband until the animals could derive some nutriment from the grass in the spring. At intervals, antelope were seen and some killed.

The Indians imparted their ideas in the subject of cooking, and some of their dishes were quite palatable. Elk heart boiled in salt water is good enough for anyone; antelope liver, sliced thin and laid on hot embers until done on both sides, is extremely appetizing. Deer or antelope head roasted in the ashes is toothsome, and some preparations of buffalo entrails cooked in the same manner (which we had eaten during the previous expedition), were savory and palatable.

My scientific enthusiasm was unequal to trying the half-melted liver of an elk, which had been chased a long distance, sprinkled with a pinch of gall; but did share in a handful of liver fresh from the animal, finding it to taste very much like a raw oyster. Despite the Arctic temperature, which began to tell on the horses and mules, some of which were stiff and glassy-eyed each morning, and upon officers and men, among whom the surgeons found sufficient employment for their leisure moments treating frozen feet, hands, ears and noses, the Indian scouts, actuated by a sense of duty which did not allow them to wait an invitation, serenaded the camp almost every night.

First the Sioux serenaded the Pawnee, danced for them and made presents of horses; the next night the Pawnees sang, danced and gave them or others back. The whole affair was repeated by the Arapahos and Cheynnes; then fired by enthusiasm, the Arapahos went over the whole program with the Sioux, and we had another round of serenades. Realizing that it was a ceremonial observance among our aboriginal friends, no one grumbled, but all made the best of the situation. Just as we were getting ready for a good sleep, the Pawnees started in again; the Sioux, not to be outdone, reappeared, and the Arapahos did likewise. We managed to live through all of it, but would gladly bury its scenes in oblivion. Judge of my feelings when one of the first things I was asked upon my return to Washington was to write an article on Indian music!

The weather grew colder and colder; to save our animals as much as possible, they were allowed to run around untied, for the double purpose of keeping warm under the shelter of friendly knolls, and of getting such nibbles of grass as might be found in sheltered spots not covered with snow. Whenever obtainable, cottonwood foliage was fed to the mules; though bitter, it was palatable, and much used by the Indians for their ponies in winter. The sharp cold morning air served to intensify the profane powers of our packers and teamsters, whose language is quite often as amusing from its originality as it is shocking in irreverence and blasphemy.

Whack goes the whip, and ____! ____! ____, comes like a torrent from the irate drivers. The mule's long ears catch the stream of unsanctified music floating through the air, warning him that it means business. So he begins to tug in earnest, and with the encouragement of another crack or two from the blacksnake, accompanied by another string of explosives, succeeds with the help of his team mates in pulling the wagon through the mudhole or snow drift in which it has been mired.

This is the outline of their procedure under ordinary circumstances; in the presence of graver difficulties they become appalled, and not even the encomiums of mule drivers can induce them to advance any farther. Suppose the wagon at the foot of a steep grade, the ground encrusted with ice or frozen snow; looking up and seeing the case hopeless, the leaders consult with each other. Mules are the greatest animals in the world for consulting together; when the driver of a team sees his animals turning their heads toward each other and about to begin a conference on the situation, he at once abandons the struggle in despair, though by way of dignified retreat, he usually cracks his whip about a dozen times and explodes in a volley of objurgation.

The next step is to send for the pioneer party, which loses no time in breaking into the sandy ground, frozen hard as flint by the cold and winds; after a footing has been found and dug out for the mules, long ropes are attached to the wagon tongue; strong hands take hold to pull, while others seize upon the axle and wagon body, all pushing with might and main. The mules may still refuse to stir a hoof - the genuine mule likes to be coaxed; and if the driver is the real thing, now is the opportunity to show that his wages have not been paid in vain. Whoop! Whoop-la! Gee! You Puss Mules! You Billy! Damn you Tex! You ___! ___! ___! Billy! Dick! Tex!

The men whoop and yell, cheer, push and pull; all at once the mules make a concentrated effort and jerk the wagon upgrade on the run. Then just for luck, the teamster licks his mules, the wagon master dams the teamster, the quartermaster swears at the wagon master, and the pioneer party has overcome the last difficulty before reaching camp for the night, and the voices of the mules are now upraised in a song of gladness. Much objection has been made to this chanting as practiced by mules, which strikes me as frivolous and untenable.

A mule's song may be somewhat monotonous, and the nasal pitch he commonly employs rather harsh for cultivated ears, but the question of pitch is one of taste, and the mule's taste may be better than our own - or, if worse, in this land of liberty a mule is free to enjoy himself as he pleases. We may admit the mule's lack of skill and taste in rendering his scanty repertoire, but cannot deny the earnestness with which he throws his whole instinct and voice into the song.

In winter as in spring and summer, our packers under the able leadership of Tom Moore attended with something like devotion to the wants of the animals under their care in the pack trains. Some of them were droll fellows, all far above the average in intelligence, or at least above what their rough garb and unshaven faces might lead an observer to imagine; seated by their camp fire, I have often listened to their conversation, always impressed with the clearness and accuracy of their observations and judgment.

While on the Belle Fourche, one of them considerably under the influence of Black Hills whiskey bought in by parties from Deadwood, came to see me, and began narrating his ups and downs - or more correctly speaking, his various "downs" in the world. He had been a private in the 4^th infantry before the Civil War, when Grant, Sheridan, Hood, Augur and Kantz were captains and lieutenants in that regiment. "And now," he said musingly, "they've every last one of them been made a gineral - an' who am I? Nobody; never was nobody; never expect to be nobody - highest I ever got in the world was a lance corporal's bunkey."

Slowly we progressed southward to the line of the North Platte, the days becoming colder, the nights more dismal; keeping one's head out from under the protection of buffalo robes meant frozen nose and ears, keeping it under threatened suffocation. The winter scenery of that part of Wyoming has a bleak and barren weariness whose monotony at times appalls the traveler conscious of its magnitude. Mile after mile the column advanced, without change in the perspective of snow-mantled hillocks, gashed with ravines and tufted on their summits with a scanty line of timber.

The leaden pall of a cloudy sky was an effective setting for the cheerless landscape, which despite its gloom still had a weird fascination, so that one never tired looking at it. Winding courses of the streams were defined by skeleton limbs of trees, whence every bird had flown. Even crows and carrion eaters were seen only at intervals, but once or twice the honking of wild geese high in the air announced a belated migration of those birds to the south.

One of the most disagreeable days of my experience was Christmas, 1876, while pushing across Pumpkin
[ to be continued ]