Chapter 6

Summer was speeding; the buffalo bone trade was at its height and soon the weather would prevent the ill-clad natives from the difficult work of gathering and hauling them on their crude carts to market, for the taking up of land by settlers for many miles in all directions from the railhead, these poor people were forced to go farther out each trip to reach the unappropriated lands,---known to be as far as one hundred and fifty miles, toward the close of the season. When the bone-gatherers learned that the railroad was to be extended to the west, they discontinued trade at this place and piled up their bones in great mounds at points along the suvey where buyers advanced money on them, waiting the coming of the railroad, to load them for shipment. In some of these stacks it was said a many as two hundred carloads were accumulated before the shipping facilities were provided for them. This can readily be understood, when it is known that more than forty millions of dollars in volume represents the economic importance of the buffalo bone trade in the twenty years of its existence.

The "breed" bone-picker's outfit was a picturesque institution! The rude Red-River carts, ironless and greaseless, could be heard as far as they could be seen,---as the long train approached, dragged along by a bull, a cow or a pony hitched to each one, and loaded high with bones, on top of which sat a squaw encased in her blanket, with a babe at her breast or back, long black hair braided and strings o beads around the neck. Beside her and over the bones, were the canvases, tent-pins and a collection of pots and camping equipment and supplies; alongside the cart was the head of the family with rawhide leading rope in one hand, and a gad in the other, prodding the plodding beast to keep it in line with the mile-long procession; bringing up the rear were the loose cattle, the small boys and girls and the innumerable dogs. Within a half mile of the town, they halted and made their village.

First customers at Mudge's window in the morning, was a delegation of the leaders of the bone train, to learn the price per ton; then back to the camp where bullocks were again put in the shafts and the procession headed into the street to pass over the weighing scales in front of Mudge's office window. The cart being balanced on the platform and the gross weight determined, the driver was given a ticket indicating that figure; next cart was treated the same way and all that followed in the train, by which time the street was filled through the town, to the annoyance of local traffic and the curiosity of newcomers.

Unloaded at the big vacant ground adjoining the railroad tracks, the long train formed for the return through the streets and to the weighing platform for the same process in reverse, getting the net of each load, and the ticket which it represented, to possession of the owner, at which the bone train disappeared to settle again at their village, where they remained two weeks longer, until they traded out the proceeds of their expedition, which went for cheaper meats, coarse muslin for tepees, calico for dresses for women and girls and children,---and for shirts for the men. At the rate of six dollars per ton, there was but an average of four or five dollars for each family to spend, at most.

It was a precarious existence for the folks who had always enjoyed a life of happiness and plenty, but the insatiable hide-hunters had destroyed their buffalo herds; they could no longer get fresh meat and hides for clothes and tepee covers; they were hungry; they faced starvation,---and the white folks let them starve.

Then one Sunday morning at 4 A.M. Mudges's room-mate, the lanky "Doc" Smith, came in from a call at the border of the town, and jerking the cover from Mudge's bed, shook him awake to tell him that there was a band of Indians having a war dance and making a demonstration at the summer camp ground. "Better get up and go out to them and see what it is they are up to; it looks like trouble." Mudge got dressed, strapped on his "Colts" and hurried out to the place, to find the doctor's word fully verified. The Turtle band was holding a sort of indisciplined war council; they were excited and behaved more like a mob than a controlled war-party; certainly they were bent on mischief; the loud talk of certain leaders, indicated that retaliation was to be enforced against the whites; they had long complained to the Land-Office officials and the military authorities about the white trappers, hunters and wood-cutters who constantly encroached on their reservation, but their appeals were in vain; they had come to take revenge. It was Sunday. Before break of dawn was a good time to attack; numerous fires could be set; people would be late to rise and it would be hours before the cavalry troops could be notified; and many more hours before they could reach the seat of trouble,---and the war-party would be far on the trail to the Manitoba line.

It would be futile to mix in the milling crowd, nor was it wise to try to talk to them for in the dim light of coming day, identification was impossible and the voice indistinguishable in the confusion. A lone figure stood apart from the mass of warriors; it was Little Shell. Mudge recognized and spoke kindly to him, grasped him by the arm and led him way to the town, where the doctor waited at the end of the first cross-street; here "Doc" was instructed to waken Maynard and have him open his fruit store, and tell him why. Mudge selected chewing gum, candy, bananas and oranges---things new and strange to the Chief; and a package of good tobacco, a few cigars, peanuts and a box of matches, made up all the puzzled Indian could store away in his blanket folds. By this time the chief was not more puzzled than was his captor, who had to decide a course of action instantly; he told the doctor to send a messenger horseback, to the fort; this meant a 30 mile ride around the east end of the lake, and not less than three hours before troops could be notified; the steamer might be fired up and reach the fort by ten or eleven, to transport a company of infantry back by noon or shortly thereafter all of which solved nothing. Day was breaking; the emergency was here and now; only minutes counted. Mudge decided to keep his prisoner away from his band on the belief that they would not attempt an out-break or try firing the town with the chief absent; and so, he led their leader by twists and turns of streets and alleys in the opposite course, stopping at store windows to explain the things new and curious to an Indian; halting frequently to induce him not to puff so fast on his cigar, and how to hold it so as not to burn his fingers, but really to consume time; daylight would calm the war-dancing, and another hour would find early risers stirring about.

Suddenly they came upon the wagon of an itinerant tintype man who had come in the day before; the faithful "Doc" was in hailing distance, ready to take part in the difficult situation, when and if need required it; he was sent to find the owner of the picture-wagon and hurry him forth to open it. Mudge remembered Captain John Smith's success in dealing with troublesome Indians by demonstrating the mysteries of the compass to them; here was a chance to show the chief the mystery of photography, and it would help consume more of the slow-passing time; and the light would be stronger and better for picture-taking. The picture man was told that there was no hurry, as his customers climbed into the gallery and the chief shown the various samples of the art which hung on the walls; but the glass roof and sides of the wagon got the Indian's attention; it was a funny kind of a tepee to him,---a house on wheels. Then the chief was induced to sit in the chair; he was posed, with the iron brace fixed to assure his keeping very still; hair brushed and the clock-wheel ear-pendants tucked behind the long braided switch which was interplaited with otter-skin strips of fur; the striped blanket neatly draped about the shoulders; and the photographer stepped back to set his camera in focus for the exposure, adjusting the black cloth over his head as he pushed the big machine back and forth; then he lifted the veil from the brass lens and removed the cap, then the Indian made one leap for the door, landing outside, with Mudge close on his heels. It took a lot of explanation to get him back into the shop. But persuasion and a new idea won. The gallery man sat Mudge in the chair, with the chief standing beside him, with assurance that if the brass gun shot bullets they would hit Mudge and not injure the chief; with this arrangement the picture was made, one of the two exposures was presented to the chief, who was deeply impressed to have it as his own to take home with him to show to his family and friends. Then he signed that he wanted to go back to his band which had been so unceremoniously left without their leader in the early dawn. his was the time to talk it over; he repeated the complaints so often heard before; they could get no answer from the authorities; his young men were becoming desperate; they wanted reparation for the injustices long suffered; he could no longer control them. Mudge knew and understood, for it was true; he told the chief that the Great Father would see to it that damage they had suffered would be paid; but his people must not try to do warlike things for the soldiers would come---in fact they might come now at any moment; he must take his men back to the reservation at once.

He promised with a warm handshake, and Mudge led him back to his men on the other side of town; he made a speech to them and with a wave of his hand, ordered them to go at once, and as they took the trail he shook hands with Mudge, and got his pledge to see that his people got justice from the government without delay, but that plea has been in vain.