The Plainsman - Part 2

On the Frontier with “Yellowstone” Kelly; His Adventures in the Territory of the Hostile Sioux

(Cont. from last week)

(by Dan R. Conway - originally published in the Hysham Echo on Sept. 23, 1926)

One day, shortly after Kelly’s arrival at the fort, the mail carriers from down river had become considerably overdue and the post commander gave them up for lost. It happened that there was then some very important mail to be carried to Fort Stevenson, but it was impossible to send a cavalry detachment, in view of the fact that every soldier was needed at fort Buford for other duties. It was into this emergency that the pathetically youthful looking Kelly stepped, offering his services to the commander, volunteering to carry the mail along. His offer was met with ridicule, and he was refused the permission. The laughter of the soldiers and officers aroused keen resentment in the young man’s heart, and prompted the calm announcement that he proposed to make the journey in any event. Kelly became so persistent that the post commander finally decided to let him start. He was furnished a pony, and, with the mail in a sack, he set out at dusk of a winter’s evening.
Starts for Fort Stevenson

Crossing the Missouri on the ice, Kelly succeeded in reaching the camp of the friendly Mandans at midnight. He tarried there but a few minutes, proceeding down the river. Two days later, he dismounted from his pony at the gate of Durfee & Peck’s trading post, 200 miles from Fort Buford. The appearance at this post of so young looking a lad, caused a real sensation, for it was a fact that not a single white man in that post would have dared to go forth on that treacherous river trail alone that winter.

The following evening the youth set out, and at daybreak of the next morning was within the stockade at Fort Stevenson, where he delivered the mail and dispatches to Colonel Philip Regis de Trobiand of Civil War fame. He remained but two hours, when, with fresh equipment, he started out on his return trip to Buford.

His Duel with Two Sioux Warriors

When about 50 miles above Fort Berthold, Kelly camped with the famous Arikara chief, Bloody Knife, who received the lad hospitably. All had gone very peaceably with the boy up to this time. He stopped at the camp of Red Mike, a fearless and famous hunter and trapper, and had proceeded from there about five miles when the very thing that the garrison at the fort had foreseen happened. Turning at a point in the trail, he came face-to-face with two mounted Sioux warriors. What ensued is best described by this intrepid old scout in his own words:

“On seeing me they at once dismounted, and apparently sat down beside a large cottonwood tree that stood near the trail. This did not strike me as unusual, as Indians often get down to smoke and chat when meeting friends on the road. Never-the-less, I drew my gun out of its case and checked the speed of my horse. When I had approached within about twenty or thirty yards they suddenly rose and fired at me, one with a shotgun and the other armed with a bow and arrow.

“At the same instant I dropped from my nag and fired quickly at the Indian who was running to the brush for cover. He never got a chance to empty the remaining barrel of his gun, for as he ran I fired at him without taking sight, as far as I knew, and he dropped, I had no idea that I had hit him, for it was a common ruse for an Indian to drop at the shot, and the brush concealed him. The uncertainty that he might pop up at any moment in my rear was a very disturbing factor during my engagement with his companion.

“At the outset when the Indian fired at me, my horse plunged, but I was already on the ground. I felt that he was hit, and later perceived that he had joined the other two horses. Now ensured a duel with the remaining Indian, who had quickly taken station behind the big cottonwood tree. I do not mind confessing that this duel had little charm for me. My opponent did not appear to have a gun, but from his vantage point behind the tree he would shoot an arrow at me whenever the opportunity presented itself. I had the bluff behind me, while for a background the Indian had the forest. Neither of us could retreat without presenting a mark for the other to shoot at, but I kept backing away, step by step.

“I think it must have been while I was dismounting that an arrow was sped which grazed the skin above my right knee, for it occasioned only a slight dull pain, which at first I scarcely noticed. This warrior had a fancy for exhausting my ammunition, for he would stick out his robe in the most enticing manner on both sides of the tree, and the moment my bullet shivered the bark, like a flash he would discharge an arrow. But his very action, which I watched closely, gave me the clew as to the proper moment or movement to dodge an arrow, so that presently, as I backed away, my course led me to where arrows were sticking in the ground on each side of my trail. This was kept up for some time.

“Once as I held the carbine poised ready to take aim, he watched me out of his snake-like eyes, and I had a good look at his malignant, treacherous face. He had a piece of wolf skin wrapped around his head and his body was hidden beneath his fine silky robe. Whenever I took aim he retired within himself, as it were, behind the tree. I was cool enough, my chief anxiety being in regard to the situation of the other Indian, who had disappeared at the shot; also the possibility that these two might be the advance of a war party. “‘Who are you?’ I demanded once during an interval.
“‘Ogallala me,’ he replied, but to further questioning he made no answer.

“I fell to studying the movements of his robe as he stuck it out to attract my fire and finally I managed to break his arrow arm by a well directed shot. He rushed toward me in fury and despair, attempting meanwhile to place an arrow in the string of his bow, but I dropped him in his tracks. During the encounter my horse had joined the Indian ponies, and the three animals were working around the hill out of sight. In the hope of detaining my mount, I fired at one of the Indian ponies before they were lost to sight. I was not disturbed at the thought of being set afoot so much, for I was young and lusty, and could make nearly as good time on foot as I could mounted, but the horse belonged to the government and I was accountable for him.
“The Indian lay sprawled at my feet, dead. I surveyed the situation and listened for sounds, for I was obsessed with the fear that there was a war party close by. I knew that not far up the river was a camp of friendly Indians with whom I had stayed on my way down. I longed for company. At last I turned and made for the stockade camp of Red Mike as fast as I could travel, looking back every moment expecting to see a bunch of mounted Indians in pursuit.”

Reaching Red Mike’s stockade, Kelly bathed his knee and prepared to continue his journey. With the old hunter, he returned to the scene of his affair with the Sioux, there to find both Indians cold in death. He went on to Buford, accomplishing the remainder of the journey without further adventure, finding upon his arrival that the news of his deed had preceded him, carried by Indian runners. His fame was established for he had singly handed killed two Sioux warriors. His standing at Fort Buford had become greatly changed; the Indians around the post admiring him so much that they named him “The-Little-Man-With-a-Strong-Heart.”

Fame meant little to this lad, however, and he soon tired of so prosaic a calling as “mail-carrying.” A restless nature beckoned him forth to new thrills, and the early summer finds him packing rifle and blankets into the wilds of the Yellowstone River valley. Here he spent months hunting and trapping, growing familiar with every mile of the valley and the valleys of the tributaries of that stream, even up to and beyond the great Crow country.

Surrounded by the Sioux

It was during the fall of 1869 that Kelly experienced another of his stirring experiences. He had stopped for a visit with some hunters and trappers at a point about 40 miles above the mouth of the Yellowstone. A party of Indians had been discovered a short distance off, and here is what this one-time habitue of the plans has to say of the incident which ensued: Print this post