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Title: The Story of Man In Yellowstone

Author: Merrill D. Beal

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Most recently updated: January 25, 2021

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF
MAN IN YELLOWSTONE ***

Greetings from Wonderland Park Naturalist Merrill D. Beal

THE STORY
of
MAN IN YELLOWSTONE

REVISED EDITION

THE YELLOWSTONE LIBRARY AND MUSEUM
ASSOCIATION
Yellowstone Park, Wyoming

A Yellowstone geyser in action

The Story
of
Man In Yellowstone
By
MERRILL D. BEAL
Seasonal Park Naturalist,
Yellowstone National Park;
Professor of History,
Idaho State College

Approved by the National Park Service
Yellowstone Interpretive Series
Number 7
Revised Edition
Illustrated
1960

Published By
The Yellowstone Library and Museum Association

Yellowstone Park, Wyoming

Copyright, 1949
By The Caxton Printers, Ltd.
Caldwell, Idaho

Copyright, 1956
By The Yellowstone Library and
Museum Association
Yellowstone Park, Wyoming

Copyright, 1960
By The Yellowstone Library and
Museum Association

Printed and bound in the United States of America
by the WHEELWRIGHT LITHOGRAPHING COMPANY,
Salt Lake City, Utah

To

The men in the National Park Service Uniform, protectors and interpreters of
Yellowstone. Indeed, to all National Park Service personnel and others who
subscribe to the purposes for which the area was reserved.

This book is published by the Yellowstone Library and Museum Association,
a non-profit organization whose purpose is the stimulation of interest in and
the furtherance of the educational and inspirational aspects of Yellowstone’s
history and natural history. The Association cooperates with and is
recognized by the National Park Service of the United States Department of
the Interior, as an essential operating organization. It is primarily sponsored
and operated by the Naturalist Division in Yellowstone National Park.

As one means of accomplishing its aims the Association has published a
series of reasonably priced books and booklets which are available for

purchase by mail throughout the year or at the museum information desks in
the park during the summer.

YELLOWSTONE INTERPRETIVE SERIES

Number Title and Author
1. Wild Animals of Yellowstone National Park by Harold J. Brodrick
2. Birds of Yellowstone National Park by Harold J. Brodrick
3. Yellowstone Fishes by James R. Simon
4. The Story of Old Faithful Geyser by George D. Marler
5. Reptiles and Amphibians of Yellowstone National Park by
Frederick B. Turner
6. Yellowstone’s Bannock Indian Trails by Wayne F. Replogle
7. The Story of Man in Yellowstone by Dr. M. D. Beal
8. The Plants of Yellowstone by W. B. McDougall and Herma A.
Baggley

Orders or letters of inquiry concerning publications should be addressed to
the Yellowstone Library and Museum Association, Yellowstone Park,
Wyoming.

7

PREFACE

Yellowstone National Park lives as a cherished memory in the minds of
millions of people. Greater still is the number who anticipate a visit to this
Wonderland. To nearly all, the Park stands as a symbol of the enrichment of
the American way of life. And well it might, because it is a geological
paradise, a pristine botanical garden, and an Elysium for wild game. But
most important of all, it is a place of recreation for countless thousands who
come to find a temporary escape from the pressure of a highly artificial life.
Thoughtful people assent to the opinion of Wordsworth:

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. —Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

After many years of indifference to the claims of nature, the American
people are coming into accord with the wise teachings advanced by John
Muir more than fifty years ago. Today, legions of tired, nerve-shaken, 8
over-civilized people realize that going to the mountains is like going
home. They have found a brief sojourn in the wilderness a necessity of life.
There is a balm in the sun, wind, and storm of mountain heights. There is
healing in willow parks and gentian meadows. Cobweb cares of the world’s
spinning give way before the vibrant touch of Mother Earth when her
children venture boldly into unbeaten paths. There they may attune their ears

to strange sounds; their lungs respond to pine sap air. Jumping from rock to
log, tracing rivers to their sources, brings men up from panting puffs to
deep-drawn breath in whole-souled exercise unto a newness of life.

The story of Yellowstone has been told many times, but seldom does one
catch that elusive something that so mightily impresses the sensitive visitor.
The theme is at once so inspiring and grand, the details so varied and minute,
as to challenge one’s finest discrimination to seize upon the major features
and bring them into relief. There is still much that is primitive in
Wonderland, and in this setting it is appropriate to envision the salient traits
of the Old West. Hereabouts was once enacted a colorful panorama of
frontier life. There were Indians, trappers, miners, cowboys, rustlers,
poachers, soldiers, and settlers. A description of these picturesque people and
their ways might bring enjoyment to many. Perhaps the spirit of appreciation
that characterizes this history is its chief claim upon the attention of
Yellowstone visitors.

This monograph was written for them, and it represents a synthesis of many
lectures that evolved in their presence, in the afterglow of Yellowstone
campfire programs. Visitors whose enjoyment of life seems particularly
enhanced by a visit to the Park may find the reason therefore in those lines:

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.
—WORDSWORTH

In the interest of economy of time in reading this history, it is suggested 9
that chapters three, four, and ten might be skimmed. However, a
knowledge of the Indians and trappers whose haunts and activities impinged
upon the Park area is essential to a full appreciation of Yellowstone National
Park in its western setting.

11

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Former Superintendent Edmund B. Rogers and Park Naturalist David de L.
Condon gave me access to the records of the Park. Their interest in
advancing the knowledge of Yellowstone has been keen and constant.

My Yellowstone Park ranger-colleagues also served as sources of
information and occasional critics. It is probable that each of them will be
able to identify an element of his own thought or expression in the narrative.
As my campfire lectures evolved into a unified monograph, guidance was
received from professional historians. They have been more critical than the
rangers but not less kind.

At the State College of Washington, Dr. Herman J. Deutsch and Dr. Claudius
O. Johnson made the college’s Northwest Collection available. They also
joined their colleagues, Dr. W. B. Thorson and Dr. C. M. Brewster, in
making many fine and comprehensive criticisms, which combined to
strengthen the narrative. Several of my colleagues at Idaho State College
gave direction and increased purpose to the discussion of conservation and
wild life principles. They are Dr. Ray J. Davis, Albert V. S. Pulling, and
DuWayne Goodwin. Dr. Carl W. McIntosh, president of the college, has
extended many courtesies. Professor Wallace E. Garets edited the
manuscript.

Former Yellowstone National Park Naturalist, Dr. C. Max Bauer, gave
encouragement from the inception of the study and reviewed the final draft.
Other National Park officials from whom wise council and valuable 12
suggestions were received include Dr. Carl P. Russell, former National
Park Supervisor of Interpretation, and Dr. Alvin P. Stauffer, Chief of
Research and Survey. The collaboration of J. Neilson Barry was invaluable
in the exposition of the discovery phase in the chapter on John Colter. J. Fred
Smith, Delbert G. Taylor, and Mr. and Mrs. George Marler have also given
material support to this effort.

The illustrations are principally the work of William S. Chapman, North
District Ranger.

The support of Yellowstone Park Superintendent Lemuel A. Garrison and
Chief Park Naturalist Robert N. McIntyre in bringing forth this Third Edition
under the auspices of The Yellowstone Library and Museum Association is
indeed appreciated.

Lastly, gratitude is due my wife, Bessy N. Beal, and our son, David, and his
wife, Jean, for the typing of the manuscript and for the rendering of much
additional service to this enterprise.
MERRILL D. BEAL

IDAHO STATE COLLEGE
POCATELLO, IDAHO
June 10, 1960

13

INTRODUCTION

It is interesting and significant that this book, telling the story of man in the
area of our oldest National Park, should be available soon after a season of
record-breaking public use of the area. During the travel year 1948, one
million thirty-one thousand five hundred and thirty-one people visited
Yellowstone National Park.

The discoverer of The Yellowstone Country early in the nineteenth century,
and re-discoverers through the years prior to 1872, as well as all visitors to
the Park before the advent of modern highways and automobiles probably
gave no thought to the reality and problems of a million visitors a year.

Dr. Beal’s well documented and carefully prepared book brings us through
the history of man in a wilderness, through that period of history before
annual visitation of a million visitors in that wilderness. Readers will find
the story of the before-one-million-visitors-years most interesting. It is a
period, especially since the establishment of the National Park in 1872, in
which we as a nation were experimenting for the most part in wilderness
preservation and, at the same time, encouraging its use. Dr. Beal’s book
covers a period in U.S. history when shameful exploitation of natural
resources was common practice. The preservation of The Yellowstone
Country as a National Park is an action during the period of exploitation, an
action of which we can all be proud. The story of man in Yellowstone is a
fascinating one. It can also be a challenge to everyone to assume
responsibility in continued preservation of Yellowstone National Park 14
so that future generations may benefit from all of the things that
unimpaired natural areas can offer by way of recreation, education, and
inspiration.

JOHN E. DOERR
Former Chief Naturalist, National Park Service

15

OUTDOORS

O, give me a bit of the great outdoors
Is all that I ask of you,
Where I may do whatever I like
And like whatever I do.

Where the sky is the boundary up above
And the earth is the measure below,
And the trail starts on where the sun comes up
And ends where the sun sinks low.

Where the wind blows sweet as a baby’s breath,
And the sun shines bright as its eyes,
And the showers come and the showers go
As the tears when the little one cries.

And the brook runs merrily through the glade,
Singing its gladdening song,
And the pine trees murmur their soothing sighs,
Still bearing that song along.

Yes, carry me back to the lake’s white shores
With its deer and its lily pad.
Where the loon calls out into the moonbeams bright
Through the mist on the waters sad.

Let me hear the elk’s far cry 16
As it sweeps through the forest deep,
Where the silence hangs as over the dead
At rest in eternal sleep.

I’ll pitch my tent by some lonesome pine,
By the rippling water’s edge,
With the great outdoors as my garden,
And the willows round as my hedge.

And surrounded by pretty flowers,
That perfume the gentle breeze,
I’ll idle away the whole long day,
In the shade of my old pine trees.

And I’ll watch on yonder mountain
The colors change with the day,
And I’ll follow each shadow creeping
So silently on its way.

And then I’ll give thanks to God above
And in gratitude I’ll pause,
And I’ll love, not hate, each care that comes
In that great big home—Outdoors.

—FRANK L. OASTLER

17

TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
Preface 7
Acknowledgments 11
Introduction 13
Poem “OUTDOORS” 15
Chapter I YELLOWSTONE—GEM OF THE MOUNTAINS 23
Chapter II JOHN COLTER’S FIRST DISCOVERY OF
YELLOWSTONE
30
Chapter III INDIANS IN AND AROUND YELLOWSTONE 59
Chapter IV PORTRAIT OF A TRAPPER BRIGADE 71
Chapter V WERE INDIANS AFRAID OF YELLOWSTONE? 84
Chapter VI SECONDARY VISITATIONS BEFORE 1869 92
Chapter VII JIM BRIDGER: MAN AND LEGEND 106
Chapter VIII FINAL DISCOVERY IN 1869 AND 1870 116
Chapter IX CREATION OF YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK 136
Chapter X THE LAST ROUNDUP 147
Chapter XI CHIEF JOSEPH’S TRAIL OF BLOOD 165
Chapter XII TRAVEL AND ACCOMMODATIONS—NEW
BUSINESSES
192
Chapter XIII “THE YELLOWSTONE IDEA” 219
Chapter XIV GENERAL ADMINISTRATION 238
Chapter XV THE NATIONAL PARK SERVICE 265
Appendix I. YOUNG MEN CAMPING IN YELLOWSTONE 281
Appendix II. PROBLEM OF COLTER’S ROUTE IN 1807 285
Bibliographical Note 299
Bibliography 301
Subject Index 310

19

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

A Yellowstone geyser in action frontispiece
Sacajawea with Lewis and Clark 33
Manuel Lisa’s fort built in 1807 39
Eastern section of Colter’s route 46
Map of 1814 depicting Lewis and Clark route 48-49
Colter and Potts under attack 53
Mountain Indian clan 62
Family of Sheepeater Indians facing 66
Beaver at work 72
Part of a trapper brigade 75
Gun and powder horn 79
Remnants of Sheepeaters’ wickiup facing 86
Horse and travois transportation 89
Trapper observing Riverside Geyser 97
Jim Bridger 109
Rare species of aquatic life 119
Bighorn resentful toward invaders 125
Part of Washburn-Langford-Doane party in camp 133
Dr. Ferdinand V. Hayden facing 136
The Hayden expedition in camp facing 138
President Ulysses S. Grant signing the Yellowstone National Park Bill 143
The iron horse in buffalo country—an early Wyoming scene facing 154
Strong medicine against the Indians facing 158
Chief Joseph, war chief of the Nez Percé 167
A general map of Chief Joseph’s flight 171
George F. Cowan stands up to Nez Percé warriors 174
Radersburg tourist party marker facing 173
Detail map showing Nez Percé movements in Yellowstone Park 179
Indian war club and peace pipe 191
Stagecoach 193
“Yankee Jim”—James George facing 198
“Uncle” John Yancey 203
Golden Gate drive 209

“Beaver Dick”—Richard Leigh—and family, 1871 facing 238
Superintendent Philetus W. Norris facing 240
Old Fort Yellowstone 243
Poacher caught in the act 249
Wild and dangerous despite appearances 255
Grizzly, king of the Rockies 257
Cavalry troops in Park patrol 263
Park ranger-naturalist and tourist group 271
Madison Junction Historical Museum 275
Park Ranger 278
APPENDICES
Young men camping in Yellowstone facing 282
Figure I. Yellowstone section of Colter’s route 287
Figure II. Western section of Colter’s route 289
Figure III. “Double-Entry” map of Yellowstone 293
Figure IV. A section of fictitious geography 295
Figure V. Western section of Colter’s route 297

21

THE STORY
of
MAN IN YELLOWSTONE
23

Chapter I
YELLOWSTONE—THE GEM OF THE MOUNTAINS

Yellowstone National Park was one of the last regions in the United States to
come into the scope of man’s knowledge. This fact is partly responsible for
its development as a wild animal retreat. Grizzlies and people do not go well
together under natural conditions. Yet nature has bequeathed a rare portion
of her treasure upon this enchanting land that forms the crown of the
Rockies. Within the confines of what the world calls Yellowstone the visitor
may find great and wondrous manifestations of natural handiwork. Indeed,
nature seems to have indulged in several grand orgies of creation. Here are
lofty mountain majesties and shining rivers of silver and green wind athwart
the heights and plateaus like living, breathing things. Everywhere the air is
pierced by lodgepole pines. Erect they stand, bristling with fierce
determination, while prone beneath their feet lie their uprooted brethren in
[1]
tangled disorder and various degrees of decay.

The whole plateau is dotted by myriad alpine lakes of surpassing beauty.
Surely it is comparable to a vast sponge which receives a five-foot mantle of
snow annually. From this precipitation sufficient water is derived to feed a
legion of springs and streams. “The altitude renders it certain that winter
comes early and tarries late; in fact, it is almost always in sight and 24
[2]
liable to drop in any day.”

Deep and delicately etched canyons involuntarily shock the visitor as he
views their kaleidoscopic grandeur. Massive mountains display their mighty
ramparts in a silhouette that is unmistakable and unforgettable. Indeed, some
of these serrated spires once served as pilots to the wayfarer; and Indians
[3]
named them “Pee-ah,” meaning large and permanent. So are they still,
mute testaments of the ages.

Surely such an impressive alternation of rivers, forests, lakes, canyons, and
mountains is in itself complete. Someone has said, “Yellowstone has

everything except a cave and a glacier.” Actually, there are caves and
glaciers in the Park’s environs, but the most unique feature of all this
Wonderland is its thermal activity. Thousands of hot springs and hundreds of
geysers reveal strange secrets of the inner earth. Mammoth Hot Springs
Terraces represents the actual process of a mountain turning inside out.

Yellowstone Park is roughly located between longitude 110° W. and 111° W.
and latitude 44° N. and 45° N. In respect to Wyoming, the Park is located in
the northwestern corner, encroaching slightly upon Montana and Idaho. The
area comprehends three thousand, four hundred and seventy-two square
miles, and the average elevation is eight thousand feet above sea level.
Occupying a central portion of the Rockies’ greatest girth, the Park’s scenic
position is most strategic. From the top of Mt. Washburn a majestic rock-
ribbed panorama is disclosed. It is indeed a vast area, surrounded by lofty
mountain ranges, some of whose towering peaks are reflected in Lake
Yellowstone. This comprehensive view reminds one of a gigantic
amphitheatre or, from another angle, a colossal orange juicer with the
Yellowstone River as its spigot. At the river’s outlet from the Park at 25
North Gate the elevation is five thousand, three hundred and fourteen
feet above sea level, whereas the maximum height of eleven thousand, three
hundred and sixty feet is achieved on the summit of Eagle Peak on the
[4]
southeastern boundary. Cartographers have segregated the most
conspicuous elevations into seven plateaus, three ranges, four ridges, and
[5]
several minor units of mountains and hills. Thirty-two mountain peaks
loom above the ten-thousand-foot level, and another six exceed the eleven-
[6]
thousand-foot scale.

The Continental Divide winds among the Park’s southern plateaus in the
manner of a serpent. From these circumstances, Yellowstone Park has
become truly the wondrous land of water and the source of that life-giving
liquid to lands hundreds of miles away in all directions. Nowhere else does
water so well display its varied charms. From the Divide’s snowy, timber-
rimmed pockets, icy rivulets flow into sylvan pools, thence to rushing rivers
with thundering waterfalls. Other water issues from steaming vents and

towering geysers connected with the earth’s internal heat and weaves
[7]
vaporous trails into streams called warm or fire rivers.

Great rivers have their origins in its alpine parks, from whence they follow
their devious courses to the several seas. Oh, the rivers of Wonderland, what
strength and beauty they possess! There is the Yellowstone itself, 26
arising upon Yount’s Peak and its vicinity among the high Absarokas.
It rolls northward through that vast lake of limpid blue referred to by the
natives as “the smile of the Great Spirit.” From the famous Fishing Bridge
outlet it flows tranquilly again beyond Hayden Valley, but soon it flashes
into milk-white cascades, a transitional phase of noisy preparation for its two
great falls. These awe-inspiring plunges are one hundred and nine and a
sheer three hundred and eight feet, for the Upper and Lower Falls
respectively. At each point the river’s mighty volume sets up an awful tumult
of sound, earth tremor, and spray in the immediate environs. The river’s
pulsating reverberation seems to follow its imprisoned rush along a tortuous
path for many miles toward the Missouri.

Another stream arises in the southeast corner of the Park that possesses equal
might and great utility. By the natives it was known as “Pohogwa,” or river
of the sagebrush plains. The French called it La Maudite Riviere Enragee,
meaning accursed, mad river, but American frontiersmen renamed it the
[8]
Snake. The latter name lacks something of the romance in the others but
aptly describes this stream which everywhere exhibits some characteristic of
reptilian behavior.

Two other interesting rivers arise in the Park and join a third a hundred miles
beyond the northwest boundary of Yellowstone. The Madison’s tributaries
derive from meadowlands beyond Upper Geyser and Norris Geyser basins.
[9]
The Madison is a moss-bottomed stream with lusty aquatic life. The
Gallatin, which heads in the range of the same name, has a dashing manner.
It has carved its way among forests both living and petrified. Each river
follows a parallel course until they merge with the Jefferson at Three Forks.
As the triumvirate roll away together, one remembers the unity and 27
friendship that characterized the three men for whom they were named.

Other sinuous streams are the tuneful Bechler, laughing Lamar, and
sculpturing Shoshone. These streams possess attractions that appeal to
fishermen, hikers, photographers, and artists. In Yellowstone, the two-ocean-
drainage courses are almost as intricate and snug as a child’s hands folded in
prayer. At either Isa Lake, or Two Ocean Pass, a pebble tossed in one stream
would start vibrations upon the “water-nerve endings” of Atlantic and
Pacific river systems. In fact, the Yellowstone country is the apex of North
America; it is essentially the Great Divide.

Yellowstone’s summer climate is invigorating and delightful. Frequent, but
fleeting, rainstorms tend to modify the prevailing atmospheric aridity.
Evenings and nights are invariably cool. The highest temperature ever
recorded at Mammoth was 92.4°, while the lowest on record was 66° below
zero. This record low was taken at Riverside Station near West Gate on
[10]
February 9, 1933.

Such is the physical setting of this mountainous country. Its western slope
was called the land of “Ee-dah-how.” This was a Shoshone exclamation that
means “Behold! the sun is streaming down from the mountain tops; it is
[11]
sunup, time to get up!”

It is expedient that a brief review of early American history should be given
as a setting for the major interests in the drama of Yellowstone. The history
of Wonderland falls logically into three periods: Archaeological
characteristics and association; Modern discovery and exploration;
Development as a pleasuring ground by the United States Government.

The greater part of the Yellowstone area was a part of the Louisiana
Purchase, whereas that portion under the Snake River drainage appertained
to the great Pacific Northwest. All of the territory involved once belonged to
Spain. However, the Spanish claim was relinquished in a series of 28
treaties beginning with San Ildefonso in 1800, wherein the province of
Louisiana was retroceded to France under the dictation of Napoleon
Bonaparte. The balance of Spanish interests above the forty-second parallel
was extinguished in favor of the United States in 1819.

American acquisition of Louisiana from France grew out of several
considerations. The frontiersmen of the Ohio Valley were chafing under
foreign commercial restrictions at New Orleans. The officials of the
government were distressed at the prospect of having the strong-willed
Napoleon as a neighbor. President Jefferson cogently expressed the general
concern by saying, “... from this moment we must marry the British fleet and
[12]
nation.” However, the alarm was soon dispersed by an eminently
successful negotiation. Jefferson had instructed Robert Livingston, the
American Minister to Paris, to buy New Orleans and West Florida. The early
part of the spring of 1803 found Napoleon hard pressed for money and
disgusted with native resistance against his government in Haiti, led by the
remarkable Negro, Toussaint L’Ouverture, whom Bonaparte called the
“gilded African.” By March, Napoleon realized that the Peace of Amiens
was about to be ruptured and war with England resumed. In these
circumstances he decided to dispose of his American holdings. This notable
decision was effected while His Imperial Majesty was taking a bath.
Consequently it was one of the cleanest decisions that he ever made! It was
then that the “Little Corporal” directed J. M. Talleyrand to say, “What would
[13]
you give for the whole of Louisiana?” Livingston, who was a trifle deaf
anyway, could hardly believe what he heard. After some parleying the deal
was closed by Livingston and Monroe for $15,000,000; of this amount
$3,750,000 was diverted to American citizens to meet private claims against
the French government. Livingston showed prophetic insight when he 29
said to Monroe, “We have lived long, but this is the noblest work of
[14]
our whole lives....” More than a dozen states have been carved out of the
827,987 square miles. It is probable that Old Faithful Geyser alone is worth
far more than the original purchase price, should good taste allow an
assignment of monetary value to such a natural wonder.

Notwithstanding the marvels of this alluring land, Yellowstone lay dormant,
forbidding and inhospitable, until the last quarter of the nineteenth century.
Why was its call to conquest so long unheeded? Seldom has an area so long
ignored made such a phenomenal rise to fame. The answer to this question is
fully explored in this narrative.

30

Chapter II
JOHN COLTER’S DISCOVERY OF YELLOWSTONE

It is a fairly well-attested fact that America was first discovered by Leif
[15]
Ericsson about 1000 A.D. However, as Mark Twain put it, “America did
not stay discovered,” and therefore Columbus is not to be denied. So it was
with Yellowstone. The most significant feature of its early history lies in the
inconclusive nature of the early reports concerning its position and character.

Yellowstone’s isolation was not effectively invaded and broken until the
decade of 1860. This narrative will explain how early, trapper observations
drifted into oblivion, and later, miner excursions faded into indifference.
Hence, the first conclusive visitations were those made by the Folsom-Cook
party in 1869 and the Washburn-Langford-Doane Expedition of 1870. Why
did Wonderland remain unknown to the world so long? Surely the answer is
found in its relative inaccessibility. Yellowstone is a sequestered region,
mountain-locked by the Absaroka, Teton, Gallatin, Beartooth, and Snowy
ranges. Here, then, is a plateau a mile and a half above sea level, encircled
by a still loftier quadrangle of rocky barriers. Some of these culminate in
peaks and ridges that rise 4,000 feet above the level of the enclosed table
land.

Of course there were a few yawning, ever-difficult canyon approaches, 31
cut by foaming mountain torrents and several high, snow-choked
passes suitable for late summer use. However, they were far removed from
the principal arteries of pioneer travel, and they still remain apart from the
main avenues of trade. Even now, these same bulwarks of nature, and their
concomitants of snow and wind, exclude traffic from the region for half the
year. Consider, then, the situation when all travel was on foot or horseback,
and bases of supply were far away from all approaches to this mountain
crown. Adequate mountain exploration necessitated large parties and
elaborate outfits in the middle nineteenth century.

From these circumstances it is easy to understand why Lewis and Clark
missed Yellowstone. They adhered quite closely to the Missouri River

thoroughfare. However, as an incident of an extensive side trip on their
return, Clark and a detail of ten took an alternate route that eventually
brought them upon the Yellowstone River near the present site of Livingston,
[16]
Montana. Previously, while at Fort Mandan, they had learned that the
Minnetaree Indian name for the river was “Mitsiadazi,” which means Rock
Yellow River. The French equivalent, Roche Juane, was also in common use
among the Indians and trappers, although when or by whom the name was
given is unknown. American trappers called the river “Yallerstone!” A
segment of the stream was trapped in 1805 by Antoine Larocque’s party of
North West Company trappers. They struck the river at a point twenty
[17]
trapping days above its mouth, which was reached on September 30.

The fact of the name’s currency is further attested by Patrick Gass’ 32
significant journal entry on July 1, 1806: “Perhaps Capt. Clarke [sic]
who goes up the river here, may also take a party and go down the Riviere
[18]
Juane, or Yellowstone River.” Beyond the Indian stream names, little
information concerning the area was ascertained by Lewis and Clark at that
time.

While Lewis and Clark did not add any knowledge of Yellowstone Park to
their epic-making report, still it was a member of the party who first viewed
its exotic beauty. However, before delineating Colter’s discovery, the picture
of the Park’s isolation should be explored further.

The first thrust toward the Yellowstone country was made by the French
explorer de Verendrye, who came near the northeastern border in 1743 when
he crossed the lower Yellowstone River, leaving Wonderland still
[19]
undiscovered.

By 1810, the Missouri Fur Company established posts on the mouths of the
Bighorn and at Three Forks of the Missouri. Notwithstanding these
locations, there was little penetration of the “top of the world,” as the Crow
Indians called the Yellowstone country. Blackfoot Indian hostility forced the
abandonment of the post at Three Forks and in the fall of 1810, Major
Andrew Henry, one of the partners, led a small party into the Pacific Ocean
drainage. They went up the Madison River, thereby skirting the Gallatin

Range which bounds the Park on the west. They crossed a low pass and
came upon a beautiful lake. Henry’s name was given the lake (Henrys Lake)
and also to its outlet (Henrys Fork of the Snake River), which they followed
about forty miles below its debouchment into Snake River Valley. In a
pleasant spot some four miles below the present St. Anthony Falls they
erected Fort Henry, but they did not prosper there and, feeling discouraged
and insecure, abandoned that post. In 1811, Henry released his trappers, and
while they returned to the east by various routes all of them missed the
[20]
Yellowstone region.

33

W. S. Chapman
Sacajawea with Lewis and Clark.

34

As Henry’s men circled eastward a much larger expedition was threading its
course between the Wind River Mountains and the Tetons. In 1811, Wilson
Price Hunt led the “Overland Astorians,” a band of sixty trappers, toward the
Pacific. They reached Henry’s deserted post early in August. It is probable
that a member of this party inscribed a rock “calling card” that reads: “Fort
Henry 1811 by Capt. Hunt.” This marker is now included in the historical
collections of the Yellowstone Park museums. It was found at the fort site in
1933 and donated to the museum by Seasonal Park Ranger-Naturalist Merrill
[21]
D. Beal. Hunt’s party unfortunately decided to switch from horses to
hurriedly-made canoes, which were launched upon Snake River near the
fort. The hardship, privation, and recurring peril experienced by this band
are among the most severe ever encountered by civilized men. Although they
were obliged to separate into three groups in order to subsist each part
finally reached the mouth of the Columbia. In 1812, a smaller party called
the “Returning Astorians,” under Robert Stuart, probably discovered South
[22]
Pass.

Notwithstanding the extensive peregrinations of these splendid wayfarers,
Lewis and Clark, Andrew Henry, and Wilson Price Hunt, Wonderland, large
though it is, remained a place apart. Only one white man had been 35
sufficiently venturesome to gain entrance into the enchanted land.

John Colter was the son of Joseph and Ellen Shields Colter. He was born in
[23]
or near Staunton, Virginia, probably in 1775. Little is known of Colter’s
youth except that the family moved from Virginia to the vicinity of Mayville,
Kentucky, when he was about five years old. As John grew to manhood it is
evident that he possessed a restless urge to be in the wilderness. An
unparalleled opportunity to satisfy this desire came upon the arrival of
Captain Meriwether Lewis on his voyage down the Ohio River. From this
contact Colter joined the Lewis and Clark Expedition at Louisville,
[24]
Kentucky, on October 15, 1803. The following spring they were on their
way up the Missouri. Doubtless he was already experienced in woodcraft
and the use of firearms. Strong, active, and intelligent, he soon won the rank
and privileges of a hunter.

Colter’s fitness for the business of exploration was early recognized and
[25]
universally accepted. For two years he shared the expedition’s many trials
and triumphs, but they had obviously failed to satisfy his desire for
adventure. Before the explorers returned, intrepid fur traders were moving
westward along the great Missouri artery as was their custom. Two
Illinoisans, John Dickson and Forest Hancock, were encountered west of the
Mandan Indian Villages in what is now the state of North Dakota. They had
high expectations of fortunes in fur, and from them Colter caught the
trapping fever. This was early in August of 1806. They evidently recognized
John Colter as a man after their own hearts and offered to furnish him 36
an equal share of their supplies. Then, and there, they became boon
companions, and Colter requested an honorable discharge from government
service. This wish was granted with the understanding that no one else
[26]
would request such consideration.

The government party gave their comrade powder, lead, and other articles
that would be useful to him. Is this not evidence that he was in the best
possible standing with the company? Indeed, he was an admirable
embodiment of the American scout. He was a person of sturdy, athletic
frame, above the average height. He was physically quick, alert, enduring, a
fine shot, the ideal frontiersman. His greatest asset was an extraordinary
coordination of thought and action. This balance, combined with an
abundance of energy, made Colter particularly dynamic. Patient and loyal, he
performed his duties faithfully. In tribute to him a creek tributary to the
Clearwater River, near Lapwai, had already been named Colter Creek. In
numerous references to him his associates did not once hint of any mean or
selfish act. He was constantly possessed by good temper, and he was of the
[27]
open-countenanced Daniel Boone type cast. Surely Colter was fully
qualified for high adventure because he was, indeed, a two-fisted man with
the sinews of a bear and the surefootedness of a cougar. He was wholly
unafraid of wild animals, savages, or elements.

From August until the spring of 1807, this trio of Dickson, Hancock, and
Colter trapped and traded along the upper Missouri. Then Colter gathered his
pelts and started for St. Louis in a canoe. At the mouth of the Platte River,

[28]
toward the end of June, he met Manuel Lisa. They also struck up a
friendship and bargain. Colter was still set for adventure and his new 37
friend had such an assignment. In this meeting the strongest and
boldest of the early American trappers of the West met the greatest
Missourian trader. Upon hearing Manuel Lisa’s plans, the travel and
weatherworn Colter turned westward for the second time, as a member of
the Lisa party.

Manuel Lisa proposed the establishment of posts on both sides of the
Continental Divide. His plan was to send men along the course of every
stream and out among the wandering tribes of Indians, until the commerce of
the entire country was in the control of the Missouri Company. He had with
him some of the most intrepid Kentucky and Tennessee hunters, rawboned
backwoodsmen with their long-barrelled flintlocks, which they usually
carried across their knees while on the boat. It was a larger undertaking than
any before, and he needed fighters who were experienced and daring from
the start.

As they neared the mud-hutted village of the Arickaras the warriors swarmed
forth but soon backed up before the leveled muskets of Lisa’s hunters. The
traders went ashore and smoked the pipe of peace with the chiefs. This
heretofore warlike tribe thereupon became temporarily pacified and sought
presents and traffic in scarlet cloth and trinkets. The trappers purchased
ponies from these Indians and struck westward toward the Yellowstone
Valley. In amazement they viewed the bad lands on the north of the Bighorn.
The party arrived at the mouth of the Bighorn River on November 21 and
began the building of Fort Raymond, usually called “Manuel’s Fort,” which
[29]
was their first trading post. They feared the Blackfeet Indians and
considered it expedient to abide temporarily in the land of the friendly
Crows.

According to the authoritative report of Henry M. Brackenridge, Colter was
appointed to carry the news of this undertaking to all the Indian tribes 38
[30]
in the south. Since this is an original reference to Colter’s
assignment it should be quoted:

He [Lisa] shortly after despatched Coulter [sic], the hunter ... to bring
some Indian nations to trade. This man, with a pack of thirty pounds
weight, his gun and some ammunition, went upwards of five hundred
miles to the Crow nation; gave them information, and proceeded from
[31]
thence to several other tribes....

Thus, this rugged and dynamic man, now in his early thirties, entered the
wilderness on foot and alone, into an area unknown to his race. The journey
was a simple business enterprise. As he journeyed southward, he contacted
the many Crow clans.

Although practically everyone assumes that John Colter discovered
[32]
Yellowstone National Park in the early winter of 1807-08, few realize that
there is no conclusive evidence to support the claim. Therefore, a review of
the proof is essential. The record is brief: Colter did leave Fort Manuel
[33]
(Raymond) in the fall of 1807. Yet the direction he took is not definitely
mentioned, and no incident was specifically recorded of any unique
visitation. Still, soon after this journey, Colter related strange tales of weird,
[34]
natural phenomena. Few of the stories he told were chronicled in detail.
However, it is a matter of record that he claimed to have seen a large
[35] [36]
petrified fish nearly fifty feet long, numerous hot springs and geysers,
and a great lake.

39

Manuel Lisa’s Fort built in 1807.

Evidence that Colter saw a geyser basin is flimsy indeed. 40
Notwithstanding the uncertainty of Colter’s large travel experience, it
is obvious that somewhere, sometime, he saw something that impressed him
mightily. He must have waxed enthusiastic, because his recital evoked so
much ridicule from the trapper fraternity. For a half a century, everywhere in
the West, the mountain men argued and joked pro and con about the
mythical marvels of “Colter’s Hell.” By 1837, the story had become
common knowledge by reason of the following reference in Washington
Irving’s first edition of The Adventures of Captain Bonneville:

A volcanic tract ... is found on ... one of the tributaries of the Bighorn....
This ... place was first discovered by Colter, a hunter belonging to Lewis
and Clarke’s [sic] exploring party, who came upon it in the course of his
lonely wanderings, and gave such an account of its gloomy terrors, its
hidden fires, smoking pits, noxious streams, and the all-pervading “smell
of brimstone,” that it received, and has ever since retained among trappers
[37]
the name of “Colter’s Hell.”

Irving’s description is significant because it is evidence of the “Colter’s
Hell” tradition current at that time. However, the location assigned is
incorrect. No gloomy terrors or hidden fires exist on Stinking Water (now
Shoshone River). As in other explorations of the Colter case, Irving 41
made guesses and assumptions.

Nothing has ever been found that states precisely when or where Colter saw
the wonders of Yellowstone. Yet, the fact persisted that sometime between
1806 and 1810, somewhere between the Jefferson and Shoshone rivers he
saw them! And strange enough, in the fullness of time, his spacious claims
were wholly vindicated. This strange circumstance, therefore, presents the
student of early Western exploration with one of the most difficult problems
in regional history. Does the full discovery of Yellowstone Park in 1870, ipso
[38]
facto, prove the tradition of John Colter’s earlier visitation?

In the Colter case there are only two elements of primary evidence. First, it
is a matter of record that he made a journey from Fort Manuel in the fall of
1807 and subsequently returned with an astonishing story of natural
wonders. Secondly, a famous map was published in 1814, based upon the
compilations of Lewis and Clark. Upon this Map of 1814 appears a dotted
[39]
line marked “Colter’s Route in 1807.” It is generally assumed that the
dotted line actually marks the route of Colter’s journey from Fort Manuel.
Although the route charted cannot be accepted literally, it is an important
documentary link, worthy of the utmost study. There is little upon the map
that would confirm the existence of Yellowstone’s marvels beyond the
phrases “Boiling Spring,” and “Hot Spring Brimstone,” but every trapper
encountered boiling springs and waters impregnated with bubbling gases
having sulphurous odors. These were not unusual. Hence, there is 42
nothing indicated along that dotted line that would guarantee anything
[40]
extraordinary.

Still, the known facts of Colter’s journey toward the headwaters of the
Bighorn in the fall of 1807 and the representation of his extensive
exploration to the west, a part of which is now Yellowstone National Park,
upon the Map of 1814 is highly significant. For one thing, it proves that

[41]
William Clark, who supplied the map sheets to Samuel Lewis, the
Philadelphia cartographer, was particularly impressed by Colter’s journey,
otherwise it would not have been incorporated upon this very important
document.

According to this map, John Colter traveled in a southwesterly direction
[42]
from the mouth of the Bighorn River. He must have mapped the area
because his route cast of the Absaroka Range (Yellowstone’s eastern
boundary) conforms so accurately with existing geographic conditions that
his journey to the Park’s border may be followed like tracks in the snow.
From Fort Manuel he ascended Pryors Fork some fifty miles to Pryors Gap.
[43]
Passing through this opening, he crossed westward to Clarks Fork, which
he ascended to Dead Indian Creek. From there he evidently quartered a
divide to the south, which brought him upon a river called Mick-ka-appa,
where he first smelled sulphur. So he renamed the stream Stinking Water
River. It is known today as the North Fork of Shoshone River. In ascending
this stream, Colter quickly gained elevation, and in a hanging valley about
midway up the range he found a clan of Indians for whom he was obviously
searching. On the Map of 1814 they are identified as “Yep-pe, Band of
Snake Indians, 1000 Souls.”

From these denizens of both prairie and mountain, Colter undoubtedly 43
first learned of the Yellowstone marvels. The acquisition of this
interesting information at a point in relatively close proximity to the features,
together with other favorable conditions, impelled him to project an
exploration of the “enchanted land.” After listening to eloquent descriptions
of the natural phenomena nothing could be more natural than for such an
adventurous explorer to experience an intense desire to visit the country.
Remember, his mission of informing the clans concerning the establishment
of Fort Manuel at the mouth of the Bighorn River had been performed. Now
he was on his own with leisure time on his hands. Although the season was
advanced, late November often finds the Park open for travel. Tribal
accounts describing a vast wilderness of multiform grandeur made the
restless trapper burn with curiosity. One can easily envision him weighing
the factors of distance, time, and the known hazards, until he struck a
favorable balance. His sign talk in council with the chiefs could probably be

sifted out and summarized in these terms: “Less than two hundred miles ...
the trails are known by your scouts, and they are still open.... A matter of five
or six suns ... your horses are fat and strong ... game is plentiful.... Well,
what are we waiting for?”

Such an appraisal of the situation is in complete accord with the known
realities. Colter was an experienced explorer; he knew how to conduct an
expedition. This procedure eliminates the element of foolhardiness so
conspicuous in the usual picture visualized of a solitary trapper on
snowshoes, wending an uncertain course among river labyrinths running in
various directions, mountain ranges of interminable lengths, and gargoylian
lakes. Instead, the enterprise now conforms to a standard characteristic of
Colter’s levelheaded courage and judgment. Of course he may have gone
alone and on foot, but if so why, after leaving the Yellowstone country, did
he depart from the straight-of-way down Clarks Fork toward Fort Manuel
and head back to the Yep-pe village as the map so clearly shows? 44
Logic insists that Indian scouts were with him, or at least that he had
borrowed a horse from them, which he was obliged to return. Thus, Colter’s
famous journey into the land of scenic mystery was efficiently accomplished
late in November. With the aid of Yep-pe Indian leaders, if not under their
guidance, he had gone where no white man had ever been before, and he still
reached Manuel’s Fort in good season, or else the Map of 1814 would not
have been inscribed “Colter’s Route in 1807.”

But, where precisely in Yellowstone Park did Colter travel? This question
poses an extremely difficult problem in research. (The serious student will
find the many ramifications involved in the problem explored more fully in
the Appendix.) Unfortunately the dotted line appearing on the Map of 1814,
marked “Colter’s Route in 1807,” is of no help whatever in answering the
question. In fact, the map complicates the problem because the geography
depicted on the western loop, or so-called Yellowstone Park section of the
map, is wholly fictitious. Unlike the valid section east of the Absarokas, the
western section bears no similarity to anything in Yellowstone Park,
Wyoming, Idaho, Montana, America, the world, or the moon! It is, in fact, a
plat of bogus geography comparable only to the kind found in Jonathan
Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels. In short, it is obvious that “Colter’s Route in
1807,” beyond the Yep-pe village, was not properly described because it
depicts him as visiting the drainage of all the river systems within a radius of

five hundred miles of that Indian encampment. The most obvious errors in
that part of the map which impinges upon the western section of this so-
called “Colter’s Route” are:

(1) Three Forks are shown to the northeast instead of northwest.

(2) Lake Biddle, usually identified as Jackson Lake, could only be Brooks
Lake and be on the Bighorn drainage. Jackson Lake lies due south 45
about fifty miles, on the other side of the Continental Divide.

(3) The Rio Del Norte (Green River of the Colorado) is far and away to
the south. It is grotesquely misplaced.

(4) The South Fork of Snake River is not depicted, neither is the Jackson
Lake area.

(5) Upper Yellowstone River is not shown, and Lake Eustis (presumed to
be Lake Yellowstone) is fantastic in all respects.

In view of these egregious errors it is a monumental mistake to insist, as so
many authors in effect have done, that Colter was a human helicopter who
hopped all over the Rocky Mountains in connection with his Yellowstone
exploration. Actual geography and common sense prove that he could not
possibly have made such an extensive journey, particularly so late in the
season. Just as certainly, geography and common sense attest that in
traveling a normal western loop essential to yield conformity with the map’s
[44]
figure eight Colter would have seen precisely the type of country the Map
of 1814 does not depict, but which, nevertheless, is actually there! A normal
half circle would have brought him upon the Upper Yellowstone River,
South Fork of Snake River, Yellowstone Lake, and the thermal areas at
Thumb of Lake and Hayden Valley. These paint pots, hot springs, and
geysers, particularly Dragon’s Mouth and Mud Volcano, satisfy the
descriptions he made and easily meet the requirement of the terms on the
map, “Boiling Spring,” “Hot Springs Brimstone,” and also Washington
Irving’s reference “... of gloomy terrors, hidden fires, smoking pits, noxious
streams....” In effect, these areas alone would qualify as “Colter’s Hell.”

46
J. N. Barry
Eastern section of Colter’s route.

A true sketch of the Cody, Wyoming, area as it is mapped today.

The east sector of Colter’s route as depicted on the Map of 1814. Note the
conformity with actual geography. The only material difference is in names.

It is now possible to accurately sketch both parts of Colter’s famous 47
journey. Firstly, from Fort Manuel he reached the Yep-pe Indian camp
and returned to the mouth of the Bighorn River where Fort Manuel was
built, exactly as the map depicts. It is because of the accuracy of this section
of the Map of 1814 that Colter’s Yellowstone course may be now traced like
tracks in the snow. Secondly, from the Yep-pe Indian camp, Colter ascended
“Elk-Wapiti Creek” to its source; then crossing a range he came upon a
[45]
mitten-shaped mountain, which he labeled “fossil.” From this landmark
he probably descended Pass Creek to Thorofare Creek, which he followed to

the Upper Yellowstone River. Then he ascended Atlantic Creek and crossed
the Continental Divide at Two Ocean Pass. From here he descended Pacific
Creek, skirted Big Game Ridge, and crossed the South Fork of Snake River,
within the present confines of the Park. Thence, along Chicken Ridge, from
whence he could frequently view South Arm, he headed toward Flat
[46]
Mountain Arm, crossed Solution Creek, and struck West Thumb. The
validity of this itinerary is wholly sustained by the genuine features of this
area as they appear upon the Map of 1814. Indeed, the route seems obvious
and indisputable in view of the actual conditions existing. There are
alternative routes within certain limitations. On a crude map where there are
[47]
numerous similar streams various combinations are possible.

48

Section from map of 1814 depicting Lewis and Clark route. Its legend reads:
“A map of Lewis and Clark’s Track, Across the Western Portion of North
America, From the Mississippi to the Pacific Ocean; By Order of the
Executive of the United States in 1804, 5, 6. Copied by Samuel Lewis from
the Original Drawing of Wm. Clark.”

Leaving West Thumb, Colter circled the Lake to its outlet and followed 50
it to the Hayden Valley thermal area. Dragon’s Mouth and the Mud
Volcano were undoubtedly features contributing to the impression he carried
away and transmitted to others. Even the “Hot Springs Brimstone”
characterization on the Map of 1814 mildly suggests violent thermal activity.
[48]
The phrase also suggests that Colter mapped a geyser basin.

Colter’s return route from Hayden Valley supplies the final link in the figure
eight. To reach the Yep-pe Indian camp he might have veered to the
northeast, crossed Yellowstone River at a ford below Dragon’s Mouth, and
ascended Pelican Creek or one of the tributaries of the Lamar River. After
crossing the Absarokas, he evidently descended one of the creeks that empty
into Clarks Fork. No one on earth can be certain about this part of his
journey. There is no reference anywhere, and the Map of 1814 gives no clue.
Still, he did reach a tributary of Clarks Fork, which he followed to its
junction with Dead Indian Creek, thence to the Yep-pe band. As stated
above, Colter left the Yep-pe village in returning to Fort Manuel by a
different route than the one that brought him there. This fact, together with
his return to the Yep-pe Indian camp, is of the first importance in assessing
the validity of Colter’s Yellowstone discovery.

While Colter’s journey in Yellowstone proper was not comprehensive, still
he was definitely oriented and reasonably precise. Truly, Colter crossed the
eastern and central parts of Yellowstone’s Wonderland, and he observed its
features closely. Companions were duly apprised of these marvels. Members
of the Lisa party thereafter referred to the region as “Colter’s Hell.” In May,
1810, when he reached St. Louis, William Clark was officially informed. It
was then that Clark believed in Colter’s story and passed it on to Nicholas
Biddle and Samuel Lewis who were in Philadelphia. Notwithstanding 51
considerable misapprehension as to facts, Colter’s journey was

nevertheless depicted after a fashion on the remarkable Map of 1814. Upon
this evidence alone, John Colter became accredited as the first white man to
enter the Yellowstone Park country, hence its first discoverer. Here, indeed,
was a man worthy of making a great discovery. He was a dreadnaught, if
there ever was one; completely self-reliant; unafraid of forests, deserts,
rivers, or mountains, including all of their denizens; yet withal, a serious-
minded person of integrity. He is entitled to everlasting credit in the field of
western geographical exploration.

Eventually, Colter found himself back in Lisa’s Fort. He had discovered the
interesting Two Ocean Pass across the Rocky Mountains into the Snake
River drainage. He was the first white man to touch upon the northeastern
perimeter of majestic Jackson Hole country. Then, as the climax of all, he
was the first to climb still higher and gaze upon the marvels of a never-to-be-
forgotten land. Has it ever been the fortune of any other man to explore such
a vast domain of virgin territory? It is a strange paradox that, accustomed as
mountain men were to impressive manifestations of nature, Colter’s relation
of Yellowstone’s wonders only won him the distinction of a confirmed
[49]
prevaricator.

While Colter’s experience after 1807 has little bearing upon the history of
Yellowstone, it is a part of the heritage of the Old West and therefore
[50]
essential for the unity of the narrative. In the autumn of 1808, 52
Colter and a companion named Potts invaded the hunting grounds of the
Blackfeet Indians in the vicinity of Three Forks forming the Missouri. Early
one morning they were setting a line of traps along either the Jefferson,
Madison, or Gallatin rivers, about a day’s travel from their point of junction.
[51]
As they were silently paddling the canoe, they heard a resounding noise
that resembled the muffled pounding of feet. Colter was apprehensive about
Indians, and since perpendicular banks obstructed their view he advised
hiding. However, his impulsive companion accused him of cowardice; why
run from buffalo? Almost within the moment a band of “Black Devils” burst
through the thicket into full view. Colter kept cool and rowed for the bank.
As they drew closer to the enemy, Potts dropped his paddle and picked up
his rifle. This gesture was interpreted as an act of defiance by the Blackfeet
braves. A stalwart savage leaped into the water and snatched Potts’ rifle out

of his hands. Whereupon, with an air of mastery that Indians respect, Colter
stepped to the bank, wrested the weapon from the warrior’s grasp, and
returned it to Potts.

53

W. S. Chapman
Colter and Potts under attack.

The Blackfeet were now swarming through the brush, but Colter, calm 54
and poised, raised his hand palm forward in the peace signal. Potts,
now convinced that flight was the only hope, nosed the canoe toward mid-
stream. Suddenly a bowstring twanged, and Potts cried out, “Colter, I’m
wounded.” Colter urged him to come ashore, but instead he leveled his rifle
at an Indian and fired. Instantly a score of arrows entered his body or, in
Colter’s language, “he was made a riddle of,” and he slumped lifeless in the
[52]
canoe. Calm and flintlike Colter stood his ground. As the chief sized up
the situation, a dozen warriors identified the survivor as the white man who

[53]
raised havoc among them in a battle with a band of Crow Indians. This
knowledge caused the braves to clamor for setting him up as a mark to shoot
at, but their chief interfered. He stood in great dignity and said, “This is a
[54]
brave warrior. We will see how bravely he can die.” Then, seizing the
victim by the shoulders, he asked him if he could run fast. To this query
Colter replied with a chop-fallen air that he was slow. Actually, he was an
excellent sprinter. Several hundred Indians swarmed about, working up their
emotions toward the victim. First they denuded him, then motioned him to
move forward perhaps a hundred yards, from whence he was signalled to run
toward a “v” shaped open prairie of some six miles expanse. Colter had
drawn a chance to save himself if he could! He accepted the challenge and
resolved to make the most of it. As the war whoops sounded, Colter was
away with the dash of an antelope. He bounded and ran until his lungs
burned within him, and he ruptured a blood vessel in his nose. On he sped,
mile after mile, until the chorus of Indian yells grew fainter and fainter. All
of Colter’s muscles cried out for a moment’s respite. He looked around and
beheld a spear-armed warrior some twenty yards behind him, coming fast to
split him in two. Upon impulse, Colter whirled in his tracks, and running
obliquely, gave the signal for mercy. The reply was a thrust spear, but the
brave made a false step, stumbled, and fell. He was obviously astonished at
Colter’s gory appearance. The badly launched spear struck in the ground and
was broken off. In a surge of hope and strength, the powerful Colter lunged
like a stag at bay, and overpowering the Indian, he seized the barbed half and
impaled his fallen foe to the earth!

If the Blackfeet had possessed a spirit of chivalry they would have 55
called quits to this ordeal by running and combat. Here was a man who
had outrun the cream of the redskin sprinters and, unarmed, had slain an
armed warrior. Surely such a performance should have won the captive’s
freedom. But the Blackfoot code made no allowance for heroic behavior in
the enemy.

On came the braves, more ruddy than usual by reason of their exertions and
more fleet than normal because of the caliber of the quarry. Colter needed no
spear now; he fairly vaulted until he gained the river bank, and diving into
the stream he concealed himself under a jam of driftwood or beaver dam that
impinged upon an island. Here he secreted himself while they howled and

thrashed about for hours, yelling, as Colter said, “like a legion of devils.”
When darkness came, like an angel of mercy, he dragged his aching body
from its watery prison, silently swam across the river, and started the second
[55]
excruciating lap in his race for life. Manuel Lisa’s Fort was two hundred
miles away.

After seven days of hiding and nights of painful travel and exposure he
found his way through Bozeman Pass and eventually reached the fort at the
mouth of the Bighorn. During this “ordeal by travel” he had no sustenance
[56]
other than roots known as psoralea esculenta, or sheep sorrel. Again there
was momentary disposition among the trappers to question Colter’s veracity,
but the evidence was unimpeachable, and it was written plainly where all
might see. He seemed only a shadow of his former self.

According to James, even this terrible experience did not daunt the lion-
[57]
hearted trapper, “Dangers seemed to have for him a kind of fascination.”
Colter could not reconcile himself to the loss of the traps he had 56
dropped in the river during the attack. Soon after his recovery, he
ventured again into the forbidden Three Forks region. At his first night’s
camp he was attacked, but he contrived to escape. Whereupon, he vowed to
[58]
his maker that he would never return.

Acting upon this resolution Colter started his third voyage down the
Missouri. While he was resting in one of the upper Minnetarre villages,
probably in September of 1809, Manuel Lisa arrived. The Three Forks
country was his destination and Colter must show him the way.

By midwinter a strong detachment was on its way, headed by Pierre Menard
as bourgeois commander, Andrew Henry as field captain, and John Colter as
guide. The party arrived at Three Forks on April 3, 1810 and built a post.
Within a fortnight the Blackfeet attacked. Five trappers were killed, and
most of the horses and equipment disappeared. It was a crushing blow to the
enterprise, and for Colter, the final straw. James states that Colter came into
the fort, spoke of his promise to God, repented of his foolhardy return, and
said, “If God will only forgive me this time and let me off I will leave the

[59]
country day after tomorrow and be d——d if I ever come into it again.”
Several days later he and a companion slipped through the Indian lines and
in due time reached Fort Manuel. From there the two men departed for St.
Louis in a dugout and reached that frontier capital on the last day of May.
They had negotiated the distance of 2,500 water miles in the incredible time
[60]
of thirty days. Is it any wonder that other trappers referred to “Colter’s
large experience”?

For over five years he had been among barbarian people, and of certain
torments he had more than enough. His life had been one of hard toil 57
and high adventure; now he would seek peace and quiet.

Captain Meriwether Lewis had passed away, but William Clark was a person
of authority. He was Brigadier General of Militia and Superintendent of
Indian Affairs. To Clark, Colter gave geographical data, a part of which
appeared on the map published in 1814 in the Biddle-Allen edition of the
journals. Colter was unable to collect the wages due him as a member of the
famous expedition so he brought suit against the Lewis estate and secured
partial compensation. His trapping claims for services to Thomas James
were unavailing as the latter could not collect from the fur company. While
in St. Louis attending to this vexatious business he undoubtedly related his
experiences to General William Clark. The latter, in turn, passed the story
along to John Bradbury, the English scientist, and James M. Brackenridge,
an American author. Such men accepted his report at face value. Concerning
[61]
him, James wrote, “His veracity was never questioned among us.” Lesser
people were more incredulous, and Colter’s reputation suffered accordingly.

Colter took up a tract of bounty land on the south bank of the Missouri in the
vicinity of Dundee village, Franklin county. There the great wanderer, with
his bride Sally, turned to the prosaic routine of farming. Wilson Price Hunt’s
expedition found him there and offered him a position as guide. Bradbury
said he accompanied them for several miles, balancing in his mind the
charms of his bride against those of the Rocky Mountains. However, the life
of steady habits won, but not for long, as he died of jaundice in 1813.

During the subsequent half century Colter’s reputation evolved by 58
degrees through the following stages: bare-faced prevaricator, devil-
take-care mountain roamer, accidental discoverer of Yellowstone National
Park. From the present perspective he appears much more than a scout and
explorer. He was something of an economist and prophet, because he is said
to have told Henry M. Brackenridge that where he had been, “a loaded
[62]
wagon would find no obstruction in passing over the Rocky Mountains.”

On Yellowstone maps a single conspicuous feature commemorates Colter’s
work. It is Colter’s Peak near the southeastern point of Yellowstone Lake.
May it ever stand aloof, towering and quite inaccessible; a fitting monument
to a gallant scout. Such a man should never be forgotten because he was
master of the untamed West.

59

Chapter III
INDIANS IN AND AROUND YELLOWSTONE

A description of the Indian background is an integral part of all early
American history. An appreciation of the “Old West” is impossible without
an understanding of the Indian problem.

Yellowstone was not the original homeland of any distinct Indian tribe. In
comparatively recent time, probably about 1800, it became the refuge for a
small and degenerate band of Tukuarika, or sheep-eating Indians. They had
formerly lived in the Montana and Dakota country but had been driven into
seclusion by the powerful Blackfoot nation. The several branches of
Shoshones residing in Yellowstone environs were Bannocks, Snakes,
Tukuarikas, and Flatheads. The Crows came from other Indian sources. All
of these Indians possessed certain racial characteristics of the red race. In
view of various conflicting ideas, a few observations about the people as a
whole are expedient.

Indians are human beings possessing the sensibilities and emotions of white
men. However, their manner of living and conception of life has been
relatively low. Even so, it is difficult to generalize upon them as a people. As
Chief Washakie once said, “Indians very much like white men—some good,
some bad.” It is generally conceded that they were proud, so haughty in fact
that they lacked that quality of mind so essential to progress or adjustment,
humility or teachability. They could not learn because they would not admit
that they lacked anything. They were the “chosen people.” Originally 60
they looked upon the hard-working white people as slaves and referred
to them by no other name.

As a rule Indian braves were arrogant lords, not to be degraded by menial
toil. It was enough for them to expose themselves to the hardships of
fighting and hunting. They would proudly bring home the trophies of war
and the hunt. They were also diligent in caring for their weapons and horses
in preparation for future exploits. Much leisure time was expended upon
personal ornamentation and in talking about the news of the day and affairs

of the tribe. The Indians’ inordinate pride was revealed in every movement.
The men in particular possessed a free and easy bearing. This natural grace
of action was probably facilitated by their practice of living in a semi-nude
[63]
condition.

Indians were much more cunning and adroit than the wildest game. They
were fleet and stealthy, deceitful and cruel. To gain an advantage over prey
or an enemy by strategy was their greatest joy and constituted the primary
requisite for leadership. To be mentioned by one’s tribesmen as a great
warrior or a cunning horse thief was the highest ambition of an Indian, and
many were past masters at both these hazardous hobbies. The greatest
among them was the one with the most “coups” to his credit, such as scalps,
stolen horses, and captured enemies. Making coups entitled the brave to
wear an eagle feather in his hair and emblazon it upon his robe; by this token
[64]
he was distinguished for heroic action.

On the whole they were revengeful and vindictive. If an injury, real or
fancied, were done to them by a particular person, it was a solemn duty to
retaliate either against him or someone else. Many cases can be adduced to
sustain this principle. In 1809, a trapper named Carson accepted a 61
banter from a band of Arickaras to shoot among their enemy Sioux,
who were across the Missouri a half mile away. The reckless trapper shot
and killed one of the Sioux warriors. The following year three white men
were slain by the Sioux to expiate this crime. The Indian code demanded
blood for blood, the more the better. They were seldom inclined toward
chivalry; mercy had no part in their code. It was hard, relentless, and
primitive. By the strong hand they lived, and by the strong arm only were
they awed. Forays, feuds, battles, that was the life! They painted, dressed,
danced, and prayed for war.

And yet, in a way, they had poetic souls. The beauty and grandeur of nature
revealed itself in their dignified bearing. Many were majestic in appearance,
poised of manner, and eloquent in speech. Some of them were gifted
storytellers who entertained their hearers. Others were great speakers who
instructed them in the legendary lore of the tribe. Still others were artists,
musicians, skilled artisans in many lines; and there were medicine men.

Tribal organization was based upon the family unit, which was
monogamous, except in the case of the chief men who usually had several
wives. The chief’s lodge occupied a central position in the village, with other
leaders’ abodes surrounding. The women, too, observed a style of dress in
keeping with their respective stations. Heredity in leadership was unknown;
men became chiefs by reason of their cunning and courage in war, wisdom
[65]
in council, and generosity toward the tribesmen.

In the matter of economics most mountain Indians were novices. It is
undoubtedly true that early American settlers received important initial aid
from the Indians in raising crops. They taught the whites how to raise the
very products that still constitute the backbone of American production:
maize, potatoes, tobacco, cotton, squash, and beans. But instead of 62
improving along with the settlers, they generally preferred the ways of
their fathers. They did not lack the means for the production and
preservation of food so much as the energy and ability to anticipate future
necessity.

In the Rocky Mountains, where nature was quite inhospitable (without
irrigation), the natives were even less thrifty than elsewhere. When food was
plentiful they would gormandize to the uttermost, living contentedly. When
confronted by famine they would languish in starvation. Natural forces
battered them roughly. There was fasting, but there were buffalo brains and
tongues too—earth’s supreme dish!

W. S. Chapman
Mountain Indian clan.

The women and girls were practically slaves to their husbands and brothers.
They were inured in hardships and possessed much forbearance and self-
denial. Their homemaking work was arduous. They dressed all game and
gathered nuts, berries, fuel, and roots. They made bows, arrows, lodges,
travois, and clothing. The packing and moving, striking lodges and general
[66]
routine was women’s work. There was never the slightest disposition to
complain among them; in fact, they were inclined to despise a brave 63
who departed from the usual patterns. He would be called “old
woman” and his squaw, if any, often received a castigation. Maidens were
required to be modest, wear robes at all times, and look seriously upon life.
Marriages were arranged by parents with the consent of near relations. The
desires of the young people were given consideration, if reasonable, but the
decision was made by the girl’s father.

Meat was the mainstay of life among Indians, and a considerable supply was
available before white men came. In spite of inadequate weapons, the
natives had numerous effective methods of securing wild game. Most
hunters were masters of what was called the cabalistical language of birds
and beasts. By this means they were able to approach many animals closely
and slay them. Bison were sometimes driven into natural arenas where a
gory slaughter ensued. Occasionally these great beasts were maneuvered into
[67]
runs, from which they were stampeded pellmell over a precipice.
Generally they were simply chased and shot down at full gallop. This
procedure required great dexterity in loading and discharging weapons. Of
course the hunter’s full attention was given to the target because his hunting
horse took care of himself. He anticipated every move of the prey. With eyes
flashing, nostrils distended, and foam flowing from his mouth, the trained
steed sprang after the deceptive buffalo in swift execution of his master’s
will.

The war horse was even more highly prized than a hunter. Animals of exotic
appearance had double or treble value over ordinary steeds and were claimed
by the chiefs. The proud warrior went to as much pains to adorn his horse as
he did himself. Nothing could induce him to neglect or mistreat his favorite.

In their palmy days, the Indians largely confined their efforts to pursuit of
big game. In later years they had reluctant recourse to smaller animals.

Rabbits were encircled—sometimes by a chain of fire. Ground 64
squirrels were drowned out, and all types of animal life were utilized
for food. The products of the buffalo, deer, elk, antelope, goat, bear, beaver,
and numerous small animals and fish gave them strength for the pursuit of
more game and the enemy. Many different combinations of meat, roots, nuts,
and berries were known to the Indians. Pemmican was a mixture of pounded
dried meat, grease, and service berries. When properly prepared and packed
[68]
in skins this food would keep indefinitely.

The camas and yamp plants were the Indian’s bread. These roots are about
an inch in diameter, and they have a sweetish taste while fresh, but they are
more palatable when baked in earthen ovens. Either of these roots contains
nutriment sufficient to support life, and often mountain Indians were obliged
to subsist on this slender fare.

From a white man’s viewpoint the dominant element in Indian religion was
superstition. A stark animism prevailed in every cult. They believed that the
different animals had either good or evil spirits and that they should be
revered or feared according to their nature. The sun in particular was an
object of worship. Each young man diligently sought his own strong
medicine. The ritual varied but usually involved solitude, exertion, fasting,
and extreme exposure. During this vigil the youth received a new name and
a symbol of power. In due time these signs of maturity were manifest among
the tribe and a status therein was secured.

Illness and death were attributed to the influence of evil spirits. The chief
remedy for sickness was the sweat house. This was a mystic shrine both for
temporal and spiritual blessing. The health seekers would rub their bodies
with the tips of fir boughs, and thus the steam would effectively penetrate
their bodies in a few minutes. Several sweats, each followed by a dip in a
stream, constituted a bath, except when the spiritual interest predominated.
In that case the votary might remain in the sweat house for hours or 65
even days.

In respect to amusement Indians had unusual interest. That they were stoical
at all times is an erroneous idea. They laughed and joked and engaged in
[69]
many games. Their singing was largely extemporaneous, accompanied by

instruments of the crudest type. A horse race had tremendous appeal for the
“bucks,” who sometimes gambled away everything they possessed,
including their wives and children. In general, the social life of Indians was
notable for its excesses. Certain seasonal festivals were held in which the
element of worship was interwoven with hilarity. Before going upon a hunt
the Indians were wont to clothe some of the hunters in hides of the game,
buffalo, or elk. These “bucks” would then cavort around in the manner of the
game desired. In all this there was an air of expectancy and supplication.

Smoking was another semi-sacred ceremony by which oaths and agreements
were secured. A ritual was usually observed. They relied heavily upon
innumerable supernatural symbols and routines.

Such were the general characteristics and customs possessed by all of the
mountain Indians. A marked degree of differentiation among them would
justify a brief description of each. Of course these differences are only
apparent to the discerning eye. Factors of physiognomy, dress, and speech
[70]
are recognizable upon close observation. However, it is not an easy
matter to express these different characteristics in words.

The Bannocks (also Bannacks)— This name is derived from the Shoshoni
word “bamp,” which means “hair,” and “nack,” which signifies “a backward
motion.” It is also said that these Indians made cakes from acorn flour,
pulverized grasshoppers, and currant jelly which so resembled the Scotch
bannock cake in shape and flavor that some Scotch trapper applied this 66
name to the tribe. There were approximately two thousand Bannocks
in 1810, and they claimed the country southwest of Yellowstone. It was this
tribe which made a deep trail across Yellowstone in going to and returning
from their buffalo hunts. Bannocks were tall, straight, athletic people,
possessed of more physical courage than most Indians. In a defensive way
they were the most warlike of all Indians.

The Shoshoni or Snake Indians— This tribe of natives lived in the upper
Snake River Valley. According to Alexander Ross, the Snake Indians were so
named because of their characteristic quick concealment of themselves when
discovered. “They glide with the subtility of the serpent.” However, Indians
[71]
interpreted the word “Shoshoni” as meaning “inland.” Father DeSmet

stated: “They are called Snakes because in their poverty they are reduced
like reptiles to the condition of digging in the ground and seeking
[72]
nourishment from roots.” They lived in peace with the Flatheads and Nez
Percés in the north and were at war with the Blackfeet, Crows, Bannocks,
and Utahs. The Snakes were dependable participants in the trappers’
rendezvous so often held in the Green River Valley in the second quarter of
the nineteenth century. TyGee was a leading chief during much of the
nineteenth century. The Targhee Forest was named after this Snake chieftain.
They were a short, very dark, heavy-set people, with small feet and hands
but large chests and shoulders. Their disposition was quite peaceful and
friendly toward other people, although they were very suspicious. They were
excellent horsemen and good fighters when aroused. The whole nation
consisted of about a thousand, but it was broken into bands, some of which
were vital and murderous while others, such as the “Diggers,” were
degraded and impoverished. Their great and constant occupation was to
obtain food, and they were disposed to eat almost anything.

Photo by W. H. Jackson
Family of Sheepeater Indians

Tukuarikas or Sheepeater Indians— “Tuku” means “mountain sheep” 67
and “arika,” “eat,” or “Sheepeater.” They were a slender, wiry people
who possessed neither ponies nor firearms but used bows and arrows
effectively. They wore furs and skins and lived among the rocks in the
Gardner River canyon in Yellowstone and in the Salmon River Mountains of
central Idaho. There were some two hundred Indians in the Yellowstone
tribe. Their main support was from game and fish. These Indians did not
possess any distinctive culture of their own, but, hermit-like, they seemed
concerned only to carry on by themselves until further notice.

The Flatheads— This tribe lived in western Montana. The Flatheads roamed
the prairie between Glacier National Park and the Bitter Root Range. Lake
Flathead was their favorite rendezvous. These Indians supposedly derived
their name from an ancient practice of shaping or deforming the head during
infancy. However, in 1830, Ferris claimed that not one living proof of that
practice could be found among them. They called themselves “Salish” and
spoke a language remarkable for its melody and simplicity. They were noted
for humanity, forbearance, and honesty. They were certainly one of the few
tribes in the Rocky Mountains who could boast that they never killed or
robbed a white man nor stole a single horse.

The Blackfeet— This was a branch of the great Algonquian Nation. They
were the Ishmaelites of the west; indeed, they were the most “teutonic” of all
American Indians. Their hands were against every man, and the hands of all
[73]
men, both red and white, were against them. Their habitat was the Marias
River Valley in Montana, but they were known as the devils of the
mountains and prairies. All who knew them agreed with trader Bird’s 68
observation made to Kenneth McKenzie: “When you know the
Blackfeet as well as I do you will know that they do not need any
inducements to commit depredations.” They were always hostile and
predatory, and their wanderings were most extensive. The tribal name,
meaning “Siksi,” “black,” and “kah,” “foot,” alluded to feet made black by
roving through the ashes of regions devastated by fires. The Blackfeet were

great meat eaters and because of their energy they were generally well
supplied. They had horses and guns from an early time, and they wore
leather clothing, often highly decorated with beadwork.

The Absaroka or Crow Nation— Absaroka means sparrow hawk. The name
was derived from a species found in Mexico. Does that imply a southern
origin? Surely the name suggests their nefarious traffic in stolen horses.
They would steal them on one side of the range and dispose of them on the
[74]
other. This was the strongest band of mountain Indians. That is to say,
Crowland was a transitional area that skirted the east slope of the Rockies
along the Yellowstone and Bighorn rivers. Therefore, these people were
masters of both plain and defile. They were notorious travelers. They roved
in several villages of six or seven hundred each. In fact, the phrase “all-
pervading Crows” implies the character of their winging flight from
mountain to prairie. Indeed, they prided themselves upon their superiority
over all other nations. The men were tall, active, intelligent, and brave. They
had a particular penchant for adornment. Rows of elk’s teeth trimmed their
garments. Men wore long hair; women, short. They referred to themselves as
“Absaroka” with great esteem. The tribal slogan was “Bac’ dak Ko’m Ba
wiky,” meaning “While Crow live, Crow carry on.”

They were a well-disciplined people. Women were given a voice in council
but were most noted for their industry and skill. According to Warren 69
A. Ferris, Crow women were notoriously unfaithful, which, if true, was
measurably contrary to the general condition among Indians. Among the
men lust for fame was the end and purpose of life. Crow war psychology
was a blend of cruelty, vanity, greed, foolhardiness, and magnificent
courage. Old Sapsucker was the most famous Crow Chieftain. He won this
distinction by many years of fighting. Horses were at once their passion and
glory. Even infants of two years could ride, while older youths rode horses
that careened and dashed up and down among the most dangerous places.
The nation of 3,500 people owned some 10,000 horses. Adult Crow
horsemen were unexcelled. They combined agility and dignity to an unusual
degree. Mounted on fine-mettled animals, without saddle or bridle, and
bounding bare-bodied over the prairie in the panoply of speed and power,
they were fine pictures to behold!

Crows made free booty of everything that chanced in their way. Horses in
particular were the objects of their depredations. They developed astonishing
skill and audacity in capturing them. As horse thieves they were world-
beaters. “No legislative body on earth ever made an appropriation with half
the tact, facility, and success.” The following represents the mature judgment
of James Stuart:

One thing is certain: They can discount all the thieves I ever saw or heard
of; in short, they have to be seen to realize their superiority over all
thieves, either white, red, or black, in the world. They would steal the
[75]
world-renowned Arabs poor in a single hour.

Other mountain Indians whose activities had less bearing upon the
Yellowstone area were the Herantsa or Gros Ventres. They referred to
themselves by the former name; whereas the latter was a French designation.
Of course, it was inappropriate because they did not have large paunches.
Their homeland was the Wind River range.

East of Wind River lies the Laramie Plains, and there lived a band 70
named Cheyennes. They were civil, well-behaved people, cleanly in
their persons and decorous in their habits. The men were tall and vigorous,
with aquiline noses and high cheek bones. Some were almost as naked as
ancient statues and might well have stood as models for that purpose.

East of the Crow and Cheyenne homelands ranged various divisions of the
great Siouan family. The Sioux of Dakota, Arapaho, Omaha, and Mandan
were the most distinct clans on the near-eastern slope of the Rockies. These
tribes were typical of the plains Indians and as mutually hostile as any of the
[76]
others.

Indian proper names were more appropriate than those given by the settlers.
Some of the latter were commonplace, stupid, and, at times, ribald. The
aboriginal tribes sensed the magnificence of nature. Therefore, their
characterizations were both significant and euphonious. Montana was
derived from “Tay-a-be-shock-up,” “country of the mountains” or “land of
the everlasting hills.” Wyoming means “land of shining prairies.” Utah

means “the home of the high-ups,” and Idaho, “sun descending upon the
mountains.”

All in all, the Indian regime of life was a curious blend of love and hate, of
work and warfare. Indian life had as many facets as there were periods,
places, and tribes involved.

71

Chapter IV
PORTRAIT OF A TRAPPER BRIGADE

The character of the barbarian elements that encircled the Yellowstone area
has been given. Their position was sufficiently menacing to prevent
penetration of the continental crown except by a chosen few. The relation of
the trapper’s activity to the Park can only be appreciated by an examination
of the subject himself.

The Rocky Mountain fur trappers were a distinct group. They were just as
singular in dress, interests, skills, and general characteristics as the cowboys
and miners who succeeded them. When was their genesis and exodus? It
falls entirely within the scope of nineteenth century history. Hence, the
record is clear; it has few legendary figures. However, a generalized
characterization would seem appropriate. Their predecessors were the earlier
explorers of several nations, French, Spanish, English, with a sprinkling of
other races. All of these elements pressed ever westward, chained by neither
time nor distance. In their migrations from Kentucky to the River of the
West (Missouri) excitement had become as necessary as life itself;
adventure, as the breath of their nostrils. Until 1810 those woodsmen found
hunting and trapping on the plains sufficiently challenging, but after the
return of Lewis and Clark they donned buckskin suits and moved into the
Rockies. From these shining mountains they were not to emerge until they
learned by heart the geography upon the sundown side of the wide Missouri.

The French couriers of the woods were best endowed by nature for this 72
roving life. Their easygoing temperament inclined them toward song
and laughter. Their courage and gallantry adorned the barren path of life
with the varied hues of their mercurial spirits. They never failed to adjust to
the circumstances at hand, and the speculative character of enterprise could
not wear them down. The Englishman had the necessary foresight and
tenacity to effect such an organization and procedure as best calculated to
bring adequate financial returns.

Beaver at Work.

However, the supreme mountain scouts were of American vintage. The best
in the west were cool, longheaded, deadly-shooting backwoodsmen from
Kentucky and Virginia. They had what it took to deal with Indian treachery,
wild beasts, and constant danger in a thousand forms. The fur business
demanded men of great force and energy. Hence, the successful trappers
were hard-working, hard-fighting men inured to hardship and 73
exposure. Their vanity was in fast riding, straight shooting, prowess in
trapping and trailing, and enduring privation without wincing. However,
most of them were capable of complete relaxation in the fashion of drinking
and gambling. In fact, they were “white Injuns” and proud of the same class
of achievements. The tides of trapper fortune were capricious. One year they
rolled with promise; the next were empty as a beach. The competition was
always keen, and they were ever on the move. “Old Roustabout,” “Perpetual
Motion,” “Never Quit,” and “Knock ’Em Stiff Hawkeye” were current
nicknames in the Order. Some of them became veritable walking maps
possessed of uncanny perception of distance, condition, and landmarks. All

this knowledge was susceptible to sudden erasure by one deft blow of a
tomahawk. Surely every trapper fully understood the meaning of the old
Hudson Bay Company motto, “A skin for a skin.”

The passing of time, together with kindly, indiscriminate sentimentality
toward the lore of the Old West, has enveloped all of her buckskin-fringed
denizens in an enchanting blanket of romance. Legend endows them with a
uniform mantle of heroism and self-sacrifice. No great effort ought to be
made to drag frontiersmen from these generous folds of fiction, because such
a course might evoke the other extreme of shouting “Ichabod.” However, a
correct comprehension of reality should be the intelligent observer’s
constant aim.

Tramping this western wilderness was hardy-man’s-pie, and one may search
in vain for “cream puffs” in the trapper fraternity. Among this advance guard
of the human flood were turbulent spirits. Surely persons of the wild and
reckless type have their place in pioneering the way for the more conforming
populace. Although they were generally of a kindred spirit, no company
personnel ever conformed to a particular type. Indeed, a more heterogeneous
assemblage could not be imagined. Some were cross-grained and lazy; some,
young or superannuated; others, half-breed and faithless—a real 74
challenge to the leadership of their employer. In time the ordinary men
were weeded out, but those remaining were still as diverse as humans could
be.

However, it was not as conscious agents of civilization that these rowdies
entered the west. They reacted to the eternal impulse of personal curiosity
and profit. For such ends they willingly perambulated the dreariest wastes,
always at home, living from meal to meal, from day to day. Chance and
danger were their daily lot and they gained the rare capacity to accept
whatever came with good graces. Pleasant experiences produced rollicking
good humor; hardships and trying scenes were soon forgotten. They became
absolutely fearless, for destruction stalked them on every side in the form of
famine, blizzard, wild beasts, and wilder savages. Death was a constant
threat, but its grimaces only tended to develop men of nerve and hardihood
who delighted in reckless feats. The trapper’s universal insensibility to
danger proves that the human mind, habituated to constant risk, becomes
callous like the body subjected to exposure. There was the hazard of

perishing from hunger and thirst, of being cut off by war parties of the Sioux
who scoured the plains, of having their horses stolen by Absarokas who
infested the skirts of the mountains, or of being butchered by the Blackfeet
who lurked among the defiles.

Trapping did not require literacy, but skill was indispensable to success. The
trapper had his A-B-C’s to master. Any neglect of these lessons was at his
peril. They were fur, meat, and danger. Signs of beaver, buffalo, and Indians
must be read with the utmost accuracy. How did he perfect his craft?

Beginning with the objects about him, the trapper observed everything
minutely. He learned to read the meaning of a turned leaf, a broken twig, and
the behavior of domestic and wild animals. He achieved an intimate
association with nature, and she talked to him. Not only did he form
indelible impressions of topography by discerning senses, but he talked
about them around the campfire. Each trapper learned from the others. One
referred to this process as the Rocky Mountain college course.

75

W. S. Chapman
Part of a Trapper Brigade.

By reason of such apprenticeship frontiersmen were able to 76
differentiate buffalo and grizzlies at astonishing distances. They read
the clouds, understood bird flights, and sensed ambuscades. Practiced eyes,
ears, and noses enabled them to classify Indians as to tribe, place, and even
intent. They could converse with the representatives of many different
nations and tribes. A smattering of French, Spanish, and several Indian
languages—supplemented by signs—made conversation possible under all
circumstances.

The trapper was not always at liberty. There were organization
responsibilities. The fur brigade was under strict discipline. A junior partner
in the company was usually in charge, and he was the law. There was a semi-
military set of regulations regarding division of work; guard duty was

rigorously enforced; efficient service and prompt obedience were required of
every trapper.

Sometimes terrific exertion was involved in reaching a given trapping
ground at the most opportune time. Upon one occasion Alexander Ross
fairly forced his caravan to cleave a road through a snowbound pass. Said
he:

Making this road through the snow (seven feet deep) took the united
labour of fifty men and 240 horses, with all the other available means
within our power, for twenty-one days. It must be allowed to have been an
arduous undertaking, with such a medley of people and so difficult to
manage; and more so, when it takes into consideration that our supper at
night depended on the good or bad luck of our hunters during the day. To
[77]
their exertions and perseverance, indeed, no small merit was due.

Such a time of travail was enough to elicit an occasional prayer from these
sons of the wild. Men of few words, they could say what was needed in
simple eloquence:

Oh, God, may it please Thee, in Thy divine providence, to still guide and
protect us through this wilderness of doubt and fear, as Thou hast 77
done heretofore, and be with us in the hour of danger and difficulty
as all praise is due to Thee and not to man. Oh, do not forsake us, Lord,
[78]
but be with us and direct us through.

One of the greatest among trappers was brigade leader Jedediah Smith,
sometimes called “The Knight in Buckskin.” Carrying a Bible and a rifle, he
was equally proficient with each and had complete reliance upon both.

Mr. Ross has left a fine description of trapping routine:

A safe and secure spot, near wood and water, is first selected for the camp.
Here the chief of the party resides with the property. It is often exposed to
danger, or sudden attack, in the absence of the trappers, and requires a
vigilant eye to guard against the lurking savages. The camp is called
headquarters. From hence all the trappers, some on foot, some on

horseback, according to the distance they have to go, start every morning,
in small parties, in all directions, ranging the distance of some twenty
miles around. Six traps is the allowance for each trapper; but to guard
against wear and tear, the complement is more frequently ten. These he
sets every night, and visits again in the morning; sometimes oftener,
according to distance, or other circumstances. The beaver taken in the
traps are always conveyed to the camp, skinned, stretched, dried, folded
up with the hair in the inside, laid by, and the flesh used for food. No
sooner, therefore, has a hunter visited his traps, set them again and looked
out for some other place, than he returns to the camp to feast and enjoy the
[79]
pleasures of an idle day....

In this account there is an element of suppressed excitement and danger.
Taking game is invariably a thrilling experience. Besides that, the covetous
savages were frequently so menacing as to require almost constant vigil
along the trap line. Trapper camps remained stationary only so long as two-
thirds of the men were getting satisfactory results.

Setting beaver traps involved keen judgment, a deft touch, and precise 78
arrangement. Indeed, it was a considerable art. Joe Meek left an
accurate picture of his technique:

He has an ordinary steel trap weighing five pounds, attached to a chain
five feet long, with a swivel and ring at the end, which plays round what is
called the float, a dry stick of wood about six feet long. The trapper wades
out into the stream, which is shallow, and cuts with his knife a bed for his
trap, five or six inches under water. He then takes the float out the whole
length of the chain in the direction of the center of the stream, and drives
it in, so fast that the beaver cannot draw it out; at the same time tying the
other end by a thong to the bank. A small stick or twig, dipped in musk or
castor (found in certain glands of the beaver) served for bait, and is placed
so as to hang directly above the trap, which is now set. The trapper then
throws water plentifully over the adjacent bank to conceal any footprints
or scent by which the beaver would be alarmed, and, going to some
distance, wades out of the stream. In setting a trap, certain things are to be
observed with care; first, that the trap is firmly fixed, and at proper
distance from the bank—for if the beaver can get on shore with the trap,

he will cut off his foot to escape; second, that the float is of dry wood, for
should it not be, the animal will cut it off at a stroke, and swimming with
the trap to the middle of the dam, be drowned by its weight. In the latter
case, when the hunter visits his trap in the morning, he is under the
necessity of plunging into the water and swimming out, to dive for his
game. Should the morning be frosty and chilly, as it very frequently is in
the mountains, diving for traps is not a pleasant exercise. In placing the
bait, care must be taken to fix it just where the beaver, in reaching it, will
spring the trap. If the bait stick be placed high, the hind foot of the beaver
[80]
will be caught, if low, the forefoot.

Each trapper had two horses, one to ride and one to carry his trapping
equipment and furs. Sometimes good fortune yielded a fur harvest that
exceeded the trapper’s carrying capacity. In that case he employed a device
called a cache. A dry spot of earth on an incline was selected, well-
camouflaged from Indian view. A hole large enough for a man to crawl into
was then dug. As depth was attained it was widened to the desired 79
proportions. Furs well wrapped would keep indefinitely in a properly
constructed cache.

Essentials in the trapper’s equipment were a bowie knife, ammunition, a
hatchet, a revolver, and a rifle. The trapper’s powder horn and bullet pouch,
with flint and steel and other “fixins,” were thrown over his left shoulder.
These articles were his constant companions, ever ready for action.

W. S. Chapman
Gun and Powder horn.

Wearing apparel was pretty much standardized—a five-piece suit of
buckskin, including smoked skin moccasins which would not shrink from
the frequent wettings incident to the trapping season. The pants, shirt, long

coat, and hat were made of the same material. Fringes at the seams gave a
dash of ornamentation and hastened drying. Clothing was mostly
“homemade” during the wintertime.

These accouterments were not only durable, but they were comfortable as
well, and they were pleasant to the eye. That the latter item was a
desideratum there can be no doubt. Indian maidens were fair to behold, and
after all the trapper was human.

This phase of the trapper’s life was cogently summarized by one observer:

From all that I hear I conclude that in the palmy days of the fur trade, the
bands of white trappers in the West were little more than bands of white
Indians, having their Indian wives, and all the paraphernalia of Indian life,
moving from place to place, as the beaver became scarce, and subsisting
[81]
like the Indians upon the products of the country.

Squaw men were both numerous and respected. Lisa, Bridger, Provot, 80
Ogden, Meek, Carson, Rose, McKenzie, and Beckwourth were wise
and judicious men. They well knew the utility of the willing, efficient, and
respectful Indian women for their own sakes. Then, too, there were political
considerations which account for the fact that in some cases several squaws
were taken at once, or in rapid succession. Marriage has always been
employed as a means of ingratiation by the outsider. It may be said to their
credit, with a few exceptions, genuine mountain men were faithful to their
[82]
Indian wives.

The Earl of Dunraven has left an excellent description of a squaw man’s
camp which he visited in Yellowstone Park during the summer of 1874:

These men looked very happy and comfortable. Unquestionably the
proper way for a man to travel with ease and luxury in these deserts is for
him to take unto himself a helpmate chosen from the native population.
No amount of art, industry, and study can rival the instinct displayed by
savages in making themselves comfortable, and in utilizing for their own
benefit all the accidents of Nature. Nobody can choose a camp as they
can: nobody knows how to make a fire so quickly or so well: nobody can

so wisely pick a shady, cool place in summer heat, or choose one sheltered
from wind and storms in winter. With an Indian wife to look after his
bodily comforts, a man may devote himself to hunting, fishing, or
trapping without a thought or care. He may make his mind quite easy
about all household matters. His camp will be well arranged, the tent-pegs
driven securely home, the stock watered, picketed, and properly cared for,
a good supper cooked, his bed spread out, and everything made
comfortable; his clothes and hunting-gear looked after, the buttons sewn
on his shirt—if he has got any shirt or any buttons; and all the little trivial
incidents of life which, if neglected, wear out one’s existence, he will find
carefully attended to by a willing and affectionate slave.

They had a lot to tell us also about their travels and adventures, about the
wood and water supply, and the abundance or deficiency of game. So we
sat down on bales of beaver-skins and retailed all the civilized intelligence
we could think of; and the women came and brought us ember for 81
our pipes, spread out robes for us and made us at home; and the little
fat, chubby children, wild and shy as young wolves, peered at us from
[83]
behind the tent out of their round, black, beady eyes.

The premier social event among mountain men was the annual rendezvous.
This institution was inaugurated on Green River in July, 1824, by General
William H. Ashley, owner of the interests that evolved into the Rocky
Mountain Fur Company. The Ashley men traveled to the fur region in
concert. Upon arrival, they were divided into “brigades” and dispersed into
various districts with instructions to reassemble at an appointed time and
place. In this manner the rendezvous became a sort of roving trading place; it
served in lieu of a post. These shifting locations were occasioned by the need
of forage for large numbers of horses. For sixteen years this combination of
market, fiesta, and carousal held sway in such romantic spots as Green
River, Ogden’s Hole, Pierre’s Hole—now Teton Basin in Idaho—and the
Horse Creek-Green River country south of Jackson’s Hole in Wyoming. In
her book, The River of the West, Frances Fuller Victor tells of a rendezvous
held by Jim Bridger and his trappers. The place was Hayden Valley; the
[84]
season, 1838.

Thither the company men, free trappers, and Indians foregathered. The
business of exchange and supply was quickly transacted with beaver skins
serving as money. Then came the celebration, and what a gala event it was.
Trappers sought to indemnify themselves for the sufferings and privations of
a year in the wilderness. Squaw men parted with their “hairy bank notes” in
order to bedeck their spouses in bright cloth and gewgaws. Here were men
with reputations to sustain, proud men with a streak of wild vanity: “Old
Knock Him Stiff,” “Old Straightener,” “Dead-Eye Dick,” “Broken Hand,”
Kit, Joe, and Jim. Most mountain men were openhanded, and they 82
squandered a year’s earnings in a few days of prodigal indulgence.
Coffee and chocolate were prepared; the kegs were emptied; all pipes were
[85]
kept aglow; free and generous spirits moved by day and night. Truly this
burnt and seamy-faced band was an all-American aggregation.

The veterans boasted “most enormous adventures” in mountain experience.
Each represented himself as more than a match for any possible array of
Indians or grizzlies. Narrations waxed romantic in the desire to astonish the
new recruits. Extravagant and absurd as their yarns were, there was always a
current of rude, good humor that allowed each listener to believe as little as
he liked. There were rollicking, fiery, boisterous, swaggering southerners;
quiet, steel-eyed northerners; mercurial French; loquacious Irish; calculating
Scots; greedy middlemen; shrewd dealers; squaw men; Indian haters;
Indians of many nations; pals; rivals; and enemies. Everyone was invited; no
one was missing. It was a self-propelling circus, one show a year, the
antecedent of roundup, rodeo, fair, and tournament.

Contests of skill were carried to a point of jeopardizing life. There were
William Tell episodes and no mistakes, trials of speed and strength for both
horse and man. There was plenty of flirting, feasting, carousing, and outright
debauchery. All were on friendly terms today, but each was unconsciously
aware that tomorrow their relationships would change, and woe unto him
who was caught unaware!

The rendezvous was perhaps the most colorful, spontaneous, lusty, and
romantic institution ever known among civilized men. It was conceived,
nurtured, and abandoned within a score of years (1824-1840). A fleeting
climax to a picturesque band—they came from everywhere, wrote a saga

that reads like an epoch from a long-forgotten age, then vanished from the
scene.

Actually they did not make a definite exit; they just faded away. Some, 83
like Colter, turned into prosaic farmers; others became guides, only to
lag superfluously upon the stage; some turned to trade; some, to government
appointments as Indian agents. A few lingered on as trappers, sighing for the
life that was gone forever. Trappers of the Great West—they had given their
all and there were no regrets. Their levity and valor, their hardships and
pleasure, what a medley it made. One of the French Canadians has left this
testimonial:

I have now been forty-two years in this country. For twenty-four I was
light canoe-man; I required but little sleep, but sometimes got less than I
required. No portage was too long for me; all portages were alike. My end
of the canoe never touched the ground till I saw the end of it. Fifty songs a
day were nothing to me. I could carry, paddle, walk, and sing with any
man I ever saw. During that period, I saved the lives of ten Bourgeois, and
was always the favourite, because when others stopped to tarry at a bad
step, and lost time, I pushed on—over rapids, over cascades, over chutes;
all were the same to me. No water, no weather, ever stopped the paddle or
the song. I have had twelve wives in the country; and was once possessed
of fifty horses, and six running dogs, trimmed in the first style. I was then
like a Bourgeois, rich and happy; no Bourgeois had better-dressed wives
than I; no Indian chief finer horses; no white man better harnessed or
swifter dogs. I beat all Indians at the race, and no white man ever passed
me in the chase. I wanted for nothing; and I spent all my earnings in the
enjoyment of pleasure. Five hundred pounds, twice told, have passed
through my hands; although now I have not a spare shirt to my back, nor a
penny to buy one. Yet, were I young again, I should glory in commencing
[86]
the same career again.

The significance of the fur trade is graphically depicted by the National Park
Service with charts, diagrams, illustrations, models, and dioramas in the
Jefferson National Expansion Memorial, Scotts Bluff, Guernsey Lake, Fort
Laramie, Grand Teton and Yellowstone National parks.

84

Chapter V
WERE INDIANS AFRAID OF YELLOWSTONE?

Beginning with the origin of Yellowstone as a National Park the idea became
current that Indians were afraid of the area. The opinion is still widely held
that they considered it a cursed domain, unfit for habitation. While it is true
that superstition and taboo loomed large in primitive experience, there is no
[87]
reason to suppose that Indians gave Wonderland a wide berth. Rather,
there is an abundance of material evidence that controverts this view.
Furthermore, the proposition is at once illogical and untrue historically.

How, then, did this fiction originate? Probably the major reason is found in
the fact that, with the exception of a small band of recluse-like Tukuarikas,
or Sheepeaters, Indians did not live permanently in Yellowstone. This fact
alone suggests that the region was not regarded as an appropriate abode.
Only a pygmy tribe of about four hundred timid souls deemed it a suitable
homeland.

These people were the weakest of all mountain clans. They did not possess
horses. Their tools were of the crudest type; they lived in caves and nearly
inaccessible niches in cliffs along the Gardner River, especially in
wintertime. These more permanent camps were carefully chosen in the
interest of security against other Indians. Superintendent Norris 85
discovered one of them by accident:

In trailing a wounded bighorn I descended a rocky dangerous pathway. In
rapt astonishment I found I had thus unbidden entered an ancient but
recently deserted, secluded, unknown haunt of the Sheepeater aborigines
[88]
of the Park.

This campground was a half mile in length and four hundred feet at its
widest point, with a similar depth, “and hemmed in and hidden by rugged
timber-fringed basaltic cliffs....”

In summer, the Sheepeater Indians ventured further into the interior,
following the game upon the higher plateaus. There they erected:

skin-covered lodges, or circular upright brush-heaps called wickiups,
decaying evidences of which are abundant near Mammoth Hot Springs,
the various firehole basins, the shores of Yellowstone Lake, the newly
explored Hoodoo regions, and in nearly all of the sheltered glens and
[89]
valleys of the Park.

In 1874, the Earl of Dunraven discovered such a camp just west of Mary
Mountain on the head of Nez Percé Creek.

Superintendent Norris and his associates focused their eyes particularly upon
evidences of Indian occupancy. In a dozen places they observed rude but
[90]
extensive pole and brush fences used for wild animal driveways. An
especially strategic camp was discovered near the summit of a grassy pass
between Hoodoo and Miller creeks. From this skyline perch, marked by
forty decaying lodges, an entire tribe could command a view of all possible
approaches for many miles. Fragments of white men’s chinaware, blankets,
bed clothing, and male and female wearing apparel bore mute but 86
mournful witness of border raids and massacres. This was an Absaroka
summer retreat.

However, there are few such evidences discernible today because snows are
heavy and wind fallen trees profuse, while the character of Indian structures
was flimsy. In fact, these Indians, on the whole, left fewer enduring signs of
their dwelling places than beaver. Several log wickiups still stand in a
pleasant fir grove in the triangle formed by Lava Creek and Gardner River
above their point of union. These wickiups are readily accessible from the
Tower Falls highway one half mile east of the Gardner River bridge.

What happened to the timid Tukuarikas? They simply vanished from the
scene as the white men invaded their refuge. They left without a contest for
ownership or treaty of cession. That is the way most Americans would have
had all Indian tribes behave!

All mountain Indian tribes visited Yellowstone. We-Saw, Shoshoni guide for
Captain W. A. Jones in 1873, said his people and also the Bannocks and
Crows occasionally visited the Yellowstone River and Lake.

For one thing, Obsidian Cliff had the effect of a magnet upon them. It was
their arsenal, a lance and arrowhead quarry. Arrowheads and spears
originating here have been found in an area extending many miles in every
direction. The obsidian chips, from which implements were assiduously
shaped by the Indians, still litter the side hills and ravines in chosen areas all
over the Park. Many fine specimens of arrowheads, knives, scrapers, and
spears have been found at various places. The most notable finds have been
around the base of Mt. Holmes, along Indian Creek, at Fishing Bridge, near
West Thumb, in the Norris and Lower Geyser basins, and about the Lamar
Valley. Actually, these artifacts have generally turned up wherever
excavation for modern camps has been made.

Remnants of Sheepeaters’ Wickiup

In P. W. Norris’ Fifth Annual Report, 1881, there is a comprehensive 87
analysis of the problem of Indian occupancy. Diagrams of four steatite
vessels found in widely separated places are represented. Drawings of
arrowheads and sinkers also occur, and figures 10 to 24, inclusive, depict the
natural sizes of scrapers, knives, lance, spearheads, and perforators, mostly
[91]
chipped from Park obsidian. These artifacts were found in various places,
such as caverns, driveways, at the foot of cliffs, and along creeks. Said
[92]
Norris: “Over two hundred such specimens were collected this season.”

In his report of 1878, Mr. Norris states: “Chips, flakes, arrowheads and other
Indian tools and weapons have been found by all recent tourists in burial
[93]
cairns and also scattered broadcast in all these mountain valleys.”

Is it any wonder Indian artifacts are scarce in Yellowstone today? Still, they
are frequently found when excavations are made. Winter snows, animal
trampings, land slides, and floods have covered them. A few isolated items
of discovery should be noted: arrowheads have recently been found on
Stevenson Island, in lake gravel pits, about Buffalo Ranch, in the sewer line,
near South Entrance, on the Game Ranch, around Norris, Lower, and
[94]
Midway geyser basins, and at Fishing Bridge.

Another evidence of Indian visitation was evinced by a network of trails.
One of these followed the Yellowstone Valley across the Park from north to
south. It divided at Yellowstone Lake, the principal branch adhering to the
east shore and leading to Two Ocean Pass where it intersected the great
Snake and Wind River trail. Since Indian trails multisected the Yellowstone
area it is obvious that the region was a sort of no-man’s land. Undesirable as
a homeland, it was used as a summer retreat by many Rocky Mountain 88
tribes. From this circumstance it may be assumed that an autumn
seldom passed without a clash between the Bannocks and the Crows or the
Shoshonis. Surely, the shrill notes of Blackfeet warwhoops have echoed in
these vales. Campsites were well chosen both from the viewpoint of
preserving secrecy and desirability as watchtower sites.

The most important trail, however, was that known as the Great Bannock
Trail. The Bannocks of southeastern Idaho made an annual trek to the

Bighorn Basin for buffalo. Their trail followed Henrys Fork of Snake River
to Henrys Lake, an ancient Bannock rendezvous. From this notable camp the
trail went up Howard Creek and crossed the Continental Divide at Targhee
Pass. Upon reaching the Upper Madison Valley, the route passed Horse Butte
and angled north of West Yellowstone townsite. A camp at Great Springs
(now Cory Springs) was situated near the Park boundary.

In Yellowstone National Park, the Bannock Trail winds its devious way
across the northern part. There are a half-dozen deviations from the main
artery. Wayne Replogle suggests that weather conditions determined these
alternations. High ground would be chosen enroute to the plains, but the
return trip could be made along the streams. Other considerations might
include security, grazing, and game. Entering the Park upon Duck Creek the
Trail swung northward across Campanula Creek, paralleled Gneiss Creek to
the point of crossing, then quartered southward, crossing Maple Creek and
Duck Creek, on toward the head of Cougar Creek and its ample pasture
lands.

From this area the Trail goes almost due north to White Peaks, which are
skirted on the West. The Gallatin Range was crossed via a saddle north of
White Peaks. The Trail then dropped upon the headwaters of Indian Creek
and followed down to Gardner River. The route then looped to the left,
across Swan Lake flats, on through Snow Pass, down the decline to
Mammoth Hot Springs. From Mammoth the Indian thoroughfare 89
struck right, recrossed Gardner River, and followed Lava Creek toward
Tower Fall.

The Yellowstone River ford was located just above Tower Fall, near the
mouth of Tower Creek. Vestiges of the trail may still be discerned along both
banks of Yellowstone River. Other evidences, such as deep grass-sodded
furrows, may be seen in the vicinity of junction of the Lamar River and Soda
Butte Creek. One branch paralleled Soda Butte Creek to the divide and then
descended Clarks Fork to the bison range. The alternate route continued
along the Lamar to a secondary divide between Cache and Calfee creeks.
This hog’s back was then followed to the summit, and the descent was down
Timber Creek to its confluence with Clarks Fork. The deep ruts worn by
travois in these pilgrimages are still obvious in many places, although
unused for three quarters of a century.

W. S. Chapman
Horse and Travois Transportation.

Can anyone doubt that the Bannocks made frequent and extensive
excursions beyond this thoroughfare? Surely their young men ranged far and
wide, prying into every nook and cranny of Wonderland. They undoubtedly
fished in the great lake and river, hunted elk and bighorn, bathed in warm
springs, and reveled in the beauties of the landscape. Any other view of the
evidence would impute undue naïveté to human nature. After all, Indians
were children of nature; the earth was their mother. In Yellowstone Mother
Earth was especially intriguing. They might not understand her; they might
entertain great respect for her strange manifestations, but cringing
trepidation? Hardly! But weren’t they afraid of the geysers? In 1935, 90
White Hawk and Many Wounds visited the Park. They were members
of Chief Joseph’s band when it crossed the Park in 1877. When asked if the
Nez Percé Indians were afraid of the geysers and hot springs they said no
[95]
and implied that they used them in cooking. Still the critic objects, saying
the geyser and spring formations were all intact when the first white men
came. Primitive people were seldom guilty of wanton spoliation. Hence,
missing incrustations were not essential evidence of Indian visitation. They
left nature’s beauty as they found it, a proper example for all who might
follow after.

Did Indians ever hear the legendary overhead sounds in the vicinity of
Shoshone and Yellowstone lakes—those strange half-minute tunes like the
[96]
humming of bees or echo of bells? Perhaps they did. Any phenomenon
audible to white men with the naked ear would be discernible to them
because they were sensitive to nature and her communion was always

welcomed. However, since Indians were without records and formal
procedures for obtaining and preserving scientific knowledge they were
tremendously limited in understanding. They operated upon a single
dimension of experience. For instance, they could never realize that the fish
they took from Lake Yellowstone was a Pacific Ocean species which could
only have reached these inland lakes via the Snake River system, signifying
that, in ages past, the great lake must have possessed an outlet in that
direction. All such problems awaited the scientists, but red men still knew
much in their own right.

Surely then, Indians were summertime visitors in Yellowstone. They literally
swarmed around the lakes. The most unimpeachable testimony on this point
comes from trapper accounts of actual encounters. This phase of the case is
discussed in the following chapter. Their known presence in the 91
wooded area was the greatest deterrent to the white man’s interest. Few
men voluntarily risk their lives for a view of nature’s wonders. It is a
historical fact that the Washburn-Langford-Doane party saw Crow Indians
along the north environs of the Park and actually followed a fresh line of
tracks into the Yellowstone area. Thus the scenic exploitation of Wonderland
was not feasible until the Indians were rounded up and confined to the
reservations. This program was accomplished in the states surrounding
Yellowstone between 1860 and 1877.

This process of racial adjustment was not accomplished without minor
repercussions upon Yellowstone. The exciting Nez Percé flight of 1877 is
considered separately in Chapter XI. However, the very next year the
Bannocks conducted an impressive horse-stealing foray against the property
of laborers and tourists. These episodes resulted in unfavorable publicity
from the standpoint of tourist interest in visiting Wonderland. In
consequence two important steps were taken by the officials. In 1880
Superintendent Norris made a tour of all the Rocky Mountain Indian
reservations. His mission was to secure solemn promises from the tribes to
abide by the terms of their Washington treaties and in particular to stay away
[97]
from the Park.

These agreements were widely advertised, and in order to further neutralize
any fear of Indian trouble a policy of minimizing past incidents was evolved.

The recent invasions were represented as unprecedented, actually
anomalous. Indians had never lived in Yellowstone, were infrequent visitors
because they were afraid of the thermal activity! It was not a conspiracy
against truth, just an adaptation of business psychology to a promising
national resort.

92

Chapter VI
SECONDARY VISITATIONS BEFORE 1869

Parties in Search of Fur

The streams of the Rocky Mountains were thoroughly exploited by the
trappers in the twenties and thirties. Notwithstanding the paucity of evidence
concerning Yellowstone visitations, it is unreasonable to believe her great
rivers were neglected. These phantomlike trapper men went everywhere,
saw everything, tarried only long enough to strip furry coverings from the
beaver, and vanished. On rare occasion a bit of artifact shows up: an initialed
rock or tree, a broken trap or flintlock, a group of steel-cleaved trees, a
[98]
trapper cabin, a rifle pit or cache. These evidences bear mute testimony
that hunters passed through Yellowstone. In 1880, Colonel P. W. Norris
discovered an initialed tree one half mile above the Upper Falls. The
significant legend, J.O.R. August 19, 1819, had every indication of
authenticity.

In 1822, trappers engaged by Andrew Henry and General William H. Ashley
entered the Rocky Mountains. Within that decade some of the men had
unquestionably visited the Park area. Evidence of one such visit exists in a
letter published in the Philadelphia Gazette, September 27, 1827, and
reprinted in the Niles Weekly Register (Baltimore) the following week,
October 6, 1827. Daniel T. Potts wrote this particular letter at Sweet 93
Lake in the Rocky Mountains on July 8, 1827, and sent it to his brother
Robert T. Potts of Philadelphia. This letter, which constitutes the first printed
account of Yellowstone phenomena, is now on file in the Yellowstone Park
Library at Mammoth. The section of the letter definitely descriptive of the
Park area follows:

... the Yellow-stone has a large fresh water lake near its head on the verry
[sic] top of the Mountain which is about one hundrid [sic] by fourty [sic]
in diameter and as clear as crystal on the south borders of this lake is a

number of hot and boiling springs some water and others of most beautiful
fine clay and resembles that of a mush pot and throws its particles to the
immense height of from twenty to thirty feet in height. The clay is white
and pink and water appear fathomless as it appears to be entirely hollow
underneath. There is also a number of places where the pure sulphor [sic]
is sent forth in abundance one of our men visited one of these whilst
taking his recreation at an instan [sic] the earth began a tremendious [sic]
trembling and he with dificulty [sic] made his escape when an explosion
took place resembling that of thunder. During our stay in that quarter I
[99]
heard it every day....

Again, it is a matter of written record that Jedediah Smith and his associates
“worked the country lying between the sources of the Missouri and
Yellowstone rivers, finally going into winter quarters on the Wind River” in
1829. He was probably the man to whom Superintendent Norris referred:

I have always given much credence to a well-endorsed campfire legend of
a mountaineer named Smith, having, prior to the days of Bonneville,
written a narrative of his explorations of the Firehole regions, and being
[100]
killed before its publication.

It was in 1829 when Joseph Meek became separated from his associates of
the Rocky Mountain Fur Company and wandered for five days in a 94
southerly direction in the area that divides the drainage between the
Madison and Gallatin rivers. The factors of time and place are entirely
consistent with the report he gave:

Being desirous to learn something about the progress he had made, he
ascended a low mountain in the neighborhood of his camp, and behold!
the whole country beyond was smoking with vapor from boiling springs,
and burning gases issuing from small craters, each of which was emitting
[101]
a sharp whistling sound.

Meek thought himself reminded of the city of Pittsburgh as he had once seen
it on a winter morning. Meek also said that blue flames and molten

brimstone issued from certain craters. Of course the brimstone was a slight
exaggeration, but he undoubtedly believed it to be true.

There are still other references strongly indicative of the movements of those
silent sons of the wilderness in Yellowstone. However, the journal of Warren
A. Ferris, an employee of the American Fur Company, positively proves that
he observed some of its mysteries. He first heard stories of astonishing
marvels from a party of trappers at the rendezvous in 1833. These trappers
confirmed other reports that were current, affirming that geysers really were
as extensive and remarkable as generally represented. Backed by the united
testimony of more than twenty men on the subject, Ferris decided to go there
himself for the specific purpose of enjoying such an experience as would be
afforded by water volcanoes.

In company with two Pend d’Oreille Indians he journeyed from Camas
Creek through the “piny woods” to the Madison River, which he followed to
the Upper Geyser Basin, where he camped. During the night of May 19, the
thud and resounding of violent thermal action assailed him. Allow him to
relate the story:

When I arose in the morning, clouds of vapor seemed like a dense fog to
overhang the springs from which frequent reports or explosions of 95
different loudness, constantly assailed our ears. I immediately
proceeded to inspect them, and might have exclaimed with the Queen of
Sheba, when their full reality of dimensions and novelty burst upon my
view, “The half was not told me.”

From the surface of a rocky plain or table, burst forth columns of water, of
various dimensions, projected high in the air, accompanied by loud
explosions, and sulphurous vapors, which were highly disagreeable to the
smell. The rock from which these springs burst forth was calcarious [sic],
and probably extends some distance from them beneath the soil. The
largest of these wonderful fountains projects a column of boiling water
several feet in diameter to the height of more than one hundred and fifty
feet—in my opinion; but in declaring that it could not be less than four
times that distance in height—accompanied with a tremendous noise.
These explosions and discharges occur at intervals of about two hours.
After having witnessed three of them, I ventured near enough to put my

hand into the water of its basin, but withdrew it instantly, for the heat of
the water in this immense cauldron was altogether too great for comfort,
and the agitation of the water, the disagreeable effluvium continually
exuding, and the hollow unearthly rumbling under the rock on which I
stood, so ill accorded with my notions of personal safety, that I retreated
back precipitately to a respectful distance. The Indians who were with me
were quite appalled, and could not by any means be induced to approach
them. They seemed astonished at my presumption in advancing up to the
large one, and when I safely returned, congratulated me on my “narrow
escape.”—They believed them to be supernatural, and supposed them to
be the production of the Evil Spirit. One of them remarked that hell, of
which he had heard from the whites, must be in that vicinity. The diameter
of the basin into which the water of the largest jet principally falls, and
from the centre of which, through a hole in the rock of about nine or ten
feet in diameter, the water spouts up as above related, may be about thirty
feet.—There are many other smaller fountains, that did not throw their
waters up so high, but occurred at shorter intervals. In some instances, the
volumes were projected obliquely upwards and fell into the neighboring
fountains or on the rock or prairie. But their ascent was generally
perpendicular, falling in and about their own basins or apertures. These
wonderful productions of nature are situated near the centre of a small
valley, surrounded by pine covered hills, through which a small fork of the
Madison flows. Highly gratified with my visit to these formidable 96
and magnificent fountains, jets, or springs, whichever the reader
may please to call them, I set out after dinner to rejoin my companions.
Again we crossed the Piny Woods and encamped on the plains of Henry’s
[102]
Fork.

Ferris not only wrote the foregoing account in his journal, but his sense of its
importance impelled him to expand it for publication. He submitted his “Life
in the Rocky Mountains” to several papers. Subsequently the narrative
appeared in the Literary Messenger of Buffalo, New York, in issues running
during the early forties. The scholarly observations of Mr. Ferris were
reprinted in The Wasp, a Mormon organ of Nauvoo, Illinois, on August 13,
1842. It was the best article prepared before 1870. Henceforth, the lack of
knowledge about Yellowstone must be charged to common indifference and
skepticism. The facts had all been well attested but slenderly disseminated.

Foremost among all trapper visitations in point of extent and accuracy were
those of Osborne Russell. Between 1835 and 1839 he accompanied three
specific Yellowstone expeditions. The first party, which numbered twenty-
four, was organized at Fort Hall in June, 1835. Instructions directed them to
proceed to Yellowstone Lake and return, hunting and trapping the
intervening territory. Their route of travel was northeast to Jackson Hole,
thence into the Absarokas. No one in the group had ever entered Yellowstone
until July 28, when they descended the mountains into what they called
“Secluded Valley.”

The point of ingress was probably the upper Lamar drainage. There they
encountered a small band of friendly Snake Indians, rich in pelts which they
sold for a “song.” Mr. Russell revealed an unerring instinct of appreciation
for the area in his first and subsequent visits. Said he:

We stopped at this place and for my own part I almost wished I could
spend the remainder of my days in a place like this, where happiness and
contentment seemed to reign in wild, romantic splendor, surrounded by
majestic battlements which seemed to support the heavens and shut out all
[103]
hostile intruders.

97

W. S. Chapman
Trapper observing Riverside Geyser.

While his impression of security was to prove incorrect the reaction to 98
grandeur was wholly sustained.

One trapper was lost, and after a futile search they reluctantly crossed the
Yellowstone River. Their next camp was in Gardner Hole, named for trapper
Johnson Gardner, formerly an Ashley employee, who had worked the area
several years before. Russell’s party then crossed the Gallatins and joined
Jim Bridger’s company in making a stand against the marauding Blackfeet.

The next season found Russell attached to Bridger’s party and again on his
way to Wonderland. They entered from the southeast along Yellowstone
River. By mid-August they reached the lake. Two weeks were spent in
trapping the lake and Gardner Hole streams. Russell again expressed his
unqualified partiality for this region.

Mr. Russell’s final and most significant visit occurred during July and
August of 1839. Upon this occasion there were only four in the party. They
entered the Park by way of Snake River, passed the lakes now called Lewis
and Shoshone, and visited the geyser basins. The white formations reminded
the trappers of some ancient cities’ ruins. Mr. Russell’s description of Grand
Prismatic Spring is satisfactory as of today. From the Firehole Basin they
circled the Park clockwise and came to rest on Pelican Creek, near
Yellowstone Lake’s outlet. The date was August 28, 1839; the time of day,
4:00 P.M. Russell had taken a swim in the lake; White was sleeping; the
Canadian and Elbridge were hunting elk. In these circumstances a large band
of Blackfeet made a surprise attack. Russell and White were both wounded
but managed to escape. The next day they were joined by the Canadian.
Together, and on foot, the three trappers wound a tortuous course to the 99
Thumb of Lake, and thence south to Jackson Lake. After many
harrowing experiences and much discomfort they reached Fort Hall on
September 6. A week later Elbridge also reached the fort, and in a short time
they were all ready for new adventure.

Another party of forty men went through almost the identical experience in
1839. They entered the area via the Snake River, crossed the Divide, and
trapped the upper Yellowstone to the lake. Near its outlet they fought Piegan
[104]
Indians and lost five men, with the same number wounded. Yellowstone
was not a choice trapping ground and the risks involved by reason of
remoteness and Indian menace offset the margin of profit.

Upon interrogation relative to Yellowstone, Captain Bonneville said, “You
ask me if I know of the thermal springs and geysers. Not personally, but my
men knew about them, and called their location the ‘Fire Hole.’”

From these sources it is apparent that many trappers traversed the “crest of
the world,” and its secrets were common knowledge among the whole
fraternity. The evaluation placed upon these singular experiences would
naturally depend upon the judgment of the several hunters. Father DeSmet
took the liberty of placing their reactions upon a superstitious basis. He said
the region was considered an abode of evil spirits. The eruptions were
supposed to result from combat between infernal spirits. This was probably
the view of some, but all hunters were not such tyros in natural science.
Indeed, it is quite reasonable to suppose that at least a few were first-rate
naturalists. However, some of them were killed in the wilderness; others
withdrew to other fields of interest; and none of them envisioned any lively
public concern over scenery. A few had gone to the trouble of recording and
relating their experiences only to be laughed to scorn or made the butt 100
of jokesters. Why should honest men like Colter, Meek, and Ferris go
out of their way simply to be dubbed outlandish prevaricators? Of course,
the answer is found in the fact that as a class they deliberately brought such a
reputation upon themselves. Take the case of Joe Meek. Upon one occasion
his party was floundering about in the Gallatin Valley. Meek suggested that
their bewilderment might be lessened by climbing a high peak and getting
their bearings. No one would accompany him so he went alone. When he
returned there was considerable interest in his experience. Naturally his ego
expanded; he took on a knowing air. He erroneously contended that he could
see the Yellowstone, Missouri, and Snake rivers from the lofty height. Later,
the brigade leader sent Moses “Black” Harris to another high point to
reconnoiter. When he returned the men pressed him for information, and, not
to be outdone, he declared that he saw “the city of St. Louis, and one fellow
[105]
drinking a beer.”

Therefore, two conditions combined to withhold the knowledge of
Yellowstone wonders from the world. The men who knew of her marvels
were seldom equipped to describe or interpret them, and the public was in no
better state to accept them. Hence, this trapper lore was barren of result,
locked up as it was in the minds of generally illiterate men. It all but

perished with them and had no definite bearing upon the final and conclusive
discovery. For more than a generation the tales of trappers were bandied
around on the lips of indifferent mountaineers. In this rough dress the
wonders of Yellowstone were either received with uncivil incredulity or as a
joke to be indulgently humored.

Conclusive evidence of the trappers’ discovery and exploration of
Yellowstone has been adduced. The fur traders were well acquainted with
every portion of it, but their knowledge passed with them. Only a 101
tradition persisted. In 1860 the elements of this tradition came within
a rifle shot of conversion to truth. During the latter fifties the United States
government had a corps of Topographical Engineers in the upper Missouri
country. Only a double assignment to Captain W. F. Raynolds saved the Park
from official discovery in June, 1860. He was directed to explore the country
from which the headwaters of the Yellowstone, Gallatin, and Madison rivers
originated. He was also told to be on hand north of the Canadian border on
July 18 to observe the eclipse of the sun.

The expedition traversed the Wind River Valley, crossed Union Pass, and
turned north. From a position nearly opposite Two Ocean Pass the party
attempted to knife its way through the Absaroka Mountains, but it was June,
and the defiles were choked with snow. Guide Jim Bridger pleaded with
them to swing south and enter the plateau from Snake River. He told them
they couldn’t get through, that even a “bird wouldn’t fly over there without
takin’ a supply of grub along.” But the time was short, and Captain Raynolds
reluctantly turned away from the prospect of verifying “marvelous tales of
burning plains, immense lakes and boiling springs,” to witness the certain
obliteration of Old Sol. It was a lucky choice for the future of Yellowstone
because discovery in 1860 could hardly have been so propitious as it was a
decade later.

Parties in Search of Gold

Another series of partial exploration was inaugurated in the early sixties by
the Argonauts. Nature’s distribution of precious metals is rather far-flung in
western America. Therefore, miners were not inclined toward geographic

discrimination. Spirit brothers to the trappers, they searched the Rockies
with wonderful energy and daring. Deep snow, arctic cold, yawning
precipices, and fierce Indians were all defied in their eager quest for a new
Eldorado. It would have been strange indeed if they had missed the 102
Yellowstone country.

Gold seekers were hardy, optimistic, and foot-loose. Ever impatient of
restraint, they responded like mercury to the fever of a “gold excitement.” To
them every range, mountain, and gulch offered a challenge that required
acceptance. Actuated by a single thought, these colorful adventurers literally
swarmed to the Pacific coast in ’49. Subsequently, a backwash rolled over
into Nevada and Idaho. In the sixties Montana received a portion of the
overflow. The Bitter Root Range was prospected with a “fine tooth comb.”
In feverish haste these prospectors encompassed the whole of Yellowstone.
However, this vast volcanic plateau provided little inducement to tarry, while
other regions in close proximity yielded one of the greatest treasure troves
on earth. In the decade of 1860, Alder Gulch, Bannock, Virginia, Leesburg,
Butte, Helena, and Anaconda were magic names. What chance for attention
had Yellowstone’s mountain-locked mysteries in such a maelstrom of lusty
life and immediate material reward?

The DeLacy party represents the most notable gold-inspired visitation. This
party, consisting of twenty-seven men, left Virginia City on August 3, 1863.
They crossed southeastern Idaho, thence to Jackson Hole. They followed the
Snake River into the Park and discovered the fact that Lewis and Shoshone
lakes were a branch of the Snake River drainage. In fact, the larger lake was
named DeLacy, but unfortunately it was later renamed Shoshone by the
Hayden Survey. DeLacy’s party crossed the Divide, and on September 9
they entered the Firehole Basin where they “nooned.” They were actually in
the midst of the Lower Geyser Basin, picking their way cautiously because
“the ground sounded hollow beneath our feet.” Allow Mr. DeLacy to
describe their reactions:

The water of these springs was intensely hot, of a beautiful ultramarine
blue, some boiling up in the middle, and many of them of very 103
large size, being at least twenty feet in diameter and as deep. There
were hundreds of these springs, and in the distance we could see and hear
others, which would eject a column of steam and with a loud noise. These

were probably geysers, and the boys called them “steamboat springs.” No
one in the company had ever seen or heard of anything like this region,
[106]
and we were all delighted with what we saw.

Had Walter W. DeLacy been more of a naturalist and less the prospector he
might have achieved the distinction of being the real and effective discoverer
of Yellowstone. However, he and his associates were looking for gold, and
while they saw many wondrous things they failed to appreciate them. They
were in a hurry. Even so, the time was not ripe for any special interest in
Wonderland. Montana was only a name signifying rowdy mining camps.
There were no newspapers to herald the discovery, no telegraph to transmit
the news. Indeed, general attention was focused upon the Civil War.

However, DeLacy drew a more accurate map of the area than had been
drafted before. Actually, he alone correctly represented the drainage of the
Shoshone basin as tributary to the Snake River, a point which even later
explorers such as Folsom, Washburn, and Hayden failed to observe. He also
kept a daily journal, but it was not published until 1876. Walter W. DeLacy
was, therefore, just another explorer who failed to take “time by the
forelock” and, hence, lost an opportunity to win considerable fame.

While the DeLacy party prospected the southwestern section of the Park, a
similar group, led by a man named Austin, explored the eastern periphery for
the same purpose and with better success.

James Stuart might logically have been Yellowstone’s honor man, but the
breaks were against him. He and his brother Granville were outstanding
leaders in Montana’s pioneering. In the spring of 1863 James Stuart 104
led an exploratory party into the lower Yellowstone. They were
searching for gold, but fate so arranged that six miners who intended to join
them (the Fairweather party) had the great good fortune of finding the
famous Alder Gulch, whereas the main expedition under Stuart experienced
a serious battle with the Crows, in which two men were killed and three
[107]
wounded. After their unpleasant encounter this party encircled the entire
“crest of the world,” traveling sixteen hundred miles.

James Stuart was a natural leader of men and a superb Indian fighter. In
1864 he organized and directed a frontier militia to punish Indians for the
outrages before mentioned and others perpetrated in the vicinity of Deer
Lodge. This party crossed the lower Yellowstone River, skirted the
Absarokas to Shoshone River, thence proceeded westward. At least a part of
the expedition returned by way of Yellowstone Lake and Canyon, but Stuart
was not in that particular division. Because of his sterling worth and vast
experience he was the unanimous choice for leader in the final discovery
effort of 1870, but misfortune dogged him to the last. He was summoned for
jury service, and the court refused to excuse him for a pleasure trip!

In 1864 H. W. Wayant and William Hamilton led a party of approximately
forty miners, with horses and pack train, into the Lamar Valley. Their horses
were stolen by Indians near Soda Butte, but the mules would not stampede.
Wayant, Harrison, and ten others with their mules ascended Cache Creek to
Index Peak. Later they circled back by way of Amethyst Mountain to Tower
Falls.

Later in the same year, 1864, a small company of miners, including George
Huston, Rube Libby, George Hubbard, Soos, Lewis, and a Mexican, 105
made a cursory trip in the Park area. They entered the region from the
west and ascended the main Firehole River. They were startled by the
eruption of the Giantess and other geysers, but they passed by with a glance
[108]
and dismissed them as of slight importance. An account of this journey
was discussed with L. M. Freeman, a newspaper reporter, at Emigrant
[109]
Gulch. He arranged to have it published in the Omaha Herald. Other
prominent miners whose explorations in Yellowstone are well known were
C. J. Baronett, Bart Henderson, H. Sprague, Frederick Bottler, Adam Miller,
and Adams and Crandall. The latter two were killed by Indians in the
Hoodoo region in 1870, while Adam Miller and two companions narrowly
[110]
escaped. It would appear that probably a dozen nondescript mining
groups had some contact with the region during the sixties. Yet these miner
meanderings did not definitely confirm the actual existence of Wonderland,
even though they added another chapter to an increasingly impressive
legend. However, the persistence of this marvelous legend between 1820 and
1870 was largely due to the influence of Jim Bridger.

106

Chapter VII
JIM BRIDGER—MAN AND LEGEND

It is customary to assign an extraordinary disregard for truth to Jim Bridger.
At times he appears as a rantipole hero, and undoubtedly he drew the long
bow to unparalleled tension in matters of adventure. Still, he achieved
excellent recommendations for reliability and trustworthiness from all the
government officials who had business in the West. Surely Bridger was such
a contradictory personage as to warrant investigation. Jim was the son of
James and Chloe Bridger. He was born in Richmond, Virginia, on March 17,
1804. The Bridgers moved to St. Louis about 1812. The father died in 1816,
and Jim became a flatboat operator; then, an apprentice in Phil Creamer’s
blacksmith shop. There his interest was first pointed to the West. In 1822 he
became a member of Andrew Henry’s party and departed for the Indian
country. There is some evidence that he was the young man in the detail
which deserted Hugh Glass in the time of his great need in 1823.

Bridger was a large man, fully six feet high, all rawhide and mountain-wise.
He was wiry in action, with a quick, dangerous movement in handling
weapons. His hair was auburn; his eyes were light blue. They were keen,
friendly eyes in conversation but veritable hawk eyes for the game trail
which he followed at maximum speed. Jim was shrewdly intelligent,
although he could neither read nor write. He learned to speak French and
Spanish from other trappers. In addition, he spoke several Indian 107
languages, and he was able to communicate with all tribesmen by
means of sign language. Indeed, he had a reputation as an entertainer among
the natives. However, it is said that he exercised reserve and caution because
he was suspiciously alert against deception of any kind. His very life
depended upon accurately seeing and interpreting the signs of the
wilderness. When serving as a guide for the army Jim once reported a thin
column of smoke many miles away. Several officers trained field glasses
upon the designated point without seeing any. They expressed their doubt of
its existence. Jim was indignant: “Dam paper-collar soldiers, a tellin’ thar

ain’t no smoke, when I seen it!” He was sure of his ability to outsee them
[111]
even with the aid of field glasses, and he was right!

A frontiersman named Vaughn left an account of his introduction to this
master guide in 1850:

... On they came, a big, strong, broad-shouldered, flaxon-haired, and blue-
eyed man in the lead, riding as fine a saddle animal as I ever saw. They
were now quite close; they came within a few paces and stopped.

“How?” exclaimed the big man.

“How, how,” we exclaimed, shaking hands with him in turn.

“Who are you?” he asked, “free trappers?”

“No,” I replied, “we belong to the Company. And you?”

“My name is Bridger,” he said, “Jim Bridger. Maybe you’ve heard of me.”

We had. There wasn’t a man west of the Mississippi River who did not
know him or know of him, for he was the greatest hunter, trapper, and
[112]
Indian fighter of us all.

Yes, Bridger was the real tobacco chew, “thirty-third degree” mountain man,
and he certainly knew his way around. Every ridge and canyon of the
Rockies dropped their last shadows of oblivion before his restless 108
energy. He spent his winters in trapping and his summers in
exploration. On most of these trips he chose to go alone, relying upon his
faithful horse, trusty rifle, and hatchet of the finest steel. One excursion took
him so far north that only the North Star served as guide. He followed the
McKenzie River to the Arctic Ocean. This journey took eighteen months.
[113]
The rivers, mountains, and valleys of the Rockies were as one great
plantation to him. He knew them all and kept a picture of the whole area in
his mind. He was possessed by an insatiable curiosity. In wandering about
the untouched West he kept poking into the off-trail corners to feast his eyes
on strange wonders of hidden fairylands.

Bridger’s services were always in demand. He started with the Missouri Fur
Company. Later he became one of Ashley’s men. By 1830 he was
recognized as one of the most daring and effective trappers of the West. This
won him a partnership in the newly organized Rocky Mountain Fur
Company. After the disbanding of this firm he became identified with John
Jacob Astor’s American Fur Company. Naturally he realized the evanescent
character of the fur business. In 1843 this insight impelled him to establish
Fort Bridger on Black’s Fork of Green River. Here he developed one of the
great frontier institutions. It was an oasis in the desert. Here the weary
traveler found respite from the toil of his journey. While wagons were being
repaired, stock exchanged, and provisions replenished, the wayfarers got
acquainted with the gracious host. Bridger generously imparted his valuable
mountain information to the public. Frequently he rendered service as a
guide, for which he was liberally rewarded. His unerring judgment of
distance and contour, together with a photographic memory of detail,
enabled him to make nice corrections on the drafts of map makers. There is
no gainsaying the fact that Jim Bridger was a man of affairs.

109

Jim Bridger.

In the autumn of 1824 some of Ashley’s men were trapping the 110
headwaters of Bear River. They were uncertain of its course, and
Bridger was chosen to explore the stream to settle the bet. When he reached
Great Salt Lake he scooped up a handful of its saline water. Spitting and
coughing, he is reported to have said, “Hell, I’m on the shores of the
Pacific.”

Naturally of mild and gracious manner, Bridger possessed a Yankee wit that
enabled him to take care of himself. This fact is attested by his ability to get
along with the Indians, among whom he was known as Chief “Big Throat.”
He prided himself in being able to outdo the “sarpints” in every field of
action. Bridger’s experience with Indians made him very skeptical. This
caution is expressed in his warning to Colonel Henry B. Carrington on the
Powder River Expedition of 1866:

Better not go too fur. Thar’s Injuns enough lyin’ under wolf-skins er
skulkin’ on them cliffs, I’m a-tellin’ ye. They foller ye allus. They’ve seen
ye ev’ry day, an’ take it frum me—when ye don’t see any of ’em that’s
[114]
jest the time to watch out fer their devilment.

However, he was wise in making alliances with them. Three times he
married Indian squaws, a Flathead, a Ute, and a Shoshoni. These affiliations
gave him greater security in his travels. Upon one occasion, when reference
was made to this multiple spouse arrangement, someone asked Jim: “Which
is which is which?” Quick as a flash came his rejoinder: “Thar all witches!”

From the Flathead wife two children were born, Josephine and Felix. Both
were educated in St. Louis. His Ute wife died at the birth of a daughter,
Virginia. Buffalo milk was utilized to nourish the infant, and she later
returned her father’s care by looking after him in his declining years. His
Shoshoni wife also had two children, Mary and William.

During his indefatigable peregrinations Bridger gained intimacy with
Yellowstone. He must have had a soul-loving zest for the wonderful 111
and beautiful, or he wouldn’t have noticed nature’s handiwork in the
first place. Early in his experience he noted the disbelief that greeted his
relations. Observing that unimaginative people regarded him as a liar, he
evidently concluded to adopt the old poacher’s proverb about keeping the

game when given the name. Why not embroider his tales in proportion to the
listener’s credulity? Anyway, much entertainment was expected from a
guide. Jim was not one to disappoint a tenderfoot. One young unsophisticate,
attached to a government party, approached “Old Gabe” (Jim’s nickname) in
a patronizing manner upon one occasion. “Mr. Bridger, they tell me that you
have lived a long time on these plains and in the mountains.” “Young feller,”
said “Gabe,” “you see that thar butte yonder? Well, siree, that mountain was
nuthin’ but a hole in the ground when I come here!” It is said that two
robbers entered his room at Fort Bridger. He awoke from sleep and said,
“What air ye lookin’ fer?” One of the desperados replied, “We are lookin’ for
your money.” Bridger then answered, “Jest a minnit an’ I’ll git up and help
[115]
ye.” The robbers did not wait.

When asked about some of his extravagant statements he quietly intimated
that there was no harm in fooling people who pumped him for information
and would not even say “thank ye.” Like most of his contemporaries, Jim
didn’t think it proper to spoil a good story just for the sake of the truth. He
could reel off story after story with astonishing spontaneity. These yarns
were related in a solemn dead-pan gravity that was very effective.

Some of Bridger’s more notable experiences and stories follow a pattern
worthy of perpetuation in the literature of the Old West. In October 1832,
while hunting in the Beaverhead country, Bridger’s party was attacked by
the Blackfeet. In this skirmish Jim received two long iron arrowheads in his
back, one of which was embedded there for three years. It was removed by
Dr. Marcus Whitman under circumstances that showed the strength 112
and endurance of both surgeon and patient.

Perhaps this experience was the basis of the story he told about an encounter
with the Blackfeet tribe. Said Jim:

The pesky devils made a circle all aroun’ me, ten Injuns deep. Then they
pounce on top of me and hack me with their tommy hawks. The varmints
[116]
stomp and club me until I faint dead away.

At this point his voice would choke up with emotion. Finally, someone
would make bold to inquire, “What did they do next, Jim?” Whereupon he

would earnestly reply, “Them danged cussed Induns kilt and sculped me!”

What did Bridger actually know about Yellowstone? Probably his first visit
was in 1829. He was also a member of a trapping party that worked the
Bighorn Basin north, then passed over to Three Forks, and trapped to their
sources during 1830. Therefore, they were in the western part of the Park.
Dr. F. V. Hayden called Bridger the best mountain man the West had ever
produced and said he learned of the marvels of Yellowstone from him in the
early fifties. It is reasonable to believe that the old scout saw and appreciated
all of the major features of Wonderland, with the possible exception of the
Upper Geyser Basin. His descriptions of spouting springs, strange to say, fall
[117]
far short of the standard set by the Old Faithful group.

Several of the most famous Bridger yarns were embroidered upon a
Yellowstone backdrop. It was this unique element that made them
unconscious conservers of fact. A certain residuum of truth seems to be
present in each of his tales if one searches carefully enough. There were
occasional implications so freighted with the earmarks of reality that genuine
curiosity was piqued. Amusement was often tempered by wonder; 113
perhaps there was something in the old mountaineer’s ravings!

There was the celebrated Obsidian Cliff fiasco. Its perpendicular volcanic
glass properties were advertised in this yarn: “Oncet I camp yonder in a
purty meadow. Wantin’ meat I went lookin’ fer an elk. I seen a beaut a right
smart spell yonder. Comin’ close, I let him have it. Bejabers, he didn’t make
a move. I moved nigh onto him—took a dead bead. Same result. Says I, I’ll
get so darn nigh the report o’ the gun’ll kill him. So I did. The blame critter
didn’t look up. O’ course, I thought he was deaf, dumb, and blind. I was so
bloomin’ mad I grab my blunderbuss by the shank an’ start runnin’ direct fur
him, intendin’ to smash him slam-bang on the haid. Well siree, ye’d never
believe it! What I act’lly hit was the side of a glass mountain ... crawlin’ to
the top, what do I see but that same elk way yonder, feedin’ as peaceable as
ye please.” Thus he gave a quaint representation of an interesting feature of
nature.

Bridger boasted the knowledge of a choice campground hidden among the
inner labyrinth of Yellowstone’s canyon. The marvel of this place was in its

curious delayed-action echoes. “In fact,” said Jim, “it’s a natural alarm clock
which I winds up so: when campin’ thar I beds myself down, and jist afor I
goes to sleep I raises my haid from the saddle an’ hollers, ‘Time to get up,
you sunuvagun’; an’ sure as shootin’, the echo comes a bouncin’ back at the
crack o’ dawn!”

Still another extravaganza, with a basis in fact, had a bearing upon the
northeast corner of the Park. Jim averred that the entire region was under the
curse of an old Crow chieftain. All things became lifeless, plants, animals,
rivers, and even the light of sun, moon, and stars had a petrified cast. “Yes,
siree, thar’s miles o’ peetrefied hills, covered with layers o’ peetrefied trees,
and on ’em trees air peetrefied birds a singin’ peetrefied songs!” Sometimes
for the sake of spice and variety he used the word putrified instead of
peetrefied.

There can be little doubt that he actually knew of a spot in the great 114
lake where a cast hook and line would catch a cutthroat. Then a
semicircular swerve would bring him slowly to shore. Upon taking the fish
from the hook it would be found well-cooked and ready for eating!

Jim’s Alum Creek episode tips heavily on the ludicrous side. “We was ridin’
east o’ the river along the side o’ a creek. ’Twas boggy an’ goin’ was slow.
When the cañon narrowed we guide our hosses into the stream. ’Twasn’t no
time till the hosses’ feet shrunk to pin points, an’, by tarnation, we went
twenty miles in a jiffy. Them thar waters was so strong o’ alum as to pucker
distance itself!”

Is there any wonder that a classic mantle of exaggeration should invest
Bridger with an enduring title of Münchausen? However, underneath Jim’s
tough, frontier-beaten exterior, obvious self-esteem, and braggadocio, there
was a genuine and picturesque sincerity. He was not only colorful in acting
an interesting frontier role, in which the setting was fully exploited, but he
was a reliable geographer as well. Captain J. W. Gunnison received such a
precise account of Yellowstone from Bridger as to enable him to write the
following vivid description without reference to any other source:

He [Bridger] gives a picture, most romantic and enticing, of the
headwaters of the Yellowstone. A lake, sixty miles long, cold and pellucid,

lies embosomed among high precipitous mountains. On the west side is a
sloping plain, several miles wide, with clumps of trees and groves of pine.
The ground resounds with the tread of horses. Geysers spout up seventy
feet high, with a terrific, hissing noise, at regular intervals. Waterfalls are
sparkling, leaping and thundering down the precipices, and collect in the
lake, and for fifteen miles roars through the perpendicular canyon at the
outlet. In this section are the “Great Springs”—so hot that meat is readily
cooked in them, and as they descend on the successive terraces, afford at
length delightful baths. On the other side is an acid spring, which gushes
out in a river torrent; and below is a cave, which supplies 115
[118]
“vermillion” for the savages in abundance.

Surely this evidence speaks well of the great scout’s capacity to impart the
whole truth to those who were prepared to receive it. Bridger was evidently
an unconscious believer in the scripture, “I am made all things to all men,
that I might by all means save some.” He persisted in his way of life among
the mountains until late in the seventies. He could not withdraw from the
companionship of the free and generous spirits around a campfire. However,
his demeanor became more subdued with age. There was upon him much of
the dignity of an Indian chief. After all, to the red men he was Chief Big
Throat, also the Blanket Chief.

Before retiring, Bridger managed a visit to Washington, D. C., where he was
introduced to the President of the United States. After staring at him in
amazement for a minute, he turned to the congressman and remarked,
[119]
“Looks jest like any other man, don’t he?”

After many years Bridger retired to a farm near Kansas City, Missouri. In
1884 the uncrowned king of Rocky Mountain scouts passed beyond, and
thereby an epoch was ended.

In respect to his Yellowstone explorations, it is worthy of note that long
before his death Bridger succeeded in kindling a lively interest among
others. In fact, partly due to his efforts a consuming curiosity was preying
upon the minds of several leading Montana residents. These citizens proved
competent to find and interpret the great features of natural history.

116

Chapter VIII
FINAL DISCOVERY IN 1869 AND 1870

During the year 1867 several garbled accounts of monstrous wonders were
reported to the Montana Post at Virginia City by returning prospectors. On
July 29 the Post stated that an expedition to the Yellowstone country was
being organized to explore the region as far as Yellowstone Lake. The
project evidently fell through, but the notice accurately gauged the sentiment
of Montana people.

By 1867 a dozen ranking citizens, later to be known as the Washburn-
Langford-Doane party, held one common opinion concerning the
Yellowstone rumors; namely, that it was high time some reputable authority
should ascertain the facts. These men made tentative plans for an exploration
that year and also in 1868, but the urge was not strong enough to impel
definite preparations until 1869.

The Folsom-Cook-Peterson Exploration

Even this effort proved abortive, due to Indian unrest and the failure of the
military at Fort Ellis to furnish an escort. However, there were several men
living at Diamond City on the Missouri River, forty miles below Helena,
who were enrolled and waiting to join the Helena party. When word arrived
of the postponement they decided to set out by themselves. This little
expedition consisted of Hon. David E. Folsom, C. W. Cook, and William
Peterson. Folsom and Cook were unusually intelligent men, with large 117
experience in ranching and mining affairs. They were capable of
executing a purposeful exploration of this character. Mr. Peterson’s precise
status is not so well known. He was born in Denmark, served many years as
a sailor, came to Montana as a miner, and later made a modest fortune as a
stockman in Idaho. He was no doubt a resourceful member of the party, but
his educational deficiency prevented him from making any contribution to
[120]
the literary side of the enterprise.

They left Diamond City on September 6, after making arrangements to be
away for six weeks. Their provisions and armaments were adequate for any
emergency which three men might be expected to meet and survive. They
had three riding horses and two for the packs. Among the usual camping
equipment were listed a field glass, a pocket compass, and a thermometer.

Bozeman was their last station of supply. From there they ascended a
tributary of the East Gallatin River, and crossed the divide onto the
headwaters of Trail Creek, which lies on the Yellowstone drainage. By
September 14 they were at the junction of the Yellowstone, near Tower Falls.
They followed the East Fork of Yellowstone River (now Lamar) for a day
and then doubled back to Tower Creek. The scenery at this point intrigued
them:

... Yesterday we caught glimpses of scenery surpassing in grandeur
anything we have before seen so we concluded to lay over one day and
[121]
give it a more thorough examination....

They were speaking of the overhanging cliffs and the second canyon of the
Yellowstone directly beneath, also of the classic falls on Tower Creek.

They reached Grand Canyon on September 21, after two weeks’ 118
travel. From there they journeyed to the extreme west end of the lake
and thence to Shoshone Lake, which they mistakenly considered the head of
Madison River. Here they saw species of rare aquatic fowl, such as the
whistling and trumpeter swans. Crossing the Continental Divide, which they
called the “Dike,” they emerged into the Lower Geyser Basin. They made
precise observations of the geysers and hot springs throughout the area and
were enthusiastic over their performance. There was no lack of appreciation
in this party.

On the night of October 1, three thoughtful men conversed in their Firehole
River camp. William Peterson observed that it would not be long before
settlers and prospectors began coming into the district and taking up the land
around the geysers and canyons. Charles Cook sincerely hoped that people
might have free access to the area to enjoy its beauty, while David Folsom
expressed the opinion that the government should not allow anyone to locate
in the vicinity.

Fifty-three years later, upon the occasion of the Park’s Golden Anniversary,
observed on July 14, 1922, at Madison Junction, the matured reflection of
Charles W. Cook was recorded:

None of us definitely suggested the idea of a national park. National parks
were unknown then. But we knew that as soon as the wonderful character
of the country was generally known outside, there would be plenty of
people hurrying to get possession, unless something were done.

We all had this thought in mind when we came out a few days later, and
[122]
told others what we had seen.

119

Trumpeter Swan, a rare species of aquatic life.

Folsom, in particular, had a lively interest in the idea of preserving the 120
phenomena, and he discussed the subject with H. D. Washburn, N. P.
Langford, and others. Indeed, Mr. Peterson later remarked that their own
astonishment was so profound that they thought surely no one would believe
half of what they could tell. However, upon the solicitation of a friend, Cook

and Folsom prepared a joint article from their diaries for publication. The
account was rejected by The New York Tribune, Scribner’s, and Harper’s as
“they had a reputation that they could not risk with such unreliable
material.” Finally it appeared in the July 1870 issue of the Western Monthly
of Chicago. The editors deleted the account considerably and printed an
emasculated narrative. It is affirmed that among the items left out was the
germ of the grand idea advocating the creation of a national park.

Much credit is due these three gentlemen for accomplishing a difficult and
dangerous mission without military escort. It was purely a private venture,
lasting thirty-six days, and may be considered as having been eminently
successful. In fact, it was the first expedition to make a complete and
authentic report of its exploration.

The Washburn-Langford-Doane Expedition

It was these articulate reports of Folsom, Cook, and Peterson that electrified
the natural interest of Helena’s intellectual leadership. Thereafter, Langford
and his associates were burning to effect a grand expedition and achieve
conclusive results. General Phil Sheridan gave the project his blessing and
the assurance of a military escort.

A congenial personnel was sifted out, consisting of Hon. Nathaniel P.
Langford, Hon. Cornelius Hedges, Hon. Truman C. Everts, Hon. Samuel T.
Hauser, Walter Trumbull, Benjamin Stickney, Jr., Warren C. Gillette, and
Jacob Smith. James Stuart was selected as leader, but he was deprived of that
privilege by jury service. Thereupon, Surveyor General Henry D. Washburn
was given the honor of taking command. He was a worthy leader, having
achieved the rank of Major General in the Civil War. He had also 121
served two terms in Congress. Altogether it was a hand-picked
company. The men were uniformly young and energetic, with the exception
of Everts who was fifty-four. Several of them had served as Vigilantes.
Indeed, they were men of intelligence, action, and high integrity. With one
exception the men were serious-minded and mature. They early sensed the
hazards of the endeavor and struggled manfully to reduce them to a
minimum.

Elaborate preparations were made in point of equipment and provisions. Two
packers, Reynolds and Bean, and two colored cooks were employed, and the
whole enterprise, although private, took on a semiscientific, quasi-military
character from the start. Washburn possessed a copy of the Folsom-Cook
[123]
diary and a map made by Walter W. DeLacy. In addition, he had
numerous conversations with these men, and he was, therefore, the
beneficiary of their experience. They left Helena on August 17, 1870. Four
days later they were at Fort Ellis. Here they listened to the post order
detailing Lieutenant Gustavus C. Doane, one sergeant, and four privates “to
escort the Surveyor-General of Montana to the falls and lakes of the
Yellowstone and return....” The soldiers in the party were Sergeant William
Baker and Privates John Williamson, George W. McConnell, William
Leipler, and Charles Moore.

There was no allusion to thermal phenomena or any exotic features
whatsoever. Judge Hedges subsequently characterized the general temper of
the explorers in respect to those particulars:

I think a more confirmed set of skeptics never went out into the
wilderness than those who composed our party, and never was a party
[124]
more completely surprised and captivated with the wonders of nature.

The complete expedition now comprehended nineteen men, thirty-five
horses and mules, and adequate supplies for a month’s journey. 122
Leaving Fort Ellis, they ascended the Yellowstone River to its
junction with the Gardner. This brought them within five miles of the
Mammoth Hot Springs, but ignorance of the fact precluded their visitation.
Instead, they crossed over the plateau and reached Tower Creek where they
camped on August 27. All members were delighted with the hot springs and
fumaroles in that area.

Around the campfire they evolved a name-giving policy and enjoyed great
sport incident to its first application. They adopted a self-sacrificing
resolution. Natural features should not be given the names of the present
personnel or their relatives and friends. Instead, all wonders must bear the
most appropriate cognomens possible. This was a noble gesture, and while it
was not strictly observed one wishes that their demonic impressions might

have been less vivid. Here was the Devil’s Slide; there, Hellbroth Springs;
yonder, Brimstone; now, Devil’s Hoof, Den, Kitchen, and Ink Well; again,
Hells Half Acre and Hell Roaring Mountain. Surely their concepts of
Christian theology rendered them acutely conscious of the attributes and
environment of His Satanic Majesty.

The first controversy arose over naming the falls. “What shall we name these
sentinel-guarded falls?” “Minaret is the proper name,” said young Trumbull.
“What’s a minaret?” queried Jake Smith. Trumbull gave a classical
description of Moslem architecture and drew his analogy to this similitude.
Sam Hauser objected on the ground that the name was not “fitten” in
western America where there weren’t any mosques. Hence, he proposed the
more expressive name “Tower.” The council deliberated, expanded, and
talked big. Minaret was the most significant, had a deeper meaning, more
symbolical. Therefore, General Washburn christened them “Minaret
[125]
Falls.”

But Sam Hauser was a politician; he later became governor of 123
Montana. During the night he confidentially circulated the rumor that
Walter Trumbull had a girl friend by the name of Minnie Rhett. Trumbull
denied the statement, said it was a canard, a roarback, a plain lie! However,
the seed of doubt had been sown, and at breakfast Hauser’s point was won.
The name was Tower Falls. Later it transpired that the future governor’s girl
friend was a Miss Tower! Surely there was genuine political statesmanship
in this party, and its genius was clearly manifest before the journey’s end.

The party skirted Mount Washburn on the twenty-ninth and spontaneously
named it for their honored leader, because he was the first to climb its
summit. Said Washburn, “I saw the canyon and the lake. There are
unmistakable columns of steam in the distance. This is a glorious region.”
Whereupon the entire party hustled upward, frightening the resentful bighorn
en route. Upon reaching the summit silence prevailed while these subdued
men paid unconscious tribute to the Powers That Be. Standing there upon a
natural observatory, they looked down upon the whole grand panorama, as
does yonder eagle. Their vision darted a hundred miles southward, where the
Tetons glittered like purple icebergs. Then nearer they beheld Lake Titicaca’s
only rival, shimmering in the sun. Lake Yellowstone’s deeply sinuous

shores, scattered islands, and fingerlike peninsulas gave it a mystic character.
Now their gaze followed the Yellowstone River crooking away from the lake
and then whirling toward them flashing in its canyon cameo until it seemed
to be biting at their very feet. From this central apex the whole mountain-girt
plateau conformed to the shape of a mammoth saucer as its distant rim
merged with the sky.

Another day found them standing on the brink of an imprisoned river’s
chasm, enchanted by the ponderous roaring of the awful force below. So vast
were the canyon’s alternating gulfs and monoliths that lofty pines “dwindle
to shrubs in the dizziness of distance!” Bald eagles far below screamed in
angry protest upon this invasion of their secret eyries. Fishhawks hovered
cautiously above, less fearful of new dangers than old. Nineteen 124
lonely men stood amazed by an environment at once both grand and
[126]
gloomy, mellow and terrible, an “empire of shadows and turmoil.”

Then the sun came out and the whole gorge flamed! They beheld the
marvelously variegated volcanic coloring as vivid and broken as the field of
a kaleidoscope. It was as though rainbows had fallen from the sky and
draped themselves like glorious banners upon the chasm below. How did it
all come about?

All nature’s forces conspired to build this temple to her glory. The smooth,
sharp tongue of glacial ice first plowed the great furrow deep into the
bosom of the earth. Volcanic fires subdued the rigid hardness of the riven
rock. Steam from boiling springs tempered to plastic yielding the surface
of massive stone. And wind and water came with all their energies and
skill to carve and sculpture it to befitting shapes. The air brought all its
magic alchemy to bear upon the ingredients of the rock to call thence the
[127]
gorgeous pigments for its coloring.

Truly, here was a noble river, vibrating like a bundle of quivering electric
wires a mile below, yet notching the centuries, revealing a record of
geological time, and disclosing to men how God writes history. It was a
canyon full of interest even to the most casual observer in the group.
External senses were all appropriately appealed to. Indeed, the hidden

recesses of the inner self were reached and stirred by the wild beauty and
mystery of the scene. The world would surely want to visit such a place.

As they reluctantly journeyed along the river toward the lake, their ears were
assailed by a series of resounding thuds. The source was the combined
agitations of Mud Volcano and Dragons Mouth. These frightful vents
reminded them of two vicious, frothing animals chained in cavernous lairs.
There they spewed their foul compounds, as in terrible rage, growling and
groaning in their perpetual regurgitations. It was one of the fascinating, if
loathsome, sights in the Park.

125

Bighorn resentful toward invaders.

Later there was Yellowstone Lake, nestled serenely against its 126
buttress-based, snow-capped mountain guardians. Many people have
been made happy by its sparkling water. One capable writer has left his
impression:

From a gentle headland, at last we overlooked the lake. It was like the
fairest dream which ever came to bless the slumbers of a child. How still
[128]
it was! What silence reigned! How lovingly it laid its hush upon you!

It was the Washburn party that fancied a resemblance between the lake and
the human hand. Concerning this analogy Professor R. W. Raymond made
an amusing observation:

The gentleman who first discovered this resemblance must have thought
the size and form of fingers quite insignificant, provided the number was
complete. The hand in question is afflicted with Elephantiasis in the
thumb, dropsy in the little finger, hornet bites on the third finger, and the
[129]
last stages of starvation in the other two.

What a struggle they had in threading their way through fir and lodgepole
forests east of the lake. The tanglewood was nearly impenetrable; no trails to
guide them except the dim and devious ways of wild animals, “through
which we toiled and swore our way, coming out after several days tattered
[130]
and torn, ragged, bleeding and sullen.” In this welter it was every man
for himself after the general course had been determined. It was this
circumstance that eventuated in the painful despair of Truman C. Everts.

127

Lost in the Wilderness

In Yellowstone even now the wilderness is almost within rifle-shot of the
Grand Loop highway. Furthermore, the area’s conformation to a vast plateau
renders it relatively deficient in accessible landmarks. Hedges and Stickney
were inadvertently separated from the party on September 8, but they
stumbled upon the camp by nightfall. The very next day Mr. Everts
unintentionally drifted away from his associates. By evening he was
laboriously embroiled in the forest labyrinth southeast of Lake Yellowstone.
Unconcerned the first night, he made himself comfortable, fully assured of
an early reunion the next day. From this point on, a chronicle of his

experience reveals a record of astonishing incompetency and carelessness on
his part. It is amazing that he escaped fatal consequences.

Up bright and early he was retracing the trail; dismounting to survey an
engulfing situation, he left his horse untied, and it bolted. Upon its
disappearing back was his entire outfit. In his excitement Everts then lost his
spectacles, a grievous loss because he was nearsighted. Later on he also lost
two knives and one of his shoes. The most valuable article on his person was
his field glass. It saved his life.

Another day passed; complacence now turned to frenzy, and Everts fairly ran
in circles. His voice gave out; his head whirled. The pangs of hunger were
extremely severe, and the close of the second day found him in tears. A cold,
dark night added terrors of its own. There were howling coyotes and roaring
lions—whether real or fancied made little difference to a timid man.

Still, he reasoned upon his problem and resolved to fight his way through. In
his ill-conceived exertions he came upon a beautiful little lake. He named it
Bessie for his daughter. On its banks were several hot springs and numerous
patches of elk thistles. In an agony of hunger he tasted a root; it was edible,
better still when cooked in the boiling water. Then a storm came up. It 128
whipped him both in body and mind. He became lethargic, satisfied to
chew thistle roots and bake his backside on warm spring incrustations. Seven
days Everts hovered over this location. This indecision on his part put him
completely out of reach of salvation by the Washburn party.

Then the skies cleared; the sun glistened upon the water. Its reflection
flashed an idea into his mind. “My opera glasses—fire from heaven!” Oh,
happy, hope-renewing thought! It worked; he made a fire. With new purpose
he bestirred himself; he would make a break, but which way should he go?
South to Snake River? Yes, there were frontiersmen in Idaho. After many
miles of painful toil among the intricacies of hill and vale his faith
weakened. The goal—a notch in the mountain barrier—seemed to recede as
[131]
if in mockery of his feeble efforts.

“I’ll go west into the Madison Valley—that’s shorter.” So he stumbled off in
that direction. A precipitous escarpment obstructed his path; there was no
pass. The distraught pilgrim lighted a fire. It got out of control; he fled from

its awful devastation. In utter exhaustion he sat down to rest; whereupon, he
experienced an hallucination. An old clerical friend seemed to be standing
before him. He seemed to say, “Go back immediately, as rapidly as your
strength will permit. There is no food here, and the idea of scaling these
rocks is madness.” Amid serious misgivings Everts decided to retrace the
course of ingress. His heart nearly failed him as he envisioned the unending
panorama of the Yellowstone River trail. Final resolution was helpful, and he
trudged on by day, rested by night, and gnawed on “Everts” thistle betimes.

For two long weeks the party camped along the southwest shore of the lake.
From this base position they daily sent out searching details, lighted signal
fires, shot guns, posted notices, and cached food. No clues were 129
found, and the time was far spent. They regretfully concluded that
their companion was either hopelessly lost or well upon his way toward
home. A foot of snow had already fallen. The thirty-day rations had rendered
thirty-two days’ service. In these circumstances Cornelius Hedges expressed
his depression in his diary:

Had to lie in bed to keep warm, wished I was at home ... stormed all night.
We are in for it. Snowed all day ... the season is in our favor, we shall
[132]
make haste home as soon as the blockade raises.

Therefore, they left the Thumb of the Lake and started toward Firehole
Basin on September 17. They were exultant over the exploration; accurate
journals were kept. It was generally felt that their observations were of great
value and the exploration would be considered important. Allow Langford to
describe their reactions:

Strange and interesting as are the various objects which we have met
within this vast field of natural wonders, no camp or place of rest on our
journey has afforded our party greater satisfaction than the one we are
now occupying, which is our first camp since emerging from the dense
forest. Filled with gloom at the loss of our comrade, tired, tattered,
browned by exposure and reduced in flesh by our labors, we resemble
more a party of organized mendicants, than of men in pursuit of Nature’s
greatest novelties. But from this point we hope that our journey will be
[133]
comparatively free from difficulties of travel.

Having finished an assignment, they were thinking of home and their
neglected affairs. Notwithstanding the grandeur of nature’s wonders in the
Yellowstone Lake region they were about to get the surprise of their lives.
This marvel of wonders occurred on the evening of September 18. Just as
they emerged from the woods into the Upper Geyser Basin, Old Faithful was
shyly preening her billowy plume, and as the vanguard shouted, 130
“Look!” she gracefully mounted, wave upon wave, until a mighty
torrent vaulted heavenward, where it unfurled like a watery flag, as if in
welcome to its known immortalizers. Thus, the Fairy Queen had the honor of
first saluting those weary explorers, and never since that eventful day has
she failed any visitor.

In that gloryful presence Lieutenant Doane solemnly declared, “The earth
[134]
affords not its equal. It is the most lovely inanimate object in existence.”
To General Washburn, the Giantess, when quiet, was like a hallowed
fountain and in eruption, grandly magnificent, with “each broken atom
shining like so many brilliants with myriads of rainbows dancing in
[135]
attendance.” What ecstasy! A whole kingdom of fairy spirits seemed
determined to outdo each other. There ensued an orgy of thermal activity.
During the short visit of twenty-two hours, twelve geysers were seen in
action. It was then that their experience waxed “more and more wonderful
until wonder itself became paralyzed.” In this basin they overcame the
tendency to apply the wretched Satanic nomenclature so fully employed
elsewhere. Instead, the names bestowed bear witness to a profound
appreciation. It was for them alone that Old Faithful marked the hours by
sending up “a plume of spun glass iridescent and superb, against the
[136]
sky.” When the Giant played, “Our whole party went wild with
enthusiasm; many declared it was three hundred feet in height.” The
picturesque name “Broken Horn” was then proposed; it is most descriptive
and worthy of being retained. The Grotto reminded them of

... a miniature temple of alabaster whiteness, with arches leading to some
interior Holy of Holies, whose sacred places may never be profaned by
[137]
eye or foot.

Geysers soon to become known as Giantess, Lion, Grand, Turban (or 131
Turk’s Head), Splendid, Beehive, Fan, Castle, Rocket, and Grotto
performed with unrivaled courtesy. What an array of Titans! Surely the
world would also want to know about this.

And then there were the pools, the amazing springs of Yellowstone—
thousands of them, all colors, a riot of aquatic pigmentation—Emerald,
Sapphire, Gentian, Grand Prismatic, Rainbow, Topaz, and glamorous
Morning Glory. The amazing intricacy of color-blend in the water did not
then excel in beauty the surrounding border incrustations. Indeed, the most
delicate embroidery could not rival them in their wonderful variety and
[138]
complexity.

How was such symmetry of design created? Species by the score of tiny
plants called algae and diatoms thrive in hot water, temperatures ranging
from approximately 100° to 170° F. These plants have the capacity to
assimilate silica held in solution, and as their lives are short they build sinter
formations in the same manner as coral reefs are fashioned. These algae are,
therefore, active geological agents in soil building on a considerable scale.
[139]
However, the intricate mineral incrustations and lacy embroidery
surrounding the boiling hot springs and geysers are entirely the product of
deposition due to evaporation.

As the party progressed through the hierarchy of basins, Upper, Biscuit,
Midway, and Lower, samples were taken and names given to many thermal
features. They were leaving the Firehole region, but before an exit was
made, or its spell broken, their whole experience was given a proper
evaluation, and the greatest natural history idea of a millennium was born.

On the evening of September 19, the explorers were encamped at the
junction of the Firehole and Gibbon rivers. The setting was an impressive
one. A majestic mountain backdrop cast long shadows upon them. The 132
silvery Madison glided away in the foreground. On center stage, red
embers of a neglected fire sparked and glowed in contact with a fanning
breeze.

The last scene was being enacted—the curtain was about to fall. It was an
hour of recapitulation. Thrills were relived, confidences exchanged,
speculations indulged. Then came the inevitable question of Yellowstone’s
destiny. The question was posed, “Men and brethren, what shall we do?”
“Why,” said Smith, “we’ll fence it in; give me Old Faithful.” “I’ll take the
Falls,” echoed another. Serious consideration was given the idea of allowing
each explorer to pre-empt a choice section in the most strategic location and
pool the income for equal distribution. Whereupon, the inspired mind of
Cornelius Hedges proposed and explained an idea that marked him as one of
the far-sighted men of his generation. Said he:

There ought to be no private ownership of any portion of this region.
Rather the whole of it should be set apart as a great National Park for all
time as a reserve for the use and enjoyment of all the people. Furthermore,
each and everyone of us should make every effort to have this purpose
[140]
accomplished.

The response was instantaneous and all but unanimous. The next day
Langford wrote in his diary, “I lay awake half of last night thinking about it;
—and if my wakefulness deprived my bed-fellow [Hedges] of any sleep, he
has only himself and his disturbing National Park proposition to answer for
[141]
it.”

Within a week the Helena Daily Herald had printed the first of a series of
articles on “The Yellowstone Expedition.” Washburn, Langford, Hedges, and
Trumbull wrote separate accounts, all of which were in general agreement
that they had seen “the most interesting country ... where are presented at
once the wonders of Iceland, Italy, and South America.”

133

W. S. Chapman
Part of Washburn-Langford-Doane party in camp.

The members were banqueted and feted; specimens of petrifaction, 134
geyserite, and other strange items were displayed. Langford gave a
“Grand Lecture” to open the Helena Library Association Lecture Course.

Hedges paid glowing tribute to the memory of Truman C. Everts, thought to
be deceased. Indeed, his disappearance did as much as anything else to
capture the public interest. Still anxious to do everything possible in his
behalf, a searching party was immediately organized and sent off. On
October 15, Jack Baronett and George A. Pritchett, two well-known scouts,
came upon the prostrate Everts. It was his thirty-seventh day of travail. They
found him near the northern boundary of the Park, near a mountain now
bearing his name. The day was raw and gusty. Against the prospect of an
overcast sky he carried a firebrand in his seared hands. His weight was
halved; his whole system was terribly out of order. Actually he was sinking

under the conviction that death was near. According to his own report rescue
came in the nick of time:

Groping along the side of the hill, I became suddenly sensible of a sharp
reflection, as of burnished steel. Looking up, through half-closed eyes,
two rough but kindly faces met my gaze.

“Are you Mr. Everts?”

“Yes. All that is left of him.”

“We have come for you.”

“Who sent you?”

“Judge Lawrence and other friends.”
[142]
“God bless him, and them, and you! I am saved!”

Everts fell helpless into the strong arms of his preservers. They carried him
to a trapper’s cabin, and there he rested after swallowing a pint of bear 135
grease. In time his recovery was complete, and he lived to the ripe age
of eighty-five. During these years he experienced much satisfaction over the
contribution he had made in the discovery of Yellowstone, even at the high
price of “Thirty Seven Days of Peril.”

136

Chapter IX
CREATION OF YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

The return of Everts operated as a springboard for an attempt to get
government action. Graphic accounts of the exploration in general filled the
columns of the Helena Herald during October. An article written by
Cornelius Hedges, which appeared in the issue of November 9, suggested an
extension of Montana’s southern boundary to include the whole Yellowstone
region. He also outlined the proposal for appropriation of the same for public
purposes. An excited public interest consumed every issue. Bursting upon
national attention, these highly entertaining narratives, spontaneous and
vivid like tales from Arabian Nights, carried a large measure of conviction.

Nathaniel P. Langford went east to proclaim the discovery. He first
announced the good news to his own people in a public meeting in
Minneapolis. They gave him a responsive hearing, which encouraged him
[143]
for the work ahead. On January 19, 1871, a large crowd listened intently
to his delineation at Lincoln Hall in New York City. The people of
Washington accorded similar attention. In fact, one of the lectures was
presided over by Senator James G. Blaine, and one of the most alert auditors
was Dr. Ferdinand V. Hayden who was soon converted to the importance of
the project and agreed to conduct a government geological survey the
following summer. Hayden’s leadership was an important factor in making
Yellowstone a live political issue. Sam Hauser also visited Washington, D.
C., and he was subsequently joined by Truman C. Everts. Henry D.
Washburn started for the national Capitol, but he fell ill on the way and died
at his former home in Clinton, Indiana, on January 26, 1871. Walter
Trumbull was serving as clerk of the Senate Judiciary Committee, of which
his father was chairman. Interesting accounts of Yellowstone’s features by
Langford and Trumbull appeared in the May and June numbers of Scribner’s
and the Overland Monthly. The Firehole campfire resolution was bearing
fruit.

Dr. Ferdinand V. Hayden

Montana’s new but able territorial representative, Hon. William H. 137
Clagett, went assiduously to work upon the members of Congress. In
his view there was a great prize to be secured for the benefit of all people
and especially his constituents. A wonderland was available for the taking.
As yet there were no complications of private ownership to arrest an alert
government’s purpose. The Congress responded with alacrity by making
provision for an official exploration. The sundry civil service act of March 3,
1871, carried an item of $40,000 for the construction of the Hayden Survey,
to complete “the season’s work about the sources of the Missouri and
Yellowstone Rivers.” In fact, the bill also provided for a reconnaissance of
the upper Yellowstone under Captain J. W. Barlow and Captain D. P. Heap of
the Army Engineer Corps. Congress was not entering into the problem
[144]
halfway; it was actually doubling up.

The chief officer, Dr. Ferdinand V. Hayden, was an unusually capable
geologist. In addition, he possessed an inspiring personality and
statesmanlike views. There were nineteen scientists directly under his
command. The personnel included James Stevenson, managing director;
Henry W. Elliott and Thomas Moran, artists; Professor Cyrus Thomas, 138
agricultural statistician and entomologist; Anton Schonborn, chief
topographer; William H. Jackson, photographer; George B. Dixon, assistant
photographer; J. W. Beaman, meteorologist; Professor G. N. Allen, botanist;
Robert Adams, Jr., assistant botanist; Dr. A. C. Peale, mineralogist; Dr. C. S.
Trunbull, physician; Campbell Carrington, in charge of zoological
collections; William B. Logan, secretary; F. J. Huse; Chester M. Dawes, son
of Representative Henry L. Dawes of Massachusetts; C. De V. Hegley and J.
W. Duncan, assistants. Barlow’s army detail also had a competent and well-
[145]
balanced personnel.

A military escort, including Lieutenant Doane, rounded out these expeditions
and provided all that could have been desired in point of training and ability.
Each detachment had a retinue of helpers. Two technical studies and
scientific reports, which not only substantiated but actually enhanced the
findings of the previous civilian explorations, resulted from these two
expeditions.

Hayden’s party left Fort Ellis, near Bozeman, on July 15, 1871. Upon
reaching the junction of the Yellowstone and Gardner rivers they elected to
ascend the latter. It was a good choice because within the hour they beheld a
white mountain which resembled a vast cascade of frozen snow. The
Mammoth Hot Springs Terraces “alone surpassed all the descriptions which
[146]
had been given by former travelers.”

As this expedition progressed, the geological record was interpreted.
Thereafter, rocks were identified as travertine, gneiss, rhyolite, dacite, basalt,
breccia, geyserite, sinter, and obsidian. Trees and plants were likewise
classified, and in addition to geysers, springs and pools there were fumaroles
and solfataras. Geological speculations were formulated relative to petrified
forests, Grand Canyon, the lake’s former Snake River outlet, and the
relationship of heat, water, and “plumbing” essential for geyser action.

The Hayden expedition in camp

Henry Elliott and Campbell Carrington launched a canvas boat and 139
made a survey of Yellowstone Lake’s hundred-mile shoreline. Later

the temperatures of over six hundred hot springs were taken. Sketches were
made of many features, and significant names were given, such as
Architectural Fountain Geyser. Captain Barlow’s division paid particular
attention to the mapping of Snake River’s headwaters. It also made a cursory
survey of the Lamar River. Unfortunately most of the data and
accompanying photographs were destroyed in the great Chicago fire. This
delayed Barlow’s official report until six weeks after the Park Bill was
enacted. However, an interesting summary appeared in the Chicago Journal
for January 13, 1872. Thus, the report and collection of specimens and
photographs by Dr. Hayden represented the principal result of the season’s
[147]
endeavor.

The beauty of Jackson’s photographs and Moran’s paintings could scarcely
be denied. Each represented the work of a master. Dr. Hayden’s report to
Secretary of Interior, Columbus Delano, was received in February, 1872. He
also contributed feature articles to the American Journal of Science and Arts
and Scribner’s. Thus, a number of authorities had taken up the national park
cause without reservation. Indeed, after he became intrigued with the idea of
government development, Dr. Hayden’s efforts were so impressive that
many people regarded him as the true originator of the movement. In fact,
his own enthusiasm unfortunately caused him to make pretensions for which
[148]
he was severely criticized by his colleagues in the effort. Although Dr.
Hayden’s contribution was invaluable, it was not exclusive. It was through
the combined effort of the entire Montana delegation, and its powerful 140
friends, that Congress was made receptive and responsive.

On December 18, 1871, a bill to create Yellowstone National Park was
introduced simultaneously in both houses of Congress. The direct sponsors
were Delegate William H. Clagett of Montana and Senator Samuel C.
Pomeroy of Kansas. A thorough canvass was made; photographs, specimens,
and testimonials did heavy duty in both the Senate and the House. Four
hundred copies of Scribner’s containing Langford’s articles were distributed
among the congressmen, and all were personally interviewed. The advocates
were few, but effective, and there was never any doubt as to the outcome. In
the Senate, Pomeroy’s efforts were backed by George F. Edmunds, H. B.
Anthony, and Lyman Trumbull. They made an unsuccessful attempt to bring
the bill, S392, to a vote on January 22 and 23, but objections were raised,

and it came up in calendar order on the thirtieth. Senator Edmunds appealed
for unanimous support for the bill. Senators Cameron of Pennsylvania and
Morton of Indiana were curious about the number of square miles in the
proposed reservation. Senator Pomeroy assured them that, although it was a
large tract, there were no arable lands therein because of the elevation.

The advocates were puzzled by the opposition exhibited by Senator
Cornelius Cole of California. He entertained grave doubts as to the value of
the bill. Settlers should not be excluded from such a large area. As to the
natural curiosities, they would remain. Edmunds replied that the 141
region was north of 40° and about seven thousand feet elevation.
Pomeroy affirmed that:

... the only object of the bill is to take early possession of it by the United
States, and set it apart, so that it cannot be included in any claims or
[149]
occupied by any settlers.

Opposition was removed from the discussion by the forceful and tactful
speech made by Senator Trumbull. He reviewed the history of Yosemite and
the Big Trees in California:

I think our experience with the wonderful natural curiosity, if I may so call
it, in the Senator’s own State, should admonish us of the propriety of
passing such a bill as this.... Here is a region of country away up in the
Rocky Mountains, where there are the most wonderful geysers on the face
of the earth.... It is possible that some person may go there and plant
himself right across the only path that leads to these wonders, and charge
every man that passes along ... the gorges of these mountains a fee of a
dollar or five dollars....

I think it is a very proper bill to pass, and now is the time to enact it....
Now, before there is any dispute as to this wonderful country, I hope we
shall except it from the general disposition of the public lands, and reserve
it to the Government.... At some future time, if we desire to do so, we can
repeal this law, if it is in anybody’s way; but now I think it a very
[150]
appropriate bill to pass.

The matter was then presented for a vote, and it passed without a call for the
ayes and noes.

The progress of the Park Bill, H.R. 764, through the House was just as sure,
if not so speedy, as in the Senate. On February 27 Chairman Mark H.
Dunnell of the Public Lands Committee brought out a favorable report. He
personally was convinced by careful investigation that the bill should pass.
Henry L. Dawes clearly and forcibly explained its purpose and observed that
it went a step further than the Yosemite precedent. In this case “the 142
title will still remain in the United States.... This bill treads upon no
rights of the settler ... and it receives the urgent and ardent support of the
[151]
legislature of that Territory [Montana], and of the Delegate himself....”

The roll call on February 28, 1872, showed 115 ayes, 65 noes, and 60 not
voting. George W. Morgan, the minority leader, was opposed to the bill on
partisan principles in general and his personal dislike for Secretary Delano in
particular. Within ten weeks the measure had passed both houses by large
majorities, and on March 1, 1872, it received the signature of President
Ulysses S. Grant.

Upon passage of the act the Helena Herald printed a laudatory editorial on
“Our National Park,” while the Helena Rocky Mountain Gazette considered
the bill “as a great blow struck at the prosperity of the towns of Bozeman
and Virginia City ... if it were thrown open to a curious but comfort-loving
[152]
public.” Other local papers joined the Herald’s side of the controversy.

A mild national reaction was generally favorable to the reservation idea. The
bill even attracted attention abroad, as evidenced by an article in the London
Times, April 10, 1873, under the caption, “A Very National Park.”

Who should receive the credit for this eminent accomplishment? A careful
examination of the facts warrants the conclusion that the idea of establishing
Yellowstone as a public reservation had a dual birth. It was independently
conceived in the minds of two men. This view is attested by the deliberate
statement of N. P. Langford:

It is true that Professor Hayden joined with Mr. Clagett and myself in
working for the passage of the act of dedication, but no person can divide
with Cornelius Hedges and David E. Folsom the honor of originating the
[153]
idea of creating the Yellowstone Park.

143

W. S. Chapman
President Ulysses S. Grant signing the Yellowstone National Park Bill.

In his Westward America, Howard R. Driggs states that the pioneer 144
artist, George Catlin, made a similar observation about other parts of
the Old West in the eighteen thirties. Surely it was Hedges’ suggestion at
Madison Junction campfire that initiated the conception of a program which
other men were well conditioned to execute. N. P. Langford was the
enthusiast, the zealous crusader. William H. Clagett was the man at the helm,
but he was ably supported by the sage advice of Henry L. Dawes,
representative from Massachusetts, who probably formulated the general
[154]
principles of the measure. Dr. F. V. Hayden’s scientific reports and
unstinted support must be weighed heavily in the scale. Senators Samuel C.
Pomeroy and Lyman Trumbull gave strength to the movement. The good
will of General Phil Sheridan was a constant factor. Beyond this spearhead
of ability and integrity the number of contributors broadens. It was an
altogether democratic effort, and little injustice results from the omission of
other efforts toward the cause. Most of them would probably have had it so.
It was a program for the benefit and enjoyment of all people, rather than the
personal aggrandizement of a few.

The rapidity that characterized the government’s action in this matter will
always stand as a tribute to the common sense and natural idealism of the
Forty-second Congress. Judge Hedges’ idea had found ready acceptance as it
journeyed along the legislative course. The “Dedicatory Act,” as it is now
called, was a remarkably well-drawn bill, especially when it is remembered
that the issues involved were not only new in America but to the entire
world. It was a pioneer measure in the field of conserving natural
phenomena for recreational and spiritual appreciation. John Muir has 145
cogently expressed the significance of the endeavor:

Fortunately, almost as soon as it—the Yellowstone region—was
discovered it was dedicated and set apart for the benefit of the people, a
piece of legislation that shines benignly amid the common dust-and-ashes
[155]
history of the public domain.

The philosophy in the statement of the purpose was both unique and basic.
The reservation was “dedicated and set apart as a public park or pleasuring
ground for the benefit and enjoyment of the people.” Conservation was
keynoted in “the preservation from injury or spoliation of all timber, mineral

deposits, natural curiosities or wonders within said park and for retention in
their natural condition.” There was a declaration against “the wanton
destruction of fish and game—and the capture or destruction for the purpose
of merchandise or profit.” Senators Anthony and Tipton wanted to strike out
the last phrase so there would be no destruction of game for any purpose.
Anthony said, “We do not want sportsmen going over there with their guns,”
and Mr. Tipton, “... if the door is once opened I fear there will ultimately be
[156]
an entire destruction of all the game in the Park.” Within a score of years
their fears were fully vindicated, and their wishes realized in the passage of a
Protective Act on May 7, 1894.

Altogether, the Yellowstone National Park bill represents a comprehensive
glance into the principle of use without abuse. Nature was to be preserved,
protected, and not improved. Art could not embellish what God had 146
wrought in Yellowstone. The Act of Dedication became the
touchstone of a national conservation policy whose blessings are legion. The
bill did not carry an appropriation. It appears that the program was to be
implemented entirely by voluntary service. In the years that followed there
was a noble devotion which burned brightly, then waned, and almost died
before resuscitation came. Eventually Yellowstone administrative experience
evolved a program of surpassing merit which served as an example for the
whole nation in the matter of managing certain phases of natural resources.

147

Chapter X
THE LAST ROUNDUP

Before Yellowstone could become accessible as a national playground a
certain evolution of security had to take place. Indian tribes and buffalo
herds were hindrances to both colonization and travel. A double-action
roundup was needed to clear the way for an ephemeral phase, known as
cattle days on the open range, and ultimate colonization within the
approaches of the Park.

The early clash of white trappers and Indians has been reviewed. Passing of
time worked no respite. Indeed, occasional friction swelled into almost
constant strife. As settlers multiplied, the accumulation of past mutual
grievances and suspicions rolled in from other scenes of combat like a
moving tide and then broke into smaller waves, backwashing among the
[157]
Rockies. What was regarded as the natives’ overbearing superiority was
well matched by similar attitudes among the whites, but more important was
the latter’s greater strength.

Racial antagonisms and cultural conflicts swept every tribe into the
whirlpool. Each in turn wrecked itself against the might of federal power.
Finally, a crimson trail was stretched toward Yellowstone when Nez Percé
[158]
Joseph chose to make it a part of his escape route. The Park area and its
environs was by way of becoming the Indians’ last refuge. Therefore, the
destiny of Yellowstone itself was contingent upon a solution of the 148
Indian problem. Few people have the hardihood to seek pleasure at
their peril, and that was precisely the condition until 1880. Only through
complete Indian submission was the security issue brought to rest. How the
events unfolded in this conflict between the settlers and the natives is a tale
worth telling. Perhaps a brief exploration of the mutual opinions of
disrespect will help give one a more balanced judgment of the factors that
marshaled the two races into almost perpetual strife. It is an appropriate
setting for the wind-up Indian scene, as narrated in the chapter on Chief
Joseph’s flight and surrender.

In the outset, English colonial charters granted belts of land to companies, or
proprietors, without reference to Indian occupation. Still, a native people
was found almost everywhere, but these savages were generally interested
only in what might be had for the taking, whether from nature’s bounty or an
enemy tribe. Here was a land with resources for the sustenance of a thousand
times their number. White men were given a generous reception at first.
Indians generally displayed an Arabian type of hospitality and enjoyed
showing homage to important visitors.

However, it became increasingly apparent that white and red men had little
in common. The former were quick to recognize the Indians’ simplicity and
to exploit it. If judged by civilized standards, they were a people living as
children, naïve and simple. They roamed about seeking game and plunder.
Something to eat, a shred of clothing, a partial shelter, and a touch of
adornment sufficed. They would exchange much corn, meat, beaver, and
deerskins for a handful of beads, an iron hatchet, knife, ax, awl, or—best of
all—fire water. Articles of real value were first given cheaply for items of
scarcely any value at all. Mere curiosity led them into many commercial
pitfalls. Ross, the trader, said, “Our people might have loaded a seventy-five-
[159]
gun ship with provisions bought with buttons and rings.”

In the opinion of the Indians, palefaces were weaklings under torture. 149
Still, white folks possessed strong medicine capable of moving great
boats upon water without paddles. They also set great store upon boundaries
on land and upon scratches on paper, which they said meant the same thing
yesterday, today, and forever, and when a chief touched the quill to make his
mark at the end of a writing it might bring trouble for years to come. Of
course, the whites then said it was a treaty of cession by which the tribe had
agreed to move the Indian village away and leave the settlers alone. These
strange white people had a passion for killing trees continually, for making
more tobacco than they could smoke, and for sending most of it away in
their ships. White men were always working, mostly at tasks fit only for
squaws, and they were fond of getting other white men and black men, and
even trying to get red men, to work for them. Palefaces rarely moved their
houses or changed their wives, and they would eat little more in harvest, or
after a kill, than at any other time. Their restraints and their lack of restraint
were equally unaccountable; and their numbers were ever swelling and their

demands ever continuing for more and more land. They were, in truth,
unfriendly neighbors, unwilling to blend the colony with the tribe; but they
were firm, and on occasion impolite, in living their own lives and crowding
the red men out. This brought battle now and then and a few blond scalps to
dangle, but in war, too, the whites were unreasonable. They would not wait
for Indian summer to do battle, and when once they took the path they were
not content with raids, ambushes, and surprise attacks, but they would persist
in a campaign under staunch command long after sensible, spasmodic Indian
[160]
folk had grown weary.

Thus, we may fancy, thought the Algonquins, Iroquois, Mohicans,
Tuscaroras, and the Cherokees, the more sedentary eastern tribes early to
experience the white man’s aggression. At length they concluded that 150
their first welcome had been unwise and wrecked themselves in
efforts to drive the invaders out, but even in this purpose the tribes could not
unite. Alliances reluctantly made between them were carelessly broken in
the hour of peril. There is record of few confederations of Indian tribes that
acted with any degree of unity. The ordinary tribal relationships were hostile.
Indeed, every Indian tribe had at least one implacable enemy. As Chief Little
Plume once said, “As long as there remains a Crow and a Piegan, so long
[161]
will there be war.” Even in their campaigns with the white men they
were inconstant and uncertain and quite as much the victims of treachery and
double dealing as they were perpetrators of such offenses.

In what light was the Indian held by the white settlers of America? It has
already been noted that Europe’s Christian sovereigns and their governors
disregarded the Indians’ tribal ownership. They were primitive, pagan, and
of ill repute. Human beings they were, perhaps, but with a hazy past,
precarious present, and reckless future. If they could be converted to
Christianity, well and good. That blessing would adequately compensate for
the loss of their hunting grounds. Salvation in heaven was far better than
savagery on earth.

Hence, we learn that the Pilgrim Fathers first “fell upon their knees and then
upon the aborigines.” Roger Williams, William Penn, Zebulon Pike, John C.
Calhoun, and Brigham Young raised dissenting views, but theirs were as

voices crying in the wilderness. Other more self-seeking councils prevailed.
Many were the voices raised in condemnation.

General Phil Sheridan, in his oft-quoted comment, said, “There is no good
Indian but a dead Indian.... If a white man steals, we put him in prison; if an
Indian steals, we give him a blanket. If a white man kills, we hang him; if an
[162]
Indian kills, we give him a horse to put the blanket on.”

Another characterization from a Montana frontiersman goes, “An 151
Indian’s heart is never good until he is hungry and cold.”

Jim Stuart, than whom no man had more occasion to harshly judge Indians
about Yellowstone, made the following observation:

“Arro-Ka-Kee” or The Big Rogue [eminently appropriate, that name],
stood six and a half feet high in his moccasins and weighed two hundred
and seventy-five pounds. He was accompanied by “Saw-a-bee Win-an,”
who was a good Indian, although not dead, which I note as an exception to
[163]
the general rule.

The Earl of Dunraven professed to express the Sportsman’s viewpoint when
he said that Buffalo Bill and Texas Jack had the same feeling for Indians that
they entertained toward game. That is to say, “They love them, and they slay
them.”

To the typical frontiersman, the Indian was a savage, ready to pounce on
careless settlers, scalp them, burn their homes, and carry off their loved ones
—in short, a “varmint.” To the romantic writers, the Indians were children of
nature, dwellers in shady forests and peaceful plains, earth’s true nobility! Of
course, the romantic writers seldom saw the natives and never lived with
them. These errors, and many others, have been accepted as first-hand
accurate observations. Indeed, the whole American Indian policy has been
called a tragedy of errors, beginning with the naming of the race
[164]
“Indian.”

Given this background of Indian ways, what might reasonably have been
expected in the way of biracial adjustment? So little was the question of

Indian welfare considered before 1880 that one cannot yet determine just
what course might have solved the problem and brought about successful
assimilation. First the English, and then the Americans, just muddled along,
bribing here, cajoling there, and ultimately forcing everywhere, until this
once proud and militant race was reduced to an inconsolable remnant, 152
broken, defeated, and forlorn, but not forsaken.

Even when the white man’s heart was good toward his red brother there was
conflict in policies. Some thought his only salvation was in the adoption of
agriculture and stock raising, but such a program was ruinous to the fur
traders. The natives were the sinews of that business. The contrast in
economy and culture, rival claims to land, and mutual feelings of superiority
presented a gulf too vast for peaceful desires to overcome. It was the
realization of this fact that impelled the wise Alexander Ross to say, “Peace
[165]
in reality was beyond our power; it was but an empty name.” White
men’s activities and aggressions, under whatever guise, progressively
deranged the Indians’ economy. From every frontier came incessant
demands for the reduction of Indian lands. Memorials to Congress,
complaints to Indian commissioners, blistering editorials in local
newspapers, all mark a stage in frontier development. Settlers were
intolerant of checks upon their expansion, and few, indeed, were the officials
who had the temerity to “arrest the tide of empire in the Territories.”

Against this ominous force the Indians could only writhe and twist. The
uneven contest waged for two and a half centuries, extending from
Jamestown to the Pequot War and from Tippecanoe to Custer’s defeat in the
battle of the Little Bighorn in 1876. It is a tale of red fury and white
vengeance such as might properly appertain to an age of barbarism but
which presents an incongruous picture in a Christian land. It is correct to say
that Indian-American relations were never improved but always embittered
until the natives were reduced to the point of decimation.

Actually, the activities of fur trappers were not bitterly resented by the
natives. Notwithstanding their excessive exploitation of the game there were
compensations. A measure of accommodation resulted, which does not
imply that there was any lack of violence. Theft, rivalry, and sheer joy of
conflict were motives always operating. But there was a community 153

of interest existing between the trapper and Indian which was impossible
between the settler and Indian. Primitive existence was based upon tribal
land and native game; both of these methods were denied by white settlers.
Two types of economy were in conflict, and the red man’s sun was already
beginning to set. The clash is brought into clear relief in the story of the
buffalo.

The bison is America’s largest game animal, and for centuries it was most
plentiful. Native to both plains and mountains it was a truly monarchial
beast. A Spanish conquistador, Cabeza de Vaca, left an account of his
observation upon the Texas plains in 1532: “The cows came from the north,
[166]
and are found all over the land for over four hundred leagues.”

Several years later Coronado’s report stated that they “had seen nothing but
cows and sky.” Ample supporting evidence sustains the fact that the number
was legion. In 1832, Captain Bonneville stated, “As far as the eye could
reach the country seemed absolutely blackened by innumerable herds.” No
census was ever taken, but competent authority suggests that sixty million
head was a conservative estimate for the American plains in the early
nineteenth century. Dependable calculations place the number persisting
until 1870 at one fourth that number. At the end of the century the species
was on the verge of extinction.

How did this remarkable diminution transpire? Here, indeed, is a roundup of
mammoth proportions and far-reaching consequences. Bison were the
natives’ base of life, their tribal grubstake, a divine heritage. Only by wise
conservation of this wild animal wealth were they enabled to maintain such a
free and easy life.

After the Civil War railroads were projected into the buffalo country.
Construction camps employed professional hunters to provide fresh meat.
William F. Cody held a contract for the Union Pacific. It was this 154
circumstance that gave him the name “Buffalo Bill.” Such hunters set
amazing records for a day’s slaughter. Wasteful as this practice was, much
greater prodigality emanated from the camps of certain foreign and
American sportsmen and celebrities. Russian grand dukes, English lords,
German counts, and American “no-a-counts” were alike in their insatiable

[167]
instinct of destruction. In way of extenuation it is fair to state that the
emotional strain of bison chasing was overpowering.

However, it was the railroad itself that dealt the deadliest blow. Bison robes
were too bulky to be handled by pack train, and only marginal profits
accrued to wagon masters, but the effect of the iron horse was revolutionary.
During the early seventies several lines conducted hunting excursions at low
rates, guaranteeing shots from the windows. These facilities, supplemented
by horse-and-wagon outfits, made the conquest of buffalo easy, especially
when a definite profit was in view. That condition developed when the
tanneries discovered bison hides could be used in leather wear. Thereafter,
hides sold from $1.00 to $4.00 each, and a party of six hunters could kill and
skin fifty or more in a day. In 1873, the Santa Fe alone carried 754,529 hides
[168]
to eastern markets. The traffic in buffalo hides grew and prospered and
finally degenerated into debauching butchery.

Courtesy Union Pacific Ry.
The iron horse in Buffalo country—an early Wyoming scene

Thus, for a score of years, hundreds of expert riflemen combed the 155
plains. They were armed with heavy Sharps and Winchester rifles,
which boomed relentlessly at the ponderous bellowing herds. They took
away the hides, brains, and tongues, leaving the rest to waste. It was wanton
business written in crimson carcasses that dissolved into whitened bones.
The railroad, therefore, destroyed frontier isolation and quickened the
process of transforming a wilderness into a settled community. This increase
in the tempo of frontier life was most apparent in the solution of the Indian
problem.

As the great train, piled high with hides, rumbled away its reverberations
were echoed by a more ominous rumble in the disconsolate camps of the red
men. This was the final aggression, the ultimate grievance, and it set the
people’s teeth on edge. This inexorable white advance broke the natives’
hearts. Once again, it was demonstrated that Indians and white men could
not live together. It meant the annihilation of their way of life—their very
existence—and a tragic fate—starvation.

Why did the government wink at this great imposition? Because after the
railroad came colonization was imminent, but land overrun by wild Indians
and buffalo could not be occupied. The herds had to be greatly diminished
and the Indians, confined. The destruction of the bison was the most
[169]
expedient means of bringing a recalcitrant race into subjection. The
nomads cagily rejected federal treaties until the bison commissary was
destroyed. Then it was either fight or surrender. Several tribes elected to
fight, to try to drive the white man back across the Missouri River. How
much chance did they have in this belated effort? Indians were able warriors.
They were slow to project, cautious to proceed, and firm to execute. Always
[170]
cunning in strategy and subtle in ambush, they were certain to surprise.
An awareness of their limited numbers made them expert in decoy 156
tactics and careful of their lives. Vigilant and watchful, they waited
patiently for the advantage in time. They were quick and precise in
estimating the strength of an enemy. Their code did not require a fight on
equal terms. Indians, as a class, never equaled white men in the use of the
rifle; however, they soon learned to improve the interval between firing and
reloading.

Extremely superstitious, they carried certain charms about their persons, the
efficacy of which was never doubted. Thus protected, they charged fearlessly
into an affray. Too, youth was considered the proper time to die, and young
men sometimes sought death, lending an air of fanaticism to the attacks.

Red men were greatly exhilarated by victory. They would vault and yell in
fiendish glee as they flourished the gory scalps of their victims. By 1850,
however, the destiny of Indian folk was established. Thereafter, their cries
seldom bore the shrill staccato notes of victory but rather the mournful wail
of defeat.

The legend of “Big Foot,” great chief of the Flathead tribe, had been
fulfilled. In 1804 he is supposed to have assembled his warriors in council
and related this message:

My heart tells me that the Great Spirit has forsaken us; he has furnished
our enemies with his thunder to destroy us, yet something whispers to me,
that we may fly to the mountains and avoid a fate, which, if we remain
here, is inevitable. The lips of our women are white with dread, there are
no smiles on the lips of our children. Our joyous sports are no more, glad
tales are gone from the evening fires of our lodges. I see no face but is
sad, silent, and thoughtful; nothing meets my ears but wild lamentations
for departed heroes. Arise, let us fly to the mountains, let us seek their
deepest recesses where unknown to our destroyers, we may hunt the deer
and bighorn, and bring gladness back to the hearts of our wives and our
[171]
children!

Flight of the Indians to the mountains delayed, but did not preclude, the final
conquest of their domain. They were only reserved for the last 157
roundup. Eventually each tribe was brought to its respective day of
reckoning. The government’s policy was not always crystal clear. It
fluctuated between the extremes of the “Quaker Peace Policy” and “Fire and
the Sword Practice.” However, the goal was the same; “blanket” Indians
were to become “farmers,” live in fixed abodes, and “walk the white man’s
[172]
road.”

After the Civil War the execution of this business was taken in hand by
resolute fighting men. Hence, the military spirit was hardened toward the red
men. Inexorably the race was pressed toward the appointed end. This work
was accomplished by a series of military actions during the sixties and
seventies.

In eastern Idaho Colonel Patrick Connor wrought swift vengeance on the
Bannock nation in 1863. More than two hundred Indians were killed, a loss
which forever broke down their force and effectiveness. This tribe was guilty
of many depredations against migrants, miners, and Mormon settlers. Its
forlorn remnants were assigned to the Fort Hall Reservation.

The plains tribes went on the war path in 1864. Colonel Chivington’s
command surprised and almost annihilated a peaceful band of Arapahos and
Cheyennes in the Sand Creek massacre. What Chivington neglected General
Custer completed four years later in the destruction of Black Kettle’s village.
In frontier parlance there was always battle when the Indians were killed and
[173]
a massacre when the whites were the victims.

In 1871 Generals Sherman and Sheridan projected a plan that eventuated in
the complete conquest of the Kiowa and Comanche nations, but the Sioux
were the most formidable obstacle to the colonization of Wyoming and
Montana. They stood immovable astride the country lying between the
headwaters of the Powder and Yellowstone rivers. This was the heart 158
of the Sioux country—their last and favorite retreat. There, grass grew
lush, and cool, sweet streams teemed with trout. Wild berries flourished, and
a hunter could take his pick of buffalo, bear, elk, deer, antelope, and sheep.
The great Sioux Chieftains, Red Cloud and Crazy Horse, together with
Sitting Bull, the medicine man, protested bitterly in 1864 when John
[174]
Bozeman, John Jacobs, and others began traveling across these lands.

Federal ultimatums to assemble upon designated reservations were spurned
by the Sioux, and a campaign of coercion was invoked with Brigadier
Generals Alfred H. Terry and George Crook on far-flung phalanx and
Colonel George A. Custer as the spearhead of the advance. Whether through
reckless bravery, error of judgment, or necessity, Custer rushed into a
treacherous situation, and his entire command (265 men) was annihilated.

The day was June 25, 1876; the place, Little Bighorn River. It was a red
letter event in the history of the Sioux, but it was a fleeting victory because
the military, ably led by Colonel Nelson A. Miles, persisted in the campaign,
and within a few months the mighty Sioux were either upon their appointed
reservations or in exile. One of the last scenes in this solemn drama was
enacted in June, 1881, at Miles City, Montana. Sixteen hundred Sioux,
formerly under the leadership of Chief Rain-in-the-Face, were loaded on
government steamboats for the Standing Rock Reservation in Dakota. Deep
mourning issued from their camp on Tongue River:

For two days and nights the Indians, and more especially the squaws, kept
up their dismal howlings on taking farewell of their beloved homes and
[175]
hunting grounds.

Courtesy Union Pacific Ry.
Strong medicine against the Indians

159

As the buffalo and Indian went out, the Texas longhorn and “long drive”
came in. The long drive lay across the tablelands of western Texas into
Kansas, crossed the Santa Fe Trail at Dodge City, passed over the
headwaters of the Salmon and across the Republican, and reached the South
Platte at Ogallala. From this camp it followed the Oregon Trail to Fort
[176]
Laramie, and then veered north over the Bozeman road. The Texas
Longhorn rolled up from the Southwest like a tidal wave once the way was
opened. In fact, wild “speckled cattle” had been sharing part of the Texas
plains for generations. Now, cattle raising became the great bonanza for a
period.

The American cattle industry started back in 1521 when seven calves of
Andalusian breed landed in Mexico. Gregorio was the pioneer ranchman on
the continent. His flocks literally covered “a thousand hills.” In spite of his
vaquero’s diligence, some of his stock strayed and formed the nucleus of a
[177]
mighty herd. From buffalo to range cattle is not a wide step; it was the
capacity of the winter range to carry bison that suggested the cattle industry.

Conditions for stock raising were ideal in Texas. Millions of acres were
plush carpeted with grama, mesquite, buffalo, and bluestem grasses. Early
settlers gathered this wild stock into princely domains, and a new industry
was born. The greatest problem was getting the cattle to market. New
Orleans, Mobile, and Cuba were reached from Shreveport by boat. Still,
there were the thriving northern cities where prices doubled those in Texas.

The first authenticated northern drive came in 1846 when Edward Piper
drove one thousand Texas steers to Ohio. By 1865 Texas boasted one-eighth
of all the cattle in America, as against a local population of less than half a
million people. Somehow these cattle had to be gotten to market.

Returning Confederate veterans, broke but adventurous, saw the challenge of
the open range and seized it. Loose, wild stock and “mavericks” were soon
in the clutches of men and mustangs as wild as they. The first cowboys to
make the long drive had need to be tough. There were many hazards 160
menacing their way—non-treaty Indians, white thieves, floods,
cyclones, and ever threatening stampedes. Sometimes the distance between
water was more than a day’s travel.

Cattle kings were men of great energy and enterprise. They took big risks,
sometimes winning large profits and occasionally losing just as handsomely.
Chisum, Hittson, Kennedy, O’Connor, and King were charmed names in the
cattle fraternity. They nurtured their stock on hundred-thousand-acre ranches
and then sent them forth to forage upon the public domain. It is estimated
that six million head grazed their way to market over the Chisholm, Great
Western, Shawnee, and other trails.

This wealth of the cloven hoof was entrusted to young athletes equally adept
in forking a hoss, shooting a gun, and hurling a lariat. Cowboys were
capable of both long, patient application to duty and vigorous relaxation
when opportunity afforded. As a class they were steady and dependable.
They delivered their charges in good condition at such shipping points as
Sedalia, Abilene, Wichita, Ogallala, Glendive, and Miles City. This
migration of cowmen and their herds was a strong, tremendous movement. It
came with a rush and a surge, and in ten years it had subsided.

Even as the iron horse gave birth to the long drive, just so surely did it
eventually destroy the big cattle business itself. Homesteaders came with the
advance in transportation. There was a gradual, but irresistible, invasion of
the open range. The “nesters” enclosed public domains. Thus, as the Indian
gave way before the soldier and the hunter, so the cowboy yielded to the
farmer. Ranches soon absorbed the eight million acres formerly overrun by
bison and cattle.

There were still several regions ideally suited for stock raising—Montana,
Wyoming, and Idaho. Toward these remote areas men looking for new, free
grassland, timber, and water headed their cattle. The quest led them into the
several great valley approaches to the Yellowstone Plateau. On both 161
slopes of the great divide plants and grass grow steadily during
summer, and the dry atmosphere cures and ripens them as they mature. This
type of feed is highly nutritious and conducive to the development or
perfection of form and strength of bone and muscle.

Among the pioneer ranchmen of the Rockies was Nelson Story. He netted
more than ten thousand dollars in the placer mines of Alder Gulch. This sum
he invested in a thousand Texas longhorns in 1866. With twenty-seven trail-
hardened cowboys he brought the cattle to Montana. It was a tremendous

undertaking to get them through a veritable gauntlet of hostile Indians and
desperate white thieves. Three of his men were killed before they reached
[178]
the end of Bozeman Trail. Gold dust in exchange for beef proved more
profitable than taking it from the placers themselves. Even the poorest ox
would bring a hundred dollars, and so the traffic increased.

At this time the able Sioux chief, Red Cloud, served notice upon the
government that he would kill every white man who traveled along that trail.
It was not an idle boast; the record shows nearly two hundred casualties in
the last six months of 1866. In fact, the Bozeman Trail became one long
battleground, scene of such Sioux victories as the Fetterman and Wagon Box
massacres. However, the military persisted, and with constant operations
[179]
stemming from Forts Kearney and Smith the trail was kept open.

In 1870 more than 40,000 Texas cattle reached Wyoming, Montana, 162
and Idaho. Six years later the mountain Indians were largely
liquidated. The removal of Red Cloud, Crazy Horse, and Sitting Bull opened
the way for new cattle commonwealths. By 1880 the federal census reported
428,279 head in Montana and 521,213, in Wyoming. Soon the stockmen
evolved a considerable network of mountain trails. The main artery went up
the Yellowstone to Fort Custer and thence into Wyoming via Forts
McKinney, Reno, and Fetterman to Cheyenne for shipping.

New names entered the stage with the growth of the cattle business such as
Granville Stuart, James Fergus, A. J. Davis, John Ming, John Grant, Conrad
Kohrs, R. S. Ford, Ancenny, Poindexter, Iliff, Flowerree, and George
[180]
Searight. Then there were the famous companies, The Union Cattle
Company, The Swan Land and Cattle Company, North American, Powder
River, Prairie, and Horseshoe being among the major names. Professor Dan
E. Clark states that twenty Wyoming companies were organized in 1883,
with individual capitalization from ten thousand to three million and a
[181]
combined value of twelve million dollars. In Montana, though, the Stock
Growers Association represented an ownership of half a million head of
cattle in 1884. The Eastern Montana Stock Growers Association of the same
[182]
state claimed a capital investment of thirty-five million dollars.

Under the impetus of such flourishing activity, the great river valleys
stemming out of the Yellowstone Plateau were soon dotted by ranches.
Wind, Snake, Madison, Gallatin, and Yellowstone valleys each received its
quota. None of them quite reached the Park land, but Frederick Bottler’s
range almost impinged upon the northern border. It is probable that rancher
invasion of the actual Park area was minor, if there was any. However, there
was a rustler element that quite assuredly knew part of Yellowstone 163
country.

The decade overlapping the sixties and seventies was the twilight period in
frontier history. A transition was progressing from semi-lawlessness to
orderly government. The arrogant Henry Plummer and his wicked gang of
Innocents were liquidated by Montana Vigilantes in 1864, but another
nefarious activity was taking heavy toll from the cattlemen. Horse and cattle
rustlers found a lucrative business in preying upon the large herds grazing
the open range. These cunning men would establish a rendezvous in some
sequestered place like Teton Basin or the upper Madison Valley. From such a
position they would make forays upon the stock owned by the big interests.
The worst offenders, and those most difficult to apprehend, were men who at
some time had been connected with the cattle business. Sometimes they
altered the brands, but often a crisscross plan of shipment was followed; that
is, Wyoming and Montana stock was whisked down to the Utah market;
while Idaho material went east to Cheyenne. Men such as “Teton” Jackson,
Ed Harrington, and Bob Tarter worked both sides of the Divide. The high
meadows in and near Yellowstone were ideal for their purpose. It is also
claimed that the notorious Butch Cassidy gang, long ensconced upon the
Green River, made occasional forays among stock ranging near the
southeastern borders of the Park.

It is a fact that the Washburn-Langford-Doane party encountered
representatives of the rustler element upon their last day in the Park area. Mr.
Langford left this account:

Mr. Hauser and Mr. Stickney all through the day were a few miles in
advance of the rest of the party, and just below the mouth of the canyon
they met two men who manifested some alarm at the sight of them. They
had a supply of provisions packed on riding saddles and were walking
beside their horses. Mr. Hauser told them that they would meet a large

party up the canyon, but we did not see them, and they evidently cached
themselves as we went by. The Upper Madison in this vicinity is 164
[183]
said to be a rendezvous for horse thieves.

It was actually an area of operation for the Murphy and Edmonson gang of
desperadoes. Langford and Doane came upon three of their horses which
[184]
they caught and pressed into service during the rest of the journey. In
1874 the Earl of Dunraven remarked that the Yellowstone traveler had to
keep a sharper lookout for white horse thieves than for redskin robbers.

By 1873 stock losses by rustling were so great as to force counter measures.
The Wyoming Stock Growers Association hired a large force of detectives
and inspectors. The movements of every newcomer were watched with
suspicious vigilance; blacklists were circulated. The penalties for mis-
branding and marking were doubled, and prosecution was swift and
vigorous. These hard-hitting policies soon brought the problem under
control.

Thus ended the major evil of another era, and the rustlers were hustled into
that Shangri-la of frontier romance where “happy ghosts,” as Professor
Paxson has said, “will endure forever, a happy heritage for the American
[185]
mind.”

By 1880 the hostile human barriers, red and white, had been removed from
the way. The West’s unsettled areas were so broken as to destroy the frontier
line. Yellowstone was still a wilderness, but it was accessible to man.

165

Chapter XI
CHIEF JOSEPH’S TRAIL OF BLOOD

The Nez Percé Indians were first encountered in 1805 by the Lewis and
Clark Expedition. They were at home in the region of eastern Oregon and
western Idaho. The Wallowa Valley, “land of winding water,” was their
especial habitat. They referred to themselves as “Nim-i-pu,” “the real
people.” The name Nez Percé or “pierced noses” was a French cognomen of
doubtful validity.

The Nez Percé were not highly centralized in tribal organization. There were
several factions, but in the third quarter of the 19th century, Tu-eka-kas, or
Old Joseph, as the Reverend Henry H. Spaulding called him, was a ranking
chief. The Nez Percé befriended the Lewis and Clark party by taking care of
their horses. Thenceforth their policy was one of cooperation and friendship
with the white man, combined with a stern insistence upon their rights.
Joseph hoped for biracial adjustment. To this end he always befriended the
government, but it was understood that his domain should never be invaded.

Federal Indian treaties made after 1855 brought white settlers ever closer to
the Nez Percé domain. Certain unprincipled Oregon people looked greedily
upon the choice lands of Wallowa. As the pressure increased there was
neither political will nor honor to curb the aggressors. Hence, the noble Nez
Percé, like all red men before them, were thrown on the defensive.

Old Joseph sensed the impending issue, and before his death in 1871 166
he exacted a promise from his son, Young Joseph, that he would never
[186]
give up Wallowa. Years of increasing pressure brought a full vindication
of Old Joseph’s fears and a realization of responsibility to his son.

By 1876 the federal government was yielding to local demands for Nez
Percé evacuation, and a commission brought in the usual report. The non-
treaty Indians had no standing and should be made to conform. They should
be required to join the other tribes on the Lapwai Reservation.

General O. O. Howard was directed to enforce the decree. The Nez Percé
were greatly distressed. Several conferences were held. Young Joseph
resisted manfully. By this time he was in his thirty-seventh year. Fully
mature, he stood six feet tall, and his rugged body disclosed tremendous
energy and sinew. His mind was keen, but his spirit was disciplined. He was
ready for his work.

The military authority gave Chief Joseph thirty days to get his people on the
[187]
reservation; June 14, 1877 was the deadline. In vain Joseph pleaded for
an extension of time until fall. Orders had been given by the military. Joseph
also gave orders. His people gathered in their stock and prepared for the
migration; it was better for deer to be penned up than to fight the grizzly.
There were many soldiers at Howard’s back; the odds were too great. They
must surely obey or perish.

Other Nez Percé leaders were not so wise. Chiefs Tu-hul-hul-sote and White
Bird wanted to fight. They were chiefs in their own right and had large
followings. Still, Joseph was willing to sacrifice honor and prestige by
[188]
resisting war. He valued his people’s blood above his own pride. While
the great man humbly revealed his integrity, trouble brewed in darker minds.

167

Courtesy of Haynes, Inc.
Chief Joseph, war chief of the Nez Percé.

An old man in White Bird’s band was taunting young Wal-ait-its, 168
whose father, Eagle Blanket, had been slain by a white settler in 1876.
“You are brave! Why don’t you go and show it by killing the man who killed
your father?” The goad fired him to a fever of revenge. He and two
companions sprang upon their horses. When they returned to the council,
four white men had answered the last call. Wal-ait-its shouted, “Why do you
sit here like women? The war has begun already.” Tu-hul-hul-sote had
organized a war party. Joseph still hoped for a peaceful settlement. It could
not be. The war fever spread, and Indian blood was on fire. He must either
[189]
lead or step aside. He chose to defend his people and their cause.

On the morning of June 17 a battle took place in White Bird’s Canyon.
Captain Perry, assisted by Lieutenants Theller and Parnell, was approaching
with two troops of cavalry. Joseph had taken command. He quickly
conceived of a daring triple-action assault. With instinctive judgment he
chose strategic positions and gave brisk orders. He moved among his men,
encouraging them, and directing them from place to place. He seemed an all-
pervading, dominating force. He deployed his braves upon the heights.
Protected by rocks and brush, they threaded a bobbing course upon the
beleaguered cavalry. Dismounting and aiming deliberately, they decimated
[190]
the ranks of soldiery.

White Bird Canyon stands next to the Custer and Fetterman massacres as the
Waterloo of white troops before Indians, but the conditions were in no way
identical. The advantages were equally balanced at White Bird.

Young Joseph had proved himself a great war chief in a single engagement.
From this time forth his destiny was with him. He was the last mighty 169
Indian, and his name was Hin-mut-too-yah-lat-kekht, meaning
“Thunder strikes out of water and travels to loftier heights.” Wherever one
touches him he is great; every incident and circumstance discloses a big
man. He exercised unerring judgment in strategy and tactics. Years afterward
Joseph said, “The Great Spirit puts it into the heart of man to know how to
defend himself.”

The defeat of Perry threw General Howard’s command into a frenzy of
activity. Orders went out for reinforcements, and troops moved toward

Lewiston from every direction. By the last of June, Howard was in the field.
The wily Indian leader had moved his entire nation beyond the raging
Salmon River where he made a stand. Said Howard, “A safer position was
[191]
unchoosable, nor one more puzzling and obstructive.”

Howard’s soldiers experienced great difficulty in going where Joseph’s
whole band had gone. This was just the prelude to a game of hide and seek
that lasted from late June to early October and lengthened into a dozen
engagements as the two forces moved eastward for the space of sixteen
hundred miles.

In the weeks that followed, General Howard learned to respect his adroit and
formidable foe. Joseph’s forces never exceeded three hundred warriors. The
whole band numbered about seven hundred. General Howard’s command
numbered five hundred and eighty regulars, and it was later augmented by
four separate commands in the course of the pursuit. The forces of Joseph
and Howard came to grips on the banks of Clearwater River. There the Nez
Percé fought with such courage and precision that the battle must be written
[192]
up as a draw.

Joseph was now ready to fight to a finish, but his captains voted for a retreat.
Again he bowed to the will of the majority. They were destined to pursue a
“trail of tears” during the next three months. It was a march as 170
[193]
dramatic as the “flight of a Tartar tribe.” The band was on the
move, over the Lolo Trail—a terrific route. They lived on the country—
roots, berries, and game.

Joseph could cope with one enemy, but the military resources of the whole
Western Department baffled him. He found his exit from the Bitter Roots
obstructed by Captain Charles C. Rawn from Fort Missoula. Rawn
demanded surrender; Joseph parleyed until his forces outflanked Rawn’s
position and escaped. At this juncture we see his humanity in making a treaty
of forbearance with the settlers in Bitter Root Valley.

The entire Nez Percé tribe was overtaken and attacked at daybreak, on the
Big Hole, by General John Gibbon’s force of one hundred and eighty

soldiers, augmented by some of the erstwhile peaceful settlers. The slaughter
on both sides was: whites, twenty-nine killed, forty wounded; Indians,
eighty-three dead, wounded undetermined (fifty-three of the dead were
[194]
women and children). Joseph commented bitterly, “The Nez Percé never
make war on women and children.” Notwithstanding the confusion of this
surprise attack, Joseph’s band recovered and moved on. Howard was still on
their trail.

Several Salmon City, Idaho, freighters fell before the drunken wrath of some
of Joseph’s braves on Birch Creek. In Camas Meadows Howard maneuvered
for a stand. The result was the loss of many mules and horses. Worse still
was the mortal wounding of three soldiers and serious injury of five others.
Just as Howard was expecting to pounce upon his prey, the crafty chief
whirled around and inflicted a surprising blow, escaping almost scot free.

171

A general map of Chief Joseph’s flight.

Several days later the Nez Percé were trailing up the Madison River 172
within the Park. They were strangers in Yellowstone and the most

unwelcome tourists it has ever known. Within this identical week Secretary
of War William T. Sherman and an escort of five concluded a tour and left
for Fort Ellis. They did not see “any signs of Indians, and felt at no moment
[195]
more sense of danger than we do here.” A few days later they were
cognizant of their lucky break. Near Madison Junction the Nez Percé met a
prospector named Shively whom they pressed into service as a guide. A few
days later they seized another miner named Irwin, and held him for a while.

The Radersburg Tourists

The Nez Percé spent the night of August 23 in camp on the banks of the
Firehole River, above the narrows. At daybreak the next morning several
Indians appeared in the camp of some tourists from Radersburg, Montana.
The personnel of this party were Mr. and Mrs. George F. Cowan; Mrs.
Cowan’s brother and sister, Frank and Ida Carpenter; Charles Mann; William
Dingee; Albert Oldham; A. J. Arnold; and Henry Myers. A prospector,
named Harmon, was also associated with the Cowan party at this time.

These people were just preparing to break up the “home” camp located at
this terminus of the wagon road. For the past week they had been enjoying
themselves on horseback visits to the geyser basins, and several of them had
been to the lake and canyon.

Dingee asked the Indians, “What are you?” “Snake Injun,” one replied. Later
they admitted they were Nez Percé and made a demand for coffee and
bacon. Cowan refused to give them any, and as one who called himself
“Charley” attempted to give a signal the stern Cowan peremptorily ordered
him to “keep hands down!” Right there a special resentment was engendered
toward the “older man.” Frank Carpenter asked them if any harm was in
store for the party. The spokesman said, “Don’t know, maybe so.” He 173
gave them to understand that since the Big Hole Battle the Nez Percé
[196]
were double-minded toward the white man.

The worried little party held a hasty consultation, and in view of their limited
arms and ammunition they decided, with serious misgivings, to make an

appeal to the chiefs for their deliverance.

They, therefore, hooked up the team, saddled their horses, and joined the
Indian caravan, which turned eastward and journeyed up Nez Percé Creek.
After proceeding a couple of miles the wagon was abandoned, its contents
rifled, and the spokes knocked out for whip handles. By midday the
Radersburg case had come to the attention of the chiefs. A council was held
at the base of Mary Mountain in which it was decided that the tourists were
to be liberated. Poker Joe spoke for the chiefs:

Some of our people knew Mrs. Cowan and her sister at Spokane House.
The soldiers killed many Nez Percé women and children on the Big Hole.
But we do not hurt Montana people. You may go. Take old horses and do
[197]
not spy.

They were relieved of their saddles, guns, and horses, worn-out animals
being substituted for the latter. The white men nodded acceptance of these
extraordinary terms. They were glad to part with the tribe and retrace their
course. Within a half hour, two of the white men, Arnold and Dingee,
abandoned their horses and ducked into the forest. Hidden Indian scouts
were obviously expecting just such behavior. A few minutes later seventy-
five braves swooped upon Cowan’s party, demanding the missing members.
Cowan could only plead ignorance. Whereupon, Charley said, “You will
have to come back.” The little band again turned eastward with leaden
spirits.

Angry Indians were milling around on all sides, each waiting for the 174
other to start an attack. Suddenly Um-till-lilp-cown, one of the three
[198]
Idaho murderers, fired at Cowan, hitting him in the thigh. At the same
time Oldham felt a twinge on both checks as a bullet passed through his
face. Carpenter saw an Indian aiming at him, and thinking some of the Nez
Percé might be Catholics he made the sign of the cross. His act may have
disconcerted the warrior for he did not fire. Oldham managed to get away
through a thicket, while Cowan was so stunned he fell to the earth. His wife
jumped down from her horse and clasped him to her bosom, but they
dragged her away. Another shot, from close range, struck him in the
forehead. His wounds were considered fatal, and he was left to die. At this

juncture Poker Joe arrived from the chiefs, who had got word of the attack,
and he stopped the onslaught.

In the shuffle and commotion that ensued, Myers, Harmon, and Mann made
their getaway. Mann felt a bullet whiz through his hat as he ran among the
trees. Each man went in a different direction and carried the impression that
he was the sole survivor. This was the opinion of each of the separated
contingents. Each considered all missing ones as obviously dead.

The unscattered survivors, including Mrs. Cowan, her brother Frank, and
sister Ida, were again taken captives. Although their treatment during the
next twenty-four hours was considerate, it was a period of great mental
anguish for them. They spent the night by Chief Joseph’s campfire, and
considering the circumstances their attitude toward him was most
interesting. Mrs. Cowan said of him:

My brother tried to converse with Chief Joseph, but without avail. The
Chief sat by the fire, sombre and silent, foreseeing in his gloomy
meditations possibly the unhappy ending of his campaign. The “noble red
man” we read of was more nearly impersonated in this Indian than in any
[199]
I have ever met. Grave and dignified, he looked a chief.

Radersburg tourist party marker.

175

W. S. Chapman
George F. Cowan stands up to Nez Percé warriors.

On the evening of the twenty-fifth the captives were provided with 176
two horses and released near the Mud Volcano. “They must not go too
fast”; therefore no saddle for Ida or horse for Frank were provided. Poker
Joe directed them to go down the river “quick.” This they did as rapidly as
their broken-down ponies would carry them. Burdened with grief and care,
they made their way over Mount Washburn and beyond Tower Falls where
they came upon a detail of soldiers who supplied their most urgent
necessities and found them a ride to Bozeman.

In going down Yellowstone Valley they were the recipients of much
sympathy from the settlers. As they entered Bozeman, Lieutenant Doane and
a considerable number of Crow Indian scouts and soldiers were leaving for
the Park. Carpenter joined Doane’s command, with the intention of returning

to the scene of the attack and attending to the burial of his brother-in-law. In
mourning, Mrs. Cowan and her sister continued on to Radersburg.

But Cowan was a sturdy being; he would not die. It was nearly sundown
when he regained consciousness. Wounded in thigh and head, he yet pulled
himself up from his rocky “grave.” Unfortunately an Indian sentinel
observed his movement, drew a bead, and fired. Cowan dropped with a fresh
wound in his left side. He now felt that they had “fixed” him beyond all hope
of recovery. However, he remained conscious and lay motionless until
darkness settled.

Then he started a crawling retreat toward Lower Geyser Basin, nine miles
[200]
away. What an eternity August 24 must have seemed! Were his wife and
friends safe? He had little basis for hoping so. Could he make a getaway, and
was it worth the effort? About midnight he apprehended motion among the
cinquefoil. It was an Indian scout, raised to elbow posture, listening. 177
Cowan remained perfectly quiet until the watchman relaxed; then he
circled the danger zone by more than a mile. Onward he dragged his tortured
body, alternately resting and crawling. He finally reached the deserted
wagon where his bird dog faithfully waited. She growled and menaced until
recognition dawned, then hovered over him like a protecting mother. There
was no food anywhere to be found, but he gathered up the sheets of
Carpenter’s diary. Cowan pressed doggedly on toward the campground in
the Lower Geyser Basin. During the third day a band of Indians came by his
hiding place. They were friendly Bannocks of Howard’s command, but he
did not know and took no chance.

On the twenty-seventh he reached the old camp, found matches, and
gathered spilled coffee grains and an empty can. These netted him a cup of
coffee. He passed the night there. The following day he crawled over by the
road, and that effort taxed his strength to the limit. It was enough, as relief
came in the form of two of Howard’s scouts, Captain S. G. Fisher and J. W.
Redington. The latter said, “Who in hell are you?”

“I’m George Cowan of Radersburg.”

“You don’t say! We’ve come to bury you.”

They rendered first aid, provided food, and left Cowan by a roaring fire with
the assurance that the main force would gather him up within two days. Mr.
Fee has deftly described the abrupt termination of that hard earned felicity:

Cowan ate enough to keep himself alive and lay down in silent joy to
sleep the night through. Towards morning he was awakened by awful
heat, and found to his dismay that the vegetable mold he was lying on had
taken fire and encircled him with flames. He rose on hands and knees and
suffering terribly, crawled across the charred area to safety. His hands and
[201]
legs were badly burned.

In the meantime his scattered companions were being united. Mr. Harmon
was the first to reach General Howard’s encampment at Henrys Lake. 178
Arnold and Dingee arrived after several days and nights of hardship.
Myers and Oldham were encountered by Howard’s scouts. The latter was in
a pitiful state. His tongue was so swollen, as a result of his wound, that he
could not speak. Shock and exposure to the cold nights, together with lack of
food for four days, had left its mark upon them all.

Howard reluctantly took the whole delegation along, and on August 29 they
joined Cowan in the Lower Geyser Basin. Arnold said Cowan was a “most
pitiful looking object. He was covered with blood, which had dried on him,
and he was as black as a negro.” Here Cowan learned of his wife’s safety,
and that news, together with his friend Arnold’s “unremitting attentions,”
pulled him through. The army surgeon ministered to the physical wounds of
the men but no sympathy was forthcoming. The Radersburg men desired to
return home by way of Henrys Lake, but they were bundled along with the
command, over roads that were:

simply horrible and almost impassable for wagons. At times we were
compelled to lower them over precipices with ropes, and again we would
[202]
hitch a rope to a wagon and pull it up the hill by man power.

In the meantime Frank Carpenter, along with Lieutenant Doane’s command,
pressed toward the Park. They found Henderson’s ranch buildings in flames.
A band of renegade Nez Percé were spreading terror in their wake. Camp
was established there anyway, and a courier arrived, directing Lieutenant

Doane to mark time until joined by Colonel Charles C. Gilbert and the
Seventh Infantry. Carpenter’s plan to return and bury Cowan was again
frustrated. A promise to perform that function, given by a frontiersman
named Houston induced Carpenter to return to Bozeman. There he learned
that all members of the party were safe and accounted for except Cowan.
The news that Cowan was still alive reached him a few days later when he
met the two scouts who had found Cowan just a week before. Perhaps no
one else could have convinced him his friend was alive.

179

M. D. Beal
Detail map showing Nez Percé movements in Yellowstone Park.

Legend:
- - - - - - Route of main band of Nez Percé Indians.
x x x x x Route of marauding band to the north and back to main band.
x

X Cowan party camp west of Fountain Geyser.
1 Nez Percé camp in lower Geyser Basin.
2 Where Cowan party was attacked and Cowan shot.
3 Mary Lake and Mary Mountain.
4 Nez Percé camp and crossing of Yellowstone River near Mud
Volcano.
5 Helena party camp on Otter Creek where Indians attacked.
6 Mammoth Hot Springs.
7 Baronett’s Bridge across Yellowstone River.
180
A telegram to Mrs. Cowan brought her posthaste from Radersburg.
She reached Bottler’s ranch, a distance of one hundred and seventy-five
miles, in thirty-one hours. The reunion was effected on September 24,
exactly one month from the date of the attack.

The Helena Tourist Party

Other Yellowstone visitors were caught in the Nez Percé net as it rolled
across the Park. It has been sufficiently indicated that Chief Joseph
maintained a role of dignified restraint, but there were unprincipled factions
under less responsible leadership which he could not keep under his thumb.
While the main tribe was slowly weaving its course through the Park some
of the reckless young men were foraging far and wide. It is also correct to
observe that bitter resentment had been smoldering toward the entire white
race since the battle of Big Hole. The Nez Percé were inclined to regard
every white man as an enemy.

This Indian psychology, or “bad heart,” helps account for the conduct of a
marauding band of White Bird’s “bucks” toward a party of Helena tourists
north of Hayden Valley. There were ten men in this company: A. J. Weikert,
Richard Dietrich, Frederick Pfister, Joseph Roberts, Charles Kenck, Jack
Stewart, August Foller, Leslie Wilkie, L. Duncan, and a negro cook named
Benjamin Stone.

On the morning of August 25 this party was traveling along between Sulphur
Mountain and Mud Volcano when they observed a body of horsemen fording
the river. They correctly apprehended that the mounted men were 181
[203]
hostile Nez Percé. Thereupon, the tourists hastily repaired to the
timber near the forks of Otter Creek and formed camp. It was a well-chosen
position and might have been defended effectively if the natural advantages
had been utilized.

However, no harm came to them that day or night. The next morning
Weikert and Wilkie went reconnoitering in the vicinity of Alum Creek where
they encountered a detail of the marauders. The white men retreated
speedily, but Weikert was hit in the shoulder in the exchange of fire.

In the meantime the camp on Otter Creek was raided. Instead of posting a
lookout the campers were huddled together, waiting for dinner, and hoping
they would continue to escape notice. Mr. Kenck’s mind was active with
forebodings; addressing the elderly colored cook, he said, “Stone, what
would you do if the Indians should jump us?” Stone laconically replied,
[204]
“You all take care ob yoursel’ and I’ll take care ob me.” In that instant
the Nez Percé struck. The eight tourists scattered like surprised deer. Kenck
was hit and killed; Stewart was shot, fell, and was overtaken. He pleaded so
earnestly for his life that he charmed their savage impulse and was spared.
Dietrich fell in the creek and remained there four hours.

Ben Stone ran as fast as his old legs would carry him, but in midstream they
gave out, and he lay prone in the water. The red men left as suddenly as they
came. When Wilkie and Weikert arrived they fell in with some of the others
and started for Mammoth. Joseph Roberts and August Foller had slipped
away, and as it later transpired they went west to Madison River and thence
to Virginia City and home. The other seven reached Mammoth, where
Dietrich and Stone unfortunately decided to remain pending the 182
arrival of Roberts and Foller. Dietrich had promised young Roberts’
mother that he would be responsible for his safe return.

On August 31, Weikert and McCartney, the “hotel” owner, left for the Otter
Creek campground to look for the two missing men and to inter the remains
of Mr. Kenck. The latter business accomplished, they were returning when

the renegades, who had just committed a fresh deed of vengeance at
Mammoth, met them at the falls of East Gardner River. A lively skirmish
ensued, in which Weikert’s horse was killed and the others got away, before
a sheltered position was reached. The desperadoes withdrew, and the white
men pursued a cautious course to Mammoth. It was in this stage of their
journey when McCartney, observing that Weikert was pale as a ghost, asked,
“Do I look pale?” “No,” replied his friend, “Do I?” McCartney answered,
[205]
“No.” Each was trying hard to “buck up” the other’s morale.

Upon reaching Mammoth they learned about Dietrich’s fate. On August 31
he and Stone saw a band of Indians pass McCartney’s place. They were Nez
Percé on their way to Henderson’s ranch which they ransacked and burned.
The next day, when they returned, Ben Stone made a precipitous exit from
the cabin and ran up Clematis Gulch. Dietrich, evidently believing the
Indians friendly, stood in the doorway. They shot and killed him. Several
days before he had expressed a premonition of death to Weikert. In view of
this condition his conduct was attributed to inexperience.

Ben Stone, it will be remembered, was the colored cook who had a narrow
call in the Otter Creek melee. This second escapade was even a closer shave.
Stone evidently possessed sufficient of the quaint humor characteristic of his
race to warrant the perpetuation of an amusing frontier tale.

Following is the story, as related by Stone to the men at Henderson’s ranch,
before he had fully recovered from his scare. The account begins at 183
the end, wherein the negro was challenged by a sentry as he
approached the camp:

“‘Halt, who comes dar?’ ‘Ben Stone.’ ‘Come in, Ben Stone.’ An’ you bet I
come a-runnin’.” Then he rehearsed the day’s activities in this wise:

“I seed de Injuns comin’ aroun’ in de foah-noon dis mornin’. I tole
Dietrich we had better be a gettin’ out ob dis, but he kept a sayin’ ‘I’ll
neber go back to Mrs. Roberts widout Joe.’ ’Bout ’leven or twelve o’clock
Dietrich says, ‘I’ll go down an’ change de hosses, re-picket dem, while
you git dinnah, Ben.’ ‘I say “all right.”

“Well, while he was gone a changin’ ob de hosses, I looked out ob de doah
an’ seed a Injun stick his head up ober a rock out in front ob de house. I
didn’t wait for no lebe, I didn’t, an’ dropped eberyting an’ bolted trew de
back doah, I did, up into de timbah an’ laid down awaitin’ for somethin’ to
do next. I seed de Injuns all ’bout de house an’ pears like dey was mighty
anxious to fine me, but I wasen’t anxious to fine dem. It war gettin’ along
towards night, and I clim a tree. Purty soon a big Injun rode right down
under de tree a searchin’ aroun’ for me. I jes hel’ my bref an’ say to
myself, ‘Oh Mr. Injun; good Mr. Injun, don’t look up dis way!’ Boys, I
’clare to goodness I could hab touched dat Injun’s head wif my foot—but
I didn’t!

“Bye’m-bye de Injun go away down towards de springs an’ I got down on
to de ground an’ strike for de side ob de mountain whar I laid down. I was
a layin’ in de brush, when all ob a sudden I heerd a crackin’ in de brush.
Den, boys, I got right down on my knees an’ prayed (an’ I hope de God
Almighty forgive me, I neber prayed before sense I lef’ my modder’s
knee), but I jes got down an’ say ‘O Lod God A’mighty, jes help me out ob
dis scrape an’ I will neber interfere wid you no moah!’ I heerd dis noise
an’ a crashin’ in de bushes again, an’ I jes laid down wid my face to de
ground an’ I spected to feel de tom hawk in de back of my head. All ob a
sudden I turned ober and dar I seed a big black bar a lookin’ at me. Boys, I
neber was so glad to see a bar afore in all my life. De bar he got up an’
run, an’ I got up an’ run to de top ob de mountain when I saw youah camp
[206]
fire an’ heah I’ is—bress de Lod!”

At the conclusion of this delineation two of Lieutenant Doane’s 184
friendly Indian scouts rushed toward Stone with arms extended,
exclaiming “How, how!” The distraught negro nearly fainted from a fresh
attack of fright. No amount of explanation could convince him they were not
after his scalp. Indeed, he was certain that the larger buck was Chief Joseph
[207]
himself!

Finally his friends Weikert and McCartney arrived, and thereafter his
emotions switched around to unrestrained gratitude to his maker. The rest of
the night was given over to lusty expressions of praise and hallelujahs. When
objections were raised Stone replied that God had saved his life twice and he

was going to thank Him as long and loud as he liked. Lieutenant Doane was
forced to post a guard to maintain the peace.

At this time word arrived that Roberts and Foller were in Virginia City. The
remains of poor Dietrich, who had been sacrificed so unnecessarily, were
taken to Helena by Weikert. He also took the remains of Charles Kenck there
for final interment.

General Howard leisurely pursued the fleeing Nez Percé marauders up the
Lamar Valley after repairing Baronett’s bridge which they had partially
burned. In the meantime, Joseph’s main band had crossed Yellowstone
River, near Mud Volcano, and followed the east bank toward the lake.
Shively, their captive guide, directed them up Pelican Creek to its source.
Here Joseph’s scouts reported the presence of miners on the Lamar and
Howard’s spies in the area. The scouts further noted that Colonel Sturgis and
eight troops of the Seventh Cavalry from the Crow Agency on the Little
Rosebud were in position astride the regular Absaroka Pass near Hart (Heart)
Mountain. Joseph was now cut off between the commands of Howard and
Sturgis.

This situation demanded desperate action. The threat of interception brought
forth a masterful stratagem from the Red Napoleon. Upon reaching 185
the Lamar-Shoshone Divide, Joseph turned abruptly southward. Was
he striking for Stinking Water? Sturgis could not risk this chance. He,
therefore, whirled in that direction, pursuing a parallel course—the summit
dividing their forces.

Joseph’s feint worked; he passed by Sturgis’ right flank. He now doubled
back beyond the main Absaroka gateway, toward Clarks Fork, and plunged
through a “hidden” pass located by his feverish scouts. He fairly hurled his
people over the rocky barrier and dropped them pell-mell down to Clarks
[208]
Fork. It was his task to get the protection of the Crow Indians, cross the
Buffalo country, and reach Canada and safety.

By the time Colonel Sturgis had discovered the deception General Howard
arrived. Indeed, he was already painfully pursuing the elusive foe through
the awful earth gash Joseph had taken. When the two officers met there was

an impressive demonstration of cussing. Wasn’t there a unit in the whole
United States’ Army that could outwit this red devil?

Spurred by the barbed goad of frustration and anger, Sturgis pressed on in
hot pursuit. On September 13, his troops were in their saddles at 5 A.M.
When they drew rein at 12 P.M. sixty miles had been negotiated. Joseph’s
band was still ahead! By daybreak the soldiers were on the trail again. They
halted on the lower Yellowstone, near Billings. Discouragement pervaded
[209]
their ranks; by common consent the Seventh Cavalry was ready to quit.
They felt a comrade’s compassion for General Howard’s command.

Two miles away the Nez Percé were headed for the mouth of Canyon Creek.
“Let’s beat ’em to it,” and away they sped. The Indians gained the protection
first. Officers Benteen, Otis, French, and Merrill’s battalions maneuvered
bravely and well, but the watchful Nez Percé kept them back. There 186
was rapid sharp shooting on both sides. When they finally broke
through the Indians had disappeared.

Strewn upon the dusty battlefield were a dozen dead horses, five soldiers
dead and eleven wounded. Night fell, and a cool wind drummed a funeral
dirge upon the mind of many a restless soldier. When General Howard
arrived the next day Sturgis was still on the trail. A band of Crow Indians
had joined the white forces and were spoiling for a fight, but Sturgis had
already wind-broken his horse and run out of rations. The Indian pace was
too fast for him, but the rapidity of this flight forced them to abandon nine
[210]
hundred horses. However, Chief Joseph’s pony supply was augmented
by a wholesale seizure from the Crows. He had crossed the Musselshell;
next he would ford the Missouri which would bring them within the
protection of Montana’s northern wastelands. Canada was not far away.
Howard could never catch him now. Perhaps there would be time to kill
some buffalo, feed their weary ponies, and rest their squaws.

He was reckoning without the telegraph and the ambitious interest of
Colonel Nelson A. Miles at Fort Keogh on Tongue River. On September 17,
a rider brought Howard’s S. O. S.; immediately Colonel Miles was all action.
That very day he had three hundred and eighty-three men across Tongue
River and on the march. Twenty-four hours later they were fifty miles away.

They crossed the Musselshell River and marched on to the Missouri, where a
steamboat ferried them across. Ever crowding men and beasts, he caught up
with the Nez Percé on the twenty-ninth of September.

Joseph had made sure that Howard and Sturgis were far behind. In fact, they
were deliberately slow. “We must not move too fast lest we flush the game.”
Actually both of their commands were much depleted. The real job 187
was up to Miles; they were providing the decoy. This time it worked.

Again, as at Big Hole, Joseph failed to anticipate trouble from other quarters
than Howard’s. The one-armed general was six days’ march in the rear.
Surely they could relax now. Upon reaching the Bear Paw Mountains he
considered his position secure. He posted no scouts. Joseph obviously
believed they had crossed the international boundary. Later, as he looked
back in retrospection, he said:

I sat down in a fat and beautiful country. I had won my freedom and the
freedom of my people. There were many empty places in the lodges and
the council, but we were in a land where we would not be forced to live in
a place we did not want. I believed that if I could remain safe at a distance
and talk straight to the men that would be sent by the Great Father, I could
get back to the Wallowa Valley and remain in peace. That is why I did not
allow my young men to kill and destroy the white settlers after I began to
fight. I wanted to leave a clean trail, and if there were dead soldiers on
that trail, I could not be to blame. I had sent out runners to Sitting Bull to
tell him that another band of red men had been forced to run from the
soldiers of the Great Father, and to propose that we join forces if we were
attacked. My people were recovering their health and the wounded getting
[211]
better of their hurts.

Joseph’s coveted felicity was roughly arrested on the dawn of September 30.
His brief respite was assailed by the dual forces of nature and men. Snow
flurries whipped the lodge flaps. Horses milled restlessly. An Indian youth
slipped out to reconnoiter. He perceived the rapid approach of a formidable
force of cavalry. The alarm was given.

Instantly the Nez Percé camp was churning with commotion. A hundred
ponies were laden with squaws and papooses. They fled north under an

escort of sixty braves. The balance of the encampment fairly clawed out
positions of defense along a crescent-shaped ravine called Snake Creek.

By this time the military was in position. Colonel Miles sized up the 188
situation at a glance and barked commands: “Captain Hale, draw up
on the south flank.” “McHugh, mount the Hotchkiss and wheel forward.”
“Infantry, deploy and follow cavalry charge; swing the four-pound howitzer
to north.” “Troops of Second Cavalry, surround enemy pony herd.”
“Lieutenant McClernand, retrieve the fleeing train.” “Main cavalry, ready for
frontal assault.” He surveyed the resulting formation, raised his arm, and
[212]
shouted, “Attack!”

Reins were loosed, spurs clicked, and away rolled a thundering avalanche of
mounted might. The charging line raced headlong toward the Indian camp. It
was the same speed and precision that had broken the power of the Sioux
and Cheyenne nations. The Nez Percé grimly waited. At a hundred yards
they opened fire, and the battle broke with a roar.

In the wake of the charge were fifty-three soldiers dead or wounded. K
Troop lost over sixty per cent of their complement. Joseph’s camp was cut in
twain, but the position could not be forced, and the cavalry passed through.
The Nez Percé settled deeper into their entrenchments, and a state of siege
ensued. However, the Colonel’s pony detail succeeded in rounding up the
Indian ponies. The Nez Percé were now on foot. That night a six-inch mantle
of snow fell. Continuous fire was sustained the next day. Then a parley was
arranged. Joseph was promised a safe conduct. He accepted but was made a
prisoner. However, the Nez Percé captured an officer named Jerome and
held him as hostage for Joseph. Terms were proposed. Miles demanded
unconditional surrender, but Chief Joseph exacted a promise to return his
[213]
people to the Lapwai Reservation. This Miles granted.

On October 4, the fifth day of the siege, Joseph led his haggard people out of
their camp. His head was bowed in awful solemnity. As he approached a
cluster of officers, including General Howard, he straightened up and 189
dismounted with dignity. Impulsively he presented his rifle to
Howard, but the general motioned him to “Bear Coat” Miles.

After disarmament the great chief stepped forward, raised his arm in a
sweeping motion toward the reddening sun, and intoned the requiem of a
dying race:

Tell General Howard that I know his heart. What he told me before I have
in my heart. I am tired of fighting. Our chiefs are killed. Looking Glass is
dead, Tu-hul-hul-sote is dead. The old men are all dead. It is the young
men who now say yes or no. He who led the young men is dead. It is cold
and we have no blankets. The little children are freezing to death. My
people—some of them have run away to the hills and have no blankets
and no food. No one knows where they are—perhaps freezing to death. I
want to have time to look for my children and see how many of them I can
find. Maybe I shall find them among the dead. Hear me, my chiefs, my
heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands I will fight no more
[214]
forever.

The Montana sun was going down; Hin-mut-too-yah-lat-kekht had spoken as
its rays flickered.

The officers came forward and shook his hand. As he turned away, drawing
his blanket over his head, the white soldiers discerned five bullet holes in his
blanket and wounds on his forehead and wrist.

There was something about this leader that tugged at their heart strings as he
beckoned his children toward their prison camp. There were four hundred
and twelve survivors, including forty-six wounded. Twenty-six Indians and
twenty-seven white men (plus Miles’ two Indian scouts) had been slain.
Joseph’s conduct in burying the dead and in ministering to his half-starved
and freezing people elicited the admiration of all. As the handsome, plucky
chieftain assuaged their sorrow he seemed greater than any one man. Surely,
here was the embodiment of the Nez Percé, indeed, of all Indian people. In
his person were combined elements both noble and tragic. He was the 190
last best specimen of a truly native race.

By nature Joseph was a modest man and inclined toward peace and good
will. Events forced him into a role that has won eternal fame. Even General
Sherman, who entertained no high sentiments for Indians, could not
withhold his meed of praise:

Thus has terminated one of the most extraordinary Indian wars of which
there is any record. The Indians throughout displayed a courage and skill
that elicited universal praise; they abstained from scalping; let captive
women go free; did not commit indiscriminate murders of peaceful
families and fought with almost scientific skill, using advance and rear
[215]
guards, skirmish lines and field fortifications.

Other competent authorities have gone further. One ventured the
asseveration that:

Had Joseph led thousands and had he been born of a people and in a place
less remote from the main currents of history, his name would resound in
[216]
our ears like thunder.

As it is, the tale of the Nez Percé retreat, surrender, and burning years of
their exile strike a mournful note upon the ears of men.

At Bear Paw a long “trail of tears” began for Joseph and his people. There
was the solemn trek to Fort Keogh, thence to Bismarck, on to Fort
Leavenworth, and finally to a small Oklahoma reserve. This was virtually a
[217]
sentence of death for these mountain-bred people. Miles could not make
his promise good. Joseph was depressed by the increasing time and distance.
Said he, “The Great Spirit Chief who rules above seemed to be looking some
other way and did not see what was happening to my people.”

Many government officials called upon Joseph (“White men have too 191
many chiefs”). Promises were lightly made (“Look twice at a two-
faced man”). Resolutions were circulated (“Big name often on small legs”).
The wise chief was learning the ways of his masters.

W. S. Chapman
Indian war club and peace pipe.

Joseph’s conqueror became his truest friend. Miles, a general now, kept
working to fulfill his vow. Said he:

I frequently and persistently, for seven long years, urged that they be sent
home to their own country but not until 1884, when I was in command of
the Department of the Columbia, did I succeed in having them returned
[218]
west of the mountains near their own country.

In 1885, after they had been ravaged by sickness and death, the remnant of
the Nez Percé tribe was established on the Colville Reservation in
Washington state. Here Joseph’s declining years were spent in the
companionship of his wives and children, until his death on September 21,
1904. There, among a vast concourse of white and Indian people, Thunder-
Traveling-to-Loftier-Heights was gathered to his fathers.

192

Chapter XII
TRAVEL AND ACCOMMODATIONS—NEW BUSINESSES

The narration of trapper and miner visits and the account of final discovery
have already described the difficulties of early travel in Yellowstone. Little
segments of animal and Indian trails were all that broke the untraveled
wilderness. Since no funds were available for any purpose before 1877, the
[219]
trail building progress made before that date was negligible. Until that
time all visitors came on horseback, but while they generally went to the
same places their approaches were different. Each outfit carried axes, and at
least a modicum of effort had to be expended along the way. Such had been
the way of mountain men. They did not expect someone else to build their
roads; neither did they expect anyone to tell them where to go or camp.
Therefore, it was every outfit to itself; still, companionship claimed its due,
and groups sometimes fell into line and traveled together.

A perusal of old journals shows that packsaddle trips were always thrilling.
It was by pack horse that the presidential party of August, 1883 visited the
Park. It traveled three hundred and fifty miles, making nineteen camps
during its sojourn. The personnel included the following: President Chester
A. Arthur, Secretary of War Robert T. Lincoln, Senator George Graham Vest,
General Phil H. Sheridan, General Anson Stager, Colonel Michael V. 193
Sheridan, Colonel J. F. Gregory, Captain Philo Clark, Governor
Schuyler Crosby (Montana), Judge Rawlins, and Official Photographer
[220]
Frank Jay Haynes. They had a grand time, and thereafter Yellowstone
never lacked friends in high places.

One account tells of traveling three hundred and fifty miles in twenty-four
days. Fish were caught in handfuls, horses caved in geyser formations, and
Indians were seen. All of these activities were duly reported to a keenly
interested American public. Indeed, a general concern for the President’s
security was aroused. This natural anxiety gave occasion for a rumor that the
President’s safety was in jeopardy, not from accident, wild animals, or
Indians, but rather from a gang of desperadoes. A dispatch bearing the

postmark of Hailey, Idaho, stated that a large band of Texas criminals had
been observed in a mysterious ceremonial at Willow Park in Yellowstone.
According to the report, each man swore by his dagger to do his duty, which
was no less than the capture of the President of the United States and his
entire party. The captives would then be held in a wilderness cavern until a
ransom of one million dollars had been paid!

W. S. Chapman
Stagecoach.

The alarming report that “They are after Arthur!” was followed by the
reassuring word that Sheriff Farcy and a company of United States 194
troops were investigating the reported conspiracy. Certainly the
presidential expedition was enveloped in an atmosphere of high romance!
[221]

It is said that camping trips have always been ideal testers of friendship.
Camp life is an excellent form of association because it is bound to disclose
every character trait. Each virtue is surely tried, and every vice is certain to
show itself. Wit, cheerfulness, patience, and industry were in demand, and
their opposites greatly discounted. Some knowledge of cooking, washing,
caring for animals, and tying the diamond hitch was essential. Good hunters
and fishermen were popular in these camps. Skill in constructing fir-bough
lean-tos against storms and couches for sleeping came in handy. Last of all,
the gift of storytelling and song made its possessor the head of the nightly
campfire circle. Were these the people the poet envisioned?

Keep not standing fix’t and rooted,
Briskly venture, briskly roam;
Head and hand, where’er thou foot it,

And stout heart are still at home.
In each land the sun does visit
We are gay, whate’er betide:
To give room for wandering is it
[222]
That the world was made so wide.

Pack outfit owners were a lusty sort. Some of them divided their time
between acting as guides and slaughtering game for both meat and hides. A
few were wholly unscrupulous, both in their exploitation of the tourists and
[223]
the Park. Still others were high-type frontiersmen. A description 195
has been left of one Texas Jack, named John Omohondro, originally from
Virginia:

He is tall, powerfully built, and as he rode carelessly along, with his long
rifle crossed in front of him, he was a picture. He was dressed in a
complete suit of buckskin, and wore a flaming red neckerchief, a broad
sombrero fastened up on one side with a large eagle feather, and a pair of
beautifully beaded moccasins. The costume of the man, his self-confident
pose, and the quick, penetrating glance of his keen black eye, would give
[224]
the impression that he was no ordinary mountaineer.

Still, Texas Jack was quite typical of most mountain scouts, being a man of
life and blood and fire, blazing with suppressed excitement in a land of high
adventure.

Although the stagecoach took over most of the tourist business after 1880 a
few reliable pack masters remained in business. Among these was the firm
of Grant, Brogan and Lycan of Bozeman, which conducted a seven-day tour
for thirty dollars per person. Jordan and Howell of Cody had a fourteen-day
schedule, while Howard Eaton, in his day, personally guided more than a
[225]
hundred parties around the Park on a twenty-day tour. In 1923 the trail
he used was improved, named, and dedicated to his memory. The Howard
Eaton Trail parallels the Grand Loop highway. It is maintained by the
government and is one of the most scenic bridle paths in America. It was
hoped that many people would take advantage of this facility, but its public
use is meager.

Travel by stage in Yellowstone was started in 1878 and concluded in 1917.
Since a generation of Americans saw the Park in that manner, a description
of the procedure would be appropriate. The stagecoach itself was a
remarkable vehicle. It was substantially built, quite commodious, and 196
reasonably comfortable. Concord coaches were used; they varied in
capacity from seven to as many as thirty-three seats and were drawn by four
or six horses, according to size. Great leather springs, called thorough
braces, produced a swaying motion which absorbed all but the most violent
shocks. The driver’s seat was perched above the body of the coach and
underneath was a compartment for mail sacks and express packages. There
was a strong platform in the rear of the coach upon which trunks and
suitcases were loaded. Harness and other gear were always of the best grade
and condition.

Several hundred thousand passengers were taken through Yellowstone by
stagecoaches during the thirty-eight years of their operation. The drivers,
therefore, were necessarily men of experience and resourcefulness. Indeed,
they were a sovereign group and the cynosure of eyes as they cracked their
whips and moved three span of horses away at a half-gallop, half-trot,
trained, showy style. They were held in high esteem, as well they might be,
for each held a position requiring judgment and skill. Several expert drivers
who “tooled” Yellowstone coaches were William Woolsey, Hub Counter, and
Oscar Scoda. They were firm in resolution, yet polite in manner, and
obliging toward passengers. Generally:

... they were good entertainers, capable of making what would otherwise
be a long, tedious night ride seem entirely too short to the passenger, who
was fortunate enough to have a seat on the box beside him, and hear him
[226]
relate his experiences with Indian and stage robber.

The driver’s sole duty consisted of handling the stage while on the line;
others attended to the feeding and harnessing of the horses, but the teams
knew their drivers and responded amazingly to their wills. A driver could
flick a fly off the back of his team leaders and bring back his lash 197
without tangling it in the harness or wagon wheels. Day and night
these “kings of the whip” flung and pulled the “silk” to those fleet creatures
of nature, and over their strength and fears they were ever masters. “Clear

the road! Get out of the way thar with your draft teams!” was their good-
natured salutation as they swung into view, only to disappear at high speed
around a curve or through the lodgepole-lined road. Unrelaxed, they were
ever watchful for gullies, boulders, and road agents. As they approached a
station they forced their horses into full gallop and brought their coaches up
with a grand flourish before the ever-expectant crowd on hand, waiting for
friends or the mail. One driver boasted that he could drive his outfit down
Beehive Geyser and come out of Old Faithful without losing a hair!

The advantages of travel by stage included interesting acquaintances and
fresh views into human nature. Close quarters in the wilderness have always
been a touchstone, even thus lightly approached. The regular trip lasted five
days and always seemed too short. One tourist regretfully observed,
[227]
“Nothing can be done well at a speed of forty miles a day.” As the stage
prepared to pull out some would climb up the sides of the coaches and
squeeze into the open seats on the roof. There, each obtained an
unobstructed view of the landscape and a good sunburn. Others, less agile or
venturesome, would remain in the interior, satisfied with less elevation,
wind, and sun, and nearly as much advantage in sight-seeing.

There they sat, side by side, hour after hour, old and young, full of hope and
fun and care. Some watched the scenery; others, the horses. All asked
questions—some of them intelligent and well-conceived, some naïve, and
still others ludicrous. They were usually addressed to the driver, as though
skill in handling horses and familiarity with the area gave authority.
Unfortunately, few drivers understood what they daily saw; still, as a defense
against frustration, many acquired a knowing air. Great guesses were 198
made, and occasionally the tourists were deliberately misled.
Generally the driver’s observations were offered in a spirit of fun to keep the
folks from drooping. A few examples have been recorded. Driving among
the Hot Springs on the Mammoth Terraces, one guide shouted, “Them as
likes their bath hot goes in on the left, and them as likes it cold goes in on
[228]
the right, and them as likes it middlin’ goes in the middle.”

At Norris Geyser Basin the following conversation was heard: One tourist
speaking to another, “If we’re too late to see the Monarch Geyser erupt
tonight, we’ll go over and see him before breakfast.” To which the driver

replied, “No you can’t, the Monarch Geyser is a monarch up here in the
Park. You can’t go see him when you get ready; you’ve got to go when he’s
[229]
ready.”

One Münchausen-minded guide informed his passengers that any geyser
water, when bottled, retained a strange sympathy with its water nymph, so
that when the geyser erupted the water became violently agitated; in one
instance a bottle was shattered incident to a particularly powerful eruption!
Many such stories were told by “Buckskin Charley,” “Yankee Jim,” “Billy”
Hofer, and their compatriots. Rudyard Kipling left this description of Yankee
Jim:

Yankee Jim was a picturesque old man with a talent for yarns that Ananias
might have envied.... Yankee Jim saw every one of my tales and went fifty
better on the spot. He dealt in bears and Indians—never less than twenty
[230]
each.

Courtesy Northern Pacific Ry.
“Yankee Jim”—James George

James George, better known as “Yankee Jim,” was a pioneer hunter 199
and trapper who staked his claim in Yankee Jim Canyon of
Yellowstone River, north of Cinnabar and Gardiner. He shrewdly built
twenty-seven miles of toll road through the only available pass. Yankee Jim
delighted in joshing the lady members of early parties concerning the
prospects of bestowing a bit of affection upon him in lieu of the tolls. Little
is known concerning his success in that direction, but he dealt effectively
with the Northern Pacific Railroad in the matter of a right of way through his
canyon.

As time passed, many people who were beyond the “gape-and-run” variety
complained about the lack of a dependable source of information. The quips
of guides who did not know a marmot from a cony actually displeased them.
However, there were occasions when even these talkative fellows had the
good taste to be silent.

They will talk of the Canyon at the hotel and on the drive, but once there
they simply lead you to the points of lookout and leave you with your own
[231]
thoughts, or answer your questions in monosyllables.

After a long trip on a warm day, through clouds of Yellowstone dust, the
passengers presented an amusing spectacle. Men in yellow dusters, women
in gray ones, topped off by Shaker bonnets. Hungry, weary, and dejected,
they would alight on limbs half-paralyzed from inactivity. It was then that a
person needed a friend, and that detail was not overlooked by the hotel
management.

Perhaps Larry Matthews was more unique than typical, but a description of
him will convey the idea of nineteenth-century Park hospitality. For several
seasons Larry was chargé d’affaires at the Norris lunch station. Later he was
advanced to the management of an inn at Old Faithful. When coaches pulled
up to Larry’s he would address each passenger in his genial Irish brogue.
Every man received a title of dignity, while he referred to himself as 200
the “Mad Irishman” or “Larry Geeser.” Here is a picture of Larry in
action:

Step right up, Judge, eat all you can, break the company, it’s all right with
me. Fine spring lamb (spring of ’72). Eggs, fresh eggs! Just laid this

morning (on the table).

Thus he kept up a constant rattle that was very funny. As the coaches rolled
away one could hear the tourists remark, “The jolliest man I ever saw ... such
hypnotic ways, such spontaneous wit; surely no such mortal ever lived
[232]
before.”

This growing business of transportation and accommodations was
characterized by vigorous competition. Probably the first conveyance to
enter the Park was a stagecoach owned by J. W. Marshall and his partner,
named Goff. It left Virginia City, Montana, on October 1, 1880. Sixteen
hours were required in traversing the ninety-five miles to Marshall’s
National Park House, a two-story, log-hewed structure located in the Lower
Geyser Basin, near the junction of Firehole and Nez Percé Creek. These men
also built mail stations at Riverside, four miles east of the West Entrance,
and at Norris Geyser Basin.

Frank Jay Haynes, a youthful photographer from St. Paul, started a stage and
photo business in 1881. His efforts have produced eminent success, and the
end is not yet. The photography side of the business descended from father,
Frank Jay, to son, Jack Ellis. The Haynes Studio still enjoys a flourishing
trade, and its beautiful products are known all over the world.

The Northern Pacific Railroad extended its terminal to Cinnabar in 1883,
where it remained until 1902, when Gardiner was reached. The next year an
impressive ceremony was held at the North Gate when the Triumphal Arch
was dedicated by President Theodore Roosevelt.

In 1883 the Yellowstone Park Improvement Company organized 201
regular tourist travel. The usual routine consisted of alternating
sojourns, whether in Concord stagecoaches, surreys, formation or spring
wagons, and canvas “hotels.” A trip around the Park cost twenty-five dollars,
or a saddle horse could be secured for two-fifty per day. The following year
(1884) George W. Wakefield put a line of coaches into operation from
Cinnabar through the Park. W. Hoffman was also engaged in the stage
business. These firms were rivals among themselves, and with other less
formidable competitors, for the Northern Pacific’s business. However, in
1886, the railroad effected a gentlemen’s agreement with the new and

energetic Yellowstone Park Association. Unless the purchaser of a railroad
ticket objected he found a coupon attached to his ticket that delivered him
into the care of the Yellowstone Park Stage Line and its associated hotels.
Coupon holders paid nine dollars a day while in the Park. Five dollars were
assigned to staging and four dollars to hotel and meals. Upon alighting from
the train, each person was accosted from several quarters, much as by
hackmen in cities, “Are you a coupon, sir?” “No.” “Would you like my team
[233]
then?” Thus, each would press the bewildered tourist for his business. In
1892 the Huntley, Child, and Bach interests organized the Yellowstone Park
Transportation Company. They soon dominated the North Entrance business,
and other operators were bought out in 1903. Four years later this firm was
prepared to receive one hundred and fifty passengers daily at the North Gate.
An inventory of its rolling stock included four six-horse Concord coaches, of
thirty-three seats capacity; ninety four-horse Concords, of eleven and seven
seats; and one hundred two Glens Falls two-horse surreys, of five and three
seat models. It was undoubtedly one of the best-equipped organizations of
[234]
the kind in history.

Passengers entering the Park by way of the West Entrance came north 202
from Ogden, Utah, on the Utah Northern (later the Union Pacific) to
Spencer, Idaho, or Monida on the Montana-Idaho border. There they were
met by F. J. Haynes’ Monida and Yellowstone Stage Line or the Bassett
Brothers Company. During the season of 1915 the Haynes firm transported
20,151 tourists through the Park.

In 1903, when the East Gate road was opened, the Holm Transportation
Company secured a permit to operate a stage line. The arrival of the
Burlington Route to Cody, Wyoming, in 1912, gave great impetus to that
business. The West Entrance had benefited by a railroad to its gate since
1907, when the Union Pacific extended the line to West Yellowstone. A
branch line was also built to Victor, Idaho, which made Jackson Hole and the
South Entrance much more accessible. A table of operators and charges, as
[235]
of 1914, would represent the stage business in the heyday of its power.

The evolution of permanent camps and hotels was complementary to the
development of travel. The first permanent house built was in Clematis

Gulch, on the north side of Mammoth Terraces. It was erected in 1871 by
James C. McCartney. This “hotel” and C. J. Baronett’s bridge and cabin at
the forks of the Yellowstone River were the only improvements made before
the Dedicatory Act was passed. These gentlemen managed to collect the sum
of $9000 for their foresight and property, although they had to wait until
March 1, 1899 to get it.

P. W. Norris’ Annual Report of 1880 lists the following facilities then 203
in operation: Mammoth, McCartney’s house and Matthew
McGuirck’s baths; Norris, a rude cabin and barn; Riverside, a cabin and
barn; Firehole River, near the forks, “a fine shingle roofed mail station and
hotel.” The latter three stations were built by Marshall and Goff. In the
Upper Geyser Basin a small cabin was built by Superintendent Norris in
1879; at the Lake a cabin and boat were operated by Captain E. S. Topping.

Ernest Thompson Seton
“Uncle” John F. Yancey.

Two years later John Yancey secured a mail contract and established a
station in Pleasant Valley at the base of Crescent Hill. Here he was familiarly
known as “Uncle John.” He was an old Kentucky frontiersman stranded in
the Park by the flood tide of civilization. He chafed constantly at the 204
uneventful days of the eighties and told his guests thrilling tales of the
forties. A pen portrait has been preserved of him:

Yancey is an odd character, whose looks encourage a belief in
reincarnation, so forcibly does he remind us of the prehistoric. His hotel,
too, belongs to the primeval; its walls are of logs; its partitions and
ceilings of cheese cloth.... Uncle John’s housekeeper, who performs the
duties of cook and chambermaid, confidentially informed one of our party
[236]
that it was hard to find time to wash so many bedclothes every day.

The meals were most generous, which was a custom closely observed in
those days. This type of accommodation was very repulsive to some people.
Judge Lambert Tree, an ex-United States Minister to Belgium, characterized
the management in general as outrageous. A report was current that three
married couples and two young women were thrust into a small room to pass
the night. The next camp was twenty miles away, and the only transportation
belonged to the company. In addition, this same party was advised to walk
up Mary Mountain because it was such a hard pull for the horses. Someone
was evidently justified in making the statement, “As it is today [1884.], I do
not think it too strong to say that at certain points on the route travellers are
[237]
treated more like cattle than civilized people.”

These reports reached the Secretary of the Interior, and a number of new
leases were promptly granted for the erection of hotels and the necessary
[238]
outbuildings. About this time Superintendent Wear was accused of
persuading Graham and Klamer, owners of the Firehole Hotel, to sell out. In
any case, a new hotel was built in the Lower Geyser Basin in 1884 by C. T.
Hobart. He and Robert E. Carpenter also erected a frame building the 205
next year on the present site of Old Faithful Inn. At the same time the
[239]
Cottage Hotel was erected in Mammoth by Walter L. Henderson. The
Yellowstone Park Association also built hotels in Mammoth and Norris in
1885, Lake in 1887, Canyon in 1890, and the following year they completed
the peerless Fountain Hotel. It was located on a hill in a strategic position in
the Lower Geyser Basin. From its lofty veranda the Fountain Geyser could
be observed playing. The Fountain House was an imposing structure. It was
modern in every way, having electricity and steam heat. Two hundred guests
could be entertained, and when they went to dinner a head waiter in evening

dress greeted them. In 1887 the Norris Hotel burned down, and in 1894 the
[240]
one at Old Faithful did likewise.

During the season of 1894 the pressure of criticism was brought to bear upon
the entire Yellowstone transportation and accommodation setup. The country
was in the throes of a depression, and the rates seemed exorbitant. It appears
that the Yellowstone Park Transportation Company had been very reluctant
in allowing stopover privileges. It collected just as much by holding strictly
to schedule; whereas, the hotels made more on holdovers. This diversity of
interest suggested the idea that it might be expedient to have the
management of both industries in the same hands.

It was William W. Wylie, of Bozeman, who conceived a plan which met the
demand. Since 1883 he had operated a ten-day tour, using portable tents. He
would organize a stage line and cater to the masses by establishing a 206
string of permanent camps, with eating halls and sleeping quarters. By
using canvas, his investment would be small, and he could cut the cost of a
trip through the Park in half. Therefore, in 1896, he secured a franchise, and
the “Wylie Way” went into operation.

Of course, the more conservative competitors resented this invasion from
“the other side of the tracks.” Captain George S. Anderson was also opposed
to a string of “shanty towns.” The matter was given a public hearing by
Forest and Stream in its issue of February 5, 1898, entitled “Nuisances in
Yellowstone Park.” Mr. Wylie, known in Yellowstone as “the Professor,”
wrote a vigorous rebuttal for the following issue. Other publications entered
into the controversy, as did many of Wylie’s most satisfied customers. The
question involved was whether the American people, in the enjoyment of
their own pleasure ground, should be limited to one set of accommodations,
[241]
which only the wealthy could afford. The verdict of the public, from
which there is no appeal, was definitely with “the Professor.” The business
flourished and won an acceptable position in the more complete system that
evolved.

In the meantime an actual nuisance was committed by several hotel
operators. They attempted to assemble and maintain wild life menageries.
The government necessarily allowed stables and pastures for horses and

cows, but that was all. Nevertheless, several managers also tried to raise
pigs, although extreme precautions were essential to save them from bears.
Colonel E. C. Waters had a “veritable stockade-pen of heavy logs bolted all
[242]
around.” Perhaps the most flagrant offender in this respect was the
Yellowstone Boat Company. As an inducement to take a boat ride, this firm
confined buffalo, elk, and bighorn in corrals on Dot Island. This 207
untoward act, together with the prices charged for boat rides, brought
many complaints, and upon official request the animals were promptly
[243]
released.

Mosquitoes were an ever-present nuisance, sometimes assuming the
proportion of a plague. Accustomed to the pursuit of fleet four-footed prey,
they assailed slow-moving Homo sapiens with particular gusto. Gleeful
appreciation seemed discernible in their song. By day and night, unless the
wind was blowing, the tourists were kept busy swatting those vexatious,
glory-minded, musical-winged, bold denizens of the forest.

Perhaps the most persistent annoyance, next to mosquitoes, was the
prevalence of dust. One traveler laconically observed that he rode “from
geyser to canyon, to waterfall, in a chaos of dust, until he returned on the
[244]
fifth day a wiser and dustier man.” But an elderly man, probably
afflicted with asthma, entered the Fountain Hotel, singled out the manager,
and shaking his finger in his face, dramatically shouted, “A man who would
permit women and children to enter the Park, with the roads in their present
[245]
condition, is an old scoundrel!” How did cyclists ever manage to get
around? Incredible though it appears they went through right along after
1882. To be sure, their voices were added to the chorus calling for better
roads. These protests resulted in the adoption of a sprinkling system that will
be described subsequently.

The most revolutionary proposal for a change in travel facilities, coming in
1894, was a demand for railroads. There were propositions wholly
independent of the Montana segregation case. Many people sincerely
favored the entrance of trains on their own merits. The issue was discussed

in the House of Representatives on December 17, by the Hon. Henry 208
H. Coffeen of Wyoming. Speaking of the operators, he said:

... they are holding on to a theory of sacred maintenance of the stage
coach and broncho riding method of reaching this great Wonderland at a
time when the superior advantages of railroad travel ought to be granted to
the people.... These journeys going round the Park, so to say, and coming
in at the back door by tedious night and day stage rides are so expensive,
the time and inconveniences so great and the season so short (three
months) that the great bulk of our population must forever stay out and
remain in ignorance of the scenes of the Park. Not one hundredth part of
one per cent of our people per year could possibly visit the Park by these
[246]
methods.

While this argument did not produce a change of policy it did give an
impetus to road building. A brief review of that important development
would be appropriate.

Reference has already been made to the rude trails hacked out by
government expeditions and early tourists and also to the trace improvised
by C. J. Baronett and his associates, which led from Mammoth to his bridge
at the forks of the Yellowstone and along the east branch to the mines at
Cooke, Montana. In 1877 General Howard’s captain, W. F. Spurgin, made a
faint apology for a road in bringing his wagons from Mary Mountain to
Tower Falls. It was the next year when the first wagons managed a round
trip from Mammoth, and also the West Entrance, to the Upper Geyser Basin.
In building a road across the base of Obsidian Cliff, Colonel Norris
employed a unique tactic in road making. Great bonfires were burned over
the black glass, which made it expand; then cold water was dashed upon it,
shattering the material so that it could be chopped out.

209

Golden Gate drive

In the early eighties the matter of road making was taken over by the 210
army engineers. Until 1895 actual control was in the hands of non-
resident officers, which proved unsatisfactory. After that the Acting
Superintendent exercised supervision. Captain Anderson had a soldier’s and
a surveyor’s eye for feasible routes. He favored the construction of twenty
miles of good dirt road with fair grades to one mile of macadam and the
[247]
resulting delay in opening the Park to the public. The principal
supervisors were Captain D. C. Kingman and Major Hiram M. Chittenden.
Through their combined efforts the Grand Loop was planned and patiently
constructed. In 1892 the road from Old Faithful to West Thumb was started.
It took five years to get through to Jackson Lake. At the same time work
progressed on the long section from Thumb to Fishing Bridge and thence to
the East Entrance. That project was finished and accessible from Cody in
1903. Two years later the difficult Dunraven Pass and the scenic Chittenden
Road to the summit of Mt. Washburn were ready. These were the last links in
the Grand Loop. Of course, there have been continuous changes and
refinements. In general the trend has been away from the plateaus to the
more scenic river routes. Stretches through the Golden Gate, under
Overhanging Cliff, and through the Gibbon and Firehole canyons are both
interesting and costly.

In 1902 an experiment was made with the view of solving the dusty road
problem. Several wide-tired sprinklers were tried out. The following year the
number was increased, and more than thirty filling tanks were installed along
the way. Most of them were filled by gravity and rams. In this way over a
hundred miles of highway was moistened daily. Still, there were times when
[248]
the dust was too thick for any effective treatment that man could devise.
Of course, nature had an adequate remedy, which it occasionally 211
employed. Superintendent Albright related an instance:

Once I had a large congressional party in Yellowstone. It was in charge of
the late James W. Good. Yellowstone’s roads were terribly dusty and the
water sprinkling was of little value. We wanted Congress to adopt an
oiling program but every night while the Committee was in the Park it
rained and the roads were perfect. Nevertheless every day I told of the
dust menace and urged the improvement, but the congressmen only

laughed and some member would say “Albright’s going to tell his old
[249]
dusty road story again.”

Continuing the narrative, Superintendent Albright told this story:

“Another year, I met a sub-committee of the House Appropriations
Committee at the Grand Canyon National Park. Congressman, now
United States Senator, Carl Hayden, was with the party when they reached
the park. Here again we had a problem of terrible roads. The committee
had not had much sleep the night before arrival due to changing trains,
and when I took them over the worst road in the park they went to sleep
on me. I bounced them into every rut and hole I could find, but even then I
had to shake them to wake them up. For a long time they contended that
the road was a boulevard, but finally authorized the improvement desired.
On the same trip, Congressman Cramton of Michigan, for years the
stalwart champion of national parks, saw a camper stop his car near the
Grand Canyon Park office. He went over to him seeking information
about the conduct of the park. The tourist gave him a vigorous
denunciation of the roads in the park, and Mr. Cramton always claimed
that I planted the camper there to trap him.”

The suggestion frequently came to the Superintendent that he should
sprinkle the roads with water from Alum Creek. That would shorten the
distance and simplify the task!

In 1917 the National Park Service assumed control over all road construction
and maintenance. Since then a comprehensive policy of scientific road
making has been followed; grades have been modified, while at the 212
same time great cuts and fills have been avoided so far as possible;
turns have been eased and widened; and in recent years all the roads have
been paved with oil mix. An appropriation of $3,369,450 in 1933, under the
National Recovery Act, became the basis of the marvelous improvements
made in recent years. In 1937 a remarkably scenic highway was completed
from Red Lodge, Montana, to the Northeast Gate. After 1928, Cecil A. Lord
directed the engineering activities of the Park until his death in 1943,
whereupon Park Engineer Philip H. Wohlbrandt assumed that important
responsibility.

The year 1915 was indeed a banner one in Yellowstone transportation
history. It was the first year automobiles were admitted, and consequently
heralded the end of the stagecoach. Actually, staging lingered through
another season, but the race was over as the poet said:

Here’s to you, old stage driver,
We’ll hear your shout no more,
Your stage with rust is eaten,
Beside the old Inn’s door;
The auto-bus and steam car
Have cut your time in two;
Throw up your hands, old “stage hoss,”
[250]
They’ve got the drop on you!

Few people expressed any regret, because of the hardships incident to travel
by stagecoach. Still, it is the opinion of many that advantages exceeded
inconvenience. The West, as now seen from the window of a train or motor
car, is not the country introduced by stagecoach. With all the additional
comfort, there is a loss of an indefinable something, subtle, yet well
understood by those who have driven at a six-mile-an-hour pace through the
almost unbroken solitude of another era. In contrast, regularly scheduled
airplane flights over the Park have been available from time to time 213
since 1937. There are no airports in the Park, but they are to be found
nearby at West Yellowstone and Gardiner, Montana.

It should also be remembered that during the previous forty years
innumerable private parties made leisurely visits and camped where they
pleased. The Park must have been an idyllic place in those “horse and
buggy” days, a hunting and fishing Elysium, especially until 1894. Since
then fishermen may take a generous catch of trout without any license except
a bona fide presence in the Park.

Although admitted under the most onerous terms the automobile
revolutionized the travel there as elsewhere. Always well-filled with
regulations, official bulletins now fairly bristled with instructions to
motorists. Fees were $7.50 for a single trip or $10.00 for the season; all cars
were required to enter the gates between 6:45 and 7:15 A.M. A printed

schedule specified the time of arrival at, and departure from, the control
[251]
stations. Fines were imposed for arrival at any point before the approved
lapse of time at the rate of $0.50 per minute for each of the first five minutes,
$1.00 per minute for each of the next twenty minutes, $25.00 fine or ejection
from the Park, or both, at the discretion of the Acting Superintendent, for
being more than twenty-five minutes early. The following regulations and
restrictions were strictly enforced: Speed, twelve miles per hour ascending
steep grades; ten miles per hour descending steep grades; eight miles 214
per hour approaching sharp curves and passing other vehicles. The
maximum speed limit in 1922 was twenty-five miles per hour. Teams had the
right of way and also the inside of the roadway in passing. Motorists were
required to sound horns at all curves where the road was not in view at least
two hundred yards ahead. Surely the motorists were in a defensive position,
but they came anyway. A total of 3,513 auto passengers toured the Park in
the abbreviated season after August 1, 1915. The grand total for the year was
51,895 in all conveyances.

The advent of motor vehicles speeded up every phase of Park administration.
However, World War I provided a respite for making adjustments. In fact, a
thorough reorganization of the entire concession system was effected in
1917. The main feature involved was the consolidation of transportation
under the management of the Yellowstone Park Transportation Company.
The purpose of this franchise was to eliminate the pressure of rivals upon the
[252]
passengers, facilitate supervision, and promote economy. The
Yellowstone Park Company proceeded to make a large capital investment by
motorizing all transportation. Thereupon, the familiar yellow bus superseded
the ancient stagecoach. It is an interesting thing to observe a caravan of
twenty buses winding its way along a river drive or parked before a museum
while a ranger-naturalist gives the passengers a quick orientation in the area.

It would be fair to inquire if the bus driver (gear jammer) showed any
improvement over the stagecoach driver in the matter of instructing the
public. Not if the 1921 edition of Truthful Lies correctly represents the
situation, because that little booklet was a congeries of unadulterated
[253]
nonsense reduced to a system. However, a gradual improvement has
been made, and in recent years all of the new drivers have gone around the

“Loop” with a naturalist. From him they received helpful suggestions 215
relative to natural interpretation. A few days after one of these
induction tours the following conversation was reported to have taken place
when passing a beaver dam: “Now, there is a beaver dam, but where are the
dam beavers?” The driver straightened up and replied, “I’ll be damned if I
know.”

At this point it should be remembered that, although the great concourse
visit Yellowstone in cars, many tourists come in buses, motorcycles, and
bicycles. It should also be noted that travel by horseback has always
persisted. Until the advent of the automobile this method was in general use.
Indeed, firms were organized to provide grand tours of several weeks’
duration. The Howard Eaton Trail and various adjuncts are still used by
horseback parties each summer. In fact, several trail-riding associations
sponsor these trips under competent leadership. In this manner an excellent
Park tradition is being sustained for the benefit and enjoyment of a chosen
few possessed of the necessary time and hardihood.

In 1936 the long-expected union of transportation and accommodations took
place. The Yellowstone Park Transportation Company acquired all of the
[254]
housing facilities and deleted the word Transportation from its title. In
analyzing the business of previous years, President William M. Nichols and
his associates noticed a definite trend away from commercial transportation
and first class American plan hotel accommodations. Therefore, they rapidly
expanded the lower-priced cabins, together with cafeterias and coffee shops.
They are now pursuing a carefully worked out program of improvement.
Practical pre-fabricated cabins are to be established in well-arranged units in
[255]
every station. In 1956 the company had available some 3,150 rooms or
units of lodging, with an aggregate capacity for housing 8,500 people. 216
These accommodations consist of hotels, lodges, and housekeeping
cabins. The services of twenty-seven hundred employees were required to
operate these facilities. The annual Park population census taken on August
9, 12, and 14, 1955, disclosed an average population of 14,912 for the three
days. Of this number 11,183 were visitors while 3,729 were employees. The
grand total for the 1955 season was 1,368,515 visitors.

Tourists require many things besides food and shelter. Yellowstone’s policy
has favored making these wants attainable. In this field regulations have also
modified certain practices common to general business conditions.
Franchises have been kept at a minimum, and competition does not exist
within a particular camp. However, Park merchants are required to keep their
prices in line with the index of the market area.

Motion pictures and other forms of indoor recreation are conspicuously
absent, although the lodges sponsor two hours of entertainment and dancing
for their guests and the public at large. These also function to keep the
employees contented.

A general statement having been made, a brief sketch of Yellowstone’s
business enterprises would be in order. Frank Jay Haynes, the pioneer
photographer, built his first picture shop at Mammoth in 1884. Since that
time a Haynes Studio has been a familiar institution in Yellowstone camps.
Another Mammoth Hot Springs store was opened in 1889 by Ole Anderson.
For a time he was allowed to sell bottles of highly colored Park sand and
also specimens coated with calcium carbonate. This store was purchased by
Anna K. Pryor and Elizabeth Trischman in 1908. They soon reorganized it
into the Park Curio and Coffee Shop. Later they acquired the Mammoth
general store and a grocery store near Canyon Junction. The latter had been
established by a released Park soldier, George Whittaker.

The first store in the Upper Geyser Basin was built by Henry E. Klamer in
1897. A ten-year franchise for a geyser water swimming pool was 217
granted Henry J. Brothers in 1914. The following year Charles A.
Hamilton acquired control of these interests and laid the foundation for a
thriving business there. Hamilton also has general stores at Thumb, Lake,
and Fishing Bridge, and in 1953 acquired the Pryor interests in the Park.

The Yellowstone Park Service Stations are owned jointly by Hamilton
Stores, Inc. and the Yellowstone Park Company. Gasoline, oil, and supplies
are available at the lone multi-pump service station assigned to each camp.
[256]
The public garage business is in the hands of the Yellowstone Park
Company. Thus, it is obvious that all of the Park’s mercantile business is the
concern of three operators, Haynes, Hamilton, and the Yellowstone Park

Company. Each operates under the terms of a government franchise and is
subject to National Park Service regulation and supervision at all times.

The essential public utilities are provided by the National Park Service. They
consist of public camp grounds with cement cooking units, toilet facilities,
telephones, water, lights, and sewage disposal. These substantial projects
have been developed through the years with a capital expenditure that runs
[257]
in excess of a million dollars.

In 1912 a general hospital was built in Mammoth. It is closely affiliated with
a similar institution in Livingston, Montana. Medical doctors and trained
nurses are on duty at the principal stations throughout the Park. This
arrangement assures the public of medical attention in case of accidents or
illness.

In 1913 the government built a Community Chapel at Mammoth. During the
summer months services are usually conducted there and at the lodges or
amphitheaters by the Catholic, Protestant, and Latter-day Saint (Mormon)
faiths.

The postal service in Yellowstone has had a colorful evolution. The 218
mail has always come through, either by scout, stage driver, bus, or
“star route” mail car. In 1937 a fine post office was erected in Mammoth. It
does business there the year around; while postal stations at Old Faithful,
West Thumb, Lake, Fishing Bridge, Canyon, and Tower Falls are open only
during the summer season.

Thus does a cross-section of America meet by canyon, geyser, lake, and
waterfall. They also foregather around counters, tables, lobbies, and evening
camp fires. It would be difficult to find a more representative assembly of
American society. Many people consider this interesting human equation one
of the most enjoyable experiences in the Park.

219

Chapter XIII
“THE YELLOWSTONE IDEA”

It has already been disclosed that Yellowstone Park has served the nation as
an experimental unit in certain fields of conservation. While this is true, it
would not be correct to regard the Park as the single place of origin for such
a complex and salutary movement. Today the conservation of natural
resources is one of America’s most popular and cherished causes, but it was
not always so. A brief review of the conservation issue will provide a
background for a correct appraisal of the position of the National Park
System in relation to the nation’s over-all conservation program.

When the first colonies were established along the Atlantic seaboard
America was a land of trees. This profusion of flora constituted an obstacle
[258]
counted more serious than hostile Indians. The natives had already fully
cleared limited areas from the ravages of ancient fires, but the great forest
stood almost limitless, and it was dense. Ambitious farmers yearned for the
sight of bare ground; all trees irritated their eyes and caused them to reach
for their axes. They wanted soil as rich as a barnyard, level as a floor, stone
[259]
free, cleared clean of trees, without cost. Except for the absence of trees,
these amazing requirements were largely possible of fulfillment 220
because never before had “heaven and earth agreed better to frame a
[260]
place for man’s habitation.” Here, indeed, was another Eden once it was
redeemed from the leafy wilderness.

Colonials rallied to the challenge of a conquest over nature. They “drove”
whole groves by partially felling each in a series and then touching off a
chain reaction with the downfall of a ponderous giant. Thus did settlers
cleave their way into the forests, rejecting in nature all that was not of
immediate practical value. A little poem published in 1692 depicts their
philosophy:

In such a wilderness ...

When we began to clear the land ...
Then with ax, with Might and Strength,
The trees so thick and strong ...
[These] we with Fire, most furiously
[261]
To ashes did confound.

Next to the destruction of trees in clearing operations came the use of wood
for fuel. A river steamboat or railroad locomotive required from twenty to
thirty cords per day. “Woodhawks” literally denuded whole forests to supply
these needs. Houses were largely built of wood, and it was liberally used in
all domestic operations. In winter the family kept warm, not by securing
“sich uppish notions” as blankets, but by throwing more wood on the fire,
[262]
“nobody needn’t suffer with a great fire to sleep by.” Rails were used in
building fences at the rate of twenty-six thousand per section. The increase
of population and acceleration of industrial activity in the early nineteenth
century took a heavy toll from the forests. Fires were started by sparks from
steam engines and by careless hunters, with the result that the precious
blotter of humus, millenniums in building, was often destroyed in a 221
flash. For two centuries America had advanced westward in a wood
age, and trees were always in the way.

However, there were wise men who had always deplored tree waste. William
Penn insisted that one acre of forest remain for each five cleared. Benjamin
Franklin invented a stove to save fuel. George Washington and Peter Kalm
warned of dangers ahead from floods and erosion through wanton clearing
[263]
of land. In 1813, Thomas Jefferson sagely wrote:

The spontaneous energies of the earth are a gift of nature, but they require
the labor of man to direct their operation. And the question is so to
husband this labor as to turn the greatest quantity of this useful action of
[264]
the earth to his benefit.

It will be noted that the foregoing suggestions were made by practical men
upon sound considerations. However, there came an occasional complaint
upon the philosophic and aesthetic level. Jonathan Edwards, André Michaux,
George Catlin, and William Cullen Bryant were among those who visualized

nature as a dynamic organization of living creatures worthy of existence in
their own right and for the joy they gave. Their appreciation is illustrated by
this verse:

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of his hand,
And Eternity in an hour.

To be sure, little resulted from this approach; the time was not ripe. But these
slender stirrings of thought and twitchings of conscience in high places were
bound to be fruitful in results later on.

By the middle of the nineteenth century the springs and streams which 222
had previously provided a murmuring labyrinth of dependable forest
hospitality and protection had become irregular, undependable, and
sometimes downright vicious. The lifeblood of the land, which, under
nature’s balance, had throbbed daily and monthly almost as evenly as the
sea, was now given to torrential rages in early June which were reduced to
feeble trickles in July. Restless farmers found their plantings delayed until
after the spring floods abated, and although the willing seed germinated
quickly the tender plants were desiccated by midsummer heat. These
conditions made it increasingly apparent that Americans would soon be
compelled to approach nature as a friend rather than as an adversary. Any
other course was suicidal.

By 1850 a new and more persuasive corps of conservationists was emerging.
They affirmed that a nation desiring nature’s rewards must first learn her
[265]
laws and then obey them implicitly. They defined conservation as the
protection and development of the full usefulness of natural resources,
including forests, waters, minerals, scenery, and the land itself. Among these
far-seeing men were Henry Thoreau, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and John Muir.
Through a persuasive campaign of lecturing and writing they established the
plain fact that Americans, as a people, had never learned to love the land and
regard it as an enduring resource. Rather had they viewed it as a field for
exploitation and a source of immediate financial return.

Although the effect of these declarations was quite negligible, still Congress
did appoint several timber agents in 1850. This was the first glimmering of a
systematic approach to the inspection and policing of federal timber
resources. But what have these humble beginnings in conservation to do
with the Yellowstone National Park idea? Only this, a child cannot take a
second step until it takes the first. Americans have never been particularly
inclined toward sentimentality. A national pleasuring ground, such as 223
Yellowstone Park, designed to serve “as a great breathing place for the
national lung, as a place to which every American citizen can resort,” could
[266]
not have come into being without considerable intellectual preparation.

Congress could hardly be expected to enact protective legislation to stem
this traditional exploitation until the idea of conservation became reasonably
articulate and popular. Remember, that even at mid-century the thinkers
were still groping for a program. Perhaps the first American possessed of
both the appreciation and imagination to forecast what later evolved into the
National Park program was George Catlin. When traveling up the Missouri
River in 1832 he was so impressed as to write, “The realms might in future
be seen preserved in their pristine beauty and wildness, in a magnificent park
... containing man and beast, in all the wild and freshness of their nature’s
[267]
beauty.”

In 1844 Ralph Waldo Emerson generalized upon the public need for
recreational areas. “The interminable forests,” said he, “should become
graceful parks for use and delight.” Henry Thoreau was even more
penetrating when he wrote:

Why should not we ... have our national preserves ... in which the bear and
panther, and some even of the hunter race, may still exist, and not be
“civilized” off the face of the earth ... for inspiration and our true re-
creation? Or should we, like villains, grub them all up for poaching on our
[268]
own national domains?

Perhaps these men reached these conclusions more by inspiration than logic,
but in George P. Marsh, conservation had a sound advocate. He spoke and
wrote with authority upon the principle of “conserving unique areas for their

greatest values,” whether utility or scenery. In his book, Man and Nature,
published in 1864, he argued persuasively for balanced economy and 224
pointed to the fact of man’s ultimate dependence upon elemental
things. These wise views concerning forest influences upon precipitation,
springs, sand storms, floods, and man’s own property made a deep
[269]
impression upon many people. Since then the good work has been
continued by other scientists. In 1948, Our Plundered Planet, written by
Fairfield Osborn, reviewed the nation’s unpalatable record of negligence and
waste. He characterized the Americans as energetic, destructive, violent, and
unthinking. Considering the element of time, the United States has received
more reckless treatment than any other segment of the world. As a result,
vast resources are gone beyond hope of redemption, but others are renewable
through the application of scientific principles.

The tide of the world’s population is rising; the reservoir of the earth’s
resources is falling. Since World War II, America seems to be in the middle
position of strain. In these circumstances, will it be possible to maintain and
enlarge the standard of living as in the past eras? Fairfield Osborn insists that
our attitude toward conservation holds the key to the problem. Success in
this endeavor will require supreme cooperation among government, industry,
labor, scientific research, and the public at large. Should this grand
partnership eventuate, Mr. Osborn has promised that “no end is visible or
even conceivable to this kingdom of adventure.”

Interest in these great truths is well established now and will not be
permitted to decline, because America has many scientists at work in the
field of soil conservation. This work is furthered by the specialists of the U.
S. Soil Conservation Service. The soil experts constantly remind the farmers,
and others, that America possessed an average top “black” soil depth of nine
inches when settlement was first started. They now estimate the average to
be between six and seven inches. Soil conservationists hasten to point 225
out that rocks disintegrate slowly, and that ages, not centuries, are
required for the growth and decay of plants needed in the production of rich
humus soil. Soil scientists do not simply call attention to dangers. They have
developed dependable and salutary cultivating practices such as contour
plowing of tillable soil and terracing of range land. They advise plowing
stubble and cover crops under to add fertility and cohesion to the soil.

Experimentation has been fruitful from the standpoint of discovering grass
and legume adaptability to the different soil conditions. One phase of
national security is contingent upon the effectiveness with which these
practices are applied by all who work with farm, range, and forest resources.
The record will prove that nearly 300,000,000 acres of land have been
practically destroyed by erosion in the United States. Twice that acreage is
rapidly deteriorating under the same forces.

Remember, that it was only a century ago when Americans received their
first rudimentary lessons in exercising a little common sense in the
exploitation of resources, whether for crops, lumber, mineral, livestock, or
recreational opportunities.

Referring again to the status of conservation and natural philosophy in the
middle nineteenth century, it should be noted that several California citizens
first beheld the beauty of Yosemite in 1851. Inspired and overwhelmed by
the sheer grandeur of these high Sierra marvels, they returned to commune
again and again. Artists, photographers, and authors joined the growing
procession, and most of them concurred in the opinion that it was “the
greatest marvel on the continent.” Increasing appreciation and popularity
developed into a movement for segregation under state ownership and
operation. In 1864 an application was made for a federal land grant with that
end in view. A strong committee, headed by Israel Ward Raymond, drafted
the resolution and passed it along to U.S. Senator John Conness. He
presented a bill which was passed and signed by President Lincoln on June
29, 1864. The grant was given “upon the express conditions that the 226
premises shall be held for public use, resort and recreation shall be
[270]
held inalienable for all time.”

The federal government was gradually warming toward the reservation idea
in areas of little economic resistance from private interests. Even so, there
was no thought of a national park program, but a tract of federal land had
actually been made available to the general public for a strictly non-
utilitarian purpose. The general direction was visible, but the course was not
clearly charted.

Reflective visitors to Yosemite, such as Samuel Bowles, pondered a wider
application of the land grant and reservation principle. It was in 1865, after
Bowles viewed the glories of Yosemite, that he made this statement:

The wise cession and dedication [of Yosemite] by Congress and proposed
improvement by California ... furnishes an admirable example for other
objects of natural curiosity and popular interest all over the Union. New
York should preserve for popular use both Niagara Falls and its
neighborhood, and a generous section of the famous Adirondacks, and
[271]
Maine, one of her lakes and its surrounding woods.

Surely Bowles’ statement disclosed a profound appreciation of a growing
need. He had found, as Dr. Hans Huth aptly says, “a formula not just for the
protection of this or that area of interest to some group or other, but for a
systematic approach to an overall system of protection of specific features of
[272]
nature throughout the nation.” However, one tremendously important
element was still missing from the formula. It was simply a repetition of
George Catlin’s proposal of 1832, in clearer terms to be sure, but still the all-
important factor of bringing the program under the aegis of the federal
government was lacking. This element was supplied by the Washburn-
Langford-Doane party in their memorable campfire discussion at the 227
junction of the Firehole and Gibbon rivers on September 19, 1870,
when it was specifically proposed that the federal government should be
induced to establish a National Park. Within less than two years the native
virtue of the idea, backed by the rugged energy of its originators and others,
resulted in the passage of the Yellowstone Park Act. Yellowstone, therefore,
was the first federal venture in the field of protection. Hence, technically
[273]
speaking, it may stand as the birthplace of the National Park Idea. True,
the issue of protection and conservation had a long history, but one doesn’t
actually name a baby until it is born. In this light, the Yellowstone
experience is the matrix in which the National Park Idea achieved existence
as a new American institution.

Such is the partial record of many influences that culminated in the
“Dedicatory Act” of March 1, 1872. In this chain of progress people
associated with Yellowstone played a small but significant role. They helped

translate a growing conservation movement into a fruitful channel. A
fortuitous combination of time and place reduced opposition to a minimum.
The next question would logically be: what contribution, if any, has
Yellowstone National Park made toward the development of the present
conservation program?

The creation of Yosemite and Yellowstone parks set a precedent for
democratic control of natural curiosities, including scenic forests, but that
was all. No action was then contemplated by Congress in respect to
conserving commercial timber stands. However, Congress was plagued by
petitions, and a few forward-looking legislators were endeavoring to
formulate a basis for a forest policy. The American Association for the
Advancement of Science advocated a program of tree planting, taxes to
discourage hasty timber cutting, a forestry course for farmers, and the
establishment of forest reserves. In 1873, under the guiding hand of 228
Franklin B. Hough, the association memorialized Congress and the
state legislatures regarding the cultivation of timber and the preservation of
[274]
forests.

That same year Congress appropriated two thousand dollars for a study of
American forest and timber production. Mr. Hough directed the work and
issued a series of reports. Secretary of the Interior Carl Schurz was
sufficiently impressed by this survey to create the Department of Forestry
[275]
within his department. In addition, he appointed a forestry agent and sent
him to Europe to study forest methods.

Such Fabian tactics suggest that the conservationists were not strong enough
to really come to grips with the problem. But the leaders were alert, and in
1891 they made a notable gain by a devious maneuver. A conference
committee of the two houses was adjusting differences in a bill that revised
the general land laws. Advocates of conservation through their leader, John
W. Noble, Secretary of the Interior, dominated the committee. It was he who
suggested the inclusion of a new section, although that was a violation of
procedure, which provided that:

The president of the U. S. may, from time to time, set apart and reserve, in
any state or territory having public land bearing forests, any part ...

whether of commercial value or not, as public reservations, and the
president shall, by public proclamation, declare the establishment of such
[276]
reservations.

In that way Congress stumbled onto a plan which worked because, by
granting reserve creating power to the president, the timber lobby was
circumvented. This measure provided a definite wedge against the compact,
aggressive forces of exploitation. President Benjamin Harrison acted
promptly by creating, in 1891, the Yellowstone Timber Reserve in Wyoming.
He, thereby, created the first National Forest, and before his term 229
expired he set aside a total of thirteen million acres, all in the Far
West.

Another side of conservation was inaugurated in 1872 when J. Sterling
Morton of Lincoln, Nebraska, introduced a resolution for a state-wide Arbor
Day. By 1885 the idea had gained enough popular support to warrant the
establishment of Arbor Day as a legal holiday, and since then more than half
of the states have followed Nebraska’s example.

However, it was a Pennsylvanian who became the most effective
conservationist of all; Gifford Pinchot was well educated, energetic, and
interested in the cause. As manager of the Vanderbilt forest interests in North
Carolina he evolved a policy of perpetual timber yield. The indefatigable Mr.
Pinchot was prepared to make a contribution to the conservation movement
on a national level, and Theodore Roosevelt’s accession to the presidency in
1901 gave him that opportunity. President Roosevelt, also, brought much
field experience to the conservation problem. His interest was one of
conviction as well as good sense, sentiment, and politics. He viewed the
presidency as a stewardship for the nation’s resources. More than anyone
before or since he dramatized this issue. As head of the forest bureau, Mr.
Pinchot became the President’s strong right arm, and together they made
America acquainted with her conservation needs. A survey of national
resources disclosed the fact that of the original 800,000,000 acres of virgin
forest, less than 200,000,000 remained. Furthermore, four-fifths of this
acreage was in private hands. Mineral resources, also, had been exploited as
if inexhaustible. By propaganda, lobbies, public meetings, and conferences,
Roosevelt and Pinchot focused attention upon abuses and neglect. Their

watchword was that America’s natural resources must be administered in the
interest of “the greatest good to the greatest number—and that for the
[277]
longest time.”

The general response to the President’s Governors’ Conference at the 230
White House in 1907, and to other conferences, was most gratifying.
Conservation agencies sprang into action on all sides. Even the National
Lumber Manufacturers’ Association established new standards and
specifications for the wood-using industries. The dynamic leadership of
Theodore Roosevelt and his associates enabled the people to comprehend the
basic relationship of conservation and national welfare. Almost everyone
united in the view that a new frontier had been formed and its conquest was
to be made upon the principles and forces of conservation.

Congress had led the way toward legislative regulation, beginning with the
Yosemite Act in 1864, followed by the Yellowstone “Dedicatory Act” of
1872. Since then one legislative pearl after another has been collected and
strung upon the fabric of the National Forest and Park systems.

Today there are thirteen federal agencies charged with the administration of
the federal conservation laws. Consolidation of these bureaus would
undoubtedly enhance the effectiveness of the over-all service. Besides that,
there are forty-eight state agencies and, in addition, one hundred and twenty-
four organizations of either national, state, or local character specifically
[278]
dedicated to conservation. From the origin herein described, the National
Forest Service has developed until there are now 180,000,000 acres within
the confines of one hundred and fifty National Forests. The administration of
these far-flung areas is co-ordinated by twelve regional offices and other
adjunctive agencies, such as experiment stations and laboratories.

The guiding philosophy of National Forest management is known as
“multiple use.” This term describes a broad program involving the inter-
relationship of wild life protection, livestock grazing, logging, mining, 231
irrigation watersheds, wood chopping, recreation, summer home
areas, and hunting and fishing activities. Railroads and other roads are built
in National Forests according to plan and under supervision. How much of
this esteemable policy and program has been derived from the National Park

experience? The two services have developed simultaneously; as the
boundaries of parks and forests often impinge, so have their policies. Both
[279]
services have many ends in common; each learns from the other. The
essential differentiation of service lies in the difference between “conserving
an area for its greatest value” and “utilization of resources in multiple
purpose.” It is a matter of degrees of conservation according to
circumstances. For example, public hunting is prohibited in all 23,899,030
acres of the 181 areas under the supervision of the National Park Service.
However, the service itself may adopt a policy of fauna diminution.

Having sketched the history of forest and land conservation, it would be
appropriate to similarly narrate the movement to conserve wild life. Until a
half century ago the American attitude toward wild life was almost 232
wholly one of indifference. The frontiersman killed a deer per meal
and gave little thought for the morrow. Only the Indians were preservers of
game, as the saying, “No Indians not much game; heap Sioux, plenty of
[280]
buffalo, elk and deer,” so aptly attests. It has already been explained how
this difference in racial behavior eventuated in almost perpetual strife
between white and red men. There were occasional exceptions, as in the case
of Daniel Boone. In 1775 he proposed a measure for the protection of game
in Kentucky because it was already necessary for him to travel a score of
miles from home to find buffalo.

The pristine American wild life heritage was on a par with the endowment of
forest and land. The toothsome white-tailed deer was omnipresent in the East
and much of the Middle West. Other species of deer, elk, moose, bison, and
antelope were in great abundance. Reports from Lewis and Clark, Zebulon
Pike, J. J. Audubon, B. L. Bonneville and others prove that no pioneer ever
pushed so far, or entered regions so difficult or remote, that he did not find a
[281]
host of birds and beasts awaiting his pleasure and profit. Man has always
had a predatory disposition toward wild life, but this was not so serious in
the ages of club, stone ax, and bow and arrow. American animal abundance
was contemporaneous with these times.

Wild life conservation became an imperative issue only after the invention of
flintlock, breechloaders, repeaters, automatics, and fixed ammunition. These

weapons in the hands of commercial hunters, unscrupulous sportsmen, and
“game hogs” threatened extinction of many species of life. Most devastating
of all threats was the impact of the market hunter; no bird, mammal, or
reptile species can long withstand such exploitation. Professional gunners
who pursue creatures for money are invariably skillful, diligent, and 233
[282]
persistent. Often the sportsman is equally skillful and efficient in
slaughter. The Earl of Dunraven left this description of a chase in the vicinity
of Fort Laramie:

We killed elk, white-tail and black-tail deer, antelope, swans, immense
geese, ducks and small game without count. This elk running is perfectly
magnificent. We ride among the wild sand hills till we find a herd, and
then gallop after them like maniacs, cutting them off, till we get in the
midst of them, when we shoot all that we can. Our chief hunter is a very
famous man out West, one Buffalo Bill. To see his face flush, and his eyes
shoot out courage is a sight to see, and he cheers us on till he makes us as
[283]
mad as himself.

Concerning the high sport of the Earl’s party, Mary Kingsley made the witty
observation that “In the course of these wanderings they shot ... every kind
of living thing ... on the Western Continent ... with the solitary exception of
[284]
their fellowmen.” America has handled its wild life in such a careless,
greedy fashion that several species of animal and fowl became extinct, and
many others were brought within the range of annihilation. The danger point
varies with each species, but there is an area for each wherein the survivors
are too few to cope with circumstances, and recovery is impossible. This fact
became quite clear to certain conservationists around 1900.

Outstanding leadership was provided by Madison Grant, John F. Lacey,
[285]
Henry Fairfield Osborn and Willard Dutcher. These men so wrote and
spoke as to arouse the public and sting the true sportsmen into action. People
who did not shoot were impelled to call a halt on those who did, particularly
upon the lawless element. The public was assured that much could be done
to save a wonderful inheritance. In order to finance the conservation 234
campaign aggregate bequests in excess of one-half million dollars

were made by Albert Wilcox, Mrs. Russell Sage, Charles W. Ward, and Mary
Dutcher. President Theodore Roosevelt nourished the movement in every
way within his power. He gave the vanishing species the benefit of every
doubt. Under his direction five national parks, three bison herds, fifty-three
bird refuges, and four game preserves were established.

Warnings and appeals directed toward conservation went through all
channels, legislative, educational, practical, and sentimental. The farmers
were assured that the rejuvenated bison, deer, and elk herds would not be
allowed to roam at will over their valuable land. Rather there were millions
of acres of brushy, rocky, and semi-forest lands, wholly unsuited for
agriculture, in which the conservation work could be done. Sportsmen were
promised opportunities for shooting plentiful game in open seasons as soon
as the proper balance of wild life had been restored. Their response to this
program has become increasingly impressive. They have effected almost
innumerable associations designed to achieve these ends. Much thought and
effort have been given to the cause, and they have contributed liberally,
besides paying license fees. Revenue from all sportsmen sources must
approximate a billion dollars a year. Hence, it is correct to say that combined
sportsmen organizations represent one of the most effective agencies of
conservation.

By 1912 the movement had achieved general acceptance. The Department of
Agriculture issued annual “progress reports.” Every state had either a State
Game Commission or a State Game Warden. Montana had established two
state preserves. Several states were successfully experimenting with the
introduction of new species of game birds, such as Chinese ring-necked,
golden, and silver pheasants. The federal government had created fifty-eight
bird refuges and five great game preserves. It had taken steps to protect
bison herds in four national ranges, besides protecting the fur seal and 235
providing hay for starving Yellowstone Park elk and others in the
Jackson Hole area.

The efforts of government agencies were effectively buttressed by a number
of private organizations such as the New York Zoological Society, National
Association of Audubon Societies, Campfire Club of America, Boone and
Crockett Club, and the American Game Protective and Propagation
Association. Since 1912 gratifying progress has been made, although there

are still many problems remaining. Yellowstone’s Park Biologist, Walter H.
Kittams, and many other specialists are applying the best modern techniques
of range management and wildlife management to effect a solution to these
problems consistent with National Park Service ideals.

It has already been noted that Yellowstone National Park has served as an
area of experimentation in the field of wild life management. When the
reservation was established in 1872 a proposal was made to outlaw hunting.
The suggestion was not heeded by Congress, and as a result trappers and
hunters plied their trades early and late, seven days a week, month after
month.

A representative description of wild life exploitation in the Yellowstone
Wonderland may be found in the Earl of Dunraven’s book, Hunting in the
Yellowstone. This is an account of his trip through the Park in 1874. While
camped at Mammoth Hot Springs he wrote: “Some of us went out hunting
[286]
and brought in a good store of fat antelope ...” If that entry strikes a note
of discord because of present practice, observe the significance of the Earl’s
record in describing the following Yellowstone camp:

In the afternoon we passed quite a patriarchal camp [near Sheepeater’s
Cliff], composed of two men, with their Indian wives and several
children; half a dozen powerful savage looking dogs and about fifty
horses completed the party. They had been grazing their stock, hunting
and trapping, leading a nomad, vagabond, and delicious life—a sort of
mixed existence, half hunter, half herdsman, and had collected a 236
great pile of deer hides and beaver skins. They were then on their
way to settlements to dispose of their peltries, and to get stores and
provisions; for they, too, were proceeding down the river or up the canon.
[287]

Within the decade it became obvious to Park officials that the fauna would
not long survive this savage onslaught from squaw men, professional
gunners, fierce dogs, and expert scouts and guides vying for tourist
patronage. Along with this realization came another discovery; soldiers in
remote stations had formed enjoyable companionships with wilderness
creatures. These lonely men were delighted by the universally charming wild

life trait of responding with confidence and alacrity to friendly human
advances. It became increasingly apparent to the officials that Yellowstone
birds and mammals would quickly recognize overtures of friendship and
protection. The idea was advanced that nearly every species in the Park
might become as tame as range cattle if given an opportunity to move safely
within rifle-shot for several years. Recommendations to that effect
forwarded to the Secretary of the Interior by Superintendent Norris in 1879
were passed on to Congress, and they played an important part in the
passage of legislation on March 3, 1883, under which the killing of game
was first suppressed. In subsequent years the laws were strengthened and
administration improved. This was the beginning of wild life conservation
practice by the federal government. Since then the various species of native
fauna have achieved a generally satisfactory balance. The Park’s policy of
protection can definitely be credited with saving the grizzly bear from
extinction, and the trumpeter swan is receiving his chance to survive. It may
be too late in this case.

Today the alert tourist may reap the reward of that wise and fruitful policy in
observing mountain sheep, antelope, mule deer, elk, moose, coyotes,
marmot, and squirrels as they roam around in the Park. Indeed, the quiet but
energetic visitor who ventures upon the forest trails may even see the 237
rare sand-hill crane and trumpeter swan. Besides, he will frequently
hear the passing whisper of the honker’s wing. Actually, he may “shoot”
both birds and mammals with the camera and take home trophies of
everlasting enjoyment.

The wildlife policy of the National Park Service has evolved gradually, and
is based upon long experience in preserving areas of outstanding
significance. It has been determined that animals shall not be encouraged to
become dependent upon man, and their presentation to the public shall be
wholly natural. Every species shall be left to carry on its struggle for
existence unaided, unless it becomes endangered, and no management
measure or interference with biotic relationships shall be undertaken prior to
a properly conducted investigation. Numbers of animals must not be
permitted to exceed the carrying capacity of the range available to them.
Predator species will be given the same protection as all other animals,
except in special instances where a prey species is in danger of
extermination. These principles, and others, control the actions taken with

respect to wildlife, and assure the continued existence of native wildlife in
our National Parks.

238

Chapter XIV
GENERAL ADMINISTRATION

Nathaniel P. Langford was appointed Superintendent of Yellowstone
National Park on May 10, 1872. No salary was allowed, but nothing
daunted, on July 4 he arranged to join the Snake River detachment of Dr. F.
V. Hayden’s second expedition. This party employed as guide one Richard
Leigh, better known as “Beaver Dick.” This picturesque squaw man and his
wife, Jenny, with her brood, not only acted as scout but also as friend and
entertainer. “Beaver Dick” knew the Tetons and south Yellowstone country
like a book, and he regaled the company with many tales of hair-raising
experiences in the wilds. They were respectful in the presence of one of the
last genuine frontiersmen of the West.

The new superintendent was characteristically indefatigable in his
reconnaissance during this journey. Making personal side trips, he climbed
the Grand Teton, called on Gilman Sawtelle at Henrys Lake, and joined
[288]
Hayden in the Upper Geyser Basin by mid-August. On this expedition
the reports of much petrifaction along the East Fork of Yellowstone River
(now called Lamar) were confirmed. Many trees were found that were filled
with beautiful crystals of amethyst. Several species of trees that do not now
grow in the Park were also found in a petrified state. Among these were
magnolias, sycamores, aralias, oaks, and ferns in abundance. This, and
subsequent investigations, disclosed an interesting story of climatic change.
Obviously Tertiary flora was of a Southern type, and Yellowstone’s climate
[289]
in that time was comparable to southern California’s today.

Photo by IV H. Jackson
“Beaver Dick” (Richard Leigh) and family, 1871

Members of this same expedition also visited the Heart Lake and 239
[290]
Norris Geyser-basins. Hayden and Langford were more than
pleased with the results. Wonderland’s charms were still a potent draught to
the thirst of these great nature lovers. Their enthusiasm never flagged,
although there were many discouragements. Several accidents must have
induced considerable reflection, if not doubt, about the realization of their
hopes. One horse went to its doom in quagmire; another broke its neck in a
somersault. Horses sensed the inexperience and uncertainty of their riders in
[291]
this environment, and there were several stampedes. This time Langford
viewed Yellowstone in the light of what the public would require, and the
task ahead must have appeared insurmountable. Still, his good judgment told
him that the Park would surely become a favorite resort for future tourists.
Plans were conceived for trails, roads, and accommodations, and in the

spring of 1873 he appointed David E. Folsom as assistant 240
superintendent, also without pay.

Langford’s annual report of 1873 showed that five hundred people visited
the Park that season. A request was made for an appropriation of $10,000 for
improvements, but no funds were provided for any purpose. As time passed,
the general situation became increasingly untenable. The frontiersman’s
indifference to schedules and comforts caused much inconvenience and
dissatisfaction to the travelers. A program of development and a system of
concessions was imperative. Of course, these things would require time,
planning, and money, but this fact was little recognized by newcomers.
Langford was roundly criticized in the press for conditions over which he
had no authority or means to control. However, during the winter he
faithfully devoted his spare time to making plans, and his full time in
summer was given to their execution. For five long years he gave the best
that was in him, without funds or support, never losing his faith in the future
of Yellowstone, and because of his enthusiasm his friends called him
[292]
“National Park” Langford.

In 1877 a new superintendent succeeded Langford. Philetus W. Norris, of
Michigan, received the appointment, with pay, and the following year a
$10,000 appropriation was made available “to protect, preserve, and improve
Yellowstone Park.” Norris, although a rather quaint man, proved to be
extremely zealous and energetic. On foot and horseback he eventually toured
all of the Park and its immediate environs, considering a thorough personal
exploration of Wonderland essential to a wise administration of his office. In
1878 he discovered Monument Geyser Basin, and later in the season an
attempt was made to explore the Hoodoo area on the upper Lamar River
drainage, but the Crow Indians challenged his right, and “Miller, Rowland,
[293]
and myself, narrowly escaped.” However, he persisted, and in due time
the world learned about

Superintendent Philetus W. Norris

... that mysterious Hoodoo region, where all the devils now 241
employed in the geysers, live and kill the wandering bear and elk,
so that the sacred hunter finds in Death Gulch piled high carcasses of the
[294]
dead whom no man has smitten.

There is obvious exaggeration in Kipling’s description of wild life
destruction by natural gases. However, evidence confirming the lethal power
of Yellowstone’s natural carbon dioxide gas may be secured without going
into the remote Hoodoo region. Birds die almost daily from inhaling the
fumes that arise from springs on Orange Mound in the Mammoth Hot
Springs. Park naturalists are in a quandary as to the procedure of warning
birds concerning the danger.

Norris wrote voluminously and accomplished much, leaving his mark and
name upon various sections of the Park. He caused trails, roads, bridges, and
crude campgrounds to be made, in so far as the limited funds would allow. A
policy of wild life protection was also adopted. In 1880 Harry Yount was
given the assignment as gamekeeper. Yount was a typical leatherstocking
frontiersman. He was rough, tough, and intelligent. In the role of game
protector he spent the winter of 1880 in the Park. He thereby became one of
[295]
the first white men of record to spend the entire year in Yellowstone.
Harry initiated many of the practices of resourcefulness and traditions of
good will that characterize the ranger service, and he may be considered as
its father.

The need of a game protection program was apparent from the outset.
Indian, trapper, and miner visitations had taken a heavy toll of elk, deer,
antelope, and buffalo. After 1872 tourist parties were largely made up 242
of, or guided by, mountain men who undertook to provide game for
the campers. Thus, a trip through Yellowstone was, in effect, a hunting and
fishing expedition, actuated by the slogan “slay and eat.”

In 1876 William Ludlow, a government surveyor, was moved to write an
effective appeal for game protection to George Bird Grinnell, editor of
Forest and Stream. His argument was buttressed by many observations of
[296]
the slaughter “of the largest and finest game animals in the country.” In

1879 Superintendent Norris made a similar observation in his annual report.
He stated that, with the rapid influx of tourists and the demand for such food,
the policy could not long continue without serious results. He, thereupon,
issued an order for the protection of the bison as the herd was not in excess
of six hundred. However, this commendable move proved ineffective, and
the hunters went merrily about their avocation.

About this time Norris left the Park service, but before doing so he had
completed and occupied a unique structure on Capitol Hill, called Fort
Yellowstone. It was a blockhouse of hewn timber with a balcony and three
wings, surmounted by a gun turret. He wanted to be prepared for the next
Indian attack, while the problems actually confronting the Park officials
were of quite a different character. Yellowstone was still a wilderness, and
many visitors would not endure restraints. In 1883 Secretary of the Interior
Hoke Smith caught two hundred trout in one day, and the next year Secretary
[297]
of War Dan Lamont only caught fifty-three!

243

Old Fort Yellowstone.

In 1882 Patrick A. Conger, of Iowa, succeeded Norris as superintendent. His
administration was weak and vacillating in practically every respect.
Scarcely anything was improved, but all difficulties were aggravated.
Vandalism, forest fires, and general mismanagement were added to the
problem of vanishing wild life. John S. Crosby, Governor of Montana, wrote
a scathing denunciation of the Park officials to the Secretary of the Interior,
[298]
Henry M. Teller. This official contemplated the leasing of considerable
portions of the Park to responsible persons in the hope that they would,
through self-interest, give the protection which the government had failed to
[299]
provide. While Montana’s governor complained and the Secretary
hesitated Wyoming territorial officials took action. The Wyoming legislature
intervened by providing stringent measures for the protection of timber,
game, fish, and natural curiosities of the Park. A jail was erected, and the

territorial officials got ready for business. Cowboy type-cast officers 244
had a lively time enforcing regulations and levying fines for personal
[300]
emolument upon strangers toward whom they felt a natural suspicion.
Vexatious arrests, made under the sweeping provisions of the act, defeated
the purpose of the Park “as a pleasuring ground for the people.” Citizens
questioned the right of a territory to exercise criminal jurisdiction and
judicial powers in a federal reservation. The act was repealed in 1886, but
the effect was to leave the Park in a worse plight than ever before. As it
became generally known that the superintendent had no support beyond the
rules of the department and their own personal force,

the rules and regulations were ignored, while outlaws and vagabonds from
the surrounding region made the nation’s pleasure ground a place of
refuge. The hotels were frequented by gamblers and adventurers, who
preyed upon the unwary tourist, while forest fires, originating
[301]
mysteriously in remote and inaccessible places, raged unchecked.

Robert E. Carpenter took office as Park Superintendent in August, 1884. In
his view the Park presented an opportunity for personal and corporate
exploitation. He was in full accord with a conspiracy to obtain private
ownership of strategic locations. This scheme was advanced by an
organization known as The Improvement Company which went directly
before Congress with its proposition. In this effort, the nadir of private greed
and administrative indifference was reached. However, the bad cause was
lost, the superintendent removed, and a new and better administration came
[302]
into being. The influence of General Phil Sheridan was a constant 245
factor in promoting the welfare of the Park. Beginning in 1881, he made a
series of annual tours of the region. After each inspection he earnestly
appealed to public sentiment, in behalf of proper government, for the area.
Whereupon, Congress passed the Sundry Civil Bill of March, 1883 which
forbade the granting of leases in excess of ten acres to a single party and
provided for the employment of ten assistant superintendents. This measure
also authorized the Secretary of the Interior to call upon the Secretary of War
for troops to patrol the Park.

In May, 1885 David W. Wear of Missouri brought intelligent and vigorous
effort to the problem. At the close of the season he wrote a comprehensive
report that carried a tone of real interest and purpose: “The discipline of the
force was bad; no head to anything.... The game had been shot with impunity
[303]
and marketed at the hotels.” He secured the services of a trusty
mountaineer, and together they rounded up the worst of the “skin hunters”
and punished them to the full extent of the law. Of course, that was simply
arrest and expulsion from the Park, together with the forfeiture of equipment
used in the violation.

During the season of 1885 a committee of congressmen visited the Park for
the purpose of ascertaining how wisely the recent appropriation of $40,000
[304]
was being used and inquiring into the administration of laws. The report
of this and other investigating groups seemed to be that, although
Superintendent Wear was performing his duty efficiently and fearlessly, the
whole situation was honeycombed with error, corruption, confusion, and
suspicion. The Park was in need of redemption; something had to be done.
The high purposes of the Dedicatory Act were being frustrated. An
avalanche of petitions, representing opinion from thirty-one states, reached
the Department of the Interior and could not be ignored.

Therefore, the Department of the Interior called upon the United 246
States Army to effect a new birth. This action was taken under the
authority of the act of March 3, 1883, wherein the Secretary of War, upon the
request of the Secretary of the Interior, was directed to provide:

Details of troops to prevent trespassers or intruders from entering the Park
for the purpose of destroying the game or objects of curiosity therein, or
for any other purpose prohibited by law, and to remove such persons from
[305]
the Park if found therein.

Accordingly, on August 20, 1886, Captain Moses Harris with a troop of the
first cavalry took charge. Detachments of soldiers were soon stationed at
Norris, Lower and Upper Geyser basins, Canyon, Riverside, and Soda Butte.
Old frontiersmen were notified to desist from their poaching activities;
prowling Indians were ordered to stay away; forest fires were checked; and

the tone of all departments of service and accommodation improved. The
Hayes and Lacey acts granted the necessary authority in respect to leases,
protection, and punishment. Captain Harris proved to be a forthright
administrator. He established a system of patrols stemming out from the
permanent stations. The patrolmen were instructed to not only follow the
[306]
regular roads and trails but to occasionally visit unfrequented places.
The patrolmen were ordered to keep a sharp lookout for bear trappers,
poachers, and forest fires. Persons traveling in the Park between October 1
and June 1 were to be viewed with suspicion: in fact, they were to be
questioned closely and watched as they journeyed from station to station.

There were many frontiersmen who continued to ignore the Captain’s
warnings about poaching. This challenge was accepted, and on August 19,
1888 a scouting party apprehended a trapper near the southern border. 247
He gave his name as Andrew S. Page but later admitted he had been
arrested the previous year as John Andrews. His horse and outfit were
[307]
confiscated, and he was expelled from the Park. In September of the
same year Thomas Garfield was caught in the act of trapping beaver in
Willow Creek. He was given the same treatment. Garfield made ominous
threats to get even, and a few days later a forest fire was started by someone
near Norris. In spite of occasional arrests the practice of poaching persisted.
Trapping habits were deep-seated and penalties, too mild.

In the years that followed the cases of Tom Newcomb, June Buzzel, Jay
Whitman, James Courtney, A. G. Vance, E. Sheffeld, Pendleton, and Van
[308]
Dych were tried with various degrees of success.

The most notorious case was that of Ed Howell of Cooke, Montana. Early in
March, 1894, a party was organized to visit the winter range of the buffalo.
Members were Captain George L. Scott, Lieutenant William W. Forsyth,
Scout Felix Burgess, A. E. Burns, Frank Jay Haynes, Sergeant Troike, and
two other noncommissioned officers. They traveled on skis, and when they
reached the Canyon, Emerson Hough and Billy Hofer joined them. About
twelve miles up Pelican Creek they discovered the cache of a poacher. Six
bison heads were suspended in a tree. Several shots were heard, but as it was
snowing the direction was difficult to determine. However, Scout Burgess

was able to approach the poacher without being seen or heard, even by the
dog. He got the drop on Howell, which was a good thing in view of the
[309]
character of the man. He had driven a half-dozen other bison in the deep
snow and killed them.

The culprit was taken to Mammoth where the presence of the writer
Emerson Hough and a representative of Forest and Stream gave 248
national publicity to the case. Howell was quite a robust personality,
and he responded to the limelight. “How does a poacher operate to avoid two
troops of soldiers?” “It is the simplest thing in the world,” said Howell, “just
wait for a snowstorm, enter the desired area, make a wide detour to check
tracks of pursuers, if any, and go to work.” “Why did you do it?” “Well,
[310]
bison heads are worth from $100 to $400 apiece.”

The articles in Forest and Stream apprised the nation of the fact that there
were less than one hundred head of bison left in the Park and that the
government’s failure to provide real protection was threatening the
extinction of all the larger animals. One side of the reaction was critical of
the army administration. Said one observer, “I would rather have three good,
intelligent, honorable men, inured to the life of prospector and hunter, in
[311]
these mountains to watch the Park, than all the soldiers now there....”

However, a constructive remedy was provided by legislation in the passage
of the act of May 7, 1894. This measure positively prohibited hunting and
trapping in every form, under heavy penalties. A clear-cut basis of
jurisdiction was provided by the Vest Bill. A United States Commissioner
was appointed, “who shall reside in the Park,” to issue processes and hear
cases. An appeal from his decisions might be made before the Federal
District Court for the District of Wyoming. Hon. John W. Meldrum was the
first man to receive this assignment. He held the position until 1935 when he
was succeeded by T. Paul Wilcox.

Within a year after the passage of the Protective Act, Captain George S.
Anderson was able to report that a healthy effect was evident. That was not
the end of poaching because it has existed in a slight and subtle manner to

this very day. However, around the turn of the century, the poacher gave way
to the road agent as the Park’s most exciting criminal.

249

W. S. Chapman
Poacher caught in the act.

In Captain Harris’ report of 1888 there is reference to a stage robbery 250
of July 4, 1887. Subsequently, William James and a man named
Higgenbottom were convicted and fined $1000 each and given a year’s
sentence in the Montana State Penitentiary. Again, on August 14, 1897, two
masked men held up and robbed six Yellowstone Park Transportation
coaches and one spring wagon. The place of the robbery was between
Canyon and Norris, the amount of the “haul” being over $500. These
offenders were apprehended and identified as Charles Reebe, alias
“Morphine Charley,” and Charles Switzer. They were also convicted, fined,
[312]
and imprisoned.

On August 24, 1908, on Spring Creek, one masked man successfully held up
nine coaches carrying a total of one hundred and fifteen people. The booty
collected totaled $1,363.95 in cash and $730.25 in watches and jewelry. The
entire cavalcade consisted of thirty-two coaches, escorted by one trooper.
The road agent did not show himself until the soldier and eight of the
coaches had passed. Thereafter, each one was held up and ordered on its way
before the next one arrived. The victims of this outrage held a meeting in the
Lake Hotel and drafted a set of resolutions reviewing all of the facts. They
complained because they were deprived of personal firearms and denied
sufficient protection to life and property. They also petitioned for redress.
These resolutions, together with the names of the victims, were printed in a
[313]
souvenir edition and widely distributed.

Perhaps the most daring robbery in Yellowstone history was executed near
Shoshone Point, on July 29, 1915. It was there that Edward B. 251
Trafton, alias Ed Harrington, an outlaw from Teton Basin, duplicated
the feat of the 1908 season; the amount taken was about $2200. However,
Trafton was apprehended and convicted of the latter crime on December 15,
1915. His sentence was a five-year term in Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.

Robberies of a less dramatic character still occur. In 1941 two rangers fished
several purses out of Cauliflower Geyser. They had been snatched from
parked cars, rifled, and cast away, but the geyser threw them up, and they
were used as evidence in effecting a conviction. Times and methods change,
but crime goes on forever.

Another problem that has constantly confronted every administration is
vandalism. A vandal is any person who takes flowers or specimens and
writes on or defaces natural objects, and his name is legion. The more
cunningly contrived a work of nature becomes, the greater the temptation to
remove it to one’s own premises. This urge reduces even dignified people to
the most amazing behavior. They will pry and chop in such a way as to
destroy an ornament for all time. Again, there is the untoward desire to
throw tokens, small coins, bottles, poles, and detritus into pools and geysers
“just to see what will happen.”

Not even Old Faithful is exempt from this wantonness. It is a matter of
record that one party, wishing to experiment, filled its orifice “with at least a
thousand pounds of stones, trees, and stumps” and then sat down to await
further developments. Another group wrote this shameless account: “We
abused that spring [geyser] with everything in our power. We threw sticks
[314]
into it and stones, but it was no use; nothing would rile it.” Name writing
in pools and geysers is particularly alluring to a certain class as nature fixes
the insult indelibly so that in after years all men may read, in letters as large
as a neon sign, that “Sadie, Mamie, and Jack” visited the Park. Many 252
a ranger, attempting to eradicate such legends with his wire brush, has
heartily agreed with the following statement “... and when the man from
Oshkosh writes his name with a blue pencil on her sacred face, let him spend
[315]
six months where the scenery is circumscribed and entirely artificial.”
Will the public never learn that, although it owns the Park, ownership may
be expressed in much more appropriate ways?

The offense of “soaping” geysers is said to have originated in 1885 when a
Chinaman encompassed a small spring with his tent and started a laundry.
When the spring became impregnated with soap there was an eruption, and
up went tent, washing, and Chinaman! It is a fact that soap produces
viscosity which retains heat, and as steam rises it may aid explosive action.
Hence, if some visitors could have their way, the beautiful sapphire springs
[316]
and geysers would be “in the suds” constantly throughout the season.
Such activity is strictly prohibited by the government.

In recent years Park officials have been greatly distressed by another type of
violation. Large numbers of people are disposed to cast tax tokens and
pennies into the otherwise beautiful hot springs and geysers. Familiar with
wishing wells in commercial resorts, they fall short in adjusting to national
park standards of conduct. As one ranger said, “They forget what kind of
animal throws a (s)cent!”

Many lovers of Yellowstone would like to see the rangers crack down upon
rule violators with a vengeance. They argue that a full 10 per cent of the
human race will lie, steal, and destroy flora, fauna, and features whenever
and wherever they find a chance to do so. Of course, the rangers are quick in
recognizing varying degrees of moral and social responsibility. Their policy
to date is one of energetic education and moderate restraint by 253
authority.

The problem of forest fires causes much concern during July and August.
Fires may start from natural causes, as from lightning, and friction caused by
trees rubbing together during violent windstorms, but about 50 per cent of
them are caused by the carelessness of man. Of course, nature manages to
extinguish forest fires eventually, but man has learned to cooperate.

The officials have developed efficiency in organization and methods of
fighting fires. Major lookouts are established upon Mt. Washburn, Mt.
Holmes, Mt. Sheridan, Purple Mountain, and Pelican Cone. Lookouts also
stand guard in other strategic positions. Fireguards are employed to clear
trails and be available on a moment’s notice. District rangers train and direct
employees within their jurisdictions and take daily “fire weather” readings.
Tools, equipment, and provisions are always packed and ready for action.
When a fire breaks out a base camp is set up at a road terminal; from there
the flow of men and supplies is governed through radio communication. Fire
camps are established in safe places, by the water supply nearest the burning
area. Tools, sleeping bags, and food reach the fire camp on the backs of
mules, by reason of the skill of expert packers. However, airplanes are
sometimes used in parachuting fighters and supplies to the spot in a hurry.

Accepted principles of procedure consist of: speed in the first instance
before the fire “blows up”; striking hard at daybreak after it has calmed
down and before the wind fans it; cutting a line with saw and ax; trenching it

in with shovel and Pulaski; using pumps where possible; and always praying
for rain. Fighting fire is an arduous, dirty business.

Yellowstone forests are predominantly of lodgepole pine. This species is
thin-skinned and non-resistant to fire, but it takes pains to store its seeds up
in tightly closed cones. These hold the seed fertile for several years. Thus,
although raging fire may devour the forest, the scorched cones open, 254
and the hoarded seed shoots new growth triumphantly out of the
[317]
ashes.

It has been observed that lodgepole forests are not very valuable for lumber;
neither do they present the most attractive appearance. Still, the trees grow
profusely, and in so doing they provide an excellent agency for water
conservation. Let fire destroy the forests upon the sources of the Snake and
Yellowstone rivers, and many of the present garden spots of the West would
be added to her barren wastes. Therefore, in the mature opinion of many
experts, the forests of this area are more valuable in the conservation of soil
and water than they would be for grazing and lumbering. The present policy
will keep the mountains at home, prevent floods, and assure a more constant
[318]
water supply.

Perhaps the most tantalizing problem has arisen from the half-century
application of the Protective Act of 1894, wherein:

The killing, wounding, or capturing, at any time, of any bird or wild
animal, except dangerous animals, when it is necessary to prevent them
from destroying life or inflicting an injury, is prohibited within the limits
[319]
of the Park.

255

Wild and dangerous despite appearances.

People possessing firearms must have them sealed upon entering the 256
Park. Thus, the animal inhabitants virtually enjoy a natural life
[320]
expectancy so far as man is concerned. It is an anomalous situation,
without a parallel since the Garden of Eden. On the whole, the animals have
lost their fear of man, and still very few of them show any disposition to
injure him except in self-defense. Deer, black bear, marmot, squirrels, and
many species of birds are very responsive to opportunities of human
association. Several other types exhibit good-natured indulgence toward
human curiosity, but a few species are so elusive as to be almost
inaccessible. In fact, there are some creatures that possess such a decided
allergy to the presence of man that their survival is jeopardized by human
proximity. Moose, grizzlies, bighorn, antelope, beaver, and swan conform to
this type. They require an environment of varying specifications from
swamp to rocky crag, but possessing the element of seclusion as a common
denominator. Park officials recognize these factors and endeavor to meet the
requirements for the health of their denizens. Furthermore, they are willing
to allow the so-called predators the use of the Park as a sanctuary, or refuge,

even though their instincts seem to be of a wholly destructive character. The
latch key is out for wolverine, coyote, and cougar.

It should be emphasized that in the case of black bear human contacts are
fraught with dire consequences for all concerned. Approximately a hundred
tourists sustain bear bites or scratches each season, and many bears are killed
for these offenses. Park officials frequently doubt the possibility of
reconciling the presence of black bear and people. If the latter were
governed by the principle of intelligence, it would be an easy matter. But
they simply refuse to believe that the bears are wild. As a result, they take
privileges with a mother and cubs which no one would ever think of trying
with a neighbor’s hound.

It is admitted by all that black bear cubs are among nature’s most interesting
creatures. They are the “Happy Hooligans” and “Katzenjammer Kids” of the
Park. What a spectacle they provide, standing Jesse James-like along the
highway, tumbling over each other in fun, or scampering up a tree in fright!
“Do you mean to tell me those cute creatures will harm anyone?” says a
lady, “Why they smile and wiggle their tails in the most cunning manner!”
“Yes, lady,” replies the ranger, “but you must not believe either end of a
bear.”

When a serious injury or a death occurs strong resentment is 257
expressed against the administration. It is advised to decide either to
turn the Park over to the bears or to the people. Then a party of tourists
expresses great disappointment over not having been “held up” by a bear.
What will be the outcome of this tug-of-war? It is to be hoped that the public
will eventually learn to obey the regulation, “Do Not Feed or Molest the
[321]
Bears.”

Grizzly, king of the Rockies.

The American bison was probably saved from extinction in Yellowstone.
Although native to the region, the joint ravages of poachers and septicemia
finally reduced the herd to a mere remnant. In 1895 a hay harvesting 258
project was started in Hayden Valley. This enterprise was
subsequently moved to the Lamar Valley where a buffalo ranch, now called
the Lamar Unit, was established. Feeding these animals in the coldest
months during winters of exceptional severity has proved salutary. Another
precaution was taken in 1902 when twenty-one head were purchased from
the Goodnight and Allard herds in Texas and Montana, respectively. Since
then the herd has flourished and is now stabilized at eight hundred head. The
increase is reduced periodically and distributed among near-by Indian
agencies.

A reduction policy has also been adopted to control the northern elk herd.
Summer is lavish in its gifts to Park elk. Lush grasses, shady dells, and cool
weather make an ideal condition for them. Fall finds them fat and sleek, with
bulls bugling in every glen. Perhaps the summer range is adequate for
thousands of them, but then winter comes, with its weakening cold and
deepening snows, and they are forced by storms into restricted areas where
hunger stalks them on every side. It is evident, therefore, that the maximum
must be limited by the winter range capacity. In view of these conditions the
officials of the Park and the state of Montana have worked out a satisfactory
policy of diminution. A number of elk-hunting permits are issued to citizens
who foregather along the northern boundary to participate in a bombardment
that is swift and effective. In this manner the Park herd is kept in balance,
and surplus elk do not migrate to the valleys to bother the ranchers. Of
course an advantage accrues to these hunters because each one is very sure
of getting his elk. This program should preclude a repetition of the agitation
aroused during World War I when proposals were pressed upon the Food
Administrator to allow hunting parties a free reign in securing Park elk and
[322]
buffalo.

More serious attempts to invade the Park’s wilderness area came in 259
the form of several irrigation projects, a railroad, and the northern
boundary segregation issue. Each of these propositions, which threatened to
modify the natural character and unity of the reservation, was strenuously
resisted by Park administrations and the public generally.

In 1919 an irrigation project was sponsored by Idaho interests. It was a
comprehensive plan that contemplated a dam on Yellowstone River, thereby
raising the level of Yellowstone Lake. The water from this mighty reservoir
would then be tapped by a tunnel through the Continental Divide, which
would deliver the water into the Snake River. Other dams were designed to
impound water along Fall and Bechler rivers. When bills S3925 and
H.R.10469 reached their respective floors they were subjected to strong
[323]
denunciation and defeated. The next year, 1920, Senator Walsh, of
Montana, also introduced a bill for the purpose of building a dam across the
Yellowstone River at the lake outlet. This project also contemplated the
generation of electricity. Extensive hearings before the Senate Committee on
Irrigation resulted in the bill’s death at that stage.

The movement for the extension of the Northern Pacific Railroad from
Cinnabar to Cooke City, Montana, was not so easily arrested. From the first
discovery of gold on Clarks Fork, in 1870, there had been a campaign for a
railroad, as the early prospects were promising. However, little progress was
made, and when the railroad bill of 1894 was defeated certain mining
interests in Montana became alarmingly hostile. Frustrated in the extension
of a line through the only accessible route, because of National Park
sentiment, these interests came out for segregation. On March 1, 1894, the
Helena Independent declared:

Congress should make the Yellowstone River [Lamar] and Soda Butte
Creek the northern boundary of the Park and charter a railroad to Cooke
[324]
City on the north of these Streams....

The Livingston Post struck a more ominous note in its issue of 260
November 30 of the same year:

Everybody concedes that the destruction of the Park by fire would be a
public, a national calamity, and about the only way to avert such an
impending danger is for Congress to grant the reasonable request of the
[325]
people of the West by passing the segregation bill.

In his report of 1895 Captain George S. Anderson, Acting Superintendent,
quietly exulted, “It is a pleasure to note that the various bills for the
[326]
segregation of the Park were killed in the last Congress.” This official
was anything but popular in Montana at that time. Thus, it would appear that
Yellowstone, like nearly every national institution, has been at the crossroads
of conflicting interests, and its present status has not been achieved without
vigilance.

Throughout the years the reports of the army superintendents conformed to a
regular pattern about travel, roads, concessions, wild animals, fish,
protection of natural phenomena, accommodations, fires, sanitation,
violations, and recommendations. Whether captains, majors, colonels, or
generals, these army men performed commendable service. Still, it was an

army regime dealing with a civilian situation. Hence, there were some
incongruities and many deficiencies.

What were the facts relative to the army administration in Yellowstone? Did
conditions warrant a change? The circumstances responsible for the
assignment in 1884 have been given. Two troops of cavalry comprised the
normal complement. A main base, called Camp Sheridan, was established in
Mammoth, and a series of stations were located at the principal points of
interest. At these posts detachments of soldiers acted as guardians of their
respective domains. From each station daily mounted patrols started toward
[327]
other posts on either flank until they met. In that manner, two 261
hundred miles of forest road were observed between each dawn and dusk as
the soldiers made their tours from “Slough Creek to Bison Peak, Grizzly
Lake to Hellroaring Creek, and Canyon to Wedded Trees” ... almost ad
infinitum.

Each soldier carried a bucket and shovel as defense against fire and a little
book of Rules, Regulations and Instructions, called the “bible,” to prepare
him for any contingency. Among his routine instructions these orders appear:
“... kill mountain lions, coyotes and timber wolves ... permit no cats and
dogs ... keep pack trains off the road when vehicles are passing ... allow no
one to approach within one hundred yards of bears....”

Each patrolman was required to record his daily activities in a journal and
turn it over to his commanding officer. A perusal of these journal records is,
on the whole, rather dull. The reading is not equal to the performance
because spelling and diction were not among the soldiers’ qualifications for
duty. Still, there are occasions when, although “the letter killeth, the spirit
giveth life.” Incidents dealing with clues leading to the arrest of poachers
and road agents, seizure of vandals, searches for lost persons, rescues of
people treed by grizzlies and moose, or breakdowns, tip-overs, and runaways
[328]
fairly shine with the excitement of the time.

The soldiers had the finest western horses:

Our horses are good all-around animals, good jumpers, runners and
drillers. Each horse understands the trumpet calls.... If the army mules are

with the herd, the horses feel safe, for as soon as a bear or deer appears,
they make a dash for them, and when the game sees those mules, with ears
laid back, coming on a dead run, it always makes tracks for the woods.
[329]

The soldier’s uniform consisted of a dark blue blouse and light blue 262
trousers, unstrapped and cut spoonshape over the boot, cartridge belt,
revolver, peaked cap, and worsted gloves with black buttons. These boys,
like soldiers generally, were partial to their uniforms and dress parade
assignments. Fire fighting and trail clearing were onerous indeed, and while
“a little road making on service is not a bad thing, continuous navying is
[330]
enough to knock the heart out of any army.”

The army’s public relations seemed to have been very satisfactory. The
soldiers were uniformly friendly and helpful toward the tourists. John Muir
considered it a “pleasing contrast to the ever changing management of
blundering, plundering politicians.... The soldiers do their duty so quietly
[331]
that the traveler is scarce aware of their presence.” Tourists called the
soldiers “Swatties”; an English term in popular use at that time.

One Charles D. Warner, of New York City, was also led to rejoice that there
was at least one spot in the United States where law was promptly enforced.
He considered the military administration an object lesson for the whole
[332]
nation in point of efficiency and impartiality. Opposite reactions came
from nearly all who ran afoul the law.

Perhaps the greatest weakness in the army regime was in the educational
inadequacy of its personnel. About 1910 a difference in tourist interests was
obvious. People, generally, began to inquire into the causes and effects of the
natural phenomena. It became increasingly apparent that an effective public
stewardship required knowledge of chemistry, botany, geology, zoology, and
history. The reign of the “cock and bull” type of story was drawing to an
end. The era of greater natural history interpretation and appreciation was
dawning. Unless something could be done to educate the Park’s guardians a
considerable educational opportunity would be lost, not to mention the loss
of scientific solution of forest problems in general.

263

W. S. Chapman
Cavalry Troops in Park Patrol.

This need is clearly reflected in Captain Anderson’s report concerning 264
geysers:

I find there is a general belief in the minds of the tourists that there is
some measure of regularity in the period of eruptions of most if not all of
the geysers. At various times during the last three years I have had records
made by the guards of the observed eruptions. Of course, these do not
include all of the geysers, nor have all of the eruptions of any one of them
been noted. I enclose for publication as an appendix to this report, a table
made of observation upon them during the past three years. A casual
inspection of it reveals the fact that none but Old Faithful has the slightest
[333]
pretense to regularity.

A rhythmic regularity was there all right, but, strangely enough, it required
the careful observation of the casual scientist to discover a fact which
entirely escaped the more permanent, but less observant, soldiers. In 1926
the Geophysical Laboratory of the Carnegie Institution directed Dr. Eugene
T. Allen and Dr. Arthur L. Day to make an exhaustive study of Yellowstone’s
thermal features. After seven seasons of research, in cooperation with the
National Park Service, they were able to publish a monumental treatise on
[334]
this subject. Later observations by such naturalists as George Marler, W.
Verde Watson, and Herbert Lystrup not only confirmed the principle of
rhythmic recurrence in many cases but discovered behavior patterns that
enabled rangers to forecast a given eruption with uncanny accuracy.

Factors of this character were in the mind of Secretary of the Interior
Franklin K. Lane in 1915 when he appointed Stephen T. Mather as his
assistant. Mr. Mather’s portfolio particularly related to the formulation of an
integrated National Park policy.

265

Chapter XV
THE NATIONAL PARK SERVICE

Although there were thirteen national parks in 1912, each received a separate
appropriation and had separate management. The business of these
playgrounds was scattered among three departments, and nowhere in
Washington was there a single official or desk wholly devoted to their
[335]
interest. To this problem Stephen Tyng Mather brought high intelligence,
sound philosophy, and supreme endeavor. By 1915 he had achieved
administrative experience that ripened into wisdom equal to undertake the
preservation of America’s scenic and recreational heritage.

With this general proposition in mind, Mr. Mather made two visits to
Yellowstone during the season of 1915. There he carefully analyzed the
administrative policies and personnel. While it is only fair to state that other
federal officials were also planning a new national park organization and
procedure it was largely Mr. Mather’s Yellowstone report that provided the
needed impetus. From then on he supplied the energy, foresight, and
devotion to effect a transition.

On August 25, 1916 the National Park Service Bill received President
Wilson’s signature. This measure placed the control and general supervision
of the entire national park activity squarely into the hands of a Director of
National Parks. The bill was sponsored by Senator Reed Smoot of 266
Utah and Representative William Kent of California.

Thereafter, on October 1, 1916, the troops of U.S. Cavalry left Fort
Yellowstone for duty along the Mexican border. With C. A. Lindsley as
Acting Superintendent a fine ranger corps was organized of mountain scouts
and released soldiers. Shortly afterwards Congress reversed its action and
voted to deny the use of Department of the Interior funds for protective
purposes. This forced the return of the soldiers, and the army resumed
control on June 30, 1917.

During the next six months National Park Service officials, aided by the
army officers, gathered data which proved the inadvisability of continuing
the use of troops. It should be noted that the attitude of the officers
throughout was cogently expressed by Captain Harris:

And it is believed that to the extent in which the present method of
government and protection is an improvement upon former methods it is
due to the visible power and force of the National Government as
represented by the military garrison in the Park.

It is not to be inferred that the claim is made that a military government is
the only one practicable for the Park, or even that it is the best adapted or
most suitable. It is believed, however, that no efficient protection can be
given to the Park without the support of a well-organized and disciplined
[336]
police force of some description.

In this spirit, the cost of a military garrison and its lack of opportunities to
drill were reviewed. It was clearly demonstrated that a ranger force of a chief
ranger, four assistants, twenty-five permanent Park rangers of the first class,
and twenty-five seasonal rangers would constitute a “well-organized and
disciplined police force” and something else besides. It was also pointed out
that the cost would be considerably less. This effort resulted in a second
withdrawal of the troops in 1918. At the same time another ranger force was
effected with substantially the same personnel as developed in 1916. 267
[337]
In due time the members of this new corps acquired a modest
attitude of confidence in their own capacity which still abides.

Mr. Mather assumed office as the first National Park Director on May 16,
1917. In a short time the fruits of his vision were disclosed. Under his
inspiring leadership the National Park program was steadily expanded. Peace
was made with, and a degree of cooperation obtained from, the natural
antagonists of the National Park Service. Several wealthy citizens who had
acquired vast private estates were induced to donate portions thereof for the
general public. Sportsmen who had observed the diminution in numbers of
wild creatures were converted to the idea of refuges through self-interest.
The positions of the lumber, grazing, irrigation, and water-power interests
were less yielding on this all-out conservation issue. They would evidently

favor a compromise. The general public gradually responded to the
suggestion that the country beautiful was even more alluring than beautiful
[338]
cities.

In Secretary Lane’s third annual report in 1919 the National Park Service
policy was announced under three broad principles:

First, that the National Parks must be maintained in absolutely unimpaired
form for the use of future generations as well as those of our own time;
Second, that they are set apart for the use, observation, health, and
pleasure of the people; and Third, that the national interest must dictate all
[339]
decisions affecting public or private enterprise in the Parks.

Since then the program has made steady progress. Its purposes and policies
have been enlarged and clarified. The acceptable qualities of parkhood were
defined. Such an area must be supremely significant, having a national
appeal whether scenic, archaeological, scientific, or historical. Only 268
such features of natural architecture were to be included as would
represent the highest accomplishment within its class. For example, Grand
Canyon of the Colorado exemplifies the most extraordinary achievement of
stream erosion, whereas Yellowstone is most unique in the realm of thermal
[340]
activity.

The National Park represents the apex of the conservation program, wherein
the principle of optimum use is the dominating force. The twin purposes of
enjoyment plus conservation always remain uppermost. Commercialization
beyond actual requirements is not to be tolerated, and to this end close
supervision is maintained.

Natural species of animals and plants were to abide in normal relationships,
free from man’s interference, except under urgent circumstances such as
were described in the discussion of wild life control. The primitive
appearance of Yellowstone forests is distasteful to some people. It was a
carping German traveler who said, “Look at your dead trees and burned
stumps in the woods ... and your streams are full of driftwood. It is not cared
[341]
for.” In that sense Yellowstone is not a park but a wilderness full of the

beauty of natural disorder. All things remain as nature leaves them. No man
disturbs landslide, log jam, or wind-swept lodgepole avalanche.

The appearance of the trails, roads, bridges, buildings, and facilities of all
kinds is gradually being brought into harmony with the natural environment.
Under the guidance of landscape artists, structural design and location are
made conformable to maximum scenic advantages while at the same time,
being inconspicuous themselves. A few examples will illustrate this trend
toward artificial recession. In 1889 Captain Boutelle complained against the
statute which prescribed that no hotel shall be erected within four 269
hundred and forty yards of any object of interest. He urged a reduction
[342]
of one-half the distance. Now, all the accommodations in the immediate
Grand Canyon area are being moved a modest distance away, where they
will still provide the services which visitors need, but not intrude upon the
natural scene. Another case is afforded by the bear shows. Formerly they
were provided in several places; then modified to a less artificial
presentation on Otter Creek. In 1942 they were discontinued. It is truly
exciting for thousands of people to observe thirty or forty grizzlies jostle and
cuff each other around a “combination salad” platform. Still, the
circumstance is highly artificial, a sort of Roman holiday affair, and
therefore inappropriate. It is hoped that the Lord of all American wild life
may be allowed to go his way undisturbed, otherwise grizzlies may become
“holdup bears and bums.” Such an eventuality, on a nocturnal basis of
operation, is by no means improbable. That development would consign this
magnificent animal to a precipitous disappearance from the earth.

Yellowstone’s educational opportunities were early recognized and utilized
by the scientists. The passing of time has widened this field-study interest.
Supervised groups now come from all parts of America, with individual
scientists hailing from both home and abroad. In fact, more than a hundred
specialists have spent from a few weeks to several years in the Park. The
results of these efforts have run up the volume of scientific titles to
approximately five hundred.

By 1920 naturalist activity was in the course of development, the outcome of
an avowed purpose to facilitate the real enjoyment of the people. To this
work Director Mather brought especial perception, skill, and even personal

funds. In fact, he may be considered as the father of the movement. It was in
1918, when visiting Lake Tahoe, that Mather observed the activities of a
young man named Harold Bryant, whom the management had 270
employed to interpret nature to their guests. Dr. Bryant’s work so
impressed the Director that he took him to Yosemite where his success with
the public was immediate. Ranger-naturalists were appointed in other parks,
and later Dr. H. C. Bryant was placed in charge of the educational branch of
the service. Two notable institutions quickly caught the vision and
cooperated. In 1925 the Yosemite School of Natural History was founded as
a non-profit scientific organization. Courses in botany, zoology, and geology
were given. Emphasis was placed on field work, and the final trip lasted two
weeks. The instructional staff was composed largely of University of
California professors, while the twenty trainees were chosen from a hundred
[343]
candidates. In 1935 Yale University furthered the naturalist incentive by
providing a fellowship. Since 1937 two have been granted. Yellowstone Park
has taken advantage of these services.

After a decade of experimentation in field trips, fireside lectures, and
exhibits a Research and Education branch was created within the National
Park Service. This bureau outlined a policy of portraying certain phases of
the American scene in a correlated story. Laboratories were developed in
Berkeley, California; Fort Hunt, Virginia; and Washington, D. C. The leading
men in this program were H. C. Bryant, F. W. Miller, W. W. Atwood, F. R.
Oastler, A. F. Hall, H. C. Bumpus, and C. P. Russell.

In 1920, Superintendent Horace M. Albright, assisted by J. E. Haynes,
organized the naturalist program in Yellowstone. M. P. Skinner was the first
Park Naturalist. He was succeeded by Edmund J. Sawyer in 1924. Four
years later Dorr G. Yeager assumed the office; in 1932 Dr. C. Max Bauer
became Park Naturalist and served until 1946, when David de L. Condon
[344]
was advanced to the position. All of these men have been nature-wise
and public-minded. As time passed two assistants to the Chief Naturalist and
thirty-five seasonal Park ranger-naturalists completed this organization.
Robert N. McIntyre became Chief Park Naturalist in 1959.

271

W. S. Chapman
Park Ranger-Naturalist and tourist group.

Today Yellowstone’s Naturalist Division stands as the symbol of 272
America’s love for the great out-of-doors. Its philosophy is wise and
comprehensive. Its scientists have delved deeply for the facts. Still, there is a
spirit of self-abnegation among the personnel. They serve all and sundry in
every possible way, and yet they are pledged to the preservation of the
natural treasures. Their contribution to protection of park values is shared
with that of the ranger staff. The number of public contacts runs into the
hundreds of thousands annually. Wise, indeed, is the tourist who avails
himself of this free guide service.

The principal points of interest are visited over footpath or by auto caravan.
Daily schedules of these activities are posted, and an illustrated lecture is
held in an amphitheater each night. Many citizens have expressed their
satisfaction with this naturalist service:

He unravelled before our city-wearied eyes the skein of beauty nature has
hidden in this great preserve. With skillful phrase he repictured for us the
aeons during which the mountains were wrinkling and the cobalt lakes
were born. His keen eyes found us mountain sheep ... his wide knowledge
compassed the flowers and birds along the way. He knew when and where
to take us to see the beaver at work, and where the water ouzel bubbled
forth its cascade of song. He answered all our questions with calm
courtesy. Around the nightly campfire he brought to us in song and story
the romance and exuberance of the west....

The fire of his enthusiasm welded us to the National Park idea and out-of-
doors as nothing had ever done. We returned to the east inspired by a new
understanding of the greatness of America and the magnificence of its
[345]
beauty.

In 1928 the Laura Spelman Rockefeller Foundation made a donation to be
used by the American Association of Museums in the Park. Under the 273
direction of Dr. Hermon C. Bumpus museums were erected at Old
Faithful, Madison, Norris and Fishing Bridge. The main museum at
Mammoth was improved and a number of roadside exhibits were
[346]
established.

Mission 66 was begun by the National Park Service in 1956. It is a
conservation program to assure full protection of irreplaceable scenic,
scientific and historic treasures and to develop and staff the Parks to permit
their wisest possible use for your enjoyment. Completion is scheduled for
1966, the 50th anniversary of the establishment of the National Park Service,
hence Mission 66.

Under this program, new roads, bridges, campgrounds and other facilities
are being built. A fine new visitor center was opened in 1958 at Canyon
Village and a large number of attractive new roadside exhibits and signs
interpret the human and natural history of the great natural museum that is
Yellowstone.

During the score of years required to develop the naturalist branch, the
protective division was not marking time. In 1920 James McBride became

the first Chief Ranger. Since then Samuel Tilden Woodring, George F.
Baggley, Francis D. LaNoue, Maynard Barrows, Curtis K. Skinner and Otto
M. Brown have served. Nelson Murdock became Chief Ranger in 1960.
Under their supervision the character of the personnel has been gradually
changed. Originally a mountain scout and ex-soldier organization, it is now
composed of college graduates. These men divide their time and effort
between applying the principles of forest and wild life management with
those of public relations. Physically robust, mentally alert, sociable and
understanding, they properly exemplify the traditional informality and
hospitality of the West.

Of course there have always been a few political appointees present among
the seasonal Park rangers. This makes the group quite varied, somewhat in
keeping with the universality of the tourists themselves. Many a city lad has
had the time of his life in his fleeting role as a “ninety-day wonder.” 274
Still there has always been a restraining influence reaching out from
the chief ranger’s office. A young man is not allowed to become too self-
conscious over his uniform or badge of authority.

The Superintendent presides over the protective and naturalist divisions and
all other units of the National Park Service in Yellowstone. Only four men
have held this position since the army withdrew in 1918. C. A. Lindsley was
succeeded by Horace M. Albright in 1919. Mr. Albright served for ten years,
after which Roger W. Toll took office. Edmund B. Rogers was appointed
May 25, 1936, and served until November 1, 1956, when Superintendent
Lemuel A. Garrison succeeded him. The superintendent’s office is the nerve
center of the Park. From there all activities are co-ordinated. This official is
also the liaison man with the National Park Service; he makes all estimates
and recommendations; he contends for assistance from cooperating agencies,
such as the Civilian Conservation Corps, Emergency Relief Administration,
[347]
and Public Works Administration. The Public Health Service, the
Geological Survey, and the Fish and Wildlife Service each lend cooperation
in their special fields. It is also his function to consider many letters of
introduction and requests for special favors. He is expected, personally, to
welcome numerous delegations and important national and foreign
personages. Information and courtesies flow from his presence continuously.
He must determine the bounds of concessionaires, hear major complaints,

oppose all invasions by mercenary interests, and, if necessary, labor to
expand the Park’s boundaries.

275

Madison Junction Historical Museum.

Beginning early in the twentieth century there were advocates of an 276
extension southward. Many people wanted to have the cathedral-like
Tetons incorporated in the Park. A campaign for a Greater Yellowstone was
launched, and in 1918 Representative Mondell introduced a measure (H.R.
[348]
11661) providing for their incorporation. However, the matter was
delayed, and the passing of time resulted in the establishment of the Grand
Teton National Park. A national park may only be created by an act of
Congress; whereas an executive order is sufficient for the creation of a
national monument or a moderate extension of a park boundary. Through a
proclamation issued by President Hoover on October 20, 1932, Yellowstone
National Park acquired a triangular strip of 7,600 acres of land, now called
the Stevens Creek area. It is located northwest of Gardiner townsite, and it
was enlarged to the extent of nearly a thousand acres the next year. In affairs
of this character the National Park Service and the Superintendent work in

close cooperation with the Secretary of the Interior. Indeed, the
superintendency of Yellowstone is one of the ranking positions of its kind in
the National Park Service. His final obligation is to be sure that the original
objective “for the benefit and enjoyment of the people” is still the chief and
ever-constant purpose.

It has been pointed out that the fulfillment of this objective is rather difficult,
because various interests and groups have their own ideas concerning the
purposes and methods of administering national parks. For example, in
Idaho, there are some organizations that seek an Idaho entrance to the Park
on Fall River. They point to the fact that distance and time would be
appreciably reduced in reaching Old Faithful via this route. Besides, they
aver, such an entrance would traverse a beautiful scenic area. These
contentions are both valid and understandable. So is the demand for landing
strips and airport facilities within the reservation boundaries.

The latter project, it is held, is identical to the position raised by motorists in
1915. National Park officials have met these issues squarely. Director
Conrad L. Wirth and his Yellowstone representatives have vetoed both
proposals. “Surely,” they reason, “the Park is for the people, but if it is
multisected by highways and airways, what will become of the 277
primitive areas?” Sizeable regions are essential for the propagation
and preservation of wild life. In addition, they point to the fact that as of this
date most people conceive of the parks as havens of relative quiet and rest.

During the travel season of 1959, Yellowstone was host to 1,489,112
visitors. This multitude exceeded the total of all persons entering the Park in
the first half century of its existence. Facilitating their enjoyment and at the
same time preserving the domain as a pleasuring ground for their
descendants requires a good measure of understanding on the part of the
public, together with a high degree of understanding and training upon the
part of the officials.

Earth tremors are common in the Yellowstone region. The Hayden Survey
reported feeling severe shocks near Steamboat Point on Yellowstone Lake in
1871. They named the site “Earthquake Camp.” Other quakes have been
reported, mostly of a minor nature. At 11:38 p.m. on August 17, 1959, an
earthquake of magnitude 7.1 on the Richter Scale struck the Yellowstone

area. The epicenter of the quake was along the western boundary of the Park
in the vicinity of Grayling Creek.

The greatest earthquake damage took place in the Madison Canyon about 7
miles below Hebgen Dam and outside Yellowstone. A massive slide of about
80 million tons of earth and rock blocked the canyon and entombed a
number of campers along a half-mile stretch of the Madison River. This
natural dam has created Earthquake Lake, a feature that will attract attention
for years to come.

In Yellowstone National Park dangerous rock slides covered Park roads at
several points along the Madison, Firehole, and Gibbon rivers, and at Golden
Gate. Tall chimneys toppled from Old Faithful Inn and other Park buildings,
and there was structural damage to many roads and buildings.

The hot springs showed a greater change in this one night than had been
observed in the entire history of the Park. Close study of the thermal 278
features revealed that most springs had discharged water copiously
during the quake and aftershocks, and then ebbed below normal levels.
Investigation revealed that at least 298 springs and geysers had erupted the
night of the quake, and 160 of these were springs with no previous record of
eruption. Other changes occurred slowly. The Fountain Paint Pot did not
manifest unusual activity until several days after the quake, but then
encroached upon walks and parking areas. Most of the hot springs became
turbid, and even cold springs that fed the mountain streams on the west side
of the Park discharged an opaque mud which discolored the creeks and
rivers.

Equilibrium was gradually restored in the geyser basins. Some of the
earthquake changes were permanent, others transitory. All of them make this
chapter in the living geology of Yellowstone an intensely interesting one for
Park visitors to learn about.

Upon receiving reports about earthquake effects throughout the Park,
Superintendent Lon Garrison exclaimed, “The Lord had his arms around us.
We had 18,000 people inside Yellowstone that night, and not one person was
killed or badly hurt. Think what would have happened if the quake had come