Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1889-04-21

Of herd of buffalo. Then it cleared as
suddenly as it stormed, leaving the face of
nature six inches deep in powderv white
with our column crawling like a black
snake over the divide to the next valley, and
finally, after rapid 25-mile march on the
morning of the 18th, through an atmosphere
clear as bell and sweep of scenery SIM
ply superb, we reached the forks of the
Sinking river, and struck a recent and
heavy cavalry trail. Sturgis or Hart?
Seventh or Fifth? that was the question.
At P. NJ. the General had his command
bivouacked between the beautiful streams,
the north and south branches of the river
with the infelicitous name. Cedar Mount
ain loomed right to the east of us. Pure as
snow, clear as crystal. the waters plunge
into and under it on the western side and
reissue on the other, Shiny, yellow and
thick, and smelling like sheol. 1t would
seem as though they had plunged through
sulphuretted hydrogen.
LONG RIDE.
And now came the longest ride Of my
life.
1t was necessary that the General should
know at once whether the Indians had
passed or were coming this way. 1t was
necessary that he should know at once
whether Sturgis or Hart had made these
trails and whittier the makers had gone.
Take any Lieutenant in the regiment you
choose, and what scouts you need, and find
out, were his brief orders to me, and, after
cup of steaming coffee and hearty lunch,
mounting N spare horse who had been led
along during our 25-mile jog Of the morning,
at 4:30, rode out northward with seven COM
panions, six Shoshone Indians on their airy
ponies and my Statesman" Lieutenant
Bishop. I had chosen him because he was
all muscle and sinew-a man who never
tired, and who could stand all nights work
if need be and be just as ready for a chase
on the morrow.
We rode light-burdened, with nothing but
our arms and ammunition, and at sunset we
were Looping gup-up-up-followin a wind
ing trail leading to the summit of the lofty
crest beyond which lay the valley of Clark's
Fork. 1t was the old Bannock trail, said
one of our Shoshones. To our right was the
long narrow range that at its southeastern
end is called Cedar Mountain. To our left
the main divide between us and Yellow
stone Lake-the backbone of the continent.
Ahead of US the bold range connecting the
two. We had ridden miles along that twist
ing, tortuous trail and still could not saw
whether twas made by the Seventh or Fifth.
That they had gone in eager haste was evl-
dent. We passed horseshoes, we picked up
abandoned lariats, saddle blanket, two
canteens, but oddly enough there was no
distinguishing mark. At last, under the
rays of the full moon, 1 found the evidence
I wanted. Generally the trail was that of
double file of horses following in each
others track.
FOOLED BY THE INDIAN.
Here and there were places, though,
where in crossing the brook, or ascending
or descending deep places, each troop leader
COMPANY commander) had chosen a separ-
ate path for his men. We had passed sey-
eral where four and five separate trails were
made, but Hart had five troops and that
proved nothing. Far up in the narrowing
gorge we came upon a grassy ridge they
had cIambered across and here were seven
distinct trails of troops in columns of twos.
It was the Seventh Cavalry and they had
unquestionably crossed the rangs to Clark's
Fork. So much was settled. Back down
the Bannock trail we cantered-the full
moon high in the heavens now-and turn
ing westward when we reached the broad,
beautiful valley of the north fork we rode in
wide, dispersed order scouting it for miles
toward Yellowstone Lake, hnding game
trails innumerable but not trace of lodge
pole, pony hoof or Indian property, and at
last, at II P. NJ, gave the word to rein
about and made for eamp-a glorious gallop
over springing turf through silvery moon
light that made the valley bright as day.
At midnight we were challenged by our
sentries after our 45-mile jaunt, and at day
break, changing horses once more, Bishop
and I, with five of our six Shoshones, were
off again. Twenty miles we trotted around
Cedar Mountaip to the fords of the Sinking
river, Is miles further up the highlands to
the north we went back on the Sturgis trail,
nearly running over magnificent elk as we
rounded sudden turn, and then my field
glasses detect dust cloud miles away down
in the valley, Thither we gallop, and in an
hour, waving our hats, we ride full tilt into
the halted column of Harris battalion.
Twenty-Five miles we lead them back around
the mountain to Merritt's camp, reaching
there at 6 P. M, in time for supper, having
been in saddle 20 hours out of Sc, and ridden
nearly 140 miles. Where was Joseph? Oh!
He had lodged past Sturgis ten days before
we got there, and was far beyond the Yel-
lowstone. CHARLES KING, q. S. A.