The Olneyville tribune. (Providence, R.I.) 1893-189?, 1893-11-04
A FRONTIER GRAVEYARD.
The Cemetery at Fetterman, Where
Many "a Worthy Lies Buried.

Old Fort Fetterman, or what is left of
the post, stands upon table land which
overlooks beautiful basin and the
North Platte river. The buildings of
the Fort are crumbling. Sage brush has
sprung up in the walks and the cactus
in the parade ground is now green and
rank. Fetterman is an abandoned post.
The soldiers moved away from there
years ago. Only one man lives at the
place now. He is stout fellow, with a
sace as red as one of the spring sunsets
of the country, and as unkempt as the
hair of town lout. He has few visitors,
The days come and the days go without
bringing TO this man single thing to
break the monotony of his life. Years
ago the soldiers returned to the post,
says the Chicago Herald, snd removed
from the cemetery the dead bodies of
their comrades. Some of the brave fell
lows were killed in fights with Indians.
Others had taken their own lives, while
still Others had died from natural causes.
The bodies that remained in the quiet
graveyard wtre those of civilians. They
died, as many of the soldiers had done,
but there was nobody to take them away,
and so they were left to lie in the
shadow of the ruins of the post and
where the coyotes run at night. The
headstones at these graves are grimly
humorous. They are of wood, with the
names of the occupants of the tombs
carved upon their surface. The letters
are not regular. They do not belong to
the same font. Here is an italic Ii and
there roman 6, and so close are they
together that the name is rs irregular as
was the life of the man whose memory
they were made to perpetuate.
Over in one corner of the graveyard 10
a sunkcn grave where q curlew was
thrustipg its slender bill. The head
board read: Pete Stevenson, Killed by
Timber jim" To .hc right, and where
the cactus grows thickest, is another
board, with this inscription: ''Bill Ap-
pie, Suicided 10y a Shooter" "Lim-
ber Jim," whoever he may have been,
may not have started this frontier grave.
yard, but he had much TO do with the
prosperity of the civilian corner of the
inClosufe. For here and there was
headstone with the name of one of his
victims, and always ending in the same
grim way: "kiled 10y Timber jim"
There were no DAYS or dates carved upon
the boards. That would have taken too
much time. Ana who would care, any
how, whether Bill Bates died on Thurs
day, March 81. 1887, or on Friday,
March 22, 1887
One old story started from this grave
yard. Bill Barlow, who was n great man
about Fetterman when the post amounted
to something, was striking across the
country late one night, when, exhausted
from his long ride, he drew rein on his
bronco aud alighted. The night was so
dark that Barlow, familiar rs he wGsa with
every basin and draw of the country.
drew up in the middle of the graveyard
aud picketed his horse. Morning was
breaking when Barlow awoke. He
looked about him and in the dim light
saw the gravestoncs scattered here and
there Started at what he beheld. but
suddenly realizing that he was, perhaps,
the most fortunate of all men, he cricd
out:
"The resurrection, begosh, and I'm
the first on deck"
The story was told throughout Wyo-
ming, and eventually found its way to
the east. Barlow is still alive. lie is a
fat man with good nature; and when
the nights are long he plays the village
piano and sings for the big hated men
who sit about the store.
THERE are very few banks on the Pa
cifc coast which could nav a xos 600