St. Landry democrat. (Opelousas, La.) 1878-1894, 1894-01-27
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 a stout fellow, with a
face as red as one of the spring sunsets
of the country, and as unkcmpt as the
hair Of town lout He has few visitors,
The days come and the days 60 without
bringing to this man a single thing to
break the monotony of his life. Years
ago the soldiers returned to the post,
says the Chicago Herald, and 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 were 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
hcadstones 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 H and
there roman G, and SO close are they
together that the name is as irregular as
was the life of the man whose memory
they were made to perpetuate
Over in one corner of the graveyard is
sunken grave where a 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 APP
pie, Suicided by Six Shooter" "Lirl-
Der 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
inclosure. For here and there was a
hcadstone with the name of one of his
victims, and always ending in the same
grim way: "Killed by Timber jim"
There were no days or dates carved upon
the boards. That would have taken too
much time. AND who would care, any
how, whether Bill Bates died on Thurs
day, March 2l, 1887, or on Friday,
March %, 1887?
One old story started from this grave
yard. Bill Barlow, who was a great man
about Fctterman 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 and alighted. The night was so
lark that Barlow, familiar as he was with
every basin and draw of the country,
lrew up in the mid !! : ~ 70 J eal aveyard
md picketed his horse. Morning was
when Barlow awoke. He
ooked about him and in the dim light
saw the gravestoncs scattered here and
here. Started at what he beheld, but
suddenly realizing that he was, perhaps,
he most fortunate of all men, he cried
'ut:
"Thc resurrection, begosh, and I'm
he first on deck"
The story was told throughout Wyo-
ming, and eventually found its way to
he east. Barlow is still alive. He is a
at man with good nature; and when
he nights are long he plays the village
'iano and sings for the big hated men
Who sit about the store.