Bismarck daily tribune. [volume] (Bismarck, Dakota [N.D.]) 1881-1916, 1906-04-21

liver; would show that the Sheyennes
we're a race of Indians that dwelt in
hose days between the two forks of
The Sheyenne river. Their dominions
extended from the pine clad hills in
The west to the Missouri river. They
were the remnants of once powerful
tribe that had dwell on the Big
one of the tributaries Of
the Red river of the North; and dur
ing the early days of the present
century their campf1res blazed from
the heights that overlooked its waters.
But meeting with reverses in their
wars with the Sioux, they were first
driven to the Missouri; where they
themselves in a fortified
village on Hurricane creek;-(prob-
ably little Sheyenne river) but were
dislodged by their old
enemies and compelled to take refuge
in the Black Hills. The heart of the
tribe was now broken, and it's num-
bers greatly thinned by their long
continued and harrassing wars.
'sF'or years they no longer attempted
to establish themselves in any perma-
nent abode, but became wandering
tribe, subsisting by the chase and fol-
lowing the buhaloes in their migra-
lions. Their principal possessions
were horses, that they had raised and
stolen in their predatory excursions,
with which they would visit the
Arickarees on the banks of the Mis-
souri,, exchange them for other arti-
cles of merchandise, and then return
to the shades of their pine clad hills"
In presenting the theory that a sup
posed decisive battle had been fought
by the eontending forces of the
Sheyenne and Assinaboine Sioux, at
the old Indian fort, the writer draws
his inference from what he saw there;
which at best are mere postulatory
conclusions. For the scythe of time
had lain waste unregistered events;
leaving but scant rays behind to
light up the eye of research.
The social history and the belliger-
ent transactions of the Red Men in
prehistoric times, are as easily en-
veloped in the mist of obscurity as
their footprints are obliterated by
the leaves of autumn.
Nation after nation and tribe after
tribe have sprung up, passed over
life's stage, and fastened onward to
their dissolution, and, neither the first
nor the last could explain it's origin
Or number the years of it's duration.
Oral traditions and legends are
generally nothing but incoherent my
theological tales in which some animal
predominates, and are considered IN
authentic and worthless.
However: an occasional interesting
legend or story is handed down from
one generation to another: which are
considered fine specimens of what is
known as the un-written literature of
the "Old American race"
After inspecting the old Indian Fort,
our detached accommodating squad
forded the Cheyenne river and rode
out under the overhanging branches
OF some oak trees that stood on a
beautiful grassy plateau on the oppo-
site shore. There we found an invit-
ing place which promised refreshing
shelter from the rays Of a hot July
sun. Dismounting, we picketed cur
horses so they could Craze over a
small inscribed circle; and stretched
ourselves out under the shady
branches OF the trees to rest. It was
beautiful spot. IA smooth lawn OF
green sward ran down to the verge OF
a rocky fiat near the river bank, while
an old Indian trail led from a Spring
near where we lay, down the valley to
number of half decayed old dirt
lodges that were situated in a grove
one half mile below. How well do ]
remember that memorable fourth day
of July
AS l lay there in the cool shade
among my comrades, listening to the
distant booming of cannon-where
the soldiers at our encampment were
celebrating in honor of the day
looked across the river at the old
earthwork on the opposite shore
musing on the boundless plains OF the
Wild west. Here, in a pictured land
OF silence, lay the bleaching bones OF
buffaaoes and the graves OF sayages;
untouched by the pioneers trespass-
ing plough-share A land leaving dis.
tinct traces of hard contested battle
fields, with raised mounds, sur
mounted by Golgothas Of human and
animal Skulls and no chronicIer TIC
tell OF the deeds Of It's former ia.
habitants. While gazing at the ruins
of the old Indian Fort my musings on
the lapse sof time that music have
t