On the Border With Crook - ERBzine

CHAPTER XV.MOVING INTO THE BIG HORN COUNTRY IN WINTER THE(HERD STAMPEDED A NIGHT ATTACK'JEFF'S " OOZINGCOURAGE THE GRAVE-YARD AT OLD FORT RENO IN AMONTANA BLIZZARD THE MERCURY FROZEN IN THEBULB KILLING BUFFALO INDIAN GRAVES HOW CROOKLOOKED WHILE ON THIS CAMPAIGN FINDING A DEADINDIAN'S ARM INDIAN PICTURES.rip HE march from Fort Fetterman to old Fort Reno, a dis-J- tance of ninety miles, led us through a country of whichthe less said the better ;it is suited for grazing and may appeal to the eyes of a cow-boy, but for the ordinary observer, esto charmpecially during the winter season, it presents nothingany sense the; landscapeis monotonous and uninviting, and thevision is bounded by swell after swell of rolling prairie, yellowwith a thick growth of winter-killed buffalo or bunch grass, witha liberal sprinkling of that most uninteresting of all vegetationthe sage-brush. The water isuniformly and consistently badbeing both brackish and alkaline, and when it freezes into icethe ice is nearly always rotten and dangerous, for a passage atleast by mounted troops or wagons. Wood is not to be had forthe first fifty miles, and has to be carried along in wagons forcommands of any size. Across this charming expanse the windhowled and did its best to freeze us all to death, but we weretoo well prepared.The first night out from Fetterman the presence of hostileIndians was indicated by the wounding of our herder, shotin the lungs, and by the stampeding of our herd of cattle fortyfivehead which were not, however, run off by the attackingparty, bat headed for the post and could not be turned andbrought back. There was very little to record of this part ofthe march a :night attack or two, the firing by our pickets atanything and everything which looked like a man, the killing of