Trading for a Wife

The inherent seriousness of the uncivilized Indian caused one of our earliest impressions of frontier life, and his inability to be anything but earnest and matter-of-fact was the text of a lesson my husband and I early learned. It occurred as we traveled to our first station – fort Custer, Montana. A delay of a fortnight at Fort Keogh awaiting transportation had been made very delightful for us by the officers and ladies of that post; so it was with sincere regret that we took advantage of returning overland transportation, and left our new friends for other new faces and scenes.

The transportation consisted of a strong covered spring wagon commonly known throughout the army as a “Dougherty wagon” – the barouche of the prairies. It was very comfortable, for the top was rainproof, the springs good – a most necessary quality in a country almost roadless. It seated four persons besides the driver. Many a day have I spent less comfortable in modern travel than those passed in a good old Dougherty wagon with jolly companions and my guitar in my lap. In winter the wagons were frequently made more tenable by lining them with heavy army blankets or buffalo robes. More than one trip have I taken with great ease and comfort notwithstanding a temperature of 30 or less – jolting along in a well-lined Dougherty wagon, myself snugly encased in buffalo fur clothing – coat, cap, gloves, leggings and boots.

All that, however, followed the journey referred to. Leaving Fort Keogh, we swung out at a smart gait over the trackless, treeless, tenantless prairie, behind four agile mules all bedecked with varicolored rings on the harness and apparently enjoying it as much as we. The wagon was preceded and followed by a rather slim guard of mounted soldiers. Although the wagon itself was heavy, the load it held was small, so the mules drew it as easily as a child trundles its toy cart. Our only companion was a young lieutenant who was returning to his post. The three of us had the wagon to ourselves, for the soldier driver paid no heed to naught but the mules and the trail. It was delightfully new and strange: the novelty of it all held me throughout the day; but I found upon alighting that the first thirty-five mile drive held an element of fatigue as well as one of interest.

It was on the bank of the Rosebud River that we chose to make our first camp in the wilderness. It was on the edge of a rolling country made alluringly beautiful b the sweeping sunset sky. The peaceful solitude was a fitting introduction to that heretofore strange land; it impressed me with the dignity and natural grandeur of the country that was to be my home for I knew not how long. With admiring awe I viewed it from my standpoint as a youthful bride from the far East.

After a substantial supper cooked over the campfire, we watched the men erect our tents. While we chatted of the utter wilderness, untilled and uninhabited, we began rather to glory in our undisturbed ownership of all in sight, when we were startled at the appearance of visitors – Indians – big, stalwart warriors in paint and feathers. We soon learned that they belong to a large camp of Crows half a mile distant but hidden in the fold of the low hills. Their appearance came strangely enough upon the heels of our remark about the absence of human neighbors. Our campfire had attracted them, and there was nothing to do but receive them graciously. Indeed, for my husband and me it was a unique and genuine pleasure.

Of course, we did not understand their language, and did not try to communication with them except by the simplest of signs, but it was interesting to hear the soldiers converse with them. Now and again, as they talked, the Indians looked at me, and finally one of them addressed my husband.

“He says the lady is very nice, Lieutenant,” one of the men translated. My husband doubtless felt gratified at the compliment to me; it was a pleasing statement from even a savage to a young husband just married within the month. The Indian continued his speech, and the soldier with evident amusement translated each sentence.

“He says he would like to trade with you for your wife.” It came out at last. It was a startling proposition, indeed. For a moment were both too breathless to comment. Finally my husband yielded to his impulse for amusement, and, smiling at me, he replied:

“Ask him what he will give for her.”

“He says six ponies, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, tell him she is worth lots more than that.”

“He will give you twelve ponies for her.”

My husband again replied that he would not trade for anything like that; so the Indian kept raising his bid. He offered twenty ponies; then twenty ponies and a squaw; and finally twenty ponies, a squaw and a papoose. At length, wearying of the nonsense, my husband nodded his dismissal of the subject. But the Indian seemed to think that the apparent holding out for a higher price constituted a trade when the final offer was not rejected. He appeared satisfied, but soon signified he wished to finish the bargain. Of course, my husband immediately objected. My savage admirer continued unaccountably insistent, and, amicably to rid himself of the Indian’s importunity, my husband told him I was not fit for more travel; that I needed to go rest at once. Accordingly, I entered our tent.

The Indian was not content, and continued, with some of his companions, to hang around the camp until one of the men told them must now return to their camp, as we were all going to retire. When they had reluctantly departed my husband laughingly told the lieutenant, who had not bee present during the parleying, of the incident. The latter looked grave, and expressed a fear that the Indian, in the belief that he had made a trade, might cause trouble when the bargain was not kept. My husband assured him there was no agreement, and that the buck had no basis for such a claim. The lieutenant explained that the failure to reject the last bid and the presence of witnesses to the price haggling was all that the Indian considered necessary to make a binding affair of heart and honor.

As he spoke, a soldier reported that the Indians had been overheard grumbling and expressing discontent in the fear that the white man would not trade as he had bargained to do. However, it seemed they were determined to have the white squaw, and several of them continued to lurk about the camp. Such tidings were extremely disconcerting, for there had been no thought that the bucks were serious or that they would expect the consummation of what appeared to be sch an unheard-of exchange. When my husband noticed the other officer’s concern he realized that his carelessness of manner and indifference to Indian ways had caused him to trifle unintentionally with their sensibilities.

Anxious to avoid unpleasant results of a condition which it was too late to mend, the two officers planned a speedy resumption of our journey, for if the red men were in earnest about holding us to the implied bargain, it would not be well to risk an open dispute with such a small force and so far from reinforcements. Unheralded flight was deemed to be the wiser course; so the decision was soon made. When retiring for the night the lieutenant insisted upon erecting a shelter tent and having one man sleep at the very door of our tent.

It was yet chill and apparently scarce past midnight when my husband awakened me and bade me prepare for the march as quickly and silently as possible. In the nervousness of broken rest and startling strangeness of environment my fingers fairly stumbled at the tasks set for them in my hurry. It was all so weird and unusual. From the outside came a muffled stir. The work of the soldiers as they folded their tents and the man’s labored breathing were audible, also the stifled “mule” language as the driver got the animals into harness; all punctuated by orders and directions in muffled whispers.

Soon I emerged into a still world, dark except for the flickering campfire that afforded the only light. Had more been made, the Indian neighbors would have seen and interpreted aright our early rising. To keep them in ignorance of our movements, the last act was to replenish our fire just as the Dougherty wagon with its accompanying cavalcade moved off into the darkness.

At firs tour progress was slow, for, while yet in the neighborhood, safety demanded silence rather than speed. For a couple of miles or so we traveled stealthily, then quickened our gait and put several miles between ourselves and the Indian camp before dawn heralded the day and aroused the savages from the early-morning sleep which appeared to hold them always so closely in its grasp.

But for us dawn did not announce breakfast time; not until we had traveled nearly twenty miles did we pause for refreshment. Then a substantial meal renewed life and energy into the whole party, the faithful mules included, and after a brief halt we again took the road and hastened on.

At the end of a hard day’s travel we camped where we heard the evening bugles of a scouting party out from Fort Custer, and it seemed a friendly salute to us as we approached our destination and insured us against molestation. We were weary, but quite safe and unannoyed, for not one glimpse had we caught of our dusky friends that day.

However, the following morning the Indians arrived, and insisted that my husband had made a bargain, and demanded its fulfillment. Of course, terms had to be reached, and my husband, for the only time in his experience with the red man, agreed to compromise. He bought them off, and appeased their disappointment by a gift of good, hard money and a lot of tobacco.

That was not the only result of our contact with the Indian camp. We later discovered that a bundle containing my brown broadcloth coat, handsomely trimmed in sealskin, and my husband’s dress-uniform trousers, had been appropriated by the Indians during their visit to our Rosebud Camp and later in the winter we saw the remnants of the articles worn by an Indian without feeling able to lift a hand toward their recovery, even had they been in condition to warrant a desire to do so.

I cherish the incident that proved to me, a bride, that I was “without price” in my husband’s eyes; but it nearly came to be a serious business, the possible termination of which makes me shudder to this day; and if it was a “joke.” The Indians were entitled to the “last laugh.”