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  With the Indians in the Rockies

  THE SHALE BEGAN SLIDING UNDER MY FEET (PAGE 51)]

  With the Indians in The Rockies

  BY

  JAMES WILLARD SCHULTZ

  WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY

  GEORGE VARIAN

  =London= CONSTABLE & CO. LIMITED BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 1912

  COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY JAMES WILLARD SCHULTZ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED TO MY WIFE

  CELIA HAWKINS SCHULTZ

  WHOSE GOOD COMRADESHIP AND SYMPATHY HAVE BEEN MY GREATEST HELP IN WRITING THE TALE

  Preface

  When in the seventies I turned my back on civilization and joined thetrappers and traders of the Northwest, Thomas Fox became my friend. Wewere together in the Indian camps and trading posts often for months ata time; he loved to recount his adventures in still earlier days, andthus it was that I learned the facts of his life. The stories that hetold by the evening camp-fire and before the comfortable fireplaces ofour various posts, on long winter days, were impressed upon my memory,but to make sure of them I frequently took notes of the more importantpoints.

  As time passed, I realized more and more how unusual and interesting hisadventures were, and I urged him to write an account of them. He beganwith enthusiasm, but soon tired of the unaccustomed work. Later,however, after the buffalo had been exterminated and we were settled ona cattle-ranch, where the life was of a deadly monotony compared withthat which we had led, I induced him to take up the narrative once more.Some parts of it he wrote with infinite detail; other parts consistedonly of dates and a few sentences.

  He was destined never to finish the task. An old bullet wound in hislung had always kept him in poor health, and when, in the winter of1885, he contracted pneumonia, the end was quick. His last request wasthat I would put his notes in shape for publication. This I have done tothe best of my ability in my own old age; how well I have done it is forthe reader to judge.

  Brave, honest old Ah-ta-to-yi (The Fox), as the Blackfeet andfrontiers-men loved to call him! We buried him on a high bluffoverlooking the valley of the Two Medicine River, and close up to thefoothills of the Rockies, the "backbone-of-the-world" that he loved sowell. After we had filled in the grave and the others had gone,Pitamakan and I sat by the new-made mound until the setting sun and theincreasing cold warned us also to descend into the valley. The old chiefwas crying as we mounted our horses.

  "Although of white skin," he faltered, "the man who lies there was mybrother. I doubt not that I shall soon meet him in the Sand-hills."

  AH-PUN-I LODGE, February, 1912.