Old Missoula

“Years ago,” said the story teller, when the Old Timers assembled in Assessor Cave’s office last evening, “buffalo were found by the thousands in the valleys surrounding Missoula, ranging through the Blackfoot valley, up the Bitter Root and in Frenchtown and Grass valleys. Everywhere that the land was free from timber these great beasts roamed at will supplying meat to the hundreds of red men who made these valleys their homes before the arrival of the white man with his rifle and greed to slay every animal that crossed his path. Throughout all of these valleys there was the best feed to be found in the land. Bunch grass knee-high was abundant and so thick upon the ground was it that it formed a veritable carpet. On the foothills the waving, curly buffalo grass thrived and on this the red men’s cattle fattened throughout the year.

“In those days buffalo in the valleys were guarded jealously by the Indians who made their homes near here and who fought with one another for the right to hunt. The Flatheads, familiar to the Missoula people, were among the Indians who lived here. Another tribe, which on more than one occasion successfully disputed the Flatheads’ right to hunt in the Missoula and Bitter Root valleys, was the Blackfeet of northern Montana, after which the Blackfoot river is named. On more than one occasion the two tribes met in deadly combat with their bows and arrows, war clubs and spears in some dispute involving hunting rights. However, these fights and controversies were only temporary, and when the common interests of the red men were at stake all animosities were forgotten and they banded together like brothers and protected one another.

Red Bull Is Leader.

“For many a year the buffaloes lived in the valley, multiplying instead of decreasing, at the same time supplying meat to the bands of red men who made this section their home. Down in Grass valley a band which numbered a thousand made their home. Their leader was a little red bull which seemed to have a charmed life and which had been at the head of the herd since the memory of the oldest red man who lived in the valley. There was a story handed down from father to son among the Indians, and even depicted in the picture writings on the fleshy side of the buffalo robes by the best Indian painters, that the little red bull had always been at the head of the herd since time immemorable and that he held the herd to their home in this valley. It was believed by the Indians that this bull had always been at the head of the herd; that he was a creature of the Great Spirit; that he had been placed there by the Ruler of the Indians for the purpose of keeping the buffalo in the valley on this side of the range in order that they might provide food for the red man.

Was Always Young.

“Strange to say, according to the old medicine men who lived here at the time, the Jesuit fathers came to the Bitter Root valley, this little red bull never appeared to grow old. Year after year he was always on the lookout for approaching danger and even the fact that he was immune from death at the hands of the Indians seemed to make no difference in his watchfulness. No matter how carefully an Indian hunter might approach the herd, the little red bull would know it and give the signal which would send the herd scampering across the plains away from the arrows or spears of the hunters. Time and again were the young hunters tempted to shoot the little red bull, but remembrance of the legend that he was under the protection of the Great Spirit caused them to lose their hearts even after the arrow had been drawn to its head and was all ready to start on its mission to sing the death song to the brave leader of the herd.

“Years passed by in the valley of the Missoula and one of the fixed laws of the Indian nations was that the little red bull must be protected at all hazards. As years passed and the range became poorer than it had formerly been, the buffalo showed a disposition to stray farther and farther from the valleys which center near Missoula. But the little red bull had some influence over all the herds and they seemed to turn to him for counsel and were bound to him by some invisible tie.

Conclave at Mount Jumbo.

“Finally a great council of the tribes of the Missoula valley was held. All of the Indians who made their homes here – the Flatheads, Nez Perces, Kootenais, Blackfeet and the Pend d’Oreilles met in solemn conclave at the foot of old Jumbo, which was then known by all of the Indian tribes of the west as ‘The Home of the Rattlesnake.’ There was decreed that the life of the little red bull must be preserved and an edict was made that any warrior who sought the life of the intrepid little leader of the buffaloes should pay his own life as the forfeit. From one warrior to the other the edict was carried and even the young lads who played about the camp fires knew of the story and the babes imbued it with their mothers’ milk.

“Such was the condition of affairs when the white men first came to the Missoula valley, nearly seventy years ago. The Indians worshiped the little red bull and to him they attributed the fact that the buffalo remained in the valley, their legend stating that once harm befell the little red bull a pest would fall upon the Indians. If he was killed the remainder of the buffalo would leave the valley never to return.

White Man Arrives.

“The first white men to appear in the valley were the French trappers and one of these, defying the warning of the friends he had made among the Indians, deliberately stalked the little red bull and, with a single shot, muzzle loading rifle he carried, he placed a bullet in a vital place in the body of the doughty little animal which had been a leader for so long and the buffaloes of western Montana were no longer possessed of a commander, the bull dropping in his tracks and expiring. True to the legend, the buffaloes left the section. Scarcely had the body of the little red bull had time to stiffen until the exodus began and for two days the Hellgate canyon was lined with buffalo hurrying as fast as their legs could carry them from out of the valley of the Missoula and its tributaries. Up the valley they raced, their heads close to the ground as if in mourning. Past the valley where the deer lived in abundance, which until this day in hills surrounding the present site of Butte the buffaloes swarmed. Then called Deer Lodge. Over the main through the Pipestone pass and down the creek where the Indians journeyed in the days of long ago to get the great peace pipes for smoking the kinnikinic which was used by the western tribes. Down to the Jefferson valley they hurried and there the stream of buffalo separated, some going up the valley of the Jefferson and across the range to the Madison, where they found good ranges with plenty of grass and water. Others went on down the valley to the Three Forks where another separation took place, some following down the Missouri, while others crossed the range to the Yellowstone where they lived until the hide hunters slaughtered them by thousands and exterminated one of the greatest species of wild game that has ever been known to the world.

Woe Among Red Men.

“There was great woe among the red men when the calamity became known to the Indians of this side of the range. Dire vengeance was visited upon the trapper who had caused the calamity and ere long his bones were bleaching near where he had killed the little red bull which had led the buffaloes so long. But the death of the trapper did not bring back the buffaloes to the valley and ever since that time, until the buffalo became only a memory, it was the custom of the western tribes to visit the valleys on the other side of the range every fall at this season of the year for their annual buffalo hunt, when they would kill enough meat to last them through the winters, cure it and then return to their homes in this valley. These buffalo hunts were the events of the year among all of the Indians. Every one who could ride a horse accompanied the tribe on its visits. Old men so feeble that they could only sit in the sun and tell of the deeds they had done when they were counted among the braves, rode with the [Indian women] in the cavalcade. Youngsters, who had never yet known the pleasure of pulling the bow on anything bigger than a ground hog or a jack rabbit, dreamed of the days when they should be allowed to ride with the hunters and tell of their brave deeds, jogged along and drove the pack horses of the tribe. Chiefs rode in all the splendor and savageness, at the head of the tribe. [Indian women], whose duty it was to do the menial work, plodded along in the rear of the procession in the dust and often on foot, following their lords wherever they led.

Were Often in Conflict.

“But on more than one occasion there was the sharpest kind of a fight and the braves at the head of the procession had every foot of their passage disputed by the different tribes whose hunting grounds they passed through on their journey. On more than one occasion the Indians of this side of the range were shamefully routed and defeated and then the victors would follow up their advantage, guard the mountain trails and the Indians of the Missoula would be forced to live throughout the winter on the fish which were caught in the streams near by, or else journey over into the Clearwater section, where salmon could be had for the taking, and for a year or more the taste of buffalo meat would be an unknown thing among the Indian tribes of this section.

“All of these hardships came through the death of the little red bull. Any one of the old Indians can tell you the story. But there is still another interesting story in connection with the buffaloes of Montana. Throughout the state the only big herd to be found is the one on the Flathead reservation, or else the descendants of this band. It seems strange that the region which once the buffalo deserted should prove their haven, but such is the fact that is undisputed. Through some ministration of the Great Spirit a few buffalo were given to an Indian warrior for some good deed he had wrought and these were brought back to the Flathead lake. There they prospered and multiplied and, warned by the legend of the little red bull and through the wise counsel of the Allards and Michael Pablo, these buffalo have multiplied until they are now the most valuable herd in the world. Even now the Indians of the Flathead will tell you that they are descendants of the leader who so proudly marched at the head of the buffalo herds before the advent of the white man in the Bitter Root valley.”

The above article appeared in The Daily Missoulian on August 28, 1904.

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