A Buffalo Hunt – by Charles E. Roberts
Copied from the “Fort Collins Weekly Courier” - June 6, 1913
Pioneer Reminiscences
The morning was spring-like. At day break we were on the plateau east of the Wild Cat. Far to the east stood Pawnee Buttes. All over the plains as far as I could see were buffalo in large and small bunches. Mr. Pinneo, Phil Clark, Jeff Gerry, and Mr. Gerardot were mounted on their best running horses. I was agreed that the buffalo were to be driven as close to the wagons as possible so that the calves could be loaded easily.
The sun was just rising over the plains when a horseman was seen coming towards us. As we were in a country full of Indian buffalo hunters, horse thieves, and desperadoes, we were curious to see what he was. Mr Gerry took a long look through the glass. His verdict was that he was no Indian, but a very dirty white man, and such he proved to be. While he was hardly a beggar on horseback, he was one of those tramps of the plains that could get a horse anywhere he could get meat when there was nothing else. So at the time those kind f people were drifting across the country. Sometimes they worked, some of them later became horse thieves, some cattle rustlers that is went into the cattle business. All they needed was a plenty of gall, a good horse and a branding iron.
But the riders were off and soon from the shelter of the wagons I could see a long streak of dust, and soon after here they came with heads nearly to the ground, the fierce bellow of the bulls in the lead, the click of their hoofs, the snorting call of the cows for their calves. It was only for a moment and it had passed. Four calves were separated and easily caught after the herd had passed. They seemed bewildered when alone.
I was riding a small Indian pony and Mr. Gerry told me to go over the ridge and see if another calf had been cutout there. I did so and found one. By laying low on my horse and making a grunting sound the calf readily followed me to the wagon, where we caught and tied him. During the day we caught twenty-six calves and killed a fat dry cow. It was getting too warm to keep the meat very long.
All over the plains everywhere we went were scattered the carcases of buffalo. The most of them had been killed for their hides. I had seen piles of hides along the U.P. Railroad as high as the station house that winter.
This was the last stand of the American Bison. They had been driven out of Texas into the Arkansas valley, then the Platte, and that summer they drifted far into the north as far as the British possessions.
As we were leaving the high ground in an awful wind storm we saw a large band of wild horses, one of them with a broken leg. There were a great many wild horse in that part of the country at that time. We arrived at the river in the night, camped till daylight, then went up through Weldon valley to the Gerardot ranch, where we fed the calves what milk we could. Some were left here, others were distributed around different places, two of them became the property of W.S. Taylor of Fort Collins.
This was my last sight of buffalo. They, like the Indian, were a slowly passing show. The curtain of civilization was rising upon the scenes and progress could not be made until they passed on. Where they roamed are farms and fertile valleys and the homes of the homes of the white man now occupy the ground where once stood the Indian tepee.
After bidding the Gerrys goodbye, I went home to Greeley. Bob Kennison got me a job with Andrew Gilchrist of Livermore, and I started for his cattle camp, which was located on the Boxelder about where Wellington now stands. He was holding his cattle out on the plains to keep them away from poison weed that grows along the foothills. Other men had built fences to hold them away from it. N. C. Alford and Wm. Calloway had build a long string of fence and it was known for years as the “poisonweed” fence on Prairie Divide. After holding them for about three weeks, about the first of May we commenced to move the cattle toward the hills.
Heretofore I had seen the hills from a distance, now I was to see in reality the things I had read so much about.
Copied from the “Fort Collins Weekly Courier” - June 6, 1913
Pioneer Reminiscences
The morning was spring-like. At day break we were on the plateau east of the Wild Cat. Far to the east stood Pawnee Buttes. All over the plains as far as I could see were buffalo in large and small bunches. Mr. Pinneo, Phil Clark, Jeff Gerry, and Mr. Gerardot were mounted on their best running horses. I was agreed that the buffalo were to be driven as close to the wagons as possible so that the calves could be loaded easily.
The sun was just rising over the plains when a horseman was seen coming towards us. As we were in a country full of Indian buffalo hunters, horse thieves, and desperadoes, we were curious to see what he was. Mr Gerry took a long look through the glass. His verdict was that he was no Indian, but a very dirty white man, and such he proved to be. While he was hardly a beggar on horseback, he was one of those tramps of the plains that could get a horse anywhere he could get meat when there was nothing else. So at the time those kind f people were drifting across the country. Sometimes they worked, some of them later became horse thieves, some cattle rustlers that is went into the cattle business. All they needed was a plenty of gall, a good horse and a branding iron.
But the riders were off and soon from the shelter of the wagons I could see a long streak of dust, and soon after here they came with heads nearly to the ground, the fierce bellow of the bulls in the lead, the click of their hoofs, the snorting call of the cows for their calves. It was only for a moment and it had passed. Four calves were separated and easily caught after the herd had passed. They seemed bewildered when alone.
I was riding a small Indian pony and Mr. Gerry told me to go over the ridge and see if another calf had been cutout there. I did so and found one. By laying low on my horse and making a grunting sound the calf readily followed me to the wagon, where we caught and tied him. During the day we caught twenty-six calves and killed a fat dry cow. It was getting too warm to keep the meat very long.
All over the plains everywhere we went were scattered the carcases of buffalo. The most of them had been killed for their hides. I had seen piles of hides along the U.P. Railroad as high as the station house that winter.
This was the last stand of the American Bison. They had been driven out of Texas into the Arkansas valley, then the Platte, and that summer they drifted far into the north as far as the British possessions.
As we were leaving the high ground in an awful wind storm we saw a large band of wild horses, one of them with a broken leg. There were a great many wild horse in that part of the country at that time. We arrived at the river in the night, camped till daylight, then went up through Weldon valley to the Gerardot ranch, where we fed the calves what milk we could. Some were left here, others were distributed around different places, two of them became the property of W.S. Taylor of Fort Collins.
This was my last sight of buffalo. They, like the Indian, were a slowly passing show. The curtain of civilization was rising upon the scenes and progress could not be made until they passed on. Where they roamed are farms and fertile valleys and the homes of the homes of the white man now occupy the ground where once stood the Indian tepee.
After bidding the Gerrys goodbye, I went home to Greeley. Bob Kennison got me a job with Andrew Gilchrist of Livermore, and I started for his cattle camp, which was located on the Boxelder about where Wellington now stands. He was holding his cattle out on the plains to keep them away from poison weed that grows along the foothills. Other men had built fences to hold them away from it. N. C. Alford and Wm. Calloway had build a long string of fence and it was known for years as the “poisonweed” fence on Prairie Divide. After holding them for about three weeks, about the first of May we commenced to move the cattle toward the hills.
Heretofore I had seen the hills from a distance, now I was to see in reality the things I had read so much about.