(103) WILLIAM A. SHEPHERD, one of the early settlers of Cedar township, lived on the south bank of the west branch of Cedar Creek, on the south half of the northeast quarter of section 4. This west branch of the Cedar, unlike the main creek and the east branch, was devoid of timber, so that there were no groves to catch and retain the drifting snows, as there were in other places along the creek. Here, in the fall of 1872, Mr. Shepherd had built a little log house, which he finished up in good shape, having plastered up the cracks with clay so as to make it tight and warm. Mr. Shepherd was away most of the winter, and as the plastering was done
late in the fall, freezing weather coming on had loosened it and much of it had fallen out, leaving the cracks open to some extent. Mr. Shepherd gives his experiences during the April storm as follows:

     "The April storm was very severe. The snow fall was considerable and the wind was terrific, but the weather was not very cold. I had not repaired the house, as I had lots of other work to do and supposed the winter was over. The snow drifted in through the open cracks and began to fill up the inside pretty fast. I had a scoop shovel, and with this I began to shovel up the snow on the inside of the house against the north wall until I had it banked clear up to the roof. This was packed solid and firm and made a complete wind break.

     "I had not as yet built a stable, but had my two yoke of oxen tied to the wagon outside. The oxen soon became (104) coated with snow and ice and I thought it the best way to bring two of them into the house. The house was too small for myself, the bed and stove, and all the oxen, so I brought two of them inside, leaving the other two tied to the wagon. There was a kettle of oats on the stove that was cooking for the oxen, and as soon as they were inside the house one of the oxen made a dive for the oats. I grabbed the broom to drive him away, and he at once began to eat the broom; then he stuck his nose into a sack of flour. But at last I got them securely tied up. The storm growing worse, I thought the other oxen would be better off if turned loose to shift for themselves. Accordingly I untied them and let them go. One of them got through all right, but the other perished in a snowdrift. I had plenty of firewood and plenty of provisions, and so managed to get along all right myself, and of course the oxen that were in the house fared pretty well.

     "Wednesday evening Will Wright and his father came to my house, bringing robes and blankets, and wanted to stay until the storm subsided. I told them, 'All right l If you can find a place to sleep.' They shoveled out some snow and got a place to curl down in one corner. They had begun to break prairie on Will Wright's claim, one and one-half miles west of mine. When the storm got bad they took their four oxen into their shanty, which was only eight by twelve feet. This, with two men and a stove, made it somewhat crowded and left the men no place to sleep; besides, as they were living on pancakes instead of bread, the ox hairs were too plentiful in
batter. So, as the drifting snow was not so bad by Wednesday evening, they concluded to pay me a visit. They thought my quarters very commodious and comfortable. By Thursday morning the wind had gone down a good deal and the snow had ceased to drift.

     "We began to wonder how Al. Wolfe was getting along. A. H. Wolfe had a dugout just at the head of a ravine, across the creek from my house, and about a quarter mile away. We could see nothing of his dugout, and (105) a snowdrift where it ought to be. Will Wright then went up to Ed. Palmer's and got another scoop shovel, and we all went over to Al.'s place to dig him out if necessary. It was just one big snowdrift all the way, and we could not even tell just where the creek was. It was all drifted over and packed as hard as ice, so that we never broke through once. We could tell by the lay of the land about where the dugout ought to be, and selecting what we thought the right place, began to dig. After going down about six feet, we found it too much work to throw the snow out, and so made a platform, or bench of snow, and one would throw the snow up to this, and the other would throw it out. After going down about twelve feet we struck the chip pile. We knew that the dugout was just west of this. So we began to drift in toward the door. Just then a gun was fired inside the dugout and we knew Al. was alive.

     "When we got to the door and pushed it open Al. was standing up, but as soon as the fresh air struck him he fell to the ground. He had fired the gun because he had not strength enough to call. Much of the time had been a blank to him. He had lain down on the bed, and that was the last he knew until he heard us digging. He had fallen off the bed and come to himself again only just about the time we began to dig. Probably falling from the bed was what saved his life, as the air was not so foul near the ground as higher up. His face and head were considerably bruised and discolored, where he had lain against the ground. His dugout was very close and warm and admitted very little air even when not covered with snow. The snow, being so very compact and hard, had entirely shut out the air, which had become so foul and impure inside as to be unfit to breathe. He could walk with our assistance in a little while. We took him to my cabin, where he stayed three weeks before he was able to get out much. He never entirely recovered his health."

     The following interesting narration of the locating of the Captain Miller colony in the southern part of Knox and the northern part of Antelope counties is given by (106) D. V. Coe, one of the early settlers in Ord township. Captain Jacob M. Miller and D. V. Coe both came from Buchanan County, Iowa, where they were acquainted.

     "In the fall of 1871 Captain Miller, accompanied by his son John, came to my home in Ord township in a two-horse spring wagon. Captain Miller told me he had come out from Iowa to look up a location for a soldiers' colony, which would probably, in case they found a suitable location; grow to be a colony of a hundred families -- that the colony then numbered about fifty families. He inquired of me if I knew of any such location where no claims had been taken and the land was good, adding that they all wanted to settle in a body. I thought over the matter until the following day. The best location I could think of was in the northern part of Antelope County. I had been over on the Verdigris and also on the Bazile and knew the lay of the land and quality of the soil. In going there I had followed the Indian trail from Hackberry Hollow near Jim Smith's, to Walnut Grove, and felt confident I could go direct from my place to the land that would suit his purpose. I finally agreed to go with him and locate his intended colony for two dollars per day and expenses. When my wife had cooked and baked what we supposed would be sufficient in the provision line, we started out.

     "We struck a bee-line for the Big Springs at the head of the east branch of the Verdigris, in what is now Royal township. After looking over the land in that vicinity and north of there for some time, we finally camped on section 22 in the present township of Verdigris, on the land subsequently taken by Jacob H. Hockensmith. Leaving both the Millers in camp, I started afoot directly east, as near as I could tell, to hunt up a government corner. I went nearly a mile without seeing a corner or seeing any object to attract my attention. Finally, on stopping to look around, I saw a stake and mound probably half a mile away to the east. Supposing it to be a section corner, (107) I started for it with a view of reading the numbers on the stake so as to fix my exact location. When within a few rods of the mound I was surprised to see the corners of a red blanket sticking out from under the corners of the mound.

     "When I got to the mound I did not know what it meant, still thinking it to be a government corner. I stooped over and pulled up one corner of the blanket and looked under it. The sight caused me to shudder. There, in a square hole, sat an old Indian with a red blanket wrapped around him and as 'dead as a door nail.' He had a ring about three inches in diameter in his nose and a ring in each ear, and moccasins on his feet. A red pipestone pipe, nicely finished but not bored out, and another pipe with stem unfinished lay in his lap. The hole wherein he was sitting was about three feet wide by four feet long and four feet deep. He faced the east and his head came within about twelve or eighteen inches of the surface of the ground. The skull was smashed in and at the time I supposed that was what had caused his death. The mound over the grave was about three feet high, with a pole at each end, one at the east and one at the west. Sticks were laid crosswise over the grave and over these a red blanket, and on these the earth from the grave was piled to make the mound. This grave was on section 23, in what is now Verdigris township. I left him without disturbing anything.

     "Some years afterwards, in company with others, I visited this grave. The sticks had rotted and the mound had caved in. The skeleton was exhumed, and we found that he had been shot with three arrows -- one had pierced the thigh bone in front and two had entered the backbone. The arrow heads had entered the bones about three quarters of an inch and were still sticking there. These arrow heads were not of flint, but were iron or steel, such as the Indians used in those days. The skeleton, the last I knew of it, was in the possession of a Neligh doctor, and the rings were kept by some Neligh parties. I learned soon after that (108) the Indian was a Ponca who had been killed just a few days before in a fight with the Sioux.

     "After hunting around a while longer I found a corner stake with the numbers plainly marked. This gave a starting point. We followed the line north and finding land to suit began locating claims for the Miller colony."