THE Battle of Summit Springs in July, 1869, practically put an end to the Sioux War and soon thereafter a treaty was signed, which remained unbroken till the invasion of the Black Hills by miners, consequent upon the discovery of gold, led to the desperate war in 1876-'77, which culminated with the Custer Massacre. But for years after the peace-signing the Sioux made free use of the hunting-grounds in the North Platte country. They would sally forth from the agencies along the South Dakota border and hunt up and down the Nebraska river courses. Occasionally war parties stole away from their agencies. Breaking through the sand hills, they would trail the courses of the Cedar and North Loup, suddenly to fall up on their ancient foes, the Pawnees, on the Nance county reservation.

     On such marauding expeditions it was not unusual for the Indians to run off outlying settlers' cattle and horses and make life as a whole unsafe.

     The Loup Valley settlements were repeatedly harried and for a while it looked as though these incursions would put an entire stop to the influx of the settlers. Then the government came to the rescue and built Fort Hartsuff, after which time there was no further danger. The first real trouble occurred in the month of March, 1873, when a band of Pine Ridge Sioux fell upon the Post settlement north of Turtle Creek and ran off much valuable stock. This affair culminated in the burlesque of an Indian hunt usually known as "the Battle of Sioux Creek." Right here might the history of many of our valient fathers have ended had the Indians been as eager for scalps as they were for good saddle horses. As a matter of fact the settlers organized a party to hunt the thieves down, and to recover if possible, the stolen property. But so inadequately were the members of this party equipped and so unskilled were the majority of them in Indian Warfare that the great wonder is that a single man returned to tell the story. Indeed the foolhardy pursuers could readily have been led into an ambush and all massacred had the Indians been so disposed.

     The battle as here reviewed is from Peter Mortensen's article in  (111) "The Ord Democrat" of March 2, 1894, and is here given almost verbatim. Speaking of the Turtle Creek settlement, Mr. Mortensen says: 

     "The young blood of the Posts, who had been asking for a real fight with the red men, did not have to wait long. One morning in the latter days of March, '73 a fine mare and her yearling colt were missing from the corral. The footmarks of Indian ponies were noticed around the stables and their trail with those of the stolen horse and colt were plain, leading southward toward the hills and up the Turtle Creek Valley. All the settlers were notified and requested to respond at once for the purpose of over-taking the red rascals, to recover the stolen horses and such other booty as they might have in their possession and to teach the in such a lesson as would forever prevent them from again stealing any horses from the white settlers. To this call responded, as quickly as possible, "Happy Jack" a trapper, Indian scout and regular frontiersman, who the previous fall had moved his camp from near the chalk hills in Greeley county to the Canyon bearing his name, near Mr. Goodenow's farm; also A. G. Post and his son Frank, John Case, Doctor McKenney, Frank Curtis, the three Post boys, David, Charles and Calvin, Falle Moller and Chris Frey (the latter two returning home after the first day and before the battle the following morning) and the writer, who received the news while plowing on his farm with with his ox team. The oxen were immediately liberated from their yoke and on the back of a borrowed horse without a saddle, a borrowed gun and a belt with a shot bag containing 27 rounds of cartridges, he hastened to meet his companions, who had been preparing sufficient provisions to last the company several days. The company were all on horseback with the exception, I think, of Mr. Case and A. G. Post, who rode in a spring wagon containing the provisions, camping utensils and blankets. It was estimated from the trail that the Indians were about twelve in number. There were eleven of us when we started out with "Happy Jack" as our leader, who it was reported had single-handed defeated as large a band as the one we were about to annihilate. And there were the younger Posts. Their blood, was just more than boiling with enthusiasm enough in each to fight the band single-handed. We were armed "to the teeth." Frey brought his old musket, loaded to the muzzle with large buck-shot enough to kill several of the red bucks if they had been conveniently arranged. He had forgotten to bring any extra ammunition. Moller brought his double barreled shot gun, also heavily loaded. The writer brought a borrowed Springfield needle-gun and 27 rounds of cartridges, but on account of some defect in his eyesight and inexperience in handling such a dangerous weapon, might as well have brought a willow club. Even "Happy Jack" did not carry a breech-loader, but a double-barreled gun, one barrel of which was used for shot and the other for ball. Mr. Curtis and Frank Post, I think, both carried Spencer carbines, which experience had proven were sure to overshoot their marks from ten feet to ten rods, according to distance. The rest of the company were armed with muzzle-leading guns and muskets of more or less improved patterns. With such arms no wonder we were  (113) certain of victory against a foe, who, as we found out later, were armed with nothing but Winchester repeating rifles!

     "After receiving our instructions from "Happy Jack" we left Uncle Billy at home to protect the two ladies, Mrs. Post and Mrs. McKenney, and the remaining horses, about ten in number. Jack was as sure in following a trail of Indians as a blood-hound is in following a nigger trail in the South, and with him in front, Messrs. Case and Post behind in a buggy with our provisions, we started in hot pursuit after the offenders of the Common Law and of the Statutes of Nebraska. A few miles up the north branch of Turtle Creek the trail divided, the largest body of the Indians crossing the creek toward the south, while a trail of two or three Indians and the stolen mare and colt continued on up the creek. This appeared to be in our favor. The prospect now was that we would have to fight but two or three instead of a dozen. That it would have been very convenient for those Indians who had left the trail to have followed us up and in one of the deep draws which we occasionally had to cross to have massacred us all did not enter our minds, and probably not theirs, for as it will appear later they were not planning for human blood but to steal more horses. Occasionally along the trail which we continued to follow we noticed pieces of red cloth, which "Happy Jack" explained to us was to warn us not to follow them, as they would fight us if we came too close. The trail continued to lead up to the head of Turtle Creek, over the divide to Sioux Creek in Loup county and down that creek to the North Loup Valley. When we reached the valley it was sundown and we decided to go into camp on Sioux Creek in a cottonwood grove with plenty of water and dry wood. After partaking of a hearty meal of fried bacon, bread, dried venison and coffee some of us, sore and tired, tried to sleep on the damp ground while others were scattered around our camp to guard us against sudden surprise. But even those who were permitted to sleep were but little benefited. The howl of a coyote or wolf in the still air or the neighing of the horses tied in the brush would startle us or call us to arms by the guard.

     "Before sunrise we had finished our breakfast, broken camp and were again in the saddle, following the trail up the Loup Valley. We had not travelled more than an hour, probably 8 or 10 miles, when we heard fierce yelling behind us. We were startled to say the least. Our enthusiasm went down into our knees and made them shake. The blood rushed to our heads and made us dizzy. There they were within 80 or 100 rods of us, eight, ten or twelve, more or less. On their little Indian ponies, they looked like giants and with their flowing red blankets and feathered hats like knights of the Dark Ages. It would have been a grand sight had we been in a mood to appreciate it, but we were not. Where was Calvin and Frank Post? Where was our hero and leader "Happy Jack?" There he stood his pony between him and the Indians, and as pale as a corpse. I offered him the service of my needle gun and my 27 rounds but he declined and advised us not to shoot. "If you don't shoot at them they will go on and not molest us," he said, but they did. 

     (114) "Soon one of the warriors was seen to leap from his horse and deliberately take aim at us with his Winchester over his pony's back and the ball went whiz-z over our head. Soon he was followed by others and the balls went whiz-z! whiz-z! whiz-z! Our horses became excited. They had caught our enthusiasm and began to run, not towards the Indians but in an opposite direction towards the river. The balls kept a whizzing, and some were seen to strike on the ground near us. A few times we would change front and send a volley after the red skins, who would mount their ponies, circle around a minute and then again commence to fire at us. During our retreat Charles Post and the Doctor, I think, were riding in the hind end of the buggy facing the Indians and keeping up a constant firing, even after the stock of the Doctor's rifle had caught in the buggy wheel and broken its stock. How long our retreat lasted or what distance it covered I have no distinct 

recollection. We might have covered a mile or two when we reached a high bank near the river. Here I handed my gun to Frank Post and made myself useful holding the boys' horses while they opened fire on the Indians at a rather Iong range, and I fear to little effect. When I turned my gun over to Mr. Post I had but 7 rounds left, and as I had not fired once I must have lost the other 20 in the excitement. The Indians soon got tired of being targets for us to shoot at and took up the trail after their companions where we had left it and no doubt soon overtook them and over their camp fire had a good laugh over the panic they had caused and the trick they had played us.

      "On our way home a valuable mule belonging to A. G. Post and hitched to the buggy died some distance west from where Burwell is now located. (115) Whether the cause was from a wound received during the fight, a sudden attack of colic or from excitement, opinions have very largely differed, and the facts have never been established. We reached home before night where Uncle Billie and the ladies, with tears in their eyes told us of the trick the red rascals had played on us. That portion of the Indians whose trail we had left on Turtle Creek, and who we supposed had left the locality post haste, had hid themselves in the hills and after we had passed they very cooly and deliberately returned and before the eyes of Mr. Post and the ladies, who were powerless to off or any resistance, drove off the rest of their horses, nine or ten in number.

     "I don't mean to infer that "Happy Jack" was a coward. While his actions were, to say the least, very strange, his superior knowledge of Indians and Indian warfare may have shown him the folly of forcing a fight in which the settlers certainly appeared at a disadvantage against their better trained and better armed opponents, and thus saved our lives, if not our reputations as Indian fighters.

     "Thus ended the first conflict in the North Loup Valley between the pioneers and the savages, but it was not the last, as may be noted later on. The direct loss to owners was indeed a heavy one, as it represented many years of hard earnings. Estimated in dollars and cents it could not have been less than $1,500, but the indirect loss in retarding immigration and the development of the Valley was many times greater."

     In every way considered, this first experience with the Indians was a disastrous one, and satisfied even the most daring among the settlers that they were no match for the well-armed, hard-riding Sioux, who had been trained by the great Red Cloud. This was indeed a serious matter. Accordingly a council was called, and after careful consideration Messrs. John Case and A. G. Post were delegated to report the raid to the Commandant of the Department of the Platte, stationed at Fort Omaha, and petition the government for protection. As an immediate result the War Department, ever mindful of the welfare of the frontier settlements, ordered Captain Mix with a company of cavalry to make a scouting expedition up the valley. The soldiers spent a part of April, 1873, on the Loup; and then started on a return trip to Grand Island to report conditions as they found them here. The company made the return by way of the Middle Loup, having crossed the divide somewhere up in Loup or Cherry county. Just as they reached the site of present day Loup City in Sherman county, the terrible storm of April 13, of which more will be said hereafter, burst with sudden fury on the devoted heads of the troopers. So terrible was the blinding blast of the blizzard that the hardy men had to abandon their horses and mules in some plum brush, under a high bank of what is to this day called Dead Horse Run, to seek shelter in the little store building of Frank Ingram, one of the two houses which then comprised Loup City. For three long days the sixty soldiers comprising the company were imprisoned here by the storm and when finally released it was to find their mounts, to the number of fifty, dead along the creek bottom. (116) This meant a march on foot through the snowdrifted hills to Cotesfield in Howard county, where the soldiers arrived after much suffering, cursing the settlers for causing them to leave their comfortable quarters in Fort Omaha to which they returned as soon as means of transportation could be secured.

     In May of the same year a second command under Captain Munson came into the Valley and went into camp at "Happy Jack's Gulch." "While this," says Mr. Mortensen, "to some extent allayed the fears of the community, (117)  it did not disperse them. The Pawnee tribe was at that time on their reservation in what is now known as Nance county. The Sioux tribe had full sway over the northwestern part of the state. Between these two hostile tribes a continual warfare was kept up and the trail between their reservations lay close to the North Loup Valley. Occasionally a raid would prove unsuccessful and the raiders would run out of provisions. And provisions they must have, either by begging or stealing, as best suited their purpose, from the poor settlers. An effort was made to get the soldiers to erect temporary quarters and remain in the Valley over winter, but the comforts and social privileges of Fort Omaha were too much for the settlers to overcome, and the effort failed.

     "The return of the soldiers to Omaha in the fall of '73 again brought fears and uneasiness to the settlers. Hunters and others would circulate reports that bands of Indians had been seen in this or that part of the county, and settlers in a neighborhood would often gather with their families in some of the largest and strongest houses, from which scouting parties would be sent out in different directions, scouring the country in search of Indians and Indian trails. In some localities earth works were erected, behind which the settlers could gather with their families, in case of Indian outbreak." One of these fortifications was built near the present school house in District No. 6, Springdale Township. Traces of another may yet be seen at an elevation in the meadow-lands of the old Ash Post farm, owned by Jorgen Moller. This was the fort erected by the Post boys.

     Mrs. Emma Haskell, wife of O. S. Haskell, the founder of Ord, narrates the following graphic incident in one of these Indian scares-indeed the very first one, which resulted from the Sioux Creek fight. "Every prairie schooner that came," say's she, "was hailed with delight for it meant more neighbors. The Baileys arrived in the summer of '72 and lived at Springdale in the Harter house while building their own. Dear Auntie Bailey! How good she was to me! I shall always love her for it. Here we all gathered at the time the Indians ran off the horses on the south side of the river-and what a scene it was! It requires an abler pen than mine to do it justice.

     "A few days before this a number of families had gone up the river to look for land. I do not recall the names of any except two families by the name of Chubbuck. I think the others all left. There was a sick woman with them. Her husband stopped with her at our house that she might rest, and I remember that they were people well advanced in life. It was he who afterwards told us the Indians were coming. He had seen Uncle Bailey up the river, who did not forget us. In the afternoon we saw a team coming at an unusual rate and wondered what was the trouble. It took him only a minute to say in excited tones, 'the Indians are murdering the women and children and burning the houses. See the smoke. I am sent here by Mr. Bailey to tell you to go to his house. Get up!' He whipped his horses until they fairly ran while the sick woman,  (118) sitting in the bottom of the wagon box was tossed and thrown from side to side as they passed through the prairie dog town, till I feared she would be thrown out, but she only demanded to go faster. In a very few minutes our horses were harnessed to the buggy, provisions and a few of our most precious belongings put in, and I wanted to, go fast too, for we also had seen the smoke, Orson said, 'see! there are no Indians in sight, we have plenty of time to get there before dark, and it would kill you to ride like that.' I ,think we were about forty men, women and children in one room that night. The wagons were arranged in a half circle around the end of the house having the entrance-way and the horses were placed in the corral thus formed. Next, lest the roof be set on fire by burning arrows, all tubs and buckets on the place were brought in filled with water. In the crowding for standingroom,  

the water was spilled on the floor, babies cried, dogs barked, horses kicked, men talked very loud-and you can imagine the rest. All the men had some kind of a weapon, even feeble-minded Dick Geary, and the wonder is that no one was shot. Long before morning I was so tired I did not care whether the Indians came or not. There was a bed in the room, only it was taken by babies smaller than I. In sheer exhaustion, I think, I found what I supposed a vacant corner, for I remember that Mrs. Frank Chubbuck gave me a good shaking and warned me that I was sleeping on her baby, (I suppose I owe that baby an apology to this day), so I slipped down by the foot of the bed onto a keg of onions and slept soundly until morning, when we scattered for our several homes."

     Now before going any further into our Indian history we should pause for a brief space of time upon a natural phenomenon which came so suddenly and was so awful in its effects that those who experienced its visitation will never be able to dismiss it from memory. We refer to the great snow (119) storm which raged with terrible fury through the Valley from April 13 to 16, 1873.

     All prairie dwellers have had their experience with the western "blizzard, " the dreaded winter stormwind of the plains, which is wont to burst into a marrow-chilling fury over the plain but lately bathed in a flood of sunshine, surprising man and beast far from home and shelter, tossing them about with all bearings lost, till chilled to the heart and exhausted they sink dying into the drift, the whistling, howling wind singing their last requiem. Of late years these storms have been less frequent and of shorter duration than in early days when the winds could sweep for hundreds of miles over the unbroken prairie. Perhaps the most destructive storm of this kind in Nebraska was the April storm of '73. Easter Sunday, April 13th was remarkably mild, and gave every promise of coming spring. Plowing and seeding were already well under way and the settlers were rejoicing in renewed outdoor activity. As the day advanced the atmosphere became murky and early in the afternoon a mild rain began to fall. By nightfall the rain was falling freely. But who could have dreamed of what was in store for the settlements!

     Sometime in the early night the wind veered to the northeast and later to the northwest, and burst with a roar over the Valley. The rain became frozen to a fine, powdery snow, which was hurled horizontally through space, stinging and blinding, working its way through the smallest aperture, and in a surprisingly short time had filled every cranny and corner in any way exposed. The first shock of the storm left the earth surprised and paralyzed in an enshrouding ice-sheet, which rapidly lost itself in heaping drifts of snow.

     Before morning men lay shivering in bed, so intensely cold was it getting; and cattle and horses, where not properly housed, were perishing. Dwelling houses and hay sheds were in many instances entirely buried. In places the settlers were unable to reach their barns and cattle sheds till the third day, and then at the risk of their lives. A few succeeded in feeding their stock a little grain--to get bulky fodder to them was practically out of the question. Heroic measures alone saved the settlements from great loss. Many a farmer saved his domestic animals by bringing them right into the house with the family. In the Dane Creek settlement the only loss of any moment befell Adam T. Morris, a brother-in-law of Sam A. and O. M. Stacy, who the preceding fall had filed on the southeast quarter of section twenty-six, adjoining the townsite of Elyria, and who had just arrived with his family and stock at the George Miller dugout. When the rain began to fall Mr. Morris's best team was sheltered in a new barn built by Nels Anderson on the latter's claim, one-half of a mile distant. When the storm had abated sufficiently to allow the owner to reach them, he found the stable drifted full of snow to the rafters and both animals dead. The family and the only remaining horse were saved from certain death by George Miller, who had them move from their prairie schooner into his dugout--family, horse and all. (120)

     George W. Larkin, down near Olean, found his shed full of snow on the morning of the first day. With almost superhuman effort he succeeded in extricating his ox-team from the drift. These he then led into the dugout--the same in which the first county election was held--and for three long days shared his narrow quarters with his bovine friends.

     Austin Terry of the North Loup colony, lost his only span of horses, and Elder Ira Bristol of the same locality, his only cow. Elder Oscar Babcock awoke late in the forenoon to find the room in inky darkness. His dugout was entirely snowed under, and only after digging an eight foot tunnel did he find daylight. L. C. Jacobs, the county commissioner, had an unique experience. He found it necessary to bring all his stock, horses, cows, pigs and chickens into the one-room dwelling house. To make room for all he rigged quarters for his family up under the rafters, on a sort of a swinging platform. Here they spent several never-to-be-forgotten days.

     The great wonder was that the upper Valley escaped with as light a loss as it did. It is almost impossible for us now to conceive of the fury of this storm or to appreciate the amount of snow that fell. Thus John Sheldon of North Loup tells us that canyons forty feet deep were filled with snow to the very top, and that it became hard enough for a man to walk across on the crust. Snow lay in the ravines till late in June.

     Farther down the Loup the losses were much more serious. We have already heard how Captain Mix lost practically all his cavalry mounts at Dead Horse Run in Sherman county, and in Howard county which was older and had more to lose, conditions were still worse. "Horse stables and cattle corrals were covered with the whirling snow, and there the cattle and horses were obliged to remain without food, for so blinding was the rapidly falling snow, driven by the violent winds, that it was impossible that any human being could go to them to care for them. It was almost sure death for anyone to venture out even for a short distance from the house. During the storm nearly one-half the cattle in the county perished.

     "Among the settlers, a great deal of suffering was experienced. Several perished during the storm, the details of whose death is truly sad.

     "One of those who died was Miss Lizzie Cooper, who had taught the St. Paul school the previous year. Mr. Cooper was absent in Grand Island on business. The only son was also away. Mrs. Cooper and her two daughters, Lizzie and Emma, were left alone. Lacking fuel, on April 16th, the girls determined to go to a neighbor's for relief. After carefully wrapping Mrs. Cooper in blankets and covering her in bed they started out. The cold was so intense and the snow so blinding they very soon lost their way. Still they struggled bravely on, hoping against hope, that they might reach some habitation and procure relief for their aged mother. Soon they began to be so exhausted that it was almost impossible for them to move. Seeing that there was now no hope of reaching the homes of any of their neighbors, they tried to reach an abandoned dugout in a canyon, which they thought they could find. Pressing on, sometimes stumbling, through the rough lands just off from the Cotestield road, Lizzie soon dropped (121)  from sheer exhaustion and could go no farther. This was partially under the bank of a canyon. Emma did all she could to urge her sister on, but it was impossible for her to move. Lizzie was soon dead. The devoted Emma remained with the dead body of her sister all that day and all night. Being partially protected by the bank above, the snow soon drifted over her, and this saved her life. By continued struggling she managed to keep from smothering. In the morning she left her dead sister to try to find some habitation. Half dead and nearly crazed from the effects of grief, hunger and cold, she rushed madly on, hardly If knowing what she did. The storm had now abated, but the snow, driven by the heavy winds, made it almost impossible to find the way. As she passed the home of W. P. Wyman, on the farm of Capt. Munsen, she was seen to be 

rushing wildly on, sometimes on hands and knees, and sometimes on, her feet. So nearly unconscious was she that she passed only a few rods from the house without seeing it. She was stopped, taken in and cared for. As soon as the poor girl could speak, she managed to let them know what had befallen her sister, and that her mother was left alone the day before. A party soon organized to go to the relief of Mrs. Cooper.

     "When they arrived at the house they found she was gone. Looking for her on the road they frequently found pieces of clothing, and all the indications that the woman had pushed on, frequently falling from exhaustion, and then recovering her strength had again struggled on. In a short time, her dead body was found, partially covered with snow and stark and stiff. It is supposed that on the day the girls started out she became alarmed at their protracted absence and started to look for them and soon perished. (122) With a mother's guiding counsels and an older sister's love so suddenly withdrawn, Emma has since led a sad and lonely life."

     But the above were not the only lives lost in this terrible and long-to-be-remembered storm. Dillon Haworth and his family, consisting of his wife and two children, were living on a pleasant farm that they were just opening up on Spring Creek. Becoming frightened at the long continuance of the storm they started, it is supposed, to find a neighbor's house. At all events the dead bodies of the entire family, except the babe, one half year old, were found dead the next day after the storm some distance apart. The babe was the only one found alive, and she was clasped to her mother's breast.

     Such, in brief, was the April storm of '73, a storm which the hardiest of the old timers cannot recount without an involuntary shudder.

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