Bozeman Avant Courier

CROW SCOUTS.

The scouts, Mich Leaver and Thomas Le Forgy, sent out about the 20th of last month to bring in the Crow Indians, have just returned and report the Crows on the way up to be here in about five days from this time. The second day after reaching the Crow camp, an attack was made by the Sioux, 500 strong, and resulted in a fight that lasted throughout the day, and ended in driving the Sioux toward the Big Horn river in a thoroughly demoralized condition, having left seven braves behind slain many horses dead and some sixty horses and mules alive, besides saddles, blankets, bridles, &c. One Chief, The-man-Afraid-of-His-Horses, believed to be dead. Papers found on the ground indicate that Sitting Bull was in the fight. Had the Sioux been well supplied with ammunition they would undoubtedly have been victorious, for, while it lasted, the balls fell like hail among the Crows and they were driven back upon their camp, which the squaws, during the fray, had surrounded by a ditch, answering for rifle pits, and opened out and collected their lodges as to completely hide everything within. A spent ball from the Sioux struck a Crow upon the thigh, who, upon finding that he was not harmed, seized the idea that the Sioux must be short of powder, and not able to fight much longer. Acting upon this idea, the Crows rallied and charging upon the Sioux, turned the tide of battle against them and they fled toward the Big Horn. The Crows pursued until their ponies tired out. The trophies above named are the result. Among the mules taken is one stolen from A. P. Fox last September, at the time Dr. Frost was murdered.

A few days of rest and recuperation and the return is begun, but not until various speculations are indulged in as to what the Great Father wants of his red children.

The scouts report a rough time on their way down to the Crow camp, as nearly every stream had to be swam and some of them were dangerous of approach except under cover of darkness, from the presence of the prowling Sioux. Consequently after nightfall they would quit their hiding place and make a hurried ride as best they could to the dreaded stream that barred their course. Then comes the finding of a favorable point: the swimming of the stock; the building of a raft and hastily strapping on the saddles, packs, blankets, boots, guns, ammunition, &c., then, taking the rope in their teeth, cut loose without knowing when or where or how to land. Possibly the frail craft, jostled by the rolling current of a rapid, swollen stream, may spill the few necessary treasured fixtures and themselves, drift miles below the point of debarkation nearing the shore amid drift wood and darkness, they finally strike it where the bank is fathoms above their heads, but on they drive, grasping at everything that seems to promise relief, until finally a willow, growing at the mouth of a little ravine, serves them for an anchorage and drifting below it swings in shore. Now they must saddle up hurriedly and be off to some distant place of security and observation; but what chagrin to behold! their pistols are gone; ammunition gone: blankets and boots gone, and the ground covered with prickly pear the air all abuzz up and got ready to move, no matter if bare-headed, bare-footed and bare-backed. There is no alternative but the stock, and forgetting everything else they strike out for it with the energy of despair. Fortunately, the stock had landed a little below them, where it was found after a brief but painful search. Hurriedly packing the little they had left, they were soon bearing away in the direction of Pryor's Gap; after thinking that the soft condition of the earth caused them to leave a heavy trail behind, which could only be remedied by making it as long as possible before daylight. Probably that night's ride counted fifty miles, for at early dawn they were upon Pryor's Mountain, peering down into the valley below. Antelope, elk, deer and buffalo were there in abundance, all moving in one general direction, up the Yellowstone or nearly so, indicating that there was some cause for this movement, and that cause might be the Crows' Camp; hence their course. Here the day was spent in watching, resting etc.; but at nightfall they descended the mountain and took their course down Pryor's Creek, riding on the lope much of the night. A little before dawn they took their way up a little ravine leading in the direction of Cache Wood Creek, which soon brought them to some high ridges of rock, thickly covered with pine and plum: here they hid their horses and got themselves to a favorable point, in a clump of pines, to observe what was passing on around them. Thirty minutes after, perhaps, two Sioux came within five hundred yards of them and took a similar position. Believing the Crow Camp to be visible in the distance, they did not remain long after daylight near these Sioux lookouts, but stole away, hastily as possible, after getting under cover of a favoring clump of pines. Indians to the number of fifteen or twenty were soon discovered, riding in nearly the same direction as themselves, whom they took to be Nez Perces, and rightfully too, for they soon came dashing upon the scouts to discover who they were. The question was soon settled that large numbers of Sioux were close at hand, so joining the Nez Perces, they all made good their way to the Crows, who seeing them coming and believing them to be friends, came out with fresh horses to meet them.

What followed—the fight on the next day—is already noted briefly.