Early in January, 1872, General Forsythe and Dr. Asch, of General Sheridan’s staff, came to Fort McPherson to make preparations for a grand buffalo hunt to be conducted for the Grand Duke Alexis.  General Sheridan was desirous of giving the Russian nobleman the hunt of his life.  He wanted everything ready when the Grand Duke arrived, so that he need lose no time at the Post.

By way of giving their distinguished guest a real taste of the Plains, the two officers asked me to visit the camp of the Sioux chief, Spotted Tail, and ask him to bring a hundred of his warriors to the spot on Red Willow Creek, which, at my suggestion, had been selected as the Grand Duke’s camp.

Spotted Tail had permission from the Government to hunt buffalo, a privilege that could not be granted to Indians indiscriminately, as it involved the right to carry and use firearms.  You couldn’t always be sure just what kind of game an Indian might select when you gave him a rifle.  It might be buffalo, or it might be a white man.  But Spotted Tail was safe and sane.  Hence the trust that was reposed in him.

Forsythe and Asch, after accompanying me to the site I had found for the camp, returned to the Post, while I set out to confer with Mr. Spotted Tail.  The weather was very cold, and the journey was by no means a delightful one.  I was obliged to camp out with only my saddle-blankets to protect me from the weather, and only my vigilance to protect me from the Indians.  Spotted Tail himself was friendly, but some of his young men were decidedly hostile.  My activities as a scout had made me many enemies among the Sioux, and it is not their nature easily to forget old grudges.

At the close of the first day I made camp on a tributary of Frenchman’s Fork, and built a little fire.  The night was bitter cold, and I was so busy keeping warm that I got very little sleep.  The next afternoon I began to notice fresh horse tracks and the carcasses of recently killed buffaloes.  I knew that I was nearing an Indian camp.  It was not policy to ride boldly in among the Indians, as some of them might be inclined to shoot me first and discover later that I was a friend of Spotted Tail.  So I hid my horse in a low ravine and crawled up a hill, from whose summit I obtained a good view of the country.

When night fell, I rode into camp unobserved.  As I entered the camp I wrapped my blanket, Indian fashion, about my head, so that the redskins would not at once recognize me as a white man.  Then I hunted about till I found Spotted Tail’s lodge.  The old chief was stretched lazily out on a pile of robes as I looked in.  He knew who I was and invited me to enter.

In the lodge I found Todd Randall, an old white frontiersman, who was Spotted Tail’s friend and agent, and who had lived a great many years with the Indians.  Randall, who spoke the Sioux jargon perfectly, did the interpreting, and through him I readily communicated to the chief the object of my visit.