Day 31 - Ranchester to Buffalo, Wyoming - 51 Miles

Well, we didn't get to Gillette this afternoon, and it's because history got in the way yet again. All we had to do was stay on the surprisingly lightly-traveled Interstate 90 East from Ranchester and we would have ended up with about twice as many miles on the ol' odometer. Though I knew we would be cruising by a couple of historic sites, I had decided to hold our course and make Gillette by cocktail hour.

But then came one of those ubiquitous brown signs announcing that the turnoff to the Fort Kearny historic site was coming up soon, and the site itself was a mere 3 miles off the Interstate. I gritted my teeth but said nothing. There is little in this world that interests me more than a frontier army post, especially this particular frontier army post that I first read about and studied back when I was about 15 years old.

It has always been my intention to see the site someday (the actual fort was destroyed by Indians more than a century ago), but I never quite landed in this neck of the woods until now. Still, Concetta and I had whiled away the entire morning touring the "End of the Trail" historic home in Sheridan, Wyoming, and I fully intended to use the afternoon to make at least a hundred miles or so.

I could see the exit for Fort Kearny in the distance and it was getting closer. I was thinking about all the pros and cons of taking the exit and filling up the rest of the day with history stuff, when Concetta said, "Why don't we go to Fort Kearny. You've been talking about it for a couple of days, and you probably need to go see it."

There it was, the tacit approval. And yet I tried to explain why we probably needed to try and make Gillette before 3:00 p.m. since we hadn't made hardly any miles today. But Concetta persistented. "I think we should go," she said. "There's the turnoff now."

And so off we went in search of still more adventure amidst the verdant, rolling pastures of northern Wyoming where once upon a time millions of buffalo roamed. We did have a bit of trouble at first, if you can call missing a turnoff sign and ending up seven miles further away than we should have gone. No matter, once we had reversed our direction, we saw the sign the second time around, and rolled up the dirt access road and into history.

The history, as it is explained in the Fort's brochure, goes like this: "[The Fort] was named for a popular Union general Kearny killed in the Civil War. Fort Phil Kearny was established at the forks of Big and Little Piney Creeks by Col. Henry B. Carrington, of the 18th U.S. Infantry, in July, 1866."

"The mission of the Fort and two other posts along the Bozeman Trail, Forts Reno and C. F. Smith, was three-fold: to protect travelers on the trail; to prevent intertribal warfare between Native Americans in the area; and to draw the attention of Indian forces opposed to Euro-American westward expansion away from the transcontinental railroad under construction in southern Wyoming."

"All three Bozeman Trail forts were stockade fortifications, with Fort Phil Kearney being the largest. Enclosing 17 acres, the fort wall was 8 feet high, 1,496 feet in length, and tapered in width from 600 feet on the north to 240 feet on the south. More than 4,000 logs were used to erect the stockade. Over 606,000 feet of lumber and 130,000 bricks were produced in 1867 alone for the extensive construction of Fort buildings."

"During its two-year existence, Fort Phil Kearney was the focal point of a violent war between the U. S. Army and the Sioux, Cheyenne, and Arapaho Indians opposed to intrusions into the last great hunting grounds on the Northern Plains."

"By 1868, the Union Pacific Railroad had reached a point to the west where travelers could bypass the Bozeman Trail forts' expensive liabilities. In the treaty of 1868, the United States agreed to close the forts and the trail. Fort Phil Kearny was abandoned by the Army in early August 1868, and burned soon afterwards by the Cheyenne."

So, you ask, if the Fort was only around for a two-year period, what makes it so special? The reason the vanished fort, the new interpretive site, as well as the surrounding landscape and hills are so important is because of one momentous event that took place in 1866. Here are the facts as related by an informational sign in the interpretive center:

"The Battle of 100 Hands (otherwise known as the Fetterman massacre) climaxed a classic Indian ruse. On December 21st, 1866, Captain Fetterman led 81 infantry and cavalrymen to repel an attack on the Fort's wood-cutting detail. Taunted by a few mounted warriors, Fetterman allegedly disobeyed orders and chased the Indians over Lodge Trail Ridge -- directly into the weapons of 2,000 Sioux, Cheyenne, and Arapahoes. The trap snapped shut on the scattered troops, and forty minutes later all the soldiers were dead."

This massacre is an important milestone in the history of plains warfare between the Native Americans and the U.S. Army because it marks the first time that Indians used the technique of presenting an inferior force to the army in hopes of luring them into a trap. This particular defeat was regarded as the biggest loss of life for western army troops to that date. Not until General Custer rode into a similar trap just under a decade later, would the loss of life be surpassed.

I knew this story from having read about it in my teens. Still, I was interested in seeing the site, even though I knew that nothing remains of the original fort structures. But aside from my curiosity about the actual look and feel of the location and its proximity to the ridge line over which the ill-fated Fetterman troopers rode into the trap and died, I had yet another motive for deciding to follow Concetta's advice and see the interpretive center.

Ever since I discovered that my two-times great grandfather had been a teamster, both before coming west to Utah in 1853 to be with his Mormon relatives, and later when he arrived in what would be his home in Springville, Utah, I wanted to learn more about teamsters in the old west. This, it turns out, is an extremely difficult subject on which to find any material at all. So, if I can find no hugely compelling reason for visiting a museum or interpretive center, the potential for the site's having a book collection is sufficient to motivate me.

Alas, most of the Fort Kearny Interpretive site's book collection revolved around Indians and soldiers, as I might have guessed. I did purchase the book, "Hardtack & Coffee," by Billings, to bone up a bit more on my knowledge about life in the frontier army. But my quest for books on freighting and teamsters was in vain.

But serendipity being what it is in my life, I was intrigued to see that the Interpretive Center had a Springfield armory Civil War rifle on display. The rifle was no longer a muzzle-loader. It had been altered into a "trapdoor" model that was intended to accept breach-loading cartridges. My interest was immediately peaked when I learned that the rifle was being raffled off, the drawing to take place in my birth month of December. How could I turn down such an opportunity? Well, I couldn't. I bought five tickets.

So, it would appear that fate meant for me to come to the Fort Kearny site today for a number of reasons, all of which I enjoyed immensely. I got to see the fort's location, as well as the fateful ridge over which Captain Fetterman took his last ride. I got to walk the fort's grounds (in the rain it would turn out) and try to visualize how it had been situated. And I got to buy raffle tickets for a weapon I'd just truly love to own. I'm thinking we made the right decision.

Now, I haven't even ventured into the story of our morning activity, which was a visit to the "End of Trail" house and grounds in Sheridan, Wyoming. Usually, Concetta and I quickly grow tired of visiting historic houses for their tendency to be pretty repetitive. But today, the two of us were just bowled over with the experience. The house was magnificent, inside and out. The rooms were meticulously decorated with original family furniture and possessions. And the unique nature of many of the rooms compelled us to read virtually all the explanatory cards, view all the portraits and photographs, and take pictures of nearly everything.

From their house pamphlet we learned that: "Construction began on "End of Trail" in 1908. After it was finished in 1913, the family had only a short time to enjoy their new home. John Kendrick was elected Governor of Wyoming in 1914 and the family moved to Cheyenne. Two years later, he was chosen to serve in the United States Senate. Until his death in 1933, Trail End was used primarily as a summer home."

"From 1933 to 1961, Eula Kendrick (the wife) lived at "End of Trail" with Manville (the son) and his family. After Eula's death, the other family members moved out, and the house stood empty for seven years. In 1968, when it was about to be torn down, the Sheridan County Historical Society purchased the house and grounds. They opened the home to the pubic as a community museum. Ownership was transferred to the State of Wyoming in 1982."

When I think that this absolutely gorgeous house might have been torn down it nearly makes me physically ill. Architecturally, artistically, and physically, the house is a masterpiece. And the interior woodwork, furniture, and accessories are treasures beyond description.

Further, back in 1913, when a normal house cost about $4,000 to build, "End of Trail" cost $164,000. The house contains limestone from Indiana, roofing tile from Missouri, brick from Kansas, granite from Montana, woodwork from Michigan, window screens from Maine, stained glass from New York, and marble from Vermont. The architect was Glenn Charles McAlister of Billings, Montana.

In short, the house is a fantastic place to visit, and the entrance cost is minuscule. I urge everyone who comes to Wyoming to visit and help support this lovely house and its upkeep by paying your entrance fee and taking the tour.

Now, if you're still reading, one final word about how "End of Trail" got its name, which I learned from the museum's brochure: "John B. Kendrick (1857-1933), former Governor of Wyoming and United States Senator, was born in Texas. He was unfortunately orphaned at an early age and raised by relatives until he went out on his own at age fifteen. He came to Wyoming Territory for the first time in 1879 as a trail rider on a cattle drive. Kendrick took the money he earned and invested it in land, an investment that would grow and later become the OW Ranch in southwestern Montana."

"Kendrick would marry in 1891, and later raise a son and daughter on the ranch. The ranch was the start of what would become the Kendrick Cattle Company, a 210,000-acre collection of cattle ranches in northern Wyoming and southern Montana. Not until 1989 would the ranch lands be sold by the family." Kendrick's story is, as you can see, one of true rags to riches.

And that dear reader is our adventures for the day. Since we didn't get to Gillette this afternoon, we are at present enjoying a very nice camp in the town of Buffalo, where no less than THREE camps are to be found. But this one was recommended by Damion, the State Parks guy who sold me the Springfield Rifle raffle tickets. They tell me that an ice cream social is being held here tonight so we obviously came to the right place.

And if YOU are getting ready to hit the road and tour the many fascinating backroads to our country's hundreds of wonderful historic sites, we wish you exciting destinations and memorable travels from the Davises, the Happy Wanderers.