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Neglected Children and Their Families Second Edition
Olive Stevenson(Auth.) Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Olive Stevenson(auth.)
ISBN(s): 9781405151719, 1405151714
File Details: PDF, 1.74 MB
Year: 2007
Language: english
Neglected Children and
Their Families
Neglected Children and
Their Families

Second Edition

Olive Stevenson
Olive Stevenson, CBE, D.Litt, MA (Oxon) is Professor Emeritus at Nottingham
University, where she has a continuing contract to teach and supervise research.
She holds honorary degrees from the Universities of East Anglia and Kingston.
She is an honorary professor at the University of Kingston and the Poly-University
of Hong Kong.
 © 2007 by Olive Stevenson.

Blackwell Publishing editorial offices:

Blackwell Publishing Ltd, 9600 Garsington Road, Oxford OX4 2DQ, UK
Tel: +44 (0)1865 776868
Blackwell Publishing Inc., 350 Main Street, Malden, MA 02148-5020, USA
Tel: +1 781 388 8250
Blackwell Publishing Asia Pty Ltd, 550 Swanston Street, Carlton, Victoria
3053, Australia
Tel: +61 (0)3 8359 1011

The right of the Author to be identified as the Author of this Work has been
asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in

a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except as permitted by
the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, without the prior
permission of the publisher.

First published 2007 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd

ISBN: 978-1-4051-5171-9

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Stevenson, Olive.
Neglected children and their families / Olive Stevenson. – 2nd ed.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4051-5171-9 (pbk. : alk. paper)
ISBN-10: 1-4051-5171-4 (pbk. : alk. paper)
1. Child welfare–Great Britain. 2. Family social work–Great
Britain. I. Title.
HV751.A6S67 2007
362.760941–dc22
2006102873

A catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

Set in 10/12 pt Palatino

by SNP Best-set Typesetter Ltd., Hong Kong
Printed and bound in Singapore
by COS Printers Pte Ltd

The publisher’s policy is to use permanent paper from mills that operate
a sustainable forestry policy, and which has been manufactured from
pulp processed using acid-free and elementary chlorine-free practices.
Furthermore, the publisher ensures that the text paper and cover board
used have met acceptable environmental accreditation standards.

For further information on Blackwell Publishing, visit our website:

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To the memory of my parents who cherished me
 Contents

Update to First Edition Foreword xi

Foreword to Second Edition xiii
Preface xv
Acknowledgements xviii

1 Defining and Understanding the Problem 1

Introduction 1
Definitions: arguments and limitations 3
‘Thresholds’ 6
Wider factors 8
Conclusion 16

2 Neglectful Families: The General Context 19

Poverty 19
Wider family and community support 26
Social exclusion 32
Ethnic and cultural factors 32
Conclusion 41

3 Parents 43
Issues affecting understanding 43
What do we know about the characteristics of these parents? 46

vii
viii Neglected Children and Their Families

The responses of mothers to young children 49

Typologies of neglectful parents 51
Gender 53
Substance abuse, depression, and learning disability 56
Drug abuse 57
Alcoholism 60
Maternal depression 61
Parents with learning disabilities 63
Physical health of parents 68
Conclusion 70

4 Children Who Are Seriously Neglected 71

The foundation for healthy development 71
The effects of serious and chronic neglect 72
Infants and young children 76
School-age children and young people 79
Delinquency and antisocial behaviour 81
The concept of resilience 83
Attachment 85
Disorganised neglect 87
Depressed, passive and physical neglect 87
Social work with neglected children 89
Conclusion 95

5 Working Together in Cases of Neglect; Unresolved

Problems and Current Issues 97
The current situation 98
Issues and difficulties in relation to neglect 102
The split between welfare and justice systems 102
Neglected children and the family courts 104
Multidisciplinary work; adult and children’s services 108
The role of the school 112
Intra-agency work; continuing difficulties in integrating
health care 113
Conclusion 115
 Contents ix

6 So What Is To Be Done? 117

Improving parenting capacity; the prognosis 119
‘The big decision’ 121
Modes of intervention 124
Help for parents ‘as people’ 126
The wider family 127
The neighbourhood and wider community 128
The concept of ‘shared care’ 129
The continuum of complementary care 129
Conclusion 135

Appendices 137
Introduction to appendices 138
I Parent–Child Interactions 141
II Quality of Care 145
III Attachment 147
IV Neglected Children 153
V The Assessment Framework 163

References 165
Index 177
 Update to First Edition Foreword

This book should be of interest and relevance to practitioners and

policy makers alike whose interest is working to prevent and effec-
tively intervene in families where children are neglected. Not only
does it comprehensively review the literature and research on neglect,
it also has very practical application. It provides the reader with evi-
dence from practice of what works when seeking to improve outcomes
for this group of children.
Seeking first to understand the historical, social, economic, and par-
enting factors in children who are neglected, and then those less com-
monly dwelt upon, such as mothers’ health and drugs abuse, the book
draws the reader’s attention to the importance of valued thorough
assessment and planning to build on strengths and to meet children’s
timescales.
This book has been comprehensively updated to draw on very social
and economic realities and policy context of 2007. These are quite dif-
ferent to those obtained in the late 1990s, at least in their aspirations
for the eradication of poverty and the inclusion of all our citizens and
the vital importance of social cohesion.
Any social worker, health visitor, police officer, teacher or commu-
nity paediatrician will recognise the portrait of children who are
neglected and will recognise the devastating impact of neglect on
healthy development. What has not changed over recent years is that
this cohort of children provides the most intractable of dilemmas for
practice and management and are the most telling representation of
the effects of social exclusion and poverty. Olive Stevenson has at one
and the same time addressed these wider strategic economic issues,
and also provided an analysis for practice, which is no mean feat.
When I first wrote the foreword to this book in 1998, I wrote from
the perspective of an Executive Director of Social Services in a large
northern city who had herself worked up from being a social worker
in the 1970s and could identify with many of the characteristics of

xi
xii Neglected Children and Their Families

families portrayed in this book. I reflected on how useful this book

would have been for me when I was in practice, and I recommended
it to practitioners who are now working in the field.
In commending the book, I drew attention to the hard work and
dedication of practitioners and policy makers whose work on assess-
ment and planning in the 1990s had contributed significantly to making
an impact on improving the well being of children and young people.
I was an Executive Director of Social Services seeking to support the
use of research in every day work, and to champion partnership
working in a very meaningful and practical way as the only means of
tackling the distress of individual children and their families when
neglect was evident. I commended the book hoping that it would help
my staff and those across the country to develop confidence to be asser-
tive practitioners putting the interest of children at the forefront and
recognising that a cycle of disadvantage if not broken has lasting and
devastating consequences.
I now write this foreword as a Chief Executive of an inner London
borough all of whose wards are in the most deprived of those in the
country. A borough of contrast where well off, successful inhabitants,
benefiting from the prosperity of London, live cheek by jowl with some
of the most impoverished of our citizens, many of whom have come to
this country to find refuge from war or natural disaster seeking to
improve conditions for themselves and opportunities for their chil-
dren. And you might ask why a local authority Chief Executive would
want to be interested in research and practice regarding neglect. The
reason is simple. The agenda for local authorities is to provide com-
munity leadership and ‘place shaping’; to promote the well being of
citizens in its area. Recognising and tackling the neglect of our most
vulnerable children has got to be at the heart of this agenda. One of
the effects of local government legislation and children’s legislation in
recent years has been to bring the agenda for well being, regeneration
and safeguarding to the heart of local government, and very much into
the main stream agenda for local authority Chief Executives. Because
of this, I commend Olive’s book and its recent updating and hope that
it can play a part in assisting those who work on our behalf with these
most intractable difficulties to be able to do so with an increased effec-
tiveness. Whilst we champion an agenda that puts the five outcomes
for all children at the heart of our arrangements, we cannot afford to
ourselves neglect the most hard to reach, and difficult to work with,
families where children’s most basic needs are not being met. Research
has highlighted the importance of early years parenting on later out-
comes and this book reinforces that message.

Penny Thompson
Chief Executive
London Borough of Hackney
 Foreword to Second Edition

This is a very timely point at which to publish this new edition.

Inevitably I have looked at it through the spectacles of a social worker
trained in the early 1970s and, as I am now, a strategic director of chil-
dren’s services currently charged with the responsibility to support
local authorities across England in the establishment of children’s
centres.
I come from a generation of social workers whose reading list cer-
tainly included the names of experts about whom Olive Stevenson
reminds us in this book; experts who wrote about the essentials for
healthy child development and the observable consequences for chil-
dren when their parenting was ‘not good enough’. In those days the
observation of children and the impact of their experiences on their
development was a focal point for social work. Olive reminds us about
the huge body of evidence that exists about the impact of neglect on
every aspect of a child’s well-being – their health, their ability to learn
and their own future parenting skills. However, she also reminds us
about why some of these issues are so intractable.
The book brings these perspectives back into play in the context of
the current policy environment for children’s services and the issues
in family life that have increasingly impacted on children over the
decade since the first edition. The outcomes for the children of seri-
ously neglectful parents are very poor indeed and the search for inter-
ventions that address this remains as challenging as ever. There are
huge questions about whether the introduction of a universally avail-

xiii
xiv Neglected Children and Their Families

able early years service based on a national network of children’s

centres will make a difference to what Olive calls ‘our’ children. These
are the children, and their families, whose characteristics are described
in this book. They exist on the margins of mainstream society, often
‘disorganised’, often ‘depressed’ and rarely amenable to simple instruc-
tion on how to improve their lives.
There is already much evidence of the benefits derived from the
precursors of children’s centres (the Sure Start Local Programmes) but
as Olive points out, we face a very challenging task if these benefits are
to reach children whose lives are blighted by the most extreme forms
of chronic neglect.
This task challenges all involved in children’s services within the
newly integrated environments that are being created by local authori-
ties and their partners. This book will not only be of interest to the
many social workers who continue to hold Olive Stevenson in the
highest regard but also to teachers, health professionals and the new
generation of children’s centre managers for whom improving the lives
of neglected children will be a key challenge. There is a core base of
knowledge and skills to which Olive refers in this book that needs to
be held in common by everyone who works in children’s services.

Liz Railton CBE

Programme Director
Together for Children
 Preface

Those who work with seriously neglectful families will recognise this
description. Paula Simmons, who is twenty-five, has three children,
Alan aged eight, Mary three and Kevin eighteen months. The children
have different fathers and there is no man currently living in the
household. Paula has been known to social services since she was a
child; she was in care for short periods and was known to be neglected
as a child, and sexually abused in her teens by her stepfather.

There is serious concern about Paula’s capacity to offer adequate care

to the children. Alan is already known as a budding delinquent in the
neighbourhood. His school attendance is erratic and he has been
excluded for indiscipline several times. He is teased and bullied by his
peers because of his poor clothing and unkempt appearance. He is
below average in attainment. Paula cannot offer him effective control
and he is often out late in the evening. He is a healthy boy of average
intelligence, but seems an angry child and shows little warmth to his
mother.

Mary seems a rather miserable child. She attends a family centre

and frequently arrives smelly and seemingly hungry, often with a
runny nose and a skin rash. Her general development, physical and
intellectual, is delayed and she has a marked squint. There has been
concern that she has not been taken to hospital appointments about
this. She constantly seeks affection and reassurance and is very jealous
of younger children.

xv
xvi Neglected Children and Their Families

Kevin was a premature baby and was a very difficult baby to feed.
He is very passive. During infancy, there was doubt as to whether he
was appropriately stimulated.

Paula takes little care of her appearance and often appears tired,
dispirited and ‘flat’, with little interest in responding to the children.
She struggles to manage financially and is in debt to ‘loan sharks’ in
the area. She is not well physically, often complaining of heavy periods,
but is frightened of going to the doctor, in case ‘something bad’ is found
to be the matter. She welcomes visits from health visitors and social
workers and will talk at length about the many difficulties which she
encounters. She struggles to keep up with the housework and there
are times when standards get worryingly low, with flea infestation,
unwashed crockery and clothes, and a very dirty toilet. Her own per-
sonal hygiene is poor.

Those who visit become fond of her. They see a woman who is strug-
gling to survive in very difficult circumstances and who needs much
support. However, the quality of life for the children does not seem
acceptable, no matter what efforts are made to help. They are not
receiving ‘good enough’ physical care, supervision, control and warmth
to ensure their proper development. Health visitors and social workers
have put a lot of time and energy, with a range of services, into this
family. But now they are anxious and uncertain what to do.

Since the first edition of this book was published in 1998, there have
been many changes in law, policy and practice in children’s services.
There has also been new research which has strengthened the evidence
of the adverse effects of neglect on children’s development. There is
also evidence that increasing numbers of children have been placed on
the Child Protection Register for neglect, but little indication that prac-
tice in this area has improved to any significant extent.

The preparation of this edition has coincided with public anxiety

about ‘antisocial’ children and young people. ‘Social exclusion’ is an
issue which has received much attention from the present government,
but the Prime Minister (Blair, 2006) has acknowledged that there is a
group of families and children which has not responded to the support
offered and for which other measures are necessary.

Seriously neglected children, who are the focus of this book,

undoubtedly form part of this socially excluded group but it is not clear
how far the analysis of their family life given here can be applied more
generally. How far is the neglectful parenting at the root of the chil-
dren’s bad behaviour? How far is it part of more general maltreatment,
not just neglect? (We know that serious neglect is often associated with
other forms of abuse.) How far are we seeing much wider social prob-
 Preface xvii

lems in contemporary society for which individualised interventions

are simply inadequate?
These are questions which I cannot answer. What is indisputable is
that poor parental control and supervision of children is almost always
a feature of seriously neglected children. It is essential that this aspect
of neglect is taken as seriously as its other familiar manifestations, such
as poor nutrition and hygiene.
 Acknowledgements

I am indebted to many more people and to a far greater extent than is

customary for an author. Because this book attempts to bring together
material from a wide variety of sources, both from literature and from
the professional and academic experience of friends and colleagues, I
have unashamedly begged and borrowed (but not, I hope, stolen) from
many people, not all of whom I can name here. My thanks to them is
no less warm, including those whose work forms an important part of
the appendices.
In the preparation of the second edition, I have particularly appreci-
ated the prompt responses of those whom I have urgently asked for
advice. Special thanks to Jonathan Dickens for his help over legal
issues.
Despite the miracles of modern technology, I would have been lost
without the invaluable support of Julie Ball, who has patiently dealt
with my incompetence. Her high standards of accuracy have made the
preparation of this second edition much less onerous.

xviii
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 "It must have been the work of Injuns."
Just then he stopped and picked up an old bleached buffalo
shoulder-blade that seemed to have been carefully placed, flat side
down, on top of the weather-whitened skull of the older set of
bones. "Halloo! what's this?" he exclaimed excitedly as he began
scanning the bone. "Here it is, Peck. This'll tell us something about it
if we can only make out the writing. See if you can make it out."
On the flat side of the shoulder-blade was dimly pencilled a partially
obliterated and nervously written inscription. It was without date,
and yet enough of the wording was legible to enable us to make out
the following message from the dead man:

Cut off and surrounded by

Injens Woonded—laying between
ded hors and ded buffalow
standing them off.
Catriges nearly all gon
God hep me
John S. Kel
Gran
Mo.
The name seemed to be something like Kelton, Kelsey, or Kelley, and
several of the other words were so imperfectly written that I had to
guess them out. We guessed the name of the town to be Granby,
Missouri.
As I finished rendering my interpretation of the inscription Jack said,
as he devoutly crossed himself:
"'God help me!' the poor fellow said, an' no doubt the Good Man
took pity on him an' let him in at the gate, for the good Book do tell
us that he never was known to go back on such a prayer as that.
Well, he must have hurted some of them Injuns in the row. It would
be a satisfaction to find some sign that he got away with some of
'em; so let's mount an' take a circuit 'round over the prairie for two
or three hundred yards out an' see if we can find anything."
We did so and were rewarded by finding the bones of two small
horses, probably Indian ponies that the man had shot in defending
his position.
"That's some satisfaction," said Jack as we returned, "for it's more'n
likely that he killed some of the Injuns, too. Well, what'll we do with
these things?" pointing to the skull, jaw-bone, and buffalo shoulder-
blade.
"I was thinking of taking them back to camp with us," I replied, "to
see what Tom will say."
"Just what I was thinkin'," said Jack, dismounting and preparing to
tie the skull and jawbone to his saddle. "I'll carry these an' you can
carry the shoulder-blade. You'd better carry it in your hand, an' be
careful of it so's not to rub out the writin' any more, for it's hard
enough to make out as it is."
Of course Tom was interested in the memorials we brought and
asked us many questions about the signs we had found.
After giving him time to study the problem out, I asked:
"Well, Tom, what do you make of it?"
"It's my guess," he replied deliberately, holding the skull up before
him as though reading its history, "that this man was a wolf hunter,
like ourselves, an' if so there'll be more of this affair to be discovered
hereabouts. He had killed that buffalo for wolf bait, 'cause if he'd
been after meat he'd 'a' killed a younger one, or a cow, for you say
the bones showed it was a big bull. A man wouldn't be so far away
from the Santa Fé road huntin' buffalo without he had a camp in this
neighborhood. If he had a camp he's had a pardner or two, an' what
must have become of them? Their camp must have been
somewheres along the creek, not far from here. Have either of you
seen any signs of such a layout in your rambles up or down the
creek?"
"No," I answered, "but, then, neither of us has been more than
about three miles up or down."
"Well, after this, when you go up or down the creek make your trips
extend a little farther each time till you've covered at least ten or
twelve miles each way; an' by keeping your eyes peeled you may be
able to find some remains of a hunter's camp or some sign that'll
give us something more about this. This man came to his death
about as you an' Jack guessed it; that is, while getting ready to
poison his buffalo for wolf bait the Injuns came onto him an'
surrounded him."
"I think," I interrupted him to say, "that he had probably already
poisoned the buffalo, for I noticed the bones of several wolves there,
which would go to show that the wolves had died from eating the
poisoned meat of the buffalo."
"Well, yes—likely," returned Tom. "He put up a good fight, though,
from what you say, an' seems to have been a man that's had some
previous experience in that line. Did you notice any bullet hole in his
horse's skull?"
"No. I looked for that, but there was no sign that the horse had
been shot in the head; but he might have been shot elsewhere."
"'Tain't likely," replied the old man thoughtfully, "for you say the
horse's bones show that he died close to the buffalo, an' the man in
between 'em, as his bones show an' the writing on the shoulder-
blade says. He must have cut its throat. How far off from the man's
bones was the bones of the Injun ponies that you found?"
"About three hundred yards," I replied.
"Well, he must have had a Sharp's rifle,[D] for a muzzle-loader
wouldn't kill that far. But he's had a navy pistol, too, for this shot he
give himself was a navy ball."
And taking a navy bullet out of his pocket, Tom showed us that it
would just fit the hole in the skull.
"He's been right-handed, too," continued the old man, "for the ball
went in on the right side an' come out on the left. You see, the little
hole is clean-cut on the right side but bigger an' ragged on the left
where it come out. That tells where it went in an' where it come out.
When he wrote that note on the old shoulder-blade he's been
getting nervous, or maybe weak from loss of blood. It's a pity,
though, that he didn't set down his name an' the town where he
come from a little plainer so's we could write to his folks an' let 'em
know what become of him. But, like many another poor devil that's
been wiped out by Injuns, his people'll never know where, when, or
how he died.
"Well," continued the old man after a pause, "I b'lieve I'll ride over
to the fort to-morrow; an' get our mail an' come back next day, an' I
guess I'll just take them things along," pointing to the bones, "an'
maybe some o' the folks over there can tell me somethin' more
about this affair. If anybody knows anything about it French Dave'll
know, for he's been among the Injuns a good deal an' would be
likely to have heard something about it."
 CHAPTER XIV
SATANTA'S STORY

Next day, mounted on Black Prince, Tom started for Fort Larned. He
had stowed the skull of the supposed deceased wolf hunter in a
gunny sack tied to his saddle, but the buffalo shoulder-blade he
wrapped carefully in the fur of a fox skin, to make sure that no
chafing should further obliterate the already obscure record.
These relics he intended to submit to the best sign readers to be
found about the fort, to ascertain if any light could be thrown on the
supposed tragedy.
As I was writing a letter to send in by Tom, Jack remarked: "We
ought to have a name for our camp, a place to date letters from,
something more than just 'Camp on Walnut Creek.'"
"That wouldn't be a bad idea," I replied, "but what shall we call it?
The only things we see here are buffaloes, coyotes, and antelopes,
with a few prairie-dogs and rattlesnakes. How would it do to call our
place 'Camp Antelope'?"
"I think it would be more to the point," said Jack, "to call it 'Camp
Coyote.'"
"Well," said Tom, "why not compromise and call it 'Camp
Coyotelope'?"
"Let it be so," said I, and I so dated my letter, and from that time on
we spoke of our winter home as Camp Coyotelope.
Nothing unusual happened while Tom was gone. Jack tended his
traps, while I did the wolf baiting and skinning.
On the second evening, just in time for supper, Tom returned from
Fort Larned, bringing our mail, and as we gathered around the table
we asked him anxiously what he had learned about the dead man.
"A whole lot," replied the old man between mouthfuls, "an' not just
what I wanted to find out, either. None of 'em could make out the
man's name or where he come from any nigher than we did. I went
right to the adjutant's office, where I found several of the officers,
an' when I brought out the bones an' told 'em the story they became
interested. One officer had heard something about a party of
hunters being wiped out by the Injuns about a year ago, but he
didn't know the particulars. That writing on the old shoulder-blade
attracted 'em most, an' each one had to take it an' examine it. But
they couldn't make it out.
"I suggested to the adjutant that maybe French Dave might know
something, an' he sent an orderly for Dave right away, an', sure
enough, the ol' French-Canadian did know something.
"Ol' Dave asked me: 'Where you find 'em?' An' then I told him all I
knew about the matter, an' what the signs seemed to show, an' read
to him the writing on the shoulder-blade, for Dave can neither read
nor write. He studied awhile an' then said: 'Yes—mus' be same lot. I
know 'bout yother two. See 'em bones where Injuns kill 'em. No see
this one bones, but Satanta tell me 'bout it one day. Mus' be same
one.'
"The story of the affair," continued Tom, "as I gathered it from Dave,
is about thisaway: Three wolf hunters with a wagon an' team had
established their camp on Walnut Creek, an' from what Dave says
the remains of that camp an' the bones of two of the men must be
down the creek from here about five miles, on the same side we are
on.
"These wolf hunters had just fairly got established when Satanta an'
about twenty of his men come along, one day, just in time to see
this fellow, whose bones you found, a-starting off on the prairie to
kill a buffalo an' poison it for wolves. The Injuns hadn't been seen by
the white men, an' after this one was gone Satanta kept his men out
of sight of the wolf hunters, all except one besides himself, an' him
an' this one rode out in sight of the white men an' made signs of
friendship, an' the wolf hunters let 'em come into their camp. After
begging some grub from the white men the two Injuns made
themselves very agreeable an' friendly, an' by and by a few more of
the Kiowas dropped along an' was allowed to come into the camp;
for I s'pose they seemed so friendly that the white men thought it
wouldn't look neighborly to show any suspicion of such good Injuns.
"Satanta told Dave, bragging how slick he worked it, that when he
got these wolf hunters in a proper frame of mind an' saw that the
sign was right, he give the word, an' they turned loose and killed the
two men before they had time to realize the trap they'd got into.
"Then, after plundering the camp, a warrior called Lame Deer took
six others an' started off to follow up an' take in the man they'd seen
going away, for fear that he might somehow get wind of the affair
before coming back to camp and get away.
"They overtook him, so Satanta told Dave, just after the man had
killed a buffalo, skinned part of the hide back, an', as the Injuns
supposed, was about to cut out some o' the hump steak; an', just as
we made it out by the signs, the man, seeing the desperate fix he
was in, had cut his horse's throat to make a breastwork of his
carcass on one side, an', with the buffalo on the other, had got down
between 'em an' give the Injuns a rattlin' good fight, killin' one
Kiowa, badly woundin' another, an' killin' the two ponies you found
the bones of.
"But they got him at last—at least he killed himself when he was
down to his last cartridge—an' then they piled onto him an' stripped
every stitch of clothes off his body, but, seein' that the man had
committed suicide, their superstitions kept 'em from scalping him or
mutilating his body.
"An', now comes a gratifying part of the proceedings, as told to Dave
by Satanta, that the signs didn't reveal to us. When Lame Deer an'
his party had stripped the dead man an' his horse of all their
equipments an' was gittin' ready to return to Satanta's party at the
hunters' camp, some of the Injuns concluded to cut out a big chunk
of the hump steak of the buffalo that the white man had just
stripped the hide off of an' intended to cut out the steak himself, as
they s'posed.
"But it turned out that the white man had unconsciously set a death-
trap for some of 'em; for he had already poisoned the skinned side
of the buffalo, and when the Injuns got back to the camp an' cooked
an' eat their fresh hump steak all that eat the fresh meat was
poisoned, an' four of 'em kicked the bucket right there.
"Well, sir, Dave says, this so scared the rest of the Injuns that,
although they had packed their ponies with a lot of the white men's
provender, they were afraid to use any of the food, an' so they piled
all of it into the white men's wagon an' set fire to it an' burned the
whole business.
"Then, packing the bodies of their dead warriors on their ponies,
they made their way back to their main village, some miles down the
creek, a little the loser in the long run, for, although they had killed
the three white men an' destroyed their outfit, it had cost 'em five
warriors.
"The wiping out of these wolf hunters," Tom went on, "corroborates
what I've often told you, an' what your own experience ought to
teach you, that it's never safe to depend on the friendship of Injuns
—'specially Kiowas. Whenever they can get a good chance at a white
man, or a small party of whites, they don't hesitate to murder 'em—
an' 'specially a party of hunters, for that class they consider their
natural enemies on account of the hunters killing what the Injuns
claim to be the red man's game.
"I left them bones with the adjutant over to the fort," continued
Tom, "as he thought maybe somebody might come along who could
throw more light on the mystery. Then I called on Weisselbaum an'
told him we were just a-gettin' under good headway poisoning
wolves, trapping beaver, an' so forth, an' he offered to buy all our
catch—wanted to make a bargain with me right then—but I stood
him off, for I think maybe we can do better to take our skins into
Leavenworth. Some of the officers wanted to know if we couldn't
bring 'em over a saddle of antelope for their mess whenever one of
us goes over there for our mail. I guess we can do it just as well as
not an' make a little spending money on the side; an', besides, it's
always a good idea to be on good terms with the officers at the
post, for we may want favors from them now an' then."
Since moving into our dugout we had found ourselves so much more
cramped for room than we had been in the tent that, following
Tom's suggestion and example, we had each built himself a swinging
frame of poles with a buffalo-hide stretched over it on which to
spread our beds. During the day we kept these hanging bunks triced
up to the timbers overhead, out of the way, lowering them to within
a couple of feet of the floor to sleep in after supper each evening.
We found them a luxury compared with sleeping on the hard
ground.
Next day, after Tom's return from the fort, Jack and I rode down the
creek to look for the bones of the wolf hunters of whom French
Dave had told Tom and had little difficulty in finding them, for the
burnt remains of their little log cabin, on the prairie, a little way from
the timber, attracted us and guided us to the spot. The bones of the
two men had been scattered by the wolves, but the irons of their
burnt wagon were lying just where the fire had left them.
That their camp had been established at a reasonable distance from
the timber and otherwise well located in a defensive point of view
showed that these men had had some knowledge of the dangers to
be guarded against from hostile Indians and that they had probably
been plainsmen of experience; but, as Tom said, their fatal error was
in allowing too many Indians to come into their camp.
We were now—about the middle of December—"doing a land-office
business," as Jack expressed it, in taking wolf pelts, gathering them
in daily about as fast as we could take care of them. Jack was doing
well also in beaver trapping, having already accumulated a lot of fine
furs.
Tom had rigged up a press by means of which we put the skins into
compact bales and stowed them away in the tent. The tunnel
connecting the dugout and tent came up into the latter right in the
centre, between the legs of the iron tripod that supported the tent-
pole, and he placed the bales of skins in a close wall all around the
tent, leaving an open space in the centre around the tripod, and I
asked him why.
"This tent," he answered, "will be our lookout station and also our
'bomb-proof' in case of need."
"The bales of fur'll make it bullet-proof, all right," I replied, "but I
don't see how we can see out after you get that bank of wolfskins
piled up toward the tops of the doors."
"When we get them up that high," said Tom, "I intend to cut three
or four loopholes in the canvas, about big enough to look through
an' shoot out of, an' over each hole, to keep out the weather, I'll sew
a flap that can be tucked up or let down to suit circumstances."
"Great head," said Jack. "A good general was spoiled when Tom
enlisted."
"'In time of peace, prepare for war,' was one of George Washington's
maxims," said Tom, "an' never was more sensible advice given for
either individual or nation."
Usually Jack and I did most of the hunting and scouting around over
the adjacent country, but now and then Tom would strike out for a
short trip up or down the creek on his own account.
One day, after being out for a short time, he came hurrying back
and began to delve in the mess-chest, inquiring for a fish-hook and
line that he had seen there, declaring that he had just found a lot of
fresh otter tracks on the bank of the creek.
"Why, Tom," asked Jack innocently, "do they catch otter with fish-
hooks?"
"No, you numskull," replied the old man impatiently, "the fish-hook
and line is to catch fish to bait traps for the otter.
"Now, then, Jack," continued the old man after finding his fishing-
tackle and assuring himself that it was in good condition, "come
along with me down to the beaver dam, an' while I catch a fish or
two for bait you pull up a couple of your beaver traps an' we'll set
for otter."
"Well, I guess I can spare you a couple of traps now," replied Jack.
"I ain't catching as many beavers lately as when I first started in. I
think I'm getting the herd pretty well thinned out. But I've done
pretty well at trapping, for I've took some thirty odd nice beaver
skins besides a few muskrats."
A few hours later the two men returned to camp after having caught
some fish and baited and set the traps for otter, and next morning,
taking Jack with him, Tom found, on visiting his traps and fishing
them up out of the water, a fine otter fastened by a leg in each trap
and drowned. Later Tom took a number of otter skins, but they were
by no means as numerous as the beaver.
Black Prince, after he became accustomed to it, was a much better
buffalo horse than either of the mustangs, though, when two
mounted hunters went out, the buckskin bronco, Vinegar, did pretty
well for that work. The gray mare, Polly, could not be brought near
enough to a buffalo to be used as a hunter. Now and then Jack and I
went afoot down to the slough to kill some ducks or geese. Our
shepherd dog Found was a good retriever, and when we went
gunning for water-fowl we generally took him along to bring ashore
any birds killed on the water.
"I want to remind you men," said Tom one day, "that this fine
weather we've been having can't, in the nature of things, last much
longer. We're liable to have a cold rain, turning to a sleet or snow-
storm, or maybe a regular old blizzard swooping down on us now
soon, an' we must be prepared for it. Our camp's in pretty good
shape, but we haven't fitted ourselves out with fur caps an' mittens
an' other fixings to enable us to stand the winds of winter. I propose
that we put in our spare time for the next few days a-dressing some
hides, an' then a-cutting out and making us a good fur cap an' pair
of mittens apiece, an' something in the way of buffalo overshoes,
too, to slip on over our boots, an' a wolfskin overcoat apiece.
"Now, the first thing to do is to select the hides to be used an' flesh
'em, an' then get out that package of alum that we brought along to
tan 'em with an' go to dressing 'em. Those little yellow fox skins ain't
worth much to sell, but they will be just the things for caps an'
mittens. I've got an old buffalo robe that we can cut up for
overshoes an' put rawhide soles to 'em. As for myself, I've been
thinking that the next time I go over to the fort I'll see if I can find
enough dressed buffalo calfskins in Weisselbaum's stock—it'll only
take about six or eight—to make me an overcoat; for a buffalo
calfskin overcoat is a mighty serviceable garment for winter wear."
"You're right, they are," said Jack, "but I guess me an' Peck'll have
to put up with a coyote coat apiece for knockin' around here this
winter, and when we get back to Leavenworth we'll have a stylish
overcoat of beaver skins put up for next winter. What do you say,
Peck?"
"I'm favorable," I replied, "but, as this is a partnership business, of
course we'll have to pay Tom for his interest in the beaver skins."
"Well," said the old man, "I'll balance the account with you this way.
I'll make it a stand-off, if I get otter skins enough, by having me a
fancy overcoat made of them."
The caps, mittens, overshoes, and coats were duly made and gave
us much comfort during the storms of winter.
Game continued plenty. We often killed antelope within a few rods of
our dugout and sometimes had to turn out in the night and help the
dog drive a herd of buffalo out of camp.
 CHAPTER XV
WILD BILL VISITS US

In preparing for a probable blizzard we had hauled up several loads

of good, dry wood and chopped much of it into stove wood, carrying
it into our quarters and stowing it away in the tunnel, still leaving a
passageway, however. We found that the tunnel acted as a flue and
caused such a draught through our little room that we were forced
to temporarily close up the opening in the tent by placing a bale of
wolfskins over the hole. We now put our stock into their dugout
stable at night, giving them a little hay to gnaw at, and during the
day, when not in use, we kept them out on the dry buffalo-grass. As
yet we were feeding them no grain, saving that for a time of need.
"From now on," Tom said, "I want you men to be particular to put
harness, tools, an' everything under shelter of nights, so that we can
find these things when we want 'em, for we're liable to get up 'most
any morning now and find a couple of feet of snow on the ground
an' this ravine between us an' the stable drifted level full. In that
case we'll want the spade an' shovel to clear away a passage to the
stable door, so's we can 'tend to the stock; for a blizzard is liable to
keep up the howl for several days an' nights; an' during such a spell
we won't dare to poke our noses out of the shanty further than to
feed the stock. We'll fix Found a comfortable bed in the tent,
between the stacks of wolfskins, where he can be of some service as
a sentry without being too much exposed, but in case of a very keen
spell we'll bring him into the dugout."
Previous to this time Jack and I had explored the country for a
distance of ten or twelve miles in every direction—not looking for
game particularly, for that was always plenty close around camp, but
for signs of the presence of Indians. We had discovered, however, no
fresh signs—nothing to indicate that Indians had visited this part of
the country more recently than a couple of months past. This fact
encouraged us, and we hoped that we would be fortunate enough to
finish our winter's work undisturbed. Still, Indians were likely to be
moving about occasionally, even at this time of the year, and might
yet discover our camp, in which case they might make it unpleasant
for us.
This part of the plains was sometimes ranged over by the
Cheyennes, Arapahoes, and other tribes, but had been for some
time past the special range of the Kiowas, who, under the leadership
of Satank, Satanta, and Big Tree, were ever ready to wipe out a
small party when the opportunity presented.
While we relied somewhat on our proximity to Fort Larned as a
protection from Indian depredations, we felt that our only real
security was in not being discovered by the Kiowas until our hunting
season was over and we were ready to break camp and return to
the settlements.
On Tom's last trip over to the fort he had learned that our old
Company K, First Cavalry, together with the other three companies
from Fort Wise, under command of Captain Elmer Otis, had passed
by Fort Larned a few days before, en route to Fort Leavenworth and
the war.
We were all sorry that we had not learned of the passing of our old
command in time for one of our party, at least, to meet them at Fort
Larned and exchange gossip with them; and Jack was regretting that
he had not re-enlisted, instead of going wolf hunting, so that he
could now be going to the front with them. He feared that the
fighting would be all over and the war brought to a close before he
got a chance at it.
"Don't you fret about this war coming to a close before you can get
a whack at them rebels," said Tom. "It's just a-getting under good
headway now, an' there'll be lots of good fighting yet for you and
me; and more'n likely, if we live through it, we'll be longing for peace
long before peace comes again."
Our tent was fast becoming filled with bales of wolfskins, and one
day I asked:
"Tom, what are we going to do for some place to store our
wolfskins? Our tent is nearly full, and we are still taking them, and
the season isn't half through."
"I've been thinking about that, too," replied the old man, "and I
guess I'll make another trip over to the fort to-morrow to get them
buffalo calfskins for my overcoat, an' while I'm over there I'll try to
get the use of an empty room there among the old dobes where we
can store 'em; an' we can take a wagon-load over from time to time
as the tent gets too full."
Next day he went to the fort, returning on the following evening,
with a lot of Indian-dressed buffalo calfskins for his overcoat, and
reported that he had engaged an unused room of Weisselbaum
wherein to store our baled skins.
Tom soon had a very serviceable overcoat made from the calfskins—
far better than the coyote coats Jack and I had made us—lining it
with a red blanket and covering the collar and cuffs with muskrat
skins, which have a beautiful fur, somewhat similar to the beaver in
color but not so heavy.
As yet we had had but one light fall of snow—nothing like a storm—
and it had soon passed off, the weather continuing fair but quite
cold of nights and mornings.
One day, as we were about to sit down to dinner, my attention was
arrested by a whoop or two that had a familiar sound, and, on
looking out on the trail toward the fort, I saw a mounted man
coming at a gallop. Found, too, seemed to think he had heard that
whoop before, for he ran up onto the dirt roof of our dugout, looked
and listened a moment at the approaching horseman, and when the
shout was repeated he hesitated no longer but with a wild yelp of
recognition dashed away to meet the newcomer.
I had just time to call to my comrades in the dugout: "See here,
men, I believe it's Wild Bill," when, as they came rushing out, I
noticed the mounted man halt suddenly and roll off his horse as the
dog met him, and in a moment more Found and his master were
rolling over the ground hugging each other in mad delight, while
Bill's horse stood looking on in apparent astonishment at their wild
antics.
As Bill came walking up to camp, leading his horse, with Found
prancing and yelping about him, I thought I had never seen a dog
so nearly crazy with delight. No doubt, Found had often thought of
his absent master and had wondered what had become of him and
whether he would ever see him again; and now they were reunited,
and both seemed overjoyed at the meeting.
After hearty greetings and handshakes all around the scout tied his
horse to a wheel of the wagon while we all retired to the dugout,
where our dinners were in danger of getting cold, and were soon
seated around the mess box, eating and talking, for we all had a
great deal to say to Bill, and he to us. Found had huddled down
beside his master and was not neglected.
"I hope you've come to stay several days with us, Bill," said Tom.
"No, boys," replied the scout; "I'll stay with you to-night, but I've got
to get back to the fort to-morrow. You see, the regulars are going
away before long, and the troops that's coming to take their places
are volunteers and, of course, green as grass about frontier service
and managing Injuns; an' so me an' French Dave an' a few other ol'
hands have got to get out an' scout around and find out where the
Injuns are at an' try to find out how they're feelin' toward the
whites, an' so forth. That's what I was sent out here ahead of the
volunteers for. But when I get back to the fort I'll be close enough to
come over an' take a square meal with you every now and then."
Leaving Bill and Tom to talk while the old man cleared up the dishes,
Jack and I went out to attend to the stock; and the Irishman
suggested that while I took our two broncos out of the stable and
staked them on the lee side of the haystack he would unsaddle the
scout's horse and put him in the stable. When Bill came out and
found what he had done he remonstrated.
"Now, boys, I don't want you to go to any trouble on my account,
for I'm used to taking things as they come, an' my horse is, too. I'm
afraid it'll be hard on your broncos to turn 'em out in the cold."
"Not a bit of it," replied Jack. "The weather's not bad now, an'
they're tough, anyway. You see, we don't have the honor of
entertainin' the Honorable William Hickock, Esq., every day, an' we
want to treat him so well that he'll come again."
"Well, I'll sure do it," replied the scout; then taking a look at our
camp and surrounding grounds, he added: "Boys, you've certainly
picked out an' built a good camp an' planned everything handy for
your winter's work. I think I can see ol' Tom's handiwork all through
this layout."
"You're right," said Jack; "if it wasn't for ol' Tom's brains I don't know
what we'd do."
Going into the stable again, Jack brought out Black Prince to show
him to Bill.
"This is the horse that we captured from them jayhawkers back
t'other side of Council Grove," he said as he led the black out for the
scout's inspection.
"He's a fine-lookin' fellow, Jack. Is he any good?"
"You bet. One of the best horses for all-'round service I ever saw,"
replied the enthusiastic Irishman.
We had a great time that afternoon relating to Bill all the happenings
since we parted with him in Leavenworth, and after supper we still
had plenty to talk about by candle-light.
"Boys, you seem to have taken good care of Found," said Bill,
stroking the dog's head again for the thousandth time, "judging by
his looks and the contented way he's stuck to you. Has he been any
account to you?"
"That he has," replied Jack. "He's one of the best and smartest dogs
I ever saw. I don't know how we'd get along without him."
"Well, I guess he may as well make his home with you as long as
you stay here, for I'll be away from the post pretty often, an' I
wouldn't like to leave him there to run with everybody; but if you've
no objections I'll take him over to Larned with me to-morrow, just to
give him a little exercise an' let him renew old acquaintance with the
soldiers an' officers, for they all know him; an' I'll be coming by this
way in a day or so again—for I expect I'll have to take a trip over to
the Smoky Hill to locate the Kiowas—an' then I'll leave him with you
again."
"All right, Bill, he's your dog," replied Jack, "but he's mighty welcome
here an' he's a lot of help to us minding camp."
"No doubt of it, for he's got more sense than some people have. I
can talk to him an' tell him to do things, an' he seems to understand
'most everything I say to him an' will do just what I tell him to."
"Bill," I asked, "do the officers at the garrison seem to think there's
any danger of the Indians going on the war-path?"
"Well, no, I don't think they really expect any outbreak," replied the
scout, "but Injuns, you know, are the most uncertain varmints on
earth; an' on account of taking away the regulars an' putting green
volunteers to garrisoning the posts on the plains, it's more'n likely
that the Injuns'll soon discover the difference an' take advantage of
the chance to raise a ruction. I've got to look up the Kiowas first,
'cause they're the most likely ones to make trouble; an' when I find
their winter camp I'll stay with 'em a few days, to kinder feel of 'em
an' see what sort of a humor they're in, an' then I'll hunt up the
Cheyennes an' Arapahoes next an' feel of their pulses, too. An' while
I'm a-doing that job French Dave an' the other fellows'll be looking
up the Comanches an' Prairie Apaches—they generally range
between the Cimarron an' Red River, an' ain't likely to come up this
way before grass comes, anyway, but the Kiowas an' Cheyennes'll
need watchin'."
"Well, when you get back you must call around here and let us know
what you think of the prospect for peace or war—that is, if you find
out anything," I said.
"How many of you will go on this trip?" asked Tom.
"Only two—me an' John Adkins. You see, Frenchy is to take a man
with him an' round up the country south of the Arkansas, along the
Cimarron an' the Canadians, an' I'll take Adkins with me an' scout
the country north till we find the camps."
Next morning, after breakfast, Wild Bill, followed by Found, took the
trail back to Fort Larned. Jack and I made our usual round of the
baits in the forenoon, skinned the dead wolves that we found lying
about them, brought in the skins and pegged them down to dry.
In the afternoon we started out afoot to kill some fresh meat for our
mess, the Irishman going up the creek in search of antelope or deer
while I walked down to the slough to see if there were any water-
fowl there to be picked up. I killed a sand-hill crane and returned to
camp. Jack had done better than I, having killed a large deer and
come back and taken Prince out to carry the meat in. Tom had
outdone us both, having killed four antelope without leaving camp.
"How in the world did you do it, Tom?" I asked as I come to where
he was busy skinning and dressing four dead antelope that he had
strung up.
"Well, sir, I'll tell you how it was," replied he with a gratified smile,
still plying his butcher-knife. "Soon after you men left camp a bunch
of antelope come playing 'round on the prairie out yonder, up the
ravine a piece, but, as they wouldn't come quite close enough to suit
me, I got out a red blanket, tied it to a little pole, an' crept along up
the ravine till I got about opposite to 'em, an' then raised the red
blanket above the bank an' planted the pole.
"Soon as they sighted the strange red thing they raised their heads
an' stared at it a bit, an' then come up toward it, all in a bunch, an'
stopped an' took another look. Then they seemed to get frightened
an' turned an' run away, but I knew they'd come back. They circled
'round an' come up again an' halted for another look, an' then run
away again an' circled 'round an' come back, an' each time they
came a little closer.
"I noticed that when they'd halt to gaze at the blanket they'd line up
four or five abreast; so the idea struck me that if I could get back
into another little ravine that was close by, an' crawl up that a little
ways, so as to take 'em in flank when they'd line up thataway, I'd
get two or three of 'em. I did that, an' the next time they halted an'
lined up there were four of 'em in range, with their sides to me, an' I
turned loose an' killed three of 'em an' wounded the fourth so that I
got him next shot."
"You did a good job, and did it well, too," I replied. Just then Jack
came up with his load of deer meat. "Why, Jack," I began, "how in
the world did you happen to kill a buck? I didn't think you were
hunter enough to stalk a deer."
"You don't appear to know me, young fellow," he returned with a
swaggering air. "It's a mighty hunter I'm getting to be, as well as a
famous trapper."
"But tell us all about how you got that buck; I know there's
something to explain about it," I replied.
"Well, now," laying aside his assumed braggadocio and becoming
the candid Irishman again, "to tell you the honest God's truth, I just
blundered onto him. It was this way: I was a-sneaking along
through the timber when all of a suddent I sees this laddybuck a-
standing broadside to me, only about twenty steps away, an' he
hadn't seen nor heard me, for I was behind a big tree. I was that
nervous I didn't think I could have hit the side of a barn, so I rested
my carbine against the side of the tree, took as good aim as I could
about where I thought his heart ought to be—right behind the fore
shoulder—an' let him have it; an' I'm blest if I didn't fetch him, first
pop. He gave one big bound into the air an' fell dead; an' just then
two does, that had been laying down behind some bushes, jumped
an' run an' were out of sight in a jiffy, before I could shove another
cartridge into me carbine. But I didn't want any more deer meat just
then, so I came back to camp to get the horse to fetch the meat in."
"But, Tom," I asked, "what are we going to do with so much
venison?"
"Oh, it'll keep, all right; but then I'll be going over to the fort again
in a day or so, an' I guess I'd as well take two or three of the
carcasses over there an' sell 'em to the officers' mess."
 CHAPTER XVI
TOM LOCKS THE STABLE DOOR

This evening, just before dark, when we were bringing in the tools
and making things secure for the night, I noticed that Tom had got
out an old padlock that had long lain unused in the mess-chest, and
then had found a piece of trace-chain, and with the two had securely
locked the stable door—a precaution that we had never thought
necessary before—and I asked him: "What are you doing that for,
Tom? Seen any fresh signs about?"
"No," he answered, "but 'tain't much trouble an' it's always best to
be on the safe side. We've been used to having Found to do guard-
duty of nights, an' it may have got us in a fashion of sleeping
sounder than we would if we'd had to look out for ourselves; now,
while the dog is away, with the stable door unlocked it would be
easy enough for an Injun to sneak our horses out an' get away with
'em."
I smiled at what seemed to me a useless precaution and it passed
from my mind; but along in the night, after we had been some hours
asleep, I was suddenly awakened by a slight noise like the rattling of
a chain.
Instantly I was thoroughly aroused and remembered Tom's chain on
the stable door. Had I been dreaming? I raised my head cautiously
and listened intently. There it was again—unmistakably the chain on
the stable door.
I determined to investigate before arousing my comrades, and
slipping quietly out of my bed I tiptoed carefully to the door, pulled
up one corner of the muslin cover to the lookout hole, and peeped
out at the stable door. The moon was shining brightly, and there, to
my astonishment, sat a man, crouched at the door of the stable
intently working at the lock, either trying to pick it or pry it off. He
was not an Indian, either. He had soldier clothes on, and beside him
on the ground lay a small bundle.
I took in all this at a glance, and then quietly and quickly slipped
back to Tom's bed, shook him gently, and whispered:
"Sh! don't make a bit of noise, Tom. There's a man working at the
lock on the stable door. Get up quietly while I wake Jack."
It was more difficult to keep the excitable Irishman quiet while
arousing him, but I succeeded in getting him up without making
noise enough to be heard outside. Each man took a look through the
peep-hole and saw that the crouching soldier was still intently
working at the lock.
"Now," I whispered to my comrades, "let each one of us get his
carbine or pistol ready, and be careful to keep them from rattling,
and when I open our door we'll call on him to throw up his hands
and take him prisoner."
"I think I'll give him a load of shot first," whispered Jack, who had
the shotgun, "an' then call on him to throw up."
Finding that I could not open our door without making a noise, I
jerked it wide open quickly. As I did so the kneeling man turned the
full side of his face to me, and in the bright moonlight I recognized
private John Flaherty, one of two soldiers who not long before, with
Lieutenant Smith, had been caught in a blizzard at our camp and
had stayed there until the storm was over. Seeing Jack raise his
shotgun to fire, I knocked the muzzle up as I exclaimed:
"Don't shoot, Jack, it's Flaherty!"
He had pressed the trigger, but my throwing the barrels up sent the
load of shot into the dirt roof of the stable instead of into Flaherty's
back.
I wondered at the stupid, sluggish manner of the man as he rose to
his feet at the report of the gun, but when he started off up the path
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