Remarkable Escape

Back when Nebraska ran from the present Nebraska–Kansas line north to Canada, in a section that would later become Montana, a man named John Coulter found himself in a fight for his very life. The year was 1806, and Coulter was a part of the company of men that crossed the continent to the Pacific Ocean with Lewis and Clark. As they made their way back in 1806, Colter saw many signs of beaver on the headwaters of the Missouri River. He really wanted to trap beaver, so he got leave of Captain Meriwether Lewis to stay there and trap. That area of the country was filled with the terrible Blackfeet Indians. A man named Captain Lewis had killed a Blackfeet warrior who was trying to steal horses, and from that time on, the tribe hated white men and killed them without mercy.

That was not news to Colter, but he loved to trap, so with another hunter named John Potts, he set out into the wilds of the best beaver streams of the Blackfeet hunting grounds. The two men understood the great risk they faced and were familiar with the ways of the Indians. Being prudent, they set their traps at night, collected them early in the morning, and stayed hidden during the day. While they tried to stay safe, it was probably inevitable that they would eventually cross paths. That day came early one morning when they were softly paddling up a small creek in their canoe to take in some traps. Suddenly, they heard trampling along the bank. Colter whispered, “Indians,” and wanted to turn back, but Potts said, “Buffalo,” and kept going. After a few more strokes of the paddle, they found themselves surrounded on both shores by hundreds of Blackfeet warriors signaling for them to come closer. They knew that there was no way to escape, so Colter steered the canoe toward shore. As they landed, an Indian grabbed Potts’ rifle, but Colter, being very strong, wrenched it back and handed it to Potts. Acting immediately, Potts managed to kill one of the warriors, but was quickly struck down, riddled with arrows.

The Indians captured Colter, stripped him, and discussed how they would kill him. At first, they considered using him as target practice, but the chief, wanting more excitement, asked if he could run fast. Colter, understanding their language, claimed he was a poor runner, though he was actually one of the fastest among the hunters, and the chief was misled. The chief led him a few hundred yards onto the prairie and set him loose to run for his life. With a war-whoop, the Indians gave chase as Colter sprinted across the open plain toward the Jefferson River, six miles away. Coulter’s only problem was that not only was he naked, but he was also barefoot, and that could prove to be a serious problem. The open plain was covered with cactus, and at every step he ran Coulter’s bare feet were being ripped to shreds. The fact that he was naked mattered very little at that point. His feet were filled with cactus thorns. Nevertheless, a man who knows that death is running behind him, also knows that cactus thorns in his feet matter as little as does the fact that he is naked. So, Colter ran faster than he had ever run in his life, with hundreds of Blackfeet warriors right behind him. He ran nearly halfway across the plain before he dared to look back over his shoulder. He saw that he had far outrun all the Indians except one who carried a spear and was not more than a hundred yards behind him.

With that, a glimmer of hope rose in Colter’s heart. Still, he had run so hard that blood was streaming from his nose, fully covering him. Coulter pressed on until he was within a mile of the river, when he heard the footsteps of the Indian with the spear close behind him. Glancing back, he saw the man was barely twenty yards away. Colter stopped abruptly, turned, and spread his arms. The sudden move startled the Indian, who tried to stop but, because he was so exhausted, he collapsed and broke his spear. Colter snatched up the spear point and drove it through the brave and into the ground, pinning the man there. He then sprinted on as the other Indians reached their fallen comrade, howling over his body. Seizing the moment, Colter ran on, reaching the cover of the riverside trees and dove into the water.

A little way out was an island, at the upper end of which was a great raft of driftwood in the water. After some trouble, Colter dived under this raft and got his head above the water between large logs that screened him from view. Almost immediately after Coulter got his head hidden the Indians came down the riverbank yelling like banshee. The Indians hunted the shores, walked out on the raft of driftwood over Colter’s head, pulling the logs, and peering among them for hours. Once, Colter thought they were about to set the raft on fire. Colter didn’t dare leave his hiding spot until night fell and the sounds of the Indians faded away. He swam far down the river before climbing onto the bank. Alone in the wild, he had no clothes, no weapon, and his feet were shredded by cactus thorns. The nearest trading post on the Yellowstone was hundreds of miles away, deep in hostile territory. Still, he was alive…fearless and strong, despite his injured and bleeding feet.

After the attack, the Blackfeet continued to attack the white men and especially the trappers, who they felt were robbing them of their food supply. Finally, the encounters drove Colter to give up trapping. Using the money from selling furs, he relocated to New Haven, Missouri, and bought a farm. In 1810, he married a woman named Sallie, but his peaceful days as a farmer were soon interrupted by the War of 1812. Coulter enlisted and fought under Nathan Boone. Coulter died while in service to his country, but he was not killed by the British. Sadly, he died of jaundice. After his death, his remains were shipped back to Missouri to his wife, who was said to have buried him on a bluff overlooking the Missouri River near New Haven, Missouri.