Our Cousin Who Helped Save the American Buffalo

 

While watching the PBS special The American Buffalo, I made a discovery that stopped me in my tracks. According to family research and records, I am related to Frederick Dupuis (also spelled Dupree or Dupris, 1819–1898)—a French-Canadian trader and South Dakota rancher often called “the man who saved the buffalo.” He is my 3rd cousin 4x removed, connected through the Dupuis line that runs from voyageurs and early settlers down to my more recent ancestors.

Frederick was born near Montreal, made his way into the upper Missouri fur trade by 1838, and eventually settled along the Cheyenne River in what is now South Dakota. There he married Good Elk Woman (Mary Ann), a Miniconjou Lakota woman. Together they raised a large family in a communal camp that blended cultures—French, Lakota, and the emerging cattle ranching world of the plains. He prospered as a trader and stock grower, but he also witnessed the near-total destruction of the vast buffalo herds that had once defined the region.

In 1883, when only scattered remnants remained, Frederick, his sons, and ranch hands captured a small number of buffalo calves (most accounts say five) from a remnant herd. Influenced in important ways by Mary’s Lakota perspective and the cultural importance of the Buffalo Nation, the family raised them on their ranch. From that tiny start the herd grew. After Frederick’s death in 1898 the animals were sold to Scotty Philip, whose much larger herd later supplied stock to Custer State Park and many other places. Descendants of those original Dupree calves still roam South Dakota prairies and beyond.

It is a powerful reminder that individual and family choices—rooted in both practical sense and cultural values—can change the course of a species’ history. The buffalo’s recovery is one of North America’s great conservation success stories, and my distant cousin’s family played an early, quiet, and essential part in it. Learning this connection makes the story feel personal. The same Dupuis bloodline that includes voyageurs and plains settlers also includes people who looked at vanishing herds and decided they were worth saving for the generations to come.

Our Family Tree Lineage:

Frederick Dupuis Dupuis (Dupuy) The South Dakota Cattleman & Buffalo Conservationist 1819-1898 3rd cousin 4x removed

Andrew (André) Dupuis (Dupuy) 1792-1850

Father of Frederick Dupuis Dupuis (Dupuy) The South Dakota Cattleman & Buffalo Conservationist

René Dupuis (Dupuy) 1764-1827

Father of Andrew (André) Dupuis (Dupuy)

François Dupuis (Dupuy) 1734-

Father of René Dupuis (Dupuy)

Francois Moise ( François) Dupuis (Dupuy) - Voyageur 1709-1764

Father of François Dupuis (Dupuy)

Marie Anne Dupuis (Dupuy) DNA match 1753-1807

Daughter of Francois Moise ( François) Dupuis (Dupuy) - Voyageur

Marie Angelique Baret (Barette) dit Courville DNA match 1779-1851

Daughter of Marie Anne Dupuis (Dupuy) DNA match

Marie Emélie Meunier dit Lagacé (Lagassé) 1808-1883

Daughter of Marie Angelique Baret (Barette) dit Courville DNA match

Lucy Passino (Pinsonneau) GD of two Voyageurs 1836-1917

Daughter of Marie Emélie Meunier dit Lagacé (Lagassé) -- 2nd great-grandmother

This draws from primary secondary sources such as the detailed South Dakota Magazine profile, Hall of Fame biographies, Find a Grave summaries, academic discussions of early private herds, and recent family/tribal recognitions. Minor discrepancies in dates or exact counts are normal for 19th-century frontier records; the overall historical role is well-supported.

More about Good Elk Woman 

Good Elk Woman (also known as Mary Ann Dupree/Dupuis, Umpa Waste Win, or Hehake-waste-win) was a Miniconjou Lakota woman and the wife of French-Canadian trader and rancher Frederick Dupuis/Dupree. 

She is increasingly recognized as a key influence—and in some family and historical accounts, the primary visionary—behind the family’s effort to capture and raise bison calves in the early 1880s, which helped seed important modern herds.

Background and family

She was born around 1824–1826 (sources vary slightly; one places it near Cherry Creek). She was the daughter of One Iron Horn and Red Dressing. As a Miniconjou Lakota, she belonged to one of the seven council fires of the Lakota (Teton Sioux) people, whose traditional territory centered on the Cheyenne River and surrounding plains in what is now South Dakota. 

She married Frederick Dupuis (who arrived in the Fort Pierre area around 1838) circa the mid-1840s. He adopted her son from a previous relationship (often identified as Henry Makes Room). Together they had about nine children, including sons such as Peter (Pete), Xavier (David Xavier), Edward, and Fred (Chunkagiba), and daughters including Maggie, Esther/Estella, Alma/Armaine, Josephine, and Marcella. The family lived communally on a ranch on the north side of the Cheyenne River (roughly 35 miles west of where it meets the Missouri, near present-day Carlin Bridge/Eagle Butte area). Their household often included relatives in tipis nearby and regularly fed dozens of people; it functioned as a cultural and social hub blending Lakota and French-Canadian/settler ways. 

She died on 13 February 1900 in what is now Ziebach County, South Dakota, and is buried in the Dupris Congregational Mission Cemetery near Eagle Butte (alongside Frederick, who died in 1898).

Role in saving the buffalo

By the early 1880s, plains bison had been reduced to scattered remnants through commercial hunting, settlement, and deliberate policy. For Lakota people the buffalo (Pte Oyate, the Buffalo Nation) were not merely animals but central to spiritual, cultural, economic, and physical life—providers of food, shelter, clothing, tools, and teachings. Good Elk Woman’s perspective as a Lakota woman is widely credited with motivating the family’s conservation action. 

Family oral history and later accounts (including from descendants) describe her as the driving force. One descendant narrative recounts that she had a dream about saving the buffalo and urged Frederick and their sons to act. Under her influence, Frederick, sons (notably Peter), and others captured several orphaned or young calves (most accounts say five) around 1883 from a remnant herd (locations cited include near the Grand River or farther west toward Montana). The family raised them on the ranch; the small herd grew (reaching roughly nine pureblood animals by 1888 and larger numbers later). After Frederick’s death the animals passed through family/estate hands and were sold to Scotty Philip, whose expanded herd later supplied stock to Custer State Park and many other places. 

Sources note that she was not only the visionary but also practical: involved in camp life, family guidance, and the day-to-day work of the ranch and herd. In Lakota cultural terms, her role as matriarch and her connection to the Buffalo Nation align with traditional teachings (including resonances with White Buffalo Calf Woman as a spiritual mediator). Recent commemorations, such as the 2026 Fort Pierre sculpture dedication, explicitly highlight her leadership, Lakota heritage, and commitment, correcting earlier narratives that focused almost exclusively on Frederick or Scotty Philip.

Historical context and legacy

She lived through profound upheaval: the peak and collapse of the buffalo herds, the fur and robe trade, the Black Hills gold rush, military campaigns, the establishment of reservations (including Cheyenne River), and the forced transition from a buffalo-based plains economy. The Dupree ranch itself bridged worlds—French-Canadian trading/ranching and Lakota kinship and hospitality.

Limited contemporary written records exist about her personal life (typical for many Indigenous women of the era, whose stories were often filtered through male or non-Native chroniclers). What survives comes largely through family histories, later historical reconstructions, and descendants’ accounts. Photographs exist (one shows her with Frederick and son Xavier). She is remembered today as an early Indigenous conservationist whose cultural values and determination helped preserve a keystone species for future generations, including tribal herds. 

In short, while Frederick is often labeled “the man who saved the buffalo,” Good Elk Woman’s Lakota worldview, dream/vision, and family leadership provided essential purpose and direction. Her story underscores how Indigenous women and knowledge were central to one of the most important early efforts to prevent the extinction of the American bison.

This extraordinary story was discovered 7 Nov. 2026, National Bison Day… to me that’s just one more piece of Ancestral Synchronicity, as I’ve been a huge lover of Buffalo my entire life.

Buffalo herd, in Yellowstone's Lemar Valley, c. 1999

The Calling: Ancestral Synchronicity -- Lead in to Empires of the Wilderness

 

The Calling: Ancestral Synchronicity

The phenomenon is often called synchronicity—those uncanny, meaningful coincidences that feel too precise to be chance. Carl Jung gave it the name. In the quiet work of genealogy it becomes something more intimate: ancestral synchronicity, or transgenerational resonance. It is the moment when a lifelong passion, a skill practiced in ignorance, or a place that has always felt like home suddenly reveals itself as inheritance.

My life has been a long conversation with that resonance.

Long before I knew a single name on the family tree, I was already living the daily reality of my French-Canadian ancestors—the coureurs de bois and voyageurs who spent more than two centuries paddling birchbark canoes, trapping, and ranging the northern forests and rivers of the continent. What I once thought were personal eccentricities now read like memory written in the blood.

Here is how the pattern reveals itself.

1. Canoeing and the Open Water

The voyageurs were professional canoeists. They moved thousands of miles of trade goods and furs across the Great Lakes and inland waterways in fragile, heavily loaded birchbark craft. For sixty years I have done the same—solo and in company—on many of the same watersheds. The muscle memory of reading water, the feel of a paddle biting current, the long days of portage and camp: these were never hobbies. They were rehearsal.

2. Trapping and the Language of the Land

The coureurs de bois learned Native methods of trapping, hunting, and hide-dressing because survival demanded it. As a boy I built a box trap and caught a fox. I spent years learning the quiet habits of animals and the lay of wild country. The knowledge felt innate, as though the land itself were reminding me of something I had once known.

3. Reenactment as Remembering

When I discovered mountain-man rendezvous in the 1980s, the pull was immediate and addictive. Reenactors sometimes speak of “toughing it out like the ancestors did.” For me it was more than costume and campfire. It was the hands remembering what the mind had not yet learned from books—how to live with little, how to move through timber, how to sit quietly in the old ways.

4. The Two-Century Thread

French-Canadian involvement in the fur trade was not a brief episode. From the early 1600s onward, men from the same small cluster of parishes—especially La Prairie—signed contracts, disappeared into the pays d’en haut, and returned (or did not) with the rhythm of the seasons. When I finally uncovered that history after six decades of living its outward forms, the “pull” stopped looking like coincidence. It looked like continuity.

The fur trade was never only commerce. It was a complete way of being in the world—one that shaped bodies, skills, temperament, and bloodlines. My own path simply continued the pattern in modern dress.

My Life’s Ancestral Synchronicity Timeline

1950s

Learned to ride on the Montana family homestead. Drawn to solo canoeing. Built a box trap and caught a fox. Spent boyhood riding horses through wilderness.

1960s

Sought adventure as a soldier and paratrooper. Worked as a carpenter—hard physical labor that mirrored the strength the old trade demanded.

1970s

First learned I carried French-Canadian blood and wondered about the fur trade. Bought my first canoe and floated fifty miles of the Owens River.

1980s

Discovered fur-trade rendezvous reenactments. Canoed the Boundary Waters (eight days), Algonquin, Yoho, Maligne Lake, and the waters of Glacier, Yellowstone, and Grand Teton. Toured old Quebec and Montreal; bought an Assumption sash and a crooked knife. Returned to remote horseback travel. Began collecting the writers and artists who had chronicled the same world: Schultz, Linderman, Grinnell, Laut, Nute, Russell, Remington, and the rest.

1990s

Solo-paddled 150 miles of the Upper Missouri from Fort Benton to James Kipp. Continued canoeing the Snake River country. Bought, sold, and traded Old West antiques. Designed and built artistic furniture carved with forest, Native, and frontier motifs.

2000s

Breakthrough: the Pinsonneau and Lagacé lines opened all the way back to the earliest years of New France.

2010s

Continued canoeing the Snake and Tetons. Genealogical study led to Louis Lavallée’s La Prairie en Nouvelle-France, 1647–1760. On pages 144–159 I found my own people named among the parish’s founding families:

Barette, Bourassa, Boyer, Caron, Cusson, Deneau, Desrochers, Diel, Dupuis, Duquet, Gagné, Leber, Lemaistre, Lemieux, Marier, Moreau, Perras, Pinsonneau, Poupart, Robidou, Roy… That list launched years of deeper research into La Prairie and its unbroken connection to the North American fur trade.

2020s

Wrote more than 250 posts on the fur trade. Published The River’s Blood: The La Prairie Voyageur Legacy (394 pages, 30 January 2026).The synchronicity was never subtle. For sixty years the life arrived first; the names and documents followed. What I had been doing all along was not imitation. It was continuation.

This is the door that opens onto the larger story—the multi-generational saga of the voyageur bloodline that began on the shores of the St. Lawrence and eventually reached the stump ranches of Montana…

Empires of the Wilderness: The Voyageur Bloodline of La Prairie (1585–1917) https://laprairie-voyageur-canoes.blogspot.com/2026/10/empires-of-wilderness-voyageur.html

Lagacé of the Missouri: A Voyageur’s Life Among the Ponca -- Chapter One – Roots in the Lower St. Lawrence (1749–early 1770s)

Lagacé of the Missouri:  A Voyageur’s Life Among the Ponca

A Saga of Jean-Baptiste Meunier dit Lagacé (1749–1822) 

Chapter One – Roots in the Lower St. Lawrence (1749–early 1770s)

In the cool, clear light of morning on the 8th of April, 1749, amid the rugged shores of Kamouraska, Jean-Baptiste Meunier dit Lagacé entered the world. The salty tang of the St. Lawrence River mingled with the earthy scent of pine forests and fresh-tilled soil. A chill breeze off the water carried the distant cries of gulls and the rhythmic lap of waves against rocky banks. It whispered of wider waters and longer journeys, though no one in the modest family cabin could yet hear how far those whispers would carry the newborn son of Joseph Mignier Lagacé and Félicité Caouette.

The world that received him was one of narrow clearings and long winters. Kamouraska and the neighboring parishes along the south shore—Ste-Anne-de-la-Pocatière, Cap-Saint-Ignace—lived by the river’s moods. Spring brought the breakup of ice, the first canoes, and the smell of wet earth. Summer meant long days in the fields, the creak of wooden plows, and the warm, yeasty aroma of hearth-baked bread. Autumn filled the air with woodsmoke and the sharp scent of curing fish. Winter locked the land under snow and silence, broken only by the crack of frost in the timbers and the distant howl of wolves.

Jean-Baptiste grew up in a household already marked by the voyageur’s calling. His father Joseph had known the rivers; uncles and older brothers—André and Charles among them—would follow the same paths of paddle and portage. The “dit Lagacé” name itself carried the echo of earlier generations who had come from France with the Carignan-Salières Regiment and stayed to carve lives from the St. Lawrence valley. Stories told around the fire spoke of distant posts, of Indigenous allies and rivals, of the weight of a packed canoe and the freedom of open water. Even as a boy he absorbed the language of the trade: the difference between an avant and a milieu, the value of a good sash and a sharp axe, the way a man measured distance not in leagues alone but in the number of pipes smoked between rests.

Parish life gave the years their outward shape. Baptism, first communion, the weekly Mass in stone churches that smelled of beeswax and damp mortar. The priest’s Latin, the congregation’s French, the occasional Indigenous visitor whose presence reminded everyone that the valley was still a borderland. Jean-Baptiste learned his letters imperfectly or not at all—like many who would later mark contracts with an “X”—but he learned the deeper literacy of river and forest: how to read weather in the clouds, how to judge the strength of a current, how to move quietly through woods where a misstep could mean a twisted ankle or worse.

By his mid-teens the pattern of the shore had begun to feel too small. The Conquest had changed the flag above Montreal, yet the fur trade continued, now under British merchants who still needed the skills of French-Canadian paddlers. Young men left each spring for the pays d’en haut and returned—if they returned—with wages, stories, and a restlessness that no plow could cure. Jean-Baptiste watched them go and felt the same pull. The rivers beyond the St. Lawrence promised more than the narrow fields of Kamouraska: wider horizons, harder tests, and a chance to write his own name, however roughly, into the ledgers of a larger world.

In the early 1770s, somewhere in his early twenties, he made the choice that would define him. He turned from the familiar creak of the plow toward the port of Montreal, toward the notaries’ offices and the bobbing canoes, toward the life of a voyageur. The salty tang of the lower St. Lawrence would stay in his memory, a baseline against which every later river—the Mississippi, the Missouri, the Niobrara—would be measured. But the current that carried him outward had already taken hold.

The boy from Kamouraska was becoming the man the trade would shape: resilient, practical, marked by long absences and the quiet knowledge that home was both a place on the map and a direction the heart remembered when the paddle rose and fell in endless rhythm.

NEXT: Lagacé of the Missouri: A Voyageur’s Life Among the Ponca -- Chapter Two – Marriage and the First Contracts (1775–1779)

https://laprairie-voyageur-canoes.blogspot.com/2026/11/lagace-of-missouri-voyageurs-life-among_0819554216.html

Lagacé of the Missouri: A Voyageur’s Life Among the Ponca A Saga of Jean-Baptiste Meunier dit Lagacé (1749–1822) 

Lagacé of the Missouri: A Voyageur’s Life Among the Ponca -- Chapter One – Roots in the Lower St. Lawrence (1749–early 1770s)

https://laprairie-voyageur-canoes.blogspot.com/2026/11/lagace-of-missouri-voyageurs-life-among_01211928148.html

Lagacé of the Missouri: A Voyageur’s Life Among the Ponca -- Chapter Two – Marriage and the First Contracts (1775–1779)

https://laprairie-voyageur-canoes.blogspot.com/2026/11/lagace-of-missouri-voyageurs-life-among_0819554216.html

Lagacé of the Missouri: A Voyageur’s Life Among the Ponca -- Chapter Three – South to the Illinois Country and St. Louis (late 1770s–1780s)

https://laprairie-voyageur-canoes.blogspot.com/2026/11/lagace-of-missouri-voyageurs-life-among_0874299655.html

Lagacé of the Missouri: A Voyageur’s Life Among the Ponca -- Chapter Four – “Discovering” the Ponca (1789–1793)

https://laprairie-voyageur-canoes.blogspot.com/2026/11/lagace-of-missouri-voyageurs-life-among_02033968713.html

Lagacé of the Missouri: A Voyageur’s Life Among the Ponca -- Chapter Five – The Trading House at the Niobrara (1794–mid-1790s)

https://laprairie-voyageur-canoes.blogspot.com/2026/11/lagace-of-missouri-voyageurs-life-among_0822708072.html

Lagacé of the Missouri: A Voyageur’s Life Among the Ponca -- Chapter Six – Currents of Commerce: The Missouri Fur Trade in the 1790s

https://laprairie-voyageur-canoes.blogspot.com/2026/11/lagace-of-missouri-voyageurs-life-among_01889888280.html

Lagacé of the Missouri: A Voyageur’s Life Among the Ponca -- Chapter Seven – The Fading of the Monopoly and the Long Return (mid-1790s–1822)

https://laprairie-voyageur-canoes.blogspot.com/2026/11/lagace-of-missouri-voyageurs-life-among_095896199.html

Lagacé of the Missouri: A Voyageur’s Life Among the Ponca -- Epilogue – Legacy in Ledgers and Memory

https://laprairie-voyageur-canoes.blogspot.com/2026/11/lagace-of-missouri-voyageurs-life-among_01294428164.html